And hello Everyone!!!

It's good to have you. get comfy. Imagine we're in the same room, imagine I'm handing you a cup of coffee, or a beer, or cigarette.
Or soft, fuzzy slippers.
Peruse. enjoy yourselves.
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good to have you. Stay awhile.
love, world wide dirt

Wednesday, January 30, 2008

Experiment in the Year 2008

50 parrots all kept in 50 rooms for one month. Each is isolated from all the others. Each is taught one word and its meaning. When the month is up, they all meet each other in one big atrium.



"Sauce! Sauce!"

"Me! Me! Me!"
"Sauce! Sauce! Sauce!"


Idea by me and Eli.

Big River Harp

Didn’t mean to act so quickly, he was bigger and I knew he was scary, I wasn’t worried, but something, yeah something about you is true, for a kid who pukes on doorsteps at four in the morning, life is worthless in the ways of getting it all together, yeah I like her, I like her, I’ll admit it, and kicks messing around in laundry bins and breaking things and sound of light is scary, its fast right, it’s a corner weight a counter play on being someone real. Sure I did it, I said it I mean it, something wont change for me and that’s nothing new, look I’m not always trying to be smarmy, I think and feel real things devoid of sarcasm, regardless of whether it makes its way to strength, regardless, irregardless, shambles of life in a basket, a weave so broken in every different pattern of speech, I make no less impression for who I choose to be, on the white toothed boardwalk, the black nails ache, and every sailing minute of failing the trial of time, of purpose, of loosing, and waking and busting all the thing left to shake in, you are the end of nothing son, you are nothing left of nothing love, climb on and scratch, it’s a directional endless flailing strut of current afterthoughts, yeah I like her, I can admit it, for a kid with busted hope I am careless with the pieces.

Tuesday, January 29, 2008

words aren't words unless they're worded in the right word word. wording is the word word of word words. When word is not word, then word is word, and word is unword, word word words. Wordy words have a word of wording the wordish word of word wordings. A word isn't word word without the word word in word word; the word is in the word unless word is word. Words don't word the right word without the word of wordy words and their wordlike words.
thank you get up sit tight happy trails sayonara forget about it yesterday's news the good word nothing what's up with you scuse me how are you that's what she said i'm flattered it's cool fuck that i'm fine gorgeous i try my butt and your face try harder good what you doing far out congratulations you look great you look beautiful awesome excellent sounds good i wish you think don't it i love you don't quit your day job that's why you get payed the big bucks that's funny sorry i know yeah great nice to see you nice to meet you see you later, alligator maybe yes i'll try what's your number have a good weekend

Notes on Notes off

Dear shackles,

Lash down the piteous rex. Oh call of hands to finger cleats that low down kind of harm. I will curl now before the flame and wither off in silence, I rest for only hate and love and guns and things that take. Unlearn! Unlearn the lessons of the riverbed, the points of cross bearers gloom. Slave ships and bottles full of marbles in the quake of me. Is this where I get off? What got me to the brink? I cant recall.

October was just that, now its nearly gone, summer far to pass, and the wind, it makes us strong.

No ring, I’m sorry, we said so many things, this scar, the seem, coagulation between the slates of skin. Busted roses bloom to Braille, its new kindness that retreat. It’s the deck above me, it beats a tell tale song, a heckling whistle. It tells me I am wrong. It tells me I will fail and I believe it, it kills me but I know it, I have seen it.

I will die young and you are the first to know, falling shorter than the bushes in summer. The light fails to reach the end you see. Brown where green originates, crackle in the ember snakes snapping through the snow. Bravest child in books you read would not kick through the neighbor’s briar patch or steal their tomatoes. Apologize to nothing cloaked in willow branches.

Churning out the guts now, the butcher stops to gain his footing, and he pulls, I feel lighter, intestines bust the thread that holds, no new yarn, the blood just pours and they belong to him now. Ribs next, they pop like the teeth of a dog, the dog never gave second thought, to biting a running chainsaw. He cracks them wide and makes a wish; he smiles and puts a chisel through my chest. Mallet now he breaks the spine. He dismantles the machine. Melon baler out and eyes next to run, to the jars and lids, tight to turn, not caring what is broken, he will simply have to begin again.

Monday, January 28, 2008

Long Days Comin'

“Blair, hello. This is Elmer, those damn squirrels are in the attic.” He hangs up the phone and goes back to the breakfast table, it’s a slow journey but the distance isn’t too great. Tuesday will be a long one so he makes sure to eat the crusts of his wheat toast for sustenance. He thinks about how he likes eggs and his new sailboat bobbing out at boey three. He wonders if the dockhand tied the proper knot or if it will be resting on the rocks like another famous arc. All that aside, leaving a message for your exterminator on the wrong persons phone was a good way to start the day.

October will mark his ninety third year, at work in a tiny shack he schedules in pencil, appointments for boat rentals. This business only takes cash and has a rotary phone, green and heavy. Two boys walk across the yard toward the dock, they are late to start the morning. “Oh, look at these two dopers.” They laugh and fall asleep in the pontoon boat, out of sight. There aren’t many customers this morning, Elmer thinks he wants to get some ice cream.

“Ya remember me Elmer? Donny Smith, Jake and Wendy’s son, I used to tie boats out on pier three.” He may or may not remember but he says he does, grinning with corn kernel teeth beneath his old panama fedora. Donny smith leans against the side of the shack much like he did thirty years ago, he watches the young boys jump off the bow of the new schooner, he sighs. The two old friend walk across the street to the diner, this is the third time today Elmer has been treated to lunch by someone he may or may not remember.

Being the summer in Lake Geneva the sun hangs out for a little longer today, with the help of his cane Elmer stares out at the lake. He thinks about every day he’s spent in this exact spot without getting specific, he ponders all of it without judging, he wonders how he is still alive. He remembers its all the vitamin K. Its time to pack up on a day much like all the others. When you get to a certain age days mean a lot less than the events you can take from them. Tuesday for instance is chicken night.

Natural High

for them we sweet gentle people form new associates
and count blundered springs, buried, seven.
and then eggtown on the fourth isn't
akin to the havens of ages forgone and weighed in newtons.
to skin a loved one hasn't got the punch of a wedding flower,
but blood isn't thicker than ether or the drum fans.
caring to need to speak the forages to tell the minds
of masters of wars in action and fathom the leageus of treetops.
proteins have words, more words than people have got
so top that in your seventieth winter and see what it gets you.
america loves youth and youth loves high tension wires
that trespass on great oatmeal sacks for fun.
wherever when finds itself is when the gold false drops
too strange to keep and keeping is all that's worth more than gold.

this is a secret message: i love you.

Sunday, January 27, 2008

When the void dont hurt

Try for a second to stay with me, it’s just that enough is enough.
Do you know how many times we’ve gone over this?

And now your angry, angry that the tables have turned
Really just a classic case, classic case of…

“Why the fuck now?”

from here it’s just a stone throw pier, leaving losing the only thing.
Here’s the other thing, I’m not going to call to discuss something I’ve been
Hung up on or for, it’s beyond that now
Friendship to friendship to banging then going.

Love is for suckers and sad ass motherfuckers.

Friday, January 25, 2008

Stars, as if a dream

another installment from Mitchy the kid, who if you've forgotten was found under a rock.

He struggled up the stairs, a lifetime of memories, regrets, heartache and heartbreak holding him down. One palsied, spotted hand on the rail and the other on his gnarled cane, all of his experiences and wisdom won't make a flight of five stairs any easier. A picture of his wife in the distance decorates the wall in black-and-white blurs; familiarity scumbles it back into focus. Untamed, flaxen hair, carefree eyes, one hand on his heart and the other on the wheel. She died in a car crash in 1977 on the way to a bowling tournament; they still haven't fixed that intersection. One person at a time, he supposes, will pay for a bright new stoplight in pretzeled metal, pinwheeling pulses, buckets of blood. It was after dusk, he knows, and he also knows she saw the unknown as she gazed upwards; stars, as if a dream.

It's Christmas time, 2007. His son picked him up from the neighboring city's hospital with his grandson and they traversed the ten miles in relative silence. They know he's depressed, but they don't know what to say; they both are also depressed. The sun doesn't shine as bright in deep December, and words, no matter how heartfelt, never ring as clearly in the cold. It's a white Christmas, and the blanketed fields remind him of the cotton sheets of his hospital bed. The discomfort on his progeny's face reminds him of the blasé industriousness of the ICU staff, if only by contrasting it. He remembers his wife, and he's not sure he wants to live anymore. Thirty years is such an awful long time to miss someone.

Whereas some lose religion upon catastrophe, he slowly found it. While he won't begrudge the true believers their ardent worship, the teeming crowds consuming food in the aftermath of service are the real draw. He loves certain persons and hates people; the screaming children in Sunday School sound like shells knelling nocturnes in the North Atlantic; the Nor’easter dusting muck on the streets feels like the sea before the rescue; the priest's haunted eyes on the parishioners like spotlights sweeping the water clean of sailors. The Bible in his hand is too heavy, the hope too impossible, and he places it back behind the pew with a relieved sigh. The service takes a lifetime, but it numbs his heart and kills the pain.

His son takes a seat at the dinner table. Faces stare at him or around him, all seeing, none remembering. Two sons and a daughter, two kids more than at Thanksgiving, the majority paying lip-service during Grace. He worries that his daughter resents him; since finding God, she resents most things remaining from her earlier life. They make eye-contact, and she quickly breaks it, glancing to a brother; they make eye-contract, and she severs that just as quickly. The man looks to his wife, knowing there's no remnant within her of the person he married. Since her affair, he had slowly, quietly, determinedly rebuilt himself; what affection that was left smelled repugnant, like a rotting carcass in the sweltering July sun, but he needed her. He didn't know why, but he did, and he secretly hated her for it. Sometimes not so secretly. His daughter turns twenty-one in February; that demon turns seven a week later. No one knows it, but at midnight, on the anniversary of knowing, he sneaks into himself a fifth of brandy. Drunk and depressed, he hides in the basement, turns on the TV to any channel, buries his head in his hands, and cries. Seven years is such a long time to hate someone you love.

The younger of the grandsons plays with his food. Carefully, and thus lovingly, he presses his fork into his pliant mashed potatoes, scraping them and sculpting them into a miniature mountain range. He is passed the gravy and delicately pours on snowcaps, a slow smile spreading across his face. His brother across from him cocks an eyebrow in conspiratorial amusement; the Alps? he mouths, his posture inquisitive. The artist gives him a surreptitious nod. Add climbers. Considering the suggestion entirely germane, a small party of corn kernels finds a home on the slopes. Barely maintaining a straight face, his brother whispers, Nice work. The younger glances up to find his aunt frowning at him; she has grown old quickly, early, and too unrepentantly. Like some deity in a culinary world, he levels his mountains and begins to eat.

He doesn't say much, really, but just silently goes about the business of eating. A spoonful there, a forkful there, mouthful after mouthful, and it all felt meaningless to the moment. His parents worry about him, he thinks, and he doesn't know what he can do to alleviate their fears. Smiling, he listens to his brother's story about grad school. Inwardly, he knows he'll never be that successful. Only grateful. He promises himself to never stop being grateful. Putting a slice of spiced ham into his mouth, he stargazes around the table at the galaxy in which he lives; stars, as if a dream.

After dinner, when night has fallen like an atomic bomb, he steps onto the patio and gratefully breathes in the frigid radiation. He is lonely, but so is his father, and his mother, and his grandfather. A lot of people are lonely, and he tells himself this; it helps make him less alone. The cigar in his mouth ashes into his own eyes as the wind hits him. He cries a little, only partially sincere. Without removing the cigar, he drinks a beer through the corner of his mouth. A nice beer, a Christmas beer; he is his father, but too early. The hushed conversation in the house escapes the windows in scraps of whispers; the world likes to present itself in scraps of whispers, he thought, and he finished his beer. The fifteen year-old thermometer that occasionally works hung on the screen wall. Twenty-two, like his age. He laughed a little, only partially sincere. Will ice thaw when he turns thirty-two? Will June only come once he turns seventy?

Seventy years is such a long time to wait for summer.

declaration of indypendance

1. we the people will not read the nonsense that these losers think is clever or cool or interesting, but instead spend our energy on trying to make our penises grow by thought alone.
2. we will forever, when confronted with the authors of this blog, who are the sons of diseased whores and a thousand madmen, complement their ties, or, if they're not wearing ties, we'll point out the cum stain on their pants.
3. we will mispell at least one word a day.
4. we will jump over a few numbered rules.
21,955. we will defer to rule number 5 in all cases in which rules number 816 and 21,954 contradict each other.
21,956. we will make at least one trip to Mecca in our lifetime.
21,957. we will make decisions that we already regret as we do them.
21,958. we will sever all connections with our mothers and left arms past the elbow.
21,959. hot dogs will be eaten on Fridays.
22,000. anyone caught eating hot dogs on Fridays will be punished to death by nonsensical jokes and obscure references.
22,001. anyone caught punishing someone to death by nonsensical jokes and obscure references will be elected to some political office, or oficina if you are Mexicano, or Mexican if you are not Mexican.
22,002. we will solve this math problem, but forget to carry the 6: 4((.5/1002)(10b)(10b/(10b/10b)))/4(10b/4(4))
22,003. a line will be drawn in the sand, accompanied by three other lines, and tic-tac-toe will be played before the tide comes in.
22,004. we shall forever refer to Parker as his holiness and Sean as his parkerness.
22,005. we will stop reading this declaration now, even though there are several more rules.
22,006. we will recap our sodas after every drink to retain carbonation.
22,007. we will recarbonate our ovaries to drink cap retainers.
22,008. we will redrink our carbonates to cap our tainted ovary drinks.
22,009. the sun came up. it was blue and gold.
22,010. we will watch triumph of the will with will smith.
22,011. we will want what wavers wonderfully in the warranting, whoozy winds of Washington, where a whimper waves woefully to wanton widows with washed-up worries, woven wigs, and winking ways of waylaying the witty, wet wilderness that wafts over well-washed windows and weathered stairways of pearl.

Tuesday, January 22, 2008

i call you to stop from singing

i call you to stop from singing.
i call you and you come ringing.
i call you because I'm bored.
i call you and you bring the sword.

i call you and i can't uncall.
i call you and you call me tall.
i call you and the dog wakes up.
i call you and he ain't no pup.

i call you just to ask your name.
i call you and i call you again.
i call you and invite you to the boat.
i call you when I overdote.

i call you when i'm dead and burried.
i call you and joke that we should be married.
i call you from my indoor pool.
i call you because i'm a fool.

i call you long distance, from across the lake.
i call you and i'm a fake.
i call you alone without a phone.
i call you, and not just cuz I wanna bone.

i call you and say lovely things.
i call you and you say "not in the mornings."
i call you and call you or maybe I don't
i call you and call you to get the money i loaned.

Sunday, January 20, 2008

africa was her neighbor

kelly bought sixteen
sandwiches for winter
charlie charged a nickel each,
but he tossed in the last two as a bonus.
later that day, a piano landed on top of him
and he reached to the pay phone above him,
the number buttons just barely in his reach,
but he was ten cents short to call
kelly and tell her his recipe for sandwich soup.

there were bangs down the street
but i didn't look outside.
you don't need a crystal ball
to know how hard I've cried.
the casket was by the window
at the policeman's daughter's wake.
one time I smoked a joint with her
and we went swimming in the lake.

frankly, far and away, the only good coffee
is a fucking dead coffee.
drinking puts her in a bad mood, but she still has
a rad 'tude,
she dates a plaid dude, add lude.
look, i'm a hot dog.
cornbeef caserole
biting on the back, forewarning
a reluctant corning
i fucked your mom
wait, that was my mom
or was it Charles Durning?
what is higher learning?
look after me at Sherman Oaks
where the magic never comes
and the wind won't move the spokes.

Friday, January 18, 2008

words to live by

i want you to stay
we don't get nearer or further or closer than a country mile
we don't make eye contact when we have run-ins in town
give it to me, you know what I'm talking of
- Hank Williams, Mott the Hoople, & TV On The Radio

I want you inside me.
- Michael Showalter

I have a dream that all my people gonna get high.
- MLK Jr., Sean Williamson Jr.

nevermind the bullocks. here's the sex pistols.
- Prime Minister Georgia O'Keefe

I won't be what stands between you and the best anal sex of your life.
- Me, to myself

Allow your inner child to arouse your penis.
- Lao Tzu

Did you get it? Wasn't that funny? What I said was "Allow your inner child to arouse your penis." Funny, right? Yeah, I thought so.
- Me

The tension is so thick in here, you could cut it with a dildo.
- Sean Williamson Sr., Former Prostitute Margaret Thatcher

What's that smell? Who miscarried in here?
-Haley Mills and her twin sister Haley Mills, in unison.

Thursday, January 17, 2008

do something about it then.

Broke as sanction throws, martin dear son.

Get off the son son,
I write my lyrics on parking tickets.
West side, left life, get on get up mama mama,
They aint got, the burden of words,
Job nice time
You time lung
Exist on those apartments, party town west of clowns, more than money’s mouth baby doll,
Clap, clap clap.
Wind down but my ass don’t sang, sill so clean
Hustler bound
Ground sound bound back
Suffering nations in vagrants finer quotes, kinda
Vermin slum serenade that was served on razor blades
Make me scream and shout,
Ask what I’m talking bout.
East.west.north.and .south.

Fuck drawn, drawing endlessly disappointed
Government and bills, and lack of skills
Rebel town live like shooting and running fluid
Frisco all over the place
You and your gang star mouth
Kicking the shadows out, stub , know its stronger than a three day hoax uh!
Fight the random born again fornicate down like Manson tour gaze.
Peace to me
Serve and protect that.
Post em’ you soaking Joseph, motherless bastard modem, try not
Try not
Try not
To work foil

Who Put the "Dip" in the "Dip-di-dip-di-dip"?

For some reason, here's the best ten movies I saw last year that I can remember, followed by some quote from that movie that I either remember or misremember.

1. Beowulf (Robert Zemeckis)
"Mine is strength and lust and power. I am Beowulf!"
2. Darjeeling Limited (Wes Anderson)
"Look at these assholes."
3. No Country For Old Men (The Coen Brothers)
"He should be worried about me." "Well, he's not."
4. Planet Terror (Robert Rodriguez)
"Some of the best jokes are about cripples."
5. Superbad (Greg Motolla)
"I often go to sleep at night and dream that I'll wake up in a world covered in semen."
6. The Ten (David Wain)
"Oh, is that how the judicial system works? Please, why don't you tell me all about how the judicial system works."
7. Stardust (Matthew Vaughn)
"I can suck my own dick... and I do it a lot."
8. Death Proof (Quentin Tarantino)
"Looks like he cut his face falling out of his time machine."
9. Walk Hard (Jake Kasdan)
"If boner lasts more than four hours, call more ladies."
10. I'm Not There (Todd Haynes)
"I don't believe you. You're all liars."

Your Fortune: You will find "Love," the soundtrack to the new hit show based on the work of The Beatles and from the co-creator of Cirque Du Soleil, for half-off at Best Buy. You will also be convinced of how happy you could be with that special someone, if only they weren't an alcoholic or your blood sibling.
Lucky Numbers: 0 and 1

Wednesday, January 16, 2008

Pictures of my heroes who happen to all be Jewish and a poem that is called "New Fuck City"


Former Israeli Prime Minister Ariel Sharon, Lost Executive Producer Damon Lindelof, Comedian, Director, and Genius David Wain.)

she lives in a brown house in Tulsa.
she makes sweaters by the score.
she wears one every Sunday.
she's the one that I adore.

she died in 1816.
she lives two miles down the road.
she gives me chest fever,
my heart beats morse code.

words that evaporate
braincells that rot
people that are creepy
death is slowly bought.

she invented the salad shooter
winter finds her in a daze.
she looked at my CAT scan charts
and left them in the maze.

today i learned I'm dying
and my dad died yesterday.
at least i don't have to ask anymore
if I can go out and play.

she's a foundling and a groundling
drinks her juice from her little cup
if there were a prize for foggy eyes,
she'd be the runner up.

Saturday, January 12, 2008

Coming Soon

Here's a poster for me and my roommates' new movie which we are currently shooting. It actually gives a pretty good impression of the piece, I think. It is the reason why I've had to desert our faithful readers this last week and a half or so. I hope I haven't alienated those who depend on our blog for the most current and up to date news.
This is going to be a very funny movie that we're shooting. No expectations that you could possibly have about this movie will compare to the final product, a bright new blistering star exploding into the universe with ingenious hilarity. Should be done, from soup to nuts, about a month from now and up on YouTube.

Friday, January 11, 2008

This Better Be Unbleached Flour...

tandem bike riders fall in the river.
they try to tandem swim. It doesnt work, they drown.
they go to heaven and explain the situation to god.
he says,
You guys should be more independant.
too late now.

Thursday, January 10, 2008

Jungle Time

I got some work as an audience member at a dance game show. Which was a little bit like standing in line at the LA soup kitchen. William H Macy says “My wife and I are incompatible.” I also feel like my balls are cut off. Anyway what am I talking about? So I stood around and clapped at this show until my hands went raw, raw as a mother fuck. Thing is they paid me in cash so whatever.

That bullshit went on for about ten hours. I nearly killed myself like five times. Then another three once the show started. The host was some bastard from E!. I always hated that name “E!”. Like the exclamation was totally necessary. It isn’t by the way. So goddamn. Either way it was a bunch of nonsense and some munchkin with red hair hit me in the balls twice. I was trying to be nice and not kick his ass but it was tough. I didn’t. I told him to stop swinging his arms. Leprechaun-mother-fucker.

It was fine after that. I ended and I went home. My roommates wanted to go out and get a drink. Usually in this case I wouldn’t but we had a guest so I did. I danced around to Fleetwood Mac and my roommates bought me some shots. Good sports.

I ended up on the corner singing old time blues with some old man with a jacket with a bunch of metals. I don’t know what he was up to. He was good.

Sunday, January 6, 2008


Listen up Bartlebee, this isn’t really the time or place. I did a lot of things to finally rip out of the margins, or did I? Lets not be silly friend, you knew this was how it had to be…oh you didn’t, don’t act that way. It’s a party every day of the year, so your out of cash, it doesn’t matter. Just stop bitching and rob a bank you ninny.

It's not to say it couldn’t be better, things could always be better. It’s exactly this kind of reckless behavior that got us here in the first place, busted tire, busted lip, busted everything, were busted…please stop crying man, really your killing my buzz the way Phil Collins kills an erection…oh fuck you…he is a twat. He really is. Well I’m not going to argue with you about it either way. I have a bunch of things to do today and this wasn’t part of the plan… I’m not being insensitive…I’m not, at all. Just being honest.

Fine, be that way, just finish your coffee and lets get the hell out of here.

Wednesday, January 2, 2008

New Years Resolutions

1. get dick reduction surgery to prevent future back problems.
2. stop wasting my time writing for a blog that no one reads.
3. savor the little things in life, like sean's penis.
4. get my wings.
5. get back into breastfeeding.
6. think up more dead baby jokes
- what's worse than ten dead babies in a barrel?
one live baby in your girlfriend.
7. read one book an hour.
8. win a triathlon.
9. bukaki.
10. ?


1. Stopping nailing women who are married to Bob Dole.
2. Get back to the basics, then learn astrophysics.
3. Stop talking about it and finally kill Parker.
4. Stop smoking cigarettes and move onto crack.
5. Convince everyone that my opinions are truth.
6. Stop eating seafood, start eating land food.
7. Finish one thing I start.
8. Live.
9. Fuck my life up less than the previous decade.
10. Die.


Here Comes Bricks

songs to make you blow your load

are playing over frog and toad.

the road to Reno’s short and narrow,

and you can feel it in your marrow.

everybody wants a passenger seat,

a place where they can cook their meat.

some get lost while taking the test,

a cactus born within their chest.

even odds that black is white

and you need more than a string to fly a kite.

whiskers shed, the maker said.

complete and contrite,

two bongs can make a right,

the manager is out of sight.

her brother’s dead, one in the head.

trade winds knock over carriages,

and baby’s from true love marriages.

they don’t mind a little pain,

the thistles on a lion’s mane.

books are useless

and a newborn is toothless.

ongoing goings on unrecorded,

a pilot who slept while his aircraft boarded.

her uncle failed to mow the lawn,

he thought his bishop was a pawn.

Tuesday, January 1, 2008

2007- the first year in the belly of a whale

I’m sorry mostly, for the things that are easily pointed.

I saw more movies than ever and wrote more, I made a lot of promises but rarely kept the ones made to myself. I wrestled with the past in an oversized singlet.

I missed my friends and family. I had the brokest most amazing summer of my life. I formed real friendships and held onto the ones I valued.

I played some rad shows and feel the rock and roll venom running through me stronger than ever. I made the decision to run wailing into the future like a naked, sorrowful widow, one that may all in all doom me.

I realized I have no idea what to do with myself but am less concerned for my own well being than ever before.

Love is the only thing. I have more to give. Especially for crazy mother fuckers who punch me in the stomach. This year has to be remembered, it may be the year that everything started to fall into place.