Archive | August, 2009

Meet the Editor.

18 Aug

Hey, everyone. My name is Kyle Irion, owner, CEO, author, and Czar of ironkyle.wordpress.com. It takes a lot to run this site. Today I’m going to introduce you to probably the fourth or fifth biggest part of IronKyle: my editor. He edits for a lot of things: spelling, grammar, offensive material, and fun. I thought it would be really nice if everybody got to meet him outside of the bracketed “Editor’s Notes” you see on my blogs. We sat down for an interview at my home in Waxahachie. I feel like we really learned a lot from each other. Here’s the poop:

“Hello… editor…” There is a long pause. I don’t remember this man’s name.

“…Do you… do you not remember my name?” No, I do not remember this man’s name. He hangs his head for a second and sighs deeply. “How do you not remember my name? You hired me. You sign my checks every month.”

“Editor,” I pause for a moment. “I just feel that you and I have such an intimate relationship th–”

“Professional–professional relationship,” he interrupts. “My wife reads these. You understand.”

“Yea. Anyway, aren’t we beyond silly ‘names’? Can’t we just be co-humans for a bit?”

“I suppose so.”

“I suppose so, too. So, first question. Tell the internet. Am I a good boss?”

“It’s…” He searches for words. “I wouldn’t say so, no. You are constantly insulting me in your blogs. You promise people outrageous things and then direct them to me to collect. Do you know how many times I’ve had to change my phone number since I started working for you? Like six. Six times. I don’t get paid nearly enough. And another thing–handing me a box of band-aids and a copy of the bible is not a medical benefits package.”

I am aghast at these allegations. “You don’t think Jesus Christ our personal Lord and Savior, heavenly and mighty, shining on in all his glory forever and ever in the presence of His Holy Father, born of a virgin under the light of all God’s angels, can protect you from disease?” I ask. I bring my hand to my heart, because that’s where Jesus lives–and if Jesus heard what Editor said, he probably wasn’t feeling too good.

I’m not saying that at all. I personally don’t think God works like that.”

“Ah, so you’re saying God is a bum?”

“Excuse me? How did you get th–”

“You said God doesn’t work. He’s unemployed. Are you now saying you wouldn’t hire Jesus Christ if he walked into your business and asked for a job?”

“Well, what’s the business?” Editor asks. Good question.

“…Editing.” I say, hesitantly.

“Does Jesus have any prior experience?”

“He scared a demon out of a man and into some pigs once.”

“No, I wouldn’t hire him, then.” Editor says.

We sit in absolute silence while I get out my phone to text my mom’s church friends.

“What is the best part about being my editor?” I ask.

“Hm. Well, really it’s the places that we’ve gone and some of the famous people I’ve gotten to meet. It’s really a privilege to do what I do, in spite of the…hardships. The really cool thing is when I have been fortunate enough to actually create friendships with these celebrities.”

“Friendships?” I think about all my celebrity friends.

celebfriends“Yea, I’ve retained fairly good friendships with a couple of our interviewees.” Editor says. “Since the tweeting blog, I’ve become fairly close to John Mayer and Shaq. John was at my apartment last weekend. I met John Legend at Michael Jackson’s viewing and we still exchange phone calls fairly regularly.”

“You’re not allowed to go on any of the trips anymore,” I say.

“What? Why not? Who’s going to remember to give them the release forms?”

“I will.”

You will.”

“Yes.”

“Kyle, in case you don’t remember, the last time you did the paperwork with our guests for on-site interviews, you tried to give Madonna a release form that had a big butt drawn on it. When she questioned it, you told her it was because you didn’t want her to touch your real butt with her witch/Kaballah hands.”

“That’s a reasonable request. Kaballah is witchcraft.” I say.

“No Kyle, it isn’t. Kaballah is a mystic branch of Judaism. Regardless, to limit the risk of repeated incidents, I’ve been handling the legal side of it ever since.”

“Well I want to do handle it again.”

“No.” Editor responded. I decided to drop it here. Editor looked like he was going to cry or something. [Editor’s Note: You’re a child.] “Let me ask you one more question, Editor,” I said. “What do you like to do in your spare time? What are your passions?”

“Oh, man. I love art, really. Poetry, painting. I actually do a little writing of my own. I keep it all on my computer, though. I’m not gutsy enough to put it out there where everybody can read it, but I’ve been considering getting a blog recently and posting some of it.”

“So you’d be competition, then?” I start eyeballing an aluminum baseball bat in the corner of the room. “You think anybody can do this blogging thing?”

“Yes. That’s one of the crucial parts of what makes blogging the phenomenon. Anybody can bl–” I slap Editor across his face. He gasps. I immediately withdraw my hand and stand from my seat. I take several paces away from the table and tears fill my eyes.

“I’m…I’m sorry. I don’t know wh–” I say.

“You… you hit me.” Editor says. He’s awestruck.

“I’m s–” I struggle to express my remorse. A gulf opens between us.

“I quit.” Editor stands up and walks towards the door.

“Editor! Wait! I have something I need to tell you.” His hand on the knob, back to me, his head turns only slightly, now viewing me from over his shoulder.

“What is it?” He says.

“I love you. I love you and I’m sorry for taking you for granted. You do a great job and this site wouldn’t be half of what it is without you. I wouldn’t be half of what I am without you. Come back. Let’s start over.” He let go of the knob and turned to me. It is now that I notice something I couldn’t when Editor had his back to me: Tears.

“All I’ve ever wanted to be was appreciated. Of course I’ll come back.” His lip began to shake–like a girl’s lip would after she found out somebody called her fat. I think Editor might just be a really ugly girl. [Editor’s Note: God damn you, Kyle.]

Yes, Editor. God damn me. God damn everyone. For IronKyle, this is Kyle Irion–signing off. Good day.

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Kyle Speaks: A Series of Quotes on a Variety of Topics

16 Aug

Hello. How are you? Good, that’s good.

I get calls from politicians and speech writers all the time, asking for quotes on a variety of topics.  I sometimes don’t have time to stop down and find the specific quote they ask for, though. I have things to do. Judge Judy only comes on three times a day, and I can’t miss it. I’m sorry if I care about justice.

Now, fortunately, I’ve had time to compile a list of my greatest quotes used at various speaking engagements throughout my life. Enjoy.

Babies

“Babies are truly a blessing–no matter how you get one: planned or accidental, in or out of wedlock, in or out of a dumpster. I however, prefer my children left in a basket on my door step. If the movies have anything to say about it, those kids always end up being the best.” —Kyle Irion at a Planned Parenthood Conference, 2005.

Death

“Death comes to us all–unless you’re the Highlander–or Mickey Rooney. But yea, death definitely, definitely, came to George Carlin.” –Kyle Irion at the funeral of comedian George Carlin, 2009.

“‘Do not go gentle into that dark night.’ That is beautiful poetry by the English poet Dylan Thomas. Let me give you some more poetry, written by me: ‘Sometimes when you drive your car into a tree things don’t end up so good.'” —Kyle Irion at a MADD Luncheon, 2007.

Government

“Thomas Jefferson said that ‘The tree of Liberty needs to be watered from time to time with the blood of patriots and tyrants.’ Smart. But I say that ‘The tree of Liberty needs to be watered from time to time with the urine from Barack Obama’s weiner.'” -Kyle Irion at a Democratic Party Convention, 2008.

“The best governments are those that govern fairly and strongly. The greatest leaders are wise, rational, and compassionate. The greatest government America can hope for is a dictatorship under Professor Charles Xavier.” -Kyle Irion on Meet the Press, 2004.

Love

“Listen. I love love. I especially love love when it’s from behind.” Kyle Irion at the Hallmark Greetings Annual Writer’s Ball, 2007.

“The best love in this world costs you nothing. The second best love in this world costs you $45 and a ride back from the motel.” –Kyle Irion at a special Valentine’s Day assembly at Shackelford Elementary School, 2006.

I really hope you all learned something. I’ll post more of these as I find them. In the meantime, just sit and ponder these that sit before you. I’m sure you’ll find something you need. You just gotta.

“Saying goodbye is a lot like homicide. It’s only fun when you don’t like the person.” -Kyle Irion, to you, just now.

LiveBlog: My Stay at the Social Security Office

13 Aug

My sister recently got married.  Unfortunately for her standing in the Women’s Lib movement, she decided to take her husband’s last name. Changing your name requires a bit of paperwork. A bit. Of. Paperwork. Kasey, my sister, didn’t want to go alone, so I volunteered to keep her company while she went to the Social Security Office to submit her forms. I had never been to the Social Security Office  or changed my name before, so I figured I’d log my experience and share my findings with you in the form of liveblog.

1:55 pm

We arrive at the Social Security Office. It’s a new building, a mix of concrete and brick of varying brown tones. It’s a single room connected to a corridor lined with windows where clerks sit. In the room there are roughly twenty or so chairs. We walk through the glass doors and are immediately met by a security guard telling me to leave my drink at the door. I told him to leave his attitude at his stupid little booth thing.

2:15 pm

I sneak back into the office through a side door. My sister is sitting quietly, holding her marriage license, name-change forms, and some other piece of paper that I later found out was a death note the security guard had handed my sister to give to me.

2:24 pm

I take a moment to put together an inventory of those in the office with me. There are people of all shapes, sizes, colors, creeds, and pant sizes. Across the aisle from me sits a glassy-eyed Hispanic man with two prosthetic legs. He looks out through the glass doors, looking at someone beyond my range of vision, and runs his index finger across his throat. He then looks at me and quickly averts his gaze. This is the last day I will spend on Earth.

2:46 pm

This is so goddamn boring. A man enters who looks a lot like Hurley from LOST. His odor is horrific. He’s with his mother and father. His father has a tube running from a bag and into the back of his leg, which is in a cast, so I can’t see EXACTLY where the tube ends.

Smelly Hurley sits down next to me and almost immediately falls asleep. While he’s sleeping I spray him with some Febreeze I got from a custodian. I receive high fives and appreciative nods from everyone in the room. His dad gives me four dollars.

2:58 pm

A child, his mother, and grandmother come in and sit across from me, next to the Hispanic gentleman who I believe will be my killer. The child, who is having to sit with his mother from a lack of chair space, squirms about for a few minutes, grunting and occasionally making guttural noises of impatience and restlessness. Finally, someone leaves and the boy gets a chair to himself. He is now sitting directly in front of me.  I’m looking out the window when I hear a small voice begin to sing the “Happy Birthday” song. I turn to find the source and it’s the boy. He’s looking directly at me–singing to me. “Happy birthday, dear mister, happy birthday to you.” He smiles at the end of every verse and points to the Hispanic gentleman. I can feel a cold chill run up my spine. I get up and walk to read some free literature about getting a work visa.

3:03 pm

Not-so-stinky Hurley wakes up and smells himself. He smiles, picks his nose, and goes back to sleep.

3:06 pm

I’m now standing next to the brochures. Now I’m reading about my W-9. A boy next to me is taking brochures out of their designated slots and mixing them around. The Security Guard (Or Security Tard as I call him) came up to us. He scolded the boy and put all the brochures back. His arm hairs brushed my own. I felt an energy, a symmetry. I took this as a green light to grab his gun, because now it’s our gun.

3:30 pm

I was wrong. It was not our gun. The gun belonged to the United States Government.

3:37 pm

Sam Miller come bail me out of jail.

So that was my stay at the Social Security Office. What did you think? Write me soon.

Love,

Kyle

Mailbag 4: Giggle Free or Laugh Hard

10 Aug

My inbox is flooded with questions and some of them are very important. I love helping out my readers, and I’m proud to afford an open line of communication with the public. Let’s get down to business.

You ever seen those little birds that just sit there spaced out and won’t move–unless you kick ’em? Isn’t that fuckin’ weird? Sam, Highland Village TX

Sam, thanks for the question. The bird you’re referring to could be motionless and “spaced out” because it is, in fact, yard art. In which case, you may have just embarrassed yourself in front of the internet.

It could also be one of several different breeds of domestic birds that have become acclimated to the presence of people, such as the common Rock Pigeon. It’s the bird with the same kind of “You won’t do nothin'” smugness disrespectful children show to people who aren’t their parents. What you need to do is kick it as hard as you can. As hard as you can.

As hard as you can.

As hard as you can.

As hard as you can.

As hard as you can.

Kyle, I’ve been noticing something that really bothers me while I’m driving to work. I saw a truck with a pair of large, orange, testicles hanging from the trailer hitch. This broke my heart, because my car doesn’t have those. Few cars do, in fact. Does this mean my car was neutered by a previous owner? Will my car ever feel like it’s a full “car” on the inside? Is my car just a girl?  Sam, Highland Village TX

That’s quite a question, young man. Let me start with this: the level of emotional dedication and love you have for your vehicle is at both times moving and disconcerting. Take your car to the mechanic. Tell them you want your inspection. When your car is in the dock, walk over to the head mechanic and, very quietly, almost at a whisper, ask them to show you the car’s sex organs. Reach your hand to where you think they are, then as a reference point, gesture toward the mechanic’s genitals, then back to the car. Just do that. And film it. Send me the tape.

Is it OK to high five yourself for getting some the night before if no one else is around to share the victory? — Phil, Plano TX

I weep for those who can’t give themselves a high five. I love pouring adulation on myself. I will, on  a regular basis, throw myself “Congrats” luncheons when I’ve done something good. I go to the Golden Corral at around 10 or so, set up a big table with lots of decorations and banners, shake hands with the manager and come back two hours later. I walk into the restaurant, look really surprised, and then sit down and eat two or three pounds of macaroni and cheese before falling asleep on a pile of dinner rolls.

What is your take on the “Bros before hos” supposition? –Jacob, Garland TX

I only care for those who can bear me a child. Get off my web site, Jacob.

Kyle, I was watching Sleepless in Seattle recently and it reminded me of your uncanny ability to pick up babes. Ever since I graduated and moved back in with my old roommates (some people prefer to call them parents), chasing tail has proven infinitely tougher. I don’t even know where girls my age hang out anymore and when I tell girls who are still in college that I graduated they look at me funny. I’ve resorted to finding where the local cougars hang out and now I eat at The Corner Bakery for lunch at least three times a week. Can you help me? Thanks! –Nolan, Lewisville TX

Nolan. Your problem is a common one–not so common as to affect me, but still very common.

Women your age usually hang out at places like the mall, grocery stores, and coffee shops. They enjoy makeup, dresses, and Lisa Frank stationary. Buy them lots of these things.

The reason girls look at you weird when you tell them you’ve graduated is probably because they feel you lack proper documentation. Girls love proper paperwork. Bring your diploma around with you, preferably in a frame, and preferably on a chain around your neck. This way, girls can see your degree just by looking for you. You’ve now made yourself irresistible.

Tonight I am stuck in an airport for an extra 13 hours because there was something they called “lightning” and “gale force winds.” Due to this I was forced to miss my date with my bed and shower. Now I’m sitting in an airport watching a creepy lady take pictures of people sleeping with her camera. On a scale of 1 to 10, how jealous are you? — Jack, Flower Mound TX

1.

If you could describe Austin City Limits in one word, what would it be?–Jeff, Tulsa OK

Hippystink.

What would you say would be our best option, as a country, to turn the economy around? –Nick, Mesa AZ

Man, this is a loaded question. There are so many different ways to go about it. I think if America wants to get back on track, we need a lot more of one thing: money. How do we get money? How does anybody get money? Craig’s List. For too long, Craig’s List has been severely underutilized by the National Government. We should be using this as an international tool for getting out of debt. I’ve set up a sample ad. Feel free to use this, America.

Land for Sale – $150,000,000,000 (Rhode Island)


Date: 2009-08-09, 2:19PM EDT
Reply to: sale-73mq-1314121372@craigslist.org [Errors when replying to ads?]


Antique state with great views. Lots of houses and people already there. Can be removed at buyer’s expense. Some minor flaws (High elderly population. Also can be removed at buyer’s expense.), but really a great piece of land. Perfect place to dump your country’s pesky industrial waste supply!
  • Location: America. We’re selling Rhode Island.
  • It’s NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests.
  • Willing to haggle. This State is priced to MOVE!

PostingID: 1314121372


We can also lease Will Ferrel out to the Chinese.

My Day With Stephen King

5 Aug

Have you ever seen The Shining? Have you ever seen Carrie? Have you ever seen It? These are all movies based on stories by Stephen King–America’s number one horror factory. I recently learned that one of my favorite films, The Shawshank Redemption, is also based on a book of his.

As a writer myself, I can’t help but admire King’s ability to craft fine narrative and create believable characters. I had my editor get in touch with Stephen King’s people, and he agreed to let me shadow him for a day.

I reached his beautiful Maine estate at noon. I got out of the taxi and looked at the gate in front of King’s home. The gate has been constructed to resemble a spider web. Atop each column sits an iron bat statue. I take a few steps forward and reach my quivering hand out to open the black metal latch. A car honk from behind makes me nearly leap out of my skin.

“EY! You gonna pay me ah what?” The driver of my taxi yelled from behind me. He sounds like a mean Will Hunting.

“I’m going to–” I pause, still set off-kilter by the home’s appearance. “Where I’m going, driver–” I look to the house. “There is no ‘fare.’ There is only blood and terror. There is also shit tons of money–most of which, I’m guessing, is kept in an underground vault that Stephen goes swimming in.” I dream of Scrooge McDuck.

“You gonna get any uh dat money to pay me with?”

“Hey man, how about you get out of here and stop ruining this moment for me? Seriously.” I issue him a dismissive hand wave and walk towards the gate. An empty Miller Lite can hits me in the back of the head and the driver pulls away.

I open the gate and it offers little resistance. I take a moment to remark at how well lubricated the hinges are. After a few seconds, however, I come to my senses and jump away. The hinges are probably lubricated with blood.

I reach the door of King’s beautiful Victorian-style home and knock tentatively. The door opens and there stands Stephen King. He looks so nice. He looks like a Muppet maybe.

Handsome.

So disarming.

“Hello.” He says. “Iron Kyle, I presume?”

“Yes sir. Stephen King, I presume?” We share a brief laugh, then the room goes cold.

“Of course it’s fucking Stephen King.” He says, suddenly very angry. “This is my house. Come in, but don’t talk to me for a while.”

We go inside and enter Stephen’s office. He sits at his computer and starts to work. There’s really nowhere for me to sit except a chair with a big knife taped to it. He turns, seeing my confusion, and gestures towards the seat. He’s obviously annoyed, and glares sharply at me before turning back to his work. Stephen King is so eccentric. He’s such an artist. That’s why he treated me the way he did. He’s just brilliant. [Editor’s Note: Kyle’s only saying that because he’s afraid Stephen will read this and send something through the computer at him.]

Stephen King writes 2,000 words a day, usually taking between four and six hours. Today it took eight because Stephen kept stopping to turn around and flick paper clips at me. When I asked him to stop, he’d tell me “I’ll stop…as soon as you also have the Medal of Distinguished Contribution to American Letters. Do you have that?” to which I’d usually respond with a deep, deep sigh.

After Stephen finished his 2,000 words, he took me on a walk of his estate. By this time, night had fallen, the stars and moon in full view. It’s truly beautiful, and not at all that haunted. It is a little haunted, though.

We walked along the beautiful Cedars. The grass was full and deep green. Birds could be heard calling to each other amongst the warm coastal air.

“Stephen, what inspires you to write the way you do?” Stephen begins to answer when he suddenly halts his step and looks around almost frantically.

“Hey, Kyle. Did you hear that?” Stephen asks.

“Hear what, Stephen?”

“I think it’s…I think it’s a ghost!”

Oh god! Where do you hear it?” I’m getting scared.

“Oh wait…here it comes again.” Stephen looks around and farts. The smell is almost unbearable. I hate Stephen King. He laughs hysterically, punches me on the arm a little too hard and walks back to his house.

He shows me my guest room and I go to sleep. The next morning over breakfast Stephen allows me to ask him a few questions about his success as an author.

“Stephen, you’ve had so many great books. Several of those have been adapted into film. Which film do you feel most accurately defines the tone and message of the book it was derived from?” Stephen thought on this for some time.

“Star Wars.”

“What?”

“Star Wars.”

“That’s not one of your books. You can’t–” At this point, Stephen looks up and points his knife at me.

“Star Wars.” He says.

“OK, next question.” Stephen King reaches over and wipes his mouth with a twenty dollar bill. I look down and notice his coasters are all DVD’s of The Mist.

I heard you’re going to work with J.J. Abrams on and adaptation of your Dark Tower series. Is this true?”

“Hold on. Tweeting.” He then holds his phone up, facing me. I hear a click. I log on later that day to see what he said.

“@JJAbrams Writer kid asking about Drk Twr movies. Looks like a gayer Shia LeBeouf. Pic: http://bit.ly/uf0jX”

We finished our interview without serious interruption and after awhile I packed my things and left. Stephen King made a few rude jokes about my mom and told me my blog sucked before I left.

What a fantastic weekend!

Kyle On: Blind Dating

3 Aug

People find love through a number of methods: online dating, blind dating, bar hopping, duct tape. There are a myriad of ways to meet someone special. Today, though, I’d like to shed my knowledge light on blind dating.

Blind dating scared the living daylights out of me, mainly because I thought you had to be blind to do it. I like to see things. I still haven’t seen the new Harry Potter, and I really need to do that before I go blind. After a brief discussion with some loved ones, however, I was informed that my assumption about blind dating was wildly off-base.

I wanted to know what blind dating was all about so I could better educate others who are equally as confused as I was. I asked my friends if they could set me up. One of my old room mates knew a girl that he thought would be perfect for me.

**Flash back starts**

“Dude, this girl is perfect for you!” He said.

“Oh yea? What’s she like?” I asked.

“It’s my sister, Cassie.”

“She hot?”

“It’s my sister.”

“Your hot sister?”

“Just my sister.”

“She sounds ugly.”

**Flash back ends**

He never called his sister, so I had to set up my own blind date. This would seem quite difficult–nearly impossible. How could I set myself up with a girl that I had never met nor seen? Easy. I went to the Parks Mall in Arlington this past weekend, assuming that the weekend would draw the highest number of attractive women. I brought my best friend, Wesley, along to help me. I don’t want to see the woman beforehand, and I don’t want to walk around with a blind fold, so me and Wesley decided that the best way to do this would be me pretending to be blind. I would dress up as a real-life blind man, complete with a cane, a sunglasses, and a surly disposition that borders on violent. Wesley would be my seeing eye dog. I told Wesley to attain a believable dog costume. This is what he showed up in:

I didn't get to see the costume until we'd met in the parking lot.

I didn't get to see the costume until we met in the parking lot.

Wesley would guide me to a girl he thought was attractive and I would ask her out, no questions asked, all the while keeping my eyes closed. I would keep the conversation to a minimum, mainly just a little small talk and an exchange of contact information, in order to maintain enough anonymity as possible before the date. I put all of my trust in Wesley to find me an attractive young lady to take out. This is how my trust was rewarded:

2_FullWesley led me to this man. His name is Henry and he works part time at the Bass Pro Shop in Garland. I’m not going to tell you what our date was like because that’s what Wesley would want me to do and I don’t reward betrayal.

Just know that I’m not ever going out on a blind date ever again.

Ever.

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