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Thursday, April 30, 2015                        

That's Title-tainment!

    How title-ating.  Whatta Pun.  Anyway, school entry.  I forgot my glasses.  Now how am I supposed to see things.  Whatta joke.  What else and crap.  Here I am.  Writing words.  Just like last time.  Yeesh.  Nothing is going on.  I heard about it in a Dinosaur Jr. song.  I don't like Guided By Voices.  Get your own deal!  The Pixies don't like me.  Get your own Deal!  Let's make a deal.  Deal or no deal.  Deal me in.  Blackjack!  Whatta crap.  I had a dream I was looking at Mudhoney's discography.  That's a little scenario to show you what my life is like.  Not sure if it was accurate or not.  That would be pretty impressive if it was.  Anyway.  Huh the huh.  Bizarro World lunch today?  Possibly.  Yeesh.  What else and crap.  There are fire trucks all over campus.  That can't be good.  Unless if it's Career Day.  That's probably it.  And the fire department is doubling or tripling down their effort to recruit people.  Wanna Ride a Pole Every Day For Work?  Wait, no, that's the strip club's pitch.  Both occupations help the community.  You never know when you're gonna need an emergency stripper.
    Whatta idiot.  It's possible I used this title before. Callback!
  Yep.  Anyway, crazysheet is fun.  Let's get crazying with it.  And, if there's still time left over, then it's time for sheet.  Yep.  Yep.  Anyway.  I guess it's the end of April.  How wonderful.  Gotta think of interesting things to write.  I keep longingly looking at the website for Queens College's Dorm.  Maybe today they'll have a special give away!  Or, at least, 90% off.  I'm not asking for much.  Great.  Two more weeks.  That's just six individual classes.  Then, a few weeks off.  Probably to be stent doing pointless nonsense and bullshit.  Life well spent!  Life well stent.  I find drinking soda with alcohol in it is easier to chug than just regular soda.  Probably because the sodie is too cold it hurts my teef.  That'll explain it.  Yeesh.  Whattado.  Finish the paragraph, that's first of all.
    We're watching a movie in class.  Prime time to write.  I guess.  My parents were talking about what they want on their tombstone yesterday.  That's tons of fun.  It reminded me how much I used to be scared of dying.  As a kid, I would often get the sudden feeling, Shit, one day this is all going to be over!  Now that I'm older, I've realized life isn't so great that you're gonna miss it incalculably when you're gone.  Let's face it, life is a solid 5 or 6.  7 if you're lucky.  I'm sure as I get older the fear will return, but for now, I'm okay.  Now life scares me.  Intrusive thoughts in my head?  Wha?  That's not supposed to happen!  It's a living purgatory, it is.  With splashes of goodness.  Yeesh.  What else and crap.  Gottaways to go.  What is The Age of Innocence?  I'm guessing 24 and a half.  That seems right.  Yeesh.  I miss Alta Vista.  Where is justice.  Next time in in a bar and the waitress asks, "What can I get you," I'm gonna say, "Justice."  Then, "... ... ... It's a pun!  Think about it!"  I find puns are good for making first impressions.  And then, later on, puns are the ultimate aphrodisiac.
Yep.  Here we go with number four.  Number one is piss, number two is shit.
  You don't even wanna know what number four is.  I guess.  I'm accomplishing something here!  I'm writing!  I'm a great.  Yeesh.  Hi!  Tomorrow is May.  Mother May I.  That's how that go.  I gotta take a break from crazysheet for a while.  Get my head on straight.  Then come back with the website, "Sans Heat!"  Pund'it.  Yeesh.  What else is going on.  Crap and shit.  Shit and crap.  Number four and number five.  This was fun for about twenty minutes.  Gotta finish this paragraph in remaining class time, though.  I can possibly do that.  One would imagine.  I'm not really sure, to be honest.  Huh?  Eh.  erg.  if I get regular lunch, I can fifth paragraph it up in cafeteria.  Yeesh.  whatsforlunch.blogspot.com.  whatsblogspot.forlunch.com.  Yep.  Great.  Wonderful.  I got emotional listening to Everclear last night.  I've got no right making fun of Goo Goo Dolls person.  In fact, over the last few months, I've been listening to generally mainstream music.  Music that is assumed to be, by music aficionados, crappy.  I think it's to balance out listening to my own crappy songs.  That makes sense.  Or maybe I'm just past the age of caring about whether what I'm listening to is cool.  I had a dream where something happened.  Huh?  Oh, right.  I had a dream where something happened with the Saves The Day album, "Through Being Cool."  That about sums it up.
    Anyway.  Obviously Adequate Music.  That's how I'd describe what I've been listening to.  As opposed to my music, which is Generously Mediocre Music.  I'm in lunch.  Pizza.  Oppressingly Appetizing Meal.  Great.  The pizza cashier looks like a slightly less obese Santa.  I wouldn't be surprised if he was the influence.  Either way.  Either Santa was inspired by this guy, or this guy was inspired by Santa.  I just caught myself with my arm over my food, like you do in jail, so no one can mess with it.  I've been on the outside for three years!  Old Habits Die Hard.  And New Habits Unbreakable.  I can't stand myself sometimes.  if they ever make a new Lethal Weapon, I guarantee you, 100%, there will be a line in the trailer of Danny Glover saying, "I'm Way Too Old For This Shit!"  Except they'd have to cut right at the, "S" sound.  Not funny.  Too soon.  So, I survived without my glasses so far.  if I get hit by a bus, now you know why.  That doesn't make sense.  If I get hit by a bus, you'll never read this.  Like in the Eminem song, "Stan."  In the car they found a tape, but it didn't say who it was to..."  Really?  You're telling me in the news report, they'd go, Oh, also, we found a tape in the car.  It didn't say who it was to.  Is that really important to the news story?  Would they bother mentioning that crap.  See ya later.


-2:02 P.M.


Wednesday, April 29, 2015                        

Title On Title

    We be titling.  Welcome to another great entry at crazysheet?  How do I know it will be great?  Psychic powers.  That explains that.  It's weird that I would primarily use my psychic powers to predict whether my blog entries will be quality, but as they used say in formerly French occupied Haiti, C'est la vie.  I wonder if after guillotining someone, they go, c'est la mort, in a deadpan action hero voice.  If the French revolution was in this modern age, there'd be quite a lot of selfies taken with Marie Antoinette's severed head.  Also, forty years ago, if you told someone you were taking a selfie, they'd just assume that's what you call jacking off.  Jokes, jokes, jokes.  I like adequate jokes.  Anyway, two and a half more week of spring college.  Then come summer college.  Then something after that.  I forget what.  I can't waste my psychic powers to predict the seasons.  Some things are just better off figuring out in your own time.  Practically every day I have the thought, I should get that guitar/vocal teacher, really take things to the next level.  I'll get on that tomorrow.  I've been thinking that exact thought every day for weeks. That's how that go.  I told my group mate in Yoga I made music, so maybe I will use that for the background of my presentation.  I was listening to some songs on my walk today, and I think I've got enough songs that fit decently for Yoga-ization.  It's prime time to be exposing people to music.  Jesus, we're so close to the end of the semester, I want this to be over-- I NEED A NEW BEST FRIEND/SOMEONE WITH AN EAR TO LEND.  Everybody goes home happy.  The truth is, in my experience, at the end of spring, people don't want it to be over.  So they'll go home with this music memory of college, and want to relive the music over and over for the rest of their life until they request a special coffin that plays The Uppers on a never ending loop for all eternity.
    They should bury people with walkie talkies.  You know, just in case.  In case they wanna chat with their dead neighbor.  It's weird that we devote so much land to just putting dead guys underneath it.  Why not build a housing development over it.  What could go wrong?  The Poltergeist producers paid me five hundred dollars to make that riff.  Cha-Ching.  Anyway, where was I.  Almost May!  New color scheme and crap!  My Moms be getting herself a new HD-TV.  I'd watch that.  HD means High Definition, in case you don't know.  TV means TeleVision.  Television is like an oxymoron.  Tell a Vision?  You're mixing up sound and sight, you morons.  The good news is who cares.  It turns out Paul Blart II: The Blartening is still playing this upcoming weekend!  Finally, a second chance to who cares.  I used to know a girl named Blair.  Is that relevant?  Also, she was a witch project.  That's when Alicia Silverstone and friend dress you up to look like a witch in a musical montage.  And then eight years later you die.  That's the witch's curse, it is.  It's weird, though.  The actress from Don't Say a Word died.  Eh, whatever.  The person who does the voice of Luanne on King of the Hill died.  NO!  THAT'S TERRIBLE!  That's how I feel, at least.                
How did I get on that rant, and how do I make it up to you.  I'm writing words.  That's a pretty good start.  I'm thinking of what words to write, and actually typing them, and you get to read it and crap.  That's a pretty good deal.  One would imagine and crap.  Whattado.  My music is great.  Anyway.  I'm surprised Republicans aren't for getting rid of traffic lights.  Hey, if you crash your car, that's just survival of the fittest.  Also, I confuse Republicans with Charles Darwin.  In fifth grade, I did a presentation of Charles Darwin, as Charles Darwin.  I had a prop of like a toy skull, and I remember thinking, even then, this would be more appropriate if I was being Shakespeare.  To Be or Not To Be Shakespeare.  He's the only one who can answer in the affirmative and not have multiple personality disorder.  What if Shakespeare was  like Charlie Kaufman.  ... ... ... What if.  Anyway.
    Yep.  Another entry goin' at a solid C+.  That how that go.  What else is how it go.  I should try eating in the bizzaro-world cafeteria tomorrow.  So this is how the other half lives. Nathan's?  A hot dog themed restaurant?  Now I've seen everything!  The cashier at the pizza station is so jovial, though.  He's like a overweight guy, around 50, and he makes very upbeat and congenial small talk with everyone that comes by.  He's probably my best friend at Queens College, now that I think about it.  Every time I'm there, there's a part of me that wants to go, "Hi!  Remember Me?"  Because you want him to remember you, and you want to assume he does, based on his consistent ultra-agreeable personality, but he probably doesn't, and you're too embarrassed to ask.  Why isn't there a three credit class in Lunch Studies.  What's your major?  I'm majoring in lunch.  Perfect.  That's great, I guess.  Maybe not.  Sure killed time, though, didn't it?  Sure did.  Anyway.  Wha?  It's always sad when someone dies.  John Ritter died ... ... ... Was it Junior?  What an idiot I am.  I've been listening to a lot of Dinosaur Jr. lately.  It's pretty similar to some of my music, but 9000 times better.  But, yeah, I didn't even realize it while making my music, but it's just similar in how it's chords and riffs and crap and whatever.  Rock music with chords and riffs?  Whatta find!  I've been listening to songs with just bass guitar.  Like a rube!
    Another entry, almost in the books.
  Not even my psychic powers could have predicted how this one went.  So many interesting turns and paths, decent jokes and unfunny jokes, mostly boring life stories, fake confusion and real confusion.  And it all led to this, here, the fifth paragraph.  I like to call it the "Conclusion."  Just something I picked up on my English classes.  Don't mean to brag. Crazysheet is great.  My music is great.  Now all I need to do is contact the guitar/vocal teacher tomorrow, and I'll be on an interesting turn and path.  See ya later.

-1:17 P.M.      



Tuesday, April 28, 2015                        

I Have a Drinking Solution!

    Get it?  Well, negate the sentence.  Get it now?  Still no?  Man, I'm dealing with some A-Grade Idiots.  Where does E get off not being a grade.  Probably busy working with Ari to help Vince's career.  Anyway, huh?  Only two or three more weeks of spring classes.  The co-habitant of the Richard Move room is Edisa Weeks.  For some reason, I didn't think it was important to tell you before.  Sorry.  Anyway.  What the what.  Created a soundcloud page for The Uppers.  Soundcloud.com/the-uppers.  Where do keyboards get off not having a .com button.  Now how will I conveniently write 30 Rock spec scripts?  Anyway, available for your listening pleasure.  Also, what's the deal with anything.  I don't know.  "The only thing he never did was heroin," said my future bandmate, talking to his friends about someone.  That's a drug regimen I can get behind!  If I ever figure out a way to have a life, that's probably the way to go.  Or, just stick to alcohol and weed.  That's the responsible way to go.  Should probably make a pact with myself to walk the line, in that relative extent.  But only if I get to drive drunk.  If I can't drive drunk, then what even is the point?  Where do they get off in American Pie making a pact to have sex.  They realize it's out of their control, right?  Does their pact mean, when midnight is about to strike on the last day, they will rape someone?  I don't even wanna think about it.  That movie disgusts me.  Eugene Levy should retire from office immediately.
    Yees.  Also, bath salts.  I feel like going out of my mind and kill and eat my family.  That's a fun Sunday afternoon.  Oh, mushrooms intermittently, assuming I'm at least 95% sane by that time.  Which, let's be honest, it's 50/50 at best that I wind up at least 95% sane.  There's some math for ya.  Also, meth.  Jeez, what a downer.  Not meth, the realization I may never get sane enough to do mushrooms responsibly.  Meth is an upper.  C'mon, you Grade A Idiotics, even you had to know that one. I'm sick of going on RateMyProfessor and there being comments that the teacher is hot, and then, on the first day of class, they're a four or five at best.  I think people are rating on a sliding scale, saying they're hot for teachers.  Just like Van Halen did.  It doesn't matter anymore.  Probably not, at least.  Man, 95% sane.  I'd take mushrooms and have horror flashbacks to when I was 55% sane.  No one wants that.  Alcohol and weed.  In a perfect world.  I guess.  Who cares.  Not me.  I got better things to think about.  Like, how can I slowly work my way up the sanity scale?
    Anyway, in lunch.  I should write a book.  I could probably do that.  If I really tried.  Anyone got an idea for a book?  How about an adaptation of the movie Adaptation called Back To Normal?  What else.  Garfield Behind Closed DoorsWhen Is Waldo?  The Mixed Up Files of Chris Farley's Love Interest In Tommy Boy.  A Modern History of Tampa Bay.  I found out there's another, alternate lunch room right next door, in the same building.  With it's own food kiosks and stations and everything.  For some reason, I feel deeply attached to my lunch room.  I was in the new one, and I was like, Who are these animals, with their Nathan's and whatnot?  Alright.  Hey, there's a movie night at Queens College!  They're showing 21 Jump Street.  That's Almost the most recent installment in that franchise!  I like knocking into people with my Yoga mat.  Hey, if you didn't want to get hit by stuff, you shouldn't have left the house.  And definitely stay away from blackjack table.
Yeesh, indeed.  I have a pretty sizable pimple on my forehead.  Relatively certain it's a brain tumor.  Oh well, you win some, you lose some.  What about Soma, The Strokes song?  Which I believe is a reference to a drug in a book or movie?  So, is that pertinent?  One would assume.  You know what happens when you assume, don't you?  More often than not, you're exactly right.  How about that.  I can't donate two dollars to Nepal. I got several thousand tied up to Nigerian principles, but I've got a good feeling about this, it's really gonna pay off.  Principles.  Princes.  My Dad was Assistant principal.  I guess that makes me Prince Principal.  Also my Dad's name is Cecil Fielder.  Anyway, let's start over.  I can't donate two dollars to Nepal.  I need that money to buy half an iced coffee of which I would leave half over.  It's Moneyball, you wouldn't understand.  Why doesn't Nepal just get a bunch of guys with high OBP?  Seems pretty straightforward.  Sorry.  Sorry for all of that.  We wish them the best of luck, as we do all our friends overseas.  Here's hoping Nepal doesn't completely collapse and fall into the sea.  That happened to Andy Kaufman's hometown and I don't think he ever really recovered.
    Anyway, yup.  Indeed.  What crap.  Things going to crap in Baltimore.  I'm not really sure what's going on.  I didn't follow the story until just today, so it's all just shitty nonsense to me.  We wish Baltimore the best of luck, as we do all our cities who decided to marry land.  Sorry.  Sorry for all of that.  And by all of that, I mean, "Marry Land."  That's the real crime of the century.  When you marry land, on your wedding night, just before you come, you go, "Location, Location, Location!" It's real estate, you wouldn't understand.  Anyawy.  What an unfunny jerk.  That's how that go.  Anyway.  Let's get to the bottom of this Earthquake, yeah?  I suspect some foul play.  Location, location, location.  I make myself laugh.  Anyway.  Gettin close to the end of entry.  Another chunk of fun in the bank.  Damn am I an idiot.  See ya later.


-1:31 P.M.


Monday, April 27, 2015                        

There We Go

Although uploaded to the internet on Monday, 4/27/2015, this entry was written on Thursday, 4... something... 2000... something?

    Hi!  School entry.  That how that go.  What else is going on.  I've really made my triumphant return to drinking after cutting it down significantly for a week.  Because I'm really good at it.  Can't let that skill go to waste.  Yeesh.  I'm a hero.  I saw someone leave the Richard Move room five minutes ago, and now some guy came a-knocking at the door, to no avail.  So I shared with him what had been my private information, in the hope that it would help him with his endeavors.  He thanked me kindly, and thus I became a hero.  I may be misunderstanding the word hero.  It's when a guy knows that rooms are empty, right?  Cause in that case I am a hero.  It's 4/23.  That's the first three digits of my home phone number.  If that doesn't make a hero, I don't know what does.  Memba back in the day, not having to use the area code for local calls?  Life was simpler then.  Once but never again.  And that's the end of that chapter.  One would imagine.  I like how Harry Reid wears sunglasses now.  He looks like the Guy-Who-Will-Retire-At-The-End-Of-His-Term-inator.  Not so easy to read now, is it?  Where do I get off.  Harry Reid is a hero.  One would imagine he accomplished a thing or two over his illustrious career.  Who knows for sure, though.  That's Right, You're Gonna Be Senator!  I'm a moron.
    Anyway.  Yep.  Maybe I'll try a different student cafeteria today.  There's one that's in the style of a diner.  It might just be an actual diner located on campus.  Anyway, diner?  I love diners!  I'm all about diners!  I wonder if they have diner food.  For all I know, the building is a facade with nothing in it.  Anyway.  I don't get Rubik's Cube.  I don't want a toy that'll make me feel like an idiot.  That's no fun.  Anyway, what else and crap.  Two minutes to finish this paragraph before class starts.  I could do that.  Probably.  I just sneezed.  There's no worse feeling than almost sneezing.  You get the urge, the subtle tickle in your nostrils, you start to think, "Oh boy, here it comes," and... ... nothing.  I was about to get blessed by someone!  Now, I'm on my way to Hell!  I hate it when that happens.  Anyway.  Yeesh.  I should just stick with the pizza.  You don't change lunches in midstream. 
Lunch started.  Anyway.  Yes.  I gotta write some more.  That's great, just great.  It's weekend time.  Anyway.  Pokemon seems really cruel to me.  Making animals fight each other for your amusement.  Same with Street Fighter.  Maybe Ryu and Bison want to be friends.  You're ruining their friendship!  Also, Bulbasour is clearly the worst starting Pokemon.  Who chooses the Plant Pokemon?  No one, that's who.  Weekend time.  I should go up to the dorm with a boom box playing Iris.  That'll make at least one person happy. 


Wednesday, April 22, 2015                        

Me Sure Like Titles

    Here, here.  Hear, hear.  Hair, hair.  One of those has got to be right.  And I'm gonna narrow it down to the first two.  Anyway, whazzup.  I can't wait for the weekend, so I can see Paul Blart again.  And check out all the things I missed the first time around.  Anyway, yesterday was a drag.  Yesterday was my big chance to reveal my music making endeavors to my peers.  We're doing a group presentation in Yoga where we pick our own music to play in the back ground.  What music do you wanna...I HAVE A BAND.   Couldn't do it, though.  It's not appropriate Yoga music.  I need to teach Yoga for three minutes.  Alright, now put your hands in the air.  Start waving them as if you just don't care.  It's good for chakras and Eagle and triangle pose.  I decided I'll just go through the Warrior poses.  Those are the Matrix ones.  I guess I could play Matrix music in the background.  That would be pretty sweet.  Or just record myself saying, "This is The Matrix, pick the pill red or green, this is the Matrix, let's get Matrixing."  Because everyone loves a fool.  Next month is May.  I wonder what tricks it has in store for us.  Probably Memorial Day, and crap.  I don't get why Buddha is so great.  He probably sucked at Yoga, being the chubbster that he was.  Maybe he ate someone who was really good at Yoga.  That would solve that problem.  I'm pretty sure Buddha is Buddhists creation myth.  And the world came out of one of Buddha's rolls of fat.  The equivalent of The Garden of Eden was on his taint.  It's weird that they would contextualize their own creation story through the spectrum of Judeo-Christianity.  I guess that's real Namaste of them, I suppose.   
    Whatta paragraph that was.  A solid three or four out of something.  I like how there's a pose in Yoga called Happy Buddha.  Believe me, the only pose that should be called Happy Buddha is at the end when you say, "Namaste," and are done with the exercising.  He wants this crap to be over more than anyone.  The gym in Queens college is right next to the dorm, and while I was walking by, someone in the building had Iris by Goo Goo Dolls blasting.  It made me realize, I guess I'm not really missing out on that much by not dorming.  If I was dorming, I'd probably just listen to Two Princes and Anarchy In The U.K. 24 hours around the clock.  Like I did first semester Sophomore year.  That's not fair.  I also listened to Test Your Reflex, Badly Drawn Boy, and Wilco.  What a low point in my life.  Sob, I woulda bought her rockets, sob.  Sounds like fun, now that I think about it.  Whenever I picture myself dorming, in a fantasy scenario, it's always me running the show.  Because of my age and experience.  Alright, we're gonna party when I say so, we're gonna play video games when I say so, we're gonna talk about crap when I say so, because I know best.  I've been here once or twice before.  Which is in direct contrast to my real experiences dorming.  Where I would hole myself up in my room and listen to the fan-made Elliott Smith live album of unreleased songs.
    Yep.  And then, someone'll start playing Iris, and I'll have a mental breakdown.  No, no!  This is all wrong!  Nooo!  Even though Goo Goo Dolls were one of my musical influences, on account of my band manager making me include it.  This is all wrong.  Pretty much my inner monologue at any given moment.  Yep.  Anyway, what else and crap.  I told you before how I used to listen to music as if I wrote it, then, more recently, I would listen to it as if I were a radio D.J.  I've made a new evolution.  Now I listen to music as if I'm having a party and I put together the playlist.  Everybody is lovin' this groove!  And then a small part of me that is still reasonable in my head takes pity on the majority of me that's so encompassed by self delusion.  It's tough, though, because I usually listen to music as an album.  So, after imagining that for one song, the next song, I have to decide whether to imagine that I'm playing the entire album, which isn't very Namaste, or, try to forget that the previous song was on the playlist, even though I just pretended that it was.  #Whitepeopleproblems.  Anyway, what else. Hmph.  Playing Iris in a dorm.  Have you spent no time imagining a party playlist while listening to music privately?  Where do I get off.  That person was probably thinking, Sob, I'd give up forever to touch him/her, sob.  It's been done.  Also, you can't give up forever.  You can't give up a thing you've never had.  We got seventy, eighty years of crap to do here, tops.  I'd give up dreidels to touch her, that makes sense.  I wonder if in Israeli casinos they have tables for dreidels.  I wonder if there are Israeli casinos.  Probably.  And they pay you in chocolate coins.  I had a piece of Matzo yesterday.  Because I'm good at religion.
    Why is this night unlike other nights.  Boring, I heard this last year.  Update your shtick, please.  Why is this night unlike other nights.  It just is, look at the date.  You don't need to convince me, I'm already there.  Anyway, huh.  Mostway through this entry.  That's great.  What else is there to talk about.  I mailed a check today.  All by myself.  I'm a hero.  An inspiration.  I should adopt, "Inspiration," into my identity.  "Wow, if he can do it, that's real inspiring, and crap!"  He is me.  Me is him.  She and Him.  Matzoey Deschanel.  "Look at him go!"  It's a balancing act, though, because this website is crazysheet.  Acting crazy and stupid is part of my character.  That makes me even more of an inspiration. I did it!  I'm a hero.  Crazy because of crazy.  Stupid because I don't know how to spell shit.  It all comes out in the wash.  I looked up what shit means in my Dream Symbols book.  Yeah, pretty much par for the course.  Excrement, I mean.  Not shit as slang for, "anything/something."  What else is going on and crap.  Jack Paar woulda been an awesome golfer in celebrity games.  Also, I have no idea who Jack Parr is/was. Some sort of golfer, is all I can gather.
    Last paragraph time.  Just flew by, didn't it.  Anyway, huh.  What else and crap.  Whole new group of people soon for Summer Class.  I miss taking summer Chemistry after sophomore year in Stuyvesant.  It sucked going to school in the summer, but it was kind of great, cause it was only one class, and I wasn't exhausted during it, or before, or after, so I just remembered being buzzed from the music to and fro.  I specifically remember listening to Weezer's Maladroit album.  I think I talked about that here before.  Oh well.  And, it turns out, when it's the only class I'm taking, I can do decently at the sciences.  I got in the high 80's.  I also remember listening to Sublime during the labs, but that might have also been during regular school labs.  I also have a distinct memory of listening to "Achilles Last Stand," and, "The Rain Song," by The Led Zeppelins during a lab.  I don't know why.  Probably because it happened.  That would explain it.  I also remember overhearing the sophomores in my junior year Spanish class talking about, "Caress Me Down," by Sublime.  I don't know why.  And a friend I had in Drafting, which was freshman or sophomore year, talking about, "KRS-One," the song, by Sublime.  This is interesting, interesting, interesting, interesting, interesting, interesting, interesting stuff.  I listened to a song once.  Memories that will last forever.  I gotta write another paragraph to make up for this crap. 
    Yep.  What crap.  What crap.  I can't believe I actually typed out all that crap.  I also remember listening to My Band by Eminem & D12 in the same Spanish class while sitting next to a cute Sophomore.  Shut up!  I can't believe you don't shut up!  I remember listening to Heatmiser to Spanish class Freshman year in college.  Shut the Fuck up!  It's not funny anymore!  Please!  Anyway, what else and crap.  I'm gonna get Halal food when this is over.  How wonderful.  While waiting for the bus yesterday, I saw a van carrying a food cart driving by, and the food cart was called, "The Potato King."  I guess, if you want a potato, you just stop by that cart.  Not sure why that would ever happen, but, I guess it does.  Otherwise they'd be out of business after the first week.  Maybe we misjudged the public's desire for just baked potatoes.  Also, how could I forget.  I used to always imagine, when listening to songs, that they were part of the beginning or end or montage, or some part, of a movie that I had written or directed.  I probably did that in high school even more than imagining I wrote it.  And that's a lot.  Because there's things wrong with me.  Yes, music has served me well throughout the different periods of my life.  Who knows what the future holds.  I can't think of any ground I haven't covered what with imagining things while listening to music, but it's safe to say I'll figure out something.
    Okay, last paragraph.  Yes, indeed.  I guess I could imagine being a music industry mover and shaker, and I'm 'discovering' a song.  But I only listen to well established outfits, for the most part, so that doesn't really make much sense.  Music critic?  There's an idea.  Pretending I'm in another band, being exposed to this band?  I am in another band.  It's called The Uppers.  That's no fun.  Pretending I'm from the 18th century, and this is my first exposure to the future?  I like that, that's something I can work with.  Or, the opposite, that I'm from the future, and this song is from the distant past.  That could work.  Pretending I'm someone who knows the band.  There's an idea.  And, obviously, pretending I'm from the future, a la Back II The Future, and releasing this song into the past.  Kind of convoluted, but it worked for Marty McFly, no reason it couldn't work for me.  Anyway, entry is finally winding down.  Great.  Took sort of a weird turn two paragraphs ago, but whatever.  What else and crap.  See ya later.

-12:19 P.M.                                                     


Tuesday, April 21, 2015                        

Down With Mirrors!  Up With Nipples!

    Here we are, time for another entry.  Man, am I burned out.  I'm not exactly sure of what.  Listening to music to the extreme?  That'll catch up with ya one day.  That's how I feel.  Here in school.  What fun.  It's too warm outside today!  Where does the weather get off.  Anyway.  My writing sucks.  My music sucks.  Where do I get off.  Let us think of fun crap to say.  Pool opens in six weeks.  Then I'll finally be able to see if I can walk on water.  I probably can't, but it's worth giving it a try.  In Back To The Future, they can hover on water.  That's pretty impressive.  Griff is like the new Jesus, is what I'm trying to say.  It woulda been funny if the shop janitor-turned mayor was back working in the cafe 80's shop in 2015.  You Used To Be Mayor!  "Yeah, things didn't really work out."  That resembles something funny.  Halal U Jah.  I like how in 1989, the epitome of future communication was just a huge excess of faxing.  Basically, faxing technology was already there.  But, in 30 years, one fax will produce faxes in every room of the house!  And the little pizza microwaved turns into a big pizza.  Jesus pulled the exact same shit in the Bible.  He should sue them.
    Anyway.  There's one paragraph.  That's worth something.  Probably.  Possibly.  Why do I pride myself on my mediocrity.  I'm bound to feel shame and inadequacy eventually.  And not just in my (lack of a) sex life!  My Wi-fe!  Are we sure Borat was not just trying to see if Wi-Fi was available?  Anyway.  What else is going on.  This semester is winding down.  That's 13 credits in the last year.  I'm a hero.  An inspiration.  And I'm Gonna Be Mayor!  Mayor, I like the sound of that.  The only way I'll be mayor is if that's my permanent nickname in mental hospital.  Or if I get some dirt on the governor.  You got any dirt on the governor?  Also, apparently I think mayors are appointed by the governor.  I like the comptroller, also known as what your second grade self wanted to call, "the controller."  I like the secretary of defense.  April 21st, 2015.  Defense has been going okay lately.  That's a diary-ist, not a secretary.  Close enough.  I get to drink when I get home.  Now that I'm done reading John Barleycorn, I can go back to drinking.  That's the rule.  I shouldn't have gone to see Paul Blart.  Is this what the universe has to offer?  How supremely disappointing.  I should get a supreme Pizza Bagel from Pizza Hut and put it in a future microwave.
    Yep.  That's how that go.  I should write Paul Blart III: Blart II The Future.  I.  I thought we were counting down in Roman Numerals.  Let's just call them Roman numbers, no need to show off your fancy vocabulary.  That's how I feel, at least.  I used to think oeuvre meant like style of acting.  Turns it out means like your acting filmography.  That's a story about vocabulary.  That's how I feel, at least.  I used to think... oops, got caught in a subterfuge.  I like Sudoku And The Thousand Paper Cranes.  Don't know why that came up.  Today sucks.  I blame music.  Where does music get off, thinking it's so great.  I gotta get a life.  I don't know how, though.  Which is a pretty big hurdle, it turns out.  Dang.  Why did Dunking Donuts combine with Baskin Robbins?  "Hey, you wanna combine?"  Yeah, sure, why not.  They put no thought into it.  In that fictional scenario.  I think if Hillary Clinton becomes President, she should be able to bang the secretary of something.  It's only fair.  It takes a village to raise a child.  And, since we're all raising a child together, why not enjoy a little hanky-panky?  It makes sense if you don't really think about it.  Am I the only one who thought the movie Signs was going to be about, "Stop," and, "No Right Turn On Red?"  I thought by watching that movie, I would become a licensed driver.  Boy was I wrong.  Yeesh.  Anyway.  Am I the only one who thought The Sixth Sense was going to be about smell?  Wait I counted wrong.  Ha!  Ha-ha!  Jokin' to the extreme.  I like how the fake movie in Scream is called Stab.  I always thought the fake movie in Stab should be called Knife.  It's the natural progression of things. 
    Anyway, lunch time.  Great.  Class went okay, all things considered.  Actually, I didn't consider anything, let alone all things.  Whatta false based liar.  Now I have to write the rest of the entry.  Then, time to get Yoga-fied.  Then, bus-ified.  Then alcohol.  That's how that go.  Whattado.  I've ruined both music and comedy for myself, because it all just reminds me of my own inadequacy.  I guess I could read blogs.  I excel at blogging, as long as you consider it a blog and not comedy.  It's pretty funny for a blog.  However, it's pretty blog for comedy.  Yeesh.  What else.  I gotta write some crap.  I'm burnt out, man.  Probably because of all the marijuana celebration yesterday without being able to participate by smoking.  Oh well, today is a new day.  I'm pretty sure.  That's usually what happens when yesterday is over.  Anyway.  Crap.  I'm writing words out of my pen onto paper.  That's what I got goin' on. Whattado. I feel like falling asleep.
    Last paragraph time.  Great, almost done.  Great.  This semester went by pretty quickly.  I don't know.  I feel like I hit a plateau in my progress socially, educationally, and mentally.  I'm doin' pretty good, after having considered all there is of things, but I can pretty much only stay at this level, or go down.  There's no getting better in my immediate future.  Even pizza can't solve my problems.  Not even alcohol.  Not even diet soda.  Not even italics.  Itsa Me, Italics, Fuggettabouttit.  Nope.  Nope.  No.  Non.  What else and crap.  The team name for Queens College sports teams is The Knights.  I guess they're doubling down on the chess theme.  And I'm singling blackjack references.  How about that.  I'm tired and crap.  The good news is... I don't know.  13 credits almost in the bank?  Who puts college credits in the bank?  Not me. Who craps about bullshit.  Yep.  That's Right, You're Gonna Be Pizza!  I think I suffer from depression and didn't realize it until four hours ago.  Probably because I tuned my guitar too high.  That's just asking for trouble.  That's just asking for treble.  I thank you, yup.  Today.  Entry.  Stay focused.  I smell like pizza.  probably because my shirt is orange.            


Monday, April 20, 2015                        

You've Got The Write To Remain Title

    Egh.  What's up jerks.  Another entry.  I realized I love watching T.V. through a mirror.  I was just getting my haircut, and they have a big screen, which I was watching through a double mirror (the screen is in the front, then reflects through the back mirror, into the front mirror), and, boy is that a sight to see.  All the uneasiness and tension is filtered out, through mirror technology.  And it was on FOX News!  The most uneasy and tension filled channel there is!  So, yeah, I had a ball of a time.  Instead of the 24 hour narrative being, We Hate Obama, it was, Do We Hate Obama?  I don't know.  Sure, one still infers they do, but it made it tolerable.  I don't want my news to be tolerable.  I want it to be holler-able.  Which is slang, if you're an idiot.  Why don't they just make the 2016 election MSNBC vs. Fox News.  Cut out the middle man.  And MSNBC draws the most viewers on election night!  A decisive victory for MSNBC!  Oh, also a potato with googly eyes won the presidency.  More importantly, though, let's watch T.V.!  Where do I get off ragging on things.  I've got no right.  Anyway.  I want to get a shirt that says, "I hear that, brother."  So whenever anyone in the barbershop says anything, I can just point to the shirt.  Barbershop.  There's no shopping.  Chopping, maybe. 
    Anyway.  Why don't barbers just set up camp inside an amusement park fun-house.  Seems like they would save money that way.  I'd go to see a Spooky Barbershop.  The guy who cuts your hair is wearing... Which was the very insensitive, not funny at all original but rejected title to Barbershop, ... a Scream mask.  I should just end all insensitive jokes with, "... a Scream mask."  I don't know why, but it softens the blow a bit, I feel.  You can't get these jokes on T.V.  I'm too hot for T.V.  Or too cold.  Or just plain inappropriate.  Girls Gone Wild!  It's too hot for T.V.!  Quick, turn to HBO, maybe they have it on!!!  It's not T.V.  ... It's HBO.  The most homeless themed of television network anagrams, I find.  David Cross calls it the Hebrew Box Office in an episode of Mr. Show, and that's always stuck with me.  He says it as a character.  Not just being himself.  That would be out of order.  How did we survive when the guide was just that rotating view of five channels that went through them all in six minutes.  Or, even worse, from the newspaper.  Or, even worse, guessing.  I've got a hunch the news is on.  If I'm wrong, no harm done, but if I'm right...  If you're right, what?  Havin' a News Party.  The Barber of Seville.  That's a thing.  More like The Barber of Dullsville, am I right?
    I am
?  Thank you.  It feels good to be confirmed.  That must be why the Catholic boys are all about confirmations.  Or something.  I don't know religion too well.  All I know is there's a platypus and a hare, or something.  I don't have all the details.  I wanna pay someone twenty dollars to go through all my songs and pick out the ten or twenty best.  So I can put that forth as a representation of my songs.  I need an impartial observer to do it, I can't do it.  They all sound like three to sixes to me.  And I can't tell the 3 from the 6.  Except for 5's.  Those are real.  I also wanna pay someone twenty dollars to give me eighty dollars.  So far, no takers.  The Mets are in a really good place.  I mean, if they play .500 baseball from this point on, they still have a pretty good shot at making the playoffs, even just playing exactly .500.  .500 means winning half their games.  It's moneyball, you wouldn't understand.  Anyway, .500 way through this crap.  I think it's weird that The Beatles were so popular right away.  No one like beetles.  And, before The Beatles were The Beatles, people first hearing of them musta been like, Beetles?  Yeugh.  Next.  For some reason, every time I think of the name The Beatles, which is very, very often, I always accidentally think of cockroaches, as per the reference that they'll outlive humans.  I always have a .500 second where I think that's part of their meaning, and then I remember, Oh, yeah, that's cockroaches.  Or rats.  Or scorpions, have you seen those things?  Those gotta have pretty high survivability.
    Alright.  Alright.  The Beatles were from Liverpool.  I wonder if that's why so many musicians are alcoholics.  Probably.  I'm from Bayside, and there's four or five musicians who are in the band Bayside.  So, there's that.  I'm not really from Bayside.  We just say that because it's easier for the post office to recognize.  It's actually Oakland Gardens.  Which is a combination of Oakland and the Hanging Gardens of Babylonian fame.  Don't stalk me.  It wouldn't be a positive thing to do.  Every time I walk by a stranger, there's a part of me in my head going, Yes, it's me, soak it in, soak it in.  Well, see ya!  Because I'm insane in the membrane, this, we all know.  I got a haircut.  Did I mention that?  Erm, hrm, rhm.  I like R 'n B.  Rhythm AND Blues?  For the price of one?  I'd be insane not to listen to it!  And the reason Nixon lost to Kennedy was because he couldn't dance like Elvis on T.V., or something.  I don't have all the details.  They should have called Catcher In The Rye Catcher In The Rhythm, and it's all about beatboxing.  Alright.  I'm all about entrying and crap.  I'm burning all my bridges at FOXNews and MSNBC.  Was there ever a real spat of bridge burnings sometime in our history that inspired that phrase?  I musta missed that in my Social Studies classes.  I had a dream about Kimmy Schmidt and Dong.  I watch too much T.V. on the internet.  You like that band, T.V. on the Internet?  You like that character, guy who says you like that...?  I used to mix up T.V. On The Radio with Gym Class Heroes.  Now I know the difference, one is the band I like and another is the band I don't listen to.
    Alright, great.  Another entry in the books.  I got class tomorrow.  With some real party people.  What else is goin' on.  Not much.  Just coastin' on through the days, through the weeks, through the months.  You know how that go.  Stephen Colbert should do ads for Newport cigarettes, and pronounce it, "Newpore."  Because ads for cigarettes are thing, and puns are the most amazing thing ever.  The entry has got to be over soon, right?  That's what I'm betting on.  I like it when they lather up the back of your neck and shave it as part of your haircut.  Is today opposite day, and everyone forgot to tell me?  How Delightful!  You ever do that thing as kids, where you look at your friend's head upside down, and their hair looks like a beard with their eyes, and they don't have a mouth or a nose?  No?  ...Me neither.  T.V. News is great.  Without it, how would we know what to think?  I don't have time to think for myself.  I'm a busy man!  Just fit me into the one of five or six narratives you offer, and we all go home happy.  I can devote my brain power to what really matters -- Catcher In The Rye puns.  Fat Cher In The Pie.  You know, stuff like that.  Also, a lot of Beatles songs are just nonsense.  Love Me Do.  What the Hell does that mean?  "Love?  I Do That!" is my best guess.  "Love My Human Waste?"  Another possibility.  "Love My Work?"  Could be.  I don't know no more.  I don't know what it is about Vitamin Water, but I'm seriously falling for their gimmick.  It's just right up my alley.  Vitamin Water Zero, with a little personalized flavor, and it says, "electrolytes," next to a picture of a battery.  I'm a sucker, I don't know.  See ya later.

-3:17 P.M.                                    


Sunday, April 19, 2015                        

Oh, I Get It

    It's a title.  Wow.  Great job.  Loser.  I've had it up to here with my antics!  Anyway, Yello purple people eaters.  Are they yellow, or are they purple?  It's a classic whodunit scenario.  None of that is right.  You're not right!  Get off my mirror!  Don't be a chump.  Anyway, I'm feelin' pumped.  I'm gonna get a guitar teacher, and learn guitar, and play guitar, and then after doing that for a while, cha-ching, record contract!  It's just how life works out for dudes like me.  Anyway, nine sentences a long time for sincere self delusion.  Let's get back on track.  Gotta do something, though.  That's one of my main mottos.  That, Hello Moto from commercials, and a third thing.  Anyway, what the what.  Entry time, now.  I realized I have a pretty pleasant world view.  I tried being depressed for a few days on the Jack London tip, but I figured out I'm much happier being happy.  Whoudathunkit.  My mind is all lollipops and orgies.  Or, the ultimate, lollipop orgy.  It's when lollipops... eh, forget it.  What else and crap.  Eight in a row for the Metskies!  Don't call them Metskies, it reeks of Communism.  No one's really sure why.  Oh, cause of the Russian/Eastern European style of the word?  Now someone knows why!  This guy, right here.  I like when Keith Hernandez calls an RBI a, "Rib Eye Steak."  I ordered a Porterhouse, you idiot!  Everyone's a moron but me!  You dolts.  Eight wins in a row.  You know the odds of that?  .5 x .5 x .5 x .5 x .5 x .5 x .5.  Times .5.  That's a lot of numbers! I can't even count that high.  My gut says it's eight numbers, but I'm not sure.  1/2, 1/4, 1/8, 1/16, 1/32, 1/64, 1/128, 1/256.  The odds!  They're astronomical!  Run away!
    What was I saying about crap and shit?  I liked it when Moneyball won twenty in a row.  And everyone was like Moneyball's Great.  What happened, man.  What happened.  Also, apparently, it turns out moneyball isn't when rich people golf with a rolled up wad of Benjamins as a golf ball.  Or shoot up Benjamins combined with Lincolns.  A.K.A. The Rushmore.  If a Lincoln is worth five dollars, shooting it up must be worth five dollars a pop, too.  That's Moneyball 101.  What else and crap.  Spring class winding down.  Soon to be into the summer.  Awesome!  Catch those killer waves!  Where in the world is San Diego!  Not a lot of kids these days are named Waldo.  You got to help me, do you know where my baby is?  Oh boy... this is gonna be a tough one...  Where In The World Is Waldo.  That's the crossover.  I'm gonna guess not Argentina.  Call it a hunch.  Anyway, yeesh.  Knot Argentina?  You mean like, definitely Argentina?  That's exactly what I meant, you Rib Eye Steak, you!  I had French Toast for lunch.  Like a Champion!  French Toast Crunch.  Pshh.  French Toast isn't crunchy!  Believe me, I've had it at least 12 or 13 times!  I'm kinda the go-to guy when it comes to French Toast.  A French Toast is when Gerard Depardieu speaks at your wedding.  I haven't known the bride and groom long... because I live in France... That's how that goes!
    I gotta keep this level of semi-fake excitement for three more paragraphs!  Lucky me!  Thinkin' about gettin' a guitar teacher.  Finally, to be adequate at something!  That would be living the dream, man.  With me playing guitar all the time, how am I gonna work in time to write all my Austin Powers fan fiction?  The world will suffer without it!  Suffer!  Then, Austin Powers pretended to go down stairs while behind a thing.  It was a visual trick stimulating all the senses.  What the Hell.  Anyway, Hi!  Can I drop the enthusiasm?  But still feel it?  But just stop typing it?  Is that at all possible, internet ether?   Mmm, wanna try some internet ether.  Yeesh.  It's brick.  Wall.  Lettin' it all hang out.  Always happens 1/2 way in.  No stoppin it, no stoppin it at all.  Mighty, mighty.  Might as well just end the entry now, right?  Great.  Fantastic.  See ya later.

-5:05 P.M. 


Saturday, April 18, 2015                        

Whassup Party People

    I don't believe I've used that title yet.  Which is odd, because I'm all about greetings to party people.  Anyway.  Drank beer yesterday.  Trying to go through today without it.  Not being drunk sucks.  I know they say alcohol is a depressant, but I find no alcohol is more depressing.  Maybe it's just me.  Also, let me be clear.  They don't say alcohol is a depressant.  It's proven scientific fact.  It's not just hearsay.  Now, let me be unclear.  Wackado Triangulation Parsippany.  Alright.  Psh.  Feelin' emotions, like a chump.  Yeesh.  Apparently, sushi in the fridge stays fresh for 24 hours.  I've been eating it after a week.  That explains why I'm peeing blood and pooping... blood.  There's nothing in the body similar to blood that isn't blood.  That's why that joke went nowhere.  Pooping bile?  I guess.  All my life, I've never used the word poop.  It seems too childish.  Now that I'm 26, and I'm getting older, I find the word delightful.  Maybe it's me trying to hold onto my youth, or something.  I'm no psychoanalyst.  Nincompoop.  Hilarious.  I I remember, after watching the Candyman movies about a year ago, I would always almost trick myself into saying Candyman five times at the mirror.  Fuck, better not say Candyman, shit, that's one, alright, as long as I don't say Candyman four more times, shit...  I imagine thinking, "Candyman" is as bad as saying it right out loud.  I don't know for sure, but I can't take that chance that it's not.  Then one long, "Candyyyyymaaaaaaaaaa," trying to kill as much time as I can, so I get out of the bathroom before the final damage is done.
    Delightful.  What's with not being able to say things at mirrors.  Mirrors are all about the visual spectrum.  What do they care about audibles.  I'm still waiting to get my birthday present from last year.  A quality electric razor.  My birthday was over four months ago.  What's the hold up, am I right?  Right... right.  At this point, I should also get two dollars with the razor, because of inflation and interest and whatnot.  It's only fair.  I remember trying to get my parents to give me more money monthly in college compared to what they gave my brother, on the grounds of inflation.  I forget if it actually worked or not.  Probably not.  Sometimes I go through the alphabet.  You know, for fun. 
Anyway.  I saw Paul Blart yesterday.  I don't know exactly what I was expecting, but after seeing it, I was like, "Oh, yeah, that's obviously what I should have been expecting."  Because, at that point, I knew 100% what it was.  It's common sense, when it comes down to it.  World's Greatest Grandpa.  Also, I've been exposed to listening my songs from the past year sober.  Pretty hit or miss.  I'll take hit or miss.  That means sometimes it's hit.  Outstanding.  The bird whistling outside seems condescending.  That's the best way I can describe the tune it's whistling.  Shut up!  That's typical drunk-as-sober talk.  And, generally, I'm a huge fan of whistling, that's how I can tell the condescension.
    Yep.  Whattado.  The main reason I saw Paul Blart was I saw an ad for it on a bus where the tagline was, "Sleep Tight America."  I wanna sleep tight!  Whatta sucker.  If anything, I slept less tight.  Oh well, at least I learned my lesson.  Don't see movies with, "Blart" in the title.  What else.  Entry writin'.  That's going okay.  What else and crap.  I gotta write two and a half more paragraphs for some reason.  No one's really sure why.  I didn't get an iced coffee today because there were really long lines at both Dunkin Donuts and McDonalds.  I'm not gonna stand in line like a sucker.  I got things to go, places to be.  Surgeon General's warning: Smoking By Pregnant Women May Result In Fetal Injury, Premature Birth, And Low Birth Weight.  Yup, that sounds just like the surgeon general.  That guy.  That was long exposition for very little pay off.  Yeesh.  What else and crap!  Gotta think of crap!  How annoying.  I believe Jack London was inspired by A Tale of Two Cities.  Jack London, Jerk Paris.  Jiggle Shanghai.  I think A Tale of Two Cities should have been called The Tale of Two Cities.  It's the definitive work on tales of two cities in all of the English canon, as far as I'm concerned.  Two God people just knocked at my door.  I had to put my pants on, answer the door, and they were all like, "There's a bunch of problems today, some people think God is behind the problems, do you have an opinion?"  And I was like, "No, I'm not really interested, thanks for stopping by."  Because that's my default answer.  But, in truth, considering my absolute boredom, I shoulda been like, "I don't know!  Why don't you come in and you can tell me all about the church of Mormon."  Which, odds are, is where they're from.
    I don't care about Mormonism.  Natural selection already proved it sucks in 2012.  Something else, though?  Coulda listened to something.  My parents wouldn't have wanted them in the house, though.  That's pretty much one key way to determining if someone is seriously mentally ill. Willingness to talk to strangers.  #1 Mentally Ill Son.  That's a coffee mug I would love.  My worst encounter with a homeless was I was around NYU, eating a cream cheese bagel while walking, and a guy came up to me asking for change, and he was like, "You can afford a donut, but you can't give me some change?"  And I was like, "How dare you.  This is a bagel."  What kind of monster do you think I am?
  Yep.  A paragraph and a half to go!  The end is in sight.  Not of life, of this entry.  The end of life is a solid fifty or so years away, Zod willing.  Kneel Before Zod.  Dude, what's your problem?  Take a chill pill.  I have Klonopin, does that count as chill pills?  Anyway.  It's good to not drink.  Right?  Probably.  Anyway, what else and crap.  I watched the Kimmy Schmidt show the last few days.  That's some quality comedy right there.  Anyway, huh?  
    Last paragraph tizzime.  Whatta payoff.  Yeesh.  Lunch when this is done.  How great.  Superman woulda turned out really differently if only Zod had taken a chill pill.  Oh well, live and learn, as they say.  It's Saturday.  I just figured that out.  How about that and crap.  I just added a bunch of rock 'n roll memoirs to my cart.  I'm gonna read about it!  How grand.  I like how Bees are trending on Facebook.  Bees: ...blahblahblah...  This could be bee's big break!  Anyway, see ya later

-11:26 A.M.                   


Thursday, April 16, 2015                        

What?  Huh?

    Hi!  I haven't drank alcohol in upwards of sixty hours!  I'm a hero!  Anyway, what the Hell is this I've been doing for years.  Five paragraphs of bull shit?  But Why?  Oh, right.  Boredom, and wanting to feel like I've accomplished something without actual real work.  That's great.  And creating wonderful memories for me and you!  Like the time... uh... you know... I had chicken pox!  I had chicken pox when I was in 4th grade.  Pox Americana.  That means peace during America's empire, or something.  Hey, when I'm not drunk, I know things!  I'm a hero.  What?  Huh?  This is a school entry.  Why not.  What do people do when they're not intoxicated.  I mean, other than thinking about the next time they'll get intoxicated.  Fantasizing about it, going over it over and over again in your head.  A third thing.  Anyway.  I did the math, and I can easily be done with school within two years.  Even at the pace I'm going at now.  Crapdom!  I'll have to get a job!  Like a chump!  That's how that goes.  Anyway.  What else.  Thursday.  I figure I'll have a drink tomorrow.  Four days is accomplishment enough.  Drinking twice a week is reasonable.  Probably.  Now I want weed, too.  Forget gateway drugs-- stopping one drug leads to other drugs.  Gotta do something.  There's a cute girl in my group for Yoga class!  Turns out life is worth living, after all.  Yeesh.
    Huh?  Eh?  Turns out that's pretty much my inner monologue at any given moment.  "Huh?  Wha?  Buh?  Jah?"  Gotta think something.  Yeah.  What else.  Why isn't there another Spring Break next week.  Why?  Where is justice.  My iPod ran out of battery.  I have to think on the bus, like a chump!  "Wha?  Eh?  Guh?"  Anyway.  We be entrying.  Memories, huh?  I posted a profile on a website to put together a band.  Probably nothing will come of it, but I was bored, and it was nice thinking I might have some sort of future in something for about twenty minutes.  "I'm the next big thing!"  Then, "I'm pretty mediocre," then, "Huh?  Wuh?  Eh?"  I'm slowly devolving into pudding.  Alcoholic pudding.  That's the next big thing right there.  Alright.  My brain sucks.  What a let down.  Gotta finish this paragraph before class.  You know, for fun.  I was a real asshole as a kid.  I'm sick, I can't go to school.  Where's your homework?  I don't know, you do it.  Did you clean your room?  Fuck No.  And that was just yesterday!  Jokezzz.   My parents were jerks though, too.  "You want some chocolate milk?"  Fuck Off With That Bullshit.  "What board game do you want to play?"  How about the one where you shut the fuck up?
Anyway, now I'm in lunch.  When getting my pizza, the guy serving the pizza to me was my height or shorter.  Which, led me to come up with the adage, "The Purpose Of Life Is To Be Short."  It's gotta nice ring to it.  At least I'm not a particularly depressed alcoholic.  It just provides me slight amusement.  That's all there is to it, really.  That's how I feel.  I love spring time with girls.  You can just feel the sex in the air.  Or something like that.  Let's cut this entry off early, go outside and breathe some fresh air.

-4:50 P.M. 


Tuesday, April 14, 2015                        

I'm As Good a Titler As I Think I Am

    Even better, you could make the case for.  Anyway, I'd like to see you title some crap.  You talk big, but where's your titles?  Anyway, in school entry.  I got sick from drinking yesterday, for the first time in a while.  Pretty good clue that I should stop drinking.  I'll take it under consideration.  If only I had some of that sweet sticky-icky-icky.  If alcohol is, as the Simpsons claim, The cause of and salutation to all of life's problems,  Weed is, Hey relax man chill with that.  Now, I'm not arguing for mandatory pot smoking for every man woman and child.  We'll cross that bridge when we get there.  Anyway.  The door I'm writing this in front of says, "Dance Faculty," and you know the first name on it?  Of course you don't, you idiot.  It's Richard Move!  Heh!  And you know these corny jokes?  That's my name!  AHHH WHAT DOES IT MEAN.  Just gravy.  I don't like gravy.  Even the word, "Gravy," sounds disgusting to me.  If you add an, "It," to gravy, though, it becomes Gravity.  I have no qualms with gravity.  It's a tough job, but somebody's gotta do it.  Anyway.  Limited drinking from now on!  I can handle it.  Can you get drunk from alcoholic enemas?  Ask Blink-182, they're the experts.  Yeesh.  Class.  Classes are good.  Check it out, I'm doin' stuff!  And since it's only six hours a week, I still mainly feel practically 0% of the stress and pressure that normally comes with work.  You dolts are working forty or fifty hours a week, like chumps.  Chump up or chimp out, or something along those lines.  What am I doing with my life.  Jeez.
    Hi, still me.  Who woulda thunk it.  This is class entry.  It entails me writing in a notebook.  Who needs it.  Who needs it.  Hey, last class a cute girl talked to me.  What are the odds that happens again?  35%? 40%?  These are two examples of percentages.  What else is crap.  Richard Move.  Yeah, get the Hell out of here Richard!  Stupid ass.  No one wants you here!  What else and shit.  Registration for Fall classes is tomorrow.  I'm gonna register old school!  And, by that, I mean register for classes at NYU.  Sounds illogical, since I won't be able to take them, but that's the ways of the crazysheet world.  Meh.  Huh.  I'm tired.  Just plain tired.  Someone just walked into the Richard Move room.  It's a lady, so I don' think it's Richard.  You never can tell, though.  Hey, I've gotta message for Richard Move.  He's on first.  Yeesh.  College, huh?  Who needs it.  Not me.  I need a haircut and crap.  Whatta crap.  Still pizza coming up in two hours.  Turns out life is worth living, after all.  I had no idea.  Musta forgotten about pizza.  Marijuana.  It's gone for good from my life.  Next, alcohol.  Then, cigarettes.  Then, Captain Crunch.  Then, Hostess Cupcakes.  Then, Captain Crunch again, after I relapse.  Then enemas.  Then mental D.J.ing.  Then wearing glasses.  God made your eyes that way!  Stop trying to be something you're not!  Glasses are just steroids for vision.  Oughtta be illegal, that's how I feel. Gotta do class now. 
    In lunch now.  Guess what?  I made contact with cute girl from last time, when I spilled Coke Zero on her purse.  I apologized thirty two times and she seemed to get over it.  Except thirty of those thirty two times were to the girl sitting next to her, because I thought it was her bag.  Anyway, so that's coming along nicely.  Anyway, teacher was praising Jack London for  writing 1,000 words a day.  I do that.  And mine's better.  Who doesn't, a voice in the back of my cranium says.  Way to be on point!  Just for that, I'm skipping the clozapine for a week!  Talk about throwing a pizza party for your mind!  Wait, what the Hell.  Just went crazy for a few sentences.  Let me get back to stenographizing.  You gonna be quiet now... ??? Okay, let's move on.  I'm an American Hero, is what I'm trying to say.  I participated like a Madman today.  Talking about Drunkenness?  I'm in!  Teacher also said something that struck a chord with me.  In contrast to London's bleak view on life, my teacher basically said her opinion was that the point of life is to find a job you love and excel at it.  What I wanna know is, what about being mediocre at it?  It's student government election time here at the QC.  I had a friend who was president of Binghamton his senior year.  Wow.  President of Binghamton.  That's the closest to with great power comes great responsibility I've ever come into contact with.  Talking about alcohol, though-- I am kind of mentally addicted.  I like who I am drunk better than when I'm not drunk.  Basically because I'm never not drunk.  It's sort of a no contest.  To me, though, drunkenness produces a frame of mind that lasts even after the alcohol wears off, if you drink often enough.   
    Still, it's worth it.  Possibly.  I don't know.  Someone just came in handing erotic pamphlets on the election to everybody at my table and adjacent tables.  Except for me.  What's wrong with me?  I don't think I was putting of a Fuck Off vibe, but I guess I was.  Or, they're racist against Jewish kids in glasses.  Religiously I count myself as a Christian, for what ever reason, but culturally, I'm Jewish.  Or maybe it's vice versa.  Who know why.  because I'm the best.  Kneel before Zod!  Maybe Maybe I should become a Zodist.  He doesn't seem to have many followers.  I'd probably be his right-hand man just by showing up.  Alright.  I've always wanted to be a Number II to a super villain.  I write it in my dream journal all the time.  Also, what's a dream journal.  Also, where am I.  Oh, I know.  April.  Don't mess with Taxes.  Getin' a girls purse wet.  Shoulda said, "First the purse, then you!"  That would be rude, though.  I'm no rudist.  Not to my knowledge.  Gotta do something.  Might as well be the drink.  What if that's what I'm meant to do on this planet.  Just really excell at being a drinker.  I can do that.  Probably not.  I can't do anything.  Oh well.  A guy just walked by me saying some crap about taxes.  I just nodded my head and said, "Yeah, yes, okay," and he eventually went away.  I had a dream I ran into an old friend.  That's pretty interesting.  I have more friends in dreams than I do in waking life.  That's alright.  Better than alright.
    Here we are, last paragraph time.  After al, isn't that how modern man marks his territory?  With eight ounces of Coke Zero?  Probably. That's what I've been led to believe, at least.  All hail Zod.  To drink or not to drink.  Hmm.  How about Not to Drink, but with, Drink on the side?  Can we swing that?  Anyway, here we are, pre-Yoga.  I need new contact lenses.  I've been wearing glasses, like a chump.  Writin' entries, like a chump.  Anyway, what the Hell.  There's the ladder to nowhere.  Fun Fact-- Ladder To Nowhere was a rejected song title by both The Led Zeppelins and Hey, See D.C.!  They do bus tours of our nation's capital.  Why wouldn't they.  There's a party in an Elliott Smith song where he says, "March down the street like the Duracell bonny."  It's the Energizer bunny, you dolt!  Aw, I'm sure you did that on purpose, for real super fans like to me find out.  Wonderful.  It's possible he was in the pocket of Big Duracell.  That's probably it and crap.  Anyway, adios amigos.

-5:41 P.M.

Google has informed me The Duracell Bunny is a thing.  Please disregard the entirety of the last entry.


Monday, April 13, 2015                        

Howabouta Entry

    If I insist!  That's how that goes.  What's going on jerkballs.  It's me, the guy, you know.  Me?  Ringing any bells?  I like the song, "Ring My Bell."  Does that mean press your nipple?  Or touch your clitoris?  Probably press your nipple.  Ding Dong, Anyone there?  No one?  Lemme check next door.  In twenty years, people will be so immersed in smart phone culture, that their doorbell will vibrate.  There goes the door again.  Where is the app that makes phones vibrators.  Where.  Anyway, hello.  How's it going and crap.  Back to school tomorrow.  I'm actually reading the book assigned!  Like a chump!  It's all about alcoholism, though,  which is interesting.  I don't consider myself an alcoholic, but reading the book, maybe I am.  That would suck.  I'm not physically dependent on the drink.  I would know, because there was a time I was.  Sophomore year into Junior year, I would drink a shit load of whiskey every day.  I couldn't go without it.  Now, it's just drinking out of boredom.  But still, it made me realize, "Shit, I drink every day."  Oh well, gotta do somethin'.  Better this than that.  What's that?  I forget.  I've always said, Alcoholism Is The Thinking Man's Disease.  I don't know if I've always said it.  I think I've said it once before.  So, now it's twice.  Twice is pretty close to always in my book.  The good news is I found my blue rubber ball.  It's always in the last place you look, right?  Well, not in this case.  After I found it, I decided to look some more for it for fifteen minutes.  There goes that adage.  Michael is misunderstanding things!  Let's laugh about it!  That's how that goes.
     Anyway, heyyo.  Back to school tomorrow.  There's going to be an assignment in Yoga where we have to work in groups and teach the class for fifteen minutes about something.  Awesome!  Odds are, I'll get one or two hot girls in my group.  And, we have to pick music to play during the Yoga.  What a perfect opportunity to tell hot girls I'm a musician.  It's gonna work out splendidly, I hope!  There's already one instrumental that Yoga teacher plays regularly which is very similar to an instrumental I play.  Finally, I made it in the music business.  Play the guitar similar to how another person has played the guitar.  What song should we play.  Well, that's easy, I have a band, we can play my songs.  Why are you still talking, we should be having sex by now.  I've decided to tell people I have a band.  Only if they ask further questions will I reveal it's only me in the band.  Let's just play Time After Time on repeat, if Yoga teacher does it, she must know what she's doing.  Nah.  Anyway, huh?  What's going on.  It's the morning.  How about that.  She plays a cover version of T after T.  That's interesting and crap.  What else.  Stupid book, making me feel guilty for drinking.  Where do books get off.  I also came across my old Crazysheet book.  What a rapscallion I was.  Always crackin' jokes.  That's how that goes.  Now I gotta crack some more jokes.  It's crazysheet.  I had a memory I remembered.  Oh, yeah, just re-remembered it.  When I used to listen to music, I would always imagine it was me singing.  Throughout high school, that's how I got my jollies.  Just imagining coming up with those lyrics and singin' em.  Maybe that's why I went into music.  I've evolved, though-- now when I listen to music, I imagine being a D.J. playing the song on radio or in a podcast.  We all gotta grow up sometime, I suppose. 
     That's fun, fun stuff.  I suppose.  What else is going on and crap.  Anyway, hi!  It's Monday.  The main thing I know about Mondays is that characters in newspaper cartoons hate them.  I get all my knowledge from newspaper cartoons.  Maybe I should write a memoir about alcohol.  Yo, my name is Michael, and I drink alcohol, Whazzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzsup?  End of chapter One.  They used to pay writers by the word.  That seems kind of stupid.  Maybe they still do.  Who am I to judge?  That would explain why the inner monologue of the main character is always written as, "Huh?  Wha?  Who?  Where?  Huh?  What's going on, is what I meant to say.  What is coming up next?  I bet shit will happen.  Shit always happens." in response to every sentence of action.  Maybe I should be the Jack London of the 21st century.  Someone's gotta do it, might as well be me.  And, being the epitome of masculinity as I am, I think I fit the role pretty well.  Now, all I have to do is write a book.  Meow Mix Meow Mix Please Deliver.  By Michael Kornblum.  Shit I have to pay 50% in royalties to the Meow Mix people.  Oh well, gotta do something.  What else is crappening. Lunch is coming up.  How grand.  Anyway, hi!  It's me.  I hope I can de-alcohol my liver.  That's how that goes.  What else.  Taxes are due on Wednesday, or someting.  I've never done it.  I'm twenty six, I'm just a kid!  Don't mess with Taxes, is what I'm trying to say.  In the speech I wrote in high school about crap, there was supposed to be a line where I impersonate Bush and say, "Don't Mess With Texas," but I skipped over it when giving the speech, and the guy who I gave the written speech in the class to tell me what word to say if I forget, was like, "Man, you should have said that, it woulda been great."  So I said, "Fuck you very much, give me my speech back.  We weren't friendly really at the time, but I later had a class with him where he gave me the name, "Kornbleezy."  Which I still like.  Made me feel cool.  Hip.  With it.  Actually, that was someone else.  He sat next to the guy who gave me the speech tip.  But I figured I might as well combine them into one person, for convenience's sake.
     Anyway.  Whatta entry so far.  Whatta... entry.  I'm actually enjoying reading again.  There was a few years that I didn't like it.  But, now, great.  It's fun.  Anyway, what else.  I gotta pay more attention to play money poker.  I'm hemorrhaging chips, like a chump.  If they ever re-legalize online poker, that might end up being a pretty good way to support myself.  Anyway.  That's why Dickens wrote A Tale Of Two Cities.  One city would have been enough, but he was after that sweet, sweet coin.  Yeesh.  Anyway.  It's been seven years since I wrote a song about a mirror.  I figure, any bad luck I created when writing that crap, has gotta be running out pretty soon.  Also, there was that time I walked under a thousand ladders.  I have this vague memory of the night I did coke, where I was hanging onto some bar outside the dorm.  Like, there was a bar from scaffolding, or some shit, I'm not really sure what.  And I was hanging off from it.  So, that's gotta be bad luck, right?  And I definitely have a memory of reading the dictionary during the same period of being outside.  You know, just flipping to and fro.  I have no idea why I had a dictionary.  Musta been like, Hey, I'm gonna step outside to smoke a cigarette.  I don't smoke cigarettes.  Well, here, read this dictionary.  That makes sense, I guess.  What else and crap.  What else.  What else is the question.  What I come up with is the answer.  I'm gonna eat me some White Castle for lunch.  Keyfood sells 'em frozen, and I get them whenever I go out to get a twelve pack of beer.  What grandness.  Gotta do something.  That's how I feel.
     Yep.  What else and crap.  You guys are spoiled.  If I knew someone writing crazysheet four times a week, I would read the shit out of that.  Where do you get off not caring.  Anyway, the last year has been pretty productive.  Thirteen credits, eight or nine music albums, a bunch of crazysheet.  Who could ask for more.  Well, anyone who discards music and crazysheet, they could ask for more.  Coulda done 20-40 credits without that crap.  Where do they get off, right?  Right.  Music is worth something, crazysheet is worth something.  Music gives me something to listen to.  Crazysheet gives me something to do.  I've had a couple of jobs before.  My last job as working for NYU soliciting donations from alumni.  I made the three or four hours of training, seventy dollars in the bank.  I quit after fifteen minuets.  I don't even remember talking to one person, but I definitely knew I woulda felt awkward.  And I wouldn't know what buttons to press.  And I remember, that was when I first started smoking. And, during training, I figured I would quit, so I was like, "Does anyone here smoke cigarettes?  I wanna get rid of it."  And everyone was sorta silent because it's awkward, and one guy offered to take it from me to throw it out.  And I gave it to him, probably.  I don't really remember.  Meow mix.  Yeesh.  Crazysheet is great.  You jerks are idiots.  Read it!  Oh, you are?  Cause you are here?  Well, tell your friends to read it.  It's been three years, and a year and a half of decency.  Time for this shit to take off.  Right?  Right. 
     Last paragraph time.  Yeesh.  Great.  Grand.  Wonderful.  Crazysheet worth nothin. Snort.  Why, in the past year, I've probably gotten or two comments about how it's reading is worth-while!  That's one or two people that care!  More than zero.  Jerks!  I don't know.  I don't know, I don't know.  What else and crap.  Whazzit, the sixth paragraph?  Now I read the Thesaurus.  I've graduated from the Dictionary.  Thesaurus is where it's at.  Yep.  Yep.  Yup.  Anyway, hi!  I was writing an entry.  I'm fairly sure.  Who can remember.  Am I still writing this shit?  Huh?  Yeesh.  What else, and crap.  Hi!  It's me, still.  Great.  Yeesh.  Hi.  That's what I keep on saying because I have nothing else to say.  i have this weird memory, which may have just been a dream, but I remember on the bus ride to Binghamton, to see my friends in Binghamton, we were underground until leaving New York.  There's no streets underground, are there?  Still, that's what I remember.  I know there's ooze that are the Ghostbusters enemy in the sewers.  That's not exactly relevant.  I remember I used to thin o the word, "Suicide," as, "Sewer-side."  Why are all these people killing themselves to sewers?"  Don't make sense. 
     Last paragraph time.  Not like that last paragraph.  This is for the for real last paragraph.  What the Hell.  No one needs this.  Except for me.  Gotta wrte it up and such.  And crap.  And bullshit.  And shit.  I should write a seventh paragraph.  Got nothin' better to do.  Except for writing the sixth paragraph.  That takes precedence.  Huh?  Am I still doing this?  Fuckin' drink.  I'm no alcoholic.  I can stop any time I want to!  And
    Anyway, hi.  Last paragraph.  My frontpage got messed up.  There's  black square in the middle of the entry.  I can only prey you don't see that crap.  Why is there a 4xf inch black box?  That's a reasonable question for you to ask, if you see it.  Yeesh. let's get entrying with it.  Maybe I should write even another paragraph to make up for the black box.  Who cares.  Hi.  Great.  This is me.  For sure.  And crap.  See ya later.

1:50 A.M.


This Is a Crazysheet

    How about a little truth in advertising, am I right?  Anyway, Hello.  Gotta write an entire entry.  No half assing it.  Maybe I should learn to pace myself.  Spread out the introductions till three paragraphs.  Hello, well, I meant to say Hi.  Hi is a pretty good homonym or something.  What's a homonym?  It's a homophone.  1-800-EAT-COCK.  That's what I call a homophone.  Well, it's a homophone number.  A homo phone is an old style telephone where the piece you pick up and talk into is a penis.  Now that we've gotten out of the way what's really on my mind, let's get entryin' with it.  Hello!  How come no one eats rooster.  I mean, when we eat chicken, is it just assumed sometimes it's rooster?  Probably not-- chickens have breasts.  So why the Hell are roosters gettin' off easy.  Also, let's eat some horse.  That's right, I said it.  Eat some horse.  What the Hell am I talking about.  The good news is, only two and a half more paragraphs of introductions.  I lost my nail clipper, like a chump.  Gotta use my teeth.  The old fashioned way.  I don't like looking at myself in the mirror when I have shirts on.  I get to read whatever the shirt says backwards, and I don't need to be exposed to that kind of evil.  All You Need Is Love.  evil s, been uoy lla.  Run the fuck away the mirrors talking crap!  I like to imagine a person being exposed to a mirror for this first time, in olden days.  Just walkin' along, doin' his thing, suddenly WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT ME.  This paragraph is very blue.  The font, I mean.  Just keepin' ya updated.  Do you understand the colors that are coming out of your screen?  I saw Rush Hour III was playing on cable.  Did I watch it?  Nope.  Got better things to do.  Read shirts in the mirror.  That takes up a good two hours of my day.  Ay Yi Yi Ru OhH sur.  They don't use roman numerals in Rush Hour III's title.  Only I do.  Now you know me as the false based liar that I am.
    Hello!  Greetings again, let's get on with the hello's.  Also, why would I have a shirt that says, "Rush Hour III?"  The real question is, why not?  Now I kind of want that shirt.  Maybe that's the shirt I can market for this website.  A little inside joke.  I'm all about that copyright infringement, booy.  Well, my All You Need Is Love shirt is copyright infringement.  But they'd seem pretty hypocritical suing me for that, I guess.  Anyway, let's get entryin' with it.  I miss eating on a box.  I used to have a box in my room, I think from an old guitar amplifier, and I would set it up in front of my bed and eat dinner off it.  Now I eat with my family, like a chump.  Like a chomp.  Sometimes I privately do different characters when eating.  This is what a Chinese person eats like, I think in my head, and chew it a little differently.  This is what a Hispanic person eats like.  Chinese people eat slowly with their front teeth, making very deliberate small bites.  Hispanic people, I don't know.  The truth is I've only done regular and Chinese.  It's about time I start branching out, though.  I think it started from eating white rice, and I was eating it too quickly.  And I was like, In China, all they do is eat white rice, and they make it last.  So I tried out a few different things, and finally found something that seemed to ring true.  Anyway, hello.   What else is going on.  Hmm.  Crap, and shit.  Rush Hour is almost a palindrome.  Where do they get off.  Hopefully somewhere soon, it's Rush Hour, lots of traffic.  Bingobango.
    One more paragraph of greetings, then we're almost done.  Wonderful.  Calling the time where there's lots of traffic rush hour seems counterintuitive.  Let's take some calls.  Caller, you're on.  You got no right calling out Chinese people.  Hmm, someone hasn't heard the golden rule of radio-- introduce yourself.  I've spent two paragraphs on greetings, you'd think they'd get the hint.  What else is going on and crap.  Rush hour.  Reeks of schadenfruede.  That's a word I heard once and vowed to use it whenever possible.  Rosh Hashanah.  Do You Understand the Jews that are coming out of my temple?  That's how that goes.  Anyway, I guess no more introductions.  It was fun while it lasted.  The Hunchback of Notre Dame sounds like they added a new position to football or something.  And that's the bottom line.  And that's my new catchphrase.  That's what they call the coach who comes up with the plays.  He's got a hunch it might work!  And that's the bottom line.  Anyway, what else.  Haven't been drinking today.  It's only 10:30, but the way the last few months have gone, that's still an accomplishment.  I aughtta take a walk and get some beer.  At least wait till 12 or something.  That' when they can legally sell beer, might as well wait for that.  Because I have to.  Anyway, what else.  There's a phone number for, "How Are We Doing?" on the McDonalds Iced Coffee cup.  Hello, I'd like to speak to Mr. McDonald.  Ronald McDonald, is he there?  Let's make up a clown to sell hamburgers.  I don't get it.  I had a dream sometime over the last week that I was gettin' Chick-Fil-a.  Now, I know people say people in the south are dumb.  But a chicken restaurant not being able to spell filet?  That takes the cake.  People in the south aren't dumb.  They're just stupider than you and I. 
    Anyway, that's how that goes.  Why wasn't there a commercial in the seventies with the Fonz saying, "It's Fil-eeyyyyyyyy Tastic."  Nobody knows.  Why are the news calling Matt Harvey the Dark Knight.  Harvey Dent was the White Knight.  How about a little truth in advertising, guys.  That's like if they called Noah "Thor" Syndergaard Captain America.  It's good to know that next year's rotation will have two superheroes, though, at least.  I guess David Wright is Captain America.  I don't know anymore.  Is this only the fourth paragraph?  Yep.  What else is going on.  Spend a paragraphs on salutations?  I guess so.  Eh, whatever.  I aughtta see the Danny Collins movie today.  Movies are great most of the time.  What else do I got goin' on.  I guess that's enough for now.  See ya later.

-10:53 A.M.                   


Thursday, April 9, 2015                        

Can One Man Write An Entire Entry Before He Runs Out Of Almighty Alcohol?

    The stakes.  Have.  Been.  Raised.  What a maroon.  I got two 25 oz cans, and I'm about 3/4ths through 'em.  So, with that in mind, let's get entryin' with it!  Got nothin' better to do, you idiots.  Baseball just ended.  I like baseball.  I like the walks.  I think every at bat should end in a walk.  Not too good, not too bad.  Everyone's happy.  Except for that the half inning will never end.  Hey, count your blessings.  If the game never ends, you can't lose.  I think teams shuold be able to, "Chop the pot," late into the game.  Like, in poker tournaments, when there's two people left, they can choose to average out the winnings so they each are guaranteed a certain amount.  In baseball, say you're tied 5-5 going in to the top of the ninth?  Take all the pressure out of it-- settle for a tie.  It's all in my new self help novel-- "Settle!  The Path Towards Happiness Through Mere Satisfactoriaction."  In Civilization II, the settlers create cities.  Really, you just create one Indian lookin' mother fucker, send him a couple of squares down, press a button, boom-- city.  I've always thought we should be creating new cities.  Just take some land in the middle of Connecticut and start puttin' up shit.  It ain't like we got better things to do.  Let's get buildin'.  Especially cause Global Warming will put an end to all these cities by the shore.  Why wait before it's too late?  Let's get started on that now.  Build More Cities!   It's a good cause to get behind.  I remember spending hours and hours creating a city in Sim City 2000, only to have a spaceship come down and start wreaking havoc.  Well... I guess... that might happen in real life...  So I resigned as mayor and set up town in the computer controlled city across the way.  I remember I briefly played this game called Creatures, where, basically, you control the life of some fictional creature.  Sounds okay based on that, but the problem is, there's an evil creature that comes and fucks your shit up.  That's scary!  That's the creature of my nightmares!  And, also, if you have a female creature, apparently, one in a thousand times, your female creature and the evil creature will have sex and produce a 1/2 evil baby.  That scared the shit out of me. 
    Traumatizing.  Absolutely traumatizing.  Still not as bad as when playing The Sims and a clown shows up when you're sleeping.  Especially because it's when you're sleeping, so the time is going fast, and, out of nowhere, a clown fuckin' pops out of the ground.  WHAT THE FUCK.  I fall out of my chair, heart racing a mile a minute.  It's terrifying on two levels.  One, the unexpected graphic and sound file fucks the shit out of you.  Second, What can I get my Sim to do to fix this problem?!  I know!  Talk more about sports to the neighbors.  Just keep hittin' that button.  That's my main memory of The Sims.  Hey, you wanna talk about this?  No?  You wanna talk about this?  Yes?  Oh, now we're back to no?  What The Hell do you want to talk about.  Anyway, what else do I have going on.  I used to like SimTower.  You can build food courts underground.  That combines my two favorite things.  Food Courts and Underground.  Anyway, yeesh.  What else do I got goin' on.  Registerin' for Fall classes next week.  Probably aimin' for two classes, again.  Though, this semester, one of the two was Yoga.  I could handle it, still, though, probably, satisfactoriaction.   What else.  So, I guess I'm not open micing it up today.  I'd have to run pretty fast immediately there if I want to make it in time.  I don't have that kind of energy.  The good news is I get to sleep later.
    The good news is it's a new paragraph.  I remember in All Star Baseball 1999-2004, you could aim your bat to the left, right, up, down, etc.  Why did they have us aiming down at all.  I'm gonna try to hit a ground ball to the third baseman!  No, I'm gonna hit a ground ball to the pitcher!  What the Hell is wrong with you game developers and such.  I mean, sometimes I would try to justify it, Maybe by aiming down, it'll help us hit line drives?  I would never test out my theory though, what am I, an idiot?  I remember constantly stealing second after enticing my friend, as the pitcher, to throw to first, with me immediately going to steal the base instead of goin' back to first to avoid getting picked off.  I had it down to a science, it worked like 90% of the time.  Musta been Tom Goodwin.  That's a joke.  Tom Goodwin was retired by then.  Must have been Kaz Matsui.  He wasn't around yet.  Rebel Without a Kaz.  Bring him back!  He seems like a good middle infielder.  He could do it if you just gave him a chance!  Someone give Kaz Matsui a chance!  Bring him back, God Damnit.  I'll start a kickstarter, or something.  Anyway, what else is up.  Kickstarter sounds like a really bad superhero movie.  Can One Man Harness His Extraordinary Power To Kick?   Probably not, what else is playing?  Can one Man Kick His Extraordinary Power To Start?  Oooh, let's see that.
    Yes, indeed.  Anyway.  What's going on.  It's April.  Been that way for a while, at this point.  Who knew.  I don't wanna read John Barleycorn.  What if it's about me?  I can't take that chance.  I can't eat corn flakes.  I can't listen to Korn.  So many stuff I can't do.  Mostly that I wouldn't want to do in the first place, but, still.  I guess I can always change my name to Mark Twain II: The Sequel.  People would respect me more if I did.  Yeesh.  Let's finish this paragraph at least, then close out the entry.  I just finished the beer, so, that worked itself out.  I don't wanna finish this paragraph.  I don't want to do anything.  I have to, though.  If not me, who?  If not who, where?  If not where, how?  See ya later.

-5:11 P.M.


Tuesday, April 7, 2015                        

Classic Crazysheet, I Would Imagine

    That's a lot of pressure.  I gotta write a solidly B- entry?  Well, whatever.  How's it going and crap.  I'm feelin' good today.  Whattado.  I had a dream I got a B- on my Yoga midterm!  Alright!  High five.  Paul Blart is back.  Who saw the first Paul Blart movie, and thought, "I wanna see more of this!"  It's a good title, though.  It's probably fine, I don't know.  Besides, this website is the internet equivalent of Paul Blart.  Crazy Shart: Internet Wop.  What's poppa-woppin'.  Mad Dawgs are on the prowl.  Wop is recognized as a word.  I was just a millisecond away from writing another racial slur, to see if it's a word, but I don't even wanna type that crap.  Maybe they consider it an alternate spelling of the initials of World Series of Poker. Where they drop the Series, for some reason.  World of Poker.  That's an MMA where you walk around as a dwarf and play different types of card games with elves.  MPG.  PCP.  One of those things, probably.  What else is going on and crap.  Maybe I should do a comedy open mic on Thursday.  It's a good week to do it, cause I don't have class.  And I think I still have the notebook somewhere where I wrote ten to fifteen jokes in preparation for doing it a few months ago.  I can B- that shit hardcore.  And then get pizza with an amateur and tell him the ways of the world.  See, ya gotta tell jokes for them to laugh.  They ain't gonna laugh unless you tell jokes.  Take it from me, I've done this once or twice before.  Oh, I bet once or twice is a colloquialism for all the time. Yeah, that's it, I guess.
Plus, at the end of my set, I can advertise theuppers.bandcamp.com!!  It's a win-win proposition. Did you like my comedy?  No?  Well, here's some music.  Gotta be good at something, am I right?  I'll open my set saying, "Remember me?  I'm the guy who made the Dracula seeing the light of day joke on that different open mic a year ago."  That would be vaguely funny, now that I think about it.  Not really.  I already got my chuckles out of the way by typing it.  The Mad Dawg who said, "What's Poppa-Woppin," throughout high school, even though we barely talked to one another, whenever we did, he would tell me that he could get me a spot for stand up comedy in the city.  Cause he was in the rap game, or something.  Or, at least, he thought he was, and made me think he was.  Never followed through on his offer, though, which is for the best.  I woulda been pretty ill prepared.  If he actually is in the rap game, I take partial credit for that.  I take partial credit for anything I could get my hands on.  Like, when I got out of the hospital the first time, I was in the "Partial Program," where we took support group classes from 9-1.  And I made friends with the guy who made us watch Hellboy.  Although, to be fair, there was also the time we also were driving to a hookah bar, while high on weed, and listening to The Airborne Toxic Event in his car, with the bass all turned up, and it was the first time I heard them, and that was a pretty good experience.  Okay.  Great.  Wonderful.
    Yeesh.  This isn't classic at all.  Where do I get off.  I get the Mets' Jennry Mejia and the Mets' Jeurys Familia mixed up.  They're both relievers (although I think one used to be a starter).  Does that make me racist?  Or a Bad Met Fan?  Probably both.  Great, thanks for making me feel bad about myself.  Where do you get off.  We gotta give them nick names.  One can be J-Dawg, and other can either be M-Dawg or F-Dawg.  I think of everything through the spectrum of the Mad Dawgs, apparently.  That was my one shot at the big time, and I just have trouble letting it go.  Which one gets the J, though?  I didn't think that through.  Coin toss?  That's a way to settle the score. I'm not gonna do that open mic.  I probably should, though.  Anyway, what else.  You know what?  I saw the first half hour of Paul Blart a few weeks ago, and it's perfectly fine.  Got some chuckles out if it.  "Perfectly Fine," is the comedy equivalent of referring to music as, "Capturing A Mood."  I honestly meant both positively, though.  Words speak louder than words, though,  I guess.  We be entryin'.  What else.  Gotta finish the entry and crap.  100% of what I already wrote to go.  What bull crap.  So, what else do I got going on.  Also, the third Mad Dawg, when I became friends with him on Facebook freshman year of college, was trying to be like a Christian rapper, or something, if I remember correctly.  So, all the Mad Dawgs have dabbled in the music even far beyond we broke up.  That's a quotable notable.  What if I try to re-unite the trio.  Nerdgasm.  We're the Mad Dawgs, and we're here to say/We used to be in Middle School, the Mad Dawg Way!  Record contract, please.  Reading the Dean Wareham book made it clear it's impossible to make money in the music industry.  That's good to know.                                         
Also, it's the fourth paragraph.  How about that. President's of the United States'll make you, Lump, Lump.  Yeah, I guess.  I remember there was a good month in 2010 that I liked the POTUS The Band.  It preceded the month I liked Mudhoney and followed the month I liked The Pixies.  The Pixies probably holds up, I just haven't really devoted much time to them after that, though.  Anyway, huh?  Gotta make the rest of the entry count.  Hey, that gives me an idea.  Can I use, "What Did the Caregiver Say To the Boy With Explosive Fingers?" joke.  Don't count on it.  It'll all work itself out, one would imagine.  If I were ten years old, that joke would get an applause break.  At twenty six, not so much.  Gotta adult-it-up a bit.   Don't Fuckin' Count On It, You Shit Head!  There, perfect.  We Be entryin'.  W. E. B. Dubois.  Relatively certain he was the inspiration for Spiderman.  I'm pretty sure.  Anyway.  I'm pretty glad I don't have cancer.  I mean, lots of people get cancer.  Even at my age.  And I don't have it.  I'll chalk that up in the, "Win" column.  I remember, after I first had sex, which coincided with my most extreme bout of paranoia, I was paranoid I had AIDS.  I remember thinking, "How can this get any worse?  Me having AIDS?  SHIT MAYBE I DO."  I did feel a little weak. 
    Anyway, I don't have AIDS.  Or, at least, I've been in remission for a while. Of course, there was my rejected yearbook quote, "Wouldn't it suck if someone you loved gave you AIDS?  On purpose?"  I think now, I woulda gone with, "Wouldn't it be funny if you were buried alive?  Well, not to you, but to your enemies."  That's a winner right there.  Possible joke for Thursday!  I can't really set up that joke, though.  It's hard to work it in.  Anyway, huh?  Almost done.  Alright!  Who am I kidding.  I'll see the new Paul Blart opening weekend.  And I'm gonna love it.  I remember, I had a friend in college who loved Everybody Loves Raymond.  It was the only show he would watch, and he would watch it all time.  It's relevant because I associate ELR with King of Queens, for whatever reason.  Both sitcoms with amiable casts that I don't watch.  He also loved Rent, and actually became an usher at the Rent show.  Talk about living the dream.  Good for him.  Oh shit, I just watched Rent.  Do I have AIDS now?  Theatrical Transmitted Disease, it happens all the time.  And at Chipotle, he would get a burrito bowl.  Get a fuckin' tortilla, you idiot!  That's how I feel.  This is the guy who was gonna manage my band.  And, for two or three weeks, he actually did.  Made up flyers to find a drummer, and he helped put them up.  It was fun.  Anyway, what else.  Where's Miranda Cosgrove when you need her.  She woulda gotten me a real drummer.  I remember being paranoid the drummer we got was mobbed up.  Because his last name was Italian.  Somethin' just didn't seem right.  Maybe I shouldn't have introduced myself by saying, Hey, I'm Mike, What's Poppa-Woppin.  
Alright, last paragraph tizzime.  He was a socialist, though.  Hardcore.  I don't need to be dealin' with that.  I'm probably on a list just being friends with him.  Show CIA List! That's how I feel about things.  He did get me to take a class in Socialism, though, in NYU, which I took because he swore that everyone got an A in that class.  So, sure, I'll take a free four credits, no doubt.  Never even had to show up.  We had to write a final paper, though, which I did actually spend an hour on.  I just took my friend's paper from when he took the class, and edited out 50% of it.  Because it was supposed to be twenty pages or so, and my friend had written 100.  So, I figured the least I could do was take out half the paragraphs.  That's what I call addition by subtraction.  Or subtraction by addition.  One of those is a real thing.  I forget.  Anyway, gettin' close to wrapping this up.  Yep.  After this, finishing Halal food for lunch.  What dreams may come.  What else is going on.  Gotta finish the entry in some style.  Some pizazz.  Some tofurkey.  What next?  Watching more Intervention on Netflix?  Probably.  Anyway, huh?  Socialism for suckers.  Capitalism is where it's at.  That's how I feel about things.  Like Animal Farm.  Only animals do socialism, that's the point of that book.  Probably.  I never read it.  All I know is that there's a character called Babe The Pig In The City.  And he sorta runs the show, or something.  Anyway, see ya later.

-10:52 A.M.           


Monday, April 6, 2015                        

That's Right, I Know What Day It Is

    Does that get you hot and bothered?  It should.  Here I am, back with another infantilizing entry.  Me an infant for writing it, you an infant for not getting it.  It's totally, like, about, like The Tale of Two Cities, and Krippendorf's Tribe, What About Bob.  Oh now I get it.  I feel ya, I feel ya.  Those are titles to other things.  I get it.  Today is Monday.  I think they should have called "What About Bob?" "What About Bob?"  from Richard Dreyfuss's perspective.  It's a joke, it's a joke, I'm great, wrote a joke.  There's not one title I can think of that uses italics.  Why not.  Or quotations.  "Return" of the Jedi.  That's all I got.  That's all I got.  I don't like Weird Al's parody of American Pie, "The Saga Begins."  It glorifies the dark side.  Ship up, or ship out!  No free rides.  I've told you the story of when I saw Episode I, right?  There was a kid wearing a football helmet, and people kept throwing popcorn at him.  And there was another guy, probably mentally retarded, who kept repeating something loudly, but I forget what it was.  Too bad.  Maybe he wore the helmet because it's like Darth Vader.  I never thought about that.  Probably just that he was mentally retarded, too.  Are characters in movies ever allowed to yell, "Fire!"  Seems like it would be a violation of the law.  You're On Fire Tonight, Evan. Alright everyone go down the isles in an orderly fashion.
I once got written up during a fire drill in NYU, where when they were searching the rooms, they found my water pipe on the common room table.  I had to see a guidance counselor.  I'm the victim, here!  I had to run down ten flights of stairs, and there wasn't even a fire!  I'll set 'em all on fire, that'll show them...  What about the Fantastic Foursome, that one guy is made out of fire.  One of the Fantastic Four's super hero's name is Mr. Fantastic?  That sounds made up.  It's a joke.  It was made up.  You were made up!  Get off my website!  Anyway, excited for Mets baseball.  I wonder, if they wanted to, can a manager arrange his outfield defense, so that you have players behind the fence?  Seems like it should be an option.  Me, I would get all eight of you non-catchers standing right in front of the batters box with your hands up.  Maybe one more person at first.  Seven of you should be able to make sure the ball doesn't get past.  It's pretty much a rip off of my hockey idea that everyone should be play goalie.  The best offense is a good defense.  I guess you also need a pitcher.  Still, six people in front of the plate oughtta do the trick.  I always thought there should be specialty players who are really good at hitting foul balls.  Get one to lead off the game, works in a 40 pitch at bat, pretty soon they're gonna need to bring in some relief.  It's moneyball, you wouldn't understand.  Whose on first?  I'm a relief pitcher.  That's a relief.  Still working the kinks out of that joke.  Come back next week.
Anyway, huh.  Whatta entry so far.  What About Bob?  Great.  My therapist asked me what I'm gonna do with my week off.  You do realize, my usual week, is just a week off minus five hours?  And you call yourself a therapist.  She also asked to listen to my music, so I told her the website, and she was like, Yeah, I can't wait to check it out!  She never will.  When you get to my point in the music business, you realize there's one simple truth-- No One Wants To Hear Your Music.  They'll put on an act, sure.  But when push comes to shove, can't even motivate themselves to listen to one crappy two minute song.  Oh well.  She proposed listening to a song while I was there, but I nixed that in the bud.  Which is a combination of a word and a phrase that mean similar things.  I don't wanna hear my music with someone else.  That's pretty much the last thing I want to do in the world.  Hey, I have a Simple Truth about music!  I'm a rock star!  That's how that goes.  What else is going on.  I distracted myself.  Great.  There's one clearly retarded girl who is in the waiting room whenever I see my therapist.  Probably has a mental illness on top of the retardation, otherwise she wouldn't be there.  That's sad.  Also, today, there was a young Asian lady, probably around eighteen or nineteen, with her mother, checking in for the first time.  Was clearly a case of Tiger Mom Causes Daughter To Snap.  She was talking about how much pressure she was under, and said something like, "But you're okay with me not being extremely successful, right?"  Which probably is what the mother is saying now that she found her daughter has mental illness.  And the mother was like, "You just do the best you can do, that's all I want, do the best you can, and I'll be happy."  Then they started talking in Chinese for ten minutes, after which I was finally like "How rude can you get?  I'm trying to listen, here." 
    It was nice to see someone there who wasn't completely debilitated, though.  She's got a good head on her shoulders, it seems.  Anyway, let's get entryin' with it.  Sometimes you gotta just power through crap.  They were doing some work in the road on the way to hospital.  That's a notable quotable.  Maybe I'll get Halal food for dinner.  The cart on Springfield isn't as good as some other carts, but it's not terrible.  Also, in the past, I've gotten it from them without white sauce, for health reasons.  But I'm back on the white sauce wagon! Which is what this cart calls itself.  So, that'll make it taste better.  What's in the White sauce?  I dunno, white.  Oh okay thanks for explaining.  Could be come.  Gotta be at least one or two vendors who play that little joke on people.  Now I don't want to get it.  I guess I could just get Chinese food, with rat turds in it.  Fine cuisine.  Soylent Green is people!  I'd eat people.  If it was cooked properly.  Yolo, am I right??  Gotta finish this crap.  A paragraph and change to go.  Yeesh.  Whattado, whattado.  I'd like to see a ball game with my Dad and Brother at some point.  The last time we went was around 2006, and we had great seats, but it got rained out.  And, since then, my Dad is like, "Those were the best seats we ever coulda had, I don't wanna go again."  Except when he says it, you can follow that logic.  I'm probably missing a theorem or proof or something.
    Anyway, what the what.  Knocked it out of the park.  Hope you have your left fielder behind the fence.  That's right, I go opposite field on you.  What about Cecil Fielder, is he involved in this?  Probably not.  I coulda said Prince Fielder, but I went with King Fielder.  I stand by my choice.  Anyway, yeesh.  I like how Mr. P says, "I titty the fool!"  Eh.  Eah.  Egh?  Erg.  LL Cool J, ladies love Cool James.  PCGEO-MAK.  People can't get enough of Michael Adam Kornblum.  Personal computer geography.  What the Hell is going on.  I changed my mind!  I wanna erase this paragraph!  I wonder if Dorothy was really in Wichita when she thought she was in Oz.  That would explain the witches.  It couldn't be more than fifty miles away.  People used to like the middle of the country.  Wizard of Oz in Kansas, Oklahoma the musical.  Those are the two references I have to back up my point.  Wha.  Huh?  Eh.  What else is in the middle.  Missouri?  The movie Misery, with fan-favorite Kathy Bates.  Anyway.  I like the show All My Children.
How many children do you have?!  That you can't even count.  Sorry, I'm desperate for things to say.  Anyway.  I don't think I gave a link on this blog to my newest music album.  Enjoy, and, see ya later.            

-12:54 P.M.


Thursday, April 2, 2015                        

Greyson's Magic Title Tonic

    I remember when titles used to mean something.  Kids these days, what with their Pepsi, and hover boards, and shoes.  Huh?  Where do you get off ragging on shoes, old man?  Please don't hurt me.  That would have been a perfect yearbook quote.  It sums up what I'm about in three simple words.  Plus, a fourth one.  So, in total, four words.  I just had Lunch To The Future.  I'm really digging this Dean Wareham book.  I don't want it to ever end!  Because then it's back to my life, a.k.a.  Shitcinatti, USA.  Whew.  Anyway, physical locations are great.  Great for identifying where you or something else is.  Also, words are funny.  Atlanta?  Ha, I get it.  Staten Island?  Oh no you didn't.  Alaska?  If you insist!   Where in the world is Carmen San Diego.  I think I know, I think I know.  I talked to girl in class!  She sat next to me and confided her inner most deepest feelings with me.  The teacher had asked, If you can go back in time and change one thing, what would it be?  And, since no one else raised their hand, I butted in with, "I guess the standard answer is Kill Hitler."  And that got the ball rolling.  Then someone said 9/11, and qualified it by saying it was the worst thing to happen on American soil since Pearl Harbor.  And the girl leaned in towards me, and cattily said what about The Triangle Shirtwaist fire?  And I said, I think that happened before Pearl Harbor.  Then she returned to her notes.  Oh, this will they/won't they romance has only just begun!  She's pretty cute, though, and she is smarter than that makes her seem.  Hell, even that makes her seem smart, that she even had that reference.  I didn't even really know that reference, I just intuitively knew it was before Pearl Harbor.  Then, ten minutes before class ended, I passed her a note that said, "I'm Turning Japanese I Think I'm Turning Japanese I Really Think So."  Ya know, just to see what would happen.  That song wouldn'ta stood in the early forties. Whose side are you on?
    I'm on our side, Sir.
  Shitledo, Ohio.  And the guy on the other side of me, I lent a pen!  Looks like Mr. Cool is running the show, now.  That's me.  I'm Mr. Cool.  Sorry Lawrence.  And now that I have Pokerstars on my phone, I don't even need to write shit between crapsvilles.  Cattily said.  Can I be any more insensitive?  That's like how later in the class, a girl described an African American woman character as, "Sassy."  Where do we get off!  Anyway, huh.  Why am I doing this.  I can be reading an interesting book.  Gotta make it spread out, though.  There's only so much quality non fiction books about bands I like in the world.  When I came home today, everything looked green.  Something was wrong with my color register.  Which I assume is a thing.  Lookin' at lo mein, That's not supposed to be green!  It's out of my system now, though.  How blunderful.  Anyway, two weeks off, starting.... two days ago.  Except for today's class, that's the most accurate way I could finish that sentence.  Anyway, now I gotta finish this entry.  Where does things get off.  Galaxie 500 is pretty good music.  Certainly captures a mood.  You know who I really like, though?  The Moody Blues.  Can't get enough of that father-son-son trio.  I'd like to see a father-stepfather-son trio.  Who will the son choose?  Classic Willthey/Wonthey.  That doesn't make sense by any stretch of the imagination.  Still, two sentences worth of fudge.  The book does sort of make me feel ill prepared to enjoy the band, because there's a bunch of references to mostly punk/punk-adjacent bands from the seventies and eighties that were influences, and 80's and 90's bands that were their contemporaries, that, I might have heard of half of them, and only have listened to like 5% of them.  Oh well, guess there's no way to solve that problem.  It's impossible.  Just gotta keep living my life, I guess.  Oh, well. 
    Great Expectations, it's the new paragraph!  Holla at your boy.  Mad Dawgs are on the prowl.  I spilled some pop on my bed last night, so I slept in the other direction.  Two notable things about that-- I called Soda, "Pop," like a chump, and getting to sleep opposite.  It's like a whole new world.  Back to crazysheet.  What else is happening.  I was gonna try a street dog, but the two Halal carts on Kissena, even though they advertise street dogs on their cart, did not have them.  I anticipated this might happen.  That's why I didn't burst into tears and roll up into a little ball on the sidewalk, crying out for my mommy.  I took it like a man, and shed a single tear, then went on my way.  You know, like the garbage made the fake Indian do. That's how I roll, and such.  What else is crappening.  Everything green.  Pshh.  Who you foolin'.  What else is happening.  Kickin' ass at some poker.  Because I'm great at things.  Like notes to girls in class.  Do You Want Me To Turn Japanese?, ()Yes, ()No.  Damn, that ass.  Huh?  I mean, what's going on.  Also, she has the same name as the girl whose arm I felt.  If that's not destiny, I don't know what is.  Do you want to run away? () Yes.  Anyway, let's get entryin' with it.
    Yeah!  What else is going on.  Glorious.  I think describing a band as, "Capturing a mood," is pretty condescending.  Guess I'm an asshole.  I always had a suspicion, ever since I first noticed the hole in my butt.  Because that's how words work if you're stupid.  Hey, it's me.  The words are blue!  How crazy!  I never wouldda guessed it. Alright, we'll wrap this shit up a little early.  Still finish this paragraph, though.  I owe that to ya, after all.  Yeah, what else.  See ya later.

-3:10 P.M.


Wednesday, April 1, 2015                        

Hey What's Poppa Woppin'

    Everyone loves new slang.  Especially Zack Braff.  He made a movie about it, or something.  I don't know the details.  I think it was called, Hey, I'm From New Jersey, Hey.  There's a decent 30-40% chance New Jersey has nothing to do with it.  I've only seen like five minutes of it.  Why isn't there a sport team called The New Jerseys.  Their jerseys would sell like hot cakes.  And, from what I understand, hot cakes sell relatively quickly.  Almost as much as puns on sportswear.  It's all available at Astronaut Mike's Sportinggreats Store.  Do they sell jerseys at sporting goods stores?  They do now, I'll tell ya that.  Anyway, how do ya do.  Let's get entryin' with it. I hate how italicizing italics makes it regular.  It's supposed to look doubly italics, not no italics at all! You Idiot!  I'm fairly certain I argued the exact opposite about double italics in a previous entry.  A man is entitled to change his mind!  You Idiot!  That's how that goes.  Hey, check it out, blue font.  Never woulda guessed in a million trillion years.  Remember Trillian?  It was like an instant message program that combined all other instant message programs into one easy to use instant message program.  Instant Message Pogrom.  Run away!  Whatta idiot.  If I was a Jew, wait, I am, I mean, Being a Jew, I wouldn't eat pomegranates.  Why risk it?  I don't know what I am.  I'm a guy who makes pomegranate puns.  That's how that goes. 
    Second paragraph of the month!  Wowsers.  What else is great.  I have a week off next week.  It's about time.  I've been going to three class sessions a week, like a chump.  Pretty much every day I write an entry at Queens College, I have about twenty to forty minutes on the bus ride home of paranoia that I forgot my entry papers somewhere in the college, and someone will find them.  And my mind goes through what that would entail.  Maybe they'll like it, and want to get to know me.  But mostly, No!  It can't happen!  Never!  No!  Which is pretty much the spectrum I view peer socialization in general.  Anyway, I kinda hope it turns out a bunch of news stories from the past year were April Fools jokes.  Police shot a guy just cause he was black.  That's terrible!  April Fools.  Oh, that makes sense, things can't suck that much.  People be getting Ebola all the time.  No!  In this modern age?  April Fools.  Thank God.  And so on and so forth.  It's like a joke starter kit.  I gave you the set-up, you get to figure out the development yourself.  I can't be bothered to write jokes in crazysheet.  It's all about the exposition.  You Idiot.  What fun.  May be using the wrong word there, but you know what, that word fits anyway, you idiot.  It's Wednesday today.
    Okay.  It could just be my middle school friend and co-Mad Dawg who coined the greeting, "What's Poppa Woppin" was just looking for a way to insult and degrade Italians.  I wouldn't put it past him.  I forget his Rap Name.  Big Poppa Woppa?  No, that can't be it.  I, of course, was Yung MAK.  Because I was eleven years old, that's pretty young for a rapper.  Only Kris Kross has a claim to younger rapdom than I do.  It seems, checking Wikipedia, the Kris Krossers Rap Names were each other Kris Krossed.  Mac Daddy and Daddy Mac.  I would think that would get confusing, but who am I to judge.  My roommate Sophomore year's alarm clock was Jumper by Third Eye Blind.  I can't help but wonder how my life woulda turned out differently if it was Jump by Kris Kross.  That song is actually pretty good, I never heard it in entirety before.  And, if they actually wrote the lyrics themselves, that's actually pretty, pretty great.  Even with their blasphemous name.  Kris Kross implies an upside down cross!  They're Devil Worshippers!  Let's get that out there, people need to know.  Yung Mak reminds you of a, stump, stump.  Cause of the shortness and crap.  His name might have actually been Big Poppa Woppa.  It may have been.  I forget the other guy's name completely, though.  To tell the truth, I don't think we were taking it as seriously and we should have been.  He might have been half Italian, now that I think about it.  I still don't think he was using the term purposely, though.  He just ended up identifying with it through osmosis.  Osmosis Jones!  That was the other guy's name.  Ehhhhhhh. I remember I once went to Chelsea Piers to roller blade with him, and the only thing we could do was the ramp people use to speed up.  We were unqualified to do anything else there.  We also went snowboarding once.  We got on our snowboards at ground level, and tried to walk three feet.  That's as far as we got.  Now, I see a pattern of attempting a lot of things half-assedly, and not following through at all.     
Anyway, that's great, I guess.  I remember listening to the Barenaked Ladies on the car ride to Chelsea Piers.
Holy shit it's the biggest band in the world, In The Car With Us!  I think I also had The Beastie Boys' Hello Nasty on CD then, too.  I really liked that in high school, either way.  Good songs to get pumped up on the way to school.  Or on the way home from school.  Or any time you feel like you need some pumpin' up.  Anyway, I need some pumpin' up.  You know, to finish the entry.  Whattado with the rest of my day.  Read the Dean Wareham autobiography.  I don't really know his music too well, but more than I did Big Star.  Somehow I got turned onto his band Luna in 2008, I think just browsing through iTunes, I hit it.  And that was good.  I was always under the impression it was just some little band that's great that no one knows, but apparently he's pretty big in indie rock.  We didn't land on indie rock, indie rock landed on us!  Pretty sure I've made that joke before.  And, if not me,  two hundred hack comedians.  And, if not two hundred hack comedians, then, I guess it was me, right now.  Awesome!  What else is going on.  Crap, crap, shit, crap.  I wrote 22 entries in 31 days last month.  That's too much entry.  Oh well, gotta do something.  One would imagine.  Anyway, hiya.  Entryin' it up to the greatest extent possible, that's how I roll.  You know how people sometimes say they have their head on backwards?  How do they know they don't have their body on backwards?  Something to think about, I guess.  I think I know why lefty people are predisposed to being evil.  Whenever I see someone playing guitar, I reverse it in my mind to their perspective, in half a second, to see if they're playing right handed or left handed.  Now, a right handed person wouldn't do that.  Therefore, I'm evil, or something.  I didn't think it all the way through. 
Alright.  I guess the ultimate goal is to become ambidextrous.  It's not that hard, just takes a bit of practice.  The ultimate goal is finishing this entry.  What else.  I'm sick of this color scheme, boy.  Not sick enough to change it.  Just sick enough to complain about it.  Hey, what's up.  Still me, here.  Losin' money in poker like it's going out of style.  Doesn't really make sense.  Why would me doing something excessively make it go out of style?  I'm hip, I'm trends, it'll be more in style when I'm through with it.  Also, hello.  Also, get ready for good bye.  It's almost that time again.  It's still too early in the morning to have to do anything.  That's how I feel.  I hope no one plays an April Joke on me.  I'm bound to break down in tears and wail the rest of the day away.  If it's a really effective joke, at least.  It probably will be.  I mean, Huh?  Wha?  Let's get finishin' with it.  Stupid Dean Wareham, making me read about him.  Where does he get off.  Gotta read the book to find out.  I hope there's a chapter called, "Where I Get Off."  I'd read that, for sure.  I don't wanna know where he gets off. That's breaking the fourth wall.  That's an expression I heard once, who let the dogs out.  That's how I feel.  You'd think they'd be called Baha Dogs, that being their hit.  Maybe they were warning the world about the coming age of the Mad Dawgs.  That's probably what was goin' on there.  Mad Dawgs are on the prowl.  Yeesh.  See ya later.

-9:35 A.M.