Sun Is A Tank On Fire

I'm not sure if I have the energy to sit down and write something that will make you laugh today. I do, however, have a link to a video that will achieve that lofty goal. Set up: Duncan Trussell and Natasha Leggero (two stand-up comics) like each other. They live together in a house in L.A. and even sleep in the same bed. They share a fridge and a bathroom, and they even comb each other's hair when the other is sleeping. Sometimes Duncan will try on Natasha's underwear when she's not at home, but she folds and organizes them in a precise manner and little does he know, she's onto him. Duncan and Natasha also share a pet chihuahua together, it's name is Mayor Cutie. They also like to produce hilarious video clips using Mayor Cutie as the star.. here check it out for yourself: http://www.atom.com/funny_videos/patriot_dog_101 Ok, now that I made you laugh using other people's talents, I'll get on with it. Last week I learned how to drive a big semi-t...

A couple sits just next to me, one vacant bar stool between us. They are celebrating something, cheering each new drink with a little more gusto than the one before. He sits in the stool closest to me, she in the other, so when they talk, her face is angled toward me and I can see the love gleaming in her eyes. She uses more than words when she speaks, she communicates with her eyelashes and her smile, her entire face leans in and delivers every syllable. These two are obviously dating. Fucking even. He says something funny. For some reason I feel he has offended her. She looks away and I mistake the gesture as another emotion, one of inguinal disinterest or infliction. I stare at the back of his head and imagine cockroaches crawling out of his skull, down his checkered shirt and onto his outstretched arms and legs. He has her pinned within his body, I don't like it. I pretend his arms and legs are tied to two horses running in opposite directions. Nobody wears checkered shirts...

I still remember smelling Oregon for the first time through the rolled down window of my Toyota Corolla. I remember driving over the imaginary line that separates it from Nevada, seeing the mountainous region of southern Oregon and realizing my journey was nearing its end. Previously, I had spent several nights in Salt Lake City mingling with the Mormons. They scolded me for smoking cigarettes on the sidewalks, so I left their sacred city and headed west on Interstate 80 through Nevada. I reached Winnemucca and stalled for awhile, knowing that my final destination was looming just 70 miles north of where I was. I don't know why, but I felt nervous about meeting her. Would she reject me like the forty-nine states before her? Would memories of my birth crash against me like the coastal waves of her winters? Would she be as beautiful as I imagined her to be? As accepting? I had left my mother, dispirited and crying, to come all this way in search of something. It was time to find ou...

       Katie walked slowly near the river's edge as the lowering sun still warmed her skin and cast its amber reflection across the moving water. It was late September and in another hour the sun would be down and the evening chill would move in quickly. She was glad she remembered to bring her jacket from the car, she'd need it soon if he stalled much longer in meeting her. Having it tied around her waist produced a swooshing sound as she walked and it reminded her of the calming sound the dryer used to make as it hummed in action on the other side of their house. Fresh tears began falling as she remembered some of the good moments they had shared. The five page letter he wrote to her was still clutched in her left hand, wrinkled from the wear of being read no less than a dozen times.        She stopped walking and raised her arm to wipe away the tears. She used the back of her hand, and as she did this the bottom of the let...

I sat down with the intention of writing another short story, but realized that would make two in row. I'm not sure you guys can handle all that! So I'm going to write a little Life Update blog instead, and if you can't handle that then suck it, punk. Before I get started, how are all of you? Are things well in Bloggerville? Are you getting hundreds of hits on your site? Plenty of comments? Ha yeah, me neither.. sigh . It's tough being an online blogger, we just don't get our due deserve. Okay then, enough with the pity party & on with the update. I am still single, still living in the same ghetto place, still driving my ex-girlfriend's car (ugh..). None of that has changed. I recently became debt free (which I discussed in a past blog) and now I'm thinking about moving into my own apartment or renting a nicer house with my friend, Comcast Steve. He wants to move right away, I want to wait another month or so and let my bank account build back up. Not ...

Edgar sat at the edge of the sofa with his right leg angled up onto his lap. His foot was grasped in one hand while the other hand picked around underneath his toenails with a toothpick. Polly and Lyle were seated around the coffee table, heavily invested in a game of Canasta. Polly had him on the ropes by 2,400 points, it didn't look good for Lyle. To be fair, she did warn him before they played. Edgar remembered her saying, "My father taught me this game when mom decided to become an alcoholic. By noon she'd be drunk off the box wine and daddy would break out the cards and we'd play all evening. Mother got good at drinking, I got good at The Game." She was right, that girl could hold a hand like no other. This was nothing new, he'd watched her lay down three melds and go out all before the other player barely broke a few hundred points. She was a cut throat, she belonged in strange places. Lyle cussed and slammed his hand on the table, "Son of a bitc...

A fellow blogger I follow did a list-up of his 15 favorite albums, and after reading his list I wondered which fifteen I would choose. So I sat down and started thinking about it. Turns out this was more difficult than I thought and I'm blaming it on the era of mp3's and iPods. Here's why: back in the day all we had were cd's, tapes and records which we'd pop into the designated player and listen to our chosen music. Sure, we could fast forward or hit next or move the needle past songs we didn't like, but we were forced to listen to one album at a time . Nowadays we get to remove songs we don't like and add only the ones we do, and literally dump hundreds (thousands even) of songs onto our iPods, and if you're like me hit shuffle and never hear the same song twice for two weeks straight. I think this is why I had a tough time with this blog idea. My mind instantly went back to pre-mp3 days and I could remember those cd albums that got played over and ove...

My morning began with the above picture. I was driving along in my garbage truck when I crested the hill and saw the sun lighting everything up, it was all very stunning. I snapped a quick pic with my camera phone and continued on. It's times like these that remind me why it's so nice being a human... no other animal can appreciate such a sight (or can take a pic of it with a cell phone).  Take that, you backwoods badgers! Score one for the home team. Speaking of animals, my lower half housemate decided the house we live in needed to be bug bombed. When he brought this up I was dead set against it right away. I did not want my half of the house to be doused by chemicals, nor did I want to go through the trouble of protecting all my stuff (i.e. dishes, DVD's, TV, clothes, bed, bathroom supplies, furniture, etc). I told him to spray his half and leave me alone, I like bugs. Heck, I write poetry about them! But he said if he sprayed and I didn't then all the bugs wou...

the bees poem by Mick Tomlinson first it was the spiders. they repelled down like paratroopers one-by-one. they dangled over my coffee my computer, my sofa, my bed; legs all over my apartment spread open, waiting for contact. I went to war with them, and won. last night it was the bees. I imagine at first it was just one that flew in by accident, in through the open window near my bed. after a few moments of disoriented buzzing into walls and ceilings it finally calmed down and accepted it's new home. but what's a home without friends and family? that little fucker invited EVERYONE. leading up to the war between man vs. bees, man had been drinking beer and twisting metal in the driveway all evening; the bees remained sober and full of sting. 6 beers, 1 poem, and an 8 dollar bottle of wine later I took the highway to my bedroom, exited south. and that's when I first saw them. three of them at first, just resting on the wall near ...

    I've come this close ---->     <---- to almost snubbing two people within the past month. Now before your beautiful mind jumps to it's own conclusions and prematurely labels me as a sociopath, allow me to explain. I am a garbage man, for those of you who didn't know. I drive through neighborhoods every day, in a big truck that has a mechanical arm attached to the side. When I pull up next to a garbage can I use my left hand to operate a joystick, which in turn operates the steel claw (arm) that extends out of the side of the truck and grasps the can. With a few simple hand motions I can raise the can high above the hopper (area that holds the trash) and dump the can's contents inside. Then I simply lower it back down to the sidewalk and proceed to next can. Viola! I'm a garbage man.     By now you're probably wondering what this has to do with me almost squashing two human lives. Be patient, turbo, I had to set the scene. Now...

I remember everything became very small; tiny little pieces of a disorganized life fell from shelves and crashed onto the ceramic tiles below. The sound of fragile things shattering all across the floor woke my mother, who appeared in the entry way with her auburn colored robe wrapped tightly around her, her hands tucked somewhere inside of it. I could see her breasts pressing through, they matched her eyes. Her hair reminded me of snakes fucking, I wanted to run away.    "What is this all about?" she asked in a sleepy monotone voice. She took two steps into the room and her foot made contact with a shard of broken dream. "Goddamn it! What have you done now?" she shouted as she bent down to inspect her wounded sole. It was bleeding, we both knew it. The light from the pantry window shone through just enough to reveal the red around her toes, her life was spilling out onto the floor. I was nervous, I didn't want to move. I figured if I stood still long en...

The Budweiser clock hanging just above the doorway leading into the kitchen read 4:18pm. The obnoxious sounds of the lottery machines could be heard over the equally obnoxious sounds coming from the ESPN channel on the big screen TV. Edgar sat at the far end of the bar spinning a beer coaster in circles. It was warped from hard use and cocktail condensation and it bowed in such a way that when spun it twirled just like a top. A minute ago he counted fourteen revolutions, it was his highest record yet.     "Goooooooooaaaaaaaal! Goooooooooaaaaaaaaal! Gooooooooooaaaaaaaal!" the announcer narrating the soccer match on TV bellowed. Manchester United had just scored on Liverpool. "Half the world has gone completely mad." Edgar thought to himself. And just then, as if his thoughts warranted special attention, the door to the dimly lit bar opened and a flood of outside light rushed in. It was as if he'd been drinking during an eclipse and suddenly the sun reappeared a...

   "14,000 of these were made just last month. Do you know how many of those 14,000 were properly fucked before finding their way into a landfill?" Edgar was walking along the sidewalk with his right arm extended out in front of him as he spoke. Grasped in his hand was a rubber dildo flopping at both ends with every step he took. It's coloration was eggshell brown and it had a remarkable vein protruding down the length of the shaft. A detailed specimen indeed. The damn thing looked like a real dick, and all I could think about was how badly I wanted to smack it out of his hand. I pictured it rotating through the air, balls over shaft over balls, and out into the street, bouncing across the pavement.    But I didn't slap it, instead I answered, "14,000 seems like a high estimate for a month's worth of rubber cock, where did you hear that?" Behind us a car slowed and cruised up next to us. It was a green Fairlane, probably late 60's. I remember my f...

Edgar sat there at the table staring at the empty chair across from him. He spun the white mocha coffee around in his restless hands, glancing frequently at the door of the women's bathroom wondering when it would open again. He gathered too much momentum and warm brown sludge spurted out the sip hole of the plastic lid, making a small mess on his hand and the table. "Fuck all" he murmured as he reached for a napkin. He was just at this same airport seven days ago, sitting almost in the exact same spot, but it was much different then. She hadn't landed yet, she was still 45 minutes up in the air. Everything was safe then, time wasn't careening out of control. He remembered the text messages and emails sent from phone to phone, inbox to inbox, for almost a month leading up to her final approach. It was fun talking about her pussy in poetry, comparing it to a small hole in the side of a dam. There were many clever exchanges between them, all friendly and invitin...

A few nights ago I cheated on Ringo's with a bar downtown. I didn't plan to, it was quite unexpected really. I had every intention on seeing Ringo's that night, I even called and said I was coming and said to put something sexy on, but then I got tempted by unforeseen forces. The next thing I knew I was walking around the interior of a new place, checking out her sweet spots, feeling up her billiard tables, admiring the wide open space and enjoying the feeling of something new. Guilt, you ask? Yes there was some guilt. I knew Ringo's was probably wondering where I was, constantly checking the phone for missed calls.. nothing. Ugh, how terrible of me. I've been cheated on recently, so I, of all people, should know better! I can't believe I did this, will Ringo's ever forgive me? I hope so, it's so much closer to where I live. Pretty nice, right? Now can you see why I cheated? Shame on you for siding with me and making me feel better about what I did...

I'm spending my July 4th indoors relaxing, meditating, listening to Snatam Kaur. Over the past several weeks I have put my body and mind through too much, I try too hard at too many things. I have the constant thought that tomorrow may be the end, so my brain works overtime thinking about all the things I haven't done yet, or the beauty I've yet to see. This is especially burdensome when trying to sleep at night, lots of restlessness and tossing and turning, staring at the dimly lit ceiling while the chatter in my head continues throughout the night. I think I need Ambien. Or a heavy hammer. Either way. I've noticed lately when I write I have to frequently backspace and correct simple mistakes, like switching two letters around or misspelling easy words. So today I meditate, calm the brain, soothe the soul. Iron out the wrinkles a little bit. I need a reset. Technology amazes me, even the simplest forms of it. Take music, for example. Right now I am listening to mus...