Ryan S. PUG's Blurty
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Below are the 20 most recent journal entries recorded in Ryan S. PUG's Blurty:

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    Monday, February 14th, 2005
    6:23 pm
    The fans are always right.

    As of 7:45 am of last Sunday, I have been promoted to nearing almost half-grown up status.

    With nothing but the shirt on my back, the spirit of my soul, and the mandatory WORKING pen/pencil in my pocket, I set off in the blazing Durango to the Thousand Oaks Bay area with one lone destination--The Safety First Driving Academy of the Arts.

    A trifle hungry, I pull up to the building complex near Tommy's and Safety First. Fortunately, there was no need to top off the ol' tummy at Tommy's; my Safety First package includes finely catered breakfast and lunch. The bronze academy doors swing open with the sudden gust of church hymn and I enter, nearly tripping over the brochure rack.

    Here awaits my godly brunch. Six or seven pre-packaged, stale-resistant, warm bagels lay whining and partially steaming in a chipped basket. Posted for convenience-- "ONLY TAKE ONE (1)".

    GARY, the office lady: (Plugging in a chord, scowling) "Don't take two."

    Nervously, I edge past her into the main classroom. The class is functionally designed with five rows of table desks, seats aplenty. Giggling cardboard and foil mock roadside signs litter the ceiling, hanging from purple yarn and felt, chatting quietly about the prospects of recess.

    Mr. Leslie, my instructor, hands me my plain blue progress folder which has been lazily dressed in a Safety First company sticker, sighing the Safety First company motto, "We don't cut any corners."

    Crying briefly, I take a seat, not sitting directly next to any of the strangers or Latino gang members drawing pictures of me being killed on napkins.

    Three girls with characature figures sit down across from me, frowning and clearing their throats. In front of them sits The Coolest Kid Ever, sporting foot high surfer hair spikes and a sidekick named Kerns who is about ten and has an arm cast. Both carry Coca Cola's, and The Coolest Kid Ever wears a clever shirt with clever orange text on the back--"Delightfully tacky, yet unrefined." In his arms are two separate Pac Sun jackets, one bright blue and one bright green. In his efforts to impress the girls behind him, he jokes about gays and switches jackets every ten minutes or so. Most awing, however, is the build-up of white lint atop his hair, that always seems to be growing.

    Mr. Leslie quietly begins to expel dry-erase marker onto the whiteboard, "a few things too remember..." This subtle joke sets our stage.

    ACT I, SCENE i
    The scene opens with MR. LESLIE, the driving instructor, introducing himself to the students. His face is constantly shiny with sweat and beer, and his hair has a tendency to disobey. He has a pot-belly and a checkered shirt four sizes too large, along with a pair of signature hiking boots. On his old high school bowling team he was sarcastically nicknamed "The Human Horseshoe" because he was just damn bad luck.

    MR. LESLIE: (Shouting loudly into his fist) "Name's Mr. Leslie. Gonna be your driving instructor, for those of 'un who still dunno. Personally, been in seven major accidents, lost my license at 18. So don' worry, I think we're all still learnin', right." (After a dead pause) "Funny, yeah? But I'm serious."

    THE COOLEST KID EVER sniggers, and MR. LESLIE whinnies.

    MR. LESLIE: (Scratching his knees) "Now wait. Gotta take this class seriously, I'm serious. An' no horsing around. Hey, take that lint out of your hair."

    THE COOLEST KID EVER: (Rocking around awkwardly in his chair, playing it up for the ladies) Oh yeah, sorry. (He de-lints.)

    Enter montage of MR. LESLIE stopping class to yell at THE COOLEST KID EVER to keep taking the regenerating lint out of his hair over and over again, while KERNS quivers. End montage.

    STUDENT: (Eating quietly) "What happens when the person making a left turn--"

    GARY, the office lady: (Kicking down the small door, holding a pistil, screeching) "I'LL KILL YOU LESLIE, YOU PIG! YOU PIIIG!!"

    Suddenly a GANG MEMBER brandishes a switch-blade and drives it through GARY'S back with a grunt. Choking violently, GARY slips dramatically to the floor in a ruddy bath of blood. The GANG member stands awkwardly with the knife in his shaking hand for a long while, eyeing the shocked faces around the room nervously, panting.

    MR. LESLIE: (Softly) "Fuck, man."

    Current Mood: Nobody Checks Blurty
    Current Music: First To Comment Gets A Prize
    Friday, December 31st, 2004
    5:37 pm
    Hi guys! I just made a new LJ! This is my first entry!! Lol, well, this is dumb!

    Actually, in reality, this is my first entry in about two and a half months. Why have I held off so long? Had I been Joel, this entry would be entirely the explanation of this very question. But, all be told, I'm not. So, please ignore my absence.

    Here is a brief synopsis of everyday between early November and early December.

    Prior to the smash bang boot-up of Winter Break, I had been locked in the bowels of Coach Arthur Billingsly's Asylum of Academics, P.E. It was CPR training month. So, my considerably fat P.E. teacher would lazily somersault out of the storage room doors, finishing up a bag of Dijon bakery pretzels and humming "A rootsie tootsie" Dixie jazz under his breath, with bungee chords straddled taught between himself and a giant wheelbarrow of CPR dummies.

    Now, these dummies are no ordinary wax and milk-carton ol' dummies. They each wear delicate shadow blue T-shirts, which over time, have in fact become their skin. They lack arms, a pelvis (ewww!), or anything below that, but come intact with an artistically crafted head. This manikin premature baby head has an opening as the mouth, where at least two-hundred sweaty teens have blown desperate raspberries into, half trying to save the plastic dwarf, half laughing at Chad's joke about butt tits.

    A friendly swab of saliva hangs on the plaster lip, beckoning another blow from another boy or girl, scared by the new effects of puberty, hair, and embarrassing voice cracks!

    Coach Billingsly, frowning in a blundering enraged billow, a golf ball sized pimple beginning to throb red and purple at his sweaty brow, dabs his forehead with a handkerchief, still with cornbread morsels clinging to their home on it from suppers prior. He begins to shout about rescue-breathing and hickory steak, his nose running in boiling puss and bacon grease.

    Scrawny Boy with Buzz Cut: (Eating a small nectarine as his shorts are slowly slipping off his body) "S-say, mister coach? How do you do the chest compressions? You're really good at 'em, coach. Boy, golly, I need to use the restroom. May I please be excused coach? I'll do the ol' hustle back!"

    Delivering a powerful blow of the knuckles to the short, skinny kid with the buzz cut and non-dress, Coach B sends his whizzing through the air. The walrus of a man chuckles at the boy's bloody torso on the opposite wall, munching on some jalapeno wedges and instructing the Heimlich.

    I meanwhile sit and nervously take notes, eyeing the groaning boy on the wall who is pleading with me for a drink of water.

    With a rootsie and a tootsie the bell shrieks and me, Kyle, Tony, Rod, and Stinky pile into the dressing room, Rod spraying Tony playfully with axe and straight love while Kyle embarrassingly sneaks a puff of his inhaler while the guys are turned away.

    Now it is time for Madame Wittington's French class.

    Character billing:
    Madame Herself - Class teacher, singer, and enchantress. She dressed up as a bumble bee for Halloween last year, and the year before that, a giant pumpkin. She loves pretzels. Madame, like her birds, can often been seen pleasantly chirping about the classroom, hacking up birdie chow during lessons.
    Marvin Ng - The sharp Asian twang of intellect and goofy humor infests the sporting fellow. He often scores complete 100's on tests and makes splinteringly hilarious jokes involving squishy man and duckie-shorts.
    Casey Frowntz - Died three years ago. Her lifeless, Euro-style dress corpse rots in R-9 for all eternity, as there is a spell on her emotionless acne face. Her plaid skirts have razor blades attached at the thread extremities, and it is rumored that her haunted body sometimes murmurs "I fucked depression."
    Gus Guns - A hunchbacked cool cat football player. He etched a floppy penis in the oakwood paneling of his desk with mechanical pencil once, but quickly turned it into a gross smiley face as soon as Madame floated over. However, she wiggled her thigh a bit, packed up her floating umbrella, and hopped from desk to desk back to her own.
    Zoe Altrerbach - Fun, frizzy, and fresh. There is an endless chocolate chip cookie that is always being finished chewing in her mouth. She can make milk bubbles through her braces and has memorized every province in Canada. She prefers to write with her beloved talking Barbie pen, that reminds her in a giggly voice when she has made a spelling error. Her pre-adolescent paper chest is also very chatty, and loves to be poked.

    By December, I had started jumping out of the back classroom window, most often successfully.

    There. You are officially caught up on the last month or two of my life. There have been no milestone shenanigans to write about, so there is the bulk pill, minus some.

    Now I will swim over to Michelle Wicklas' house for a New Year's Eve crash party. So expect another update soon with some medium-res pics of Emily Boyle sticking her thumb in the New Year's cake.

    Current Mood: sore
    Current Music: Jingle Bells!
    Monday, August 30th, 2004
    6:55 pm
    Jones Soda, without the Beverage

    If you have any great/hilarious pictures preferably involving me and YOU (normal photo size), and you would like to see them framed and showcased in my newly remodeled room, sumbit a picture to me, via comment. The winner(s) can give me or email me the picture, and it will be on podium display for friends, family, and Sabrina, for all eternity.

    Anywhere up to 12 winners will be declared. Contest ends in one month, September 30.


    Busy day, busy day. Look soon for a side-splitting update on my trip to Disneyland with Tyler and Dan Kuciel. I hate me.

    Current Mood: calm
    Current Music: Harmonized Parenting
    Friday, August 27th, 2004
    9:09 pm
    Jump up@aol.com!!!!!
    Thursday, August 26th, 2004
    5:22 pm
    OPHS Registration, a Celebration
    Today, the twenty-sixth day of August, in the fourth year of the twenty-first century, I canoed south to the marshy swampland of my native peoples, back to the vineyards of hope, fountains of prosperity, bungalows of stale urine marks.

    Lead only by polar compass and misty starlight, I navigated my way into the front gate, immediately greeted by the old billboard, showing OPHS runners: "Keeping our students on the right track".

    Next I made my way into the orchard, where the old clocktower (the Pavilion) erected from the Jesus-kissed soil.

    -- A sloppily cut yellow slip of construction paper

    Annual High School registration, you may commence.

    I, along with a small group of students and mommies alike awaited patiently the grand opening of the doors.

    A MOTHER: (Leaning over to me, cynically) "Now why do they make us wait like this?"
    RYAN: (Forcing a small chuckle) "Heh, I guess they're just plain meanies."
    A MOTHER: (Frowning slightly) "Well, they're just doing their jobs."

    Ten minutes later, after some mildly awkward silent tension between me and the mother (whose name was surely Tammy) the doors were unlocked.

    As swarms of my acne-sprinkled, mullet-bearing, hacky-sack vending colleagues bee-lined to booths, luckily the S-Z booth was bare, and I had first crack.

    Table 1 went so quickly and so smoothly, that it was one of those registration miracles that you only dream about, fantasize about, plateau to.

    Table 2, I got the Veteran/Trainee team.

    Our stage is set with STACIE, a young lady of about nineteen and a half, who is our trainee. She wears two anklets on each leg, says the word "Super!" a lot through a thick lisp, and is most likely merely a nine year-old's milky pen drawing.

    MARGE, a loud, booming, boisterous woman of her 60's, is our veteran. She is known to sometimes hork loogys down her own shirt.

    RYAN: (With a complete collection of tidy paperwork in hand) "Hello."
    MARGE: (Laughs heartily) "Hiya! Oh, ho, my, my." (Motioning to STACIE.)
    STACIE: (Fumbling around) "Oh, right. Uh, papers?"
    RYAN: "...Which ones?"
    MARGE: "Give us all of them."
    RYAN: (Empties the contents of his folder.)
    STACIE: "Oooh, there's so many!"
    MARGE: (Grumpily, slowly) "This one page is the one you want. Now let me explain to you what each of the other ten of this kid's forms are for."
    (Five whole minutes elapse.)
    STACIE: "Hehe! Easter is when Jesus died!"

    Despite Stacie's following attempts to engage in a debate over the best volume of the Land Before Time epic series, I interrupted "Sorry, I really have to go."

    A MOTHER: (Frowning more) "She's just doing her job!!"

    Current Mood: loved
    Current Music: The hilarious melodies of the freshman at the CSz booth
    Friday, August 6th, 2004
    12:56 am
    Ready for a Hilarious Entry?
    Alright, this entry won't be hilarious. I'm just a cruel kid at his computer with his heart set on trickery.

    I just wanted to ask if anyone had any old board games that I could take off of their hands. I'm plastering game boards (intact with pieces) onto my ceiling, hopefully covering it all. It's a lil' cool project of mine now,l I guess. So far my collection's highlight is "Green Eggs and Ham", the board game, complete with all of the inherent with a fox in a box game action.

    So comment if you do have anything for me, it would be appreciated. When I'm up to it I will figure out some laym event in my life to cover for your reading pleasure. Also you can look forward to a k-razy Allan Hunt run in at the Agoura Radio Shack, including a knee-slappin' joke he relayed to me.

    On the radar...OCTOBER 17: David Sauners B-day

    Current Mood: happy
    Current Music: Another One Bites the Dust
    Saturday, July 24th, 2004
    2:23 pm
    A Revelation in Entry Styles
    These entries are now too often written but.......


    Or I quit this god damn Blurty that I put so much time into.

    Current Mood: aggravated
    Current Music: Click the little 'comment' link, asshole.
    Thursday, July 22nd, 2004
    10:30 pm
    Q as a D
    I am aware that I have not updated, or rather truly updated, in over two weeks. But nothing really entry-worthy has happened, because I've been having fun. Laymorations have been kept to a minimum.

    I have been rehearsing for my show, "Crazy for You"-hoo, and spending some wonderful time with the brilliant, the talented, the gorgeous...Casey Cohen.

    But today, at a juncture within the usual day's rehearsal, 10:40am to be exact, a Nissan Accura pulled up in front of the theater. Today I would go to a Dodger game with my dad. I was excited, yes, but...we were to go with Ron. That's right, Ron--a lawyer friend of my father's whom I had seen once before in my life.

    He had been described by my mother as "a card". This man is not only a retched card, this card happens to be the god damn instructional card that you receive when you buy a deck that you usually throw away, but splattered with erroneous printing ink, littered with bite-marks from a deranged toddler, with the Las Vegas Tropicana logo embossed on the back.

    The only memories I had of him prior was when I was a ripe eleven, and the three of us saw a Dodger game. All I remember is that he spilled tablespoons of deli mustard on my white tennis shoes, and I WAS PISSED.

    So this time, my dad and I arrive at the Stadium, me in a beige baseball cap that has written across the front in red "BULL", with the entire contents of an SPF 45 sunscreen bottled drenched all over my arms and face, both against my will.

    MOM: (Earlier that morning, hands on cheeks) "Ryan, you are simply going to toast!"

    After getting some food, we sit down at our designated seats and discover that Ron has not arrived yet.

    Sometime during the second inning, Ron friggin' tap dances down the cement stair slabs, sporting his LA cap.

    He takes an ol' load off next to me (I'm in the middle now, with my dad and Ron on either side) and begins yelling loudly to my dad over me, in a whiny, nerdy New York accent (like the Dad from 'Honey I Shrunk the Kids') while leaning on my knee--"Okay, Richard, so get this! I was tied up at the uhhh-uhh whatcha-ma-call-it with the uhhhhh, and so she says, 'I'm not paying for this load of bullshit!' and so finally I got here! You see, that's how it is Ryan, in your Daddy's work. Let's get us some damn beer!!"

    An inning later, as I'm trying to watch the game, Ron begins to awkwardly flop around in his chair, shouting angrily into his cell phone, nerdily still. Suddenly, during a more calm moment in the game, at the top of his lungs: "SHE'S A FUCKING IDIOT! FUCKING...ID-IDIOT!! Fucking Lizzibeth!"

    The entire row ahead of us, shocked, wheeled around. To remedy the situation, Ron half buried his face in his shirt sleeve and continued to talk in trembling tone.

    The three teenage girls in front of us whisper and decide amongst each other that Ron is queer as a deer.

    Meanwhile, their epitome of white trash father decides to strip off his tee-shirt, revealing years and years of sun damage on his skin, with huge color splotches and moles. Pleased, he begins to grunt and jumps up on his chair and stands up, hoping to appear on the "Smile Cam".

    And, apparently, if the Dodgers can keep the opposing team from rackin' up any pointeroo's at all, everyone in the stadium gets a little prize with the proof of their ticket stub.

    So meanwhile the inning resumes and the Rockies score a homerun, finally getting some points on the board for the first time. Ron then grabs my shoulder violently, getting relish all over it, and says through a blusteringly full mouth of hot dog, "Vthere goes my fucking fwee Kwispy Kwemes!!"

    The Dodgers wound up beating the Rockies 4-2, and that was that.

    And, for the record, I simply toasted.




    And, additionally, if you cannot make it at 7:00pm, you can come to the high school at 9:25am for the dress rehearsal.

    And, in further addition, my actual birthday is on July 25th in THREE DAYS.

    And, in an additive state, if you happen to be in Hawaii right now, and plan on missing both of these paramount dates, then frankly, I hate you. T.E.H. + C.W.H. rulezz


    Current Mood: anxious
    Current Music: COME SEE MY SHOW
    Saturday, July 17th, 2004
    2:10 pm
    I'm K-razy for You
    See my show!

    FoniksGame: come see my show
    ZolaOnAOL: Where is see his or her show ?
    FoniksGame: at the thousand oaks high school theater
    ZolaOnAOL: The thousand oaks high school theater is where it's at.
    FoniksGame: yes, beautiful
    ZolaOnAOL: Tell me more.
    FoniksGame: it starts at 7:00 pm and tickets are free!
    ZolaOnAOL: something starts at 7 00 pm and tickets are free?
    FoniksGame: yes, "crazy for you", the musical
    ZolaOnAOL: I understand.
    FoniksGame: good, so you can come?
    ZolaOnAOL: Thanks for the compliment. Interesting deduction. No I don't think I can do it.
    FoniksGame: i want to hurt you so, so, badly.
    ZolaOnAOL: Just say no.

    "Crazy for You"
    Thousand Oaks High
    7:00 pm
    Tickets are FREE
    I have the lead!!

    Current Mood: excited
    Current Music: "But not for Me"
    Monday, July 5th, 2004
    4:41 pm
    Au Cabaret
    Finally, after tense pressures from ol' Bubbly Marteney, I made my pilgrimage down to see Cabaret, a.k.a Cabrera, a.k.a. Alan Hunt takin' a snooze in his Lay-Z-Boy recliner. But of course, this was not Oak Park's Cabaret, but rather...CAMARILLO AIRPORT'S.

    So, Tyler and I are putting down the freeway in Joel's rosy, crimson, chick-mobile, that gurgles up anti-freeze when it tries to push forty. We pull off the freeway into Camarillo, and 'lo, it is suddenly pre-industrial age. No visible technological spark is even visible to the imagination.

    Patches and patches of fields ranging from Tractor TM Farms to Co-zay José's Strawberry Patch were strewn about the ghost town.

    We park Joel's toy wagon/car, and a faint hiss of stale air pours in from the outside as we open the doors. Ahead of us is the one, the only, CAMARILLO AIRPORT THEATRE.

    Basically, the entire theatrical establishment is a single bungalow. Crusted doors with hinges made of aged papyrus and knobs constructed from animal and/or human limbs line the theater warmly, with the dripping dew of welcome. Vomited in chipped paint on the side of the theater is a preview of shows to come: ANNIE <3.

    Northeast from this eight wonder of the world is the dressingroom. It is perhaps best described as an airplane bathroom, but make it smaller, have it be made of paper mache, add three absolutely flaming, half-clothed cabaret boiz in there, and slap a random fence of chickenwire to the side of it, and you have the CAMARILLO AIRPORT THEATRE dressingroom. (We discovered later that the chickenwire cloaked the changing Thespians from visibility during intermission.)

    Take a gander about half a mile up the highway, and you'll find five two-by-four chunks of timber, representing the autograph booth. HISTORICAL DIDJA-KNOW: In the 1800's, however, this was known as Pike's Ditch and used as a make-shift spittoon/parlor. It was then refurbished by heathen nomads circa 1920, and soon took on its present day role.

    Back in present time, at the theater, the smell of antacid and gingersnaps was in the Camarillian air. Swarms and swarms of lost and confused elderly citizens were fumbled about for the entrance and ticket counter. In fact, no playgoer present was under sixty.

    One ancient woman, who I have taken the liberty of naming Encino, began a monologue:

    ENCINO: (In a high, shrill voice, dazed) "Oh..is this...this is the ticket booth. My, word....my..my....Who is Cabaret?"

    After the three of us picked up programs to the show, Tyler and I began jokingly fighting over one of the programs, tugging it between us. Nancy Koogle (who I also took the liberty to name), an old woman behind is in large sunglasses shrieked at us:

    NANCY KOOGLE: (Trembling violently) "NO GRABBING!!"

    Finally we are paying for our tickets, when we realize that the admission is a special 2 for 1 deal. There are three of us. Who winds up partnerless? You get three guesses. But I better be the first you say.

    So Joel and Tyler tell me to select a "buddy" so to speak, another member of an uneven party who was in my position. My options--

    A) Hubert Hawkins - A jagged, skeleton-thin senior, with a long, white beard and a nose that points due left. Sporting a hawaiian t-shirt and brown-grey sandals, this was a man of fashion.
    B) Anita Wusherton - An angry, hunched, old woman, nearing about 110, who is a mere four feet tall. She has a black pocketbook and three pacemakers. Advantages include impeccable sense of humor and a good checker player.
    C) ALTERNATIVE - Haggle my way into just paying half-price without having to go 2 for 1.

    A shocker, maybe, but I chose 'C'.

    So we are finally in and seated. The Kit Kat girls roam the aisles, bending over in front of people, loosening their bras, and tickling elderly prostates galore. Tyler and I wound up with poon stains on our foreheads. Keep in mind this was done by the Agoura CSz girls. Who we know. Personally.

    Two approach Ty, Jo', and I, and ask for some cash for their services. I, assuming that they are kidding around, take out my wallet and laugh. With the speed of a Mongolian Cheetah and the agility of the African Sparrow, SHE SNATCHES TEN DOLLARS OUT OF MY WALLET, AND RUNS OF BACKSTAGE. Just then, the emcee comes out, and the show starts. Oh, my, fuck.

    (Ross can't sing, and is really hairy...the Kit Kat girls are phenomenal...the Kit Kat boys are parfait gay, but good...Schnider and Schultz are awesome and terrible all at once...the fabled Rougie boy is a great singer...and Bowles is good.)

    At intermission, I get my freaking ten bucks back, and meet the Rougie-Dougie. Basically, he is seven years old, and talks about vaginas. And then laughs.

    Show resumes, it ends, we leave. End. This entry was too long. I better get at least seven comments from separate readers. Anonymous ones don't count.

    God damn it, I should have chosen 'B'.

    Current Mood: mellow
    Current Music: Business Trip melodies...
    Sunday, June 27th, 2004
    3:23 pm
    This Blurty is DEAD. No one comments, and after all the work I put in, why keep it up?

    Damn readers. Please, if you still read this journal at all, just comment here, so I know there are at least a few of you left. The only reason otrherwise to keep this thing is because of its old archives of entries, before the joint Blurty/LJ era.


    Current Mood: angry
    Current Music: Funeral March
    3:18 pm
    Not a very fun entry, but fill out the survey and see the show
    ^ Laymest title eva'.

    To catch y'all up on the past couple of day'z events, I suppose a lil' sumpin-sumpin' like this is in order (I'm so ebony):

    If you pictured me in your mind standing in a white room what would I look like?
    (Please only use things that I own or have actually worn)

    What am I saying?:
    What are my physical movements?:

    Also, please, PLEASE

    Come see "Crazy for You", the new Gershwin musical, on July 23 at the Thousand Oaks High Theater.

    A real update is likely to be posted shorty, predictably chronicling the "Conejo Teen Video Festival", my parents, and a hilarious quote from Matt G.

    Current Mood: sleepy
    Current Music: Crazy for You -- "Cant be Bothered Now"
    3:18 pm
    Love Eluded
    Due to the constant nag to update from T.E.H. and C.W.H. (That's Tyler Everett Holtman and Chase Winston Holtman) ...I am updating.

    Well, last Thursday, upon that glorious summer's morn, the sweet sauce of opportunity drizzled down from the heavens. This day marked a milestone after eight months of tedious labor. The Conejo Teen Video Festival reignth.

    NOTE: If you get bored, just skip to THE CEREMONY section.


    After Tyler and I arrived at the Promenade to await our 'wheelz', so to speak, who else do we see but none other than the late Mike Sera, who relates "Working with Vanessa is nice...she's got some great ideas, but sometimes I just feel that they aren't executed in the best way possible, if you know what I mean."

    Just then our ride arrives, our eight-seater limousine (that's almost as much as a mini-van!).

    It protrudes from a nearby thicket of syrupy, bronze mist (in layman's terms, a husky man spilling his Cookie Doughn't You Want Some: Cold Stone Creation onto the pavement) and parks in front of us with open doors.

    So the eight of us (festival contestants) cram into the tiny limo. The mood is set when we are asked whether we would like a Diet or Original Shasta Cola. After everyone's fancy plastic wine glasses are filled to the brim, a toast is made, "To us." It was like dimming the lights in the laundry room, or like spritzing a single plume of Febreze into Richie's Olde Toilet Chamber.

    Everyone is then asked to introduce themselves, telling their name and what project they worked on. Seeing as how everyone is entirely silent and insufferably awkward, I decide to spice things up. When it is my turn I say "Hi, my name is Ryan Schwartz, and I directed Garbage Rock." (There was no 'Garbage Rock' film.) Tyler began to laugh, but everyone else in the car just stared, slightly contorting their faces.

    Following this are twenty full minutes of complete and thorough silence and uneasiness.

    And there we are, at the Civic Arts Plaza. The group clumsily files out of the car. Oh, baby, the tension builds.


    A balding, chubby, elderly man with peanut brittle spectacles and a frowning body takes the podium. In some states he is known as "Bowler-Dude" or "The Shredder", but his friends merely call him J.J.

    The following is the melding of his actual dialog, and his apparent inner-dialog:

    "I am talented. I am a real-life production editor. I hate kids. I make actual movies, whereas they do not. This year, the technical achievement award will not be given to anyone with special effects, because this year many of the effects are utter shit that we have all seen countless times before. My wife slept with another man a good few years ago, and I slit her throat. I present to you the 2004 Conejo Teen Video Festival. Fuck John Kerry."

    Then, our old, colorful Josh/Jess-like robot co-hosts returned from their week's battery recharge since they graced us all with their crazy emcee antics at the screening. ...Flashback.....

    MALE HOST: (Holding the award statue) "And one of these films will take this away next week at the awards."
    FEMALE HOST: "Biff, can I just hold it?!"
    MALE HOST: (Aside, to the audience) "Like I'm going to give it to you!"
    FEMALE HOST: (Grabs it from his hands) "Haha!" (Runs half way across the stage) "It's mine!"
    AUDIENCE: (No reaction.)
    MALE HOST: (Folding his arms and smiling slightly) "Uh-oh!"
    FEMALE HOST: "Fine, I'll give it back." (Gives it back) "But I want one with purple and sequins and animal crackers!"
    AUDIENCE: (Silence.)
    MALE HOST: (Fumbling for his line) "Um..uhhhh.......Poop."
    FEMALE HOST: (Ginning widely) "Please give it up for Future Dreams!"
    AUDIENCE: (Scattered applause.)

    ....Back to the present. Well anyway, they come on the stage with some more sizzling repartee. From there they introduce some other man to hand out the first award.

    The man asks for "The envelope, please"...and a vicious, middle-aged woman with a matted sparkle blouse and starched hair violently waddles onto the stage, like an angry, malfunctioning Furby doll. Suddenly, she begins to gag, and out of her gut spews forth a large envelope. She hands it to the man, and then tumbles offstage like Charlie Chaplin with Parkinson's.

    This putrid, but carefully crafted ballet continues throughout the night, as Unseen sweeps and the fabled Anniversary Meltdown (A Richard and Sue-pick) receives two honorable awards, including best screenplay. If a parakeet taking a splooge on a woman's ugly, leathery face doesn't constitute utter brilliance and achievement in the field of writing, I don't know what does. Anniverasy Meltdown = Unrivaled beauty.

    And congratulations to Tyler, as Unseen swept the awards, including "Best Overall"!

    What of Love Elusive you may ask? Nominated for Best Screenplay and Best Actor, the film belly-flopped into failure in the eyes of the festival. Carded received twice the nominations, perhaps for its powerful references to Cambodia and 'nam.

    Thus ended the night, bittersweet.

    Current Mood: okay
    Current Music: Crazy for You -- "I'm Bidin' my Time"
    Wednesday, June 16th, 2004
    3:00 pm
    O, the Gall of One Golfer
    The theme of my last two entries of mock-entries has retired, but may make a comeback in the not to distant future...

    Yesterday was a crusade of laymivity. But it was, in fact, a fun time.

    I decided to go mini golfing with the ol' gang of Breesha, Jo', Adamo, and Kerry at Golf 'n' Stuff.

    So we arrive (Adam screeching and whining). We are greeted with masses of giggling, wheezing, glasses-taped-in-the-middle schoolboys, a yippin' and a hollerin' while playing grungy air-hockey and a hearty round of DDR. I swear, you could smell the acne.

    So we wade through the sea sniveling creatures (one was seriously playing a Razor Scooter TM Simulator) past the arcade, and make our way to the outdoor golfin' pay booth.

    Now the five of us approach her (the booth lady), saying we want to play a game of golf. Potent Juicy Fruit gnashing between her teeth, she lays out four clubs and balls, and a four-player scorecard.

    RYAN: (Tapping on the glass window) "Ma'am...ma'am, there's uhhh, well there's five of us."

    In an unexpected turn of events, I wind up clubless, ball-less, and without a spot on the scorecard. After going over the facts a few times with Ms. Heavy Eyeshadow, she finally gives me my stuff and a personal scorecard.

    So we get goin'. It's Hole 2, Par 3, and Adam manages to pull 10 strokes. That's a sextuple bogey, for those rascals keeping score at home.

    Suddenly we spot a soda machine, $2.50 a bottle. Keep this following banter of wits in the back of your mind for now:

    KERRY: (Being beautiful) "Hmm...I want a soda."
    BRETT: (Wearing sunglasses and singing Last Five Years under his breath) "Trust me, don't buy that soda."
    KERRY: (Being gorgeous) "I'm buyin' that soda."

    And on a separate note,

    ADAM: "God damn animals! I hate minorities! (Something foreign)!"

    Joel and I are already gettin' pissed, and Adam knows it. In an effort to redeem himself, Adam spots a nearby plastic purple lightpost, all cute 'n' purty-like, and without hesitation begins to club it. With his putter.

    The huge racket immediately spurs the attention of two employees up on a hill (a dazed black man in a faded blue cap and a husky Latino sporting a large ladder) who wheel around sharply and point at us. Suddenly a helicopter* lands over on Hole 5 and a gigantic, Mexican Vin Diesel jet packs** out, and the menace's blood begins to boil.

    It is at this point we fast-walk our petrified lil' tushes to safety.

    In the comfort of Hole 11, Kerry opens her soda and takes a few relieved sips of carbonated love.

    ADAM: "I'm having a sip."
    KERRY: (Being a goddess) "Alright, save some for me."
    ADAM: (After a few gulps, begins to inexplicably laugh violently, and soda explodes out of his nostrils like friggin' Vesuvius. After the final spewed ashes settle, a massive, steady lava flow of beige mucus bubbles from yonder face.)
    BRETT: (Sighing, flexing his pecs) "Told ya' not to buy the soda." (Exeunt.)

    So culminates mini golf.***

    *There was no helicopter.
    **The jet pack was in actuality the gentlemen's overalls.
    ***Vote Kerry.

    Current Mood: rejuvenated
    Current Music: Ug, the Musical
    Monday, June 14th, 2004
    1:57 pm
    More summer entries from random kidz, fabricated again, of course. Enjoy.

    1) nobodylikem3: The Inquisitive Rob Mourtrie

    The Summer

    Fun and frolic in the park
    Jump and play in the water
    Play baseball with your closest friends
    High spirits is what people got a lot 'er

    Wrestling with inner emotions
    Until my heart glides on the oceans.

    Well anyhoo, that was jsut teh peom I wrote. I hope you enjoyed it. Im going to go race with Dave and bob.

    "C"sz you guys ltaer!

    2) clock4aheart: The Silly Sam Forrest

    so cosmo and I watched Reservoir dogs today...it was nice. ive decided that Radiohead is offically cooler than jeremy.

    Meet me on the Darkside...

    3) ontheroxmartini: The Ryan Rouge Kelly Marteney

    I'TS SUMMER!!!

    YAAAY! I seriosly can't believe it! Aww...But this summer might be totally yuck...It's the last time together with my seniors! Bah! I love you guys!

    Rehearsal yesterday from 2:30 til 10: 45. Okay so we were doing a run through and Ross was like "I want to see you with your clothes off" and Sara and I were really creeped out! (Sara, the bear doll...LOL!!)Ross is the Emcee.

    Oh! Omg! And I found THE cutest pictures of Clay-Clay!

    I'll share them later!

    Gah...I'm so sick right now. ::dances::

    4) capnawesome: The so-Krazie Josh Androwski



    --E--N--D-- of entries

    Thus concludes Part II.

    Current Mood: artistic
    Current Music: Punch Drunk Love still
    Friday, June 11th, 2004
    9:36 pm
    Just to remind any current readers, a much more elegant version of my journal is available at


    with added text variations and goodies of the like. Good day.

    Current Mood: tired
    Current Music: Punch Drunk Love nutty rhythms
    3:29 pm
    SuMmEr! WooOooooOOooo
    Alright, LAYM.

    Everyone is writing entries announcing, "Oh em gee, oh em gee, GUESS WHAT?!....It's summer!" Really? Jesus whiz, that's correct!

    So, in that kind of entry's spirit, I have fabricated a few entries that would be written by some kidz you might know:

    1) iggraider -- The fabled Brett Rayda:

    hey guys, wassup.
    not a lot, you?
    yeah, im fine, thakns for askin

    so now its time for fuckin summer. seriously, what the fuck chuck. wilkshake, i miss you already, you damn nazi. no, i really dont.

    but now i mean for realzies. this summer is going to be the longest, msot boring summer ever. and dont say "oh brett, come on itll be okay. whats the matter?" because you dont really care what the matter is. cept maybe carl. and even carl can be a real douche sometimes.


    no, carly baby what am i sayin...i heart you, i swear. alright, ive hadd it with this shite. im unna go listen to the postal service. cody smells.

    really bad.

    2) lame_stamp: The insufferable Joel Sinensky

    So once more I locate myself at my desk, gazing into the unholy depths of my computer screen monitor. Shallst I relish today's inhumanly hilarious endeavors, or share them with the world...?

    Well, today I was studying for Schultheis, when it dawned upon me that "Hey, Joel, school has come to a close."

    Now that the comedic anecdotal section of this entry is completed, now on to business.

    You know, I've realized something: This summer is going to be absolute crap. Perhaps this is because I am a relentless isolationist solitary enthusiast, annnnnnd it might not be.

    God damn it, this entry is utterly boring. Well, I will leave my avid readers with this final morsle of juicy bliss -- BigRichieW is largely enormous.

    Avoir un jour agréable.

    3) poofter: The Empress Michelle


    I wish you all a nice summer.

    --E--N--D-- of entries.

    Ah, you have to love the drama students.
    Tuesday, June 1st, 2004
    4:24 pm
    M-Maygic Mow-Mownt'n
    Topic Overview:
    I. Seenyur Assembly
    II. The Day After Tomorrow
    III. Mrs. Lory*

    *a must read


    I. Seenyur Assembly
    Oh lordee, lordee, lordee. All this congregation needed was a barmitzfah D.J. a guest appearance from D.A.R.E., and it could fairly be dubbed "Lamest Occurrence of the A.D.'s".

    Honestly, it was terrible. The bleachers rank of the usual gym socks and Pettit pies, and chuckling jock-kids were shoving one another into poles--O, sweet assembly, thou hath returnéd.

    Random, droning speakers began to address from the podium. Because numerous speakers decided to switch off half way through sentences, we felt obligated to perform frequent fits of applause for the new droner. Finally, however, they stopped trying to pretend like they were weeping and pouring their hearts out, and just played the damn video. Annnd cut a third of the gym lights, cue up the Friends theme song....AND ACTION.

    (Picture of kid hugging other kid. - Photo of kid walking.- Snapshot of three kids smiling.- Accidental blank slide.- Image of one kid sitting down while the other stands up. - Fade to black.)


    II. The Day After Tomorrow
    I saw The Day After Tomorrow with Ty-pie on Monday. It was tremendous. Awful, perhaps, but tremendous.

    Dialog between movie's antagonist and protagonist concerning the girl they both love and are fighting for. (Keep in mind this is at a random point halfway through the movie, inside a library.)

    ANTAGONIST: (Approaching protagonist dramatically, putting his arm slowly around his shoulder.) "Just tell her how you really feel."
    PROTAGONIST: (Smiles.) "Thanks. So is your brother alive?"
    ANTAGONIST: (Laughs, tapping cellphone.) "Still no reception!"

    But my favorite lines were said by an audience member, right before the movie was starting:

    PATTY: (The theater lights dim slightly. She begins to stumble and shout in a very frightened voice.) "Geor-George! George!! George, this is by far the darkest theater I have ever seen!!" (Ad lib continues for an additional three minutes until she is seated.)

    III. Mrs. Lory
    Ah, math class. Cathy Lory. The woman is either a sewage dwelling hobbit or an ancient Egyptian goddess, but nothing in between. She is brilliantly foul. Today she staggers in to the stuffy and humid bungalow, nearly colliding with a wall and several pieces of classroom furniture, smelling of cat urine and pioneer whiskey.

    Hacking and wheezing violently, she struggles to speak, her trembling, peeling lips beginning to saturate with saliva. She begins to motion with a knobby fist to her legs, where huge, cellulite, cottage-cheese logs are protruding from some skimpy yet plus-sized shorts that barely go down her legs a ruler's length.

    Soon it becomes apparent that the beefy ogre before us is trying to explain why she is absent of her usual attire of a fake plastic Sheriff's badge and Cheeto-stained chaps.

    "I-I's a...I's is a goin' ta ther M-Maygic Mow-Mownt'n!!"

    All of a sudden her eyes bulge, and she begins to pant heavily. Giggling like Robbie Starr being strangled, she gallops out the door, her tremendous thighs pulsating with their mass.

    A sub, who has been sitting in the class the whole time, suddenly claps her hands and says, in a final chord of concerto, "Let's learn!"

    La vaquera obesa pobre.

    Current Mood: mischievous
    Current Music: Hall of the Mountain King
    Sunday, May 23rd, 2004
    9:29 pm
    - Prom was so Awesome! -
    Let me begin this entry with an unexpected statement: "Time for an update."
    But seriously, read this entry in its entirety, it is worth it.
    So, Friday night was the talent show. And, surprisingly, I played a character heavily against type, like Mrs. Lory playing the pretty girl in hair with the umbrella (who Joel constantly scored on with hugz.) So intuitively, I was portrayed as an awkward, nervous loser with a broken foot. Even fucking Raven from Disney's hit television series "That's Sooo Raven" was shocked. And she can tell the future.

    But lo, my parents missed the entire fanfare of lamousity because--
    DAD: "...But.....the Laker game.." :-(

    __Then Afterwurdz__
    After the show, Josh, Michelle, Mussy, Emily, Laura, Azia, Kerry, and I flew down to Beeje's (BeeJay's [BJ's {Blowjobs}] ) ....(just use order of operations [PEMDAS {I'm laym.}] )

    But anyhow, our waiter was brilliant. It was Larry Haney after aging twenty years, getting hit over the head with a lobotomy machine, and then being renamed "Gregg L." He made noises like a chunky four year old angrily playing with his Tonka's. Keep in mind this was while he was serving us our food, and he was unaware of his own mannerisms.

    After we simply could not contain ourselves any longer, we burst out laughing while he was doing this. Inexplicably, this mockery of his very life somehow only went to encourage him.

    GREGG: (Swaying his arms awkwardly) "Hey you guys wants ta hear a songs?"
    US: (Suppressing laughter) "Sure..."
    GREGG: (Beaming) "Alsright! You want the Led Zep rap or the uhhh.. LSD rap?"
    US: "We'll definitely take the LSD one."
    GREGG: (Begins to spit and blow into his fist, wheezing heavily--one might be able to assume that he was attempting to beep box. Then he begins to flail his bony arms wildly in an almost rapper-like fashion.) "You want the food, I'll buy you some acid. You want it now, I buy you some acid. You want some pizza, I'ma buy you some acid. You want the pizza, you do, I buy you some acid. Acid, acid. ....acid..ac.....a...acid..."

    This is the anti-climactic, sprinklers-weakly-sputtering-onto-the-lawn sha-bang sha-bam finale to a minute's worth of pure poetic outpour of inhuman bliss.

    As the fabled Allan Hunt would phrase it, "It is at this juncture" that I proceed to slip Greggory L-Dawg (who is now quivering meekly, but smiling) a crisp, green wafer of legal tender. He snatches it, giggling. Doesn't-get-better.

    I went to go view "Supersize Me" at the lil' theatre down in Westlake with Ty-baby. - - - - - - More dashes!! So we walk in, immediately greeted with a tiny concession stand, with a timid worker playing solitaire behind it.

    WORKER: (Face perks up at the sight of costumers) "Oh, heya fellas! You guys waiting for 'Supersize Me'? I'll go clean up the theater!"
    US: "Alright."
    (Forty-five seconds elapse.)
    WORKER: (Wiping his brow.) "She's ready."

    The movie was fri-higgin awesome and is a must-see. (<

    Current Mood: hungry
    Current Music: "FAT" - Supersize Me
    Thursday, May 13th, 2004
    7:02 pm

    SERIOUSLY! Damn it! This Blurty used to be a holy shrine of prime. Now, it is a pathetic, wasted condensation of Internet pixelites. DOUBLEYOU TEE EFF


    Current Mood: COMMENT
    Current Music: COMMENT NOW
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