My New Style

I've decided to go Freudian with all these new songs playing in my head. They rock. You should hear them. You will. Don't worry.
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© 2010. Statements by David Skerkowski. All rights reserved.

How to Be Like Me

I realize this might be boring to stupid bimbos who can't tell an artist from a fake. Here's one last detail for my imitators. My knee. I tore every ligament in my left knee and had to have reconstructive surgery. I was in a cast up to my hip for six months. So if you want to emulate me, you need to rip all the ligaments out of your left knee and undergo reconstructive surgery. Then you must be in a cast up to your hip for six months and wheelchair bound. And I didn't get pain pills for my injury because the doctor wanted to punish me for playing on the railroad bridge. So when your knee swells up like a football, remember, no pain medication. (The other scar I just noticed is from a clamshell cut as a child. They hurt, too.)
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© 2010. Statements by David Skerkowski. All rights reserved.

How to Work with Images on a MAC

The best way to work with images on a mac is to make sure the image needs no editing beforehand. If you are making an imovie, you might need a camera that takes still shots, but with the action of a Glock; that is, a semi-automatic camera that let's you take rapid pictures of whatever you're trying to film. Then you just return to imovie and line all nine thousand of them up, one after the other. And there's your imovie! Well, it's back to work for me. Let's see now. Where was I? Oh yes! 5614, 5615, 5615. I can hardly wait till his arm makes it to his side!
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© 2010. Statements by David Skerkowski. All rights reserved.

Doing It Right

Here are some cleaning hints for those of you who fancy yourselves as tidy individuals. I see a lot of half-assed work in this area. The basic rules are simple. Whatever surface, vertical, horizontal or upside-down, you must start with a wet cloth and apply a circular pattern, keep going until all the dirt is gone, then buff over it with a dry, spongy towel - in straight lines. You may only use circular lines with the towel if you started with straight lines with the wet cloth. This way you offset the streaks. Streaks are half-assed. When cleaning your toilet, try using liquid laundry detergent. Tide smells good. You need to improve the smell so you can get your face in close for the inspection and the scrubbing. With certain stubborn hairs, sandpaper is quite useless and may scratch the porcelain. Go ahead and use the same cloth for the bowl-like bathroom sink. It's already coated in mucus and spit. Just don't use that rag on anything else ever again. Or even dispose of it if necessary. When you're done with doing your dishes, don't leave that leftover sludge in the drain or it will block the drain. Get in there with your fingers and pick it out and throw it in the garbage. And then run the hot water and splash it around the sides of the sink to clear away that greasy film. Don't do it half-assed. And then wipe the counter and the stove and put the dishes out of sight. Clean the floor to complete the antiseptic look of perhaps a hospital kitchen. Cleaning up this way is meant to last for a week or so, but you can stretch it for longer periods if you have other conflicting activities.
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Good Government

As I smile upon the Canada Day Google graphic, with its red leaf and red oceans waving in the wind, I am reminded of how lucky I am to live in this country. It's a tolerant country. I often get my riffs in my head when I'm alone and they cause me to start bobbing up and down in my seat and maybe to go, 'chicka-chicka...' or 'ticka-ticka...' If I'm hearing a phaser, I might go, 'Bzhyew! Bzzzyew!' They let you do that in the Welfare Office here. They don't hold it against you. You could even be flat on your back on the floor, arms stretched out, wailing for your mother, and you'll still probably get your crisis grant. And they don't hold talking to yourself against you, either, or shouting at invisible enemies. And I can't help it if my head movements are a little squirrel-like, every now and then. I don't know what causes that. Caffeine? But just try to get a job like that, when you're only being yourself.
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© 2010. Statements by David Skerkowski. All rights reserved.

Hal Looks Like My Web Cam

Watching 2001: A Space Odyssey might be a different experience for me than for others. The lead astronaut draws well and goes by the same first name. I liked the setting of man against his science. How his science had slipped away from him, leaving him stranded in outer space, refusing to open the pod bay doors. 'Hal, I said open the pod bay doors. Hal, open the pod bay doors OR I'M COMING IN THERE WITH A FUCKING PICK-AX!' Then there's the ending. Everyone else always hears the original soundtrack, but I, possibly from the beginning, only ever heard Pink Floyd's Echoes, which runs approximately the same length.
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© 2010. Statements by David Skerkowski. All rights reserved.

I'm A Flag

It's Canada Day Eve and everyone's giving me a hard time because I already have my Maple Leaf shirt on and it's the wrong colour, so they say. But don't you think it's heavier than the original? And less red? Seriously, though, what's with all the red? I'll be enjoying my Canada Day, but I won't be participating in the anthem singing because I hate the anthem. I think it's dull and the lyrics suck. Nothing against my country, which I love dearly.
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Two for the Road

Two things quick while I remember them. I might forget them. First of all, if you buy new furniture, don't let anyone sit on it or lie on it or it won't look new for much longer. Just arrange it in your living room and tell everyone to either stand or sit on the floor. Now, about the history of rock. I think it mentally precedes electricity. I am convinced that a song like The Mob Rules was playing in the heads of rampaging Frenchmen with Viking blood during the French Revolution - for example. Just because it didn't get recorded doesn't mean it wasn't already there.
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© 2010. Scripts by David Skerkowski. All rights reserved.

Don't Panic

I normally avoid headlines these days when I'm passing the news stand at the convenience store, but today's was just so compelling that I must share it with you here. Now, folks, don't get too excited about this. The G-8 is Taking Two Paths. I realize I should be exhilarated, but instead I'm concerned. It confuses me. Eight countries, two paths. Doesn't that leave only four countries? Or does it double them to sixteen? And yet they still insist on being called G-8. And seeing the G-8 in the news reminded me of how much I think of them every day - even when they're not in the news. I think of what kind of neckties they might be wearing there. I agonize over whether or not they will let in Turkmenistan - and if that brings it to G-9 or G-8 and 1/2. And if one of the countries has a Civil War, they might have to change the number, too. People think I don't care. I fucking care.
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Scrabble Anyone?

I just had the funnest dream. I went in to a restaurant that was filled with gorgeous women and I was checking them out and they were showing off their stuff. I went up to buy a cheeseburger and when I turned around I expected them to be gone, but they were still there. And they were gyrating around like the Pussycat Dolls, trying to get my attention. All of them. So I went over with my burger and sat down at one of their tables. And then they started talking to me about really interesting stuff. Each girl was somehow fully informed of my favourite issues. And they were so entertaining in their stories, I forgot how sexy they were physically. But I was now being turned on by their personalities. These were the sexiest personalities I've ever encountered. Just so effervescent. It excites me now to think back to it. And one of them was about to give me her impression of a shirtless basketball player, and I was utterly fascinated, when I woke up. But at least I'll always remember how great it felt.
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© 2010. Scripts by David Skerkowski. All rights reserved.

The Boy Who Caused Earthquakes

There's a great old Night Gallery with Rod Serling called 'The Boy Who Predicted Earthquakes.' It's about this kid who yaps and yaps and yaps on the news and everyone just groans and waits until he comes out with a killer hard rock composition. And then the kid looks fuckin supreme - even with his John Denver glasses and straight blonde hair. I'm telling you this is a great Night Gallery. Find it if you can.
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True Story

I like dogs and sometimes cats. I dislike birds. And I had a very trying experience once when I was left alone with a rabbit. It was my friend's rabbit. Not one of those fluffy white ones, but a spotty looking, evil one. When no one else was looking he would transform his ears into horns and his buck teeth would turn to fangs and he'd scare the shit out of me. He only did it to me. He mustn't have liked me. And I was staying with my friend at the time. The first time he had to leave I asked him not to go. But he said he wouldn't be long. I asked him if I could put the rabbit in the cage, but he didn't have a cage for it yet. Just got it. So that was that and off he went. Me and the rabbit stared across the room at each other for what seemed like ages. And his quivering started to rub off on me. I lost control of my facial muscles there for a short time. But I looked into his eyes long enough to guess his intentions. I began grabbing furniture and appliances and sealed the rabbit in the bedroom. It took about half an hour to plug all the holes. I heaved a sigh of relief. Then a sound broke through the barrier. A horrible sound. The sound of carpet munching. Folks, you've never heard anything like this. It is utterly terrifying. It sounds like ants or something. Thank goodness my friend got back before I had a heart attack. He took a look around and seemed bewildered by the state of the apartment. But I then explained it to him.
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Jabbing in the Dark

I probably complained about this at some earlier time but I can't believe how impossible it is not to slip up with your web searches any more. Too many phrases have been added to dirty language. Back in the 70's there used to be this inflatable clown that you could punch in the head and it would fall back and spring to its feet again - that's right, for another punch! And another and another. Growing more and more rapid. I just couldn't remember its name. Something like 'PunchMe Bob' or 'The Clown Who Won't Go Down' or something. Anyway, so that's what I'm looking for in my web search. And it thinks that these clown punches that start slow and grow more and more rapid is masturbation! Gosh you people have dirty minds out there. And I still don't know that fucking clown's name. And besides that, what kind of people go online to look up masturbation? Wouldn't it be more likely they were looking for the clown's name? I just don't get this world sometimes.
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Get Them When They're Sleepy

Hanging in there the next morning after breaking down two more times at 11:56 and 12:00. Talking in my sleep I'm not counting. Nor do my farts count. Yawning is very expressive. Excuse Me. 'ER-ER-ER-ER-AAAAAAAAGH!YEEAH!YEEAH!YEAAH!' That feels better. Almost a sexual feeling to it now. I wonder if single women alone on the couch let out a yawn and suddenly feel a new side of themselves awakening within them. The side that wants to surrender to animal urges because they feel so darn swell. And as she yawns, she stretches her limbs out helplessly...
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The Views

About the views on my videos. I thought they were wrong since they didn't seem to correspond to the reaction I got from the public, which was usually obvious. But now I know they had it set on countries, rather than individuals. That's why it's such a small number.
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How Can You Say No To This Face?

I think girls in revealing clothing are kind of cold to the strange men who might be trying to kiss them on the bus. I can't think what I'm doing wrong. I open my eyes wide so I can let them know I'm paying full attention to them. I open my arms to invite them for a nice hug. (But I curl my fingers in case I need to grab them to prevent them from falling down or something.) I flare my nostrils to let them know I'm sniffing their perfume. And I let out my tongue so none of my drool lands on my chin and makes me look bad. What more can I possibly do?
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