Dudes and Dudettes and all species of the planet (except Wombats),
I have like a problem. I erased this but it was automatically saved. I kept spelling problem wrong and this thing fixed it. I think this computer is alive. So are most pencils.
Scott says that the computer is not alive and I should put my shotgun away. Fine. Fine. I mean, I can see it moving and shit, but with this .... uh, stuff.... that I'm on a lot of stuff does, right? I have to do what he wants because this is his blog, but I am keeping my eye on you!
I just wanted to write that from now on, like, my celebrity friends who come over to smoke my weed, can no longer like leave their kids around for me to babysit and then never come back and pick them up. I know, like, I am a mellow dude and accept a lot from you people, because you use my Ger Bong Bong Cleaning Service And High Impact Constipation Specialists (where we use only organic gerbils) on the sets and stuff, and probably will pay me, like you guys claim.... I mean, I ignored the gerbils who you claimed disappeared that later showed up back here smelling like YOUR shit, their little air-tanks and their training in underwater resin removal the only reasons they have lived through another anal odyssey... but this thing with the kids has gone too far... one time I had like thirty of these kids here. I know, like, it is good for your career and all. You have to adopt kids, now... all the good pr people say so, blah, blah, blah....I mean, you got to do what you got to .... but, well, what keeps happening, man, is that I start to give the kids a bath, then I get stoned and forget about them and they, like, drown, man.
One or two would be fine, that shit happens to everybody, but this is like a hundred, or something?
If these were not children of color, this would be, like, a big story in the news. I might even get in trouble. Not to mention, I love these kids, too... man... and it hurts. So even though all of you know this has been happening, when I bring it up you are all, like, 'Don't talk around me anymore." And I know, like you guys are always telling me, you don't care about issues that are not be in the gossip columns, or the Hollywood Reporter, it is still freaking me out. By the way, glitter-dudes, I did call a couple gossip columnists thinking maybe if like people were aware of this, they might, like, shame you people... but then the gossip columnists just started dropping their unwanted adopted kids off over here.
Johnny Pain is like different, though, you know, commas, are, cool... sorry. Scott is looking over my shoulder helping me finish this after it took me almost nine hours to get this right.
Anyways, if you leave any more kids here, Johnny Pain says he is going to do what he calls some Very, Very Bad Butt stuff. I'm, like, pretty sure that involves a lot of explosives but I would never say it has happened before because there is no statues of limitations on murder, as Johnny Pain is always reminding me when I get to talking to people (he has a chip my head to track me because of the deliveries I make for him, sometimes, or go out to get him some more whores and stuff... not drugs, just stuff. He hates when I talk about him selling drugs. He can hear me through the thing, and give me these damn shocks...He would be shocking me right now if I wasn't wearing an aluminum foil hat that Scott made for me because he is sick of calling ambulances when this thing causes one of the seizures I keep getting for some reason? Scott doesn't think I should write this but it is probably good advertising, right? Scott says Johnny will cut off another one of my fingers, but man... I made those words. They are part of me. Like I gave birth to them. I've seen too many dead babies to kill anymore. After an hour of sobbing and shit Scott said they were my fingers so I can finally finish this.
So, like, if you can't take care of these kids, you know... give them to an adoption agency or something. Don't just sell them to those guys at the Bus Station like your agents had you doing before old Moonbong was the last person to fall for that old line "Will you just babysit for a couple days while I go on a coke binge? Just got out of treatment, you know?" And I understood, didn't I, when no one else would. Oh, well. I should have known. Johnny Pain told me (he wrote it down so I would not say he said something stupid) some stuff he wanted me to put in here. Since my shed is on his property and he is sick of the kids. He said at first all I had to write was this stuff he pinned on my coat for Scott to find.
Johnny Pain: "Celebrity stoners are all primadonnas and shit. If it wasn't for the passed out groupies, they'd throw one of their damn hissy fits and I'd just shoot 'em."
Then he told me I better write too that he doesn't don't mean Shaun Penn. He actually cut it into my arm with his fucking knife. Because he didn't want to waste time adding to the note -- and it is true, man, he can carve words in your arm faster than people can write, period. He has these contests sometimes... Anyways, after Scott washed off the blood we could see it says, "Remember Idiot, Write that Shaun Penn is cool, you moron." Scott thought he was being wordy for a message meant to basically torture me into remembering to write something. I guess the truth is, not only can he carve faster than he can write, Johnny knows I will forget, duh, so he relies on people seeing that I am bleeding and asking for a look. Usually I forget what has happened to my arm or that it says something. I mean, there have got to be better ways, but like he said, 'Think of one?' And man, you know... I can't. Now that I think about it, there is a list of other names he says are cool on my ass. Great. Scott won't let me take my pants off around him and examine my ass. What kind of madhouse is this place, man? Still, man, that Pain is really hard to work for, and if I had any place to sleep other than his storage shed.... hint, hint, hint... yea, like the flyers I handed out about my woes and the money I needed didn't just get you all laughing at me. Had to make utube movies and Johnny had to have a party and show them on the big screen multiplex in that underground complex he has that... oh, yea... he doesn't have that... whatever. Wait... what is this on the screen, this isn't porn? Why are hands all the way up on the keyboard... pants zipped up. Hey, this isn't even the public library where I got to surf boobs... Oh, yea... the letter. Thanks Scott, dude.
I am still watching you computer.
Moon Bong Haze
Sincerely
P.S What the hell am I writing a letter about? I wrote this and then Scott told me that you can't talk back to this letter. I don't understand the computer at all. Party on. Just don't leave your dead, od'd buddies at my parties, please. Another of Johnny Pain's rules that I keep telling you about and you ignore.... and I know, I know, it is like Johnny Pain all of a sudden forgot how to party, man, but it happens... he says even he can get sick of cutting up corpses and feeding them to his sharks some days. I never seen it, but I'm taken his word for it. Okay, I gotta go cause Scott is getting out his cattle prod.
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