Hookers or Cake

Hookers or Cake the movie?!

My talented friend, Carlos and I are turning some of my short stories into little films. This is the first one. The Master of Boobs! Hopefully we can make a bunch more and get all kinds of elaborate and strange.    ?

I see a lot of writers talk about plagiarism and people stealing their work. It really pisses me off. Not in the way you probably think it should. Ya see I think stealing is grand, I just hate serious artists, they’re all so obvious and boring.

Going forward I am encouraging people to steal my writing and stories. Because once they get done editing that pile of slop, I’ll steal it back. Seriously though, steal my stuff if you like it. Change the parts you want to change. Do whatever with it. I think thievery is wonderful. It aint mine anyway. Its like suing someone for having the same dream as I. How dare they?! The collective unconscious stole my memoirs! Its like suing my cat for vomiting up the pizza I had for lunch. What?
Sure I get it. Some of you out there are real writers. A few even make a living on the stuff. And you work damn hard on every little dangling participle. Good for you. I’m sure you’re smart enough to realize that I’m just some lazy jerk who  has low self esteem and doesn’t value himself or just doesn’t put any real work into the craft, so his writing is crap. Now realize, you can’t use these reasons I just wrote because that’s mental thievery and I wrote them first. Come up with your own argument about why you’re so special. I’m sure you have plenty of practice. Get all puffed up and serious about art and the individual and your struggle. You are very special and unique and brilliant and deserve a ridiculous life of robots bringing you pizza.

Just don’t come whining to me about how depressed and miserable you are and how all your relationships fail and nobody loves you.

Haven’t you ever noticed?

Real artists are almost always real shitty human beings.

They are worse than any junkie or drunk. They will ruin good relationships and bright wonderful moments all in the name of their creative fix, just so they can squeeze out a few lines, paragraphs, or pages. The funny part is, the art itself doesn’t even have to be any good. Artists just need a creative high or the feeling of self worth that THEY produced something. Its their total identity, don’t fuck with it or they will lash out at you with all their fury… In other words, ffffffftttthhrrrrrpppp!

Tell yourself whatever you have to, just stop using the alphabet you dirty thieves. Besides, we all know your novel was a subplot on The Love Boat.

So steal my words/art/photoshopped nudes of Ray Wise, mix it up, have fun. And if you make some money on it, buy me a drink or one of them pizza serving robots.

I had been in Italy for a couple months. Nothing too glamorous, just working in a shipyard somewhere west of Venice. Once I got back in the U.S., I found out that Old Dirty Bastard had died. I immediately phoned my best friend.

Me: “Dude! ODB died?

F: “Yeah… you didn’t know?

Me: Dude I was out of town! Why didn’t you call me?

F: Oh I dunno, I figured you woulda heard.

Me: Like some Italian is gonna run up to me in the street and say? ‘Scuse! Sir! Americano? I so sorry for you loss… the… Aged Dirty Bastard… he isa dead!”

I have been telling my phone to translate the names of poets from French into English and it has given me these translations:

:

Emily Dickinson: American pie

Walt Whitman: yourself

Langston Hughes: stencil

Guillaume Apollinaire: I have an intranet

Sylvia Plath: worry

Gertrude Stein: tab Paris

William Carlos Williams: weemove nothing

Marianne Moore: however

Marina Tsvetaeva: but puts out

William Blake: yeah dude

Harryette Mullen: not create or

Wallace Stevens: paresthesia

(This is my new favorite game.)

fun with robots!

I’ve decided to quit frittering around and to make some tall cash. That’s right, I’m going to write a young adult fantasy novel. I’ve never read a young adult novel unless Catcher in the Rye counts, so I could use some help and constructive criticism. Here’s the basic story I just thought up.

The main character is girl named Isabella, but everyone calls her Izzy. She’s so startling beautiful its almost painful, in fact the one time she dressed up for her fathers 3rd wedding she almost killed several men. They all writhed about on the ground overcome by her devastating beauty realizing that were silly flaccid men who’d wasted their lives. The National Guard had to be called in. Luckily for the world Izzy actually prefers dressing like a hobo and no one seems to notice except the cadre of insanely hot monster demons/male models who fight and vie for her undying love for it is the one pure thing left in a world full of bullshit. Izzy’s one physical flaw is that she has very large breasts that defy gravity and are always getting in the way. Her only real friend is a ghost dragon named Nathaniel. He’s not a very imposing dragon and is more like a painfully shy large dog. Nathaniel’s father was a famous knight whose expectations Nathaniel could never fulfill. One day an evil wizard turned Nathaniel into a dragon And thusly Nathaniel was killed by his own father because he couldn’t bring himself to kill his own dad, even though he easily could have. Dying didn’t bother Nathaniel that much anyway because was dying of a broken heart. The girl he loved had been married off to an powerful prince. The girl of was of course Izzy but neither she nor Nathanial realize this until much later.
The plot thickens when Izzy realizes that all the monster demons fighting for her love, but that she has to destroy to save the town, are unknowingly being unleashed from their tomb by her stupid parents. Actually her dad and his 3rd wife (a stupid shrill bitch who was a senior in high school when Izzy was just a freshman) Izzy’s real mother died giving birth to her. So, not only are Izzy’s parents way too busy to go to her tuba recital and art show but come to find out they are involved with developing an ancient and sacred forrest into condominiums. The forest was left to the family by Izzy’s grandfather. The one true and good human Izzy ever knew. On his deathbed her grandfather told her the forest was her birthright and once she turned 18 she was to go there and claim its power and secret. So now Izzy and Nathaniel must save the forest and fight off all the demon monsters and find out the powerful secret.

SPOILERS!!! The secret is of course is that Izzy mother is buried in the forest. But when they find her crypt (after fighting off all the monster demons) they find nothing but a crystal dragon skull. Izzy’s mother was a dragon. Izzy touches the skull and turns into a Dragon. Her and Nathaniel embrace (insert 23 pages of crazy hot dragon sex here) and their embrace becomes the new sun that devours our pitiful solar system and gives birth to a new system of planets and hopefully an endless line of new books and movies!

Well, whattya think?

Hey, its my 3 year tumblr anniversary! Here’s an old classic. A honest to goodness Choose Your Own Adventure I wrote for Tumblr. Thanks for all the follows, likes, reblorgs, love, and sassparila. Its been fun. - Jade

You are the cocaine fueled lead singer of the now defunct band “Shy Glove”. It has been 6 years since your last hit single, “Mustache Fuss” and it has been a sharp jagged fall from the top. Your latest solo record “Mumbletop Mountain” opened on Billboards top 200 at #114, only to fall off the face of the earth and to never be heard from again. Your big tour was immediately cancelled and the only gigs you can get now are opening for Creed at state & county fairs across the mid-west.

You owe money to many powerful and evil people all over the world; Drug dealers, bookies, ex-spouses, club managers, gangsters, & even a dictator of some eastern block country, whose kids birthday party you failed to show up at. It is becoming obvious, that your only hope of even staying alive at this point is by getting the band back together for a new album and a reunion tour. The only problem with this plan is your old lead guitarist, Frank, has gone missing.

Linda, Franks wife, says that Frank started acting erratically in the past few months. He grew a mustache and started disappearing for days and then weeks at a time. Linda says she hasn’t seen Frank in weeks but he appears at the house from time to time. She needs your help. She also says that Frank has a coke dealer in El Segundo who is looking for him. She is worried that it might already be to late and that Frank could be gone forever.

Do you in Santa Monica to see Linda

or

Do you go over to

Writing tips from a shitty writer.

NON WRITING PROMPTS - Please stop writing about…

Crumbling love affairs between 20 yr old morons.

Haikus: You’re not fooling anyone with your “retranslation” of Buson and Issa

Your boring lonely life: Jazz it up Fuckface, we know you’re alone. You’re writing on the internet. We’re alone too and reading prose on the internet, duh.

Your ex: Again stop!  (I’m totally getting why they left.)

Writing tips: Unless you make a GOOD living off your writing you’re just being an asshole. (dammit)

Eroticism: If not aroused, sex can just be kinda awkward and a bit gross. Erotic prose is often kinda awkward and wildly hilarious. And like sex, if you gotta ask if its good, it isn’t.

Love - Truly I mean it, stop.

How awesome and beautiful and wonderful the women, men, children, animals, life, trees, flowers, nature, outer space, god, snacks, drugs…. My dear, we hold these truths to be self evident. Its cute when a two yr old has chocolate for the first time, but its kinda sad and creepy when a 30 something year old won’t shut up about how much they love, love. We get it. You’re high or having a manic episode…

or worse is that you’re a manipulative creep who writes nothing but fake love letters. As in; My Dear, You are the beautiful answer to my eternal question. Love Tyler - translation

Dear fish in bucket,

BANG!

Love, Tyler

Its where the writer discovers that a certain demographic finds them attractive and then caters everything they write to them. Its almost as bad as the half naked person posting pics and droning on about how bored, happy, sad, mad, awesome they are. News Flash! You’re a desperately gorgeous idiot/shallow ass clown who needs attention. I was happy. I was sad. We went out for tacos. Yum! You don’t get hundreds of notes for your startling dissertation. You get it because you’re cute.

Really most of this stuff just falls under journaling. And I guess I’m tired of reading peoples journals. Not because I’m disinterested in them but moreso this style of writing is boring, painfully cringeworthy, and has zero perspective. As humans we have a remarkable capacity for self deception. We are always the last ones to see the obvious, that we suck. =) So its like watching a bad sit-com where the main character continually embarrasses themselves with petty childish lies. Only no ones laughing, least of all the author and thats painful. So don’t write publicly about yourself, project your shallow lies upon your family and friends or fake robot gods like I do. Make them wildly flawed assholes and you may in time grow to love them.

If you do insist on journaling (it can be wonderfully helpful and revealing) they make wonderful .89 cent notebooks for just such investigations. I suggest that you fill up at least a dozen and after a couple of years drag em all out and sit down with a bottle of wine in front of a roaring fire. Then you can read all about yourself to yourself and have a good laugh/cry while you throw the pages into the fire. Its freeing and in the end you might gain some perspective. Perspective that may be useful for writing about fake robot gods you love.

 Writing tips from a shitty writer: Do not write fiction on LSD.

example:

…this one girl who had a fake god, that dated a robot, who knew a guy, who wrote stories about this one girl who had a fake god, that dated a robot, who knew a guy, who wrote stories about this one girl, who had a fake god, that dated a robot, who knew a guy, who wrote stories about…  shit, I’m everything again, said the author.

See? A plotless, all seeing eye of the cosmos that becomes everything and then you just float around saying insane shit about joy and pudding. No one is gonna buy that. Sure the stoners will love it, but guess what people? Stoners don’t buy a lot of books.

You need cocaine if your going to be a success. You also need to be alone while on that cocaine and preferably trapped in a life that is running out of options as fast as its taking on soul crushing debt. A dead end with a giant monster staring you in the face. This plus cocaine is great foundation for a young adult novel about finding true love and acceptance. Don’t make it weird. Most readers just want to be entertained and reassured. Just get to the part where everything makes sense sexually, emotionally, or intellectually and the readers sociological & physiological programming will resonate within the heart, mind, or body giving feelings of security.  If you can touch on all three it’ll sell like hotcakes. Of course none of it really means anything, afterall we’re all just a fake god giving oral pleasure to a robot.

Writing tips from a shitty writer.

So lets try something new. I see people writing about topical things and just chatting away online, spinning yarns and prattling on about their day. I understand it. We all like to vent and we’re probably all criminally insane loners… so yeah, venting is probably a splendid thing and if you tell a bunch of people how you feel, now we can commiserate and not feel the endless void sucking at our soul, even better. I get it. But hey, do me a big favor? Next time you get the urge to write a nice straight story for ventings sake, just play with the story a little bit, just for me or maybe just because you’re tired of being boring. Try it out. People will appreciate it. Just pretend that you’re trying to woo the reader. Tell em a bunch of insane lies and exaggerations about how awesome you are.

So lets say you work at a coffee shop or some shitty cubicle or whatever, just radically flip the importance of whatever it is you do and change the setting. I was carving a giant demon panther out of a mountain. See, this is huge, awesome, and has a clearly defined goal, completely unlike anything in your life except for ‘all you can eat’ shrimp night down at the Sizzler.

Now immediately involve the reader in the endless conflict that is our waking reality using your new set and setting.

My lady came riding down the mountainside in a chariot of light, with she was a maiden fair, bodacious in her season. And somewhere my unthinking eyes doth did linger, staring upon new exotic fruit. For the flesh hungers for the unknown. But oh cruel vale of tears! What is this wild thunder my lady hath reign down upon thee? Tis it the mountain itself? My demon panther vision come to finish me?

See? Its easy. We all know that you work at Starbucks and your girlfriend came in with her cute friend and she caught you sneaking a peak at her and now you’re in trouble and a loser. So if you jazz up your boring life for us we’ll all appreciate it and cheer. You get to vent and you’ll have made someone else happy in the process. We’ll all be safe from the demon panther for another day, or at least a few minutes.

Your goal as an artist should always be to fistfuck the mind of God.

-Willa Kather