12.20.2010
This just in: Jacob Bluebird and The Burned Up Man are being pursued by the Lizard People thru the alleys of Goodtime City. Poisonous snakes, missiles, flying daggers, and monkey men have chased the heroes of this tale, but our boys haven't gotten a single scratch. They ripped out their microchips and changed their hairstyles. Maniacs wiping blood off their hands in the ditch hissed at them. The Burned Up Man got a kissed by Dracula's daughter and now he has the fever that no medicine can fix. He does not care.
#030330  

08.11.2010
TODAY'S WEATHER REPORT:
Kids, it is really hot here. You could boil an alien skull in the pool. You could fry armadillo guts on a heroin spoon. Hot enough to ignite your last ice cream sandwich. So hot, so crazy hot that I feel like puking when I walk out the damn house in the morning. More than usual. So hot that the black helicopters that usually monitor Sasquatch Lake research facility have crashed from burned motors. Now that is kookoo hot! In other news, Mr. Jerry who works at the truckstop, lost his damn mind two weeks ago and got hisself committed. Yer damn right. They found his crazy-ass walking down 59 with a garbage bag wrapped around his loins. What a goof!  
#2

06.06.2010
APOCALYPTA GULFTRASHICA:
THE HOLIDAY EDITION
Ciao to our nieces and nephews on the Earth Planet!
    Holy Cow-Doggonnit we have missed you so much! The staff at M.I took our spring retreat last month down to the sea. We ate our fill of ice cold, salty Appalachicola Bay oysters. All ways. Raw and steamed, boiled in garlic butter. On crackers or sipped out of the shell like the first Floridians used to knock em back.Some chose them adorned with horseradish and hot sauce. Other goofs in attendance used only lemon and a dollopino of cocktail. All y'all clowns know that el golfo de mexico is about to be declared a complete FORBIDDEN ZONE. You been reading the papers and watching your NPR and googlin' your shows. I know it. The oil now slimes upon the sugarsands of Pensacola and will soon make its way down to the islands; Dog, George and Vincent alike. If the people of the Earth Planet can hear this, turn up your radios now! GO TO THE NEAREST FANCY RESTAURANT THAT SERVES FLORIDA SEAFOOD AND DEVOUR IT NOW LIKE A WEREWOLF ON CRACK!!!!! 
      In other news: WE got back to work quick this week after the Memorial Day Weekend. Damn, son. That was a long weekend. Degenerate gambling at the dog track, polo games, talking to a beautiful woman crying in a gas station parking lot, etc., etc. That's why they call 'em holidays, right? 

Keep your eyes on the road and your hands upon the wheel,
The Mgmt.  
#$011

04.13.2010
OH HECK!
Wedding Season and Polo Season and Hippie Festival Season! It all comes to head. The IRS still wants my skull on a plate. I imagine the revenue officers who spent years tracking me across the galaxy, sitting around the council table drinking my blood from a wooden cup. Their eyes roll back in their heads as they wipe their mouths with the backs of piggy like fists. They mumble the coded chants taught to them millennia ago by the illuminati overlords they still serve. Pass the chalice. I hope it tastes fine, gentlemen. Overtones of tobacco and tonic with a classically bitter finish. I suggest garnishing with stuffed spanish olives and a stalk of celery. 
   In other news, I have started a blog of sorts: mccarronwalkaway.tumblr.com. I hate that word... blog. Its a goofy NPR word. A birkenstock-reading-glasses-person kind of word. A silly goose idea, but a natural progression. I am trying to post a cartoon a day. The bulk of them for the time being will be drawings and videos that have been laying around the compound for quite some time. As I exhaust the napkin drawings and old stuff, I will try to do a true new one daily. Wish me luck .  
#23756837465

01.18.2010
Twenny tin is here again. There has been some debate about whether we shall call this newish year Twenty-1o or Two thousand ten? Me not care, and neither should you. In a world where people play MAFIA on Spacebook and families gather at home to play in fake rock bands with fake instruments, not much can be done. Whatever you call this year, we here at the HQ hope we can serve you better with more t-shirt failures, napkin drawings, and more ingenious prank calls. Coming some time this year will be the release of Jacob Bluebird's new text book of mystery stories called HOTEL ZERO. It involves tales of bar fights, one-eyed go-go dancers, and the last drug dealer in business before the fall of America. We hope all is well, and if not, call us from the last payphone on the left by the vacuum cleaner and the air pumps.

CIAO!  
#2110.1.20

...an excerpt from HOTEL ZERO by Jacob Bluebird:

Calle 67, MERIDA, ESTADO YUCATAN - I walked onto the tile balcony to see what the Mennonite teenagers were doing next door. They were on Rumspringa and wasted now as the sun was going down. One of them was about to puke over the rickety balcony that had been sunk into the tile many years ago.They had their door open and were playing Eminem on a beat to shit tape deck. They generally broke (accidentally) a 40 oz Corona Familiar or two on the balcony every night. They immediately snapped into action and cleaned up the mess. Without fail. Everytime. They wore their overalls still and Mexican futbol hats. Chivas. Jaguares. The rapped along to Eminem loudly in a German-accented werewolf tongue. Their families had been in the Republic for many generations and their very parents walked the streets of Merida stone-faced, selling cheeses. They would party here for a year in this hotel six to a room, going to bullfights and wrestling matches and drinking warm cerveza. After that, 99% would go home to Mother and Father, then marry a ruddy faced Mennonite woman, then make cheese and return to walk the streets of Merida to sell it. I waved to the one who seemed to be the leader and he looked at me with a blonde corpse- like expression on his face. He went back to doing the live Eminem Karaoke Show. I was a ghost to them.Some kind of gringo poltergeist they refused to see. I walked down to the lobby to watch the street and speak with Luis. He taught me how to say "gimme a cigarette, son", in Mayan.

11.23.2009
Damas y Caballeros, 

     Some of you may have noticed the music change here at HQ. If you didn't, you are oughtta have yer heads examined. A chance meeting in an Italian dive bar introduced one of our agents to a Limey-Mexican Chef/DJ/Party Machine named Aubrey Russell who agreed to do a MCCARRICA mixtape in x-change for some napkin drawings. He was instructed to spend 8 hours pouring over the archives while building a setlist in his head. The music you are hearing now is the progeny of that penance. He is scheduled to be released from the Florida State Lunatic Asylum at Chattahoochee in three months time. Meanwhile go check out his other works on his website, here. Perfect music for planing a bank robbery, seducing a cocktail waitress better looking than you, surviving a bad trip, cleaning the house, apologizing to your wife, building a time machine, or writing your will. Please enjoy!

Best regards,
-The Mgmt.  
#321

11.21.2009
Ladies and gentlemen, Florida's impersonation of winter is in full swing. The hookers at the Big Bend travel center who work the semi truck lot have started wearing thicker panty hose to cover their busted knees and wind-breakers as the night comes earlier and a tad bit less humid. tangerine harvest is progressing nicely and I have been handing out the orange globes of sweet bliss to the county commissioners, counter girls and the panhandlers near the gas pumps. 

McCarrica Industries has been under attack as usual from haters, naysayers, thieves, and reptilian shape-shifters. We have been getting into the act of making lots of neato t-shirts. We have not been getting into the act of selling them very well. We have been getting into the act of giving them away to gutter punks in the French Quarter, leaving them in mailboxes for kids to find, and donating them to Goodwill so hipsters can wear them and take photographs of themselves adorned.

We also are hoping to have a vending booth at the Skinwalker Ranch Conference on the next Friday the 13th/Full Moon alignment. When that is, nobody can be sure. Come say hello!

Best regards,
The Mgmt. 
#01010110010010010010010010000110010101010

09.01.2009
I was in the form of a crow flying above a noodling highway with prairies all around. The land was of gray concrete, the sky the same. In the distance I spied a parking lot. I landed on top of a payphone that had an "OUT OF ORDER" sign taped to it. I returned to the form of a human, jumped from the top of the payphone to the ground and I walked inside the gas station.

Ringalingaling said a bell on the door; the place smelled of hotdogs and rust. There was a fan on that was blowing paper and styrofoam peanuts all around the floor in miniature tornadoes and it was beautiful.

A foul mouthed man was working the counter yelling terrible things to a young woman who had cigarettes, gum and soda in her hands. The young woman was tired and had jailhouse tattoos on her hands. Her face had been beaten by many men. She was still pretty. I sensed that she was terrified and you could smell it on her skin. She had cutoff jean shorts on and a shirt proclaiming victory of a man who raced cars. Her car was parked outside, an old Ford Probe practically destroyed. A two year old baby was crying in the back seat. His face was dirty and candy smeared, he was dehydrated.

He told her he would give her the candy and gum and gas for free if she administered an oral sex act upon him. She cried and said ...I don't have nothin left, I don't have nothin' left. I wanna go home, I don't wanna do this NO more.

The foulmouthed man at the register laughed and called her mean names and told her to pay or he would alert the LAW. I grabbed a pack of sweet sixteen mini donuts and approached the counter.

Hello, Cashier, I said. My name is Jacob Bluebird. I will pay the price that this woman has accrued.

I removed a dreamcatcher the size of a silver dollar from my walking stick and placed it in his hand. The woman stopped crying and said Thank you Jacob Bluebird. The foul mouthed man began to shake then sat on his stool, fell asleep and urinated in his pants.

I took the donuts outside and the Woman offered me a ride. She and I and her baby boy rode along for miles and miles. Her baby boy did not cry. We spoke of skullgardens and bubblebaths, magic spells and evil guitars. I taught the Ghost Dance Song and the Song of Spring to her son. I put them into his mind.

They dropped me off at a truckstop that had recently burned down.
#3867671

04.14.2009
Almost all of my rowdy friends have settled down. By 33 most people are ready to eat salads and watch Lost and cartoons on a couch next to another human of their choice. One day you are railing chach in your bathroom and then that bathroom all of sudden has candles in it and some decorative soap that you aint supposed to use. Almonds on that salad.

At a discoteca in the capital city I was coming undone and very busy flirting with a female organism, 70% water, blonde and possessing excellent manners. Fillet of the room. Things were going very well. Out of goddamn nowhere, the bass player marched off the stage into the audience. He walked up to this joker standing 30 feet from me, spit in his face and decked him (it was some five year old beef over a girl). I, not having seen any species of bar violence in many months, put my cigarette between my teeth and began to clap as if I had just seen the best opera/ball game/political speech of my life.

"Why are you applauding?"

"Sometimes I just like to see somebody get their fucking head cracked open."

What I should have said was that hey I don't get out much and its kinda cool to see some action every once in a while...

She began to gather her purse.
$24U

03.22.2009
I was in a wedding last weekend where I wore a kilt. I did not feel the voices of past ancestors, nor did I feel like bashing a Englishman's head in with a rock, but I did get chills from a a 20-piece bagpipe band playing indoors. Something to behold indeed. I gave a speech at the reception and managed not to use one drop of profanity during the whole gig. Congratulations.
$10

01.08.2009
Meat Hustlers
Two gentlemen pulled into my yard in a beat-to-shit Chevy S-10 blasting some terrible Creed song. There was a giant marine grade cooler held together with duct tape sliding around in the back of the truck as they tore ass to the parking area by the well. I put down the pool skimmer and walked towards the driveway, limping with a cigarette behind my ear.

One joker with a sleeveless shirt and flip flops jumped out and said "Good afternoon, sir."

Hustlers. I aint no sir. I may be a fella or a sir or captain, dude or a man. Not a sir.

"Are you interested today in some filet mignon, or maybe some grouper? We are from a wholesale meat distributor called Beef Direct---"

"Negative. Thank you for coming all the way out here. Please leave immediately .I am not well."

They left immediately and I returned to cleaning the pool.
$9

11.88.2008
Monitoring the Haunted Woods
The dogs and I walked thru the Haunted Woods and exited off of a side trail because the labs refused to go further than a thousand yards or so. Down thru the coyote swamp I let them chase the deer we spooked up. I removed the memory cards from all the video cameras in the swamp and checked them on the mini monitor and the data tape. No signs of those meddling kids anywhere. Near the last camera I found an Appalachee tribe hieroglyph carved into an old magnolia. I looked thru the notebook that Noah Wildcat gave me at some hippie music festival in Quincy. The glyph said SHAPESHIFTER or CHANGING FACE.

One of the old men who lives down at the end of the swamp claims he heard two skunk apes calling back and forth near Connor's property next to the Haunted Woods but he said "ain't no way in hell I go back in that shit again".
$8

10.15.2008
Gill Net Point, Chief's Island, October year 8
Well, well, well. We, here at the McCarrica Industries Communications Department, had to go underground there for a bit due to the shit going down on Spaceship Earth and some other goofball garbage we were forced to contend with. During last spring's McCarrica Industries Corporate Retreat on St. George, we all got ourselves into a bit of a jam. On the way down to the coast, one of our interns/labmonkeys got blazed and bought a mogwai at a yardsale in Appalachicola. We were all familiar with those rules and whatnot, but after some spilled blueberry moonshine and a broken clock on the microwave... well the shit and the fan were introduced, let's say. This led to a rather outrageous lawsuit from Franklin County. Goddamn, who knew a lighthouse could be so expensive? Anyway, we hope this here serves as a sincere excusepology for our lack of correspondence. You are our favorite.
$2200

03.09.2008
Pancakes and Tequila for everybody! Its DAYLIGHT SAVINGS TIME!!!
The suns stay up laughing for one more hour, hippies can time travel and everybody gets to be whoever they want to really be in life! That's right its DAYLIGHT SAVINGS TIME, KIDDOS! So slap some ostrich meat and plantains on the grill and crank up the right wing talk radio station booming thru the speakers of that old clock radio! Go out there and enjoy yourselves while harassing the squares like a bunch of werewolves... but remember:

1. BE POLITE
2. DRINK WATER
3. KEEP IT TOGETHER
4. EVERYHTING IS GONNA BE ALRIGHT

#.10¢

01.18.2008
!ACTUALIZACIÓN DE LAS NOTICIAS: NADA NUEVO!
Tailspin continues. Rumors of roadblocks and checkpoints.
Omens abound. Sparrows in the sky. Send Lawyers, Guns and Money.
-The Management
#11

12.04.2007
NEWS UPDATE: THE WINTER SEASON HOLIDAY CELEBRATION EDITION
This year the North Florida/South Georgia Hardcore Party Machine Season was off to an early start. Usually beginning around the second week in November, this year by The Day of the Dead, she was up n' running at a healthy canter into the sunset of the dark rambling winter. UFO sightings are already way up for this time of year and poltergeist activity is off the doggone charts, amigos! There is something to be said for living so close to an Indian burial ground, although the shape shifter that lives in the woods by the corral with the mares in it freaks me out. The above ground pool behind the house looks like an ice cold gin and tonic with leaves floating in it. The banana trees by the deck have turned into burned tortillas soaked in slime. Anybody in the area should stop by any day of the week and we can go to the truck stop and listen to a loudmouth jerk in the smoker's lounge while drinking terrible coffee. My treat.
#123123123123123

09.09.2007
THE COYOTES OF THE SOUTHERN DAWN
First off, I would like to thank all the McCarrican citizenry out there for your cards, prayers and kind words. As many of you out there have heard, I was held hostage at Sasquatch Lake Research Facility for three weeks in August.

This is not the first time I have had to subject myself to tests and and trials carried out by the global elite (our masters, The ILLUMINATI) and their minions, in the maze of labs and interrogation chambers beneath Sasquatch Lake. My past involvement and connections to the intelligence communities of South and Central America have made me a target for the intimidation and terror tactics of our enemies.

That being said, the summer wasn't really all that terrible. I held the hand of a dying man in the middle of Hi-way 59 in Jefferson County on a moonless night while the swamp coyotes yipped and yapped as we waited for the paramedics to arrive. I went swimming almost everyday. I drank my body volume in Vodka and Tonics( two limes please).I went gambling at the greyhound track. I bought a cheapo gag hand buzzer and used it on strangers. I got beat up after a fish fry. I saw a dragonfly kill a butterfly and heard sad piano music in my head.

Stay tuned for more news of the coming WATER WAR and more ghost dances.

Best Regards,
-The Management
#3

05.01.2007
CELL OUT
Your cell phone is really a tracking device. The bad guys use it to track you as you move from parking lot to parking lot and into your homes and churches or synagogues or mosques or spaceship temples or santeria sacrifice stages. Very well. I fell victim to the cell phone addiction myself and the degeneracy of my dependence upon it leaves me weeping and depressed often. The other night it fell from my vehicle as I left a discount movie theatre on the west side. A drunkard found it and took it inside the pool hall in the same parking lot community. While inside the drunkard used it as collateral during a pool game that he lost, turning it over to a dude named Doug who was kind enough to answer when I called it at 3 am. He of course lived 45 miles from me but he turned it over fair and square. goddamn the 21st century.
#8502640980

03.28.2007
McCARRICA INDUSTRIES IS NOT
THE FATHER
It was announced yesterday (according to a sham DNA Test) that McCarrica Industries is the father of Anna Nicole Smith's child. We will now take the opportunity to reject these ridiculous claims of slander for what they are: nonsense. At no time did McCarrica Industries have any contact with Anna Nicole. Thank you, we will make no further comments on this matter.
#8893425

03.03.2007
HOMELAND UNDER ATTACK
Art Terrorists Strike Again in the Homeland! McCarrica is Under Attack!!

You leave the country for a little bender and the whole world goes nuts. Upon my re-entry to the Fleorgia atmosphere I was given heartbreaking news. The good people at Down Below on North Monroe have begun to tear down, paint over, and generally defile the murals that I sweated out, mixed with blood. Apparently, the sea monster destroying the freighter ship whilst smoking a cigarette is "freaking out the customers". I can't say I don't blame em'. Word on the street is they are gonna keep the octopus by the dartboards and maybe the mermaid and pirate on the bathroom doors. I imagine the sea captain's widow is slated to go along with the flying skeleton sailor spilling a cup of blood to the sharks below. See em' while they last and tip your bartenders.

The preschool painted over the mural I did there, too. It was freaking out the children. And I suppose the one in the laundry mat is long gone. The chick who got the whole hallway done is moving out soon, and the landlord fantasizes about a clean wall. McCarrica Murals are vanishing like the goddamned buffalo and you can help save them... if anybody knows a place or a person who wants or needs a dose of Wall Therapy™ contact McCarrica Industries today.

Our lab monkeys work for peanuts and they will go Anywhere!
#24938212

11.15.2006
SASQUATCH LAKE
Greetings from Sasquatch Lake Research Facility,

The drive was a terrible trial that grew dirtier with every truck stop. Nashville's skyline was nice. Sparkly. I was continually violated at the gas pumps. I rejoiced at 2.89 a gallon and would be ashamed right after. As the west came upon me people grew meaner and and so did the graffiti in the bathrooms. In dixieland the graffiti was a mere statement:" Y'all all suck. Fuck all y'all." Or the occasional taunt: y'all gonna get your asses kicked."Sometimes a misspelled insult: "Dumbas."

In Kansas the writing on the bathroom walls became lewd and pornographic, advertising acts of bestiality and humiliation. The people had tattoos on their hands when they took your cash at the register.

In Idaho the graffiti was incendiary and bloodthirsty calling for Race-War and and the assassination of individuals.
#386419

10.30.2006
And now, the news...
I carved a jackolantern with 6 eyes and sprayed her down with scotchgard (to keep the bugs away I guess) and the damn thing rotted away in less than a week.
#8893425

In other news...
MATTHEW, THE METHHEADS & THE CASE OF THE MISSING MANNEQUIN
Here a while back whilst digging thru the trash in a hippy artist's driveway I found an old store mannequin. I immediately put the old broad in my vehicle and rushed it home. It was spray painted silver to look like a robot(which it totally did) and then left on my porch to dry. I left to go buy some Wheat Thins and upon return to Cornbread Manor I found that my dear metallic dame had been swiped! Outrage! Scandal! Terrorists have struck! The alarm was sounded and news of the robbery was soon the talk of Gwen Street and the surrounding shotgun shacks of Miracle Gulch. Of course it was quickly forgotten as the Israeli-Lebanon clusterfuck dominated the news soon after. Flash forward thru a flashback or two to last week. As my new methhead neighbors are busy unloading broken lamps and rain soaked furniture into their home I spy in their wares the silver dame herself, her face crushed and paint scuffed. These urchins, these degenerate and foul furies of detroit had committed an act of jihad against me by crossing the sacred threshold of my porch to rob me blind! I banged upon the door of these terrorists and their pit bulls lunged against the widows ripping out screens and spraying their filth. Alas, the thieves would not answer the door (see also cholo gangster files and the case of the stolen phone card circa 2004). I took it upon myself to remove the silver dame off their porch and return her to my lair. Stay the course. Victory over terror is right around the corner. The Meth-heads hate our freedom. This is why they steal from us.
#3857671

10.04.2006
STATE OF THE UNION
Hey Kiddos!
All apologies for not being in touch lately, but as you may have noticed, the whole damned shithouse is going up in flames! That's right. The Illuminati has put into motion certain actions and plots that,if unchecked, could usher in the true apocalypse.....but don't fret you fine young cannibals! We here at McCarrica Industries exist for the sole purpose of stopping the bad guys in their traxx and slipping keys to the orangutans in their cages. If we can't stop the evil-doers, at least we can learn a thing or two about a thing or two when it comes to surviving in the wasteland after the guillotine falls. Right now, as we speak our highly skilled team of lab monkeys, lushes and lunatics are banging away at the big problems bringing you hope in the days of darkness. So stay tuned and jump in and swim. We will be offering you all new escape routes,prophecies, souvenirs and tales of madness.

When all you have is a hammer, every problem looks like a nail.
#12345-a

10.03.2006
MORMONS, METH-HEADS & KITTENS
And in other news... two nights ago I saw a woman with white hair standing in the street in front of one of the old abandoned shotgun shacks down the street. Halloween must be gettin' close. She had some kittens with her, strays it looked like from where I was, but I cannot be sure since I had a bottle of shiraz in my system. The mormon missionaries are still coming by. Once or twice a month. Nice kids, but they sure can break balls when you're trying to watch a movie, and they stand at the screen door askin' about the book of mormon they dropped off and Casino is on with Joe Pesci yellin' f*ck this and f*ck that. In other heartbreaking news The two meth-head degenerates from around the corner have decided to move in the empty house next door. There was a time when I enjoyed meth-head neighbors, but that was Nevada and this is Tallahassee, my sanctuary. The part about meth-heads is that they are ridiculous people. I don't mind people shooting heroin in their eyeballs or drunkards beating the hell out of each other in the privacy of their own homes... They catch you in the yard after an easy day of work and they ask questions about stupid shit. Then they ask a favor and you by obliging them have unwittingly entered their world and you can never get out...
#12345-b

07.05.2006
HAPPY NEW FISCAL YEAR,
CAP'T CORPO
McCarrica Industries has achieved record breaking financial performance this past fiscal year, including the unveiling of a new line of merchandise led by the much requested Sasquatch Lake License Plate Frame and the Jacob Bluebird Green T-Shirt.
#GR8-1

06.05.2006
THE PEOPLE IN YOUR NEIGHBORHOOD?
BumStar books releases the 2nd Edition of Earth Human Coloring Book by Jacob Bluebird. 3rd Edition soon to follow. Meanwhile, order yourself a copy of this collectors item directly from CafePress and cancel all your appointments.
#850-222-5224

04.21.2006
McCARRICA MURALIZATION
You need to do something about that wall.
#)1111

02.17.2006
THE SOUVENIR HUT
Open and Fully Operational
This time the crybabies have won. After years of complaint-laden hate mail whining about the lack of merchandise on this site, McCarrica Industries (in a rare show of benevolence) has decided to offer fine quality gifts to the General Public. Be the first barmaid in your town with a MVP of Life Sleeveless Tee. Drink your morning cocoa out of the limited edition Wine Thief First Mate's Mug. Get a bumper sticker for your garbage box SUV, or send a creepy greeting card to your ex-fiancee! Finally look decent on the golf course with a sporty Redbird Polo. You have no choice. Go to The Souvenir Hut now!!!
#099

01.28.2006
CUSTOMER RELATIONS GUESTBOOK
We appreciate you. We value our visitors. Write us a note of hatred/complaint. Or, simply say "Goodbye, world." That's what the all new Customer Relations Guestbook is here for.
#011234

01.19.2006
THE 3rd DIMENSION BEGINS
McCarrica Industries invites you to view the 3rd Dimension. You'll see: claymation madness, The House of Misfortune, Skull Masks, and more! Enter the 3rd Dimension.
#9991.2

10.28.2005
McCARRICA TRAVEL LOG
AMERICAN DIRTBAG Part 02: The Ramadhan-a-thon goes on and on and on
#0007

10.25.2005
McCARRICA TRAVEL LOG
AMERICAN DIRTBAG Part 92: Neandertalia
#0006

10.10.2005
Seventy thousand light years later......

I am trying to make my way outta here in a few days. The bordellos of Europe and the far east call me. The ride out here was such a nightmare of hallucinations and gritted teeth. People with tattoos on their necks ripped me off at the gas pump. I had no sunglasses and could not find a pair suitable. I had 3 thousand miles to ride with a snap crackle popping in my left ear. No blanket, pillow, or good hat.

I don't like to say it, but the solo american road trip is in trouble. She has been beaten and violated. The roads were unfriendly to me. The roadside vendors were all gone, prairie dog museums were burned by mobs. Gypsies huddled together in Idaho truck stop parking lots, crying for sunflower seeds and half a tank, I saw the traps they had set as usual. They all radioed ahead to the watchers and the keepers banging out codes on spoons and tin cans: The Garbage Man is coming. The Garbage Man is coming.
     tell em all I said high five,
                     McCarron
#555

10.07.2005
I am at Sasquatch lake Research facility now. Against my will.
#998877

05.05.2005
PHOTOGRAPHY ADDED
Smile, you're on camera. McCarrica photography.
#43

01.21.2005
EARTH HUMAN COLORING BOOK
Hey, you fuckers, you screwheads, have you heard? There's a new coloring book out there and its about you. Well, actually it mocks you and your silly little world. That house of mirrors you live in is about to come crashing down. I hope you're wearing shoes, hippies.
-The management
#222

12.30.2004
A fine tale, sailor. It reminds of the time I found a living toddler inside a hammerhead's belly. Damn crazy day.
#839

09.28.03
I am a robot who has been sent back in time from the future. I have been programmed to paint houses. The fuel that powers me is neither diesel nor nuclear batteries, but rather cheap mexican food and ice cold beer. My mission is to paint this house until it is either done or it is destroyed by God, whichever comes first. Since I have no emotions, I am very ready to complete the task by any means necessary. If anyone gets in my way, I will strike them down. If anyone tries to stop me or cause trouble, I will burn down their fucking house and give them five dollars.

The backyard is a mess of BBQ grills, scrap wood, automotive parts, blowtorches, rocks, cigarettes, crushed cans of Tecate Cerveza, and paint is everywhere. Some Meathheads tried me down at the paint store, they tried to hustle me. Threw out the old bait and switch gypsy trick.They fucked up the paint mix and I painted one quarter of the house in what looked like shiny green pudding. Dickinson took care of business and got 20 free gallons of paint. Just by raising hell and making a few calls to the Pittsburgh Paint Company's main factory in Shitcan, Illinois . The foreman there, Bill Krazowski, was kind enough and understanding.

A Painter Robot needs very few things to perform. As mentioned above, Mexican food and beer are key to the operation but also imperative is a constant flow of 30 minute Classic Rock Marathons. Without Bob Seger, Bad Company, ZZtop, Ted Nugent, Heart, Fleetwood Mac, Blue Oyster Cult, Journey, Kansas, The Guess who, and Def Leopard it would be virtually impossible to finish the daunting project. The music must be played on a beat up clock radio (splattered by paint and with a blown speaker) hooked into an extension cord. As soon as the DJ announces another long continuous set of Classic Rock to be given forth in a commercial free 30 minute increment, the job can begin. The song "Sultans of Swing" by Dire Straits contains secret codes. Boston's classic "More than a Feeling" is not a song about lost love or blown chances or anything as silly as that, it is actually an ancient tale recounting an Alabama house painter's battle against corruption within his painter crew.

Many people on the street where I perform my ceremonies live in their cars. Bums and the like. There is a homeless shelter a block or two away so while I am working on the front of the house I have many spectators, detractors and critics. One guy said, "Fuck! You better hurry up,dude, you know the rainy season is gonna be here soon!" I wanted to say, Shit, motherfucker, then get your ass up here and gimme a hand!. But instead, I lit a cigarette and turned up the clock radio and jammed out to Cinnamon Girl with Neil Young and played air guitar with a paint roller on the roof. A few days later a dapper and charming schizophrenic gentleman ambled by wearing cat food bags on his feet and a helmet made of tin foil called out me, "Yer outta yer fucking mind. Yer outta yer fucking mind!" Guilty as charged, my brother.
After smoking a bowl in the backyard the other day a 3 year old boy in a superman shirt followed by a little girl of five or so with a bag of cheetos came thru the back gate. They stared at me. I stared back. Within a few seconds a tall woman in slippers, jeans and a flannel shirt came in. She said in a heavy Russian accent, You are painter? Need to borrow ladder. Locked keys in house. Top floor. I helped her break into a house down the street and shook hands with her kids. She helped me bring the ladder back up the hill. She looked at the house and said, This house ugly paint. Look like Halloween House.

I made friends with some pretty girls down the street, but they think I am a drunk idiot and I quote, "disgusting". I read about a Karaoke contest in the local commie hipster periodical and talked them into driving my drunken bones to the other side of the bay to the swanky showdown where I would claim my crown and ascend to my Karaoke throne for all eternity. After I began to get belligerent and out of sorts they switched to drinking water and began to drop subtle hints about being " ready to go". Fine, go I said. I instructed them to leave me at the nightclub because " I'm gonna win a hundred fuckin dollars in this contest, which will more than cover the price of a cab home. You'll be sorry tomorrow when I am handing out wild turkey shots and parading in a chariot down Interstate 5." After saying this, they of course took off immediately. I paid for their drinks since I was gonna win the contest and all. I then proceeded to get trounced in the tournament beaten by a pool shark lesbian chick in mechanic's overalls singing Black Velvet, a retarded man who murdered Summer Wind by Frank Sinatra, and a bleach blonde who exposed herself during I Will Survive. I thought for a few minutes about burning down the nightclub, but instead decided to walk home in the rain.
#000

05.02.2003
This one who calls himself the commander of the mothership needs to be destroyed. He could very well be one of the Nine, those who were sent to silence me. if he contacts you again, send him a hatewave to fry his circuits.
#4372

01.21.03
As for me, I am growing weaker everyday. I need to leave the country, but since I am insane and not very motivated, it could be a while. My aunt in Atlanta said I could sell some paintings in her interior design shop if I liked, but who knows. My job is pretty bad, but they all are I suppose. I just smile and give people their mountain dew.
#38

01.17.2001
RETURN TO TUNNEL CITY
A Frenchtown Thursday evening. Late. Trash blows in the wind passed prostitutes down by the ditch. A gunshot rings out here and there. Loud laughter and distortion from boomboxes on front porches. One car passes over the train tracks and down into Frenchtown's sullen streets...
run, rabbit. RUN.
#1