Everything's Going to be All White

Post-Meaningfulcore Conceptual Fanfic w/ Accompanying Cast Pic: Doug Funny in 2k9

03.25.09 by Sam | 19 Comments | Digg This

If Dora is being “imagined” to age along with her demographic, we wonder what would our generation’s most beloved tender-hearted B42K authentic cartoon icon DOUG FUNNY be like if he aged with us?

Dear Journal,

It’s been awhile since I wrote. Blame tumblr. Anyhow, Ever since Skeeter started on his PhD in Blue-or-Darker Studies, he’s become really serious about his spoken word performance art. Roger and I decided to go to his latest show. That’s right; Roger and I are friends now. I mean, we’re probably mostly friends because he’s my pot dealer, but still…

I hope I don’t have to move back in with my parents. Judy already claimed the basement when she moved back. Unemployment runs out soon. Naming your daughter Dirtbike only seems like a kooky, fun choice until she starts having boys over.

At the end of the day, am I just a jackoff who sometimes likes to hang around the house with a belt on his head and tighty whities on over his cargo shorts? Is this normal, or am I one of those freaks you hear about who eventually dies trying to masturbate in scuba gear? Could Patti tell all along

Anyhow, I never understood performance art, and I don’t really know how spoken word is different from making really loose rap that talks about stuff you go to school for, but here’s the best stanza Skeeter delivered all night. Keep in mind, he did it while perched on top of a box, Abuh Ghraib Style, and wearing a skull mask with a burning candle on it.

They say that all of the people are a rainbow


Well if so, who is it that falls in what order?


It’s red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, and violet

Will those three who fall last receive more violence?

It’s like how cameras can only divide us!

Because they say it takes all colors to make whiteness!

And the blackness, the space that is most things,

Well brothers and sisters, they call that an absence!

Honk, Honky! Honk! Honk! Honk, Honky! HONK! HONK!

Afterwards, Roger revealed that he’d dropped acid before the show and, asked me if I wanted some. I’ve mostly been sticking to weed because it makes me drink less and because I think it might inspire me to try to draw again. This unemployment thing is getting depressing, though. I need a better illustration portfolio. Then I can freelance. I’d be able to afford good coffee then. I should look into a Masters…

Patti was right to go into officer school after 9-11. She’s in Iraq now. I still get facebook messages from her all the time. Verbatim Examples:

remember the night we wore matching suits? you threw up in the nativity on bloomer and south. boys are bad at capture the flag

had a dream about mom. noticed that dirt is the bleach of the animal kindom, hides blood in desert camo.

cynthia is still the best thing that ever happened to me. i just wish she didn’t use the same collars on me she uses on the prisoners

Bee-bee Bluff still has enough of her Dad’s money to throw art openings for herself. She isn’t very good, but there’s complimentary wine. I can’t figure out if I want to actually go or not. It doesn’t seem like people’s art has anything to say anymore. I don’t even know what “saying something” is. Fuck, I’m sweaty from biking. Everybody will know I’m poor if I show up smelling bad. Wait, I can shower with laundry soap. Do I want to wash my hair? Will I smell like my clothes? Is that a good or a bad thing?

Had two rounds with the animals in Knocker Burger. Briefly thought Skeeter was a prophet for talking about people with rainbow skin. This is why none of us have anything to say anymore.

Roger and a girl with a blurry face and crisp tattoos were doing blow off the Jurassic Park pinball machine now. His fangs are out. She’s part landslide. Chalky Studebaker is two booths over. He is the only person allowed to smoke indoors in Bluffington, but that’s a story for another day.

If a spirit can live. It’s that same thing in the fuzz and exhilaration of the Beets’ best songs. Wish I could afford to see the reunion, but Coachella is only a good deal if you’re famous. Jesus, is this where I am, Journal? All these tiny facts that might mean nothing? I hide behind them, then I flip them and fucking build fantasies around them because I’m scared to truly feel?


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