A Story of Loss & Judgment

"You think this can break us?" she cried. "What are you so afraid of? Nothing can break us. We're stronger with this loss. It'll heal after the cuts have dried. Why are you so scared of us not having everything? We have each other! What more do you want? All that we want and need can be found here, between us, within us. Our freedom, our dreams, our hopes and even our worst fears. But not this. This is not our worst fear. We are more than this, Bryan. Can't you see? We're so far removed from this, beyond trees and waterfalls and probably even clouds and I know we can make it. You and I, if we work as a beautiful, amazing team, can-"

"Nancy," Bryan interrupted, speaking slowly, thinking over every word, "I don't know what that was, but it didn't answer my question. I'll ask it again and a yes or no answer would be preferable here. Have you seen my Fozzie Bear shirt or not?"

"Yes! Yes! I confess! I threw it away!" Nancy yelled like a lunatic. "I thought it was fucking stupid!"

"You're fucking stupid!" Bryan shrieked, his eyes gone a most unpatriotic red. "And now I'm gonna get all drunk and shit and then beat you into forgiveness!"

And so he did. Oh man, did he beat her. Why? Because Bryan was a man of his word and Nancy was being a total bitch.

Did you feel sorry for Nancy in the end? Oh, because she got the shit kicked out of her (Bryan nearly put her in the hospital, by the way)? Well, you should reevaluate your sympathies, because Nancy was a Nazi war criminal. Feel good about yourself now? You probably shouldn't. The lesson here is that you should stop making assumptions about people before you have the facts. Is Brian a shitty guy for beating up a war criminal after she threw his shirt away carelessly? No, of course not. You're being all crazy right now. So, next time, before you get all winded with your pride, stop and think before making your insane assumptions about people without knowing everything first. Knowledge is power, people.

This is Jake Kilroy, changing the world, one blog post at a time.

Fictional Character I Wish Were Real #1: Molly

Name: Molly

From: Idle Hands

Portrayed By: Jessica Alba

When: 1999

When I was 14, the world showed me Jessica Alba. And, I have to tell you, like many boys my age, I nearly had a heart attack of boners.

No, it's true!

Seriously though, Idle Hands came out when I was eighth grade and had only recently come to terms with puberty. So, for the world to say, "Hey man, you're becoming an adult, try to be cool about it," and then show me Jessica Alba in Idle Hands, well, it seemed like a super dick move. It was like introducing a kid to candy by handing him a cough drop and then, an hour later, saying, "Oh, by the way, these are Sour Patch Kids."

You can't do that to a kid in corduroy! He's got enough troubles!

On a related note, I only wore corduroy then and, trust me, I had enough troubles.

So, at 14, when sex dreams had the same quality as nightmares, I saw Jessica Alba who had just turned 18. And, oh my goddamn hell, did Hollywood exploit that kitten.

The character of Molly was designed to make every teenage boy's brain explode. All she did was hang out in her pajamas or underwear and say cute or sexy things. But she wasn't a skank (for the most part), so it just seemed like she just wanted that chump idiot Anton Tobias. She was pursuing him. Even Jessica Rabbit and Roger Rabbit made more sense to me.

She dressed as a sexy angel that Halloween and she even lost half of her clothes that fateful night. And you felt bad for her. All you could do was feel sorry that she wasn't safe at home in her bedroom. But, oh man, all you wanted to do was be in that bedroom with her...until you realized you'd probably screw it up. Shit, what would you do as a teenage boy if you actually had the chance to be with Molly? Well, you'd probably cry because you knew deep down inside that you'd be letting her down, no matter how hard you tried. Goddamn, even in my mid-twenties, I would still be intimidated if I had the chance with that gnarly sex kitten.

I mean, seriously, even now, she's the hottest fictional character I can think of. And, yes, I agree that it's weird that the character is now seven years younger than me, but...whatever. Come to think of it, it's probably fair to assume that Molly has had lasting psychological effects on me. I've considered this recently. I think, what if Molly were real? And all I can come up with is that it's good she's not. Why? Because she could probably lead an entire army of men to murder entire countries if she promised them her nipples. Shit, if she were a Russian spy that promised full nudity, I'd get a job with the Pentagon, go through all that training and career-building, just to have the chance to sell her American missile secrets years later.

Damn, you know what? If you put me in a room full of nuns and Molly said I'd have to stab just one of the nuns to touch her legs, I would stab every nun in there, just to improve my chances. I would sell friends up the river and then burn the river (it'd be a river of oil!) if it meant I could maybe, just maybe, hang out in her bedroom and lay my hand on her butt.

Oh, what's that, Molly? Kidnap children? They're yours! Who did you want dead? Don't even worry about it! I nuked half the planet!

Seriously though, did you see her in her underwear in that movie? If I had been there, I would've killed everyone within a 50-yard radius because there might've been a slight chance they saw what I saw and I'd rather to be the only person alive who did.

For Molly, I would eat meat, do heavy drugs and even listen to The Eagles. Fuck, man, I would sky-dive if that was my only way to reach her. And it's not like some ultra-heroic love thing. I definitely don't love Molly. We totally wouldn't work out long-term. I already know this. Maybe we could casually date?

Hmmm.

Maybe friends with benefits would be ideal here.

But I just remember seeing that movie in high school and thinking, "Oh my god...I would actually kill for a person." I was terrified of myself for a long time, but then I came to terms with the fact that no playful sex kitten like Molly would truly exist. And, thus, the world remained safe. Her and I probably have nothing in common, except that we both know that she is extremely, extremely hot.

Again, it wouldn't be a relationship. It would just be like...the Olympics of stalkerdom.

I'd be like her zombie.

Would I enjoy throwing all those puppies into a spinning boat motor, if she asked? No, of course not! I'm not a monster, people. But would I do that for her? Yes, absolutely. Because I would want to see her in her underwear afterward. If she was going to be naked, I'd probably rent a cement truck and fill it with all those puppies, just to get the job done quicker as they slide into a gruesome death. "Oh no, now I have to shower to get off all the blood," I'd say casually, all dazed and thinking of Molly. Well, then why don't I just wash all this puppy blood off in the shower that I take it with Molly? Bam. Guilt gone! Puppies? What puppies? All I saw when the blades were churning was Molly and she was probably saying something totally scandalous to me.

Oh man, and then when she dressed as an angel in that movie? Ugh. I would've at least tortured a senior citizen. When her clothes get ripped off and she's in her underwear? I'd probably push people I know off of a cruise ship. As they're drowning, I'd yell, "Sorry, but enjoy the afterlife! I'm gonna experience Heaven on Earth." And, again, if she were promising sweet, sweet booty, I'm almost certain I couldn't guarantee that I wouldn't fly a Greenpeace plane right into an elementary school of orphans.

I know, I know! I know how it sounds. It sounds stupid and terrible. But, seriously, have you seen Molly? In fact, that would be my defense. "Excuse me, your honor, but have you seen them titties? No? Well, then I present them as Exhibit Cs!" Haha! And then the jury would laugh and I'd walk free. But what would I do then? Well, I'd grab a box of ice cream and lingerie and then head to Molly's house to do whatever she wanted me to. Massage, or maybe murder, it wouldn't matter, because I'd do it. And I'd do it with a senseless grin. Sorry. Whatever.

Fuck you, everybody else!

"if only america"

"if only america"
done out of character, in body, by jake kilroy.

if the freedom fighters ever get wind of this tornado,
they'll spin like the thieves on the dance floor.
and sometimes that's all they are anyway.

but you and me have got real freedom,
like a parade of elephants that came for the nuts
and stayed for the protest.

and we haven't yet overstayed our welcome.

i don't need anarchy explained to me
by punks that came to be
homeless so they could see
America, as something
struggling.

i don't need the system to work for us,
or any greyhound bus
dragging its rubber puss
around the great lust
of American transit.

i don't need corporations,
i don't need soup kitchens.
because that's everybody.
and we don't need anybody.

our common man is too common
and the rarities are too rare.
but we're not leaving our countrymen behind,
the ones that beat their hearts colorless.
they fought in the great war of living and dying.
and they ain't doing so well.
so wave your white flags of sly grins
and buy them each a drink,
so they can burn their wallets
and never worry again.

we'll be laughing drunk when the enemy really comes.

"i still..."

"i still..."
written in bed by jake kilroy.

i want you to know that i still get drunk
and look at pictures of you.
i want you to know that i still cook
and make meals for two.

and i want you to know that i still hate
poems that have to rhyme.

i still smoke in my underwear
and stare at the moon
just to narrate what happens in my backyard.

i still play with my fake gun
until my dog doesn't move
and i shoot the nearest piece of glass in the room.

i still rearrange my bookshelves
when i don't go out at night
but stay home to promise myself a living.

i still hold onto the clothes
that i haven't worn in years
because i don't want to ever be underdressed.

i still keep my stereo unplugged
because the lights are too bright
and i can't fall asleep to music without dreaming.

i still write love letters to women
that i'm not in love with
and wait for them to write me the same pretty words.

i still watch black and white movies
to remember the past fondly
and consider the present and plot against the future.

i still have candles in my room
just in case i lose my nerves
and decide to burn the house down with everything in it.

and i still write nonsense poems
that are just as off-key
as memories, rituals, ideas and shrugs, lovingly held.

Bring On The Traffic: Volume Two

To bring in more traffic to my blog (and to rise to challenge Non's mouthy mouthin' off), I've decided to revive my weak attempts at combining every popular thing on the internet. This one is television-themed:

Katy Perry (of "California Gurls" and hot body fame) and I watched the first episode of The Walking Dead, which is on the same channel as Mad Men, and we're also going to catch the series premiere of Conan. We're both very excited for television this year, so we're going to try out the 101 Ways To Please Your Man suggestions in Cosmo to make us feel good like free drugs. Also, I heard that Keith Olbermann's political donations and pictures of Kat Dennings's boobs are floating around the interwebs! Katy will love that as much as Kanye West's new leaked album!

Some Stories of My Grandfather

My dad and I visited my grandfather last night to see how he was doing in the wake of living since my grandmother passed away. And he was feeling just as I expected: everything. The man was enduring every feeling he had in him. He laughed when he talked about old gambling stories and he got silent as he spoke about realizing he bought just one sweet potato instead of two at the grocery store for the first time in over 50 years.

The three of us talked about a lot of things and my grandfather invited me to do something for the first time in nearly a decade (in fact, he invited me to San Diego and come play cards at his house). The evening was heart-warming and heart-wrenching, and even my dad didn't know what to say on the way home. In the car, with eyes glazed over, focused on the road, my father said his brain was broken. Even after so many years gone, it's weird, almost overwhelming, to enter a place that you associate with a person who isn't there anymore. But we did have a nice time.

Some things my grandpa told me that I thought were interesting...

- All the twentysomething bachelors of my very-extended family used to come over to my grandparents' house to play cards on the weekend. This included my grandparents' sons, nephews, great-nephews, et cetera. My grandparents couldn't ever figure out why they weren't taking out girls but were instead just getting drunk and gambling at their house.

- My grandfather's brother Tom was maybe the most sensational gambler in a family of cardsharks and hustlers. One time, when he was in the high-high-rollers club, Tom was playing in a secret room at the top of a hotel with my grandpa just hanging out behind him and watching. At some point, Tom turned to my grandpa and said, "Jimmy, if I win, you can take the winnings to the poor people of Mexico." Tom won and handed my grandfather the single chip that came with the winning hand and said, "Do good with it." My grandfather cashed it in and was handed $1,000. That week, my grandfather bought $1,000 worth of beans and rice and went to Mexico.

- When World War II was sneaking up on the United States, my grandfather's P.E. classes at school turned into rope-climbing exercises, just to have the boys ready. But the boys weren't reluctant even a little bit. It turns out that they would go to each other's houses after school and jump off of the garage to self-train themselves to be paratroopers or bailing navy officers. They wanted to do it so they'd never panic, as they heard about the navy officers who jumped off sinking air craft carriers and had their helmets break their necks when they hit the water. Them boys wanted to be ready.