Archive for the ‘Holidays & Memories’ Category


Wednesday, May 10th, 2000

You know, you guys are ok. Pretty fine people in general if I may say so, and so I’ll tell you a little story. It’s about work, fun, commitment, and my grandmother Lena Link. I’m the first to admit that part of my family has had a checkered past. My grandfather on the German side would often have intercourse with pencils and my father was born without an anus. But we love each other regardless. My grandmother Lena was a huge brute of a woman. In her day she could take down a bull with her teeth and she was reported to give birth to bricks, I’m telling you people she was tuff. One time when I was at the tender age of twenty two and still had trouble tying my shoes, she beat me with my own brother. I mean it, she was tuff. Well, needless to say we were all very scared around Lena. If you said that you didn’t like supper she would climb onto the kitchen table and fart into your face until you finished every last bit. Tuff. One day I asked Lena “what was the most important thing in life.” And she made me lick her armpits. And I learned something that day. I learned something very important. My family is a bunch of assholes. But I learned something else. I learned about longevity. There is only one way to make it to the end of dinner while a large bottom blows awful air in your face. You need to focus. Which brings me to work. Today I had an extra special bad daily. It looked like Kevin Bacon was a little retarded boy, who slipped in cow flop. And if you ever read the quote I put at the bottom of my e-mail. ” Your only as good as your last daily” That makes me a hunk of shit today. It’s ok, today is my day for it. I guess what I’m trying to get at, is these darn things are going to happen. Boy do they suck, but there going to happen whether you like it or not. You cant help it. One thing I’ve noticed is that when the heat gets turned up, people get bunchy. I was pretty pissed at myself after daily’s, but I got over it. Sometimes I read an email or hear someone say something and it’s kind of bunchy. So here are some good rule to live by.

BR> It’s always your own damn fault.

Take it easy, enjoy work ( longevity people )

It’s not the computer. ( Craig is way to smart for that one, I know, I’ve tried!)

Quit complaining, sound like a bunch of sissy’s.

Take the heat when it is your turn.

And last but not least….

You’re only as good as your last daily.

Remember, we are not close because we like each other, we are close
because we are all a bunch of geeks who liked Sinbad.

Take it easy out there.


Rikky Tikky tikki

Tuesday, April 11th, 2000

When I was a kid we had a tiki. My parents observed a very rare tropical religious cult, after watching a particular Brady Bunch episode. They were kind of obsessed with it. My great grandpa who was one hundred and eleven at the time, was glazed and eaten alive with a pineapple in his mouth to appease some sort of ancient god. He was, I would say, rather tasty. My dad of coarse got the Neck, but he was head of the family. Anyway, one day, my curiosity got the best of me and I touched the Tiki. Just one gentle finger running ever so softly down it’s round little belly. I heard a real horrifying scream up from the bowls of some fantastic beast, and when I turned to look, my grandma cold clocked me right in the face. Blood shot hard from both my nostrils, as I groped for my face. Feeling warm blood pore over my hands. My little brother David who is quite a nice kid actually, jumped on my back and started stabbing me repeatedly with a huge butter knife. When I whirled around in pain to shake off the little monster, my mother sucker punched me in the groin, dropping me like fat bag of butter. I felt a couple of kicks in my face, and when I looked up, my grandma was crushing my head with the heal of her shoe. Anyway a couple of years later I came out of my coma, and found that they had strategically removed and eaten some of my body. My splean my kidney’s and all my veins and half of my heart and…well lets just say that John Wane Bobbit has nothing on me.

I guess the lesson to all of this is you can never really trust your grandmother.
I hope this helps

your pal


Stocks and Bonds

Thursday, March 23rd, 2000

If you think about it, people didn’t know squat about safety in the seventies. I mean, I look around now and I see people who ride bikes and they have got hecka hella gear. Helmets that make your head look funny. Weird Flash dance outfits all tight on your butt and stuff. Shoes that lock into the peddles? When I was a kid, my bicycle weighed about two hundred pounds. It was yellow and shaped like a chopper. I had some stupid bar that went way up over my head attached to my banana seat, and hand grips with rainbow tassels. Now I know what you are thinking. Your thinking “wow randy what a sissy bike” and yes I drank chocolate milk with it too. But here is the thing….I rode that bike into trees and rock walls. I jumped over ditches and thorn bushes. I threw rocks at it. I would ride it until the chain broke and then jump off as it smashed into a pile of wood with nails sticking out of them. If the frame bent I would jump on it until it was straight enough to ride again, or I would drag it home. I would leave it in the snow and then I would blow off an M80 in it. That bike kicked ass. Here is the other thing. The whole time I wore a t-shirt with shorts and no helmet. Most of the time I wouldn’t wear shoes or socks. Sure I got stitches here and there. Sure I broke a couple of fingers, and landed on my ruff and tumbles the wrong way after a real Evil Kenieval jump. I don’t think we even knew what a helmet was. My point is that we made it. Well, most of us made it it. Anthony Fercano didn’t make it, but we told him that you couldn’t jump a train and throw two sticks of dynamite. But the rest of us made it without all of that dumb junk they try and sell you today.

So people quit wearing Helmets and start crashing on your bikes again. Lets kill this ugly safety habit once and for all. Eric dove face first at a rock the first time I met him, and I like to see some of that gusto back here at the studio. Matt Jacobs has been wearing cool shit on his knees for months, and right now he has the manliest limp in this place. Ask anyone. Try crashing on the way to daily’s. Imagine the leeway you would get over your shot if your nose was hanging off by a thread. Ok? Now lets get back out there people.

your pal Randell J Krandell

Secret Santa

Monday, December 20th, 1999

I think about once in your life, you get a present that is so perfect, and made with so much skill, that it breaks you. Saturday night, I got that gift. I have my suspicions to who the culprit is, by the incredible craftsmanship, and care put into it. I was of coarse expecting a bag of pennies, or some wise ass gift that would make me suck in my belly for the next year, but I got something right out of my sketchbook. I have never gotten a better present, ever. My mom has tried for years to find so King Kong toy that would fit my liking, but it has never been made. No Toy store has it, and no collector can buy it. Because it is mine.
Thanks with all my heart to whoever made my gift.

— randy

the day grandpa John went down

Monday, November 22nd, 1999

Usually, about this time of year I start to get a little sentimental with all the holiday shit. I start to get excited about hour long specials where you can watch little clay dentists hang out with little clay reighndeer, and do funny stuff in the snow. But really, it has a lot to do with my grandpa. Big John we called him, I think he was blind, if he wasn’t his glasses were so thick, that he should have been. He was also pretty fat, I don’t know how he buttoned his shirt, because he stopped buying clothes when he was thin, so you could always see undershirt between the stretched buttons. Needless to say the kids all loved him. Grandpa John could sleep like the devil. I swear you couldn’t wake that bastard up from a nap with dynamite, and he took naps whenever he wanted, which was quite often. So anyway one Thanksgiving we took that dreaded ride into New Jersey which is kind of like eating warm mayonnaise. Two long hours in the car all jammed up in a suit, destination…..junkyard, just to see Grandpa John sleep. We arrive, no presents from grandma, sit around in a stink house waiting for the goddamn turkey to get done. Now here is the deal. Us Link kids were at the age where we couldn’t care less about food, you know? That was for the grownups, so with no presents from cheap ass grandma we were on our own. That of coarse left Grandpa John.

We snuck in the living room, and he was asleep in a chair. Like a big blind hunk of meat. mouth open snoring like some big animal you’ve never seen before. I swear you could feel the air rushing past your ears at he breathed. We crept up to the god awful opening and peered in. Something like a cows tongue moved inside and we ran for cover. After a bit it was apparent that the sleepy demon wasn’t going to stir, My brother Chris threw a marble inside….not a sound. It never hit whatever ground was in there. We giggled like kids will and then I threw in a pencil. Now, all of you who have never laughed at the retard bus can send me mail about how cruel I am, but the rest of you should just shut up. Well anyway, it became sort of a game, what things can we throw into Grandpa John’s mouth without him waking up. Well we got all sorts of really neat stuff in there. Every now and again a boot would bounce off his cheek, but we were a pretty good shot for little kids. We got up to his cigar ashtray I think when the smell of Turkey came floating in the room. When all of a sudden. Wham! his eyes shot open. “How ya doing boys” he said as he got up smacking his lips. I’m gonna go get the turkey neck he said and patted me on the head. After that we all sat down had a nice meal. Grandpa John was in rare form, eating and laughing, and getting our names mixed up. We finished dinner,he went into the next room sat down in his easy chair and never got up again. To this day, it is our little secret.

We never got caught, and I always give thanks.


Dougie Fresh

Monday, February 22nd, 1999

It’s no secret that my father was a mean bastard. Oh he’s real mushy now, but he’s pushing seventy. It’s a law that when you turn sixty five you’ve got to chill out the tough guy stuff. It’s also no secret that I sucked in school, every year. I just couldn’t do it, you know the homework, the math tests. Bunch of shit. So you can probably guess that the mean bastard and myself, well we butted heads a little. And that would be ok if the man was all skinny and weak, but he could still kick my ass, and like I said he’s clocking in at seventy. So needless to say I’ve dug a bunch of ditches, piled up logs, painted the chimney where all the wasp nests were. Real Great Escape stuff. I guess if I was just a little more like Doug, you know the guy upstairs who can tell your IQ by looking at your teeth. The guy that when he says hello to you you feel just a little smarter, then he walks away and you feel like an asshole cause he was probably making fun of you somehow. You know if I was just a little more like that guy, I wouldn’t have wasted so many years with my hiney all red from the belt. I mean I look at that guy and I think……I think….GOD I’M DUMB. Then I think no, wait I’m not dumb I’m just big boned… no uhhh…Jesus, see what I mean, if I even think about that guy I lose all train of thought. What the hell was I talking about?


You’re only as good as your last daily


Chopping wood

Friday, January 15th, 1999

Well even though it was so cold back in New York that the snot in my nose froze and my ears turned red and hard with little cracks all over so if you touched them they would blow apart like the windows in the Haunting, I had a pretty good christmas. Oh I got the canary yellow shirt from mom that I will never wear. It’s funny, but every year my mom gets me somthing to wear that I would never wear in a million years. Every year. And every year I say somthing like Oh wow a canary yellow shirt this is great mom thanks. And then thats that. I mean….and I’m a going out on a limb hear folks, but I’m not that hard to shop for. A book, thats a good one. I like those…. I don’t read them but they really give those shelves a purpose. Uhhhh…..Knives I like Knives……How come nobody ever gets me a sword or a shot gun, or a chainsaw… Now I could use a chainsaw. Lots to cut. Lots to chop.. anyway I hope everybody got a least one or two things that were good, or that It wasn’t too awful to see family. I hope the New Year reselution bullshit you made on yourselves wasn’t to hard to keep. I swore off cookies, that lasted until I woke up the next morning. And I wanted to say that You dont have to wait until Christmas to buy a present for someone. I think that we should try to give presents to people, or me, all year long.

Ps While I’m on this phony christmas plug I’ll say that Gibby is having a hard time on his blocking, Bad plates and all that so be kind to him. And Blair seems to have mistplaced his Gandalf the White action figure and I think he is real bent about it so keep a lookout. Thanks
your pal


Secret Santa

Tuesday, December 15th, 1998

I just wanted to say that I’m going to kill the bastard who is responsible for my secret santa. What kind of mean spirited maniac would give a likeness of someone as a present. I called my mom this morning to tell her about it and she broke down crying. She tried to say, “no your not fat your big boned” but she couldn’t get it out. God forbid if I told her about the cross. When I find you Heaven help us all.


Thursday, October 29th, 1998

My little brother David got a flu shot once. The nurse stabbed around in his arm again and again but couldn’t find a vein. The needle chiped away at the bone in his arm until his face turned blue and he began to vomit a green bile mixed with blood and little square carrot cubes. The needle finally broke off under the skin and until this day he thinks he is a 1947 Buick and he farts bubbles. But hey man its only five bucks.

me and you

Tuesday, October 13th, 1998

Now some of you may already know this but my father was really strict. I’m talking three and a half acres with a push mower. No saturday morning cartoons, just me and the weeds. Pulling out poison ivy with no gloves. My mom was a push over so I always went to her with the old report card. Then it was off to my room to wait for the horrible sound of my dads truck comming up the driveway. And I got the belt. Dont kid yourself. I got the belt a couple of times. My goddamm hiney would get so red, my own father couldn’t believe it. One time this girl… Jennnine Travia told me that since she was a girl, I couldn’t hit her. Even after she smacked me. So I punched her in the stomach. It was a bad idea, because her parents were friends with my parents. And Oh did I get the belt that night. But anyway, my dad is German, and I dont want to make anyone mad….Frank…but Germans are nuts. So I was beaten constantly by a crazy German and forced to spend endless saturdays eating poison ivy cause of bad grades and girls like Jennine Travia.

Now the only reason I bring this up is because of Christmas. I got shit canned this summer so I missed racking in the goods on my Birthday. And I figure you could all use a couple of months to ponder some gifts for me. I think maybe a little childhood guilt might open up those pockets a little.