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October 25, 2007

Property Hunting Down By The Tracks, Auction Robot Porn Hosted By The Patrick Swayze Bull Dyke Twins & The Crucifixion of a Donald Trump Wannabe

I went property shopping down by the railroad tracks. It's a shitty neighborhood but there are some really cool old houses with 18 foot ceilings and the new moving sidewalks the city just put in spruce up the place rather nicely. Anyway, I was only down there because of the auction.

Yeah the auction. Also a dating service. You show up and they do this snowball activity where all the dudes are on one side and all the ladies are on the other then the women all pick the man they want. Cool right? No, not right. The "lady" that picked me was a toothless cracked out black lady that must've been homeless, (part of the trouble with doing couples skating down by the railroad tracks). Anyway, the suggested end result of this little "date" was being demonstrated up in the auction block where an unfortunately homely looking couple was getting it on.

I didn't want to have sex in front of a bunch of uglies with a homeless woman, but I played nice and just kept the conversation about kitchen appliances and paper products even though she kept trying to get her boney ten foot long fingers on my balls. At least I wasn't stuck in conversation with the two muscular Patrick Swayze looking bull dykes who were hosting the auction running around declaring their independence from men in their fuzzy togas. Why do so many dykes look like Patrick Swayze? Anyway, the only message the fuzzy togas were sending was loud and clear: TRY TO IGNORE US.

Back to the ugly couple having sex on the auction block, the woman had a blue green tone, skinny but squishy and lots of moles, I think she was a hooker, deep set hooker eye holes. When I walked past her I glanced down to her crotch area to see what was going on and hey ho, big surprise, there wasn't anything, no point of entry, all sealed up. Lady was a robot. Personally if I was making a sex robot, it'd have more tightly stretched skin with an actual vagina type deal. Nice touch with the moles though.

Oh yeah, Above the auction pulpit thingy there was a flashy business man in a nice blue suit nailed to a cross made out of brief cases. ART man, ART!

Now Robin:
That's all for now.
Don't get caught transcribing handwritten journals from 1994 and posting them like they are new.
Your Favorite Auctioneer,
Porky Pig

Anonymous another fucking fan is a gaywad.

Thank the goddess for Redhead Freckled Jazz Singers! & thank you Merk for putting her in a styling suitcase.
I just thought of you because I went here -where you musta been in the flesh because you live in San Frangayfag don't you?


Anonymous porcine swain is a gaywad.

More REM Porky,
we want your bacon!


Anonymous Ferd Berkle is a gaywad.


Your post description of the auctioneers brought this site to mind. It's funny because it is true!


Blogger merkley??? is a gaywad.

ha ha -- that site is soo cool. thanks for linking.


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October 23, 2007

The Old Road To High School, The Surprising Evolution of Darwin & The Miserable Former Manager/Promoter in The Clowny Dress

I have been going back to the old neighborhood of my childhood a lot lately. I don't know why, I just get a terrible knot in my stomach every time and I count the seconds until I leave.

Yesterday I was walking the same route I walked to high school when I was late for school or missed the bus. I was kinda surprised to see a few of my fellow students, now all grown up, still walking the same path. I bumped into a guy that was my friend in middle school but by the time high school rolled around he was recruited by the Future Farmers of America douchebags and was not allowed to be friendly with a new wave break dancer preppy motherfucker such as myself. But much to my surprise, as an adult he was dressed rather bohemian and he told me how he was now a defense attorney. I always hoped he'd come to his senses, apparently he did. He evolved. Funny, his name is Darwin.

As for why he was walking the old path to school, I didn't ask, neither did he.

Still, seeing him left me depressed.

Everything about Utah leaves me depressed.

Later I joined the members of my old band for some kind of ill planned reunion of sorts. I don't what the fuck I was thinking when I agreed to be part of it. The rest of the band bypassed my managerial and promotional skills in favor of some overweight stinky fella who was apparently relying on the power of prayer to fill the venue. I watched as he kneeled and recited his prayers, arms outstretched to the heavens imploring God's great goodness to keep us all from complete embarrassment when nobody showed up.

"Uh yeah dude, that's not how to promote a show."

"How do you know?" He said.

"Well I promoted shows successfully for ten years, you need posters, radio ads and flyers mixed with good word of mouth, the only thing were gonna have at this show with your method is one douchebag promoter with bruised knees. Do you know how to dance?"

"Well if you're such a great promoter why didn't you help out?" he asked.

"A) Nobody asked and B) I was kinda hoping for a complete disaster such as this." I said.

And it WAS a disaster. Nobody showed up. I thought I'd enjoy the misery, but frankly I was just plain miserable. Oh and did I mention that I thought it would be cool to dress up in a yellow and red dress? Yeah, thought it would be "f.u.n.n.y." -- nothing more pathetic than a miserable man in a Ronald McDonald Tranny joke dress.

I'll try to avoid the past from now on. Fuck the past.

Now Erica:
That's all for now.
Don't get caught sabotaging by inaction.
Your Favorite Lesbian Fast Food Chain Clown,

Anonymous Your biggest fan eva, Warm Bit of Lumpy Cereal is a gaywad.

Can't we have a pic of the new wave break dancer preppy motherfucker such as yourself? Or even a spunky youngish event manager? The spider guts in eye portrait is arresting but leaves vast parts of you unsaid.
I wish I had a cock to stick in Lances basshole, you sure missed out on a unique experience there! and chocolate nipples would be tasty AND nutritious because of all the antibodies in lady milk.
Of course you know those Darwin types don't do passive agro stuff, it's so Na Na up yours. Your submind odviously knows this which is why you got to do tranvy Ronald. Instant karma!
Ha, ha...


Anonymous Anonymous is a gaywad.

your Hear link on front page never works so we can't even know what your band reunion sounda sounded like!


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Mile High Clubbing with Francis McDormand, Stow Away Tips From Santa Claus & A REALLY Long Lunch with Ralph Macchio

On the plane home from LA the other day I sat next to Francis McDormand, you know, the pregnant cop from Fargo, I had just seen the movie for the third time the night before so it was a nice surprise cuz I really like that movie. I annoyed myself for the first half an hour of the flight because I pretended I didn't know who she was which is totally gay city, especially because I had to sit next to her for a billion miles. I noticed that she was edging her arm onto the arm rest and for a quick second I considered making room but then I remembered that holding my ground on armrest space is probably one of my best talents, why make an exception just cuz it's Francis McD? Right?

I held my ground. I didn't budge.

She persisted, eventually sliding her arm on top of mine.

and leaving it there,

for like a long time,

long enough to make us both horny.

Minutes later we were giving each other blow jobs in front of everyone on the plane.

They all pretended not to not notice.

Francis McDormand never stops smiling during sex. Cool.

When we finished up we sat there, still not talking and then I annoyed myself by playing aloof instead of just asking for her number. But then again, I didn't really need to, from where I was sitting I could see her cellphone in her purse and the number was written in white ink all across the front of it. All I needed to do was memorize it. Interestingly, her mother, who I hadn't noticed earlier sitting in the seat beside her, was eyeballing the cellphone trying to memorize the number too. They must not be very close. So sad.

When I got off the plane Santa Claus tried to make small talk with me, explaining the ins and out of being a stow away, apparently that's how he gets around, not reindeer. The coolest thing he showed me was that, even though you can't see them, each individual row of seats has it's own door on both sides, just like a four door car has a door for the back seat, planes all have doors on every row, you just have to feel for the handle. Seriously, check it out next time you fly. He invited me to go with him but his next stop was Idaho so I obviously declined. Plus he smelled musty.

Later in the airport cafeteria I sat next to this Ralph Macchio looking douchebag who kept claiming he was Brazilian, i went along with it, asking him to say certain phrases in portuguese, he just mumbled out gibberish. I never told him that I'm fluent in portuguese. I think it might have actually BEEN Ralph Macchio. He looks weird old, like those tiny kindergarten kids with that weird disease that makes them look like a geezer.

Yeah, it was totally Ralph Macchio, half the stuff he was claiming was portuguese sounded like Mr. Miyagi.

I think I'm gonna call Francis.

Now Alica:

That's all for now.
Don't go acting like it was FOR SURE Ralph Macchio when it could very well have been someone else... nah, it was totally Ralph Macchio.
Your Favorite Child Slave Labor Trick,
Wax On,Wax Off

Anonymous Lady Lush is a gaywad.

OMG! You are a lucky barstard, I've wanted to do sexing with Franny McD for ever. How you wangle all this crazy shit is beyond me. Santa was just a ruse tho, he was pulling your leg about Idaho for sure. And who the fuck is Ralph? I think you just wanted everyone to know you are fluently portuguese.
Also I want you to know that I still like your pics even though their names have become boring. 'Alicia' is so brilliantly fun I was inspired to part with funds so as to hold it in my hands, but then remembered I've spent all my funds registering my truck, fuck it!


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Next Time I'll Lick The Death Off of My Fingers Before I Go Poking Around in Eyeball City

When I went to pour myself my regular shot of whiskey I take just before going out on the town, there was what appeared to be a goose down feather resting just above the lid of the Jim Beam, as I went to brush it aside it's little transparent feather tentacles moved. It wasn't a feather, it was a very very fragile white spider, a baby perhaps, maybe even a spider ghost. Didn't matter, it had no business blocking my booze so I dealt with it by snapping it between my thumb and middle finger instantly vaporizing it's transparent little spider existence.

You could only be so lucky to die in such a manner.

With a snap of the fingers.

So awesome, so humane.

I rubbed the evening nap out of my eyes, picked out some sunglasses, hailed a cab and was off to meet some girls for a drink. In the cab my left eye began to itch, like maybe when I rubbed my eyes, I had rubbed a little too hard, or maybe got a speck of dust in it. I kept rubbing to try to get whatever it was out, but it only seemed to be making it worse. When I got to the booze place, my eye was watering and had only grown more itchy. It was so bad that I had to ignore my friends completely and go back to the bathroom to see what the fuck was up. when I looked in the mirror my entire eye was swollen nearly shut. I looked like Rocky Balboa. The white part of my eye was bright pink and swollen so badly that my iris actually appeared to be inset. Obviously I wasn't going to be having drinks with girls.

"I rubbed spider guts in my eye." I said to the cab driver.

"Huh?" he said.

"Nothing." I said. I thought of showing him the freakshow that was now my left eye, but I didn't want him to scream in horror and crash into a building.

Anyway, Google told me that unless it was a black widow or a recluse, I'd be fine. I took a few pictures of myself looking like a 90 year old jewish wizard and went to sleep.

Next evening my eye was normal again.

That all you got Spider Faggot?

Now Cyan:
That's all for now.
Don't get caught only taking pictures of the swollen eyeball with only your cameraphone even though you have one billion better cameras but you're too lazy to get up.
Your Ninety Year Old Jew Area
Left Eyeball Region

FUCK FRANCINE!!: Post a Comment

October 22, 2007

Lance Bass Gets The Hots For Beardo, Removeable Chocolate Nipple Lids & The Fragile Wax Bleep Bloop

I get a little miffed when the gays just dismiss me out of hand as a straight and they don't even try to hit on me. True, I'm not gay, but do you have to treat me like that? Throw a guy a bone every once in a while. That's a good joke cuz of the word BONE.

Anyway at least Lance Bass, one of the famousest gays, has manners, he tried to grab my wiener a dozen times last night. What a gentleman. Every homo in the room was tryin' to get a piece of him but he was all about the dude with the beard, and of course I liked the attention because DUH, I like attention even if it is from a pudgy fifth wheel boy band homo. Of course I'm no prude so I was nice and flattered when he tried to back me into a corner. But honestly, even if I was gay, Lance Bass most certainly wouldn't be my type, he has way bad style and his freshly bleached hair is so 1997 and not in a good way and bottom line he just isn't femmy enough. If I was gonna fag out it'd be a hot femme gay or post op tranny, you know, cuz I ain't gay and they are almost women or something. The math almost works.

"Lance, if I was gay you'd be the first man I'd fuck." I said, because I'm polite enough to lie (Prince would be first).

"Well if you were gay, I wouldn't want to fuck you." he said as he took off his shirt. "I only go with straight men."

"Whoa dude, what is going on with that third nipple in the middle of your chest? Is that real?"

"Yeah you like it?"

"Ummm uhh, why is it so big? It looks like a negro's nipple, are you sure that's not chocolate?"

"Check this out." He slowly peeled up the big nipple revealing a strange belly button type hole.

"What the fuck is going on there? You have a fleshy hole in your chest."

"Stick your dick in there."

"No way, that's not a vagina." I said, making perfect sense.

"Yeah but it's not a butthole either."

"What is it? Is that your belly button?"

"Do belly buttons go all the way through?" He asked as he turned around revealing the exit end of his weird nipple covered chest hole thing."

"What do you call that thing?"

"It's my Lance Basshole, stick your dick in there, it's soft and you totally won't even be gay because it's not a butthole, hand or mouth."

"Well thanks for the offer, but as tempting as it might be just for purely the I Fucked The Third Nipple Covered Hole in Lance Bass' Chest factor, I think I'm gonna have to politely decline because, well, it doesn't gimme a boner so that creates an obvious problem."

"You don't need a boner with this, just put it in there and it will turn into a boner, I guarantee it."

"Maybe so but I don't want you to give me a boner, and more than that I just don't want to stick my wong in your .... umm .. "basshole", but seriously, no offense, I'm sure I'll probably regret not doing it when I'm an old man with a dead dick."

"Well gimme your number." he said "The offer will stand, whenever you want, I'll call you and check up every once in a while."

I gave him the wrong number. I don't need that kind of pressure from a famous homo.

Later I went back to my childhood bedroom in Utah and had a little bit of sex with a famous Vargas girl but when I went to doodle her business a piece of labia broke off in my fingers. Guess I shouldda known Vargas girls were made out of wax. She actually DID have chocolate nipples, I ate one of them. Is that rude?

Oh yeah, when the transparent wax labia fragment broke off she told me to eat that too but I passed.

Nobody told me it was weird removable/edible nipple/genital day.

I suppose I miss out on a lot not being weird.

Now Beth:

That's all for now.
Don't get caught blaming Lance Bass for your faggy dreams.
Your Dog's Least Favorite Snack,
Cold Hunk of Bouncy Oatmeal

Blogger Lord Chimmy is a gaywad.

Hey! What the fuck is going on liver neck? You are posting like a dying man. I don't see many Flickr updates these days...are you addicted to Meth now?

I deleted and restarted my blog twice in your absence. A world without Merkley??? is a pretty empty world.

I hope you're still taking pictures...


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October 17, 2007

Thee Dolly Lame-O, The Big Blobby Photo Shoot With Unnamed Dancers & Superman's Bionic Art Jaw

I sat next to the Dali Lama at the big commie military wankfest in the field behind the White-house. George Bush refused to be seen or photographed with "THEE Dolly LAME-O", as he put it, so he and all his buddies hung out over by the garage pointing and laughing at all the other countries military get ups. The Dali Lama was dressed in an all red number looking like a mix between a Canadian Royal Mountie mixed with a Christmas Tree with loads of medals and tassels which wasn't too surprising to me because I always thought the orange diaper vibe was just pandering to the movie star hippie set. I guess the plain crappy folding chair went along with that whole deal. Way to go Mr. Humility, I'm totally buying it now.

George Bush kept doing devil horns rock and roll hand whenever the marching troops did some choreography. No surprise there.

I went scouting for a location that would look like my living room only as big as a warehouse to do a photo shoot. I wore my naked rubber Three Question Marks costume with a working television on my head as a mask because I'm an entertaining driver. I also mimed all the crazy keyboard solos from the Moog cookbook compilation on the ipod. I was a big hit as usual.

Along the way we all stopped off at a few thrift stores. I bought a huge bronze wall sculpture of James Earl Jones as Louis Armstrong posing with Elvis. I can't remember what movie it's from but I'll need a crane to get it into my house. I also nearly chopped of my finger on a makeshift fan someone had fashioned out of an old boat propeller attached to a motor with nothing more than a few oversized paper clamps. Whatever numbdick set that whole thing up was def not thinking safety first.

When we finally found a place that could pass as a gigantic version of my living room we brought in a dozen VW bugs and parked them amongst the furniture because, duh, it looked cool.

Once all the dancers arrived they distracted me by asking me to think of a name for their all female dance review. Usually I'm pretty good at this type of thing but I admit I was a little stumped because I was convinced that it should just be a man's name, you know like Albert or Henry or Doug but then when I'd visualize them being announced on TV, "Ladies and gentlemen please welcome DOUG!", it left me feeling too hipstery so instead I played with the melted candle wax, puffing it up, rolling it out, making it into all kinds of big huge blobby pornographic shapes.

"You should name your group an indescribable blobby shape with a few sharp corners instead of a word, you know, like how Prince changed his name to a symbol, this way a person would have to own the sharpish blobby thing and hold it up in the air if they wanted to talk about you. You'd sell a million blobby sharp deals."

Later on Christopher Reeves came by the set, he showed me his mechanical jaw. Each tooth was individually sculpted and on it's own lever like a metal piano or typewriter. He opened the drawer in his wheelchair and showed me all the custom souvenir teeth sculpted from ivory he'd been given as gifts from stars such as Larry King and Bernadette Peters. My Favorite tooth was probably the one sculpted in the exact miniature likeness of Tweety Bird. I'm sold on the idea that false teeth should be little sculptures and not just teeth. Way to go Superman.

Now Mandy:

That's all for now.
Don't get caught cutting your little brother out of the story cuz his part was too sleepy.
Your Ironic Military Prankster,

Anonymous international gal is a gaywad.

After six weeks off blogging and then reading your last post about urgy sex with too much arse blood, I was beginning to suspect you'd been up to no good. But the Dolly lame-o and your television head and the dancers (who should be called 'Albert' for sure!) and supermans carved teeth have all reassured me you're as fine and brilliant as before. Next time you are doing a girly/car wharehouse shoot try using International AB110's, a far superior vehicle in all respects. Maybe these girls would be up for it


Anonymous greatly enamored of is a gaywad.

Fuck I love you dood,
it's like you have this secret part of me and you are holding it dreamstage
tonight I told the woman at the pizza party
about my Merkley??? and his wild tales of where the things are - she understood my vicarious dreamscapes but little else of my besottion
really you ought to visit me, we've officiallly got Australia's best pizza, and I will introduce you to my friends and we can all play Wollyball
April is best


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October 15, 2007

The Flesh Eating Bunny Hop Freak Show with Martin Short, Diabetesville & The Bumzit Circus Orgy

I visited the new Sundance mountain luxury housing complex Robert Redford is building in Las Vegas. Loads of famous people were there having orgies and all other sorts of typical "Stays in Vegas" bull. We were divided into little performance groups and I was put in a group with Martin Short and a man who had a flesh eating disease that caused his flesh to look like a tattooed transparent hunk of swiss cheese. He was very braggy about his freakshowness and went on and on, cracking his brittle bones and putting fire crackers in the gaping wounds on his neck, a real showboat he, not a team player. Martin Short was apparently nervous about the fact that I had no real visual talents/deformities to contribute to our show so he suggested I put a fake wart on my shoulder.

"Trust me, this will be good merkley." He said.

"Oh I trust you, but you should know that I do a pretty good version of Peter Cottontail"

"Hopping down the bunny trail?" he asked.

"Hippity hoppity easter is on its way..." I said.

"Ooooh easter songs in fall -- that could be good, yeah, nevermind about the wart."

The See Through Flesh guy wandered off and was pulling off hunks of flesh for a bunch of kids so Martin and I put the rest of the show together on our own. I Thought that he'd be the show stealing type but he was really great about passing things back and forth, but then again it may have been that all my asian fans from Utah showed up and were chanting my name.

"Muhkohree Muhkohree Muhkoree" they chanted as I hopped down the bunny trail with no pants on.

Martin Short was impressed with my fan base.

After the show, while looking for the after party, I accidentally wandered into a charitable house party way up in a mansion in the hills. It was the wrong party but the host asked me to stay and entertain all the fat kids gorging out on florescent ice cream and cake.

"What is the charity benefitting?" I asked.

"The C.D.C. (Center For Disease Control)" he said.

"Looks like you're giving lots of kids diabetes." I said.

When I returned to my hotel there was an orgy going on with all kinds of circusey people who looked less than disease free. They were having sex in every corner, not really the appetizing kind of sex either, lots of fisting and foots up butts, all really painful looking stuff, none of which turned me on and most of which was making the room smell like a meat store slash bowl of beans and corn chips. Oh yeah, and lots of ass zits. I tried to relax by making a painting with my feet on the wall but the balcony overhead finally gave way to all the humpy naked people and they came crashing down on top of me in all their greasy nudeness.

"Eat my cum." One overly made up, nearly clownish woman said to me.

I didn't wanna be rude but she really wasn't my type and I also was a bit put off by all the dramatic porn language and swollen purple vaginaness.

"Eat my cum, eat my cum..."

"How bout I just do a little puppetry instead?"

I introduced a couple of my fingers to her purple business, more to not be a prude than anything else.

"Eat my cum, eat my cum.." she insisted."

"Um, yeah, I don't think so, I'm guessing there is more than just your stuff down there.."

Just then a real bitchy bull dyke pushed me aside to inspect her anus.

"Just like I thought" she said, "This ass is completely injured."

"Well I had nothing to do with that I can assure you, I was only doodling her to be polite."

The lesbian gave me a man hating look and for a second I considered getting all ragey on her but instead I just glanced around the room, saw a soaped up puffy black lady squirming around on the cold tile floor in a phoney state of rapture and realized I had no interest in any of what was going on so I tossed her my room key and told her to make sure she didn't get any ass blood on the furniture. I put on a mexican blanket as a skirt, gave myself a beard combover with some shampoo and a detached showerhead as a brush and went shopping for guns.

So yeah, none of this stayed in Vegas.

Now Alexia and her fiend Telene:

That's all for now.
Don't get caught counting the bum zits.
Your Fake Mustache,
Jim Henson

Anonymous Relax is a gaywad.

That's a crazy dream.

Nice pictures though. Are you still taking pictures? I haven't seen any new ones on flickr lately.

(I'm not spamming. if you get four of these it's because blogger isn't taking my comment.)


Anonymous naj is a gaywad.

glad to have you, and your subconscious, back.
the interweb hasn't been the same without your magnificent mixed-up mind and it's symmetrical pics.


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