wide load

having trouble with those so-called "standard" toilets that just won't accomodate your massive, jesus-fearing ass...?

tired of dealing with judgmental plumbers at 3am after burrito night...?

taking a dump like threading the eye of a needle? "missed" that pesky hole one time too many...?

"one size fits all" doesn't work for underwear -- why should it work for toilet bowls...?

don't be a slave to society's unattainable 'beauty' standards -- buy a GREAT JOHN TOILET BOWL, you spectacularly fat fuck!

and shit your motherfucking heart out!!!^TM

["Slip 'n' Slide" version available Fall 2005!]

ready to go

if it wasn't clear from my previous posts, i DID go camping. it was... spectacular.

problem with keeping up a blog like this as long as i have, you end up having to censor yourself due to the potential readers. thus, i will attempt to be as diplomatic and cryptic as possible...

i am participating in this year's 72 Hour Film Shootout. making a short film within 72 hours, based on some mystery prompt TBD. i just watched the previous year's top 3 finalists. suffice it to say, i am looking forward to this thing. "Team Ghost of the Future" will be taking no prisoners. do not get in our way. we will fuck your shit up. i will fuck your shit up.

ha ha. just kidding. it's a big brotherhood of filmmakers, right? love. respect. support. divide. conquer.

KILL.

when you've got nothing to lose...

sore loser

holy fuck, i'm sore this gray mourning. that's what happens when i hang out with the meowking.

we have got to find a different bar.

and if i never saw the sun shine, i wouldn't mind the rain...

let's pretend i didn't write my previous entry.

the pine barrens incident

misanthropy central goes camping!

in... the pine barrens!

no alcohol on the camp grounds, but i've got my trusty flask with me. if a ranger comes by for inspection, i'll be wearing a med-alert bracelet saying i'm not drunk, i'm just mentally retarded. (which, if you haven't guessed by now, i actually am!)

why is malice going camping?, you query.

i have no goddamn idea.

the simplest response is "peer pressure". which it's clear i'm acutely susceptible to.

in any case, i've got my bags packed. my timbalands on. extra saline solution. (malice doesn't wear glasses, like Burno does...)

leave after work tonight. be back in civilized country by sunday. please try to behave yourselves while i'm gone.

no time for love, dr. jones

been trying out some extra cardio at the gym the past few days, to see if it could help with the stultifying depression. all it's done has been to help me focus more clearly on the profoundly unhappy state of my life.

if i had the money, i'd take a long, soul-searching vacation. like one of those movies where the sad man finds redemption through his journey. of course, in my movie, the guy would probably end up hanging himself in some seedy Vegas motel room. what happens in Vegas, rots in Vegas.

speaking of ROTS, the final Star Wars episode launches into theaters this week. now, i wasn't the hugest Star Wars fan growing up (i was more of an Indiana Jones kid, coz of that adorable fucking Short Round), but my affection for it grew when i went to film school -- where Star Wars is a kind of de facto religion bonding everyone. (except for the snobs.) we talked about the "rumored" prequels throughout our college years. it was exciting to imagine.

of course, to be generous, the prequels have been a bit disappointing. but i've read some very positive buzz about this final one.

unfortunately, i won't be see it opening day. because i am going camping.

malice highload is going camping.

in nature.

mother nature.

the pine barrens, to be precise.

with MeowKing, Burn'o, Sara, and someone who goes by the alias "Bucky".

on the weekend Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith opens.

sometimes, life is not what you expect it to be...

death becomes you

we're all dying.

you are dying. as you read this.

every day brings you closer to the day you are going to die.

tomorrow. seven days. fifty years.

it is coming closer every breath you steal.

so what are you going to do about it...?

it's a war

miss 1 day of work and everything's a fucking mess when i get back. i guess it's around the time people start exploiting their vacation days. if i only didn't have to cover for everyone.

was sneezing like a motherfucker yesterday. been trying to ration out my expensive allergy pills, but this week's pollen count is going to be through the fucking roof.

my last couple of entries were really soapboxy. i don't know how anyone who knows me can read this shit.

(not that anyone knows me...)

my life's been a nightmare for so long. big transitions the next couple of months. don't know what they'll bring. hard to be vague and be honest here. some things i have control over, some things i don't; i'm going to be concentrating on the things i do have control over.

and as far as those things go... it's war. and now i have a machine gun. ho ho ho.

mother, should i build the wall?

happy fucking mother's day, fuckers.

couldn't be bothered to send my mom some piece of crap gesture through the mail, so i just gave her a call today. dutiful son that i am.

the weather's been unbearably nice this weekend. i've mixed feelings about nice weather these days. just seems inappropriate somehow. tragic lives should be framed by bitter weather.

not sure what my previous entry means. could be read as egotistical, but if an ounce of ego is the thread that's keeping me alive, perhaps it's of some worth.

because i'm reticent to talk about my own work with most people, many may think that i lack ambition or a sense of competitiveness. i don't. i may be lacking in speed and discipline, but i am fiercely competitive. it's an element of perfectionism that hinders my forward movement. i suspect that i am capable of a lot more than even i realize. if i can just realize my potential before they hammer me into my pine box.

(i really want to be cremated, but i prefer the pine box imagery.)

trying to finishing the polish on a screenplay right now. then i'd like to complete another full-length play i started writing years ago, called CHINADOLL OVERDRIVE. then, perhaps, back to another screenplay. not mentioning the phantom side-projects i'll be chipping away at.

it's fucking May 2005. i do not want to piss away another fucking year of this fucking wasted life. this is one thing i have some control over.

trent reznor says how i feel

appy-polly-gees for the neglect in entry-making here. i haven't even been super-busy @ work this week, i've just been in a class. (geography.)

i suppose i should mention that somebody dropped some toy grenades filled with gunpowder at the UK consulate on 3rd avenue around 3:35am. heard it on the mourning news. it's not too far from where i work; thought it might fuck up my commute. it didn't.

now, my blog is "timely".

my last entry implied things i don't think are completely accurate. i was originally going to write a long entry but i didn't get to finish and i just wanted to post something. my life's in the shitter now, true. my life's been in the shitter before. (usually when i eat cheap indian food.) thing is, it's a long journey. and i got shit to get done before they feed me to the pigs.

i don't talk about my own work on this site much, but last night i was watching the DVD of the reading i had last year. of what was essentially my first full-length play. "The Butcherhouse Chronicles." the reading itself had loads of problems, which i became intimately familiar with by poring over the footage this past year -- but i worked hard to polish it up as much as i could. it's still flawed and rough around the edges... but with all the dust cleared away, i could see that it says something. it's raw and personal in a way i probably couldn't have acheived if i tried to write straight autobiography. i'm really bad at selling myself because i wince when i see other people pat themselves on the back, but there's some good work in there. i'm proud of the work i put into it. i'm proud i got it up and managed (with help) to get asses in the seats. and that many people actually seemed to like it.

point is, i'm hard on myself. hard on my own work. i've been writing since i was a little kid. as early as the second grade. this has been a lifelong focus of mine. i may not have been one of those slick kids who catapulted themselves into hollywood right after snatching their college diplomas, but there are many roads to glory. i'm not saying "hollywood" would make me happy.

i'm saying MONEY would make me happy. very fucking happy.

seriously, you need to find out what you want to do in life. doesn't matter if it's just "having a good time" or if it's trying to leave something behind after your bones turn to dust. i don't want this to sound egotistical, but i'd like to leave behind something more than a rotted corpse. a few plays that mean something. a few films that means something. maybe to someone who isn't even born yet.

cold water (surrounds me now)

there's something wrong with the world. there are many things wrong with the world. but things just seem to be going wrong all around me.

finished the carton of smokes Meowking brought me from barthelona... my parents are gonna be sooo pissed when i get lung cancer. i'll have to tell them it was from "second-hand smoke"... damn smokers...

dead man walking

last friday went... badly. super badly. doubleplusungood. it's the reason we're in counseling, though, and this next session should prove whether or not this therapist is worth the suitcases of cash we're paying her. if the next session doesn't help put some pieces back together, however... we may be doomed. crushed camels. coffins sealed.

light a candle, silent readers. malice shall be a cheery sort of fellow this week. i should hand out spare keys to my apartment, just in case. my life's turning out to be a fucking bummer...