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May 31, 2007

The Walrus Was Not Paul, Jesus Would Have Used Wet Toilet Paper & Golfing With Jerry Seinfeld

Why is it that whenever I let someone use my shower they slosh the fuck out of it? There may as well have been a herd of epileptic seals in there.. What the fuck was she doing in there?

"You OK in there?" I couldn't quite remember who I had seen going in. Could have been any number of the girls from the sleep over. "Hello?" I said as I knocked as politely as I could.

Nothing. No response. Just the sounds of slopping, slapping and sloshing. Maybe she was doing my wash in the tub.

"HEY!, everything okay in there?" I raise my voice. "What are you doing in there? It's sounds like a fucking tsunami."

Still zilch.

There aren't any locks on my bathroom and whoever was in there I have probably already seen naked anyway so I slowly opened the door. A thick column of steam slid out the door as I poked my head in. I looked into the shower area but in the thick fog it appeared empty. As the cloud cleared I saw a woman I dated for a week or two who was plastering wet towels to the bathroom walls. As lovely as she was, naked girl and all, I didn't want to be accused of Peeping Tomery so I loudly elbowed the door and cleared my throat. She turned around as if she had known I was there the whole time.

"What do you think?" she asked.

"I think you have taken all my towels and wallpapered my entire bathroom is what I think."

"Yeah doesn't it look cool? I always loved how with just plain water you can stick fabric to things. I like to sit back and watch to see which ones peel and which ones don't, the thicker and heavier they are the better they stick, kinda defies logic." she said.

"Yeah, I have done that too. How did you get them to stick to the ceiling?" I asked.

"You have to throw it like a pizza."

"Oh yeah, duh. Well just make sure to mop up the floor and clear your own hairplug out of the drain."

At least she was being constructive. It did make the bathroom look a new kind of interesting and it wasn't permanent. I imagine next time I use the shower the steam will peel it all off. That'll be kinda cool. Or maybe I could even peel them off in stiffened rectangular sheets, that's cool too. The last time this kind of thing happened it was a long haired "spiritual" hippie and I could clearly hear him passing gas and blowing snot out of his nose into the open shower. Fucking Jesus Christ, no wonder they crucified him.

In the living room Jerry Seinfeld was acting like the left half of his face was glued to the floor. It was funny at first but he dragged it out too long so I putted a golf ball into in his mouth when he was pretending he was an astonished retarded cowboy who upon attempting to listen to the ground for approaching indians realized he could hear is own farts amplified. The golf ball was the perfect punctuation on a mediocre joke.

Now This Band:

I shot that for 7x7 Magazine
"Cream" is the name of their new album.

That's all for now.
Don't get caught constantly bringing up Jesus Christ's lousy bathroom habits.
Your Favorite Approaching Indian,
Dropping Names

Blogger gabrielle is a gaywad.

Fucking Jesus Christ, no wonder they crucified him.

...i love you for letting jesus fart in your shower


Blogger BULLSEYE is a gaywad.

Some freaky shit here. How should I list you in my Merkley or ThreeQuestionMarks? And why hasn't this cool-ass fuckin site been updated for awhile.

Lem'me know...

I'm done.


Blogger merkley??? is a gaywad.

you can list me as handsome or awesome or loathsome or cumbersome or any kind of blanksome or just merkley???

it's hard to decide shit like that.


Blogger merkley??? is a gaywad.

This post has been removed by the author.


Blogger Wallville is a gaywad.

Did Jesus poop in the woods? If so, why have you did you draw me into the sanitary condition of his sphincter? I contend, regardless of wet toilet paper or not, how lumpy his butthole was would override the effects of wet paper.


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May 26, 2007

A Drive Through Underwatersville USA, Nascar Trailer Talk & Avoiding Carlos Santana

"Merk, get in, we're goin to the races."

I'm not a big fan of races but I wasn't doing anything important and it looked like a fun bunch of jerks so I hopped in the back of the pick-up and laid real low to avoid being blown by the wind or spotted by the cops. It wasn't long before I drifted off to sleep and had a dream that Snoop Dog was driving. I woke up really quick, it wasn't him, just some redneck. Not even black.

I didn't recognize the area but it sure was beautiful, looked like a mix between northern cal, greece and mexico, big buildings all stacked along a jagged shoreline with soft blue light shining on all the brightly colored paint jobs which reflected off the water. How long had I been sleeping?

"Where are we you guys?" I asked.

"No idea, sure is pretty though huh?"

And it just kept getting more beautiful as we drove up through the red rock canyon. There were rock formations and plant life that I have never seen outside of television shows about coral reefs. Brightly colored animals and plants swaying in the wind as if underwater. Big red icicles that looked like jellyfish hung from the jagged red overhanging cliffs. It was if Willy Wonka, Dr. Seuss and the The Discovery Channel all got together and collaborated on this area.

When we finally got to the race track I was told we were being hosted by Darrell Waltrip which incidentally might be the only name I recognize from nascar. We got first class treatment wherever we went, which was somewhat funny because we looked like a bunch of homeless people after the long windy ride. We were ushered into a trailer filled with celebrities that you'd expect would have nothing to do with nascar. The list included Martha Stewart (who seems to be everywhere I go), Paul McCartney, Bootsy Collins, Carlos Santana, Lionel Richie and a bunch of black dudes from the 70s, I think they were with Bootsy.

"Martha, maybe you could stop sweeping for like ten seconds and enjoy yourself, you're making everyone uncomfortable." I teased.

"It's the perfect excuse to not have to talk to Paul McCartney merkley."

"Good point, can I use that dust buster?" I asked. "Katie tells me that you are collecting old mummified Mexican corpses from the Inca era?"

"She told you that? I told her not to tell anyone." She said as she pursed her lips.

"Yeah well I kinda tricked her, I told her I knew you were goth and that you and I talked about it all the time."

"Hey merk!" yelled Paul McCartney, "Says here you are gonna "merklefy Lil' P'boy Johnston. I thought you stopped doin music." He said as he handed me the lastest Rolling Stone.

I read the article. "Hmmn, I don't even know who Lil' P'boy Johnston is, and it doesn't say I'm doing anything with him, it just says he is gonna be merklefied. There is this group on the internet that copies everything I do, it's probably one of those people."

"So you have become a verb?" Laughed Bootsy Collins.

"Ew, apparently so, is that bad?"

Everyone got really quiet as if they had some really bad news. I turned on the dust buster to cover up the silence.

Later Carlos Santana kept offering to make me a burger on the BBQ but I could tell they were fake vegan burgers so I kept refusing. Plus I didn't wanna feel obligated to talk to him due to me really hating his music, fashion sense and politics... avoidsville for sure.

Everyone could see Martha's ass crack as she bent over to pick up the crumbs off the floor. It wasn't pretty.

We never did make it outside to watch the race. When Darrel Waltrip returned after we all pretended that we saw it all. Standard backstage behavior.

Good job Darrell.

Now Etienne:
That's all for now.
Don't get caught insinuting that Lionel Richie is in cahoots with L. Ron Hubbard by repeatedly calling him Lion L. Richie a billion times until he almost cries.
Your Tub Time Oceanographer,
Floating Head of Penis

FUCK FRANCINE!!: Post a Comment

May 25, 2007

The Umbrellacopter Project Update, Michael Jordan's Bay Bridge & a Warning About Your Dentist.

So good news, the Umbrellacopter project is still alive and well. Arnold Schwarzenegger personally showed me a working model last night. In fact he allowed me into the virtual history program so now I have officially attended every single meeting of it's development going way back to the Mary Poppins era. Bet you didn't know that all big military projects start as plastic toys. They actually hide working models in the toy stores. The kids that can figure out how to use them are recruited. I probably shouldn't be telling you this.

There were lots of secret programs Arnold let me see. For example, did you know that the reason why the new bay bridge will be so stable is because it's pylons were designed to mimic the foot movements of top athletes? Yeah, gone are the days when the pylons are driven deep into the ground, certainly it's easier to knock over the athlete with his shoes glued to the floor, but give him room to catch his balance and a little thing like an earthquake ain't gonna move him nowheres nohows. You have to see it to believe it. Think of those giant walking things in Star Wars with a lot more agility and balance and you get the picture. I'm a little worried about the pitch of the off ramps though. I doubt all car manufacturers will begin adding wheels to the roofs of all automobiles just to accommodate nearly vertical slopes. Seems unnecessary.

I decided to walk home from the airport but not before I stopped into one of their college courses they now offer. Looks like I was a little late to the party though, every single person I knew was already there in class, if you could call it class, It was more like an exclusive meeting of the hair-dos, it was a party really, everyone had the best hair ever, really weird experimental hair too. I can really throw my support behind stuff like that. My younger brother didn't want to sit next to me though, who could blame him? I wouldn't want to sit next to my older brother if I had one.

All day, the newscasters and filmmakers were stopping to have their pictures taken with me, I really doubt any of them knew who I was, people really just err on the side of caution with my appearance, like what if I actually was famous? They'd feel pretty stupid if they had the chance to take a picture and they didn't. The best one was with the dudes that do South Park, they had no idea who I was but I could hear both of them lying to the other one about how they were my friend and had worked with me on this or that.

After all the interviews and the long walk home I really needed to pee so I stopped off at a childhood friend's house. The guy's dad was a dentist so all of his toilets looked like the spit and rinse bowls next to the dentist chair. When I peed my belt got in front of the pee stream and sprayed pee all over the dental equipment. I used dental bibs to try to clean it up the best I could. Still I left a note reminding him to boil everything before using them in someone's mouth. I also left good advice about not putting his dental equipment in the bathroom.

I never did quite figure out what I had done with my shoes. I think maybe I gave them to the newscaster with an encyclopedia for a brain. Literally the dude knew EVERYTHING, even though he seems like such a dolt on TV. Whatever, I didn't really like those tennis shoes, they looked fine with socks but without them they looked way too girly. Then again, what shoes don't?

So yeah, I spent the whole day finding that perfect balance of getting noticed, observing and fitting in while not getting in the way.

Now Erika:
That's all for now.
Don't get caught giving Arnold Schwarzenegger technical advice about robotics when you just THINK it would work.
Your Favorite Ten Gallon Dental Secret,
Crazy Ass Pee Sprinkler

FUCK FRANCINE!!: Post a Comment

May 23, 2007

Where Crappy Films are Crapped, The Ass in The Glass & If He Were an Actual Muppet I Might Like Him

I had a meeting down at Crap Films Unlimited Movie Studio. The meeting was so boring I've nearly deleted it from memory and the tour around the place was no big surprise, just what you'd expect, tons of crap filmmakers making crap films. I don't think mass production is suited for things like film.

Anyway, in the office I inadvertently sat on a glass table and when I stood up to leave I noticed that there was an exact impression of my ass on the glass. At first I just thought that my ass musta just been hot and steamy and that the image would quickly evaporate. You know, like when you put your hand on a cold window there is an imprint of your hand made of fog. That's what it looked like at first, but when I looked closer I could see that it was actually very very detailed, I could see my butthole and my wang as clear as day. I could even see the contents of my pockets, gum, keys, credit cards, spare fingers etc.. It was as if the type of glass could make a perfect x-ray hologram of anything with which it came into contact. Or maybe I farted some strange chemical that enabled the phenomenon. I could even see the light on my phone blinking. How the hell did it do that? It could record impressions linearly? Like a movie? A holographic X-Ray movie? This was an amazing discovery.

Not wanting anyone else to capitalize on my discovery, I discreetly lifted out the glass and slid it into my three ring binder so I could go out in the sun and take a second look.

In the sun there were even more details. Depending on the angle at which it was held, I could clearly see bones, veins, muscle tissue and even the gun I was carrying. If I squinted really hard I could even see the individual pulsating cells around my peehole.

I went back into the office of the film studio president.

"You wanna make a movie that will change the whole industry? Well, I got your movie right here. All we need Is one large sheet of this glass upon which we will place all the action, it will record it all and we can reproduce them as windows. Mutli-dimensional holographic "experiences" that are completely different depending on the position of the sun. One 20 minute film could replace an entire college curriculum. Art, Science, Biology, everything contained in one sheet of glass and I have the patent. Think about it."

I told him my email address then made a quick dramatic exit.

In the lobby, there was Tom Waits singing;

I got one billion boogers in my pocket
I got two dozen mice for a hat,
fingerless meat is not meat if you dream it
but nobody cares about that...

I got one billion boogers in my pocket....

Now Erika:
That's all for now.
Don't get caught insulting Fozzy Bear by mistaking him for Tom Waits.
Your First Impression
Steamy Butt and Wang Hologram

Blogger Jozee is a gaywad.

Tom waits drilled a sandwich down a drain at the the academy of music in the '70s. You nailed him.

damn- you're funny mr. merk.

helluva a photog too.

I could say more but that might be interpreted as a tribute. I'll leave that for flicka and take my chances on being a gaywad here.


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Brotherly Love, Lexandra and Her Taffy Vagina & Dan Davis Works On Total Commission For Sure

I don't think that just because I'm the older brother, I need to get my younger brothers laid. Maybe that's the way the Brady Bunch worked, but Greg was also tossing Alice's salad and Cindy was teabagging Mike. In other words, they weren't Mormon. More power to THEM. They are Them, I are ME.

And ME is who Lexandra was coming over to eat. Or at least that's what I thought. I mean she doesn't even know my my brother or step brother. But then again, she does have a liberal ins and outs policy, after all, I basically met her in my bed when she slithered in and mawed my apengdage after my birthday party. Still, it WAS my birthday and I am spectacularly irresistible. RIGHT.

Still, that doesn't explain why, in full view of both brothers, she took off her pants ten minutes after getting here and plopped herself down in quite an unladylike pose on the sofa by the pool. No underwearsville too. I tried to play it off to the brothers like it was no big deal and that Lex was just trying to prove how liberal she was because she knows we're from Utah. Everybody wants to give the Mormon boys a boner. That's old news.

My whateverness kinda deflated when she started shining up her lamb shanks with mouth juice.

"Uh yeah brothers, welcome to San Francisco. All girls are like this here." I big fat lied.

but le'ts get back to what I said at first. Just because I'm the older brother doesn't mean I need to SHOW my younger brothers how to get bizzy with the liberal San Francisco girl spreading her bubblegums on the couch. That's not my responsibility --- and to be frank the whole notion makes me uncomfortable.

Anyway, my inner Martha Stewart was yelling at me to protect my guests from any awkwardness, with Lex doing the slippery silly putty demo on the couch and with everyone else pretending it wasn't happening -- well let's just say I didn't want anyone to be embarrassed so I joined her on the couch to give her a hand.

Her stuff was way way shiny, like sparkling music video shiny. I half expected Jessica Simpson to come roller skating out from in between her glistening liver sized labia at any second. Instead, Lex grabbed my junk (maybe a little too hard) and attacked my mouth like her tounge was a poor kid's fingerless nub groping around for a dollar in my stomach. When I opened my eyes I could see that she was motioning to my younger brothers to come join in.

This is where it gets difficult to do the good Mormon thing and share. I've just really never been generous like that. I was never really that good of a Mormon. Anyway, not wanting confrontation I closed my eyes and pretended not to notice her invitation hoping that they would stay back until they got my go ahead. I was none such lucky. The next time I opened my eyes, there was my younger brother, who hasn't changed one speck in 20 years, literally air humping Lex's leg. Pants on. His hips were literally humping an imaginary vagina three inches from her leg. I don't remember exactly what the step brother was doing but I'm sure it was equally un Martha Stewart-ey.

I sat up and moved to the edge of the couch.

"Sorry guys, I don't wanna gank anybody's good time, if you all wanna have some SF twist-n-pull type deal that's cool, but call me square, I'm just not into it. I don't wanna see either of you two humping. Sorry. Carry on."

I got up and went into the bathroom where the timeshare salesman in the creamy suit had his leg up on the sink hard pitching the couple who were crapping on the loveseat toilet.

"Just you listen to these testimonials." he puffed. "Dan Davis is the best broker in the whole universe. -- Sheila Coombs, Monterrey... Dan Davis made me feel soo comfortable that now I'm a MILLIONAIRE -- Fred Butters, Oakland... Dan Davis has a huge..."

"Hey Dan Davis, nobody wants a sales pitch when they are taking a crap!" I said, thinking I was doing the Crapping Loveseat couple a big favor."

"OOOH but WE DO!!! The timeshare sounds like a really good idea. You should listen to Dan Davis, Merk." they said as the dribbled.

I gave it a good shot but fell asleep in the shower.

I'm a good brother.

Now Erika:
That's all for now.
Don't get caught sitting all alone on the loveseat crapper.
Your Best Way To Describe Lexandra's V Last Night
The Inside of Fat Albert's Lips Only Bigger And Sparklier

Blogger poopee shmoopee is a gaywad.

i missed yer wit and spectacularly irresistable blog storytelling


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May 21, 2007

The Blanks In My Brain, The Hole In My Heart & Rage Against The McQueens

I knew I fucking recognized that asshole.

Fucker sure did make it difficult for me to put it all together what with all the keeping his back to me as I jockeyed for a better view of his face and all. He almost seemed like he was intentionally preventing me from getting a good look. It didn't deter me, finally, I just walked up and started tapping him on the shoulder.

"Excuse me ..... hello? -- excuse me sir.." Fucker was totally ignoring me. He even shrugged off my shoulder tapping with big obvious shrugs. "Hey don't I know you from somewhere? Excuse me... hey." Whoa, this guy is really some kind of jerk. "HEY DUDE, I know you are ignoring me, why don't you just turn around and tell me who you are so we can both get on with life." Still nothin. I tried to circle around in front of him but he rotated to keep me squarely at his back.

Yeah I realize I should have just left him alone, but it was turning into a contest from which I couldn't bail.

"HEY MAN.." I changed from tapping to a firm grip on his shoulder attempting to turn him around to face me. He resisted. "Why you gotta be such a dick? Who the fuck are you and why are you ignoring me?"

"FUCKING LET GO OF MY BONES!" he yelled as he turned around with a woosh revealing his eyebrow farm of a face. "You know fucking god damned well where you know me from you fucking PRICK."

"No, I actually don't hence all the tapping etc... oh --- wait, OHHH, you're the dude who ran into my Cadillac with his bike and then freaked the fuck out when I caught you and asked you to apologize." I said.

"Well I'm fucking A1 tickled purple that I fucked up your "CADILLAC" with my "BIKE" you filthy cunt." He said with air quotes as he rocked back and forth like a foosball goalie.

"Yeah I gathered that when you went all rabies on me the first time. What the fuck have I ever done to you? What is your problem? I don't even know you. I'M the one who should be freaking out on you for what you did to my car."

"Fuck you you arrogant DICK."

"Why fuck me? Why? Seriously, did I do something to you that I'm not remembering?"

"Are you fucking joking? If you don't remember you're even a bigger cunt than I thought."

"I seriously don't have any idea. If I did something wrong, I was probably just joking or drunk. I don't go around doing things that merit such hostility, not intentionally I don't."

He silently glared at me for a few beats and I could see in his eyes that he wasn't fucking with me. Whatever the truth was for real, this guy truly believed that I had wronged him.

"Hey man, whatever it was that I did or said, real or not, I apologize. I do my best to have fun and entertain people but if I have done something to you that has made you this angry I can guarantee that I meant no harm. I probably didn't even know I was wronging you."


"Exactly what?"

"You're a prick precisely BECAUSE you are unaware of your prickness."

"Well then help me be aware. What did I do?"

He looked at the ground then looked around as if checking for spies. Then with a nearly robotic rhythm and tone he looked me square n the eye and said:

"When I sold crackers, you gave away chocolate. When I played my violin you break danced. When I shaved my head, you grew a beard. When I bought my bike, you bought a LEMON YELLOW CADILLAC!

We both took a second for it to sink in.

"I don't think you can use "break danced" as a verb like that." I said.

He cocked his arm back to punch me.

"JUST KIDDING -- RELAX!! "look, I had no idea you were doing any of that other stuff. If I was reacting to you it was clearly on a subconscious level. I'm obviously insecure, I mean look how I wave around my arms when I speak. I obviously NEED attention. You should feel sorry for me not hate me. I'm all flash because I'm filling some endless void I can't even see. Don't get me wrong, I'm my biggest fan, but that's only because I know how full of shit I am. I know WHY and HOW I'm surviving. I know better than anyone how close I am to collapse at any given second and If you think its lame or manipulative that I'm crying like a little girl right now well then so let that be. I'm just trying to get through it all. I'm not trying to step on any toes. You'll never hate me like I hate me so you may as well not waste your time."

The air got really quiet and the sprinklers turned on in the park across the street .

"You're so full of SHIT." He whispered.

"HA HA HAhahahahahahahahaaaahhh I KNOW, that was pretty good though huh? Did it almost make you cry?"



Later we went to McDonald's where he got his bushy eyebrows in all up in a V, getting all loud and ragevilles on all the uppity cross dresser cashiers. It was very funny.

Rage is funny.

So yeah, I made a new friend.

Now Carrie:
That's all for now.
Don't get caught having make believe friends that vaguely resemble an angry Bert when you're almost 40
Your Daily Dose of Ipecac
O The Longing

Blogger Lord Chimmy is a gaywad.

I was going to write a post, but then you throw out this shit and my post just seems pointless and insignificant. You fucking ruined my night Merkely??? Fuck you.

I am Jack's raging bile duct.


Blogger poopee shmoopee is a gaywad.

i love carrie's tat. what flavour was the cake? i love cake.


Blogger Brian is a gaywad.

Fucking brilliant. Cool flickr stuff, too. I'm going to blog this stuff, if you don't mind. If you do, tell me and I'll shut the fuck up.


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May 20, 2007

The Secret Behind Fiber Optic Stadium Door Bells, Conan's Cold Shoulder & Balloon Animals Hot Dog Steeze

I didn't really think of all the side effects of living in a stadium when I bought the place but there are many, and they're not all bad.

I don't live IN the stadium part of the stadium, that would be lame. I live, along with all my tenants, in the part underneath all the bleachers. If you have ever been back stage at a basketball game or a concert you know what I am talking about. It's basically a giant oval of connecting rooms with a hallway down the middle that makes for a great running track. The place is constantly running nuts with celebrities involved in all the events you'd expect. I basically know everyone.

Anyway, last night I was trying to re-wire my door bell. Whoever wired it the first time used fiber optic cable which was definitely overkill. I don't really know how to work with fiber optics and to tell you the truth I was a little transfixed with the blinking and glowing and whatnot. What I discovered however was that when I pulled on the cable, it opened a secret door directly into my next door neighbors apartment. They also happen to be my longest running tenants. That's almost ten years of mutual ignoresville.

When the secret door cracked open I could see that my "good friend" Conan O'Brien was filming a skit with them. I'll admit I was a little jealous with all the attention and cameras pointed NOT ON ME and such, but I was a gentleman about it. I just sat there throwing off WHAT ABOUT ME vibes until Conan and his crew were unwittingly lured into my place. Fucksville when my tenants followed along. They have never even been inside my apartment and suddenly, because CONAN was with them they felt like they could lay on my blue velvet bed, twirl my pillows and talk about my superior cable. That's not even funny. YUCK.

Fucking Conan was acting like he didn't even know me even though the day before yesterday he was my total best friend. Somebody musta been talking shit about me. Probably my tenants. My feelings were hurt.

So I ramped up the jokes and stole his thunder. Serves him right. Asshole.

Jim Carey showed up with the WORST plastic surgery I have ever seen. His eyes were so tight you could only see his pupils, just two little black dots on a smooth ball of flesh. his lips were basically inside out. He looked like a burn victim.

"The thing about plastic surgery" he said, "Is that you don't wanna over do it. It needs to be so subtle that no one knows you had anything done."

I realized he got the plastic surgery so he could do that joke. That's commitment.

I could see his beard growing. Little known side effect of plastic surgery - watchable beard growing.

Later I had sex with a really meaty girl I just met. Her hot pocket was trying to tie my slim jim in a knot. LITERALLY. That was a new sensation. I'd like to try that again.

Now Carrie:
That's all for now.
Don't get caught actually considering plastic surgery when the pitch man is a meatpop with raisins for eyes.
Your Favorite Door Bell,
Speedy Delivery

Blogger poopee shmoopee is a gaywad.

my favourite was the "come on, more dots" part.


Blogger layzlia is a gaywad.

ok that was the coolest thing i've ever seen and i had to watch it without sound. WTF indeed.


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May 16, 2007

Jodi says: You're Like a Drag Queen. So Much Drama

I posted this shot to flickr as I always do. The following is an excerpt from the comments section:

Naughty James says: move on, dude.

naughty james,
i'm not quite sure what you mean but if you don't like what I do maybe it's you that needs to move on, because i'm certainly not looking for your approval.


I write him a personal note:


merkley???: You trying to insult me?

Naughty James: did you feel insulted?

merkley???: nah. actually i felt like a cliché art school student style photographer was a smidge jealous that another artist had a more original and recognizable style (for which he was receiving credit) than his own more common style and rather than working to improve and push his own art into newer planets that cliché art school photographer instead behaved quite predictably and involved himself in an equally cliché communication method associated with mediocrity, that method being PROJECTION.

passive aggression is also not very unique.

so uh, yeah i felt like you were TRYING to insult me, hence the question.

but good luck, i certainly enjoyed some of your art when i found it last month or whenever. you have potential. i'd like to see you channel some of your insecurity into new shoots rather than my comment stream although you are more than welcome to work it out there too.


He hasn't written back yet. I'll post it if he does. BECAUSE I KNOW YOU ALL GIVE A FUCK.

Naughty James: oh... and i thought you were just ripping Jill Greenberg!

Naughty James: actually... don't you have a job i left three years ago, at nerve?

merkley???:yet still your art looks like every hack art school student.

Naughty James:haha, i'm sorry.

what's your client list again?

I'll raise you i-D, dazed and confused, vice, American apparel, coca cola and the face before you even reply.


you appeal to dicks on the internet because you show tits,and you have a job i left three years ago

well done :-)

merkley???: yeah i posted my first photo a year ago - FOR FUN - and i have insecure douchebags with AMAZING client lists like you keeping track.


Naughty James:

merkley???: wow, you really are insecure. they have drugs for that.

merkley???: on the bright side, your style could get away with murder cause it'd be impossible to pick out of a line up.


what a douche.

That's all for now.
Don't get caught arguing for the sake of easy blog content.
Your Master of I Don't Care-emonies,
Stinky Fingers McGee

Anonymous secret weapon is a gaywad.


word verif: wimsy


Blogger Lord Chimmy is a gaywad.

you appeal to dicks on the internet because you show tits,and you have a job i left three years ago.

Hmmmm, I guess I'm one of those internet dicks. I mean, I dig the tits and all. What red-blooded male doesn't like some boobs?! But, your job really has zero influence as to why I like your photostream.

That being said, name-dropping clients on the internet is pretty weak.

Oh, some of my clients include: FritoLay, General Electric, Toyota, and Hustler Magazine. I'm a pretty fucking huge deal! That's why I spend so much time "in-your-facing" fools on the internets!


Blogger ashley is a gaywad.

naughty james is a total fag (and not in the fabulous way). i love it when people talk shit via electric words. ps i am getting married in 11 days and am very sorry my photos will not be gorgeous fantastic like these. instead, mine will be fully clothed, probably with me in a deep lunge with one hand on my hip in a fist and the other behind my head, sears model-style.


Anonymous Rich is a gaywad.

Apparently Jill Greenberg has taken James' photograph for Mens Style.


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May 15, 2007

Jesus Wants Me For a Sunbeam, Discount Art & Maybe Donatella Versace Just Got Tattoos

Nothing makes Mormon authority figures more nervous than a man in a dress, so Sunday I picked out the cutest plaid yellow sun dress for my big return to church. When I put it on I thought it looked a little too jokey with my beard so I scraped the beard right off. I also brought my big white purse and a lot of luggage with german writing on it for no particular reason other than I might need it later. You never know.

It's been at least 13 years since I stepped a stinky foot into a Mormon church and there have been a few changes. The hard wooden benches have all been replaced with folding chairs which of course makes it look pretty baptist (crappy), but the side benefit is that they can be moved out of the way when it's time to dance. Still, I thought that's what the gymnasium was for.

It was a big mistake bringing a horny girl with me who knew I was straight, she kept blowing my cover.

"You know if you remove the bows you'd really look hot."

"Shhh -- don't you get it? Quit grabbing my wang, they're gonna know that I'm fucking with them."

"Oh whatever, they think you're cute."

She was right. Nobody's brain caught on fire, no eyeballs shriveled up and no hearts were attacked as I had hoped. It wasn't long before I just felt retarded in the dress, but that didn't stop me from pretending that I was FABULOUS. Yeah, I pranced around like a homo with Madonna tickets trying to give it one last shot. Why couldn't they just get pissed and kick me out like I WANTED.

Adding compliment to comfort, they even had the nerve to ask me to sell them some art. It's as if the Mormons always wanted me in a yellow summer dress. I looked though all my luggage, but someone had stolen all my paintings. ANNOYING. Best I could come up with was a wallet full of coupons, hardly groundbreaking art. Still, they thought it was genius. Idiots.

I found a side door and slid out. My left leg was super long for ten minutes after that.

Back at home I caught a shifty girl doing pointless graffiti in my hallway. I grabbed her by her loose leathery tattooed skin and dragged her outside lecturing her along the way.

"Not only should you not be defacing my property, but you also should not be tanning that leather sketch bag you call a body. You look like a brazilian hippie's back pack for cripes sake." Her hazy green eyes blinked a billion times. She was a robot.

Then I made a big bowl of pickle juice soup. Mmmmmmm -- salty.

Now Hannah:
That's all for now.
Don't get caught selling your actual garbage as art.
Your Third Favorite Fitness Instructor,
Hot Wings

Blogger ashley is a gaywad.

i can eat a jar of pickles in a day. in grade school, my mom had to stop buying them because i ate too many. she also had to stop buying carrots because my sister's palms turned orange. but that also could have been from chronic masturbation, i'm not really sure.


Blogger Gish is a gaywad.

some clothes are lucky. Glad to know you have 'a big white purse'.


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May 14, 2007

Skeleton So Big I Had To Crouch to Fit In, Melissa The Conquerer & The Great Gravy Merger

I returned to the skeleton of my teenage bedroom, the one I built with my step dad in the basement when I was 13 so I wouldn't have to share a room with one of my step brothers. I say skeleton because the house was recently sold and the new owners were completely gutting and redoing the interior so every thing was all studs and sheetrock with exposed plumbing and vents etc... The basement was way way bigger than I remembered. It was huge. My old bedroom also seemed gigantic which is why it was so strange that upon entering I had to crouch down and crawl my way though it like a rat. Have I really grown that much?

Earlier in the day I spent some naked time with Melissa who is a girl I once dated for a week or two. She always acted too porny at the times when I would have preferred a smile, a long look in the eye or at least some *natural* sounds of pleasure. Overacting is such a turn off. Still, what am I complaining about, sex is pizza. Melissa was also annoying because she made it her mission to bond with every single person to whom I introduced her as a way to win me by hostile takeover. It never worked, I forfeited my stock and started a new firm.

Anyway, as I was boxing up the entire contents of my old room, Diana, a girl I ALMOST dated had she not become part of the hostile takeover staged by Melissa showed up to help. And by "help" I mean "distract". She kept taking off her shirt, unbuttoning her tight, striped, heavy metal pants, nibbling on my earlobe and basically carrying on like a fantastic slut. I kept telling her that I really needed to get this stuff packed up because the new people were moving in the next day. But she wouldn't stop so I took a break to give her what she came for. It was the first time I ever did anything more than a little heavy petting with her, and maybe it was because I was distracted or maybe it was because it was my old room, but I apparently wasn't turning her on very much because the roast beef was lacking gravy if you know what I mean. Whatever, I wasn't into her anyway, especially because of how fast she became friends with Melissa the Conquerer -- who, as if on cue, also showed up to "help".

Long story short: ThreeWays divide workload. Pleasing one is a lot of work, adding one more cuts responsibility in half. Half the work, twice the fun, three times the gravy. Although when they were making out with each other it still seemed a little fake. Fake is lame.

By the time I finished boxing everything up, and by everything, I mean everything I have ever owned ever, I was surprised that the gigantic cardboard box was so light. I mean, I have a *LOT* of shit, but apparently not so much that I need anyone's help to carry it.

Now Lulu:

That's all for now.
Don't get caught with too much horseradish on your pastrami.
Your Best Childhood Memory,
Sleeping Outside on The Lawn

Blogger Lord Chimmy is a gaywad.

but I apparently wasn't turning her on very much because the roast beef was lacking gravy if you know what I mean.

Dude, you are seriously a funny motherfucker.

And, I totally know what you mean...keep preaching brother.


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May 10, 2007

Sleepin in The Kitchen, Sasquatch Looks Cute All Shaved Up & The End of The World is a Good Excuse

What's the best part of having a bed in the kitchen you ask? What's not the best part? That's the better question. Every time I use that bed I wonder why I even have bedrooms at all. Especially because the more bedrooms you have, the more people drop by to use them, including people you don't particularly want to stop by, for instance Al Gore.

I don't really have anything against the guy. I mean it's kinda funny how when he lost out on homecoming king to the kid from special ed, he gained 400 pounds, turned into sasquatch and cried non-stop for a hundred years. I like to think that one day Tipper waddled across the pond and said "Knock it of Albert, it ain't the end of the world." and then *DING* Al lifted his head out of the dirt and said "Ahhh, but what if it was?" and then of course he made that "end of the world" movie to make himself feel better about being such a loser. Totally makes sense to me.

So yeah, when he showed up at my front door I was a little worried that he was going to whine about this, moan about that, try to turn me vegan and make me wear shoes made out of recycled french fry dust etc.... but much to my pleasant surprise, Albert was a great conversationalist. Or at least I think he was, I'm a bad listener, but he did seem rather jokey and self effacing and his body language was goofy and vulnerable and I remember he kept saying "everybody secretly hates me" which is something I say all the time too. I like it when a person knows that they are full of shit, it's the best evidence of intelligence and he had that. Adorable little fella really.

I like sad smiling faces.

I went and put new sheets on the bed in the guest bedroom, but by the time I returned to the living room Al was all curled up, cute as a button on the sofa sawing logs in his 1998ish pinstripe suit. I got a big yellow blanket and covered him up, moved his head out of his drool spot and onto the pillow so he wouldn't wake up with a fucked neck, I turned on the lamp in the other room in case he woke up and needed to pee then I went itno the kitchen, crawled in bed and made some macaroni and cheese.

Now Elizabeth:
That's all for now.
Don't get caught giggling when Al Gore sleep farts.
Your Favorite Mattress,
Wonder Bread White

Anonymous francine o. is a gaywad.

i was at a party a few weeks ago and some ladies (who had just met my mom for the first time) told her she reminded them of tipper. she said, "i don't know how to interpret that." i said, "maybe they think you seem like a person who doesn't like nasty lyrics." but i think they were talking about her hairdo.


Blogger Lord Chimmy is a gaywad.

Your ideas are intriguing and I wish to subscribe to your newsletter.


Anonymous shotbart is a gaywad.

Is there a newsletter?!?!

Merk, this piece about Mr. Albert Gore and your kitchen's bed is hilarious!!!

Dunno if it's better look at your awesome pictures, or read your thoughts... ;)


Anonymous secret weapon is a gaywad.

I am not a gaywad and i did not fondle your brother's boobs- dammit! dang, dang, dang!

word verif:kpjrutun = some food i forgot to order last night


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May 07, 2007

Downhill Both Ways, The Feather Method and BYUland is Dry Rot City

I was doing 100mph easy. I could tell because my face was flapping like an old lady yelling at a fan. I made it all the way from Ogden to Provo in less than 15 minutes (should take an hour fifteen by van). You don't need hard lumpy legs to be a bike champ, you just need to know all the hills. It's a little known fact that a downhill path exists to and from any two points in the universe. Google it. Anyway, that's what I do. My life is all downhill. That's how I roll.

Speaking of which, I am really frustrated that so few people are able to figure out the relatively simple process of floating on a breeze. Tried to teach a few more people last night. It's not rocket science, all you gotta do is lean backwards or or if you prefer, forwards, giving your body the perfect feather shape, then just let the air do the rest. Try it, just lean, keep leaning until your feet obey the laws of physics and follow the arch created by your leaning body, unsticking them from the ground. Once that happens it's just a matter of maintaining your featherness. If you really can't seem to catch the wind, you can always flap your legs a little, you just gotta make sure to stay loose like a feather or an old thin sock. I don't know, maybe I was just some sort of miracle baby, because it's second nature for me. I've done it like this all my life.

Anyway, by the time I arrived with my bags of money at the dorms in Provo for the BYU/MySpace summer camp all the good rooms had been snatched up by douchebags. I wasn't about to sleep in a slimy sleeping bag on the floor when I paid 400 bucks especially since the place was dry rot city. In fact it was so dry rotten that when the little indian girl I was babysitting climbed the only two poles that remained of the old ten story yelling tower and she tried to do her shimmy indian girl dance at the top with one foot on one pole and one on the other, the whole thing wobbled like two exhausted boners, causing her to loose her balance and crash right through three stories of dry rotted decks below. Luckily the wood was so bad, almost like an old mans shattery bones, that it provided enough cushion to prevent serious injury. She laughed about it even though she had a three foot long shard of wood sticking through her leg meat.

While I was out, Spanky took the liberty of hiding my all my money under the moldy carpet, I suspect he may have taken some. Why else would he just give me his cologne collection? I don't even wear cologne. Maybe I stink. I shouldn't rush to judgment.

The BYU campus looks much better with all the new carnival rides. I still hate Provo, I seriously felt like barfing the whole time.

Now Telene:

That's all for now.
Don't get caught inhaling all the french fry flavored perfume.
Your Primary Cash Care Provider,
Money Bags

Blogger Lord Chimmy is a gaywad.


I've been lurking for quite a bit. I'm a huge fan of you photos, but I think I like your blog postings even more...

One of these days I might run across you and I'd very much like to buy you a drink.

I won't make a big fucking deal about it, but if you receive a drink from a dude that looks an awful lot like a serial killer then that was ME.

Don't get caught looking at my wang.

Your friendly neighborhood cannibal,

Johnny Douchebag


Blogger merkley??? is a gaywad.

ha ha -- thanks,
i stole a video from your blog. thanks!


Blogger -jkg is a gaywad.

i havent even exlored thw pictures, but i like this blog. nice.


Blogger Wendy is a gaywad.

what does "deitada" mean? I have googled it and such but have not found it. I know you title the photos of girls looking backwards to the camera this, but I have never heard the word before.


Blogger merkley??? is a gaywad.

its portugese and means woman laying down


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May 06, 2007

Napping Under The Sidewalk, The Signal Ganking Gramma and The Neighbors Building is Worse So Shut Up

Every once in a while I will venture down a few floors to the way way basement. It's a new adventure each time with all the tiny secret rooms and tunnels down there. I like to take quick nap breaks in the various underground nooks that extend underneath the sidewalk. I rather enjoy listening to the conversations of the hipster neighbors talking about their bands, cocaine and hairstyles. Sucks when they notice me listening by looking through the cracks and tiny sidewalk windows, I pretend I'm sleeping.

There is a whole network of tunnels and hallways that connect basically every building on my block and it is very easy to get confused as to where you are. The best indicator is the carpet. The carpet in my building is totally covered with abstract honeybee designs and is different from the others. But then again, I go down there so infrequently that sometimes I forget whether or not I had the carpet switched out for the big checkered carpet with all the sunflowers. I mean I have some pretty homosexual tastes in decor, but come on, ---- maybe if I was drunk.

When I stumble on to the apartments of long forgotten tenants, I play it off like I completely remember them, no sense in reacting too quickly. Why potentially offend the sweet old woman with the inch thick glasses in basement number 3 when she really seems to be keeping the place nice? If she isn't paying the rent and I haven't noticed by now, I must not really need it. Besides, not many women her age would have a 50 inch LCD screen coffee table with full internet, although she is probably ganking my signal and slowing down my porn.

One frustrating part about it are all the empty rooms with the slanty floors and leaky plumbing. These old buildings have some really interesting old bathrooms in them. Last night I found a room that had an old ball and claw bath tub that had the side cut out which kinda turned it into a lovely sofa which is a great idea except that all the water runs out and makes a big sludgy pool in the lowest corner of the room. Hello mold. After I fiddled with the leaky faucet to slow the flow, I realized I wasn't even in my own building which was a relief because just then ten other tenants showed up to complain about the mold.

"What building is this?" I asked.

"The Van Dyke"

"Yeah, this isn't my building"

"Well do you know who owns our building?"

"Obviously someone with bad taste in carpet. My guess is that he is gay and possibly dead."

Now Telene:

That's all for now.
Don't get caught pondering just how perfect basement 5 would be for midgets.
Your Landlord,
Sneezey Street

Blogger Peewinkle Jefferson is a gaywad.

now that's something you don't see everyday on mr. wizard's world. which i wish that some person smart enough would put in reruns. i mean, i'm still obsessed with the episode with the powder you put on water that makes you waterproof.


Blogger merkley??? is a gaywad.

great now i have to youtube mr wizards world to see what the hell you're talking about


Blogger merkley??? is a gaywad.

yeah, i was too old for that hippie show.


Blogger Lord Chimmy is a gaywad.

So, if I get this straight you're a landlord? Interesting to know. Sometimes I look for jobs out in San Fran because the east coast fucking blows when it comes to science jobs. Do you have any low rent units...complete with mold?

I'll pretend I didn't see you looking while I'm jerking off as long as you give me a decent rate on an apartment.


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May 04, 2007

The Bowl Tipping Howler Monkey, The Twirlybird Tumbleweed Massacre and The Whispering Congregation

don't remember exactly what I said, but after I said it my dad went totally apeshit. No I mean really, he was running around like a baboon screaming unintelligible nonsense, running into back yard dog runs, tipping over water bowls, he messed up his hair on purpose, his pants got really short and he even lost one shoe. I've never seen my dad act like that. Every time one of my brothers or sisters tried to reason with him and calm him down, he gnashed his teeth, swiped at the air with his claws and threw a stack of office papers into the air. I wish I could remember what I said that set him off. Even though it was kinda scary, it was also quite a show.

The part where he was cruising up the side of a steep mountain with a gait that was one part monkey, two parts praying mantis and one part mummy was especially exciting. I'm really glad the choppers circling over head weren't making any hits with the rocks and ropes they were tossing, because despite the fact he was obviously a danger to every tumbleweed on that hillside (you shouldda seen how he murdered them), I'd hate to see dear old dad gnawing on the arm of some poor deputy on the way back to church. Besides, the fact that the every member of his local Mormon congregation were there video taping and whispering is surely punishment enough.

Anyway, sorry dad, I wasn't trying to tell you how to act, I know how much you hate that. I react the exact same way. I hope you feel better.

Now Mary:
That's all for now.
Don't get caught comparing monkeys to perfectly reasonable reactions to condescension and passive aggressive guidance from incompetents.
Your Ever Warming Globe,
Left Testicle

Anonymous sonia is a gaywad.

I'm visiting my family in London, (my biannual visit to remind me why I live 6,000 miles away). This morning my mum screamed "fuck off and die" in response to a discussion about what the quickest subway line is... reasonable response I'd say.


Blogger mary is a gaywad.

yay!!!! i miss all this...

homesickness is chronic.


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May 02, 2007

Poor Old Andy Richter, Secret Notes To Self and an Obvious Medical School Revelation

Andy Richter offered me a job at a big place with lots of cubicles. I jokingly told him I'd take it if the company would provide me with a medical degree and a brand new suit every morning. It was kind of a pain in the ass though, you know, first I had to ask the giggly old ladies at the front desk to direct me to my new closet and then when I got there I realized I'd forgotten my ID number. By the time I finally got my new suit I realized it didn't fit very well. No biggie, there were racks and racks of perfect gaberdine 40s suits from which to choose. I even had an assistant with brassy, almost greenish swimmers hair and a red smokers face, he looked almost like christmas. A little later I discovered that each suit had a secret note in the pocket that I had written to myself to see if they were really just dry cleaning my old suits which turned out to be the case. Scheisters.

In other news, my mother is now obsessed with backpack style vacuum cleaners. She was testing like 30 styles. One brand was made out of materials so lightweight that it actually floated overhead like a balloon. Plus it was silent. Cool.

Anyway, my favorite part of medical school was the class where Dr. Doctorton taught us how to tell every single patient that "they were really lucky because had they waited ten more minutes to come to the hospital they'd surely be dead and in fact it is a miracle that they are even alive." I always thought that doctors were a little liberal with that information, now I know it's just policy to say that to EVERYONE.

All in all the job was worth it, even though I quit after what, 10 hours tops?

Now Sicily:

That's all for now.
Don't get caught worrying that Andy Richter's stinky career might rub off on your great one.
Your Sneaky, I Hope Nobody Heard Me Laugh,
Cowardsville 3000

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May 01, 2007

Also, The Tour Bus Was Set Ablaze as is Customary Following The Death of a Popular Dancer/Employer

Justin Timberlake Died yesterday in Florida in a dance related incident. I was there to offer grief counseling to his tour staff. Mostly people seemed concerned with their jobs because nobody wanted to join the Jennifer Lopez tour for obvious reasons. Everyone discussed their options, regrets, fears and anecdotes about Justin at great lengths at the impromptu group support BBQ I threw together in the back yard. Best thing was that when it was all over and people were leaving, I still had an entire freezer full of official Justin Timberlake World Tour hamburger patties.

The world's loss is my gain. True Story.

Now Carrie:
That's all for now.
Don't get caught wondering how else you might gain from fame related death,
Your Favorite Kind of Hug

Blogger poopee shmoopee is a gaywad.

i love beef hugs!


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