My Robot Is Pregnant theme song!

tough guy poetry and manly stories of loneliness
all contents copyright Jon Rolston 2004, 2005, 2006

August 31, 2009

photo posted from my iPhone

August 29, 2009

piss jugs


I looked under the blanket of a homeless guy’s shopping cart and there were all these piss jugs! Why didn’t he just piss on the street like a drunk 24 year old?



I finally got a headboard for my bed. Took my old workbench from the garage and got rid of the legs. Works great.

August 28, 2009

tyson. (not my upstairs neighbor who has that for a first name)

I cut my face changing my tire.

I don’t usually recommend a movie, but you should watch the Tyson documentary. It made me realize I need to quit trying to be a garbage man and go for the gold. I’m gonna be a folk singer. Starting in October. If that doesn’t work out I’m going to China, the new frontier. I’ll rob banks across the midwest and save up enough to fly first class to Shanghai. It may sound stupid, but that’s what i learned from watching that movie.

Dear Mike Tyson,

I really likeded the movie about you. Especially when you talked about how you like to make love to a woman but don’t want to be loved and you say no to her. I always say no too.
I also felt a strong connection to you when the fight clip was showing Holyfield punching you a lot and you were telling us what was on your mind during that fight.

“what the fuck is happening?” you were asking as you kept getting knocked around and couldn’t get your feet under you and protect yourself, let alone return a punch.

A few months ago at the Phone Booth, a local bar, I was getting punched in the face a lot and was thinking the same thing. Then I asked, “When will this stop?” Luckily my friend Glen stopped it.

There were many other things I liked about watching your movie, especially when you tried not to cry and said you were a fat kid.

I also understand why you bit his ear. I don’t think you are crazy anymore.

I have to go to sleep, but thanks for the great movie.

good night,
your new fan,
jon rolston

August 27, 2009

stultified by a search engine

The smile of a made for television repair manual
Sean and I thought we’d try to put new shoes on the rear drums. It’s a dually. First tool we used was a chainsaw to block up enough boards to keep the truck off the ground. Then using two bottle jacks we raised it and pulled the tires.

“I seen that in a junkyard,” I said of the wet rusty sealed steel drum we had exposed.

“I have no idea how to do this,” Sean admitted. He was my only hope.

“Should we look on the Internet?” I asked.

He turned the only visible bolt and a thick dirty fluid was oozing under pressure from the threads like it was wounded.

“Maybe we should,” he said.

Which broke our spirit. That information superhighway just left nothing to the imagination. Color pictures. An embedded video. Tools I didn’t own and had never seen. Perhaps if we’d just unscrewed everything and were left with no choice but to put it back together we could have prevailed, but the knowledge Google revealed crippled us.

illustrated text message

Mr. Ravioli sent me that text months ago, and I illustrated it immediately and it’s been waiting for this moment when all the technology at my fingertips isn’t corrupted, in need of updates or drivers, or somehow non operational. Hooray.

August 26, 2009

gooder news than cigarette juice

I have finally figured out how to upload images, it involved figuring out how to update my wordpress to a new version. I also got a scanner finally. Now all I need is a serial number for the cracked version of photoshop cs2 I have and I’ll be back to full on blogging again. Thanks for sticking it out with me through a bunch of crappy iphone photos. (which for two days I couldn’t upload either, until I realized they now go to my spam folder. Corrected that too.) Sorry for the tech lesson, but I feel bad for not getting something out daily.

straighten out


Doug had some help getting his hair straightened.


Totally amazing.

big deal

photo posted from my iPhone
A pile of garbage like this used to excite me. Today I was tired of it. Nothing ever makes me happy for long. By October I’ll be doing something new. That’s a self fulfilling prophecy, I hope.

August 23, 2009

Sometimes I’m caught staring at someone in the crosswalk, but do they know I’m just trying to figure out if they’re male or female?

mens room

photo posted from my iPhone
never a good sign to see a full fly strip in the bathroom

August 22, 2009

photo posted from my iPhone
Went to drop off my computer for repair and backed into a BMW. I have insurance. But I need a softer car.

August 19, 2009

I’d like some health care. At the grocery store the checker always asks,”Do you want help out with that?” I say no thanks. I’m not greedy. I try to take care of myself. The grocery store understands not all of us can. It would be nice to know the same government that funds NASA also cares about it’s citizens enough to provide some health services.
Why are people freaking out about socialized medicine? Aren’t they glad the government is giving them money for their old cars? What if they bought up any old people laying around your houses that were guzzling up medical costs? Or at least gave you some money? Oh wait, we already have socialized medicine for the elderly. It’s the working taxpayer who doesn’t trust the government – unless they are saying Iraq attacked the World Trade Center – who doesn’t want the governments help. When did people start loving their insurance companies more than their country?

August 17, 2009

good dog bad dog

photo posted from my iPhone
This old bone was laying in an intersection with no dog in sight. Then I went grocery shopping.

August 16, 2009

her china shop

As we began to make love in earnest, after the hands and the mouth have done their work, I imagined as I entered inside her I was entering a small home, one bedroom, pink carpeting, white curtains, festively colored pottery on display atop low modern coffee tables.

As I put my weight down on top of her so our nude bodies fed on the heat of the other’s I imaged my penis was a clumsy and startled animal, feral at best, inside this spotless little feminine apartment. Just a bee knocking against the windowpane, a cat in a paper bag, a bull in a china shop.

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