Also, I'm working on a new story for you guys and I should have it up sooner than later. Sorry for being a phantom for so long.

I've been working hard on the book the past few months and I just started a new position that allows me to work strictly from home and on my own schedule, which is going to facilitate my writing schedule in a very positive way. Hopefully I'll have so much time on my hands that I'll be able to pump out some new entries for you guys. I have a list of half sketched-out stories that I'd love to put up here.

One thing that I think about a lot while I'm writing this book is about its believability. The closer I get to finishing everything, the more I'm afraid that my life has been so tragic and ridiculous and self-mutilated that people who don't know me will refuse to believe any of it when the book is done. I mean, I have plenty of people I know in real life who will always vouch for its credibility and I'm not going to get James Frey'd out of existence, but it's still something I worry about because I always feel irrationally guilty about shit. It's the same reason I can't walk out of a store without buying something. I'm worried that someone will think I'm shoplifting so I'll buy a pack of gum, even though I don't look suspicious and I don't have any ill gotten merchandise stuffed in my boxer briefs. I watch Curb Your Enthusiasm and I almost have to change the channel every time Larry David makes a mess out of things. There's an evil gnome in my brain that prods whatever lobe that evokes guilt at strange intervals, and I am slave to it. I'd delve into that further, but that would spoil a bit of the book for you.

I started writing this entry when I was sober, but then my friend called me and I went to the bar for a few hours. Just keep harassing me about those new entries so I don't forget.

Something about this entry doesn't feel right. Cunt. Fuck. Fireworks. Tits. Monster trucks. Dead people. Blowjobs.

There we go.

I lift off of the ground and begin flying over the masses toward the monument and the speaker. I look down at the people below me. They are entranced by the speakers words; hanging on every turn of phrase and point of emphasis. I still couldn't quite make out what the speaker was saying, but it was definitely resonating in a powerful way with the people around me. I whizzed over the heads of hundreds of thousands of loyal listeners until I came within eye and earshot of the focus of the gathering.

BANGBANGBANGBANG. "RAAAWWRRKAAALLLLLLRRGHHHHHH!!!"

BANGBANGBANGBANG."RAAAGHHHHHHHRRRLAAAAARRR!!!"

The more I work on this series, the more I'm coming to understand it isn't going to be complete as a multi-entry blog post. In order to give it the detail and attention it demands, I've come to the conclusion that Ginsanity is going to be my first book.

Tucker has been telling me to do this for years now. "Mike, you're hilarious and everything, but you and I both know your magnum opus is going to be the story about you and your father." I always knew he was right when he'd bring it up at the bar or in a random email exchange, but I pushed Tucker's advice to the side because I knew I wasn't emotionally ready to tackle it. I always thought that one day I'd be stable enough to open the vault that contains all of the hurt and the guilt and organize its contents for you in a calm and calculated way, like some kind of dark Rube Goldberg mechanism that spits my soul out at the end of its process. The more I live, the more I realize I'll probably never be that pillar of stability, but the more I work on this series, the more I understand that Ginsanity demands that I lock myself in that vault in order to write it the way it needs to be written. I now know there will never be a perfectly ideal time for this project to take the front burner...so why not now?

I'll still update my site to keep you guys entertained in the meanwhile, but as of right now, the book is where I am going to focus the bulk of my energy. Well, I'll at least split it evenly between the book, the therapist and the bottle.

And boobs. Don't forget boobs.

I mentioned in a note before the third installment of Ginsanity about how the series is taking its toll on me as I write it. I also mentioned that also touched on how I have to "let the crazy back in" to give the piece an honest voice. What I'm now discovering is that my stability on this side of the laptop is deteriorating almost at the same pace as the Mike on the other side in the story. The worse Mike five years ago gets, the worse I get. I sleep three to four hours a night, sparsely eat and aftershocks of co-dependency issues from the same time period are resurfacing, choking the essence out of relationships I have in real life. I suppose that last part doesn't really matter; nobody is going to want to have anything to do with this lunatic motherfucker by the end of the series anyway. I've had to write the bulk of this from a local coffee shop, just to keep me in check. Even then I find myself blotting my eyes with their brown, recycled paper napkins when I get overwhelmed.

After the last bout of teary, chest knotting breakdowns at my apartment this weekend, I've decided to give therapy a shot. I need to make the rational decision to do this now while there is a semblance of self control and self preservation left in me. At least I still have the foresight to know someone's going to need to be perpetually talking me off the ledge as I complete this series, and I can't expect family and friends to be that sounding board. It would make me feel even worse to put that kind of a burden on them.

If you guys want, I'll post entries like this from time to time so you know I'm not taking sabbatical at Arkham or floating face down in a pool somewhere with an "I'm sorry" post-it pinned to my shirt sleeve. I'm working on part five of Ginsanity as we speak, and I'll post it for you as soon as I can.

The answer :

Bread = 2 Full size Toyota Tundras

Cheese = KungFu Mike

Tonight at work, I was pinned at the knees between two pick up trucks, one stationary and one going about 7 miles an hour as the result of a poorly planned joke on yours truly. The outcome of all of this was a trip to the emergency room to watch some Hannah Montana and pick up a massive leg brace that looks like a fucking yoga mat, armpit choking crutches, Percocets the size of frisbees and a date with an orthopedist tomorrow to see just how bad my shit is fucked. Hopefully they won't have to amputate my gam, but if they do, I'll do my best to see if they can retrofit my stump with a pogo stick or a gas powered, pull start dildo.

I'll be busy cranking out part 4 or Ginsanity while I'm immobile. I just wanted to let you guys know why you're going to start seeing weird posts from me for the next however many days. It's probably the percocet.

~KungFu Mike

Regardless of that, I apologize for the sporadic posts. Here's part III.

***

I asked Bunny, and this is what she responded with --

Okay.

Any of these float your boat?

What do you guys think? Should I go with some of these ideas? Have any other ones? Let me know. Maybe I'll use it. Maybe I'll call you a retard and take a dump on your laptop. I'm not sure; the world is full of maybes.

Oh, and I'm still working on part 3 of Ginsanity. Be patient, that shit is hard to write.

~Apparently you guys are really digging Ginsanity and that rules. I'm steadily working on it, but it's a slow write so be patient with me. Delving into psychosis isn't exactly like doing the dishes.

~In other best friend news, Teddy (also from a ton of my stories, also an artist) is working with our mutual friend Pete to illustrate a bunch of my stories. They're starting with And the Names of the Colossi were Lucifer and Bone Saw and are going to work their way through to my most current multi-part entry, Ginsanity. It's going to be awesome. I'll keep you posted as to when the illustrations are added as they it comes.

~Remember when I was half-jokingly requesting one of you people to buy me a Wii and Mario Kart and mail it to my house? Well somebody actually did and that shit is way too much fun. I'll let you all know when I hook this bitch up to the Internet so I can fuck-start all of your Mii heads with my racing prowess.

"Um, sorry...guy. I didn't do that on purpose. My hand just flung out. I wasn't looking."

"I can't believe you just did that. I - I don't even know what to say. You just grabbed my dick."

"Well, I...uh..."

"I don't care if you're gay or whatever, but do you normally just molest dudes dicks and hope one out of ten enjoys it? Where is your gay-dar? This is a sports bar, not the fucking Man Hole. Why did you just do that?"

"Hey. I'm not gay, pal."

"Aren't bears supposed to stick to their own kind?"

"What?"

"You didn't just tap me or graze me accidentally; you deliberately cupped my cock and my balls with your hand. You cupped and lifted. Was I really just sexually assaulted by Victor French? What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"Look pal. I --"

"What did you expect to happen? Did you expect me to turn around and giggle? Should I enjoy some ZZ Top looking mother fucker groping my junk? What the fuck is wrong with you?! I should fucking knock you out."

"Hey. No need to cause a scene."

"CAUSE A SCENE?!? YOU GRABBED MY DICK -- ON PURPOSE!!! EVERYBODY!!! EVERYBODY LOOK OVER HERE!!! KING SOLOMON OVER HERE JUST MAN HANDLED MY FUCKING PENIS!!! HE JUST STUCK HIS HAND OUT AND MOLESTED ME!!! HE DOESN'T WANT TO CAUSE A SCENE, THOUGH!!! LET'S ALL JUST LOOK THE OTHER WAY WHILE SEX OFFENDER SANTA GRABS DUDE CROTCH ALL NIGHT!!!" NO BIG DEAL!!!"

"...I can't believe you just did that. There's no way I can stay here now."

"That was the plan. See ya later, you fucking rapist. Keep in touch..."

I thought for a while about how I wanted to start this off, and I think it'll be most appropriate for me to do that by giving you a glimpse of a screenplay I've been working on for a while. Actually, it's the first screenplay I ever started working on, so excuse the glaring format errors. I thought I captured the situation pretty well in this clipping, and besides...it's a story about how I went off the deep end -- A little medium hopping probably compliments the subject matter. The rest of the entry will be in my typical short story format.