The recipe.

Man if I could sum up everything I'm feeling these days with a mash up of lyrics to certain songs, it would be the gayest thing that I ever did besides blogging about it..sorta like Jon Cryer, making a mix tape for Molly Ringwald. and with that fuckin hat he wore.
Anyhow, I'm a little stoked that the holidays have for the most part finally moved along. Gone on their proverbial 'merry way,' so to speak.. In light of this, and between a lot of food preparation, x-mas shopping, and making a pretty bad ass tree for my dogs, (complete with leftover halloween decorations,)  I have found the recipe that beats my party trays, christmas cookies, or even the occasionl bean casserole that I put the moves on, and have decided to share it with you:

 1 fifth vodka,
2 parts xanax,
4 bowls of greens with every family member
That's it, you don't have to toss anything. Just light it.

And my boy Brutus, we have recently become friends again. Not that we ever really stopped but we are starting to get the hang of some shit, and I couldn't be happier and neither could he..Hope everyone had a rad holiday, and enjoy that recipe.

Is that a fly in my soup?

Funny how when a fly lands all we want to do is kill the motherfucker. I have my flyswatters laying about, ready for any type of fly warfare. I'm prepared for a fly apocalypse. The common misconseption about flies is that they shit everytime they land. Not true. They actually vomit more then they shit. Another neat fact about flies is that a zip loc baggie filled with water hanging above a doorway will keep the little bastards out of your house, (you do however need to change it every 6 months, I know this because I do it.)
There's been alot of flies buzzing around lately and I happen to be showering more then normal so I know it's not me smelling like shit. So I figure it's other people smelling of it. I don't like people that smell like shit, or buzz my tower for that matter. If anyones gonna buzz my tower it will be me thank you very much.
After a well needed morning nap, I came downstairs, and barely poured a cocktail to sit down, and a fucking fly lands in my drink. Kind of reminded me of being out at a bar and seeing people that buzz by you that you reeeallly don't want to see, but they are nice enough to stop, say hello, and vomit in your drink so to speak. (or take a shit.) before you even get a chance too. Don't need it. Get the fuck off of my cloud, stop buzzing my tower, or whatever.

Back to the fly, this thing lands on the rim of my glass, and I assume it has shit...So I do what anyone would do, started cooking some bacon and googled this nonsense, it said that if a fly has indeed shit, it will leave a little brown spec, but more then likely it vomited. I found that interesting, and I also found a brown spec on rim. So the motherfucker DID shit. I killed him. Not proud of it, but it DID shit on something I cared about...The bacons done. peace.

Moon Fucking River

Alright. Mom called today out of the blue. Of course I had just got done roasting a bowl, so I was good and high. Perfect for 'mom time.' Poured a cocktail and kicked it on the patio catching up on our holiday business and other things. We're pretty good at going 3 months without a phone call or email and pick right up. It's nice.
Anyway, she knows I'm in the middle of this book that I've hit the fucking wall on AGAIN. and she says, 'do you have your notes? I have some trivia for your book.'..'Yeah, I have it right here."
She says, "I thought you might want to know that mine and your dads song was 'Moon River' by Andy Williams, from around 1967."  That was it.
( Kind of funny that she knows that I have to make a note of something so easy to remember, because she knows I pretty much don't remember shit. ever.)
So we went on about some other facts I needed to get straight, the funniest one was in 1967 my soon to be dad was rolling around on some Honda 50 (basically scooter status) to pick my mom up for dates. Thats funny because the motherfucker was 6 foot 5inches tall...a true gentleman, but to big for that bike none the less.
Fast forward I guess, they were divorced by the time I was 2, and dad graduated to a Honda 1000 touring bike, with the stereo and fairing and all that. Which he later died on in Big Sur. Ironically my mom is the one that had to call with the news and all that shit. (They had been divorced a good 20 years by then.) Not important right now, but what was cool is that she called to tell me that she was thinking about the song 'Moon River' today.
45 years later she still claims that love.
And now I can't get the damn song out of my head.  But at least I have my notes, and might be able to do a little writing again.
Sidenote: a friend of mine sent me something about not forcing shit. Man, you were right, and so was Old man Chuck.

 Mom and Dad and my usual scowl fresh from Hawaii in 1970.

toaster ovens, pork links, and some other bullshit.

My chick left my toaster oven unplugged again. I finally got down on some breakfast and my fucking toast isn't ready. Cooked some pork links and happened across the last two eggs in the fridge..and my toast is fucked. I've already been all over the yard with my flat shovel cleaning up after my dumb ass of a dog, gone to the grocery store to grab some stash for my apparently 'world famous' bean casserole. (which I forget how to make every year, and will continue to do so because I'm a confused old man, and Im still not sure how anyone even knows about it.)
It's funny finding yourself in your pants every morning, I suppose there will come a time when I will remember to lose them again, until then, I will keep on going to sleep in them, and in general probably look like an idiot trying to plug in my toaster oven in the morning.
I had a super good time this weekend with some old and new friends.  Everyone compared beards, toaster oven stories, and what type of shot is the best for afternoon drinking. We decided, every type of shot is pretty o.k...although I was forced towards some whiskey and almost fell off my barstool..(I did not.) Might have something to do with the 'session' on the train tracks..who knows.

I think that probably the funniest shit that happened all week was a having a drunken relative tell me over the phone that I use the 'fuck word' WAY too much and that I should go to church..I told him that, 'Im in church, just like you are you fucking idiot,'

This is the fellow that decided whiskey in the afternoon was a better decision. you all know him (the one on the left) he shall remain nameless but very photogenic.
And that's the end of it.
 I'm gonna pull the plug on an old man nap, be stoked that I got all my shit done, somehow made it thru the weekend, kick the dogs in the ass, and wake up bitching about the toaster oven. AND the dogshit on the front lawn.
-PK

Sausages and a Perfect Circle.

The dogs have once again decided to bug the living shit out of me. I have walked them, given them a car ride, AND gave them the last hardboiled egg, which my gal was gracious enough to leave me, (for them.)
And now I'm busy burning my breakfast sausage..Fuck.
I decided to re-open my private studio, I am very busy painting, dusting, and doing general shit to tighten up the ship for the winter. A multi-tasking motherfucker, I guess you would say. I have had a very nice summer break, and for everyone that was patient, cool, and just in general, left me alone, I appreciate it.
I was burnt. Now I am not. Sometimes you have to step away from shit when it's fucking with you. Tattooing was, and I don't understand where it has gone. When a complete stranger says to me, 'nice work bro!' I fucking cringe...There are more appropriate ways to introduce yourself to somebody, (a simple hello in the produce section of the grocery store will usually suffice.) We can go from there.
The writing is going well and the studio business is a bit overwhelming, but I found my bucket of paint (so to speak,) and it's time for a new coat on the walls.

The new place will be called 'El Studio'..there will be a card this year, but you can only give it out to people that like unicorns...and now I'm burning my eggs..peace.

fancy new shit and stuff.

Welcome to the new century...3 months after much debate, we finally made the trek to the phone store to get last years model of a 'smarter phone then me.' WORD. We'll take two..I will go sit by the door, while this fellow downloads our business, my contacts, and whatever the fuck. The hangover is hard, and the lack of food in my stomach is a joke, and my fault alone.
So now we have our fancy new Verizon bag with our fancy new other shit and my gal couldn't be happier. Excellent..Now let's go figure out how to work this business..(the phones.)
I finally figured out how to answer it today, I have voice texting..what the fuck is that?  Once I learned how to swipe the screen to unlock it, things got alot easier. Finally got a little lunch over at the Trumpet house, which was cool..and then hit Caseys for the madness. The usual felonies were comitted, but there was a very nice gentleman at the bar that helped us set up the phone crap. We bought him a beer. He said that was 'not necessary,' I disagreed.
So all in all, it's going pretty well with the fancy new phones, I get my notifications all over the house, blinking lights, funny new whistles and things. and my dogs don't seem as confused as I do.
If any of you get any funny pictures of my thumb, it's because I can sometimes be an idiot, and am still figuring this crap out...By the wayside, Casa Di Mi Padre, was fucking hilarious.

sink the ship..go ahead.

Motherfuck me. Reality t.v. has hit an all time low. I'm not gonna lie, I keep up with the kardashians, and I know who Ramona is from real housewives..But I USED to know who dave navarro was back when he played guitar. What a fucking mooch merchant. Sell out piece of shit.
What in the hell is going on? Why are we buying this shit?  I guess the better question is, why am I buying this shit?
Week after week, I sit there, yelling at the t.v. because I actually know these 'characters.'  What in the heck?!  I know I make my 'remote jokes' all the time, but jesus christ, I have actually started stashing the damn thing in my back pocket while I'm grillin' some grub....and then....
I found myself flipping the channels between football and some real housewives reunion shit the other night...(while making a t-bone steak, btw)....just to keep my gal happy, not because I cared.
Ahem...AND THEN! I discovered Tattoo Rescue..Holy mother of fucking holy stuff.. Most ridiculous shit I have ever seen...Everyone should have kept this quiet...look at you now.
Luckily, I don't have to trip on it anymore and I think Janes Addiction can suck a dick these days any goddamn way, but I do feel for my longtime friends that have been exploited and pretty much fucked thru this media.
Shushh..your not suppose to give away our secrets. (Whoops, too late.)
Anyway, we're all sinking deeper, and it's our fault. Time to put that sign back on the wall that says "no camera's allowed.'
Oh, and fuck the Tuscon riff, I'm already over it.

fuck the tuna melt.

Now we're talking. I fucking love heroin fueled music. Being put down is good. (Unless you're a dog.)
I often think about how it feels to be a dog begging for scraps. It has to be weird, to be a dog and have to try and translate to a human that 'if I don't get that, I will absolutely  fucking die.'
The last few years, I have taken a stance on not putting anyone down. I wish I had done it sooner, but I am a late bloomer. These days I would rather make you feel better about yourself, then stick a mirror in front of your face and remind you of how you felt from the get go.
I don't want to put down any dogs, it doesn't feel like a good time. I can't even put weight on what it would feel like to cuddle my best friend on his way out. It would fuck me up.
I think that just curling up to your best pal while he's still there is a better option.
And that's what I do. I grab him by the face, look into his eyes and tell him how much I love him, no matter how much he pissed on my recliner, begged for a hardboiled egg, or a hotdog. I just love the dumb son of bitch, even though he doesn't always pay attention. I still wanna keep that fucker around for as long as I can.
Anyway, back to the heroin, I don't do it, but I do know how to get there. I can maintain.Twists and turns, disco moves on a dance floor, call it whatever..just stop kicking my fucking dog on your way out the door.

picking people back up when they are down is better then kicking them

the breakdown: I lived in a van for a year on the beach. I met very many folks that had either lost their jobs, wives, or shit lives to drugs and booze, many of them had more then 3 kids living in their cars, vans, or whatever, and couldn't afford gas or food for their children. I was just surfing, trying to stay loaded, and get a free meal at the local church every now and again, and I was living with my dog, as were many of these people, who I became friends with. We had a community of sorts, everyone had something to offer someone else. It wasn't easy, and the biggest bummer was the ones that didn't even have a van to sleep in. They had to sleep in the park by the playground..(Not when kids were there) but they had to get out of the goddamn rain and find shelter. That was usually under ...

the turtle playground thing that provided, said 'shelter.' I have never met a better group of people in my entire life..Lost souls, maybe, scruffy and smelly, fuck yeah, and so was I... but they had enough soul to stay alive and find shelter. I think that folks that have a roof over their head tend to take it for granted. (the roof) anyway, I guess that kicking somebody when they are obviously down doesn't sit well with me especially if all they are trying to do is find some fucking shelter. I would be remiss if I did not let everyone know where I stand on this subject, and now you know. I will not EVER be a dick, to somebody that needs a cigarette as I walk out of a circle K with a fresh pack. If I happen to have change in my pocket, I will put it in yours. Homeless people are not out there to rip anyone off in most cases, they are just trying to get thru a shit life. Enjoy yours folks, because you could be that guy in front of the store trying to bum change to eat, or get a 40 in a matter of minutes. The master of the universe can make sure of that. Trust me.

A friend of mine inspired this story today. No big deal, and there is that van and that dog that I miss so very much. Being homeless was so very bad ass. Been thinkin about getting back into the business. Of being homeless..Depends on where this cup of 'coffee' takes me. Peace fuckers.

Take a rip already..

Whether you like 420 or not I couldn't give a goddamn, I got high this morning just like I do on every other day, it honestly helps me put up with people a little more eloquently then if I hadn't because as we all know most people suck. I didn't send any 420 greetings to anyone thru social media today as  I was to busy getting high, reading my morning paper enjoying the sun come up with my dog Brutas. Then I jumped online and found   more posts about people being angry about people posting their 420 greetings then I got actual "happy 420's." 

Bah Humbug to you assholes. I never tell anyone' "Fuck You for the Easter greeting you sent me!" or "Fuck You and your Christ at Christmas." that would be rude, and a little uncalled for.  I say let people celebrate whatever the hell they want too. Maybe next Presidents Day I will laugh at all the idiots celebrating dead slave owners.  I guess I get it though, I'm no stranger to being mad about something in my update sections and what not, and it's certainly everyones right to vent their frustrations. I guess I just think that people thinking that 420 is a holiday for dirty hippies hasn't met any of my friends, who are all professionals in the real working world, and none of them smell. For all you folks that pay taxes and think that our country has gone to shit (which it has) then I say legalize this shit, make the 'dirty hippies' pay the pot tax for you, and all of a sudden, the government has 17 BILLION dollars MORE a year to piss away on whatever they do. (Probably a war, but what do I know, I smoke pot and watch CNN all day)

So Happy Go Fuck Yourself 420, I'm off to write a scathing letter to CNN about how Nancy Grace needs to stop talking to all of us like we're a bunch of deaf 3 year olds., but first I'm gonna load a fucking bowl.

Peace

castles in the sand

I recently came back into contact with an old 'beach friend' of mine who I had lost contact with for a couple of years, and it got me thinking about some very good times in my life. For a little over a year I was living in a van out in San Diego,  on the beach, where I met my friend John and his Pit Bull 'Chance'. He was living in a winnebago , I, in the van and we had alot in common. We would share info on where we could park safely at night, who was who on the beach,  (politics) where to sometimes find a warm shower, etc. He showed  me how he surfed the dog and where to stash our bigger boards on the beach overnight so they wouldn't get ripped off. We weren't the only ones living on the road like that, and actually the community we had was awesome. Somebody had a grill, another guy had coals for it. Somebody had some meat , another was sauteing vegetables some how, who's got the beer? well I've got the weed. It was awesome.  I never felt a sense of togetherness then in most of that year at that beach. We had a million dollar view for free.
    It wasn't long before my friend passed the torch to me and left for a motel up the street. I had the dog, the boards, and the parking spot by the park bench.  AND WE SURFED. Lots of people came and went, but we were always a fixture. You could always count on the same thing everyday. The stories go on and on, in fact I've been trying to write a book about it for like 2 years now, maybe coming into contact with my old friend has inspired me to pick it back up. I don' know, I DO know that revisiting those old photos and knowing that my old 'beach friend' is well made me super happy. Ironically he is living in New Mexico and I in Phoenix. It seems like a 1000 miles from the beach for sure, but life is good now. For one, I'm not homeless anymore. I have two great dogs of my own and I was pleased to find out that my friend is still a very proud papa to Chance. 

Above is a pic of Chance and I at Tourmaline Surf Park in PB, I was just getting ready to take him for a surf. That is my van in the background and Johns legs, haha.

Whats the point of all this? Good Memories I guess, Peace!

Welcome to the Tuna Melt..I've never even considered something so self serving as a blog before. I guess this should be a good place to hide out when I'm drunk and feel like ranting and raving about how the world has gone to hell in a hand basket, or hoot and holler about things that make me happy. So I'm gonna test the waters on this blog business and see how it goes, if anything, I guess my narcissistic ass can read about myself whenever I feel like it, and you lucky readers will get turned onto my personal gourmet recipes, pictures of my incredibly dumb dogs, reality t.v. breakdowns, and other neat shit like that. If that doesn't blow up your skirt I don't know what the fuck will.