badass

You know what's badass? Hitting a bank shot off your wall into the laundry basket off a no-look skyhook with a wadded up sock you just finished masturbating into.

b: I'm starting to worry about alcoholism.
a: I'm not.
c: Yeah why are you thinking about junk like that?
a: Listen, it's all fine as long as you don't get drunk at your job.
c: Yeah.
b: Man, I was shitfaced Friday like, bumping into shit.
c: It's fine.
a: Yeah, well, that's okay as long as you still have a job.
f: Yeah as long as you're still finding money.
b: No dude, Friday was my last day.
a: Oh, that's fine.
c: Yeah just celebrate.
a: Yeah man as long as you're not living with your parents, it's fine.

Three guys standing in the cold in an alley around the corner of a rock show, shivering as they're passing a brown bagged bottle back and forth.

doodlin'

Whenever I doodle, my drawings come out as humans undergoing horrifying limb mutations:



I think it has some subconscious thing to do with my dick, but i'm still not sure what.

Hot Date: The Film

treatment for a short film for class, original concept by joe cabello

Kyle, a boy of about 15 is sitting at a desktop computer in his small bedroom, which is brightly decorated with pastel colors and very tidy. He’s clicking away at something on the screen, his facial expression is apathetic, almost bored. There’s a knock on the door and his father creaks the door open to let him know that dinner is ready, Champ. Kyle cheerfully lets him know that he’ll be right down and his dad begins to head back but takes a squinty look back at his son. On his computer screen is a bunch of images of shirtless body builder type males. His son is definitely not a body builder. The dad squints slightly for a second and slowly leaves the doorway.

Dinner looks very pleasant. It is reminiscent of a suburban 1950s family dinner. Dad is sitting at the head of the table with a cloth napkin stuck in his collar. Joshua, the oldest son, is wearing a shirt that indicates that he is a member of a baseball team, and also has a napkin stuck in his collar. His haircut looks like Dad’s. Kyle takes a seat at the dinner table and ties his napkin around his neck like an ascot. Joshua shoots him a brief incredulous glance. Mom gingerly brings out the perfect looking whole chicken on a platter and sets it at the center of the table. The family begins to eat in silence. Dad and Joshua politely thank Mom for the delicious meal, and Mom blushes. Kyle takes a bite of his chicken and places the fork back his plate. He turns to Mom and mentions that he would have added a bit more paprika to the rub and could Dad please pass the pea snaps. His tone is not unpleasant but Mom appears unhappy with the comment. Mom, Dad, and Josh exchange glances. The family continues to eat in silence until Josh brags about his girlfriend for a little bit, which clearly impresses Dad. Dad turns to Kyle and asks about his status on getting a prom date. Kyle is still chewing his pea snaps and genuinely states that he’d love to take out Emily Rosenthal because he loves her boobs and butt and all, so yeah he’ll probably ask her totally like, tomorrow.

Mom is now washing the dishes and Kyle passes behind her, announcing that he’s headed out to catch his friend Jenna’s final performance of the musical Wicked that’s running at his school. Without looking up, Mom reminds Kyle to wear his helmet before he shuts the door. She mumbles to herself in a somewhat optimistic way that at least he’s dating girls.

Kyle is riding his bike but we can’t see what he’s heading toward. He stops and has to walk his bike through a break in a wire mesh fence, which is adorned with Biohazard and No Trespassing signs that are old and dusty. We then continue to see him riding his bike toward us and suddenly and violently he crashes. We now see that he was riding through a chemical factory of sorts. Kyle is sprawled on the pavement a few feet away from his bike. Green tire marks indicate that he has slipped in a puddle of liquid, and he is lying in much of that puddle. Moaning, Kyle gets up, gets back on his bike, and pedals away. He arrives in front of the theater, locks his bike and jogs in through the entrance.

It is now night time, and Kyle and his friend Jenna walk out of the theater entrance. Kyle’s jacket is still very dirty with the green liquid from the fall he took earlier. Kyle is raving enthusiastically about Jenna’s performance in detail about her vibrato and whatnot. The two share a friendly but intimate hug and Jenna looks Kyle over with a dry expression and asks about what the hell happened to you did you fall off your bike or something? Kyle looks down at his clothes and explains that he slipped in some green shit when he was taking a shortcut through abandoned nuclear power plant and dammit he hopes it washes out because this is his favorite Express jacket. A car appears from the side and we see that it’s a guy wearing a letterman jacket and he is yelling to Jenna, Babe let’s get a move-on halftime’s almost over. Jenna has to go and the two will see each other tomorrow in first period.

The story will go on to follow Kyle’s belief that the chemical spill may have changed him in certain ways, similar to how Spiderman was bitten by a radioactive spider. He feels different somehow and begins to act differently, performing heroic tasks. However to everyone else he is just more outwardly flamboyant and he appears to be on the verge of coming out of the closet as a homosexual teenager. I’m not sure how I want to end it yet, but I know that I want the tone to be heavily tongue-in-cheek and utilize suburban archetypical characters.

Let me tell you about the time

We're watching the Warriors game at my house, Just Us Dudes. Halftime rolls around and they're probably down by a lot and we decide to take that acid that Jeremy just got from his older roommate who got it from wherever the fuck. One half-hit and after we stop caring about who wins basketball we're up on campus in the computer labs reserved for the film students because Jeremy has a screenplay due tomorrow and I've got some music to listen to. About midnight we take another half hit and we've got Little Ceasar's and I'm quietly losing my mind listening to Phillip Glass for the only time in my life. J-dog's in the other room brainstorming right into a brick wall. We decide to stay up all night on campus because the idea of it is funny. I have class downstairs at 9 in the morning. Of course we take another hit a couple hours before that.
Class should be simple enough Fred sit still watch some student films keep your fuckin' mouth shut Fred I keep telling myself as I pay for some coffee, feeling more and more like a crazy person as I'm counting out crumpled dollar bills I produce from my back pocket. Jeremy goes home smartly.
There's a substitute in class because Eli's feeling sick, and so instead of doing the usual we're going to watch this movie:



Fuckin' two hours long and we're sitting in pitch black and I'm constantly getting up and walking out of the room in order to prevent my brain from getting rocked beyond recovery, but by the time it's over I'm sweating, there's coffee spilled all over my backpack because I kicked it over without realizing it, and I'm truly believing that this is probably the greatest stupidest thing I've ever done.
The novelty of distortion wears off quickly as I'm recounting everything I've just done and I get really really depressed at around noon. I was Travis Bickle for Halloween and my mohawk hairdo still remains from the costume, and I can feel like I'm genuinely becoming him. I'm sitting on somebody else's couch watching two dudes playing Super Smash 64 and having such an intense existential crisis (post-college anxiety to the third power, I'd say) that I find myself on a bus to San Jose about an hour later. Fuckin' Mohawk Guy. An hour after that I'm home alone in my mom's bed curled up in the fetal position fighting back tears, vowing to never drink alcohol again.
Of course about a week later I'm right back to speed, but Jesus Christ that day sucked. I would not have been in this mess if I just had a girlfriend or something.

Hot Date: a short film

EXT. FANCY RESTAURANT - EVENING

A couple in business casual attire approach the door. The male holds open the door for the female and they begin to head inside.

INT. RESTAURANT -EVENING

The Waiter seats a new couple in a booth, dressed in similar fashion as the first couple. The man Fred is clearly very nervous, his unmatched striped necktie practically choking him. The woman Leslie appears to be at ease. The Waiter drops two menus.

WAITER
I'll be back in a moment to take your orders.

The three of them exchange smiles.

FRED
So... what do you do?

LESLIE
Well right now, I'm kind of in between jobs.. I just quit my last one.

FRED
Oh, what did do you? I mean what did, did you do?

LESLIE
Well, you have to promise that you're not going to laugh.

FRED
What? Why would I, why would I even?

LESLIE
Well, I was an exotic dancer.

FRED
[coughs] Check, please.

LESLIE
(giggling flirtatiously)
Come on, you said you wouldn't.

FRED
(increasingly nervous and eager)
I mean, wow. I've never, with a stripper, been in the same room I don't..

The Waiter returns to the table.

WAITER
Would you two like to start off with any appetizers?

FRED (cont'd)
(gradually mumbling to himself)
I mean a strip club, yeah, but never at the same table or anything, let alone a first date.

Leslie shoots a slight glance at Fred, then buries her face in the menu. The Waiter looks at Leslie for a moment.

LESLIE
Hmm.. [playfully] Ooh, how about some oysters to start us off?

FRED
[coughs] Check, please.

Fred makes the "check please" motion and looks at Leslie, who doesn't look up from her menu.

WAITER
You want your check?

LESLIE
[Politely laughs, clears her throat] Let's forget the oysters. Um, I'll have the salad with Italian dressing please.

WAITER
Alright, and the gentleman?

There are dabs of sweat beginning to form on Fred's face. He's in bad shape.

FRED
Uh.. I'll have.. the.. G string. I mean string. Cheese. Do you guys have string cheese?

WAITER
We do not have string cheese.

FRED
Okay.. I.. will have nothing then thanks.

The Waiter leaves. Fred and Leslie sit staring at their menus. Fred continues to sip his water all the way to the bottom and ends up making a loud slurping sound when he hits it. It lingers for longer than anyone with proper manners would approve of.

LESLIE
So what do you do?

FRED
I'm a waiter.

LESLIE
Oh.

A beat.

FRED
Chili's.

A beat.

LESLIE
Is that where you get the whole "check-"

FRED
No,

LESLIE (cont'd)
Okay.

They are glaring at their menus.

LESLIE
Hmm.. I feel like some steak. Haven't had any meat in a.

FRED (off)
[cough] Check please.

LESLIE
Okay. That one was my fault. Listen, I'm going to go. This was really great.

Leslie gets up with her purse and leaves. Fred stares incredulously. The Waiter returns with salad.

WAITER
You landed a stripper dude?

FRED
(stoked)
Yeah dude.

WAITER
Niiiice.

They high five.

FRED
Oh, and I'll just go head and take the check now.

BLACK

Why does this video make me so mad?

I was watching this video from an amateur video making group called Wong Fu Productions just now, and I was just getting madder and madder about it. I wasn't sure exactly why, but writing this right now I'm realizing that it's just a really stupid premise for a movie. Lame guy tries to get tips from wacky guy on how to be cool, hijinks ensue, and I'm pretty sure Lame guy is going to realize that the trick to being cool is to Just Be Yourself! Also, probably the fact that this video has 90k plus views at the moment pisses me off.
Wong Fu Productions is an Asian American group of film school kids who make shorts and shit based around and starring Asian American people. The videos are overly sensitive most of the time, feature shitty acting, and get mad hits and mad fans. I think it's because there are a lot of Asian kids around who like to see Asian entertainment (actually, that's how I came to find these guys). Try watching part one of this series called "Nice Guy" and see if you can handle it (I actually did). Way to perpetuate the stereotype, faggots.