Brain Poops

The blood of the fallen will dye our sheets!

It’s about 8:00 PM Hollyweird time and I’m sitting outside the laundromat reading Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance for the umpteenth time.

I feel the seconds of my life peel off for good, and I wonder what I could be doing instead of cleaning all my black t-shirts covered in snarky phrases.

I hypothesize that if the different cultures of mankind had evolved completely isolated from each other, laundry day would still be regarded as a drag by everyone concerned.

Laundry-time always feels like some sort of time/space aberration. Regardless of what laundromat you go to, or how long you think washing will take, it always feels like a whole day wasted be it in Los Angeles or Prague.          (continue reading…)

Greg, showing us with his eyes how engaging an insect model really is.

Dear Fly,

Hey there! I couldn’t help but notice you buzzing around in my kitchen. Have you been there long?
My name’s Ben. I live here, and have for the past year and a half. If it weren’t for your short lifespan, I might have considered you a good roommate for how quiet you’ve been.

Do you have a name? Is it OK if I call you “Greg”? I hope so.

Greg, you’re not looking well. I’ve seen more than a few flies in my life and they all have had two wings. I admire your avante garde take on biological development, but it just won’t fly.

Or did you lose it in an accident? Perhaps you were scaling the grand PizzaBox towers and took a nasty fall, snagging your delicate wing on the cardboard in your sickening drop. I imagine you as an adventurer fly first class, Greg. It seems like the sort of feat you would attempt.     (continue reading…)

Sneak peek for subscribers - Cinder from boh3m3 on Vimeo.

So I’m releasing this video early to you all as a thank you to those of you who have read, commented, subscribed and such to this site in spite of the rocky start it had.

Thank you all, from the bottom of my black little heart.

…and for god’s sake, keep up the commenting. It makes me smile, in spite of all my reasons to frown.

-Ben

ALSO!

If you are tired of seeing the same shit on that most viewed and most commented list, I encourage you to share with your friends. It seems obvious youtube isn’t going to feature me again, so I need you guys on the ground to help me with the footwork.

From now on, I will only be putting out high-quality, well-crafted videos. You have my word on that. The boh3m3 channel will no longer settle for webcam vlogs and youtube drama posts. I have a higher standard for my videos now, and I’d like you all to help me get to where I want to be.

I don’t have tits, a cat, or a cheesy shtick to pander day after day to Youtube, so I don’t get much money at all from views. If I can get enough views to earn some real money, I will put most of that money towards producing better content more frequently, instead of blowing it on an iPhone and gallavanting across the country fucking groupies.

Thanks for visiting, and laugh at yourself for thinking I wasn’t coming back.

(continue reading…)

Pictured: The Douche-O-Rail

It should be said right up front that I am a purist at heart.

I think that when playing music, it should come from the heart. I think that movies should be borne of a burning desire to tell a story, not just to grind out a profit or expand on an already complete series (*coughIndianaJonescough*). And it’s my firm belief that if you’re going to ride a motorcycle, don’t use a giant ass set of speakers and otherwise obnoxious useless bits.

Of course, it should be noted here that the subject is very near and dear to my heart and experiences. I grew up around my father’s friends and their motorcycles over quite a few of my formative years.

I heard terms like “soft-tail” and “fatboy,” thinking naively that they were perhaps talking about John Candy. I ogled the pictures of scantily clad ladies on the walls of the garages, once I saw the value in such an exercise. (continue reading…)

Sometimes, when I’m outside having a smoke, I dream about a zombie apocalypse.

My night-owl sleep schedule dictates that the hours I unusually spend outside fall during the latest points of the evening. The silence of the night is deafening. The stillness of the world around me is inescapable.

Right around the time the stillness of the night starts to register in my brain, I imagine a cadre of the undead rounding the corner to my cul-de-sac.

Their entrance is signaled by the foul stench of the dead wafting over the Spanish tiled rooftops of my pseudo-suburban neighborhood. I can hear the grinding scrape of exposed leg bones as they are dragged across the pavement, leaving a gory trail of bone fragments and tattered skin.

I picture freezing in place, hoping that they somehow have developed the visual acuity of a Tyrannosaurus. But my body can only remain still for so long as the lit cigarette smoke drifts up into my nostrils and eyes.

One zombie notices the smell of tobacco and fear emanating from my frozen figure. Its change of direction is followed blindly by the others in the horde. By now, I’m exuding fear and sweat the way an atom bomb exudes warmth.

Then I fart.

They begin a frenzied run¹ at me, mouths agape like sharks at a fat seal daycare. I panic and bolt into the garage-side door which serves as the entrance to my attic apartment. (continue reading…)

16:00 - 9/12/08 (day 544)

A high tech alarm/PC beeps an automatically selected song this morning from data it non-intrusively monitored in Ze’s sleep cycle over the night. Today’s song is “Danger Zone” by Kenny Loggins.

The alarm is networked to digital micropanels in his floor-to-ceiling bay windows. The miniature shutter clusters receive a “open” command pattern from the alarm and gently break a 2 PM dawn on the groggy sleeper, who is determined not to “be hangin’ on like a yo-yo” [at right].

Endorphins flood the brain of Ze “Danger” Frank as his required umbilicus is attached and grafted to his torso over the scars of previous grafting. He stretches and yawns just before his module delivers the first infusion of protein, caffeine, vitamins and nutrients to his body. His custom molded slippers feel plush and supple as they shrink and adjust to his feet.

(continue reading…)

Hey kids!

Bit of a good news/bad news situation with the site I’m afraid…

This theme will likely be the new permanent from now on through to oblivion.

As much as I loved Aspire¹, it was not completely functional and as such it was sacked. You can find my old copy of Aspire at Santa Monica and Western selling little crucifixes it makes from old twigs. (continue reading…)

From a Person Who has Survived Two “Doomsdays”

Dear world,

Is something wrong?

I mean, it seems like every benchmark of civilization and relative development can’t pass without some group calling it the end of the world.

The year 2000? Certain doom by God’s wrath or gas station pumps launching nuclear missiles in Wisconsin or something. All I got out of the new years’ party was to hear the ONLY year (ONLY) Prince’s “1999″ is a good idea, and an awkward kiss that broke up a middle-school friendship with a cute blonde. (continue reading…)

Just started reading? Begin at ACT 1 by clicking here.

In our last episode…

We get about 10% less tangled than those bloody Righties and you say we have to stop. We remove sweaty palms from awkward stranger palms and sit down, pondering if we brought any hand sanitizer and vowing not to eat anything or touch our faces until we wash our hands again.

I remember that you whinged on about how the exercise told you everything you needed to know about us. You said if we grouped up into departments he would interview us one on one for about 30 seconds. You also mentioned that anyone who is hired will get a call by Sunday, and those who weren’t would have a quiet weekend.

Well it’s been a quiet weekend for me, I don’t mind telling you. And since it’s evident I’m not hired by you, I’d like to take a chance to tell you exactly how I feel.

(continue reading…)