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Monday, March 24th, 2003
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11:29 am
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Seems to me enough time has passed, you'll probably all have a sense of humor about it now. I mean, what's life really about if you don't spend a little time looking back and learning to laugh about your occasional faux pas and blunders, and from that laughter ... grow? Anyway, all I'm trying to say is: Sorry about that fucking Space Shuttle thing.
Those brave astronauts. BOOM!
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| Friday, January 4th, 2002
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3:43 pm
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First off, how was your so-called "New Year's?" Haha, you fucking suckers. I hate to tell you this, but even if time weren't a total illusion (it is) AND even if what you perceive as the passage of time weren't merely an illusion (it is) and even if that illusion in fact had manifested itself as a co-existing constant rather than a linear construct (and it damn sure should have), I'd still have to be the one to inform you that I, long ago, ROCKED the MOTHERFUCKING ASS off of TIME with a SUPER-LIGHTSPEED BOOT to its KICKPLATE that knocked its OWN TEETH BACK THROUGH ITSELF and PIERCED THE BRAINCASES OF THE DINOSAURS before reaching CRITICAL MASS and DETONATING ON THE SUB-ATOMIC LEVEL with SUCH FORCE that the UNIVERSE HAD NO CHOICE but to COLLAPSE and START ALL OVER AGAIN FROM SCRATCH!
Seriously, Time pissed me off, so I punked it out.
Anyway, nonetheless I do like to make my appearances at a few New Year's parties every now and again. Since I benefit from simultaneously exisiting at every point in the universe and likewise am untethered by the constraints of linear chonology, that means I can pack in fifteen or sixteen parties in a night, across fifteen centuries, and still wake up without a hangover. Unless I've been headbutting comets or dinosaurs or something.
Hef's 1978 NYE shindig at the Mansion was a blast. I tell you, if you find yourself invited to the Playboy Mansion for a high profile soiree, be sure to pick the year with the most cocaine and vapidity. Plus, Tommy Smothers kept trying to sneak in through the kitchen, so I turned him into a cloud of flesh-sand. I was REALLY fucked up, let me tell you.
I checked out a few Y2K bashes, mostly in bunkers and cult compounds. You know why these alarmist Survival guys and cult freaks haven't been a real problem over the last two years? Because Space Punch showed up at their party, and HE brought the PUNCH! The SPACE PUNCH! Yeah!
Those Street Fighter cats really know how to throw a good one. Even though that Zangief clown kept asking me "Where are your scars, my friend? Every good fighter haff scars," and then he'd start flexing. FOUR TIMES I came THIS CLOSE to replacing his skin with marrow, his bones with muscles, putting organs in his hair follicles, then his hair follicles where the marrow used to be, then the bones for skin, and then the skin ... as something. I don't know, I was partying HARD, people. Anyway, Dhalsim had it in his capable, elastic hands. That guy's a MAD pimp, kept sending me some fly honey to take my mind of Zangief being a total ass. Still, I stole the guy's casserole dish at the end of the night. SCREW HIM!
My artist friend in Quebec says that it's traditional to make resolutions on New Year's, to better your life. This was him and me at his party in 1991, in his loft where he SAID he was going to have a great party going, but it was more like fifteen or sixteen guys and maybe three of their girlfriends, and everyone just wanted to smoke pot and talk about how the people who give out grants are fascists. Pssh. Hippies. I said "So, you thinking about maybe getting laid this year, chump?" And then I laughed and he got pretty steamed, especially when I specificied "By a CHICK this time?" Hahahaha.
But it's really kind of a good idea, the resolutions that is.. So I made a list of resolutions, although I honestly don't know who's going to try to hold me to it. I mean, seriously, if I don't want to, I ain't gonna. Or POW! Haha!
1. Finish taking care of the dinosaurs. I didn't think there would be so many, but I tell you, they keep popping up here and there. Like, every time you see a new one unveiled on the Discovery Channel, I'm all "Oh shit, not another one!" Here's a fun fact: When they find a dinosaur fossil, that guy probably died of old age. If I killed 'em, they left nothing but ash and the sound of bones splinters echoing for about two hundred miles.
2. Finish my giant keyboard off of Saturn. After that, I'd really like a giant PS2, because I keep smashing the controller when going for Psymon's ubertrick in SSX. Pisses me off.
3. Find some new ways to describe rocking the motherfucking ass off of everything so far out of the neighborhood that the change of address cards would have to be dropped in a wormhole to get to it.
4. Lose 10 lbs.
And on that note, I'd like to say "Happy New Year" to all of you, and also "You thinking about maybe getting LAID this year, chump?" Hahaha! BOOM!
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| Thursday, November 1st, 2001
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2:26 pm
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OK YUO WONT BELEIVE THIS AWSUM SHIT!! IM NOT DONIG NOTHING IM HANGING OUT N CHILLEN AND SOEM D00D STARTS TALKING SH!T SO IM BENIG ALL LIEK STFU AND THEN THA OTHER WIERD THING IS ALL U STFU N00B AND IM ALL ILL R0XX0R UR C0XX0R C0Z IM SUP3RL33T THEN ITS ALL NO WAY AND THEN MY FREIND GREDO SAYS UR MOM IS A FAG 2 A$$H0L3 AND THA THING THING IS ALL FRAEKING OUT SO IM LIEK F THIS D00D AND IM LAYING THA SMAKCDOWN ON HIS C@NDY@$$ **~~**COZ STOEN COLD SAYS SO~~~***AND LIEK HIS KEYBORED GOT ON FIRE N IT WAS ALL BDOOM D00D LIEK THA STORE GONIG UP IN DUSK 2 DAWN AND IT WAS BAD@$$ THEN IM LIEK D00D ITS 420 LOL SO IM LIEK FUXX0R THISAND I LITE UP A FATTY AND FUCKEN CHILL OUT!!!PEACE OUT
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| Wednesday, October 31st, 2001
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9:57 am
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Last night, I was at a party hosted by the Inconceivable Enormity Of Eternity, who's a fucking wild man and don't let anyone tell you otherwise. It was at his beachhouse in Jersey. Anyway, I'm about sixteen or seventeen Cocoa Cosmopolitans into the evening when Ultraviolet radiation starts going off at the wavelength. Someone said he called me "The Space Punch of Shit."
So I held his face in the crapper and kicked the shit out of his kidneys.
Sure it lacked finesse, but time was of the essence.
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| Wednesday, September 19th, 2001
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12:02 pm
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| Monday, August 6th, 2001
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12:56 pm
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KABOOM! Fucking ha, okay, settle, that was just to wake you up a little. My apologies if it fucking liquified the fillings in your teeth and sent scalding teardrops of white hot metal screaming at supersonic speeds through the back of your throat and into's hell's gaping nostrils ... SORRY!
Listen, remember when I took you to task for saying there were only nine planets in your solar system when there were actually ten ... you know, the robot duplicate of Earth oribtting the other side of the sun, filled with vicious, flesh-eating doppelgangers who were building a space fleet to come over to YOUR Earth and make zombie vampires of you all? Okay, scratch that.
Plus, the gigantic flaming Q I sent hurtling at death speeds towards your piddling planet and it was going to destroy life everywhere for trillions of miles? Okay, scratch that too.
But just to clear things up, the whole reason I haven't posted anything recently is because I honestly thought your Earth was destroyed a few weeks back. It was only when I tried to access my Hotmail account on Evil Robot Flesh Eating Earth that I realized the screwup.
Anyway, I'm gonna be busy for a little while, screwing with all the vampire robot refugees floating in space. They don't die in a vaccuum, you know that? But if you flick them juuuuust right, you can knock them around like billiards into the sun.
No thanks are necesary.
Nonetheless, I'd offer up a few, if you know what's good for you. BAM!
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| Thursday, June 14th, 2001
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1:41 pm
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Did you all fucking die in a screaming mass of pure terror yet? I haven't been checking.
More later. I've got a lot of things to crush flatter than JFK Jr's pulserate before the end of the week. June's always my crunchtime. SPACE CRUNCH time that is! Ha, oh my.
Right, back to work.
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| Wednesday, May 16th, 2001
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3:25 pm
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Anyway, you may have noticed I haven't posted in awhile ... at least since I sent a steel-reinforced fiberglass "Q" key rocketing at apocalyptic speeds towards your solar system's sun, presumably signalling the DOOM FOR ALL LIFE ON THESE TEN PLANETS.
Oh yeah, that reminds me - first off, it's not nine planets, you assholes, it's ten. Just because it exists on the other side of the sun in synchronous orbit and is a perfect duplicate of earth populated with murderous robots, don't think it doesn't count. And if you don't think carnivorous Europan moon rocks are another form of life, you're going to be in for a hell of a rude awakening come the day you step on the surfaces of Jupiter's moons. Of course, if that day doesn't happen in the next five or six weeks, it's never gonna.
I want to reiterate that this was an ACCIDENT, you know? I didn't destroy everything you know on PURPOSE. In fact, if anyone is to blame, it's you stupid humans for even needing a sun in the first place. That thing is HUGE, did you really expect it to last for trillions of years and NOT get completely obliterated by rocketing space debris? It's damn careless of you, that's my opinion on the matter.
I've already had to endure a bellyful from my artist friend from Vancouver. After the whole "Q" key fiasco, we stopped by Spago's for some takeout (they do that for me - or else, you know, MOTHERFUCKING KABOOM BLAMMO) and then we went back to his ugly-ass loft studio and drank some wine and debated about how hot Brigitte Bardot was.
Anyway, the whole conversation went a little awry when he said something like "Geez, you really had me going when you told me the whole planet would have its ribs ripped out of its body and stuck back up its own asshole by that big flaming Q key. It sure is a relief knowing that we won't all die horribly" or something sap-assy like that.
Anyway, on the plus side, it was a real learning experience for me, because now I KNOW it's the sun that you folks need to survive, not the moon. Also, you all pretty much take the moon for granted. "You'll still have your moon, the moon'll be just fine" I kept telling him, and he was all "So fucking what? What good does a moon do us if we're going to freeze and die in space?" Dude, it's YOUR moon, don't bitch at me if it's worthless.
So now I'm a little salty, and he keeps calling and leaving messages on my answering machine telling me it's my fault and I ought to do something like space punch the "Q" Key to go the other direction or something. Fat chance, you know? Space Punch is his own boss, man.
And really, you guys only have, like, another two or three weeks before that Q key snaps your sun with a wet towel of apocalyptic TNT blowed-up atom bomb deathboom and sticks the hollowed out shell on its hand and does a puppet show with it, so you probably should do something better with your time than bitch at me.
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| Wednesday, May 9th, 2001
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12:47 pm
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Okay, is everyone sitting down? Turns out there was a little mishap with the alpha test of my giant keyboard out around Jupiter's orbit. Remember how I said I'd hold back? Right, well, that was a little joke on my part, since everything I do I do with AWESOME ROCKINGNESS OF EVERYTHING'S ASS.
So, long story short, I tested the "q" key, I rocked its ass, and now it's hurtling at cataclysmic speeds towards the center of your solar system.
The plus side is that it's going to miss your planet, which is Mars or Mercury or one of the other ones in between ... It starts with an "M," I'm pretty sure. The downside is that it's going to collide with your sun. Apocalyptically.
See, frankly, rather than holding back, I actually tested my "Q" key with about FIVE HUNDRED TIMES my normal ROCKING of your ASSES, meaning that it carries with it about FIVE QUINTILLION NANOTONS OF SUPERNOVAFLY TNT KARMA TSUNAMI HELLSMASH, and that it's going to ROCK YOUR SUN'S ASS LIKE A ROLLER COASTER OF KABOOM. I'd like to take this moment to say "Sorry."
Actually, before I apologize, someone here help me out ... which is it you humans need, the moon or the sun? I forget. If it's the moon, fuck you, enjoy your fucking moon. Your moon'll hang around forever. If it's the sun, yeah, sorry. Oh, and if it's just the stars you need, then double-fuck you, cause there are, like, a million of those things in space. Which is where you'll be hurtling once you no longer have your sun's gravity.
current mood: sympathetic (sort of)
current music: Nothing, man, it's fucking space out here.
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12:31 pm
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6:54 am
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Maintaining this LiveJournal isn't going to be quite as easy as I first expected. Really, I should have expected setbacks the first time I logged on from the library, since simply typing in the URL resulted in the keyboard being STRAPPED TO THE ENGINE OF MY FISTS ROCKING IT LIKE A TSUNAMI FULL OF DYNAMITE! It was a little embarassing, but at least those librarian tightasses know better than to "shush" Space Punch ... or else, baby, you know what I mean?
I don't know why I thought Kinko's was going to be any better. I guess I figured that if they charged for workstation use, that they'd have ... I don't know ... reinforced keyboards and blast proof monitors and CPU's shielded behind fourteen inches of lead armor and a firebreak. Damn flimsy machines. That wasn't a total loss, because there are few things I enjoy ROCKING THE MOTHERFUCKING ASSES OFF LIKE THE FIRECRACKERS THAT BLEW OFF GOD'S OWN FINGERS more than a Kinko's. I've levelled thirty or forty this year alone. I like to target those, and Baptist churches.
Anyway, so it's been a mess, and hiring a personal assistant didn't help ... at least to judge by the dull orange smear and bone fragments left behind at his work station. So I went back to my multimedia artist friend in Vancouver, and I'm having him build me a keyboard more suited to my Space Punchian proportions. The whole thing will sit in orbit around Saturn, weigh about two hundred thousand tons, and cover an area the equivalent of forty football fields. So far, he's finished the "Q," and it's the size of the Goodyear blimp. He'll hook it up later today so I can ROCK THE MOTHERFUCKING ASS RIGHT OFF IT AND INTO A FIERY CATACLYSM IN THE ATMOSPHERE OF SATURN, WHICH'LL RESULT IN THE ENTIRE ATMOSPHERE OF SATURN ROCKING LIKE A MOTHERFUCKING MURDER MACHINE!! Or, actually, if I hold back a little, I might be able to type with it. I'll let you know.
In the meantime, I'm trying to type this with my wrists crossed over each other. Someone recommended I try that. Seems to be working okay, cause the keyboard's (barely) holding up ... but as soon as I post this entry, I'm gonna Space Punch this fucking ugly iBook into oblivion's asshole.
current mood: working
current music: The Moment of Calm Before I Destroy This iBook
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| Monday, May 7th, 2001
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11:09 am
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I just caught the eleven o'clock news - not that I really had to wait until eleven, since I simultaneously permeate every possible moment in the history and future of existence ROCKING IT WITH MY FIST! - but I'm happy to see they used my press release in reporting the Long Island incident.
Usually, when I'm on the phone, I don't get a lot of static ... I mean, why cross Space Punch? You'll just get YOUR ASS MOTHERFUCKING ROCKED INTO A NEW MATERIAL STATE, THEN TWISTED INTO ANOTHER DIMENSION BY ADDITIONAL ROCKING AND FINALLY TOTALLY FUCKING ATOMIZED LIKE IT FELL INTO THE HEART OF THE SUN, BUT ACTUALLY IT WAS ONLY MY FIST!!! ... but every now and again, I get some know-nothing intern who hasn't gotten the memo, and doesn't know that you bend over backwards for Space Punch, or else risk changing your address from Pain In The Ass boulevard to Ow I'm In Fucking Pain Street. This one's name was Cheryl. She said she wouldn't run my press release unless it came to her on official CBS stationary with my credentials included. I told her "My credentials are on their way," then I heard a muffled yelp, and then her teeth were embedded in the teleprompter over at Nickelodeon Newsbreak, four studios away.
Anyway, the short of it is that I get a hell of a kick listening to Dan Rather lead off his coast-to-coast newscast by saying "Tonight's top story, the state of Long Island was TOTALLY MOTHERFUCKING ROCKED TO THE BOTTOM OF THE OCEAN AND RIGHT THROUGH TO THE CENTER OF THE GODDAMNED EARTH, WHERE IT WAS IN SO MUCH PAIN THAT IT WISHED IT WOULD JUST FUCKING DIE BUT NOT YET, OH NO, BECAUSE HERE COMES MORE SPACE PUNCH AND IT'S GOING TO RENDER THE VERY MOLECULES OF YOUR MATERIAL FORM INTO A SUPER DENSE COMPRESSED BLACK HOLE OF TOTAL MOTHERFUCKING ROCKEDNESS OUT YOUR ASSES!"
Then they followed up with a story about a water skiing squirrel or some shit. I don't remember. I was laughing really hard and spilled a Stoli mudslide on the carpet. It's okay because I don't even really drink, I just ROCK YOUR MOTHERFUCKING ASS!
current mood:  amused
current music: My own laughter
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7:29 am
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Earlier today, I was hovering in some indistinct point in space - I suppose that's pretty inaccurate, since really I'm in every point of space at the same time, ROCKING ITS ASS LIKE A MOTHERFUCKING HURRICANE - but anyway, I was localizing my primitive conciousness over some point near Long Island.
I just happened to notice that the entire place is kind of sad. Lots of rolling estates, which are nice, I suppose .... then, once you're outside the gates, there's just a lot of malls and carpet wholesalers. It seemed like such an empty existence. So I took pity on the people of Long Island ... the kind of pity that involves me SAVAGING THEIR WORLD WITH A MONSTROUS BOOT OF PURE FUCKING AWESOMENESS THAT ROCKED THEIR COLLECTIVE ASSES TO THE MOON, which I also then ROCKED TO MOTHERFUCKING ASH JUST TO SHOW THEM THAT I WAS SERIOUS!
So, anyway, you might hear later today that Long Island's gone.
current mood: Punchy
current music: The sound of Long Island getting its entire ass rocked
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