Online since 1993 


Most of what I write will never be filmed or performed live,
but here's some snippets from my past writings... some are just random thoughts.
Yes, I've paid the $25 it costs to copyright my stuff, so if you steal it... I'll, like, sue you and stuff.

This car ride seems eternal with this obnoxious loudmouth. Is this Iowa or the 7th layer of Hell?

Standing there. Frightened. Drugged. Alone?

The sea of people overwhelmed him. Heart racing. Then in a flash his heart pounded.

The choice came

stay. stay and hurt

go. go and release it.

The heat beats against me. I close my eyes and try to remember the feeling of the rain against my skin. I reopen my eyes to the reality of the world and I remember that if I don't find water soon I may get sick. I begin to hallucinate.

I am running toward the dock. I see my brother in the water exploring the terrain. He rises with a rock of untold wonders. He waves his geological treasure at me and I smile.

As I reach the end of the dock I feel like I am flying across the water I soar through the air and I feel alive.

The image on the water stares at me. I look deep in it's eyes until the wind breaks up the reflection I stare at. I will call my new friend reality. Reality knows that she is gone. I cannot accept this now but if I stare long enough I will realize that I am alone.

We met when I was three. all she wanted that day was a playmateu maybe that's ll she ever wanter. She asked if I would come back tomorrow. She always asked that. Through grade school, high school and even college. Until yesterday.

I scratch an itch on my nose. The branch keeps hitting me in the face. The signal is given. The hunt is on.

I power up the digital camera.

Our unsuspecting victim lets out a "welp." His hand outstretched to protect his face.

I once looked in her eyes and saw a princess looking back at me. Now that vision has faded. I know the real woman. She is annoying me to no end. She has reached a new level of suck. I find time spent with her a waste. I should find a new hobby.


Brake lights!


I can see the car in front
of me, thanks, jerkoff.


Jim, you need to move
to the left.


I know where we are
going, okay?


You IDIOT! You're too
far over now we are

passing the fist, you

won't be able to turn left.

until after the RenCen.

The car SMASHES into an empty shopping cart as it swerves left.

Check it out! Beubien.


You are mad,
we should have died.


It's only a one way if a cop is near.


Leave me alone


I can't do that, Cindy.


Why don't you just
drop it?


I need to know.


Why? So you can
harbor ill-feelings?

Is this some kind

of demented control


Yes. I fucked him.

Yes. I liked it..

Yes, I know he's an asshole.

You didn't even know me
then. I would never had met

you if it weren't for him so

fucking open your eyes and

look at me.


Oh my GOD, it's TRUE!

My thoughts turn around. Memory fades.

A feeling of utmost insecurity fills me. What if it was just a flash in the pan? A short series of one night stands? Would she still care, an ocean away?

The phone rings.

Her, I think.

You have a collect call from...



Will you accept the charges?


Hey man, I'm stuck in Pheonix!

Joey, what the hell are you doing in Pheonix?


It is raining harder than I've ever seen. I am standing on the top of the vast hill. She is beside me, nuzzled up close.

We fear lightning so we step away from the fence.

Detroit is in the distance, the lights of the city break through the rain. She looks up at me and is almost looksas though she is crying. She smiles and asks what it is I am thinking.

My siblings and I sat on the couch awaiting the flash of light. He eyed the painting of the ducks behind us.

He screams. "DUCK!"

As we scramble for cover the shutter clicks and captures our chaos.


Bad Day


Brought to you by Bargain Basement and Danimatian Studios.

Confusion by Jason Roth. Disillusion by Dan Boujoulian


BLACKNESS Zoom out from blackness to reveal Protagonist in his room. Colors are inverted (black is white, etc.) The darkness we saw a moment ago was the whites of ProtagonistĂs eyes in this inverted world. An ALARM blares which makes Protagonist agitated until he finally smashes the thing. Repeat several times. Each time is simply a dream of him wanting to smash the alarm. The time on the alarm changes with each blast. The ALARM is heard again, but smashing the clock does nothing. Repeat. Eventually the motion becomes him simply pushing snooze on the clock (instead of smashing it.) Protagonist looks around and sees the phone rising from the table. It sounds just like the alarm. He places the reciever to the phone on his ear and and explosion occurs from the phone. His charred face intently listens to the voice on the phone informing him he is late for work. He stands and walks past a calender. Every date on the calender contains a question mark as one numeral. He slams into the doorway to the hallway. Pauses and opens the door. There is now bright sunlight pooring in from the hallway.

PROTAGONIST opens eyes. They are red and pulsing. He eyes the empty roll of toilet paper. Perspective changes as he views the new roll. The roll appears to be humongously far from him.

He walks into the living room to find his car smashed through the wall. Stray animals are running about and a bum is sleeping on the hood of the car. The DOORBELL rings. He turns to face the door. MORE OBSTACLES TO COME! He passes out a foot from the door. Exhuaustion setting in. Again the spectrum inverses and the camera zooms into his eye. It is white because he is sleeping. Awaiting him outside at the conclusion to all of this is a team of sweepstakes winnings providers. They walk away in frustration when Protagonist does not answer the door.

Thom's iBook

an animation of Thom Yorke from Radiohead doing a commercial for an iBook G4. I am gonna try to track down an English guy to do the voice so we'll have a hilarious sountrack to sync to. Then we draw a slanty eyed cartoon somehow and we're golden.


Dan Boujoulian
Scriptwriting 1

Tuesday, March 31, 1998

SFX: Radiohead 'Fitter, Happier'

JIMBO: Man, turn that down.


BRAD: That is so weird. People controlled, everything about how we lived can be commanded by computers and we wouldn't even know it.

JIMBO: I'm not commanded by anything.

SFX: (flicking of flint on lighter starting slowly and then fast paced)

BRAD: Our entire existance is predefined.

JIMBO: Piece of crap.

SFX of lighter hitting dashboard

BRAD: No, it's true, we could all be commanded by satelliteu

JIMBO: Shut, up, I don't want to hear it, I was talking about the lighter anyway. Like I listen to anything you say. I shouldn't have listened to you anyways, I should have got the Bic instead of the lighter with the naked woman on it.

SFX: Fade in Fitter happer again and Cut after words "an empowered and informed member of society (pragmatism not idealism)"

"Fitter Happier" © 1997 Capitol Records, is a freaky computer voice telling you how to live example "fitter, happier, more productive, comfortable not drinking too much, regular exercise at the gym (3 days a week) getting on better with you associate employee contemporaries" etc. It's really freaky to hear. In the background is very dramatic string instuments orchestrated to drive you into a utopian frenzy. It is found on the Radiohead OK Computer album.

This was written by Mark Samp and I in 1993:


It was probably easily the best and weirdest experience of my life. I couldn't believe it.  She was naked, I was wearing a duck suit, and the dog was anorexic.  Anyways, on with the story.

The night was dark, as most nights are, but I digress.  I was hungry so I
got out of my bed, walked downstairs to the refrigerator for a little bite

to eat if you don't know what I mean.  I stared into the open refrigerator

for about 3 minutes looking for something to eat but alas there was nothing

but ketchup and a couple moldy sardines.  I opted for the bottle.

I went over to the liquor cabinet and found a large bottle of Scotch and
proceeded to go to town. Like most of my ex-girlfriends, the over-warm

liquid tasted bitter yet pretenscious... yet.. it easily went down. I became

queasy, and mistaking the kitchen for a mosh pit, I began to dance. I used

to think that the worst person to be next to in a pit was the smelly preppie

jock, but a jock is no match for the hard surface of the formica. When I

think about it, I can still feel the pain of that head butt. Funny. When

your body is numb, there is a warm fuzzy feeling in one's stomach, but that

didn't matter when I realized the floor was approaching my face at a rather

fast rate. It was then I saw her. Somewhere between the side of counter and

the linoleum floor. Although at the time I couldn't make out a feature on

her body, except for the basic hourglass figure shape and her legs which

seemed to go up to her neck. She was naked wearing nothing but a cock ring.

That still baffles me, but true nonetheless. I guess it didn't much matter

because at this point as you can probably guess, I was fully clothed. Then

it happened and it happened in a big way.  I hit the floor, and it hurt

really bad.  I think she felt the vibrations because the cock ring then fell

off her forehead.  How she had it there I still can't understand, but again

I digress.  She came over to me like a swan gracefully swimming in a pool of

wet tar.  It took her a while, but she made it...eventually.  She bent down

to examine my wounds when I saw that she wasn't a natural brunette, and

either I was excited or it was a tad bit chilly outside, because her nipples

were rock hard.  I decided it was the latter because I was in too much pain

to be excited. Then again, seeing as how I was face first on the kitchen

floor, I guess it's the obvious choice that it was cold to me.  Then I heard

her voice and I couldn't help but think she said something to this effect:

"Did you order the large pepperoni with the side of thighs?" At this point,

I was seeing two beautiful naked women standing in the doorway to my

apartment. I managed to reply to her question with a "I'll take the thighs."

She laughed in a way I've only heard Eddie Murphy laugh, but that didn't

matter because at this point I realized she hadn't been in the doorway for

at least two minutes. So there she was, crotched down before me. At let me

tell you, when there is a woman crotched down before you who's naked there

is only one thing that crosses your mind: But for me, the only thing I could

think of was the Blind Melon song "No Rain" was playing. I quickly jumped up

to change it. I lost my balance and started to fall. She sprang up and

caught me. "Do you need me to spend the night?" she asked. "Not really, but

if you'd like me to, you can stay so I can wax your toes." "What the hell

are you talking about?" she asked almost crossly. "Nothing, nothing at all."

I blurted out. "Well, it looks to me like I should stay the night." she

said. "That'd be nice, thank you very much." I said in a polite gentlemen

like voice as to say the only thing on my mind was the toe waxing, but I had

other things on my mind...LET ME TELL YOU! She walked me up to the upstairs

bathroom where she began to brush my teeth.  "What are you doing this for?"

I said as I spit toothpaste all over her left breast which was now covered

with enough of my presently unused play-do that it could've been used to

fill the gap in the ozone layer. Speaking of lay her, let's get back to the

story, shall we? Unfortunately, at the exact time the look in her eyes said

"Kiss me, stick your tongue down my throat and inch your hand over to my..."

<RING> Fuck. <RING> Fuck. <RING> Maybe the machine will get it. "Hi, you've

reached the home of Massoula Trent, I'm not home right now, but if you care

to leave your credit card number and expiration date, I'll return your call

when I get done with the redhead who's over and covered in whipped cream

sucking cherries." "TRENT! This is your boss! We've searched every inch of

your office looking for the rolling papers. WHERE ARE THEY?" "What's that

all about?" said the chick. "And who's the redhead?" "Umm.. it's nothing..

don't worry about it. And the redhead is my friend's girlfriend, she's a

waitress." "Whose girlfriend?" "His name is Denny." "Oh" "Ok, the important

thing here is that you ask 'why.'" "Why is he named Denny" "Well, otherwise,

people would just call him "hey you" or "hey guy" or something  like that."

"But is there any significance to his name?" "His parents conceived him in a

stall." The name fit him like a condom, he frequents the place often. Mind

you, not like the broken condom being used during his conception, more like

those condoms you wear when you end up going back to the store to buy a

bigger one. Denny was a ladies man. On each night of the week if he didn't

already have a date for that night, he was out getting 5 sometimes 6

numbers.  Of course they were sometimes social security numbers, but that

has nothing to do with this story. Now, where was I?  Oh yeah.  So the pizza

chick, who is now horny as hell and covered in play-dough is now wearing the

cock ring again.  I still don't know how she attaches it to her forehead,

but she's just asking for it.  In fact her exact words were, "Will you have

sex with me? I'm just asking for it." I thought that was weird, but then

again I thought my underwear turning purple in sunlight was weird too. But

that was in another place, another time, and another acid trip. Now it was

Berlin, in 1940. General Steindorfenmikalsteipeinheimer was leading

Shiestbeister to Markdofer for a quick game of Russian polo.  That still

baffles me seeing as how the Germans were on the Axis powers and Russia was

part of the Allies, but this isn't a history class now is it.  Or is it?

<twilight music plays> The German army were mean sons o' bitches, and they

hated to play polo seeing as they had no horses or any balls for that

matter.  So needless to say they were looking forward to looking up Heidi

Himmler's dress which is what she let everybody do after they played a game.

In fact sometimes they would even get pizza delivered to their houses when

they won a game. Which brings me back to present day seeing as how we're

going to get sex from this pizza chick with play-dough boobs. But what else

is new, really? I mean c'mon. My uncles Dan and Mark knew enough about this

subject to write TWO volumes of the "Sex, and other things do with women"

handbook/encyclopedias. So here I am with the German chick with the

play-do'd tits. Well, we didn't make it to the bedroom. I think we made it 3

feet from my door by the time I  started pumping inside her.

"And that's what you think of every night while you're masturbating." "Yeah,
Pat." I said, "that's it." "Shit. I never get that complicated, it's more


And I ventured into his mind while he tells his story. Come on the
highway... past 55... past overdrive... let's travel into Pat's  sex


It was a dark and gloomy place, yet it still had a warm and gentle feeling
to it.  The walls were red with plaid polka-dots on them.  Which brings me

up to the subject of underwear.  Why does it do this, because Dan and I are

a little bit high right now so we want to talk about underwear and now

dammit.  Yet one more time, I digress. So I have this pair of silk boxers,

they have polka-dots on them and sometimes cheese whiz, but that's only when

I eat Ritz Crackers. <Nabisco jingle plays in background>  So the thing is

that when you wash the boxers, the color runs hence making it the same color

as the background throughout. Oh, yeah.. Pat's masturbation preference...


There I was. Watching people log on Aaaaaaaaaauuuuuuuugggghhhhhh. But this
time was different. This time a Niki Taylorish chick was sitting on my bed.

She was wearing nothing but a STuSSY hat. Her long blonde hair came down

past her shoulders. Her sky blue eyes looked at me only in the way that Dan

looks at any cheerleader with two legs, and she had a laptop laying and a

place that just wasn't flat. Pat dove for it.  The laptop was now in his

reach.  He could extract it from above her thighs, and make a break for it.

He put one hand on her left pinky toe and his other on the laptop. As much

as the pinky toe thing excited her and turned her on, she dragged her

thoughts away from it and blurted out a hearty, "Not so fast little camper,

I'm sending you to jail where you'll meet a really nice man called Mike

Tyson who likes little boys about your age. Pat just said, "You're not going

to get me this time bitch." and he grabbed the laptop and kissed her goodbye

on his way out to work at the NASA Do it Yourself store to buy a part to

build his new rocket which would take him to the real climax in this story.

Now it was another place, another planet, another acid trip. Now it was

Berlin, in 1940. General Livinculurinheimer was leading Shiestbeister to

Markdofer for a quick game of Russian polo.  That still baffles me seeing as

how the Germans were on the Axis powers and Russia was part of the Allies,

but this isn't a history class now is it. Or is it? <twilight music plays>

Deja Vu is weird, eh? The German army were mean sons o' bitches, and they

hated to play polo seeing as they had no horses or any balls for that

matter.  So needless to say they were looking forward to looking up Heidi

Himmler's dress which is what she let everybody do after they played a game.

In fact sometimes they would even get pizza delivered to their houses when

they won a game. Then they would skank all night. Which brings me back to

present day. He arrived on Mars with Dave Kirchgessner. We walked for what

seemed like hours before we realized that there was the most beautiful

creature I had ever seen on that particular planet. We were immediately

attracted. Since Dave is really hot she went for him. Leaving me, of course,

with her best friend Shann-N. She said what translated into "HELL-O!" and

was on top of me."

"Cool, eh?" "Yes, hoser." "Ok, Dan. What about you." "Umm.. well,it's not
that exciting really. I wait  until dark, or  sometimes afternoon, or even

morning. Then, when the mood strikes. I just for it." "You don't think of

anything?" "Well..."

There I am, 69ing with a good friend of mine. And then he says to me..."

"Dan, stop." "That was one of the most incredible blow-jobs I've ever had,
Dan." "Dan, stop." "Thanks, man. It's fun, though." "Dan. Stop. This isn't a

homosexual story, ok? Will you fucking stop it, I don't want you packing

fudge with some fag." "Ok, Mark.. chill." "And stop looking at me like

that." "Ok.. can I fucking go on..." "Stop playing with yourself." "It

itches" <Mark goes into a weird laughing state.>


Ok. This incredibly beautiful blonde walks in. She's got green eyes that
seem to go into infinity when you stare at them. Wait. I think Liz has Brown

eyes.. fuck it's been weeks since  I've seen her.. I can't believe I don't

remember.. shit.. Anyway... let's just get her out of my mind. Like I can't

stop thinking of her.. ARGH.. At least Mark isn't here this second to make

fun of me for being in love with someone I can never have. <cue NiN music>

Maybe I'll continue what I started writing at Marks Grandma's now. Lemme

find that paper with the beginning first tho.

The rain beats down upon me. Washing away the tears. Mixing in with the
blood. I can't feel the cut anymore, the cold air has long since made half

my body numb. Yet, I can still taste the salty remains of the tears you shed

when we were last together. "Say it again," you pled. "I want to hear you

say it again." "I love you," I shouted, as you seemed to cringe away from

the volume of my booming voice." "I love you, and  I'll never let anyone

hurt you ever again." It seems like it was last week when that happened. In

reality it was over 6 years. But here she was, standing in front of me. Her

cheeks were red. Her eyes were tired. Her clothes were wrinkled. I think a

sock was missing. None of this mattered, though. What really mattered was

making curing her from whatever was tormenting her, and getting her back on

her feet. As ragged as she looked, I could still see a glimmer of the

beautiful girl I had once been in love with. Once.. Hell.. I still think of

her. What could've been.. but what never had the chance to bloom. "It was

Him again." "Him? Fuck, I didn't know god was in on this." She laughed. I

had not seen her laugh in ages. Her mouth even did the curling thing I'd

always found so cute. "So tell me, beautiful, what's eaten' ya?" "It's

Aerik." "Didn't you dump him on the bus in '86?" "No, that was Todd."

"Didn't you dump him by the shore in '89?" "No, that was Jim." "Didn't you

dump him at my house in   '91?. "No, that was Todd again." "Didn't you  you

dump  him at school in '94?" "No, that was Tom." "Didn't  you  dump him at

Silver Dairy in '92?" "No, that was the other Todd." "Did you ever go out

with this guy before?" "Yeah. in '88, '89, '91,'93, and my senior year,

too." "Oh. Well. What's the problem this time?" "He lost my car keys." "Dump

that bastard." "I wish it were that easy. He's mafia now." "Keep fucking

him." "Really? Wow! That makes so much sense. I knew I could count on you,

Dan." <peck on cheek> She gave me a hug, and headed out the door. It was the

last time I saw her.

But that was another time, another place, another flashback, and another
acid trip.

Now it was Berlin, in 1940. General Kurdtkobainenheimer was leading
Shiestbeister to Markdofer for a quick game of Russian polo.  That still

baffles me seeing as how the Germans were on the Axis powers and Russia was

part of the Allies, but this isn't a history class now is it. Or is it?

<twilight music plays> Deja Vu is weird, eh? The German army were mean sons

o' bitches, and they hated to play polo seeing as they had no horses or any

balls for that matter.  So needless to say they were looking forward to

looking up Heidi Himmler's dress which is what she let everybody do after

they played a game.  In fact sometimes they would even get pizza delivered

to their houses when they won a game. Which brings me to Pizza Hut. I worked

at a Pizza Hut in Florida. But only for eight days. I started on June 11th,

1994. It was the day SHE arrived in the Sunshine State. Her hair was blonde.

I first spotted her as she walked past the lobby.

To Be Continued.

Circa 1993.. written by Mark Samp and Dan
while Up North at Pat Murphy's Cottage

(Like most of the things we wrote, it was never actually 'continued.')


  Last Updated November 24, 2001

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