OktopusRadio

We cordially invite you to listen to the worldwide premier of our podcast, OktopusRadio. The link is as follows:

http://oktopusradio.podcastpeople.com/

We will try to do a whole bunch of fun shit with it. We encourage anyone who is paying attention to get ahold of us at www.myspace.com/oneoktopus or freddy@redbananaproductions.com for podcast ideas, wanting us to play their music, or much more importantly participating in one of our podcasts.

Tune in and we hope you enjoy!

The Golden Pose

HelloHeyHi,

Oktopus and Eat Life members (ya know, us) are featured in a short movie by our friend Lance. Mo' does a stupendous turn (as always) in the lead role and Freddy and Vangie manage not to fuck things up. The film was shot in Cottage Grove, OR and some delicious scenes in my (Freddy) bedroom. OK, not real delicious but my favorite Friar candle makes an stunning cameo.

Link to the movie is as follows so cut and paste it to your address bar:

http://vids.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=vids.individual&videoid=21655776

We are slowly working on other projects that most assuredly feature our own special brand of egomanaical worldview.

Hope you enjoy!

An overview of the song---Autumns are for Orchards and Dying

Late afternoon creates the wonderfully prismatic lightscape in this old house's living room. It was still warm enough to leave the heavy oak doors open to the swooning, almost sleeping autumn breezes. The orchards on the side of the western hill were exploding in apples and the children are keeping themselves busy in fantasy play. I could watch you gently rocking in your chair for hours. The sun fragments into a million tiny mirrors and ever so slowly travels down your body. You look so incredibly comfortable. A light fleece throw barely covers your bare legs and soft, magical feet. I am doing nothing but spending this fleeting inifinitum of time alternating daydreams with you in treasured silence. We speak no words but I curl up occasionally on the floor to caress the receding sun. You look so happy. You must know then--but how can you? Are you blissfully accepting our fate? Why aren't you gathering the children for a cinematic, tearful goodbye? God, I love every inch of you. This last daydream concerned the third night we (or more accurately, you) decided to show some bravado and spend a stolen weekend staring at similarily autumn day in the face. There is no audible language except the enveloping serenity and warmth of a familiar yet fearful mutual love. At least I remember no specific words but can recall every fingertip trace of your skin. Let's go outside and run with the children...why don't we just grab four bottles of wine and drink this night into forever...why don't... You sweetly shake your head a pointed 'no'. Then what? Do you realize this will be the last night on Earth we ever spend? She slowly curls her smile into an acknowledgement. At that precise moment the faintest rumbling comes tumbling up the valley to the north and we realize that this unstoppable countdown has begun.

Some supposedly great things that I have done or will never do

Hi! Is anyone still out there? This missive is inspired by various lists from credit card companies telling what I should do before I die (in no particular order).

-win Wednesday's powerball-this will lead to an unprecedented streak of philanthropy never seen since the days of Carnegie, complete with an autobiographical manifesto on ways in which everyone sucks (ala Wealth of Nations)>>>

-drive down or up the Pacific Coast Highway in a toxin-spewing minivan>>>

-write a joke that appeared on Venture Bros. or the new Futurama>>>

-have a joke turned down by South Park because I didn't say poop or semen or Jihad enough>>>

-have sex with an extremely attractive 22-year-old at a rest area off of I-94 in Minnesota>>>

-have a shot with one-half of the Indigo Girls while getting verbally abused by the other>>>

-running over a ridge on a steamy summer night into the largest collection of fireflies I have ever seen or dreamed about. Oh yeah, also being on a perfect amount of Psylocibin mushrooms with a soon-to-be married friend. I should have died right there, thus being the pinnacle of my life>>>

-throw out the opening pitch at the new outdoor Minnesota Twins stadium in 2010. Fuck that, as long as I am dreaming I might as well be the starting pitcher>>>

-hop up on stage and surprisingly pull off two hours of noise and video with my favorite person on Earth to create "art" with and funniest man ever...yeah, that is you Mo' (when are you going to ditch the family and travel the carnival circut with me...OK, you can come to Vangie, after all you are the brains behind this all)>>>

-sold minor amounts of weed to washed up Independant League baseball players>>>

-saw Pinback fake breakup on stage because they didn't want to play for us Inferiors any longer>>>

-made fun of Hippies and Trustafarians>>>

-got an 'A' in a creative writing class entirely consisting of women. After the barrage of poetry about horses, their children, and love I wrote volumes of poems and stories about saccharin semen, beared hoboes, volcanic moons of Jupiter, vampires with braces, underwater gas vents...and of course love. The best part is when my instructor told me I should look into the "poetry" of Kirk Cobain (OK) and Jim Morrison (sucks). She thought I was on drugs! Disclaimer---I enjoy many, many fine women writers, even some who speak of nothing but love. In this case, however, the instructor was working on her own (really lame) book and all the girls were seemingly farm girls with weird attachments to domesticated food animals.>>>

-had sex with a beautiful girl in Amsterdam but for some reason didn't continue having sex with her all over mainland Europe and Iceland. My fault...extremely my fault>>>

-had threesome with girl from rest area story and girl mentioned just above. Oh wait, that wasn't me, that was some douchebag name JJ and wait wasn't that my girlfriend at the time, too. Hope it was fun bastards. Yeah, that was ten years ago and I am not over it yet. At least I still fantasize about it while masturbating>>>

-been to Disneyland and DisneyWorld. Hold on, that is really lame>>>

-decided to be an infrequent blogger. Again, really lame>>>

OK there is an abbreviated list of cool shit I have or have not done. I think I will expand on this later and explain (or at least try to while I cry) why this all happened well before I turned thirty and nothing has happened since. Shalom!

e. charles fridell

Venture Bros. Season 2 DVD...out now!!

The above picture was reprinted with absolutely no permission from the creators of The Venture Bros. (Jackson Publick/Doc Hammer). When they bring their high-powered Manhatten suits down to sue the crap outta One and the Oktopus industries and our far-flung web of related corporations we will have to relocate to our Belgrade headquarters or our brand spanking new facility in sunny, boisterous Mogadishu, Somalia.

Without further ado...The greatest cartoon of the 21st century has geared up its merchandising prowess to drop Season 2 on our laps. If you haven't seen Venture Bros. Season One, it is highly recommended by our crack staff to watch the first season prior to the second season (yes, in that way we assure that the creators will stay comfy in their large mansions by buying both DVDs).

Cheers and here's to 33 year olds still watching cartoons!

eatlife media collective has birthed itself some One and the Oktopus footage

eatlife media collective is here and we have launched with our mini-satellite containing two little movies from yours truly One and the Oktopus. The movies can be found at our MySpace account (www.myspace.com/oneoktopus). One of the shorts was scored solely by One and the Oktopus and the other one was ably scored by One and the Oktopus friends and eatlife media collective members Aldo and Gabe. One and the Oktopus must truly thank the one and only Vangie for editing, dictating and basically wrangling our Jello-based insanity into one somewhat cohesive corral. After all there really is no One and the Oktopus without Vangie.

eatlife media collective is coming
eatlife media collective is scientific
eatlife media collective is scrumptous
eatlife media collective is...

***check out our shorts please...there will be more to come***

www.myspace.com/oneoktopus

Censored!

I think blogspot took down my last blog...

I included a long-running "joke" about how the Lifetime Channel always plays movies that prey upon the fears of women. They have a multitude of movies involving baby abductions or sexual assaults and they usually allude the pretense of the show directly in the title. In it I used another inside "joke" involving a not funny crime against women. An idiot editor at Central Connecticut University ran a horrible satire of rape recently and was rightfully condemned. Although I often am frustrated with the over PC-ness of our culture, I in no way wish to make light of heinous crimes against women. My apologies to all. However, it is always funny to poke shit about the Lifetime Channel. It is a ridiculous network with terrible shows.

Hello long time, it's been too...

Just a couple thoughts while I wade back into the kiddie pool...

---I just devoured The Wire on DVD (all three seasons). Anyone who doesn't like this show cares nothing for excellent dramatic TV writing, The War on Drugs, institutional bureaucratic hell, inner-city trials and tribulations, shows that refuse to dumb it down or just plain old good characters and plot arcs.

---My friend told me that Stephen Hawking cheated on his wife. Are you picturing it yet?

---Mo' and I (One in the Oktopus) are slowly working on our magnum opus album.

---There is a good chance that we will not release this album under the One in the Oktopus moniker.

---We are in the preliminary works for a comprehensive media collective website. Stay tuned.

---Does anyone still read this blog...comment me.

---Mo' and Vangie have been writing the movie short, Gary, Son of Thor. I am slated to play the part of Gary. I am much looking forward to acting again. Hopefully, I have improved my acting chops.

---I have written a Huezine/Onion newsletter and hope to drop it onto the interweb shortly.

---I still don't have a meaningful job, I am lame.

---I have written two scripts for the Lifetime Network. They both star Meredith Baxter Birney. The first is called "Who's Raping Me Now?" and the other is entitled "I Sold My Baby to Migrant Workers for Twelve Dollars". Look for them shortly but knowing Lifetime they will be replayed ad nauseum.

That is all for now!

McSweeney's---Live or Die?

this is how I look when I blog

One of my favorite websites is McSweeneys.net. It is the electronic gigantic arm of the oft-praised, much demonized lord of self-publishing (and tutoring little chlidren to write) Dave Eggers. Oh yeah, he also wrote a little Pulitzer Prize winning book called A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius. Anyway, any idiot can submit a little humor story to their website for momentary worldwide acclaim. Also I would like to add that any idiot can win the Pulitzer Prize. Look at the guy who did A Confederacy of Dunces. He was a rotting corpse and he still won.

This idiot (yours truly) has been rejected three times. I am enclosing my final shot to you dear readers. Good enough for your humor bone or complete drivel? If I am rejected I will be recruiting a forward attack team from my lovely admirers to wage all out war on McSweeneys. However, this little story may require a little advanced Presidential trivial knowledge so don't blame me if you don't laugh. Presidential humor is so fucking funny...get with the times. Here it goes...

COMPLETELY USELESS ADVICE TO SOME RANDOM DEAD PRESIDENTS

To The Honorable JAMES MADISON-Horses are tall. Avoid riding all equines in public. They will only mock your miniscule stature and most likely draw attention to the fact that your party animal wife and snack queen, Dolly, towers over you. Try riding mules or donkeys or large dogs while attending public events.

Addressing the handsome JAMES K. POLK-I would like to make some suggestions to you about your legendary video game for the Apple IIE, Oregon Trail. My oxen keep dying when I am trying to ford rivers. Please make them fly. Also, why can't I sell my children to friendly Apache Indians for food? Isn't that more humane than having my whole family starve? Finally, kindly refill the West with bountiful game after I kill them all. I am sure other gamers/Manifest Destiny followers would love to shoot as many animals I do as we make our way to Oregon.

For the portly man-beast known as GROVER CLEVELAND-If you just ate a few more dinners or maybe injected lard directly into your belly, you could have earned the immortal title of MOST UNGODLY GIGANTIC FATASS LEADER OF ALL TIME. What elementary schoolchild could ever forget you come time for presidential roll call?

Regards to JAMES BUCHANAN- The Civil War (or War Between the States) was essentially your gig and your own Southerners hated you slightly less than those pesky Northerners but that doesn't mean you should be ashamed about your future presidential rank. No one even knows what or who the hell CHESTER A. ARTHUR was (it is presumed ARTHUR was a French stooge, a Martian envoy or an animated statue of Tremont L. Willard, the clown prince of 18th century comedy woodcarving).

To the sometimes forgetful RONALD REAGAN-The Gipper was a totally cool nickname...even though you were a complete tool.

Happily presenting to the tall, sea-going WOODROE WILSON-After "winning" WWI and "bitchslapping those stupid dying Euros some sense" you should have not named your pet project the whiny, helpful sounding League of Nations but instead used the more imposing Hall of Ass Kicking Americans and some other insignificant countries.

Shot over the bow goes to the graceful, congenial, apparently loathed JAMES GARFIELD-Duck, you're about to be shot, buddy!

Last but not least humble thoughts for the demi-god FRANKLIN D. ROOSEVELT-Atomic bombs are scarily impressive but your mighty resources of scientific and economic might could have been used for a much greater purpose. Three words...MOTHERFUCKING HOVER WHEELCHAIR! True, you may have only lived a couple years but don't you think flying one of those around at the Yalta Conference would have had the entire world bending over and calling you Supreme Ruler of the Universe.

Can you spot the clue?

Ok...below, a lost cosmonaut...even more below, a funeral...maybe a star city...maybe a mother in strastosphere...maybe a corellation...perhaps something is going on here...remember One and the Oktopus has an enormous hard-on for secrets...could this be the mysterious Projekt *********? Would you even care if it was? Have I said too much. Mo', don't worry only Vangie, Kristine, Chas and a few bored government monitors read this!

(pictured above The National Archives in Wash D.C.) Oh yeah, One and the Oktopus has been denied its Freedom of Information Act request (see much previous blog about DOD FOIA request for more detailed info). We got a super-official letter from the director of the Department of Defense. They claim the really strange War Game videos and scripts that we requested are buried deep in the National Archives. They officially informed us that we can come to Washington D.C. and spend a few decades scrounging around the vacuous halls of bureaucracy. Sounds like a date Director Walls! See ya in muthafucking, D.C.!

The First Woman In Space Lost to History?

five...four...three ...two...one...one
two...three...four...five...
come in... come in... come in...
LISTEN...LISTEN! ...COME IN!
COME IN... COME IN... TALK TO ME!
TALK TO ME!... I AM HOT!... I AM HOT!
WHAT?... FORTYFIVE?... WHAT?...
FORTYFIVE?... FIFTY?...
YES...YES...YES... BREATHING...
BREATHING... OXYGEN...
OXYGEN... I AM HOT... (THIS)
ISN'T THIS DANGEROUS?... IT'S ALL...
ISN'T THIS DANGEROUS?... IT'S ALL...
YES...YES...YES... HOW IS THIS?
WHAT?... TALK TO ME!... HOW SHOULD I
TRANSMIT? YES...YES...YES...
WHAT? OUR TRANSMISSION BEGINS NOW...
FORTYONE... THIS WAY... OUR
TRANSMISSION BEGINS NOW...
FORTYONE... THIS WAY... OUR
TRANSMISSION BEGINS NOW...
FORTYONE... YES... I FEEL HOT...
I FEEL HOT... IT'S ALL... IT'S HOT...
I FEEL HOT... I FEEL HOT... I FEEL HOT...
... I CAN SEE A FLAME!... WHAT?...
I CAN SEE A FLAME!... I CAN SEE A
FLAME!...
I FEEL HOT... I FEEL HOT... THIRTYTWO...
THIRTYTWO... FORTYONE... FORTYONE
AM I GOING TO CRASH?... YES...YES... I FEEL HOT!...
I FEEL HOT!... I WILL REENTER!... I WILL REENTER...
I AM LISTENING!... I FEEL HOT!...

****this is an apparent reproduction/intercept of a female cosmonaut burning up on reentry on May 16, 1961. If this intrigues you as much as it does me (which it most undoubtably does not) please consult www.lostcosmonauts.com or www.thelostcosmonauts.com****

Projekt *********** update from One and the Oktopus

This is probably nowhere close to the true tracklisting from Projekt *************, our very secretive upcoming LP/novella/opera. Here I have enclosed a working outline for the purpose of not only confusing my collaborators Mo' and Vangie but giving the small smattering of readers a true insight into the grinding of One and the Oktopus' gears. We are now able to go to work as The Venture Bros. has ended season 2 (and yes I had no balls to wear The Monarch for Halloween even though I can completely nail his voice sometimes kinda...also Henchmen #24 which is probably way cooler due to his obscurity)

Projekt ********** (I do not wish to reveal the working title of this as of yet even though I probably already have)

We are First to the Stars and Last to the Earth
I. The Party Has a Funeral
II. Star City
III. Winter is Coming/This Cathedral is Rubble

From Facade to Facade
IV. Concrete & A New Home
V. O, We Were Young and Our Hearts Were Full of Laughter
VI. Separation

Love, Family and the Poetics of Unfettered Imagination
VII. From this Stratosphere (Mother is but a Molecule or an Atomic Number)
VIII. Nobody Knows We Exist
IX. Physics & Fathers & Future Plans

All Alone We Find Everyone Everywhere
X. Our Marriage Goes Unnoticed
XII. Maps to the Past are Buried under Mountains of Secrets and Bodies
XI. Red Star at the Redeemer Gates

We will be orbiting in the near future

stop...we have been away awhile...stop...please advise that news shall be dropping soon...stop...the writing is on the commencement wall...stop...the dogs have been taking off the diodes and monitoring devices...stop...all is well but the world will never know about us...stop...the world will never know about us...stop...register your complaints politely up front...stop

Rediscovering Lost Loves & The Ones Proving to Be Left Lost

I have been slacking off my record collection (ok, cd collection...no vinyl supremecy here) in the last three years and my need to discover new music in general. In some ways I am completely at peace with this decision and in other ways I feel as though I am neglecting that little sweetheart to whom I once doted over. In my guilt I have rerocked the cd stack lately and because I have gravitated towards a person who now steals music (aaargh!) almost exclusively, I feel the need to pay homage to the forgotten and neglected.

Here is my woefully incomplete list of things that have made me happy (in no particular order)...

Low-When the Curtain Hits the Cast
---I am loving the slow dirges about heading to the lake and northern Minnesota in the winter

Hum-You'd Prefer an Astronaut
---Easily their best. Given the minor play that "Stars" got on MTV it is not my favorite/favorite song on this disk but I am putty for the songs about raindrop collections and insects.

Jawbox-For Your Own Special Sweetheart
---Again, easily the best Jawbox disc. Though I may have come to this late it defines a turning point in music listening for me. I never get the William Carlos Williams poem outta my head. Pickles of ecstasy indeed!

Jets to Brazil-Orange Rhyming Dictionary
---Truth be told, I don't like this album but "King Medicine" always makes me think of living in California (even though I never have). Jawbreaker was your peak, Blake.

The Sea and Cake-Nassau
---Pretty little rock ditties from a pretty little rock band.

Aarktica-...or you could go through your whole life and be happy anyway
---atmospheric ambient goodness that reminds you of late fall/early winter and the chilly contemplation of another winter spent wondering about love and life.

Yo La Tango-and then nothing turned itself inside out
---Yeah, just peachy.

Boards of Canada-Geogaddi
---if the entire album was predicated on underwater lava vents and high school Advanced Biology filmstrip narration I couldn't be any happier.

Fugazi-13 Songs or Repeater
---I spent weeks on cold floors listening to this circa 1997 Missoula, Montana. Thanks Colleen for letting us crash and Loki you were oh so small.

Also, big "yeah" to math rock (particularily The 90 Day Men), Icelandic isolation, M83, Petracovich for her pleasantness, occasionally E6-ing, Godspeed You Black Emporer, pretending the world was ending with William Basinski and his fucking pretentious Disintigration Loops (cheery!), namelessnumberheadman (where the hell did I put that disk?), blue screen life is so tired but hooky as hell, Brand Nubian is telling Punks to Jump Up to Get Beat Down Again, muthafucking DJ Quik in the house, Aquimini is getting way too much play but I missed a lotta "chuch" so my shit is also oft-confessional, Kristine thanks via Emily for getting me to listen to new music lately even though every song was written by the same pussy-ass white dude in tight jeans and ironic beard (I love it and you).

Winter used to come once a year

Nostalgia = Distortion
I'll never know the degree of contortion


Looking through the rearview mirror of past mistakes and triumphant happenstances sometimes is nothing more than a clouded version of an incorrect reflecting pond. In this I take much consolation. I can no more change that blurred image than I can grasp the next moments in my hands and sculpt whatever I deem necessary at those seemingly important times. This is a sometimes painful, perplexing and satisfying continuing lesson. I hope those that are most directly influenced realize that I undertake these endeavors with an intentional aim at trying to do what is best, though I often fail. But that is the most humbling. It is with both light heart and toughening skin that I realize it is OK to fail, that it is absolutely necessary to at least try. I wholeheartedly apologize to all hurt I have caused and resign myself to living each day firmly fixated on the search for what I used to believe was unreachable. I miss the vast and distant rememberance of the impossibly infinite skies on long drives. I miss the decaying brick and the ghostly steam of the chilly city in the mornings. I miss the hanging banshees clinging to the winter chimneys of my childhood, the crystalline snowpack so blindingly blue-white in the predawn. I miss believing and for that I will try. I will continue trying until I no longer cannot.

This is for me.

Just look hard and think hard and you will find it

Irreplaceable as the sun

could this feel any less warm
and possibly when I come up for air
no one will be angry anymore
til there is need for anger again

stonefaced and beatific
tomorrow is sure a stubborn mistress
only she always comes with repetitous force
perhaps then we will eat and drink the day

trembling is the dawn
held in mirrored dewdrops
in frosted meadows
hanging from limping fingers and branches
kings fall out of line
ill-tempered concubines are bound no more
no more to the shackles
gallows and the cross

attentions are always the first to go
bellow the flame bigger every single night
omissions are soon to follow
until time and rememberance march backwards
to this we are tethered

yellowing teeth are a just reward
of hidden meanings and times long gone
unless you figure this out before its gone too

Ask Me About Peak Oil

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

It really has nothing to do with now but it was fun as shit to write

***some of you may realize that this somewhat fictionalized story does not take place at the Powers Apartments (pictured left) but rather at the bucolic Billmeyer Apartments (and some McApartment in South Fargo) located across the street in sedate downtown Fargo, ND. Please forgive me. Surprisingly I could locate no pictures of the Billmeyer Apts. Maybe it burned down with my memories because unlike the Powers it was not a fireproof hotel.***

With the buzzer ringing over and over all I could do was writhe around and emit a few pathetic moans. The door could have been a billion miles away for all I could comprehend. The one piercing memory of this blackening night was the vicious disapproval plastered all over her face and the menace of her tensed hands squeezing those beloved hips. She was a vision of steaming hatred staring at my limp drunken self through the kitchen window. Should’ve given her a key, I guess. I vaguely reached out towards the door like someone blind and caneless swiping at a dodging adversary. This was not going to turn out well I remembered stammering and spitting into the carpet. As it turned out this was the beginning of the end. But I moved in with her anyway.

The streets were mirages and the August heat pounded off the blacktop, a perfect day for moving. My parents had graciously donated various sundries from their house. I had assumed at the time it was a supreme haul of most treasured booty but it was probably all shit my mother didn’t want anymore. Regardless, a few castoff Oriental rugs and Malaysian wicker animals made me seem quite the fashionista and one surely capable of settling down to donate some sperm for babies. Yeah, she was amazingly impressed. She even gave me some stupid card with a Dalmatian on it thanking me for not filling the place with blacklight posters and furniture made from Busch Light Draft longneck cases (the Dalmatian card was an ode to the dog I didn’t have but wanted, more of a pat on the head saying, NO FUCKING WAY). Everything was off to a great start, I think I even got a pile of groceries the first day. For the first few weeks it was all naked prancing through the apartment. In retrospect it was most likely way too hot to wear any clothes anyway. We lived high up this triple-stacked Brownstone. Apparently this stately building was a haven of past ill repute and the ghosts of heroin addicts and lonely prostitutes scampered around the labyrinth basement. They never bothered us though because even ghosts weren’t stupid enough to climb the six thousand stairs up to our fledgling nest. Or maybe the ghosts had a pact with the forever bathrobed eccentric creature who lived directly below us not to pass the second floor. She certainly predated anyone who actually died or lived here. She was born of the brick and the mortar that we had always assumed was our rather mundane foundation. This endearing woman would always slide her body out her door and ramble such sweet nonsense to anyone who walked by. She was even there the night my fidelity crumbled away with that amazingly seductive Cuban goddess. As we danced, flirted and soaked ourselves in that steamy nighttime rain shower, that lovely old woman was crafting nicknames for us while watching us like Room With a View. Fred Astaire and Grace Kelly would frantically tear off each other’s clothes on their way to defiling my relationship bed. I thought I was getting even but I was merely beating the girlfriend to the punch. A shallow victory was hers but she never got much of a chance to exploit it. But that is jumping ahead a little bit.

I must have been crazy but on the way home from work I couldn’t stop myself from hitting up the bar. It was smack dab in the way between work and my increasingly naked girlfriend (on the off-night she wasn't shaking her ass at the lame meatmarket club I vigorously avoided). On more than one occasion I could look from across the street at my budding exhibitionist girlfriend strutting her admittedly gorgeous figure around the apartment. This show was definitely not intended for her chronically late boyfriend all reeking of the telltale grease from the bar but nonetheless I pretended it was. At the twisting of my key in the door she would quickly hang up the telephone and think herself clever for uncovering the mystery of why I arrived home two hours after my shift. Like any other rational guy who knew his girlfriend was way more attractive than he deserved, I feverishly ran awful scenarios of explicit phone sex through my buzzed-up head. All these Latino and black men she hung around with would be sitting on speakerphone plotting how they could dispose of me while masturbating to my girlfriend tell them of her unsatisfied sex life at home. While I worried about my prowess, her frequent cheating and the laughs they were having behind my back my girlfriend would finish her grand inquisitions of my whereabouts, somehow manipulate me to pleasuring her fully and yet again neglect to give me a blowjob. It was a good thing I only worked four nights a week. But there was still the upcoming wedding. Our polarity would finally and dramatically intensify, electrify and completely implode in on itself.

I was half-surprised that I was invited to this wedding and for sure my girlfriend was no desired entity at this blessed event. My ex-roommate and for all intense and purpose ex-friend was marrying a sudden and explosive ex-crush of mine who fled my silly life partly because of my soon-to-be ex-girlfriend. Heartsick of the horrible games my girlfriend would play at my expense, I withered and heaved into a state of pallid indifference. Fortunately at this time the friend circle was massive and escape (at least momentarily or drunkenly) was always an easy option.

More To Come…stolen credit cards, betrayal, longing, a crushing eavesdrop, darkened room drunken yelling, threatening late night phone calls, broken collarbones, more sex, a classic job resignation, angry abusive gay hotel managers and finally exit, then more hate-fucking...it's all here and true (sort of).

The DOD cowers at the bureaucratic power of One In the Oktopus

The United States Department of Defense has now allocated all of its resources to filling our FOIA (Freedom of Information Act) request. We have a caseload number and everything. We can only assume Washington D.C. has ground to a halt workwise. As previously announced here One in the Oktopus has issued a FOIA request for Cold War-era fabricated news broadcast that were used for role-playing war games. As currently worded our request may take considerable time and is subject to be altered due to sensitive DoD material and the recent truths about 80's game show host Wink Martindale's nefarious involvement in covert Sino-Russia activities. Keep posted here as we will be nothing less than diligent in our quest for the opposite of truth. In case we are mysteriously "missing" our case number is 06-F-1762 and they claim we are a mere 2200th in the queue. Plus, the Canadian government is after my partner in crime. Though we did not set out to be political dissidents, One in the Oktopus may relocate to an undisclosed location. We shall have the untruth!

Reluctantly, We Arrive On My Space

One and the Oktopus has sold its soul to the devil. We are on My Space with the rest of the vacant losers and egomaniacal idiots. First a blog, now this. If I were dead I would be rolling over in my own grave.

Anyway...check us out. For those in the know we fluctuate our name from One and the Oktopus to One in the Oktopus (and to in if you didn't notice the difference) according to our various whims and frequent legal issues. So in conclusion you will find us at:

www.myspace.com/oneintheoktopus

remember that is in and not and

We will have our movie shorts and "songs" up there for your listening/viewing pleasure.

Please forgive us.