Saturday, August 30, 2008

Johnny Rumble:
I'm All Outta Wack

I should be on a plane by the time anybody reads this. My Labor (or Solidarity, depending on whe you talk to me) Day plans are as follows:

1.) Get fucked up.
2.) There is no number 2.

When I get back, I think I'm gonna freshen this place up a bit. Give a new coat of paint so to speak. All the black dank is starting to look old and antique. So be ready for a glaring and jarring new look to things by September 7 or so.

But onward to the general thought process of the day. Sex. Or uncommited sex. Without relationship sex. One night stand sex. I'm talking fucking and dumping.

I've been pretty much told by both my best friend, and by my #2 ex-girlfriend that I'm going to banged like shit-house door while I'm tagging the Streets of Oklahoma City. I'm conflicted about this opportunity. On one hand, this excites my to no end. Sex. What's not to like?

On the other, I'm not the kind of person that can just get naked in front of, well, anyone. Not in front ex-girlfriend #2 to much either. I'm to much of a romantic to have that kind of night. Or Day. Or Morning.

Granted, when I'm writing this, it's a Wednesday afternoon, and you'll be reading on a Saturday at the earliest, so perhaps my feelings will have changed by the time I'm "boots down". More on this particular thought after Solidarity Day weekend though.

Slainte

Johnny Rumble

Johnny Rumble:
St. John's

“Here, take your fucking cab fare! Fucking use you were last night!”


I fell on to the cold morning concrete of her front stoop, still wondering what the hell happened last night. “Hey! Can I at least get some water?”

Dishwater.

That’s lovely.

Squeegeeing myself the best I could, I wrapped up against the snow. The street was empty this morning…or was it afternoon? I was never sure anymore. Either way, I was lucky the street was clean of people, because the trees were looking a little parched of water. Relieved, I struck up an inhaling contest with a fag, and he was giving me a good run for my money. Unfortunately, the fag was done for after two blocks. I had to find another one, and soon. Watching one’s own footprints disappear into the horizon is an interesting experience, so long as you don’t run into somebody else’s garbage cans or themselves.

The lines at confession were one deep. An altar boy waddled awkwardly out of the priests office, followed quickly by the priest himself.

“It’s not what you think,” he stammered.

“Whatever you say Father Jonas, just light a candle for him next time.”

God’s frozen piss was starting to come down again, and I had to find my way to Saint Brigid’s pronto. My vision was becoming clearer by the minute. The footstep trail got longer as the wind got faster and the white shit got deeper, and my mood got sourer the soberer I got.

“Fucking fuckers! I’ll fucking kill every single one of them. I’ll kill them all. For Ronny. I’ll kill them all for Ronny. Ronny and Pete. I’ll fucking kill those fuckers! And where’s the fucking Eddy?!”

I watched a shit brown rabbit scurry through the snow.

“Fuck this!”

I trudged through the shit weather. I kept thinking of Ronny and Pete.

“Saint Brigid’s. Fucking finally.” The oak door was solid. Fortunately, the lazy-ass barkeep was there. “Gimme beer and keep it coming,” I shouted at him. He was hesitant until the bar rattled. I wiped the water from my cheeks as I chugged my glass and pushed it back into the keepers hands. My face was getting wetter and I tried to hide it with the second glass of gold.
“You can’t keep running away forever Dan. Ronny and Pete lived well.”

“Fuck you!” I cried into my empty beer glass.

Thursday, August 28, 2008

Johnny Rumble:
Johnny Obnoxious

My friend Annie wrote out a rhyming poem when she found out that I was going to be visiting my old stomping ground of Oklahoma City over Solidarity Day.  When I read it, I got so giddy that I was hyper for the rest of the day.

No shit.

Tell the city to watch out
Close your doors, don't go about
When the people ask me why
I'll tell them it's because the plane your on is in the sky

When the metal sky yacht lands
In the place of red dirt not sands
People are warned to be precautious
All becasue of johnny obnoxious

They call okc a safe place
But they must be referring to outer space
The police will have to take on a full load
Becasue johnny obnoxious is back on okc roads


Hahahahaha!!!  I love it I love it!!!

Johnny "Obnoxious" Rumble

Tuesday, August 26, 2008

Johnny Rumble:
Waxing Philosophy

I try to live my life by three simple, yet effective, rules of thought.

1.)  It's the best day until tomorrow

2.)  Live for today, plan for tomorrow

3.)  Don't like life too seriously, you'll never get out alive.

It's only been in the past two or three years that I've really adopted these patterns to life.  I used to be that really quiet in the corner that looked like he could bring in a Kalashnikov and go nuts.  Always the brooding, introverted kid that seemed to sit back and watch the rest of the world have thier moments of zen and let the possibilties of life pass him by.

No more.  I now live by those three little rules and I have found my life has turned around for the better, and I'm able to interat with my peers much easier than before.  I, for one, am enjoying it.

Johnny Rumble

Monday, August 25, 2008

Johnny Rumble:
Trying Haikus

Spring time butterfly
Flutter through the quiet woods
A bird has a snack

Slumbering giant
Kodiak bear hibernates
Await the season

A sleepy puppy
Nose twitches at tortilla
Pleading eyes of want

Eager planet rings
Shuttering with excitement
Off into the night

A crappy haiku
That I have written tonight
One beer too many


Johnny Rumble

Saturday, August 23, 2008

Johnny Rumble:
Letter

Oi Oi, Mr. Professer of Creative Writing

I read the little outline you gave me for this letter, and then promptly threw it in the garbage. So I’m not green, sue me. And I don’t follow directions either. I’m too punk rock for that anyway. But you asked to get to know me, and I can appreciate that. So I’m going to give a small treat to snack on. Or a small pebble. I’m random like that. I’m doing this completely off the cuff. No edited thoughts. Period. Okay, so maybe it’s a small boulder.

1.) I have no aspirations to be a professional writer.

I’m no where good enough to even think about that. Sure, I might have A fan-boy, but that’s nothing. So instead I just write for myself. I keep it private and all the family. Extended, non-blood, adopted, you-me-him-and-her included. By the way, how old is Lauren anyway? That outfit she showed up Wednesday was hot. Capital H, lowercase O, lowercase t, lowercase t hot. Anyway…

I think it would be cool if I saw your head spontaneously combust into flames after reading one of my pieces. Problem is, I don’t think I got anything better after 6 Gallons of Serial Head Fuck. I’ve been toying with something completely random and off the wall called either pornocopia, Pornation nation, or 3 iNCHS oF cRONIC cOCK aCHE…

Holy.

Shit.

Where did that come from?

I swear to you and your god, that was completely random. I had it typed out before I even knew what I was typing.

But I’m going to try to keep it clean while still really screwed up. No sex, no drugs. Maybe just some random blows to the testicles. And a penguin. And God. Again.

I learned last laughmester not to walk into this class with expectations. So I have none. But this one seems to be gelling quite nicely. Everybody fits in like a piece to a jigsaw puzzle. And I think this good. It should be a good semester, no doubt. So really, I have no goals this time around other than to have a good time and not take anything too seriously. Seriousness is a kill joy. And I’m riding my high all that way to the finish line. Like a flying couch. Snoopy’s got nothing on this trip.

Point 8.) I’m graduating this semester.

Wait, don’t breathe a sigh of relief yet. I’ll be around next semester again. Won’t that be exciting…

(signed)

Johnny Rumble

Wednesday, August 20, 2008

Johnny Rumble:
Tattoos

I've always been interested in getting tattooed. Really tattooed. Not just an arm inking and small back tattoo. I mean REALLY tattooed with good stylings and real messages.

Messages that would acctually make anybody who read them to stand up and go "woah."

The first tattoo I ever thought of getting was a three stage tattoo on the sides of my skull and over my heart. On the left side would the Polish Flag for the analytical side of my life and the right side witht he creative thinking would have the Welsh Flag.  Over my heart would the Scottish Saltire and Lion Rampart on crossed poles.  Right below that would be my sporting love of West Ham United F.C. in a simple grey scale theme with maybe some light color highlights.

After finding out about how the Japanese did thier traditional tattooing, I have desired a traditionally done Lotus flower on the inside of my right ankle.  The subtle shading differences and complete lack of powered tattooing guns is something that intrigues me as a bit of a art appreciator.

The really big one that I've been wanting to get for the past year or so would take up my entire back.  A full color tribute to UN Peacekeepers.  I would take the classic fallen solider memorial of boots and rifle, but use a blue helmet with the UN logo on the side in place of the standard camoflague helmet.  The background would be the United Nations flag, and as the third and final layer, a word for word copy of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights as a spacer between the memorial and the flag.  This would a tattoo that would take up the entire back. 

Finally, I think I would get a pair of bright lipstick pink lips on my left butt cheek.  Just to round out the entire package.  Maybe I'd also get "P-U-N-X R-I-O-T" on my fingers in black light ink for the hell of it.

Either way, it's money.

Tuesday, August 19, 2008

Trav:
Ok, whats going on...

Well first things first, May as well start off...Hull City have won their first ever Premierleague game, and looked solid overall so thats a super duper plus. Oh and John should be happy, Hammers won too, with Ashton scoring even, and get this..twice. So yer on to other important stuff. I'm going on vacation this next week, then I come back and drive down to school for start of term. I got four pages done in Canada and will continue writing in Cancun with dad, so far reaction has been postive to the first 3 pages with page for being crap(had to end it for plane ride) So I'm gonna start there when on vacation.

Secondly I am trying out ubuntu and can actually watch videos on youtube theres sound...but I think that was because I had pidgin running, not sure might have to test this some how. Though I do kinda like Fedora 9 and am used to it. Ubuntu help seems target to the Noob, and as much as I sell myself short, I'm not some moron who has to be told to read the fucking book first, thanks but did that before I popped into IRC. SO yeah Look for another update by me with the full introduction in the first two weeks of September- there I did i set a date.

Sunday, August 17, 2008

Johnny Rumble:
Testical Sweater

"Hey, I got a question.  Have you ever shaved your pubic hair into a mohawk?"

I laughed.  Hard.  "Into a mohawk?  No.  Other things though."

"Like what?"

"And why do you want to know?"

She didn't have a good answer.  "Ummm...because?"

"Lemme think."  I took a swing of my beer.  "A heart.  I did a heart once.  Had a little curly tail too.  There was a Cross-Bones once.  I tried to do a skull, but I fucked that up royally.  Umm...shit, I did a pot leaf once.  Or at least tried."  I took another drink before nearly spewing it all over the table, "Oh, there was the time I did the anarchy symbol.  I was proud of that one.  Took me half a damn hour.  After ward I named it.  'Captain Anarchy and the Boy-Penis.'"

She gave me THAT look.

"What?  Some times the testical sweater needs to trimmed..."

Monday, August 11, 2008

Johnny Rumble:
Greasy Fingernails

I love automobiles.  By love I mean that there are some cars out there I'm libal to stick my dick in the tail pipe while giving head to a turbocharger love.  The love I have for automobiles is that kind of primal savage love that nothing can get in the way of.  Not even girlfriends that think they arn't getting enough attention due to my savage love.

I love imports, domestics, hot rods, kustoms, rusty, new, old, concours winners and junkyard heaps.  I look at every single car of the road and my mind turns immediately to what I could do it to make it better, stronger, faster, more agile.

I pick up car magazines like Import Tuner, Makes and Models, Hot Rod, Ol' Skool Rods, Street Trucks and study them like they are some kind of bible for freaks in the church.  I saw an old couple in a 1950's era Chevorlet sedan and I gave him a thumbs up.  Two blocks later, I saw a girl in a Citroen 2CV.  Naturally, I rolled down my window.

"Hey!  Wanna drag race?"

I smiled, she laughed, and I told her she had a beautiful 2CV.  I turned right because I didn't have the heart to roll away from her by just barely tipping on the go pedal.  She was cute and the car was cuter.

I respect guys in ratted and rusty T's and A's while thinking of ways to piss off the those same faithful with thier own Rat-Style.  This fantasy has occured to me over the past few weeks.  That fantasy is to build a daily Rat-Rod that would piss off the Import guys, the Domestic guys, the Rat and Hot Rod guys while leaving all thier jaws on the floor. 

Imagine if you will, building a custom frame that would have a pushrod suspension, both indepedent front and rear, capable of taking the stresses occasional track days and still be supple and smooth for street duty, using either Technical Innovation coil-overs or comparable, dropping either a Toyota 2JZ-GTE or Nissan RB26-DETT between the frame rails tuned for about 400 horsepower, and then wrapping the entire thing in a Rat style Model A body, rusty,  converted to right hand drive with a laid back 1934 Ford Model B front grille.

This fantasy Rat of mine would piss off the Hot Rod and Rat Rod guys for using so many "non-Domestic" parts (read: Japanese Import), not using the traditional Chevorlet 350 motor or Ford Flat-Head, and worse of all, showing up to Rat and Hot Rod cruises.  The Import tuners would hate it for the Rat-Rod looks.

This is me.  I strive to think and imagine and eventually build custom and tuned cars that bust molds and stereo-types.  Most of all, I strive to have the cars for fun and adventure and to be different from the rest of the car culture.

Wednesday, August 06, 2008

Johnny Rumble:
Shillelagh Law

Somedays I wish I was a better writer than I really am.  I compare my writings, my musings, and my stories to those of Sean Santa, Tatsuya Ishida, Rob the Bouncer and countless others, and compare my lyrical stylings to practically everyone, and find the I routinely come up short in terms of over all "goodness."  I respect and admire these people because they can wrap words around thier fingers like they were made of Twizzlers and make thier own come out so delicious.  Writers so good, they can create whole worlds with just a few strokes of the keyboard. My stories and expirences may be amusing and worth a laugh to some, but these artists are capable of so much more than I.  I envy them to some degree.


Then I think about this for a while, and I eventually come to the conclusion that they are in fact super-human writers, incapable of creating terrible works, impossible of screwing everything to hell.  I, on the other hand, am completely capable of this. 
 
I use Google for words I can't spell.  What kind of fuck uses Google for spell check?
 
Instead, my writing style is horribly chaoic, sprinkled with cuss words like that of above for added flavour, and then try to use British spellings to make me seem more learned.  I talk about love, people, relationships, anything that comes to mind, with out any sort of managment to thoughts and management and thoughts and managment...  Perhaps this is my strong suit however.  The ability to capture exactly what's flowing in the grey matter as my fingers hunt and peek the keys with the practiced efficiency of a 12 year old.  I had to Google 'efficiency.'  Pathetic.
 
But perhaps the errors and mistakes tell us something.  Maybe it tells us that the monkey behind the screen is really just a human looking for an outward expansion of his thoughts and feelings and emotions.  Maybe it shows us that we, and I, are just humans looking for that piece of happiness in our territory.

Sunday, August 03, 2008

Johnny Rumble:
Ecstasy = Alcohol

Occasionally, I like to write posts that are completely unrelated to the title. This isn't one of the posts, but it defiantly isn't the core issue. In fact, the absolute insanity and hilarity that has ensued over the past few days is the core punch line.

I find that peoples relationships to me to be interesting at the very least, to comical, to extremely fucking hilarious. Throw perhaps one or two moments of absolute depression, and it’s easy to figure out what happens to most of the people I know. They disappear from my life. Those that can appreciate my own quirks (mostly of me being a bastard) tend to stick around the longest, and perhaps for life. These few friends that have stuck around to see who I’ll piss off next I count as my greatest treasures on the shelf.

Right next to a plaid covered Panda with big plastic claws.

So many others have disappeared into the twilight of my life that I can no longer count them. Ex-Girlfriends, Ex-Best Friends, Ex-Cohorts, Ex-Crushes, I remember every single one of them for the good things they brought to my life, and I remember every single one of them for the bad things they brought to my life. Sometimes, one of them will re-appear in my life for a brief spell, which is cool, because that allows the rare glimpse to see how each of them has grown in their life.

When these people pop back into my life, the end result is usually grief and stress for me. Arguments tend to develop, feelings are hurt, and eventually, these people will leave my life once again with a bad taste in their mouth.

I, for one, am okay with this.

I’ve accepted that I am a bastard, and that I have the power to make people’s lives just that much worse. I exercised this power once unwittingly and without intention a couple of days ago, and with intention to avoid a situation I found myself Saturday morning. Both times, I do regret to some degree doing, but the incident Saturday Morning (which could probably be best described as stubbornness) was done out of necessity. I don’t break vows. I just don’t.

While Friday Night/Saturday Morning, with an extremely good party, extremely good alcohol, and extremely good friends, was an absolute de-stressor for me, its Labor Day weekend that I am looking forward to. Oklahoma City and the OKC metro area will be left in moral tatters for sure.

Johnny Rumble