Oh hey,

Five minutes away from the airport, Tulsa was already starting to weird me out. First of all, it was snowing – something I was told explicitly and emphatically didn’t happen there so early in the year. “It’s warm,” I was told, “bring your speedo”. what a waste of luggage space those turned out to be Secondly, a disturbing trend was already starting to emerge. Every street corner alternated between three things: a sonic, a quik trip and a church. It appeared these people alternated between cramming greasy, delicious death into their sopping maws, drinking gasoline and worshiping jesus. Come to think of it, the gasoline drinking could explain the mindless devotion to god. Or maybe it’s the jib. As I had arrived late to my winter wonderland, I went straight to my treatment center living quarters and retired to bed, eager to see what the thriving metropolis had waiting for me.

As far as my pre-conceived notions of the religious insanity that I felt would envelop and confuse the shit out of me, I will say this: stereotypes exist for a reason. Churches everywhere. Bumper stickers on every car promoting the awesomeness of the lord. Guys rocking t-shirts that read “My church is kinda a big deal”. I stopped in at a local book store to buy some nancy drew mysteries Weird Al biographies and upon check-out was greeted by a cheery, middle aged woman who seemed to have fallen into a make-up pit and as she struggled out also was dunked into a vat of hairspray and, most unfortunately, also had broken a case of perfume bottles which I imagine were labeled as “skunk vomit, extra strength” somewhere in her vicinity at some point soon before my arrival. Her kittens wearing santa hats sweater was a nice touch. We began exchanging pleasantries, and about where I figured the seemingly world-wide custom of banal, unnecessary banter that comes with almost all check-out rituals and countless other awkward terrible situations was over, she posed a question that I at first didn’t understand. I played it cool though and did my best not to let on that I wasn’t sure what she meant.

“So where are you going tonight?”

“I don’t understand.”

She smiled. What church are you attending tonight, she clarified. It was Christmas eve, after all. “Oh,” I said flatly, “all of them.” I looked her in the eyes when I said this. Or into her eyes as best I could, as her eyelashes had thick armor of black paint and I believe her actual eyelashes called in reinforcements because they were like a veil over her big, empty brown eyes. I didn’t smile. I searched through the veil for some sort of reaction. It was like looking into space. Finally she came back. She handed me my change and receipt, and told me it was real nice that I was doing that. “Merry Christmas” she said, using the most pointed use of a trochee I’ve ever heard when she said Christmas. She watched me leave. I don’t think she blinked once during our entire exchange. I imagine it’s because her eyes might have stuck together. Whatever the hell that was, I thought while I walked hurriedly away from the santa cat book store, I don’t feel good. I don’t fit in here. I think I need to seek out the lord for guidance. And where better to do so than the Prayer Tower at Oral Roberts University?

Depending which way you enter the University, part of a 50 acre complex which also includes this, you may be lucky enough to be greeted by 60 foot high, 30 ton, praying hands. That you can see from space. Venturing past this, you come to the sprawling, surreal campus. It’s like a 1950′s sci-fi movie depicting an alien town. Everything is majestic. It’s all golden. And then there is the prayer tower. The First Lady(??) of Oral Roberts University can give you a tour and really show off her speaking skills here. As I walked towards the ridiculous structure I felt a wave of nausea healing power coming over me, if I could just get inside I’d be… the door was locked. A sign on the window informed me that the tower was closed for the holidays. So close to salvation, only to be turned away back into the cold, godless world from which I came.

This holiday season I have the pleasure of traveling to a far and exotic location to celebrate the birth of Santa and enjoy time away from the hustle and bustle of the rat race, and I can hardly wait! I am sure you are thinking, our beloved Krank must be on his way to a tropical locale, perhaps Mexico, South America, or even the untamed wilds of Asia. While any of those places would make for a wonderful photo album, I am afraid you would be incorrect. This Christmas, I am headed to the beautiful state of Oklahoma, known for oil, tornadoes and, most awesomely – devout, unwavering religious convictions.

Being that I’ve never really had the displeasure of prolonged, direct exposure to fervent religious insanity, I view the State and its inhabitants with a somewhat bemused, apprehensive feeling. People in my area are pretty quiet about what their spiritual beliefs are – at most I have been subjected to the screaming rantings of delusional hobos on street corners informing me that the end is nigh, repent repent and also do you have some change please. People don’t seem to talk much about what their beliefs are, because no one really cares. Do what you want, just don’t bug me about it. However I have seen a lot of documentaries on these bible thumping types, read a lot of news articles, and heard from people who have dealt with them, and am aware that I am entering a different playing field.

I am going to be submerged into the goddamn buckle of the bible belt, where white is right and god is good. I doubt they are quiet about it. What kind of people will I be forced to deal with, and how long will I be able to smile and nod politely while being subjected to the untold fortunes and benefits of pious service to the invisible deity who apparently watches me when I’m sleeping, watches me when I’m awake, and I suppose watches me masturbate in the women’s change room at Target? That doesn’t seem cool to me – I need privacy in my life, especially being as most of the things I do in my life are illegal or at the very least morally bankrupt. I am fully aware of the irrational and vicious hatred that only true ignorance can afford a person, of which religious types have in spades and can unleash as soon as they feel threatened by differing opinions. In light of that I’ve decided to leave some of my more colorful t-shirts at home and chose a rather bland array of clothing for my trip. I figure it is better to blend in as I am uninterested in being lynched or beset with a plague of locusts by the locals if they were to learn of my godless life of atheism. I will be a wolf in sheep’s clothing, purportedly one of god’s little mistakes like the rest of them, harboring my great and awful penchant for sin safely behind a mask of placid reverence, hiding the venomous thoughts that swirl around my brain. I will be taking notes which I will turn into sentences during this pilgrimage to keep you informed of how badly things go – and keeping a watchful eye on corn fields, as I’ve seen Children of the Corn and am not interested in being murdered by pint-sized zealots.

Stay tuned!

De confianza,

Once more I come to you with fomenting news! Your most loyal and dear friend, Roberto Sanchez, has found love! My beloved and I have set a date to make good our promises before el saviour, Cristo Jesus, and are looking very much forward to our juxtaposition before the Lord. You may be asking, Roberto Sanchez, how could one ever love a man who has been burned, beaten, amputated, half-castrated and Cat’s pawed, and also convicted of vagrancy, lunacy, beastility, necromancy and ichthyomancy? The answer is simple! As my life is blind due to the vicious and completely unnecessary dissolving of my eye balls, love mimics! My love, unbeknownst to me at the time of my previous writing from my hospital bed after my unfortunate tumble from an interstate overpass, was nestled safely next to me in our semi-private room! As my time passed and I was able to muster more time of consciousness, the un-steady, labored breathing of my bed-neighbor began to tell me more of her life and it’s trails and tribulations! From the whispers of orderlies and nurses I was able to ascertain that she is a victim of one of life’s little problems – a sizable brain tumor!

As I healed from my previous birth-giving the love between us grew and, before I knew it, I am told she had blinked two times to signify she agreed with my proposal to unite us forever!

Stay tuned for further updates as the date approaches! Which has to happen before January 23rd because her brain aberration is due to cause her skull to crack open and make her a whole lot less alive by then!

Also, I wrote something for this website.

ALSO

I like watching people. I like wandering through endless waves of human onslaught, watching, observing, inspecting, ogling, plotting, planning, &etc. I like to imagine what they do for fun, what kind of family life they have, what sort of things interest them, what their faces would look like while their guts spill out of their eviscerated stomachs, feebly and uselessly trying to push them back in while I casually wipe off my straight razor with a paper hand towel in a deserted public washroom.

You know – normal stuff.

There are some that I do not enjoy watching, however. At times while I am navigating the throng of co-humans I find myself inexplicably struck with terror which results in what may seem to some like a terrible stroke – my mouth constricts into a painful grimace, my eyes open wide as Blaine’s exit wound, my limbs and bowels suddenly and involuntarily clenching into a paralytic state. I would think this a normal reaction when seeing a 450 pound woman approaching, wearing spandex and a tight sweatshirt – well tight for such a specimen due to the constraints of an extra, extra, extra, extra large garment – stomach clearly (and often visibly past the aforementioned sweatshirt) hanging to the knee area, innumerable chins, all jiggling in a nauseatingly beautiful motion as she moves stubbornly and against the laws of physics forward in a motion I can only describe as someone attempting to navigate movement in Antarctic terrain while wearing snow shoes for the first time. Apparently though, I am incorrect, as my horror filled reaction is met by a scowl and a healthy dose of anger. I assume most people don’t react in this way because they are smarter than I am, being as we skinnies are outnumbered and trapped helplessly under the net of political correctness and the apparent ability for these people to defend themselves between bites.

These people deserve our respect, our love, our pity, I am told. It isn’t their fault. They are allergic to exercise and self-esteem. We spend a large (forgive the pun) sum of money to keep these food machines from dying, and we encourage their eating habits with promises of rich, delicious, sodium and saturated fat foods which are affordable and available on every street corner. So that is probably the issue. Although most people eat that shit here and there and manage to not expand like a bloated corpse. Here’s a word for you to learn, fatties!

In my recent past, I sat casually in a seat on the steel torpedo that transports us humans to and fro deep underground, like worms through an intestinal tract in the underbelly of the city, head buried in a book and listening to my best of Tom Jones album, when I was at suddenly and without warning accosted by a very unwelcome guest. The act didn’t appear malicious; the young lady who sat next to/on me seemed unaware that her buttocks takes up more than one seat. Perhaps she also didn’t feel my femur snap into uncountable pieces, as she seemed confused – bewildered even – when I rose from my seat and hobbled over to sit across from her. In an empty row of seats. All of which she could have utilized. Literally. I think I was almost eaten that day.

Also, this guy can wink with his chest!

- SEACREST OUT

Ricardo Alfonso Cerna illustrates how I plan to spend xmas!

Ah, nothing like an old European Rapemas to brighten the spirits and officially welcome in the onslaught of the holiday season. Look how Grandma casually mimics our young victim’s arm positioning, reminiscing about when her brother first inaugurated her into the family tradition of incestmas. The nice thing about christmas time is you can pretty much put “mas” on anything to make it appear more festive and acceptable. For example, two work companions – amigos, if you will – could strike up a conversation one December morn, in which one guy, whom we’ll call Simon, says to the other, who we’ll call Sam, “hey, so I took that girl out last night for some drinks…and let’s just say she had a merry date rape-mas!” To which his colleague Sam would no doubt chortle loudly and offer his hand in a position that would signify he is requesting a “high five”. However, should that exact conversation play out in let’s say, April, the conclusion would result in awkward silence, and most likely some sort of police charges, especially after Sam came to the realization that it was his sister that Simon took out last night. Seriously, look at that. Three rape jokes all made festive simply by adding “mas”. Try it out with at home and witness the splendor that this season spreads! The “mas” thing, not the “forced entry”.

Srsly though, the holiday season is really a strange and wonderful experience, especially in these troubled financial times, in which multitudes of people are hanging out in parks, alleyways and city streets, all with visions of corporate executives swinging from lamp posts dancing in their heads. These peaceful demonstrations will solve the problem, the disease-marred masses prattle on about, their Marlboro cigarettes hanging laxly from their lips, as they march onwards against the corporate demons who are ruining their lives and preventing them from being rich. Pay no heed to the irony of their twitter-based rally-cries, nor think of their democratic rights which save them the hot sting of 5.56 rounds penetrating their chests or shrapnel pummeling through their bodies. Let us salute those brave souls, fighting against the insurmountable credit debt which they themselves have wrapped up in so tightly as to never wiggle free, only to figure maybe if they bitch about it enough those greedy corporate scum will absolve them of their ignorant, care-free spending which only a few short years ago was their right and need. Let us not wish to transport these brave girls and boys to Syria or Mogadishu so that they can perhaps understand the difference between having it rough because those fiends at Starbucks charge 3 dollars for a cup of coffee and having it rough because there is no food or running water and if you say anything about your Government men come to your home at night looking to end your protests indefinitely.

Do not put too much thought into how the movement came to be, and who may or may not be funding them. Think only of the amazing accomplishments that have been made thus far! Tremble as the foundations of Western Economy breach and collapse under the immense pressure of the unwashed masses, the proles finally shrugging off the ignorance inherent in their being to crush their corporate masters! Laugh along with the corporate masters at their fruitless, immeasurably useless occupation! Don’t mention how much their opinions were not taken into account and how Government and Corporate doctrine was fundamentally not revised in the wake of the world-wide protests against the Iraq war! Do not call these park, street and otherwise public venue squatters by their other name, homeless vagrants! Bless those brave occupiers, and may all their christmas dreams come true! And let us salute those brave celebrities who are stepping forward to help out! They truly understand the point of this endeavor! And make school free, apparently we didn’t know it would cost a lot before we agreed to it!

And don’t get me started on this sack of shit.