I always liked this photo I snapped somewhere in Seoul (I think). It just made sense to draw squishy critters on it.
The very second game.
[I always liked the “Windmills of Your Mind” song from The Thomas Crowne Affair (1968). This is my sloppy mockery of it and its kooky lyrics. The original song was written by Michel Legrand, Alan Bergman, and Marilyn Bergman.]
Like an alabaster hamster snorting a line of moldy bees
Like an esoteric cleric preaching on the chi of knees
Like a sturgeon good at math
Like a German in a bath.
There’s that creep who stands in lines
For the treadmills made of mines.
Like wombats taught to whisper
Or a walrus made to weep.
Oh, look I’ve got a blister.
Have you put the kids to sleep?
Like an anemic brontosaurus
Like a surface that is porous.
Like a fork with just one prong.
Do I look alright in this sarong?
Bears indifferent to plastic
Like a sound that makes you feel
There’s a painting of a lobster
Or a girl stroking an eel.
There’s a sensation that keeps on building
When the circus comes to town.
The Heads try to keep us spinning
But I’m still frightened of the Clown.
There’s a danger of one finding
The lungs of a local mime
Stuffed into a suitcase lining
Before its scented with a lime.
Perchance a purple feather-duster
Or a hasty snark just off the cuff
Will curtail a lion’s luster.
Why aren’t we sleeping in the buff?
Filling red balloons with mustard
Always worked just fine for me.
There’s a startling revelation
That I’ve never had to pee.
Like a wicker orca filled with peanuts riding on antique skis
Like that face you make just before you have to sneeze
Like a leopard who needs a slap
Like a ghost without a map.
A prepubescent hagfish redefines
All the treadmills made of mines.
And the treadmills run on time.
A few of the short films I’ve had the pleasure of appearing in.
Someone made an homage to “The Dark Knight” and they asked me to be the Commissioner Gordon character because I had a mustache. 2009
The real Santa Claus. A movie as inane and ludicrous as the song that inspired it. 2010
Just for fun we made us some waffles. 2011
Murder! A hit and run driver tries to dispose of a troublesome body. 2009
I play a cat pervert. 2011
A silly, little short we all helped write involving a bored poet and a wayward time traveler. 2008
Pantomime getting beat up outside can get the cops called on you. 2011
A scene that my friend re-shot from Tim Burton’s “Ed Wood.” 2008
One of my first experiences on camera. My roommate asked me to play his weird roommate and I figured I already play that role well in real life so… 2007
I have a very brief cameo as a ping pong player.
Captain’s log: stardate banana hammock republic eleventy 1/2.
Frosty banquet of helium strectching throughout the chalky camel diaper.
Midnight ’tis forthcoming…bring an extra towel.
From whence the sharky mandible defies description more than’t does prescribe presciptions.
I have the jell-o mold now.
And, yes. There will be cod.
I can’t wait ’til Christmas, bacon.
No room in the inn. Did baby Jesus have an inny or an Audi?
Who’s portcullis obsequiously brandished forth spoons bassoons?
The Puscillanimous Putsch is ‘pon us, putz.
OBAMA WAS FRAMED!
Chappy McDonald cowboy guff into thirty-eight individual
Quaint, little walrus…all alone and frothy.
Pronouns verbing adjectivey nouns adverbably.
Nobility spake forkedly ’bout rambunctious bouts of gout. Poor devils.
Into the trundlebed we going into.
We shall be together. The windsock and I.
Ha. We meet again, Mr. Bon Bon’s secret fudge.
Kermit necromancy robbing went a-hob-nob-nobbing along.
In hindsight slavery probably wasn’t the best of ideas.
The ocelots are out.
Put your teeth to the pantry inexpugnably and inexpungably.
Enconced in absconded scones from home hone the tone down dyslexic children.
A baby wearing spectacles is not be trusted.
Thawing stork governing a mayor ‘pon his mare…in bed.
I told you, I am allergic to shellfish. Maybe if you really loved me you would have known that.
Poodlety-dee, poodlety-die cast metal cars.
Sling the swing, swing the sling, sing the song, and toot the fruit.
Palladin palladium on a porky palanquin.
Pangolin. If you don’t know it, look it up. (Google image-search it. They’re weird buggers).
Haffa’ go potty.
Ah, to be Bosnian again.
None of ’em.
(Ranpopo the Peccary Wizard: the fantastical man who controls all of the world’s peccaries with but the wave of his sword.)
*Where Charles Foster Kane lived, not the Gene Kelly movie