Wednesday, October 31, 2007

Happy Halloween

Well, well,
It's Halloween. Isn't that great?
Hey Irv, I'm lookin for ya! Trick or Treat! Ha! Nice night, right?

Dumped the Lexus. Officer Beth has too much air freshener in that thing. Made me wanna puke. Why did she need so much air freshener? I miss my KIA, but I got ways to get around.

Hey Kwannie! Vick here. Bet you coulda guessed that.

Nice city you got. I like the apartment building you're staying in Kwannie. You sure know how to use people to get nice places to stay. What are you tellin' those friends of yours you'll do for 'em, huh? Screw 'em all like you screwed me?

Hey out there, Kwan"Johnson" fucks like a steroid bunny! She used to scream so loud the pitbull next to our house would bark like aliens were landing.

Funny, huh Kwan? You used to tease Irv that blogs were for people that would write about their cats, and dumb poems and shit like that. Proved you wrong, eh sister?

Too bad you can't see my costume. I can't sit down in it, but you'd like it. Makes everyone say "ew, gross!"

Great city for Halloween. All the queers like Halloween. Saw that fat boy come runnin' out of your apartment building, Irv. He sure loves you. They all love you.

And my brother, Lonnie. He's celebrating tonight as a corpse at the morgue. Rough deal.

Rough Rough deal.

Uncle Vick

Sunday, October 28, 2007

Red Alert!!

Kwan here.

I read in the paper this morning that Lonnie Rorg, Irv's dad and Uncle Vick's brother...was found dead - shot through the heart, in the front seat of his red Prius.

I'm speaking at the Asian Cultural Symposium tomorrow morning. Title of my talk is "We Are All Refugees...yes, we are."

How can I keep it together when such a tragedy has occurred?

Whereabouts of both Irv and Uncle Vick are unknown.

I'm a wreck tonight! And I'm scared. My friends are also sad. They were going to cut my hair for me, and then they were so freaked out they got drunk, and well, I've had much nicer cuts...

Kwan Johnson (under construction)

Friday, October 26, 2007

The Truth Hurts

Irv here.

James says I'm being released today. Insufficient evidence to hold me. James is a good guy.

I'm 38 and I'm just now admitting certain things to myself. I've been protecting my dad. I lied and said he wasn't at the Thanksgiving dinner last year, and now I'm ready to admit he was. Why did I lie about him?

I just didn't want to believe the truth. The truth about my whole damn family.

God, I really need a shave. My sideburns are losing their points.

You see, if I believe the truth about my family, then there is a bigger fear. What will it mean about me??

My grandma was a corrections officer...and I only recently found out who my grandpa really was. And look at their two sons! One is a psychopath, and one is delusional.

What does that mean for me? I'm scared. Maybe that's why I was a stunt man back in the day. Fear is something I'm familiar with. I replace one fear with another to escape them.

Whatever. It's cold up here. James is going to lend me some cash. I'm not sure I want to go back to Kwan. I don't know what I'm going to do. I don't even know if we've still got my new corvette. I paid for it with Vick's American Express Card, so the car must be repossessed by now.

Maybe I'm no better than the rest of them. Why would I steal a 12 gauge from Vick, if I was any better than he was?

Shit, I've got to toughen up, but the more I let myself believe about my family, the more freaked out I get.


Thursday, October 25, 2007

Report From Officer Beth


To anyone reading this blog. At 5:40 this evening, Victor Rorg or "Uncle Vick" or "That Asshole Next Door" as some people called him, jumped his bail. His whereabouts are currently unknown.

I am Officer Beth. I am writing this report from the jumpee's home in Southern California. The same home where the body of a social worker named Tappy Marie was exhumed from the backyard several weeks ago. Escapee is thought to be armed with a small handgun, and a garden axe.

Escapee is considered psychopathic and is believed headed for San Francisco to take care of "family business" after reading recent entries in this blog.

Escapee was wearing a gray pair of sweatpants with chocolate stains on the right leg, Nike tennis shoes, a brown pullover, and a silver pinky ring.

Escapee is driving my car (a gold Lexus). License plate IAMHOTYA. Escapee claims we had a sexual relationship in a bathtub which I adamantly deny!

Officer Beth

Monday, October 22, 2007

I Don't Need A Dad! Let's Get Something Straight...

Irv here--

I seem to remember that this was supposed to be MY blog. Look, Lonnie, I don't need you. As a dad, you were never around. I actually feel sorry for you. I'm the one in jail (and btw I finally got a shirt from the desk clerk, James, who likes me, I think, and let me use his computer to make this entry).

And Kwan, if you want to exploit my story for publicity for your campaign, fine. Use this entry to investigate my father, Lonnie. He was at Thanksgiving Dinner last year with Uncle Vick, my grandparents, the social worker, and I. Ask Lonnie, who killed the Social Worker chick. Ask Lonnie who buried her in the backyard, when Uncle Vick had Lonnie's gun trained on me?

Ask Lonnie.

He's so scared the truth will come out about what he did, that he thinks he can pin the whole thing on his own son. "Can't bend fully over." Ahhh, how sorry-ass sad is that? Balding and paunchy old man can't possibly be to blame. Yeah, right.

I was so angry at him for months, that when the Labor Day barbecue came, I was terrified what I might do. But he didn't show up.

He actually tried to get me to "confess" in that motel room when he held me and Kwan hostage overnight. He believes his own story. That's sick shit. I'm your son, Lonnie!

I'm not scared of Lonnie and I'm not scared of Uncle Vick. Neither was grandma and she's dead because of it. Her poor husband, my grandpa, just happened to be in the room that horrible night and had to irritate everyone asking for another helping of yams. Well, grandpa got it, too, with half a yam dripping out of his mouth.

I'm the only one who doesn't have delusions of grandeur. And because of it, I'm in jail. That's America. But I'm a survivor.

Gotta go. James is winking at me.


Friday, October 19, 2007

You Can't Turn Me Away

Dear Irv--

It's me, your father, Lonnie Rorg. You think you can avoid me by refusing to see me when I come to visit you in jail?

You think it's that easy? You need my help now, son. Prison is not where you want to end up. Believe me. My own mother, your grandmother, was a corrections officer back in the 30s. You know that. The things she saw. The forced marriages that took place there. Maybe that's what you want, but those kind of marriages never last, no matter how many tattoos the bride gets.

Look, I'm coming back again Monday. It hurt that you refused to see me today. I'm an old man, why do you treat me this way? I'm sleeping in the red Prius again tonight. The humidity gets bad with the windows rolled up, but rain is on its way tonight according to the weather report. I couldn't bend fully over before I started sleeping in my car. Now with all the stiffness, I won't be able to use my hip rotator cup or turn my head, but I don't care.

I'm going to see you, son. A son needs his father.

Lonnie Rorg

Tuesday, October 16, 2007

Agonizing Decision

Hello, Irv--

It's Kwan. Kwan Johnson. Yes, I changed my name from Tran Van Kwan. My campaign team and I felt that Kwan Johnson was easier to say and more American sounding.

I must tell you that I have been urged by my campaign team to delete this blog. They say its contents could hurt my chances of being elected to Congress. They may be right. I am torn deciding what to do.

My campaign has already been endorsed by ELDERCARE SAFETY RAILS, a large company that makes bed railings for unpredictable senior citizens.

Ever since you threw my macbook across the room and left my friends' apartment, and now that you are in jail on suspicion of murder, I have agonized over what to do about you. I can't sleep. My body aches with stress from not knowing what path to take.

I wasn't there last Thanksgiving when the deaths of those three people occurred. I didn't know Vick then. Frankly, it doesn't make sense to me. Why would your grandmother have a loaded shotgun stashed in the kitchen? Also, no one has explained how the "sickeningly sweet", as you put it, social worker was killed. Vick says you planted his business card on that dead social worker after you killed her. You have never reacted to that accusation.

It's all too much. I should just delete this blog and move on with my life. I've got too much going for myself and for this country, to be involved with strange people like you and your family.

Yet, as ripped up about this as I am now, sitting here by the Bay Window of my friends' San Francisco apartment, in the rays of the morning sun -- I believe the truth will come out. I also believe that I owe it to that dead social worker who you likened to "Katie Couric overdosing on Zoloft" to find out the truth of what happened to her last Thanksgiving.

It makes my stomach sick to write this...but Irv, I must stand up for the truth. I think I will include an investigation into what happened to that murdered social worker as part of my campaign.

Social workers do not deserve to be killed. Sure, some of them deserve to be fined, but none of them deserve death. My campaign will be honest, warts and all.

I'm smiling because my friends are reading this over my shoulder right now, and applauding.


Friday, October 12, 2007

I'll Save You, Irv!!

Hello, my name is Marcus.

I've written several entries in Irv's blog here. Irv's in jail. Maybe you can read this entry, Irv.

You are my best friend and I will stand by you no matter what. I will come and visit you in jail and spend the night there with you if you want me to.

I was hurt a little when you said that I would "kiss anything" and that you saw me kissing my video Ipod. I was kissing my video Ipod because I have pictures of you on it. I snapped them the other day when you were jogging in Golden Gate Park. You ran your circles and every time you passed me where I was sitting I snapped a picture of you with my phone. I pretended I was talking to my mother about Hanukkah, but I was really taking pictures of you.

You said I'd "kiss anything," well, you're not "anything"! You're a very special man that if I were gay and you were gay I would love and love.

I'm sorry to read that you have no shirt in jail. I'm going to bring you a shirt tomorrow. Kwan said I should stay away from you and that she is going to help you, and then she slapped me, but I won't stay away. I won't!

I shaved my long sideburns to make a pointy end on each side just like yours do. I wish I had a cool name like you - Irv Rorg. That is so much cooler than Marcus Feldstein.

I could go on and on, but I won't. I just want you to know that while you're in jail, me, Marcus, your best friend is also in jail. A jail in my mind! A jail in my heart.

I'm going to eat a poundcake now.

Your Best Friend,

Thursday, October 11, 2007

Out on Bail - Guess What?

Hey Irvie!

It's me, your lovable Uncle Vick!

I'm out on five thousand dollars bail. Your father posted it for me. I'm back at the house. I'm watching the plasma screen TV. "The Two Coreys" is on.

The cops read your blog. Yeah. I showed it to 'em. I've got one of 'em here with me now. Hey, guess what? Lady cops aren't all lesbians. The one here with me sure as hell isn't. Her name is Officer Beth. She's spendin' the night again. I think she digs me. She likes my pot belly.

She told me a secret. You already know what it is. She called her friends up in San Fran, and they found you in the Castro and arrested you for suspicion of murder. Ha Ha. I guess I'll be seein' you down here soon.

I heard they put you in a cell without your shirt on. Hey, I bet you meet some cute guys that way! Like on OZ.

Gotta go. The bubbles in the bathtub are gettin' flat and Beth likes 'em bubbly!

Hiya Kwan!

Uncle Vick

Tuesday, October 9, 2007

I Hate Confrontations

Irv here--

I hate confrontations, but I had a humongo one today with Kwan. We were in her friends' apartment drawing up plans for her to make public appearances around SF. The first one she wants to schedule at the Asian Cultural Fair later this month. Right in the middle of drawing up her platform speech, she slams down her Macbook and demands to know if I've been sleeping with the chubby kid, Marcus and if I killed my grandparents.

"No and No," I told her. "That chubby kid will kiss anything. I saw him kiss his video Ipod yesterday. And as for my grandparents. Look, my father has always been deranged. He wasn't there last Thanksgiving. Uncle Vick had taken out his antique handgun collection during hors d'ouvres and my grandmother got scared. That's why she brought her shotgun out from the kitchen. She shot off my two fingers. You know that!"

"But who KILLED YOUR GRANDPARENTS!" Kwan yells, and her friends come in.

"Uncle Vick killed them," I told her. I didn't care that her friends were there listening. "He shot my grandmother "in self-defense" he said, and he shot my grandfather because my grandfather said Vick was a lousy cook. Is that what you wanted to hear? Are you happy now?" ...and I lost it. I just lost it.

I threw her macbook across the room. Her friends freaked out and screamed. I tore a little fake gaslamp light fixture off the wall. I ripped my own t-shirt, pulled it off and threw it at her, and left.

Right now I'm shirtless, at an Internet Cafe in the Castro district. And yeah, I'm VERY popular.

That's why I hate confrontations. I don't handle them well. I do everything I can to avoid them.

I don't know where I'm going to sleep tonight. I don't even care.


Monday, October 8, 2007

Why I Grabbed You

Irv, it's Lonnie, your father--

I tried to grab you behind the BART station the other day, because I care about you, son. You left me naked at the motel tied to the bed and ran away with your girlfriend, Shanna, back on the I-5, but I still care.

Son, I'm a private investigator and I used to be a male nurse. I know all about fingerprints and dna. I KNOW you killed your grandparents last Thanksgiving. I KNOW you framed your Uncle Vick. You run away from me all the time because I know the truth. You hate me because I know the truth about you.

Maybe I haven't been the best father to you. I was gone a lot when I worked for the police, and before that when I was a nurse. Your mother was addicted to Mezaclodiaphinac. I didn't know she was using my Nurse ID and getting prescriptions filled through the doctor I worked for.

Mezaclodiaphinac was an awful drug. Great pain killer but no one knew it would cause unsightly facial air pockets beneath the skin, when abused. Your mother became unrecognizable. Hell, I thought she was your Uncle Vick one night and that's when we knew it was time to go to rehab!

Your mother was a liar. So are you. But, I still love you. I found my green silk shirt and slacks in the bathroom of the motel, and I look like hell, but I'm not leaving San Francisco until I find you. If you can own up to what you did to your own grandparents and that annoying goody two shoes social worker last November, maybe we can get you the help you need.

Son, you've got to admit you have a problem. Your mother did. Sure, she's dead now, but she left this world an honest woman. Her face was so bloated she looked like Don Rickles does now, but I was proud of her.

Make me proud of you, son. Please. I can't bend fully over.

Your Dad,
Lonnie Rorg

Saturday, October 6, 2007


My name is Marcus. I'm the "creepy fat" guy that Kwan mentioned in the last post. Is she the kind of person we want in Congress?? Most of America is fat! 30% of America is creepy! She better watch what she puts in print because mark my words it will come back to haunt her.

She's jealous because I am Irv's best friend... who Irv lets kiss him... (not on the mouth, yet).

She's jealous because Irv tells me things that he doesn't tell her. Like when she had that huge stain on the back of her pantsuit because she sat in something at the Arby's. Irv and I didn't tell her because she was about to do the paperwork to record her congressional candidacy. Ha Ha. That stain looked like a runny state of Alaska with a much longer peninsula with strange bubbles in it.

Oh yah, and another thing Irv told me he didn't tell her -- Irv's investigator father is in town. He grabbed Irv the other day behind the Bart station, but Irv broke away.

Irv's my best friend and he tells me everything. It's gorgeous outside. Today, I'm going to go jogging with him in Golden Gate Park.

Irv's going to jog with his shirt off. I'm not.


Friday, October 5, 2007


Kwan here.

I've stayed away from this blog on purpose. Now I know why I never let myself fall in love before: Because out of love grows jealousy!

Today, I registered officially with the district as a congressional candidate. My proudest day so far in my entire life! Irv was with me in a tight black sweater and those long sexy sideburns. I've made him my campaign manager. Anyone who has been a stuntman for a living, is perfect for politics.

But, that creepy fat Marcus. He came downtown with us. He said he needed a ride so he could get his flu shot. Well, it's a public train! He didn't need a ride WITH US. He kept staring at Irv with big round eyes, and eating churros out of a bucket. He'd imitate the way Irv walked, with that kind of athletic swagger, only on Marcus that swagger just looks like a drunken cattle drive.

Jealousy! It's the worst. I was jealous of my sister in Vietnam when she flew out of the country first class by convincing the officials at the airport she was Yoko Ono. That took balls. She didn't have to flee the country in a leaky whaling vessel like I did.

But jealousy over love? That's something I vowed I'd never feel. Irv says he's "anxious" about something, but then he lets this Marcus boy kiss him in public. WTF!

It's San Francisco, so it's good pubic relations for my campaign, Irv says. He also says we must be careful not to let our past interfere with our plans.

I don't trust him...and I love him...


Monday, October 1, 2007

Blue Irv

Hey, it's Irv--

I remember starting this blog in August. I was feelin' blue and Uncle Vick said starting a blog on Blogplace or Blogspot or whatever this is called would help lift my spirits. Then, he went down to the 7-11 and picked up a prostitute who had just been released from women's prison.

This blog has lifted me up, but it hasn't cured me. Hell, I'm 38 but I don't have a paying job. Haven't had one in seven months. I'm up here in San Francisco with everyone sayin' they're in love with me. I don't know my way around town.

I used to be a scuba diving instructor in Fresno. Not many places to scuba in Fresno, but "Scuba Dooba" had these huge empty grain silos, bigger than pools. They'd dump some tropical fish in there and charge suckers 40 bucks to suit up and go diving in grain silos. There'd just be one leaky porthole on the side, and the whole "tank" was dark and deep.

I quit before the company folded. I didn't have a scuba license, anyway.

Before that, I was a stunt man. Yeah, for movies! Good pay sometimes, but I suffered injuries a lot. How often can you throw yourself off a billboard onto a mattress?

Hell, I don't know what to do now. Kwan wants me to work for her, but she doesn't have any funds to run for Congress, yet. Says she's gotta solicit donations for her campaign. Says I won't make much money, but I've got a place to stay and meals.

I'm feeling anxious lately. Like we're not safe up here.