My second Fisher Price Post

So it's been nearly a year since I wrote the first Toilet Time for Tiny Town post, though the blog had a different name at the time. It's been a wild year for me, and as many of you know, a lot has taken place. Now I could use this opportunity to do a year in review re-cap, but TTFTT has a no true stories about the Editor's personal life policy, so instead of going through all the things that happened to me personally and have some depth, I'll refer to some random shit.


Remember when I had that staple remover that I drew googly eyes on? Somebody stole it from my desk. Who steals a staple remover?!? Commies, that's who.


One morning I woke up and it looked like it was raining outside. Turned out to be the largest fire in NY since 9/11. I was late to work because I kept walking towards the fire, like a moth to flame, so that I could get a better picture of it. It seemed so close, but like a rainbow, it was actually very far away... and marked a leprechaun's pot of gold... a leprechaun with pyromania.

On the way to a party I was walking down Berry St. and saw a girl stumble out of the record shop on Metropolitan, turn the corner and fall over puking. I thought to myself "I should help her" but it was 7:30 and anyone that gets that drunk by 7:30 doesn't deserve the help. People need to hit rock bottom before they can come back up.

Last New Years I tried to climb the two stories to get to the bedroom in Philadelphia where a bunch of my fellow party goers were singing songs. I thought it would be funny to pop my head in the window and make some faces. I made it a story and a half before I noticed a bunch of power lines blocking my ascent. Good thing I saw those.


I sang no Karaoke this year. Not one verse. You know why? I hate Karaoke.


During video gaga shows I pissed my pants, had a nose bleed, stabbed Dan McCoy to death, watched Dujeous do a live performance, met the Walkmen, called Sara the "C" word on more than one occasion, cried and tried desperately to impart a little bit of wisdom in an otherwise vapid show. But you know what really made my time with the show great? The slutty groupies.

Sometimes when you think about your life you can lose focus on the entirety because you're so caught up in the present situation. Charlie and I go to the Roebling tea Room a lot and reflect on this. I mean, there are times when I think "Kingman, what have you really done with your life? You're 27, single, working jobs you're over qualified for and disinterested in to boot. What have you really accomplished?" Well to myself I can only say this "Why don't you shut the fuck up you whiney little baby. You're John "Fucking" Kingman, a.k.a. Colonel Bastard, a.k.a. Margaret Thatcher."

Of course, I also made Toilet Time for Tiny Town what it is. A blog I write in when I'm bored at work.

Happy Holidays!!!

Overhaul for TTFTT

You may notice that the Toilet Time for Tiny Town you know and love has changed a bit... well, that's because it has. Good work, your powers of perception are incredible. Really, we're very proud of you for being able to observe the obvious. What's next for TTFTT now that we're all shiny and new? Well the contest is still under way and we've been getting some good submissions, but we're not there yet. The winner will be chosen on January first to ring in the New Year. So keep sending in your pictures and we'll keep making fun of them in the editing room!

-The staff of Toilet Time for Tiny Town

Contest time!!!

Hey all,

We here at Toilet Time for Tiny Town are proud to announce the first TTFTT contest!!! For our first contest we are having a competition for the best Toilet Time for Tiny Town logo. Why are we doing this? Well, we want to make t-shirts and other paraphernalia. Our design department has been working tirelessly on various ideas, but no one at the top liked them. So, without further adieu, we launch the competition.

The details are as follows: The submission must be in a JPEG format, hand drawn pictures or wood cuts are not accepted, unless they've been photographed and sent in JPEG format. The image should be made to stand alone on a t-shirt. The design should not contain our name, as we would like to be able to put that on the back or front of the shirt, whichever side the logo isn't on.

The theme is this: What does Toilet Time for Tiny Town mean to you? What's your take on the title? We're not talking about the actual content of our site, but only what the name implies in your mind.

The prize: The winner of the contest will receive a free t-shirt with their design prominently displayed. In future contests these t-shirts will be given as prizes.

Send all submissions to toilettimefortinytown@gmail.com

MAC in Black

Clinique is going through some changes. It's finding hair where there hadn't been hair before, it's voice is changing and it's having painful growth spurts. Much like most adolescents it's trying to shed off some of the trappings of it's childhood. So, much like Puff the Magic Dragon, The Velveteen Rabbit, and the time when Christopher Robin robbed Pooh to re-sell his honey for Meth, I am being cast aside from the newly nearly adult Clinique. I have been let go.

Don't fret though. This doesn't mean that Toilet Time for Tiny Town is loosing the house we grew up in, and we'll still be able to eat... we're just being forced to move on from a job that, face facts, we never really thought of as a career.

Now, does this mean we're moving into a career? Of course not. Careers are for proactive people, not me. In a fit of proactivity though, I wrote my friend Zoe at MAC to tell her of my misfortune and see if there were any openings at MAC, or if she knew about any cool jobs in general. I wrote "Oh crap, oh crap, I lost my job. I can't breathe.. my shirt neck is too tight, I can't breathe. I think I'm having a heart attack!" to which she replied "We have a job here that would be perfect for you, I'm so excited that you might come back!" Zoe is really nice, but a terrible liar.


Most of you don't know that I started out my meteoric rise to power at MAC two and a half years ago. Now, while Zoe has fond memories of me being there, it's only because she's been systematically repressing the true memories. For instance, I typically started my days there with a pint of Gin mixed with Sprite. By noon I'd be so out of it I'd think Zoe was my ex-girlfriend Lisa and I'd start calling her a whore for sleeping with my friend Adam. From 2pm onwards I'd nap, and then try and finish my work when I woke up, but still leave at five on the dot.

But the position Zoe was telling me about sounds pretty great. I mean sure, there's a lot of administrative stuff I'd be doing, and some database work and what not, but I'd also be producing/directing the training videos for MAC... and that's right up my alley. I could be the next Scorsese of industrial film. When the Dusties happen I could be winning awards!


So my last day at Clinique is December 20th. I'm sure there's a crazy party in the works, and I firmly expect all the hot girls who work here to tell me about their long standing secret crushes on me. I also expect gifts... expensive gifts. If this doesn't happen you damn well better believe there'll be hell to pay.

To my friends and colleagues at Clinique... the one person who reads the blog from here... thank you for making the last year and a half an enjoyable one, even if that enjoyment had nothing to do with the work involved.

Happy Turkey Day Y'all

Toilet Time for Tiny Town will be taking a short break for the Holiday, so make sure to spend some time with friends and family. And remember, if you were thinking about killing yourself, now's the time to do it!!! Holidays have the highest instances of suicide which makes tomorrow the perfect time to slit your wrists, hang yourself, put a bullet in your noggin or overdose. Happy Thanksgiving!

Love,

The Staff of Toilet Time for Tiny Town

Shakespeare it's not

Last night I went to see a screening of the new film "Curse of the Golden Flower" by the guy that did "House of a Thousand Daggers". I didn't see "House of a Thousand Daggers" but I've heard good things about it. Well I'm happy to report that "Curse of the Golden Flower" was an epic... and epic piece of crap.


The movie is supposedly part of the "Gung-Fu" genre. As best as I can tell that means super human Kung-Fu in film. There was depressingly little actual Gung-Fu in the movie though, and most of the fighting that did take place was CGI battles where thousands of soldiers stood in place and waved their swords around. There was one fight in the first scene, and the next didn't happen until about a half hour later, at which point I'd soiled myself out of boredom. If it hadn't been for my companion at the film I might have killed myself, but thankfully I was talked down.


The film centers around a royal family. I get the impression that this movie takes place pre-unification of China, though there's nothing in it that's historically accurate enough to give a sense of the era, past the fact that it's clearly middle ages... in China. The king, Chow Yun-Fat, is preparing for the Chrysanthamum festival (Chrysanthamums are GOLDEN FLOWERS!!! BUM BUM BUM) and his second eldest son, played by Jay Chou, has just returned from the frontier. Within no time at all the intrigue begins. Family member upon family member is involved in various schemes to get at other family members... namely the King or Queen, played by Li Gong. I'm not going to spoil anything, because that's not what Toilet Time for Tiny Town is about, but let's just say that the intrigue was about as intriguing as watching Days of Our Lives... which is to say not at all.

The thing is, most of the plot is done through a characters exposition. For instance, and this isn't an actual scene from the movie, it would play something like this:


The King: Why have you come here?


The Assassin: Well, the thing is. Ten years ago I was just a kid growing up in the streets of Quiang Xiou. You drove your chariot by me and hit a puddle as you were passing, soaking me to the bone. You looked directly at me and laughed, and I knew then you were a cruel man. Later that day I fell ill, because I was soaking wet and it was cold outside. The illness left me crippled for most of my childhood and it wasn't until I learned Kung-Fu that I fully recovered my self. Also, you slept with my Mom, who was one of your servants at the time, so you're actually my Dad. Lastly, just so you know, when you started a war with the Eastern provinces, it was really I who orchestrated the attempt on your life that precipitated the war, and I only did it in the hopes that the war would leave your forces weakened and far from the city, so that I could send my own army of assassins against you... which I have.


BORING. The first rule of script writing is that you're supposed to show plot, not tell it. If you have to have characters explaining why things are happening in the movie it's because you suck as a script writer. By the time the movie was wrapping up, and at two hours that was a long time, I was laughing at nearly anything that happened because it was all so ridiculous. I couldn't wait for the movie to end... my butt hurt from the uncomfortable movie seats, my brain hurt from the wealth of useless information the characters were throwing out there, and my eyes hurt from watching battle scenes where hordes of soldiers attacked other hordes of soldierrs to no particular accomplishment.


Instead of watching this movie and seeing if you agree with me, I'm instead suggesting that you Netflix or rent the far Superior movie "Emperor and the Assasin" which is an infinitely greater movie, if not a Gung-Fu movie, and has an epic storyline filled with characters that are three dimensional, crazy battle scenes with no CGI, and stunning scenery that is all historically accurate and true to the last detail. Or pay 10.50 to see "Curse of the Golden Flower"... but if you do I'm not going to talk to you anymore... idiot.

Brooklyn Style Pizza

Some of you who watch the TV box may have seen a little ad for something Domino's is calling the "Brooklyn" style pizza. It features ridiculously large pieces of pepperoni, and asks you to fold the pizza in half when eating it. Well let me tell you something... that ain't no Brooklyn style pizza.


The only thing they got right is the folding. Some people prefer to gently fold, so that the slice forms a smile shape at the crust, whereas others (your's truly included) prefer to fold it all the way so that I can shove huge bites into my hungry, soon to be scalded, mouth. So in as much as this is the correct way to eat pizza in Brooklyn, I applaud Domino's for their efforts to pass culture along.


As to the huge pepperoni... What the fuck were they thinking? What? In Brooklyn our pepperoni is so large? I have never in my life seen a pizza with pepperoni that size, not in Brooklyn, not in Texas. They should have called it the Texas style pizza. In Texas they have something called Texas toast. You know what it is?

Huge toast. That's it... that's what makes it Texas toast. That would make sense. Brooklyn style?!? Nothing doing.

Here's what Brooklyn style pizza should be, broken down by neighborhood.

Williamsburg style pizza: You order your pizza from some hipster who keeps putting you on hold because he/she's talking to a friend who stopped by the store. When your pizza does arrive you tip the hipster who delivered it and they look at your tip like "this is no where near enough for the baggy of coke I wanted to buy".

Bushwick style pizza: You order your pizza and when you open the door to get it from the delivery guy, they point a gun at your head and take your wallet... and they don't even have the decency to let you keep the decoy pizza. Then the cops show up and tell you they'll look into it... You never hear from them again.

Gowanus style pizza: The Domino's closes somewhere between the time you ordered the pizza and the time it should have been finished. The Domino's is replaced by a GAP, Urban Outfitters or Brooklyn Industries.

So to all the marketing execs at Domino's: Take your heads out of your gigantic pizza fed asses and come up with something that makes sense. How about the Health Care Burden style pizza. It's just like a regular Domino's pizza, but without all the lies.

House Cleaning

So I've decided to take a little time to address those of you that read my little blog... because usually I'm writing only for the sake of myself. I've got a few things to go through, so sit back and relax.


One: I've decided to start a mailing list. That's right! Everytime I post a new entry you can get an email telling you that I did that!!! All you have to do is write an email to

ToiletTimeForTinyTown@Gmail.com

and say "I want to be subscribed to your blog" and I'll put you on the list. What could be easier? Who knows, maybe I'll start having contests and shit, with prizes!


Two: In an effort to get the Google Robots to realize how important I am, I've found that I need links to my site. Otherwise that British jerk "Sir" John Kingman will continue his unwholesome reign over the Google list of John Kingmans. So please feel free to link to me, and I in return will link to you (provided I don't find the content of your site offensive).



Three: I'm so glad today is election day! If I had to watch one more slam ad from one ass to another ass both running for the same seat I swear I could have gone nuts. I mean, I want to watch commercials where fat middle aged men belittle their wives so they can watch football and eat pizza uninterrupted. I want to see super heroes do dances about having stomach upset and diarrhea. I don't want to hear how Tom Kean Jr. Supported Bush's war or how Menendez is linked to some huge corruption scandal. They both sound like dicks.

Bring back the where's the beef lady and let's get on with our lives.

All Hallows Eve and my possesion

Greetings folks,

Today, as you all should know, is Halloween! Boo! Are you scared? No? Fine. So, anyway, today is... BOO! Still not scared?!? What the fuck is wrong with you? Are you robots?

So today is Halloween and this year the holiday has forced me to realize some things about myself. This year, instead of going out and partying like a mad man, I got the sniffles and stayed in watching my stories. With trick or treaters out on patrol tonight, instead of going to a bar and finding some drunken nurse/flower/vampiress I'm contemplating sitting in front of the window with a hose and dousing any of the little bastards that come near my home. I don't know how or when it happened, but my body was possessed by the spirit of an old timer. It's true. I didn't grasp it until Halloween rolled around either.



Sure you say, maybe I'm just anti-Halloween. That doesn't necessarily mean that I've been possessed by a man called "Gramps" who died in 1954. Well let me further blow your minds by saying that since this possession took place I've been carrying butterscotch candies in my pockets... The pockets of my cardigan!!! I tried to join the AARP in a drunken stupor one night, and when I go to the Kellogg's diner I tip in change, and only 5%.



It's not all fun and games either. I wake up in the middle of the night thinking I have to pee, and then realizing I don't. I've been having a horrible sense of loss from my wife passing... except I was never married! And I've been having flashbacks to the Great War... but I never fought in it!!

Boo!!! Are you scared yet? Jesus Christ!! You goddamn kids with your Poltergeist movies, and your video arcade games! Nothing scares you anymore... no... you think you're all so damn brave. Try going over the top to run 100 yards of no man's land under heavy machine gun fire from every damn angle and your goddamn lungs are so full of mustard gas you're coughing up baseball sized pieces of soft tissue! That's scary... Boo!!!

Happy Halloween.

White man's hope

So I'm taking this opportunity to personally bash the upcoming movie "Last King of Scotland". Why you may ask?


This movie, "Last King of Scotland", is about Idi Amin the man who lead a military coup in Uganda during the 70's. Upon achieving the goal of taking over Uganda he promptly titled himself "His Excellency President for Life Field Marshal Al Hadji Dr. Idi Amin, VC, DSO, MC, King of Scotland Lord of All the Beasts of the Earth and Fishes of the Sea and Conqueror of the British Empire in Africa in General and Uganda in Particular" and then set out on a campaign of terror.

Administered by the State Research Bureau, a death squad with an odd name, Idi Amin oversaw the deaths and torture of 250,000 fellow country men, along with the forced deportation of 50,000 Asians residing in Uganda at the time of his coup. The movie will star Forest Whitaker as Amin, and Simon McBurney as Nigel Stone, a white doctor who didn't really exist.



Why does this piss me off to the point where I don't want you, the reader, to watch the movie? Because, it's a retarded thing that Hollywood does over and over. They say "This Idi Amin sure was a nasty guy!" and some other suit says "Yup, terrible. We should make a movie about what an awful guy he was."

Then some other suit interjects "Yeah, but nobody wants to watch a movie about black people in Africa... how can we tell this story and make it interesting?" And lastly, another suit says, "Let's put a white person in it to make people care!" And so another historical drama is ruined by some bullshit Hollywood idiots, or in this case an adaptation of a book that's potentially as stupid, in which all the horrors that Idi Amin committed are made into backdrops for the harrowing story of how a white guy got caught up with a bad black man, and how he escapes that crazy, mean old black man's vengeance.


I mean, who wants to see a movie that just shows how Idi Amin turned a popular revolt against his own people and showed himself to be just like every other dictator out there? Why would someone pay a good twelve dollars to see a story told from the perspective of a Ugandan who at first is happy Amin overthrew the corrupt Prime Minister Obote only to become disillusioned as his personal freedoms are removed and his friends, family and his own life are put in jeopardy?

Wouldn't we rather see something along the lines of "Seven Years in Tibet", the pale imitation of Scorsese's' "Kundun", in which the story of the Dalai Llama is told through the eyes of a white Brad Pitt? Isn't it better to address the issues facing young black youths in America by telling the story of a prim white teacher going to "the hood" like Michelle Pfiefer does in "Dangerous Minds"?


Seriously, what's next? The story of Huey Newton as told by a precocious white teen growing up in the hood played by Jonathan Lipnicki? How about Pol Pot's reign of terror in Cambodia seen through the eyes of Anne Hathoway, who accidentally got lost on her way to Burma?

It's a bunch of bullshit. If you want to tell the story of Idi Amin tell the story, use Forest Whitaker... stop adding white people to the mix.

I'm writing this from Rikers Island

Well, as most of you know by now, last night... in a fit of anger... I did something bad to Dan McCoy. It's easy to point the finger at me and say "John, you were overreacting". You might be right, but I like to look at it like this: That dirty low down mother fucker took the bread out of my mouth. I'm supposed to do the music news. That's my fucking job, not some self styled "Comedian". I took that position seriously, and to be replaced by a comic stings more than a little.

But it goes deeper than that. Dan and I have a history of animosity going back to the Goldwater campaign and culminating (before last night that is) with the taping of Tanner '88.

Some say that Goldwater lost because he had weak standing with the American public, but in '64 when I was working the campaign I'd say Mr. Goldwater represented a shift back to America for Americans. Dan, on the other hand, saw Goldwater as a hawk, the kind of voice we needed in office to show the commies who was boss. I think it was Dan's inflamatory speaches he wrote for Mr. Goldwater that lost us the election. Below is a segment of one of those speeches:

"I accept your nomination with a deep sense of humility. I accept, too, the responsibility that goes with it, and I seek your continued help and your continued guidance. My fellow Republicans, our cause is too great for any man to feel worthy of it. Our task would be too great for any man, did he not have with him the heart and the hands of this great Republican Party, and I promise you tonight that every fiber of my being is consecrated to our cause; that nothing shall be lacking from the struggle that can be brought to it by enthusiasm, by devotion, and plain hard work. In this world no person, no party can guarantee anything, but what we can do and what we shall do is to deserve victory, and victory will be ours... us rich whites that is."

Dan is also notoriously racist.


By the time I was brought on to consult on Robert Altman's Tanner '88 I'd grown tired of the Republican party. Altman's leftist politics appealed to me, and I appreciated what he was doing with his satire series. It was upsetting to then see Dan McCoy, sitting in Robert Altman's chair, when I arrived on set. I remember taking Michael Murphy (Jack Tanner) aside and saying "what's that dick doing here?" and hearing, my heart dropping into my stomach, that Dan had been brought on to assist me in consultation. I think this too is why Tanner lost the election in the fictional series. I know Dan got a bug in Altman's ear, and I think he convinced Altman that the ultimate payoff for the show would be to have Tanner lose. Really though, I think McCoy just couldn't stand having a liberal, fictional or otherwise, win another election.



It was with great anger that I learned Sara Schaefer, the host and my co-producer on video gaga, had replaced me with Dan. Yes, it's true... I got a little nervous during our rap off last month and I pissed my pants. And yes it's true that my cocaine addiction has started to get the better of me, though saying I'm out of control is ridiculous. I could stop any time I wanted to. I just don't want to. But replacing me with Dan? That's an act that requires swift and brutal revenge. Dan McCoy is my nemisis and I can't even begin to tell you the feelings I was experiencing when I watched him walk on stage during my segment... MY SEGMENT! Yes, yes I can begin to tell you the feelings: Rage.

So I went up there to get my job back, and when that didn't look like it was going to happen I did what any sane and rational person in business would do: I eliminated the competition. Maybe it was wrong to stab Dan three times, but he lived. He's doing very well at Mt. Sinai and the doctors expect a full recovery by the end of 2007. So if that's being wrong, I don't want to be right. Rest up Dan... I'll be visiting you at the hospital real soon...

Hello there Google robot.

Did you know that Google searches are powered by Google robots? My friend Dan, who interned with Google this summer, explained to me once that these robots browse the internet all day long, and then associate words with the sites they were on. For instance, if I wrote the word soup thousands of times on my blog, and then the robots read it, when you typed the word soup in a Google search this page would more than likely come up. Also, pictures that are labled with words will come up on Google image searches, such as cans of soup. That is why the proceeding "article" will contain almost nothing but references to me in a piece I call: John Kingman on John Kingman.


I recently sat on the couch in my apartment with none other than John Kingman to talk about life, love, Cold War History and humor. John Kingman, as many of you know, is the editor and head writer at Toilet Time for Tiny Town, as well as being a contributor on video gaga and the guy who never flushes the urinal at the Roebling Tea Room.

John Kingman: So John Kingman, thanks for meeting with me.
John Kingman: Not a problem, we are the same person after all.
John Kingman: Yes, we're both John Kingman
(laughter)
John Kingman: I heard recently that you've been getting involved in a book club. How's that going?
John Kingman: Great, really great. We started off reading the History of Love by that lady married to that other writer... you know?
John Kingman: Sure sure... that chick. I'm totally with you.
John Kingman: Awesome. It was a great book. The discussion that followed was also really interesting. Lot of talk about different aspects of the plot and characters. Now we're reading the Glass Key by the guy who wrote Maltese Falcon... which was a movie with Humphrey Bogart.
John Kingman: I saw that.
John Kingman: I know.
John Kingman: Speaking of books, you love Cold War history... why is that?
John Kingman: When I was a kid... well, let me quote the popular Minnesota MC, Slug, of Atmosphere, when I say I was "More afraid of nuclear war than bee stings". I was absolutely convinced that I was going to end up living in a post nuclear holocaust world.
John Kingman: Mmm.
John Kingman: As I grew older I sort of calmed down on that, though I still think it could happen. What I found though was that I'd become very interested in how the world had gotten to the point it had in the mid-eighties where everyone was convinced it was going to happen and it would only be a matter of years. I've read extensively on that subject since.
John Kingman: When you say extensively, you mean extensively for John Kingman.
John Kingman: Yes, I mean by John Kingman standards, which is like... an article in Time Magazine, and then a lot of heresay from other people. Did you know that the Soviets had flying saucers?
John Kingman: I heard that somewhere, yes. How's life?
John Kingman: Pretty good... Pretty good.
John Kingman: And love?
John Kingman: I could complain, but what would be the point?
John Kingman: I hear ya'. Well John, it was a pleasure.
John Kingman: The pleasure was mine Kingman, the pleasure was mine.

My 忍者 problem

Well, as many of you have heard me comment before, nothing skeeves me out worse than 忍者s. Sure, I hate cockroaches, I think all New Yorkers do, and mice as well. 忍者s? I'd rather burn my apartment down than have to put up with them. So I admit I was freaked out last weekend when I woke up in the middle of the night, got up to get a glass of water and found one. As I opened the refrigerator door I felt a presence to my right, and sure enough, in the cupboard was a 忍者... eating my raisin bran.

I tried to catch him, but he was too quick. I threw out the raisin bran (I'm not eating 忍者 tainted raisin bran) and went back to fitful, night terror filled, sleep.

The next morning I decided that once was enough. You have to stop these things when they start, like when Sollozo tried to have Don Corleone killed, or when CBS started airing Two and a Half Men. I went to King's Pharmacy and bought a bunch of 忍者 glue traps.

The instructions said to place them in key 忍者 spots in my home, namely near food, food preparation, chests full of gold, or Shoguns that may have contracts for their death's. Since I have no Shoguns in my apartment, and my chest of gold is guarded by a Leprechaun, I placed one in the kitchen, and one next to the Xbox... just in case they tried to save over my Grand Theft Auto game.

I must say that knowing the traps were there made it much easier to sleep. One of the worst parts about having a 忍者 infestation is the way you hear them scaling the walls, scurrying down the hallways, and muttering oaths of allegiance in Japanese. The first few days had no pay off, and the traps were bare. But then, this morning, I found one on the trap in the kitchen.

Problematic was the fact that the 忍者 was still alive. When I catch a mouse on a glue trap I drown them, believing that's the most humane way to dispatch it. But how do I drown the 忍者? It's too heavy to drag down to the East river, and my bath tub isn't big enough to fit the 忍者 and the glue trap. I didn't want the 忍者 to die of starvation and I didn't have the heart to bash it to death with a hammer (just think about the mess!).

So I did the only thing I could think to do: Using a knife duct taped to my broom, I carefully cut the fabric away from the 忍者's right arm. I then told the 忍者 it could choose between starvation and the honorable way out, 切腹 (Seppuku, or stomach slicing). And can you believe it?!? The 忍者 tried to throw the knife at my head! Well this made me mad, so this time I was a little more forceful when I offered the 忍者 the choice between starvation and suicide. I said "listen here mister, I don't how they do things over in Japan, but this is my house and you'll obey my rules. Now, which is it? Starvation or suicide?" The little bastard, he said he'd rather die from starvation than dishonor himself by committing suicide, especially when he'd done nothing to dishonor himself yet and had no fatal wounds. He'd called my bluff.

So now I've got 忍者s all over my apartment. The money I'm shelling out for pizzas and Japanese food is killing my wallet, but I'm too timid to starve them,

and once they start breeding forget about stopping them without an expensive 忍者 exterminator.
So if anyone knows anybody looking for a room mate, I need to get out of my place. Also, if you're looking for an apartment, mine is opening up soon (hopefully). It's got a bit of a 忍者 problem, but nothing a karate master can't handle.

Crazy going slowly am I?

I've found that my ability to entertain myself at work has diminished greatly over the last few months.

I mean, how many times can I take my own picture? How many times can I troll Craigslist missed connections? How long can I really hide in the bathroom? Will I not eventually get bored of writing blog entries just for my own entertainment? Yes, I will get bored. Today may have been a cracking point.

Really, this isn't the first time I've ended up this bored. There was that week a few months back when Ted and Rochelle went to Milan for business and Lauren was on vacation, I had nothing to do then. I was so bored I started singing little songs to myself (in my head of course) to stay occupied. There was also the time when I got sent to the hole for trying to organize an escape from the prison camp I was in. I just kept throwing that baseball against the wall and catching it to keep sane. Then I escaped by motorcycle, but the Nazi's shot me to death... Oh wait.

My friend Emily used to write me all the time from Chicago. She too had a job that didn't require the full extent of her ability, but then she got all uppity and decided to go to law school. Sell out. My friend Rachel was in the same camp, but then she got promoted and now she's got no time for inane email chatter.
I've played games at work, not solitaire or anything, made up games. Sometimes I play the same song over and over again for hours to see how long it takes someone to notice. They don't. Other times I'll recite rap lyrics under my breath, my favorite being "Get Low" featuring the Ying Yang Twins. No one notices that either... and probably for the best considering how dirty it is. Aw skeet skeet mother fucker, aw skeet skeet goddamn.

Should I try and get a new job? Should I just give in to the mundane existence I'm living? I'm having to face facts that my life is pretty... dare I admit it... average. I'm no jet setting socialite. I don't summer. I have no wealth of art to claim creation of. Where's the saving grace? Where's my Fight Club? The closest I have now is the Book Club I'm part of.

I'm getting stuck in the middle of being a tall, average white guy in New York City. Maybe I should start wearing alligator shirts tucked into khaki shorts. Should I become a sports fan, so that when I'm bored at work I can obsessively read scores and stats about my favorite squadron of athletes?

No, I think it's time to pony up and take charge of things. If my life is going to be mundane and normal then I guess I have to alter that. I guess I'll pick up an affect. Maybe a slight British accent, or a love of obscure 60's rock bands. Perhaps I'll get really into tea, and talk about different types of tea, and how tea is better than coffee. I could never really do that last one, I can't turn my back on coffee like that.

Oh well, in reality I'll probably just keep working here, going nuts, until my career blows up. Then all of you (Rob, Emily and Charlie... my readers) can say you knew me back when I was working at Clinique, writing blogs and listening to M.O.P.'s "Ante Up" as loud as I think I can get away with at work.

P.s.
Whoever said I was too cute to smell like cigs, ante up. My fragile ego doesn't deal well with anonymity... unless you're a crazy stalker. If you're a crazy stalker I can deal with your anonymity just fine.

They're all going to laugh at you

Ah, fall is in the air. The leaves will soon start changing colors, animals will get fat trying to stave off death from starvation, and I'll get to wear hoodies and pull overs. Yes, the seasons are changing just as they do every year. Autumn in New York is truly a wonderful experience... the season... not the movie... the movie sucked.

So now you're asking yourself, "What's Kingman up to this fall? I'll bet it's something awesome". The answer as to my Fall projects are these. I'm going to make a short, and I'm quitting smoking... again.
Judge all you want bastards, I did quit a long time ago. I made it something like three months without one of those little bastards gracing my lungs. But, as you smokers and former smokers out there know, smoking is hard to quit.

This little cartoon makes it look like fun to quit smoking. It couldn't be farther from the truth. Quitting smoking is like giving up hope. Smoking provides you with a sense of self, a purpose, something to do with your hands. Quitting smoking makes you have to ask tough questions like

"Am I still cool?" "Will women find me attractive now that I'm not a rebel?" and "What would James Dean do?". Now clearly I'm not going to go crash my car and die... because I don't have a car... and I don't want to die. That said I clearly need to quit smoking, since smoking, in no uncertain terms, causes cancer.
So once again I've donned the patch and am trying to keep those little bastards from getting in my mouth and fouling my lungs. What makes this time different?

Absolutely nothing, but if I don't keep trying then I let the terrorists win, because that's what they want, John Kingman dead.

Secretary of State Donald Rumsfeld interviews me

The following are excerpts from an Interview I did at the home of Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld:

Donald Rumsfeld (DR): John.
Me: Don... hah! Don and John. Cute.
DR: Don't call me Don, it's Donald or Mr. Secretary.
Me: Mr. Secretary... hah... like Mr. Mom.
DR: Do you want to do this interview or not?
Me: Yes sir, I do. What's first?
DR: You've been doing this blog now for nearly a year. You started out on Friendster Blogs, but switched to Blogger at the beginning of August. Why the change?
Me: Well Donald, Friendster kind of annoys me. I'm not much into doing this blog for other people's benefit, mostly because I'm bored at work...
DR (interrupting): At Clinique?
Me: Yes, at Clinique... Friendster was too visible, I wanted a place to hide my thoughts away... like a diary.
DR: Why didn't you start a diary?
Me: What am I? A twelve year old?
DR: No. I keep a diary.
Me: I'd like to see that.
DR: You and everyone else.
(Laughter)
DR: You work at Clinique. How did you end up there?
Me: I've always loved makeup. Ever since I was a kid I've been fascinated by makeup, the compacts and tubes, the women who wear it. It's always played a huge part in my life.
DR: Is it true that you had no previous experience with makeup before going to work at Estee Lauder, Clinique's parent organization?
Me: No... Yes.
DR: So you had no experience. Do you even care about makeup?
Me: No.
DR: So I ask again, why did you end up at Clinique?
Me: I don't know. It's a job, my friend Heather (Huber) worked at Estee Lauder and said she could get me in. I took it.
DR: Is it true that in 1983 you were in Iraq pledging support from the US government to Saddam Hussein?


Me: I'm pretty sure that was you.
DR: Oh, right.
Me: Are you okay? You seem distracted.
DR: It's just all this criticism towards George (Bush, Jr.) is really getting me down. I mean, how can these media people calling for withdrawal not realize it's the same as appeasing Nazi's in the 30's?
Me: Because it's not. If our presence in Iraq had any discernable effect on terrorism then yes, you'd have an argument. But seeing as neither Saddam or the Iraqi people had any connections to September 11th, the bombing of the USS Cole, or any other act of terrorism against the US it's pretty ridiculous to say that they're responsible. It's like going to war with France in the 30's and then saying that we're giving in to the Nazi's if we withdraw.
DR: Hippie.
Me: Fascist.
DR: Interview's over.
Me: Fine by me (under breath) asshole.
DR: What did you say?
Me: Castle.
DR: Oh... why did you say castle?
Me: What?
DR: What?!?
Me: Nothing, I thought you called me an asshole.
DR: Interview's over.
Me: Right.