Thursday, May 25, 2006

You haven't lived until you've had a leather belt lashed against your face.

You haven't lived until you've cried and no one was there to hear it.

You haven't lived until you've microwaved too much butter on Emilio Estevez's mini-muffins.

You haven't lived until you've served Master Destiny.


Wednesday, May 24, 2006

Where have I been, you asked?

Chained by my leg to a bedpost in the life-sized dollhouse I call home.

Who is my keeper?

Master Destiny. The one, true, overlord. Emilio Estevez.

Emilio took away my Internet privlidges because I chipped a porcelain bowl that he won on an e-bay auction. I'm not so good at cleaning porcelain bowls. So he chained me by my leg to the corner bedpost in the life-sized dollhouse he built for me to live in. He likes to play with dolls. Especially man dolls.

Then he forgot about me. Emilio Estevez got a new toy.

Her name is Veronica. He initially won her over by singing Elvis Costello's "Veronica" to her at an American Idol karaoke night in Los Alamitos. He grew in a Hitler mustache so no one knew it was him. Then he shaved his mustache (and his pubes) and won her over with his powerful love making tactics.

Then he blinded, tortured, raped and eventually killed her. Her mutilated corpse has been at my feet, inside the foyer of my life-sized dollhouse, for a few weeks now.

Then Emilio remembered me, and had me get his dry cleaning for him. He might teach me some acting techniques again, or let me spar with him as he practices Brazillian jiu-jitsu.

But I have computer access again. Which is good, because I get to update you about the unique perspectives of a man who is Emilio Estevez's Manservant. But this is bad, because if I make a typo, Emilio makes me chew on his dried blood.