Archive | June, 2009

R.I.P. Billy Mays

29 Jun

Everyone– Billy Mays is dead.
He– what? No not Willie Mays, Hall of Fame baseball player. Billy Mays is– who do you think now? No. That’s Billy Blanks, inventor of Tae Bo. Billy Mays was the mouthpiece for such fine products such as OxyClean and Orange Glo.

Hello and goodbye, you sweet, tragic prince.

Hello and goodbye, you sweet, tragic prince.

Billy got his start working for his father’s hazardous waste company in Atlantic City, New Jersey. His father’s company was highly successful, due largely to the fact that New Jersey is the only state in the continental United States to actually be composed of hazardous waste.

“We pretty much just picked up dirt and put it in barrels,” Billy would later reminisce.*

He began selling soon after being employed by his father. Mays was taught “the pitch” by the older pitch men he worked with in New Jersey. His first big product, the Washmatic, he pitched to  passers-by on the Atlantic City Boardwalk, which is located just south of Atlantic Park Place and just down the way from Atlantic Pennsylvania Avenue.

It was at a Pittsburgh home show that Mays got his big break. After a conversation with rival salesman Max Appel (Which by the way, is a fantastic name for a salesman, with a simple pronunciation change making his name “Max Appeal.” Juss’ sayin’.), Mays was asked to be the new spokesman for a number of Appel’s products, such as the OxiClean, Orange Clean, Orange Glo, and Kaboom.

Billy “the man” Mays (my nick name) sold via the Home Shopping Network. His effect was immediate, with sales spiking sharply after his first week– much like the sharp spike in internet usage after I broke ground on my site. Me and Billy are like twin souls. From his success on HSN, Mays garnered a lot of demand from companies seeking salesmen or beards or salesmen with beards or guys that can yell loudly while smiling.

In 2008, Mays challenged fellow pitch-man Vince Offer to a pitch-off between their respective products: The Zorbeez and the ShamWow. After a review by Popular Mechanics, the ShamWow was found to be the superior prodcut. However, Mays proved to be the superior human, as Offer was later arrested for assaulting a prostitue.

The Discovery Channel, in 2009, actually began airing episodes of Pitchmen, a documentary-style television show following Mays and his life in direct-response marketing.

Mays was found unresponsive in his Florida home and pronounced dead at 7:45am. A later autopsy found hypertensive heart disease to be the cause of his death.

All in all, Mays seemed like a really nice guy– like an louder, more capitalist version of Richard Karn. I’m sure he’s somewhere in heaven, selling Jesus/Muhammad/Buddha/Vishnu/Michael Jackson on new and better ways to clean off all those pesky rust spots on their gold-paved streets.

*I’m pretty sure he said this. [Editor’s Note: He in fact did not. NJ is a beautiful state with a rich history and culture.]


27 Jun

The news is a strange and tricky beast. It’s on all the time, offers important and globally-pertinent information, and helps the viewer become a much more informed world-citizen. However, since the news is over 6 minutes long and doesn’t once mention mutant powers, I lose interest very quickly. I’m just now catching up.

Recently, there’s been a lot of buzz about this thing in Iran– this “election” business. It seems like one guy’s having a really good time and everybody else is kind of pissed. It’s like when you’re with a group of people and you’re eating cake (Perhaps at a cake party, or “caker.”), and there’s a piece that could easily be cut into four or five slices, but instead, one big, mean sonofabitch just eats the whole thing himself; and get this, he doesn’t feel bad about it.

Really though, you’ve heard a lot about the election already. By writing a whole blog about it, I’d just be beating a dead horse (And to be culturally appropriate, I’d use the bottom of my shoes.). So what I’m gonna dü is this: I’m going to introduce you to my friend Iran as I know it– as a country and as a people (none of which are gay).

Iran, or the artist formally known as Persia, is officially known by international governing bodies as the The Islamic Republic of Iran. “Iran” is a cognate of “Aryan” and translates directly to “Land of the Aryans.” This is not to be confused with my estate in Waxahachie, which is also known as “Land of the Irions.”

Iran is home to over seventy million (straight) people. It has one of the world’s longest running civilizations, with buildings and urban centers dating back to 7000 BC. Iran (I ran so far away) has been a highly influential force in the region for a long time, like a really long time, like before the 80’s. This is mainly because of their central location and good damn luck of possessing some of the richest oil fields in the world.

The governing of Iran has gone through a lot of hands through the years. After overthrowing the Qajar Dynasty, Iran gained it’s first constitution. I remember when I got my first constitution…


Iran’s constitution operated through a type of constitutional monarchy, with one central figure of power who was bound to precepts written in the constitution.

Things weren’t stable for long, though. In the Iranian Revolution of 1979, the Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini overthrew the current monarch, Shah Mohammad Reza Pahlavi, putting into motion the creation of the government currently in power in Iran. On April 1, 1979, a referendum was taken, and the monarchy was replaced by a strongly fundamentalist Islamic Theocracy. The Ayatollah was declared the Supreme Leader of Iran, with the power to appoint important government posts, declare war, direct Iranian radio and television broadcasts, act as supreme judge of legislation, taste all the beer first, take the first bite of your sandwich, decide what pants go with what shirts, make scary faces at children, wear white after Labor Day, double dip, record over your TiVo’s,  interpret the constituionality of laws, and pretty much whatever else the fuck he wants to do.


There’s also a president, elected by popular vote, who is the second most powerful individual in the Iranian government.

OK. Let me just stop right here. Turn the music down for a second. I’ve been reading about the Iranian government for roughly an hour or two now and it is terrifically, terrifically complicated. The thing you need to remember is this: The Supreme Leader runs the fucking show. There are several parts that can try to impart their will, but those parts are so numerous, their power so diluted, they really can’t do a whole hell of a lot without that guy up top’s endorsement.

Government. *Rolls eyes. You know what I mean?

Let’s talk about fun things.

Iranians know how to party. Big time. Look at this cat.

Theres like a million of these out there.

There's like a million of these out there.

That’s a Eurasian Lynx. It’s a creature indigenous to Iran. Yea, that’s cool. I get it. But hey, check out the weird cat thing me and Sam found after we got back from the bars the other night:

America- 1, Iran- 0

America- 1, Iran- 0

The official language of Iran is Persian. Natives of Iran refer to the language as “Fārsi” or “Parsi.” This is very similar to the American tradition of calling English “Shmenglish.” [Editor’s Note: That is Kyle’s tradition. No one else does that.] Parsi is the Arabicized version of “Fārsi,” much like this man is an Arabicized version of famous “Who” guitarist Pete Townshend.

Poetry is a huge part of Iranian history, literature, and language use. Even historical medical essays have been found written in verse. Many thinkers consider Persian literature among the four main bodies of literature in the world. For thousands of years, in fact, Persia was the intellectual center of the middle east. Many of the most important scholarly writings from the Middle East are written in the Persian language. One time, in class, Armenia was caught cheating off of one of Iran’s test papers. Armenia was flunked, causing it to be held back. It started running with a bad crowd, stealing, vandalizing, and skipping class. This started around the year 1915. The next two years are known to history as the Armenian Genocide. Don’t laugh at that joke. It isn’t funny. Shame on you if you did.

As far as the economy goes, about 45% of the government’s budget came from oil and natural gas revenues, and 31% came from taxes and fees. Massive government spending has resulted in a 14% inflation rate between 2000-2004. For those who don’t “get” economics, let me explain it. What this means is that of all the balloons in Iran, only 14% get inflated yearly. [Editor’s Note: I don’t have to say it, but you know, right? I mean, even if you don’t know what inflation is, you know it isn’t that. Right?]

Every year, 86% of balloons go uninflated. Is there nothing we can do?

Every year, 86% of balloons go uninflated. This puts a backbreaking strain on the Persian clown community. Is there nothing we can do?

In less than a thousand words, I’ve described the country of Iran. I believe, personally, my efforts can be described as “Just slightly above mediocre.” That’s at least 2 knotches higher than I had expected to go, with earlier projections having this blog at “Abandoned after first hard to spell name.” I actually have a much higher impression of Iran now that I’ve taken time to look at its history, which is a rich one. I think to write off Iran as this evil, misguided country because of recent events would be like calling America a failed, bloated, poorly lead nation because of the hardships of the Bush administration and early Obama administration; and everybody knows America is the fucking balls to the wall, flame throwing, hot dog eating, grand slam hitting, whiskey-drinking leader of the free world. Oops. Typo. That’s actually me. [Editor’s Note: No, that’s America.]

My “Drafts” Folder.

24 Jun

Welcome back.

You ever sit and think to yourself “Where does Kyle get his ideas for his blog?”? That’s weird. Don’t think about me. I can feel it when you’re thinking about me.

When I want to write a new post, I usually sit down and start typing, allowing the funniez to just come right out. My brain sticks it’s mental fingers down it’s mental throat and vomits all over the page (through my fingers–my real ones.). Sometimes, I have an idea set in place before I sit down– i.e., Kyle 2030, and the Swine Flu Saga.

Today, though, I thought I’d go back and try to work on what WordPress labels my “Drafts.” These are posts that I’ve started working on, but haven’t published. Every now and then I’ll just type in an idea and save as a draft so I can remember it for later.  I’m going to do a quick rundown of all the Drafts in my Draft box (where I keep my Drafts.)

My “Drafts” Folder.

How ironic. The draft I’m working on right now is in my draft box. This is causing a breakdown in the space time continuum. It’s also making me a little gassy. Let’s move on.

I Got Nothin’

I wrote this one roughly three weeks ago. It actually was the mama bear of the “Writer’s Block” entry. Here are some excerpts:

“So…where to begin. Ok, well. I think that…”

“I played softball the other day.”

What poetry.

I’m Watching Wesley

I was watching Wesley. There are no excerpts because I pretty much just wrote the title and closed out of the internet forever.

My Easter Sunday

This was the loser in the competition between my two ideas for an Easter post. I was going to do a narrative of my Easter with my family at my Grandmother’s home. Here are some excerpts:

“Terrified, I looked down at my hands. They were covered in blood. Quickly I took the bandana and threw it in the lake. I was ready to see again. Running up the bank I slipped and cut my hand. I curse quietly to myself and continue moving. There’s no time now.

The yard was quiet, but not serene. It felt as if the sound that should be there had been stolen, and everyone knew it. I hate pinatas. I hate them.”

Happy Easter!

Vegan Vegetarian

OK, so one day, May 4th to be exact, I was talking to Katie McCann on the facebook chat, or as I like to call it “So and so is no longer online, oh wait, yea they are. Damn it, they got off again.” She mentioned that she didn’t eat beef. I accused her of being a vegetarian (or as my old man calls ’em, “Communists.”). Quickly, I bring up WordPress and type in the words “Vegan Vegetarian,” because I wanted to do a piece on where all that mularkey came from, or maybe do a narrative on me experimenting with the lifestyle to better understand it. I chose the latter, and here’s an excerpt:

“I don’t feel like a man anymore. I hope Burt Reynolds doesn’t find out. Oh, God in heaven, I hope he never finds out.”

Hm. Maybe I should finish that one.

Iran Kyle

This is a SPECIAL SNEAK PREVIEW of an entry I’m working on right now. Sometimes my entries require research, and I’ve found that this one requires a lot of it. Here’s a little sneak preview excerpt. It might get edited out, but who gives a shit, right? You’ll love it anyway. Here it goes:

“The Supreme Leader of Iran is the most powerful post in the nation. According to WordPress stats, “Short Story I” is the most powerful post in my nation, with 60 views.

The government of Iran is set up a lot like if someone made a big list of all the different types of governments in the world, cut them up into little squares, put them in a hat, and pulled out a couple to use for the Iranian constitution.”

That’s offensive. You won’t see that in the post.


Well, that’s all I got as far as Drafts go. I feel like I’ve gotten some closure, and I hope you have too. I can now clean out my Drafts Box, essentially flushing my internet toilet.

Comb your hair, brush your teeth, buckle your seat belt, and eat your vegetables. Kyle loves you. Bye bye.

I’m Leaving Denton. God Damn It.

22 Jun









to miss



Believe it. I’m going to miss people, places, really the whole “ambiance” of the city of Denton. I’m going to miss the distinct possibility of seeing someone use an illicit substance in public. I’m going to miss seeing hairy, strangely dressed people sleeping against bike racks.

I’m going to miss being surrounded by people my own age.

I’m going to miss being around people who think it’s not a big deal to see a same sex couple showing affection.

I’m going to miss being around people who would do practically anything for a “free” anything.

Kyle at the Movies

20 Jun

Welcome back. *thunderous applause

I went to the movies the other day. Not this one, no– the other one. Yea, that one.

I went to the movies and saw Away We Go. It was so sweet. Here’s a brief quote from me as I was leaving the theater:

“I have been holding it since 9:30, please excuse me.”

The woman who was my date had this to say:

“I’m not his date. He just sat down next to me and ate my pop corn.”

She was just being coy. We made out later that evening.

Away We Go is about a young couple (played by John Krasinski and Maya Rudolph) in their early 30’s setting out to find a place to live. More importantly than that, though, they’re trying to find out their identity as a family. Oh yea, I forgot to mention that Maya Rudolph’s character, Verona, is pregnant as hell. John Krasinski’s character, Burt, is bearded as hell. Here’s a shot from the film:

You can also see John Krasinski on NBC's The Office

You can also see John Krasinski on NBC's The Office.

There’s plenty of funny in this movie. The first real gut-buster is when Maya Rudolph finds out she’s pregnant…and guess what? …IT WAS AN ACCIDENT! I remember laughing until there were tears coming out of my eyes at the idea of somebody getting pregnant by accident. That just never happens. I’ll show you why:



Burt and Verona, upon finding out about the pregnancy, move to the north east in order to be closer to Burt’s family when the baby is born. However, the couple soon finds out that Burt’s parents have decided to move to Belgium a month before the baby is due to be burdened with the terrible and tragically undeserved chore of living. Since the only reason Verona and Burt were living where they were was to be close to Burt’s parents, they see this as an opportunity for them too to pick up stakes and find their own place.

They bounce from Arizona, to Montreal, to Miami, to some other place, and then to Florida, staying with relatives and friends, the vast majority of which are married. Each sad and off-center couple helps to sharpen their vision of what it is they are as a couple and what it is they want to be as a family. They go from super-abrasive 21st-Century family, to New-Wave hippie family, eventually ending up with a lively, foreign couple, that I actually thought was a fairly inappropriate choice for the tone of the film:

You can also see Hitler on CBS's How I Met Your Mother

You can also see Hitler on CBS's How I Met Your Mother

From each family they learn something new. From the first: That you should love your children for who they are. From the second: That Verona’s sister is pretty hot. From the third: That a buttoned-down, flowing white shirt is a one way ticket to douche town. From the fourth: That little Asian girls are cute. From the fifth: That trampolines are an extremely romantic place to spend the night.

I had sex on that.

People had sex on that.

Since the next section deals with the ending, I’ll edit out the important facts. Instead, I’ll fill them in with replacement words, like a Mad Lib.

They end up  returning to Hoth, the childhood home of Conan O’Brien’s character, Spider Man. Here they realize that all they need is boogers and that the greatest gift they can give each other is X-Box.

So there you go. A quality movie evaluation/butchering in under 600 words.

Writer’s Block

18 Jun

It’s hard to always make the funnies. Right now, I’m stuck as hell. I need to find some hilarious. SO, today I decided to go out into the real world to write some hard hitting real life material. The notes I’ve taken are below.


“Kyle, you can take [homelessness] to the moon.” –Talia Esskandanian

Isn’t Talia so ignorant? She thinks homeless people can be astronauts. That’s so ignorant.

I went to a culvert to find some homeless people. I pull back the tall grass, trash and discarded corpses. Nothing. I’m so mad.

“Where oh where are all the hobos? Where oh where are the bums? Where oh where are the men without houses, the meeses without mouses, the womens without blouses? Oh I am so lost!”

I hang my head and kick the dirt. Oh my heart is feeling so hurt.

I go back home and try to think–of ways to make this blog not stink.


Drugs seem to me a strange thing, mystifying. I decided to seek out some drug users.

“Hey, Derek.” I say.

“Hey, Kyle,” Derek squeals. “How’s it going?”

“Do you do drugs, Derek?” I ask. While I ask, I’m loading a syringe of black tar heroin I got from my connect at Home Depot.

“No, no I–AHHH!” Here I inject Derek with the heroin. The heroin smells suspiciously like chocolate syrup. I think I’d like heroin on my ice cream. (Later that night, I put heroin on my ice cream.)

“How do you feel?” I ask Derek.

“My heart. Oh god…” He holds his chest and a foam begins to collect at the corners of his mouth.

“Drugs are bad.” I say, and walk out of the room.


Human trafficking has had a long history of being misunderstood by me. For quite some time I believed that human trafficking was when a bunch of people got caught in a really big line or crowd. I became alerted to my misinterpretation while having a conversation with a group of friends. I mentioned how much human trafficking was going on at Wal-Mart when I was grocery shopping. (“You’d of been appalled by the amount human trafficking I saw by the produce today.”)

I went out to look for a prostitute.

I found one within minutes.

I spent $38 and had the time of my life.


Letter from Kyle to you.

Hey. It seems like we haven’t been seeing a lot of each other lately. I’m really sorry about that. I don’t have a computer of my own anymore and have had some very un-IronKyle stressors sapping me of the giggle juice. I’ll be back, though. I’ll be back.

Special Guest Blog: Wesley Alford

17 Jun

Wesley Alford is a good friend of mine whom I’ve known for over 10 years. Enjoy his page once you’re done here.


An excerpt from Wesley Alford’s new book.

Look for it in your local book store in August 2009.




Luke, after burning his father, makes one more fire related joke.

“Liar, liar, your pants are on fire.”

He removes his marshmallow from the fire, makes a s’more and very respectfully pisses on the fire to put it out.  The sad Star Wars song plays loudly.  Luke noticed the three transparent blue figures near by.

“Maybe one of these ass-holes know where my bitch is at.”

“Hey guys.” The blue figures are Obi-Wan, Yoda, and Anakin Skywalker.

“How’s it goin’?” Obi Wan asks.

“Good. Good.” Awkward.

“Have you seen my girl?”

“Who?” Yoda said in his dumb way.

“My ho bag–Leia.” [Kyle’s note: in an earlier draft, Wesley referred to Leia as a ‘Cum dumpster.’]

“Ho…are you sure that’s what you’re searching for? I mean…” Obi Wan stops and the three of them exchange glances. “Because… remember how sure you were that Darth wasn’t your father?”

Yoda chimes in again in his stupid backwards talking way, “Find her you will. Strong she is in the force, like you…and your father, and your mother.” Yoda leans forwards a little bit on his cane and raises a leathery eye brow.

“Yea, that’s cool. Ok, I’m out. You guys’re gayer than the Star Wars Christmas Special.” Luke leaves to find Leia.

Leia and Han Solo where celebrating the destruction of the Death Star with a very special kiss.  Han holds Leia close.  Leia whispers

“I love you, Han.”

Han whispers back, “I’m going to bone the shit out of you.”

Lela smiles and hugs him hard.

“What you doing with my girl, ‘Han-sandwich?”  yells Luke.

“Luke, I meant to tell you, I’m your sister.”  Leia said.

“…Dear God!” Luke said quietly.

Luke was not worried about the very romantic kiss Leia gave him on Hoth. Oh no, he was worried about going to hell because of all the times he used the force to choke himself while he “Jedi-jerked-it” to holo-pictures of her as a form of “Space-auto-erotic-asphyxiation.”

“I G2G” Luke said, jumped on his space motorcycle, and disappeared into the sky.

That’s when Luke found the Starship Enterprise.  He is beamed aboard. He makes fun of Spock’s hair cut.

Luke, fresh off his break up with his sister, begins to court Uhura.  The Jedi way of courting involves groping and heavy breathing.

As Luke was being forcefully escorted off the enterprise, they received a call.  It was from the two evilest people in the galaxy, Space Hitler, and his right hand man, The Gay Marriage robot.

“Good evening, Genital-men” said Space Hitler, “All your bases are belong to us.”

Everyone has a good laugh at this old internet meme.

“But 4reals, we gonna take your ship,” Space Hitler said.

Panic filled every member of the Enterprise.  Luke looked up, and prayed to space god, David Bowie.  Space Hitler’s men started to board the enterprise. All hope seemed lost.

But then Wesley “Shits everywhere” Alford shows up, with his buddy Michael Phelps.  “Shit’s about to be everywhere, Hitler.”  Wesley says.

Emotional. Whimsical. even worst than the I-III trilogy.

Look for




In a store near you.

MAILBAG III: Second Punch, First Kill, Part 3

14 Jun

Sorry this is late. I had a friend who said he’d write a guest blog for today and didn’t. I’m not going to name any names, but if you e-mail me, I’ll give you his name, address, and other contact information.

Ok, you know the drill. Let’s get to screwin’.

I ordered a water at a fast food restaurant recently and was given a tiny, transparent plastic cup about half the size of the normal cups which are reserved for the people who order Coke. This happens every time I go to a fast food restaurant. I mean am I less thirsty just because I like to drink water? I was just wondering if you think America would be less fat and I would be less pissed if the water cups and the Coke cups were switched. Please help me.

–Nolan Cox, Highland Village TX

This is an excellent question. It is one that philosophers and scientists have grappled with for centuries, eons–hours, even. I consider myself a philosopher and a scientist, so the pattern goes on. I have a simple answer for you. Why are you given the clear cups? Because when fast food restaurants go through their sales at the end of the quarter, they tally up how many drinks they sold partially through the number of “Coke” cups they hand out. It’s also how they know how many health-conscious consumers they boned. There have been numerous times that I’m ordering a combo, because it’s faster, and I just get a drink so I get more for my money (water being free, water covering 70% of the earth, water being the most readily available natural resource in existence beside air, which is one of the ingredients of water). I’ve always thought that maybe they give water-drinkers the small cups as a way to push them back to drinking/buying their drinks. It’s like when people come to me and want me to give them an autograph, but without buying a licensed “Iron Kyle” photograph. To kind of steer them back towards buying the photo instead of me signing on a napkin or movie stub, I sign all un-official autographs like this:

autographI’m not sure if they actually get the message or not, but to make the difference in service clear, here’s what I give paying customers:

Please, please, please don't tell James Woods. Please don't.

Please, please, please don't tell James Woods. Please don't.

So, in summary, laziness, apathy, and glandular disorders make people fat, not plastic cups. I think if the cups were switched, you’d never order Coke again, taking millions out of the hands of fast food moguls, sending our economy into a tail spin that could only result in you living in an abandoned warehouse, peeing in a corner and rimming other vagrants for canned corn. That would sure as hell piss me off, so no, I don’t think you’d be any less pissed if they switched the cups.

Question Answer Rating: SMASHED!


One day I was walkin’ through campus after it had rained and I didn’t want to soak my feet or the bottom of my pants, so I might have tip-toed through some puddles… Is that gay?

–Sam Miller, Denton TX

Hm. Tip-toeing through puddles sounds pretty effeminate. However, what would be even gayer (meaning more fitting with homosexual culture) than tip toeing is if you found a male puddle and had sexual relations with it. As long as you tip toe with an angry, begrudged look on your face, you’re OK. If you giggle and accidentally drop your satchel, you may appear “gay.” Good luck out there, Sam.

Question Answer Rating: DOMINATED!


Our lifetime has seen an exponential increase in social technology. It seems more than ever we’re communicating through technology. Do you think we as a people are becoming less efficient communicators when we’re actually together?

–Lanny Thompson, Waxahachie TX

Lanny, great question. I thought for a long time about how to answer this question, and decided that the best way to analyze this issue was to dive in head first through empirical study. I met a woman on the internet, talked to her for a few days, and decided to meet up for a date. Here’s a transcription.

We met in a park in Denton, TX. She was sitting on a green, corrugated picnic table.

“Hello! Are you Kyle?” She holds out her hand.

“Hey.” I say, standing stock still. She slowly lowers her hand.

“How are you?” She asks.

“Fine. U?” I ask. I’m a good conversationalist, and am putting on a clinic in communication right now.

“Fine… Is that a frisbee you brought? I’m so bad at that. I can’t throw it more than like…two feet.”


“What? Did you just say ‘lol’?”

“Haha. No. Brb.” I turn around as if I needed to do something, but quickly realized there was nothing for me to do. There’s about 20 or so seconds of gut-wrenching silence.

“Kyle, are you feeling OK?”

“Uh, I dunno. LMAO. BBL. BRB! GTG! Oh, fuck–” I throw up all over her feet. She left after that.

So, to answer your question, God in heaven, yes. Technology is a strong contributor to our disintegrating social skills.

Question Answer Rating: BONED!


Is there a way to tell a girl you don’t know that she smells good without sounding creepy?

–Seaborn Sanders, Lewisville TX

Are you telling your significant other that she’s smelling good? If she is your significant other, you can compliment her fragrance without fear of being creepy. If she isn’t, well then no, there’s practically no way to tell her without sounding as creepy as a hairless cat with a hat on. *shivers

Question Answer Rating: MODERATELY RESOLVED!


Do you think boxer briefs effectively hide my thunder?

–Jack McGraw, Flower Mound TX

Stop e-mailing me. Stop writing me letters, stop calling my home. I’m telling you, that restraining order isn’t some kind of fucking joke. It’s real. Stay away from me, and stay away from my family.

Question Answer Rating: TROUNCED!


Where does “Kyle Irion” end and “IronKyle” begin?

–Jason Fieldman, Fort Worth TX

Oh my, that’s quite a question. IronKyle begins when the Lord of Hosts looked upon the void that was and spoke out his command for existence to commence. I think that was in like, 1987, or whatever. Let there be light. Let there be light. Kyle Irion ends when you cut his head off or shoot him with a silver bullet.



Well, there you go, everybody. Another mailbag in the books. All of these questions were sent to me by you, the people, the readers, the oil that greases the IronKyle machine my life blood. Later gators.

Oh yea, one more.

I want to hear more about C double R-E-D. Can you tell me more about the band C-Double R-E-D?

–Angela Frayre, Waxahachie TX

Angela is referencing a conversation we had in which I spelled “Creed” with two “R’s.” Isn’t she mean? I think she is. But anyway, Angela, here’s an update. Creed will be performing on Fox and Friends Morning Show on June 26th at 8 AM EST. They’re beginning a summer tour in support of their yet to be released new album, tentatively titled “Full Circle.” They’ll be in Dallas on September 22nd.

Question Answer Rating: TAKEN HIGHER!


12 Jun

Do you like presents? I do too.

I love the presents.

Well, here’s my present to you. You can now subscribe to my blog via the “KYLE TO THE MINUTE” icon on the right of your page. So, instead of checking back here only to be disappointed on no update days, you can just check that. Do it. I’m actually not sure if it works or not, so let me know.

Vanessa Quilantan Bio

11 Jun

This is Vanessa Quilantan: writer  and creator of

Yea, thats her.

Yea, that's her.

She asked me to write the biography section of her site. I’ve known this woman for roughly a month, so a biography seemed a bit daunting. Then I remembered that I also wrote an entry about time travel, then another one about me interviewing with the CIA, and told my doubts to shut the fuck up.

The last time I saw her I let her borrow my auxiliary cable for my iPod, and you know what? She gave it right back. That’s the kind of girl she is. Anyway, I wrote this entry for her site, but I think it’s pretty good on it’s own. So just read the damn thing, then go to her site and subscribe the shit out of it.

Hi, I’m Kyle Irion, writer, CEO, president, and Czar of

When Vanessa approached me about writing her biography section,  I was a little leery–because she approached me in an alley and had a gun.

However, after talking it over with Vanessa, and roughly a half hour of crying into a mirror, I decided it was a pretty good idea. We decided to do an interview, a round table, a back and forth. We held our meeting at a lovely little coffee shop in Denton– just a hole in the wall, mom and pop place called “Starbucks.”

“Hello Vanessa, I’m glad you agreed to this public, well-lit location.” At this point, I’m still absolutely terrified by Vanessa Quilantan.

“No problem, Kyle. No problem.”

“So, let’s get started. Tell me a little about yourself and the site.”

“Well, in July I’ll be twenty. I’m about to move to Denton permanently with my best friends. I’m really excited to start my adult life, although it feels like I’ve been an ‘adult’ for a long time. Soon I’ll move out of my mom’s house for the first time–”

“THAT sucks.” I say.

“What sucks?” She asks.

“Moving out of mom’s place. I love mom. Lot’s of ice cream.” I rub my hands together and smile broadly.

“I…I want to move out of my mom’s place. I want to go out and be myself, not my mother’s daughter.”

“Vanessa,” I say. I’m going to try to sound intelligent and cultured. “Your last name–Quilantan, it sounds ethnic. It also sounds like a weapon that would be used on Star Trek. What’s the deal?”

She laughs and waves her hand at me playfully. I stare straight ahead and wait for her answer.

“…” I wait.

“…” She shifts uncomfortably in her seat.

“Where the hell is your name from?” Probably somewhere weird, I thought.

“It’s Spanish.” Yep. Weird. “I’m a quarter Spanish, a quarter Apache, a quarter Mexican, and a quarter Austrian.” I take a few moments to make sure her math is right. Then, finding it correct, decide to tell her about my own mixed heritage.

“I’m half white and half Caucasian.”

“Those are the same thing. White and Caucasian–they mean Anglo-Saxon.”

“Hm. That sounds smart. You must be smart, you’re on the internet. But please, go on– more about yourself.”

“In the fall, I’ll start college. I’m excited to be in a place that fosters creative thoughts. I want to spend my formative adult years in a place that encourages free expression.”

“Formative is a big word.”

“Mhm…” She pauses. “And really, I created the site to kind of document my progress and evolution as an artist.”

“Artists.” I roll my eyes and display a wry grin.


“You guys are crazy. So kooky. Can we get cookies after this?” She ignores this question and takes a sip of her coffee.

“FUCKING HOT!” She screams. “Why the FUCK is this so hot?! I hate this god damn place!”

I cringe at her use of bad words.

“Hey, hey dude!” She points at the man behind the counter. “This is what I think of your coffee!” She then spikes the coffee like a football, inciting a small explosion of coffee at her feet. “AND IT RUINED MY FUCKING SHOES!” I was about to tell her that it ruined her shoes because she spiked it inches from them, but at this point, I was still scared shitless.

I show her a yellow clutch purse (Where did this purse come from?) and throw it into the parking lot. She chases after it.

“OOH! SO cute!” Vanessa yells as she prances out of the coffee shop. I  lay a five dollar bill on the counter and walk away. As I leave I hear the clerk saying that our order was actually nine dollars. Turns out by “I’ll pay for it,” Vanessa meant she’d just take someone else’s order as the barista put it out. (I know what a barista is. Thanks, college!)

We finish our interview on the drive home. I’m driving because Vanessa has warrants out, like me. Mine are for parking violations. When I ask her what her’s are for, she just looks out the window and, half whispering, says “Loving too much, Kyle. Loving too much.”

I’m still scared shitless.

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