The following is an autobiographical story of someone else’s
life that I wrote, loosely based on a really tight story:
Kraig was trapped between bars and a restroom, not able to
decide which bar to go to. He didn’t realize that the bars weren’t actually
bars, but were long metal bars entrapping him. ENTRAPPPPPPPING. Sorry, Caps
Lock was on for a second there. Some people call that literary Tourette’s
Syndrome. Going back a few days, his motorbicycle took him to the border, and
not the singular version of the bookstore kind of border. A large Polynesian
man with a tattoo of a handlebar moustache told him to “slow down buckaroo,
eh.” Which in English means, “Wir kaufen keine Schnürsenkel aus kleinen
asiatischen Mädchen!” So even when translated Kraig didn’t know what it meant.
The Polynesian man asked sir Kraig if he had any weaponry besides his “guns”
because he was inherently sick of guys flexing and making a poor joke about
their biceps being WMDs. Kraig tried making the joke with his calves just to
mix things up a bit, but ended up punching the border polyofficer in the
throat. This did not make that man a very happy man. He was less than happy.
Dare I say, he was unhappy. Mr. Polynesia’s eyes grew large, filled with magma
and started leaking streams of fire. He then enacted his greatest skill of all,
Polyamnesia! Causing Kraig to instantly lose consciousness and coincidentally
$50 out of his wallet as well. The difference between regular amnesia and
polyamnesia lies solely in the resulting side effects. With amnesia there is
the possibility of gaining back all of your memory at a certain point. With the
latter, you will never be able to remember the capitol of Arkansas or the
amount of water a fish can drink before getting tired of drinking water.
 |
| Taitasi from Guam |
And this my readers (and in small parts of Guam my
listeners), is where Kraig woke up in a cell. Next to the ribosomes and
endoplasmic reticulum. These were the thug-names of his cell mates. Ribosomes
wore a bone through his nose and had plated his entire right leg with copper.
He would also constantly punch people while saying “check mate!” Endoplasmic
Reticulum was a little thinner, and was generally regarded as being
“ocassionally mopey” and owning at medium leveled Sudoku puzzles. This would be
Kraig’s life for the next three weeks. He would say this to his cell mates if
any of them could count that high.
 |
| CHECK MATE! |
To be continued:
Destitutely,
Kyle
It was evening time. Or as people on the west side of the
bend say, Ning’s eve. However, this concept confuses me. If Ning’s eve is every
day, when do we ever get to celebrate Ning? I want some chocolate shephards
pie. And I would prefer some choco-right-on-time if you ask me. Nobody wants
late choco. Anyway, there was this premier thingy that I decided to attend. But
instead I anined it. (see if you get that one.) We walked down the curb and
found a free limo and decided to drive it to the premier. It was slightly
annoying with the four legged man running behind us hitting the car and yelling
“stop!” What crawled into his cheerios and died this morning? He did have a
very linear mustache that made me want to play hours of Sudoku while listening
to backwards albums of the Olson twins. We were living the high altitude
lifestyle in this moment. A couple of blocks later we stepped out onto a red
carpet with the insignia of the bachelor on it. This made me question whether
or not I was on the right red carpet, or if I had accidentally gotten onto the
left one. So I was either getting put into the running with a bunch of women
fighting over a man, or I was going to watch some short films. (Idea for new
reality t.v. show- The bi-chelor, the competition of love, where gender isn’t a
factor.)
I was on the latter of the two previously listed carpets.
Who would seriously want a car as a pet anyway? Try snuggling up to will and
grace with a car sitting on your lap, then tell me who’s mildly right!
Walking into the event center, I felt as though my style would catch on fire.
It was pretentiously exhilarating to be at a black or other color tie event.
Which is the exact moment that Mr. and Mrs. Wayne stopped me, we talked about
their wonderful son Bruce and his fear of various corynorhinus townsendii and,
more recently, smog. They then asked me to take a photo with their
state-of-the-art (a.k.a. Iowa) camera phone. A camera mixed with a phone. Who
wants a camera that can call people, seriously. That was rhetorical as I could
see the practical application in various second world societies and fourth
world Atlantean settlements. And I’m ALL for sea people. Which is greater than
or equal to or less than 103%. (103% is the same amount as putting three more M
& Ms into a jar that only holds 100 M & Ms for all you visual learners
out there).
How could I possibly enjoy this night more? I’ll give you a
hint, it involves an armless pianist, Ingrid Michaelson’s second youngest twin
sister and a guitar that makes tears cry people.
Needless to say, the night ended with my sudden involvement
in Lady Gaga karaoke and a bruise on the side of my rib cage that can only be
explained by one thing: Peanuts. I couldn’t resist, there may have been an
elephant, and my middle name is not Franklin.
Thank you and good night,
Rembrantly,
Kyle
It’s not everyday that you find yourself looking at yourself
in a four-way mirror wondering if the yous that you don’t see are looking at
you in one of those “I just cryogenically froze my brain cells so I don’t have
to thank anyone anymore” type stare, but in a casual way of course? (breathe here) Anything
stern would be uncharacteristic of yourself. (yawn with a small cough at the
end here) Reflecting on reflections reflects the reflecting view of reflecting
reflectors. I have exhausted my “the alphabetical symbol proceeding ‘Q’” Hence
my lack of using that symbol within the finite length of this blog post. Now
walk with me to the opposite side of my head in which we shall dissect the most
enthusing of topics. The occupation ,or A “job” in lay man’s dialect, is an
activity in which one man and/if woman suck up to an exponentially heavyweighted man named “Bensodd”
who happens to have his associates in mechanical bull fighting, (slid past the system by cheating his way in and out of hat dancing 402, he’ll tell you it was because of a chuck donkey in his leg.) His
associates causes him not only to be qualified to tell people what they most
obviously do in a sloppy, yet cornucopius way, but also gain access to a new all inclusive package to Satellite TV which includes a decade supply of Depends and enough Slim Jims to build a life sized imitation of Splash Mountain at Disneyland . “Don’t get below the man with
the wooden face, said his shopkeepee.”
Fo’ the definition of "occupation" I give you one final
statement: “Don’t be Bensodd, because ‘odd’ is not a great suffix to have, especially amidst _______________”.
Industriously,
Crabs.
What?
Arabs
Did you say Arabs?
No, don’t get me wrong.
Alright… what did you say?
Gandalf
More
Less
Gand
Better
Thanks
Open Wide
Nah, I’m not a huge orange juice guy
"It’s motor oil"
Why was that the only thing in quotation marks?
Don't change the subject.
Bingo!
Well played
I don’t feel so well
Don’t we all…
"Good point"
Bad dull
Clever
Lever
What?
Bye
Hi?
Bye
I know that’s what you said, I just don’t like goodbye’s
That’s why I took out the “good” part
You are so considerate
Vote for me
For what?
Anything, I just want to see my name on a ballot?
I can make up a-
SILENCE!
But ther-
PSYLENCE!
Oh! Now I understand.
I don’t think you do…
Prove it
Touché
Bring on the crawdads
I prefer the brothers-in-law
Picky picky
Hardly!
No, that’s the name of my tablet.
You name your assets?
Don’t judge me, the camera adds 205 pounds
I can’t really see your physical appearance, right now we’re just text on a page.
I can dream can’t I!?!
I have somewhere to be…
Where ever it is, be great.
Peppercorn
Amen!
Popcorn
Too far…
Sorry
It’s okay.
Bye.
Hi.
Trepidaciously,
Kyle
This is a post. But, not the wooden variety. Nor the kind that brings you bills or Bills if you're rich enough to pay for the ever-increasing post-age rates. And was there a time when the post office was called the pre-office? Or maybe just the office? When did somebody decide it was okay to name a cereal company "Post". What does this stand for? Post expiration date? Post-modern expressionism? Anything that starts with post makes me feel as though it is too late to do the subsequent verb. Post-haste: Crap! I always miss Haste!" And if someone can be post-mordem, do I get to refer to my physical state as mordem? Is there something after post, like post-post. A
p.p.s. on life? Let us analyse prefixes until they become postfixes. That's also a funny conundrum, post is a prefix. Heh. Words.
Imersionally,
Kyle
PPS
VS
P.P.S.
I ran into a bug, which was highly eerie since I am not the size of a bug nor is a bug the size of me. This one was different not only in size but in demeanor. I have always imagined that meeting a personified bug would have been similar to the moment you realize that a candy bar you are about to consume is four days past the expiration date. Which is in the "so close I might be able to get away with only minor indigestion" range. And you are conflicted between eating it and giving it to a nine year old. This bug hadn't inherited any of these characteristics from the chromosomes he had purchased a week earlier from a one horned gypsy with, as he will later describe, "eyes of half melted candlesticks and an odor that was nominated 'most likely to become banned from public' in high school or the pheromonal equivalent. Pheromonal makes me laugh. " End quotation mark.
Anyway, so this bug. He turned out to be a bouncer. Why I hadn't thought of a dung beetle guarding my dance heavy heavy dance club, I haven't a clue.
Children: Behind you! The clue!
Me: Did you say a clue?
Children: Yes, a clue it's behind you. Look!
Me: Is it over here?
Children: No, behind you!
Me: Where?
Children: You are a directionally challenged moron. This show sucks.
Me: Hey look a clue!
This clue pointed me toward the straight door of a crooked house. I thought it was a joke until I saw the horizontal mailbox and the upside down cocker spaniel looking at me with a very disoriented look. It was very similar to the look I receive when I wake up on the wrong side of gravity. Nauseous mornings. I was trying hard to think of why I was at this house, but the only thing on my mind were the faint last words of an acquaintance in Europe that just got hit by a mail truck. "I can't think of a pun!!!!" I wonder if he ever thought of one...
So the cocker spaniel opened the door, or more disolved it if you catch my brain. And I entered inside. This story seems like it should have an end. Maybe later. I'm late for my checkers match with a blind guy. It's as easy as putting a baby in a blender. No that's way too dark... It's as easy as stacking hay pennies.
Children: Yaaaaaaaay. Pennies.
Me: HAY pennies! Not yay pennies....america's future is unfortunately ill.
Tectonically,
Kyle
I had a literal meltdown the other day when unexpected company showed up at my door. It was the thirty-second last person/thing I would have guessed behind that door. It was the sun. With what little manners he was capable of having, the sun barged right into my living room. The smell of scorch filled the room. The room had little room to begin with and now it was grampy cramped.
"Are you freaking kidding me?!1!!?" I said with 50% more than an inkling of spite under my voice, "I just cleaned up in here! Now my couch is on fire, I assume that small lump on the ground is my canary, and my turkey is now well over well done. And why in the heck are you wearing sunglasses when YOU ARE THE SUN!! And wipe that stupid grin off your face. And you brought a friend! How lovely. Oh that's a space shuttle? Did you get hungry on your descent from your lofty throne o mighty sun??? Have you ever heard of Elton John!? Apparently not. It's going to be longer than a long, long time for him! Now will you please exit my household and place your bulbous volume lightyears away from here so I don't have to look at your ugly face when I'm trying to watch America's Next Top Model on my newly charcoal print television set? And what's up with you trying to hook up with the moon huh? You think you can both be on the same side of the world at the same time?! Who ever made you the sun? Whoever it was really screwed up, a white dwarf could do a better job than you. Now go get your fat gas back into the solar system. And stop convincing children to look at you, it's creepy and damaging to their pupils. My favorite part of the day is when you set!"
And that is how the sun became unconfident in his abilities to shine and lit the world on fire one forest fighting bear at a time.
Precisely,
Kyle
Let's begin this morning with a slight adventure with a sleight of hand, aka prestidigitation or to the less fortunate known as legerdemain. I wouldn't consider myself a magician, mainly because to consider oneself is overrated and undercool. However, I would say I share some of the underlying traits of a magician. For example, two weeks ago I was skipping rocks in an underground cave with a lake the color of the sky and a sky the color of a Montana. In one word, Shimmering. In two words, Really Shimmering. There was a small hat, compared to a life-size recreation of what should have been a new planet I was working on creating. In this hat was a tag that clearly stated: do not wash with silks, balsa wood, communists or any other delicate items. So... I did. And what happened next is almost indescribable. I just realized, since I said almost in the previous sentence, I must out of sheer duty to sentence structure and story continuation tell you what happened next. FRANKIE MUNEZ! Pardon my Cantonese. Here goes.
Have you ever seen a fish swallow itself whole? Me too. Now this question prefaces the following: the cave began to tremble, and not the tax-free kind. The walls ached with the tense pressure similar to what snow dogs experience in the summer. The opening to the cave started spitting out rabbits with very unpleasant looks on their faces that said something along the lines of, "just when things started to look up." And that wasn't even the worst part. I recognize that in such situations one must curl into the fetal position and start counting how many fingers you have. "If you don't get passed eight, remember to count your thumbs," my early mother will say. I did not get into the fetalition (saves time) as I probably should have. The rabbits huddled in a corner like football players do before breaking both of your legs "accidentally" and I could smell their plotting scheming minds laboring profusely. Rabbits make me sick. To avoid being eaten alive by 212 monty python rabbits, I snuck out the convenient door set in the back of the cave. I am very glad the elements of nature had the foresight enough to erode a well crafted door for these types of situations.
And that my faithful, never failing readers, is why I am a quarter magician and three quarters speluncaphobic.
If you're interested, this cave can be found at
(r, θ), (r, θ+2π) according to the polar coordinate system.
Primordially,
Kyle
As everyone knows, I love to be mainstream and do everything that everyone else is doing. Every time. Hahahahaha. That was a good one Kyle. Now tell them why you brought that up. Okay. I must gravely tell you, my alluring audience, that I did something that rings of clichedom, but is individual to me and who I am. That is my justification and I am almost practically aware of my surety that has been founded in a foggy haze of what once seemed like a good idea. I made a dixie cup list. It's like a bucket list only not a bucket and smaller in scale. Also, it won't end in death. At least not more than once. Here it is. I hope it gives you a pleasant feeling in one or both of your kidneys.
Dixie Cup List (50 things I want to do before summer is over).
- Move Out
- Write a 2nd Novelette
- Work at least 1 day on a mid to high budget movie
- Climb The Thinking Peak
- Road Trip W/ Sam
- Start a business
- Dye my hair blue
- Paint my face and go sit in the mall
- Eat lunch in the food court with friends all wearing large masks (preferably tribal)
- Dress up in full wrestling outfit and wrestle in a public place
- Dress up for every movie I see in theaters
- Read stories to kids@ primary children's hospital
- Buy a pet
- In one day come up with 200 short film ideas
- Meet 50 Strangers
- Skydive
- Hang Glide
- Become friends w/ someone involved in hollywood
- Make a weblog with friends (scripted)
- Sew a jacket from scratch
- Sew a pair of jeans from scratch
- Invent something (orchestral gloves?)
- Read 1 news article a day
- make a scrapbook
- Photograph a model
- Film an explosion to be put into a film.
- Make a fly system
- Make a dolly
- Make a crane
- Sell an art piece
- Learn German
- Convince someone of something absolutely absurd.
- Make a huge break-up scene in public
- Propose to a (random) girl in a public restaurant.
- Go into public dressed as a woman.
- Pull off a spy mission
- Invent a board game
- Win a radio contest
- Be on a radio show
- Make a viral video (at least 1,000,000 views)
- Try stand-up comedy once.
- Write a pilot for a TV show.
- Replicate a full scene from a movie.
- Direct a music video for a real band.
- Submit a film to a festival.
- Make a zombie film w/ at least 50 people.
- Box in a real ring.
- Invent a dessert.
- Backflip off a pogo stick
- Film and edit a movie on 8mm film.
There you have it. If you were to ask me, although I don't suggest it, what I would want to have accomplished by the time school starts I would tell you these things. If you ask me what I would want to have accomplished just because I told you not to I will never speak to intelligibly again. Everything I say will be in my native tongue.
Thanks for spending this time on Kyle's Wonderplace. Until next time, I'm kazoo Kyle wishing you a fantastic [insert time of day here].
-Imperialistically,
Kyle
It has been a tragically fine break in the thought bank of this blog. In an attempt to salvage my creativity from the junkyard of lethargy, I write again. Looking to the future, I realize that the man standing in the cramped, dimly lit booth creating a makeshift entrance to this junkyard of mine will charge me for taking this creativity home with me. Since this would surely be the case, I write this post from the inside of what I assume is a rusty car, next to a pinball machine with no pin nor ball, and a creepy poster of a magician with the head of a rabbit pulling a skull out of his hat. Not much inspiration from this perspective, but we roll on. If you have never been to a junkyard that is, oddly sufficient, your neighbors garage then you cannot fully appreciate the absolute fear that presents itself as a mild mannered UCLA business graduate looking for a lost t-shirt with a terribly yet spunky pun sown onto the front. This disguise is to be trusted by no one. What a horrible misfortune that my name in that moment was in fact "no one". So I succumbed to the ever-present fear and began searching for the aforementioned jersey.
At least it wasn't a New Jersey. Hahaha. It was at that moment I realized that "Sean", as UCLA boy is now calling himself oh so pretentiously, had a terrible aura about him that caused terrible puns to escape through the sleeping joke guards whose entire responsibility it was to keep such jokes from entering into this overpunulated country. Years ago, my joke guards died in the terrible pun flood of 2006. You can imagine the aftermath... girls kept their distance, friends stopped being friends, and old people laughed so hard they died prematurely, though not by much. This tangent bringing us full circle to the point of me finding my creativity while inadvertently being distracted by Sean and his filthy jersey of puns.
Transitionally,
Kyle
 |
| "No we are not outsourced! Pervert!" |
Trying to re-build a social network out of the vague impression that I had one before is, in almost every aspect save the literal one, like applying for a job at a grocery store that has no tellers, a memory of electricity, and a small doll-like object that may or may not have been a mango. The phrases that correlate the two situations include: "off-putting that is on the verge of being put off again", "a crime scene that is struggling with self-identity", "how did I end up here in the first place?", and "Do you feel lucky? Well do ya? Punk?" But, worst of all, it requires one to care enough about their self-aware disconnection from the network* to
do something about it (a phrase that implies everything but means nothing), which in turn causes oneself to care about the consequential outcomes.
 |
| I am a personality! |
* Disconnecting yourself from the network is one of the most detrimental decisions any noun-like concept and/or existence could possibly make. It is a massive 1950's style telephone switchboard with thirty million holes and eight-hundred and seventy-two million wires coming out of them. If that same person who unplugged themselves attempted to re-insert they would be left in confusion to find that the switchboard model had been updated, now with smaller holes and they no longer fit like they used to. To advise the advisable and make a long noise of incoherent blabber to those who are inadvisable, I conclude with you: the doll wasn't a doll, or a mango, it was a molded squash and please watch your step when exiting the social experience; the motion sensor doors have moved on to sensing the far more arbitrary clauses in the social contract of life. Now, please sign on the dotted line. Your "friends" await.
Author's note: Me writing this doesn't necessarily mean that I believe it's true, but allows for enough of a doubt that you cannot label me false.
Livingly,
Kyle
