February 1, 2014
Hello guys. Somebody told me the
Superbowl is this Sunday! Cue hoots and hollers. I can't wait
to see the commercials. Cue deafening applause. And how about
that half time show? I'd love to see a show where they halve time.
It seems like a pretty interesting concept. Tomorrow is Groundhog Day.
That means, if the groundhog sees his shadow, it's six more weeks of Superbowl.
They just gotta keep playing and playing. Until they get it right.
Like in that movie. Why didn't Bill Murray ever just stay up all night.
Didn't think of that one, Phil? Seems pretty obvious. Maybe he
didn't get a lot of sleep the night before, and was always waking up tired.
That would be tough, waking up every day tired. I used to be like that,
when I had school and responsibilities and whatnot. I want to get
sunglasses. I'd be all like, "Check me out! Can't see my eyes?
That's too bad for you!" That sort of thing. Hmm, I haven't done
anything new or interesting on this website in a while. I'm gonna try
writing a short story. Here we go.
Speedman was a man. He had a
plan. His plan was to not get caught for the murders he committed.
He only committed them on his Play Station Four, but as far as Speedman was
concerned, that was legally binding. Speedman had an H.D. T.V. You
know what that means, right? Because Speedman doesn't. Speedman
drank flavored liquors, because they had alcohol inside of them. Speedman
was an alcoholoholic. He didn't particularly love being drunk, but he
enjoyed being drunk. Let's leave it at that. Everybody loved
Speedman. "Look at him go!" said one. Speedman liked Batman
villains, Ya Heard? Speedman was at one point a potman. He gave that
up like yesterday's trash. He gave up yesterday's trash like it was
today's trash. Wait, did someone say, "drunk?" Speedman loves the
drink. He's not an alcomaniac, he's just indebted to alcohol for all
the things it did for him over the years. A man is not measured by his
years. He's measured by his ears. Speedman liked to have a few
From then on, Speedman gave himself
to the Lord. The lord of Broadway. Who just so happened to be the
correct Lord, in this scenario. Broadway is a place in New York. That's
where Gay people live. Don't get me sidetracked, you Scum! Speedman
tricked Dennis the Menace to give him a hickey. Speedman was a real
Eh. If I was an
internet T.V. programmer, I'd cancel myself. I don't have that luxury,
though. I like the Superman Villain, Lex Luxury. Mainly because he
gives Superman something to do. I like people who watch the Superbowl just
to see the commercials. That's the equivalent of just going out on the
street, and joyfully handing money to people. Makes me giggle. What
else is poppin. I'm thinking about going on a new antidepressant.
Because I'm sick of dealing with you. That's right. I'm
talkin', straight-up, you. On the plus side, get some sleep!
Thanks, me. Will do! Gotta finish this entry first, though. I
hope both teams win the superbowl. I want everyone to go home happy and
satisfied. In conclusion, enjoy a new segment, "What's Your Favorite
February 3, 2014
Read It Like You've
Got Something Better To Do!
In other words, don't read
it. But then don't come complaining to me tomorrow about how you heard the
entry was great and want my head over things I said. I had to go get
Parliaments 100 today because I was out of my carton cigarettes. Do people
even do that?! What is this, the wild, wild west? I don't see Will
Smith or Kevin Kline anywhere. And I certainly do not see a
giant mechanical spider. I would like to think that I would notice such a
thing, what with my keen observational powers and whatnot. I uploaded an
album of covers to my music page. It is located
here. It's twelve of your favorite songs sung by your least favorite
person. Or least favorite musician, at least. That's probably just
about 100% accurate. Oh well. We got some Elliott Smith, some
Beatles, a Led Zeppelin, a Bobford Dylan, and more! But check it out,
though. If ya want. I got Halal food for dinner. I'm outta my
mind excited about it! Dinner! Yes! The meal so nice, they
named it twice. The other name is supper. Or, in Taco Bell lingo, "Thirdmeal."
Second paragraph to the future! I've got my third
college class tomorrow! Time to rock the hizzouse! Nobody
cares. I've been gettin' my Halal food with a bit of barbeque sauce
lately, because I've been forgoing the white sauce, on account of it being
dishealthy. The hot sauce is good, but if they put on too much, then
there's too much. It's just spicy, without flavor. That's how I feel
about sauces. Barbeque may not be the traditional sauce, but a little bit
goes along way, in this man's opinion. Why isn't there a Halal Food
interest magazine. I'd be interested in it. Also, what's a magazine.
Is that like a fanzine? Probably not. I get Rolling Stone every
month, because I'm interested in seeing what's not gathering mass every four
weeks. It interests me. I mean, moss. Not gathering moss.
Either way, great journalism. I woke up at around 4 A.M. this
morning. You can't make this stuff up. So, it's been snowing like a
mutha here in the Y.C. We dropped the, "N," this is what cool people do.
I remember when I was a kid Enyche was a thing. I forget why. I
think they were just trying to say Chechnya. Joania loves Chechnya.
That's a sitcom from the Russian Federation. It's kind of like a King of
Queens thing. I enjoy my banter. I'm not sure why. But I can
certainly understand if you don't. So, on account of me everywhere, I'd
like to apologize. Anyway, that pain in my mouth went away. So, I
guess it's no mouth cancer for me! High fives all around.
Cigarettes, cigarettes. I smoke cigarettes.
Because I'm addicted, don't get even get that nicotine high. Because I
smoke too much cigarettes. Nobody steal that lyric, it's gonna be da bomb
someday. Anyway. Let's get this entry moving. Every now and
then, my T.V. twitches. There's no other word to describe it. It
makes an audible twitch. I'm assuming this is normal, and not that my T.V.
is possessed by angry spirits. Because I'm just not ready to deal with
such a thing. And even if I were, it would be still be kind of a hassle.
I gotta get my shit rollin'. I'm fairly confident that a ghost lives in my
walls. He tells me to destroy things. He gets angry when I don't go
to the bathroom on time. He calls
"The Devil's Curse." He looks like an ape but acts like a man. He
tore my song lyrics out of my back pocket. In high school, I used to
literally carry around a note pad in my back pocket, for lyrics and whatnot.
The second half of high school, anyway. When I was tryin' to get good at
music to win all the girls. The first half of high school I was too
preoccupied by feelings of isolation, insecurity, lust, and ennui to write song
High school seems like a dog's age ago. I guess it was,
if the dog is just about middle age, gettin' older. I remember it used to
be a big building. Like ten floors. That's about all I remember.
And reading ESPN magazine before first period to get a leg up on my fantasy
baseball prospects. In a ten (or twelve? probably 10) person league,
I won three years in a row, 2004-2006. Probably the greatest achievement
in my life. It was a keeper league, I drafted Albert Pujols first, drafted
David Wright and Jose Reyes on back-to-back picks around the 8-10th round (they
were both to-be-rookies), and the rest was history. Where's my
hall of fame? One day I would like to be abducted into the Rock 'N Roll
Hall of Fame. I thought of that joke a while ago, thought that I would,
luckily, never be able to use it, and then disappointed myself fifteen seconds
ago. It's not really a joke. It's just saying the wrong word.
I have a feeling 40% of my jokes could be classified as, "Just saying the wrong
word." I'm a wordsmith! Get off my case! Crazysheet.
It's right in the name. Get used to it, buddy. That's me.
This entry just flew by. That's not something someone
in the world trade center on 9/11 could have said about a plane. I am so
sorry. Really. I apologize so much. Please forgive me. I
hate myself. I will never forgive myself for that joke. Never.
But, now that it's done, let's move on. Time heals all wounds.
Actually, no. Don't ever trust a doctor that says, "Time heals all
wounds." He doesn't know what he's doing. He or she is a fraud.
Bleh. Anyway. So, yeah, class again tomorrow. Gonna be good.
See ya later.
February 4, 2014
I Forgot Why We Were
Looking At This!
If you take the, "S" sound
out of, "Tuesday," it becomes, "Today." Hidden meaning? Probably
not! Right off the bat, I want to apologize for the 9/11 joke I made in
the last entry. I know to my one reader, about .3 of him was offended
and/or put off by it, and I was too. I was thinking about it today and was
like, "There's no value in jokes like this. Jokes are meant to increase
happiness. That joke just bums me out." So, I promise, from here on
out, to never make any jokes that could be upsetting. Except for the 90%
of my jokes which poke fun at me. That's just funny. And by funny, I
mean necessary. You need to know I don't take myself too seriously, or
else you'd be like, "Whose this fuckinheimer? Didn't he get the message
that they chose the new pope, and he came in last?" To come in
last, though, presumably I'd have to be on the ballot of at least one cardinal.
It's an honor just to be nominated. I wouldn't want to be Pope. God
is always talking to you, telling you what to do and say. Get off my back,
God! God! I just want to impress girls and renew my passport!
Imagine if the Pope was allowed to see women. What kind of pick-up lines
would he use? "They don't call me the Pope for nothin'!" That means
nothing. He'd probably say he's got an "in" in Heaven and can get them to
the top of the list. Oh, that Pope. "One night with me, and you'll
be screaming, "God! God! Jesus!" The Pope is one smooth
character. When you're having marital relations with someone, is it normal
to scream, "God! God! Jesus?" Probably not, if I had to guess.
When I read "God! God! Jesus?" I imagined a
woman having sex, screaming God, and then realize Jesus is watching her, so she
goes, "Jesus?" Jesus is such a perv. Let people have sex without
your peeping eyes following their every move.
If I hadn't already built up the "Crazysheet" brand, I'd
probably rename my website Imdumb.com. It just makes a lot more
sense. As it is, the proper interpretation of, "Crazysheet," is,
"Oh, he's crazy, he doesn't realize he's dumb." If I spoke a foreign
language, and could only say one phrase in English, I would definitely choose,
"Sure, I speak English." Hands down, no question about it. I got a
carton of non-menthol Newports by mistake. They're surprisingly not so
bad. Cigarettes are commonly known as the Universal language. Or, at
least one of them. There's math, music, and cigarettes. When aliens
finally come to visit Earth, they'll be saying, "Bleep, Blort, Mag, Foor,
we brought you some Marlboros," and our ears will perk up and realize these
friendly creatures come in peace. I like it when people say, "There's no
going back (from this)." No! There's always going back!
That's my favorite place to go! If someone told me to go, "Forward," I'd
be like, "Look, I don't know what's coming up ahead of me. I know what
happened behind me. And it wasn't that bad. So let's stick to that,
for now." For meow. I hate cats. Ever since my cat died, I
want nothing to do with them. Actually, that's how I came to the
conclusion the 9/11 joke was bad. I thought about a joke where I made fun
of my cat being dead, and I just instantly felt completely empty inside, and
realized that was briefly what I felt with the 9/11 joke, before I decided to
soldier on. So no more bad jokes.
My inner monologue has become so self-centered. I was
sitting next to a girl in class today, and when I glanced at her, she would
cross her legs, and I would be like, "I made her do that!" Or I would
glance at her, and she would sigh, and I'd be like, "That's cause of me!"
Or I would glance at her, and she would turn her head, and I'd be like, "Oh man,
is it on!" What goes on in my head has literally nothing to do with the
real world. And it was only like 10% because I was attracted to her.
I was just getting my jollies by thinking she was attracted to me. I think
that's sign one of a sociopath. Hey, at least I have a path. That's
a joke. Good one, me! I mean, you know, it comes from years of being
mentally ill, and isolation, and being in and out of hospitals. But, yeah,
I'm sure at some point I'll get it together socially where I'll be a normal once
again. Or, at least as normal as I could be. But I've got some work
to do. But it isn't work, so it's easy to misinterpret it at first.
Do I have to cite Eminem in my journal entries? I guess I do, otherwise
I'd be a plagiarist. The NYU humor paper was called, "The Plague."
I'd like to think they called themselves, "The plagiarists." I went to one
open meeting my sophomore year, didn't like the vibe, and never went back.
I'd like to think, that if the paper was doing well, they'd say, "It's spreading
like The Plague!" But they probably weren't that clever. Well, the
creator probably thought of both those puns, but after him, the quality of
pun-recognizers most likely decreased steadily as the years went on.
Man, is this a quality entry. Don't tell me, I like to
be surprised. My teacher called George Washington "George Jackson," today.
At least he didn't say George Jefferson. That would have actually had been
funny. Bleh. Why didn't Sherman Hemsley have a friend named, "Thomas
Washington?" Because the writers didn't think Americans were ready
for such a joke. Maybe he did have a friend named Thomas Washington.
I never saw the show. I'm 25! I'm a perfect square. That's
what bullies always called me. And by bullies, I mean my Dad. And by
always, I mean the last two months. My parents both turn 66 later this
month. They're both 2/3rds the sign of the beast. I hate the devil.
What an asshole. I think if there was a manga based on my life, it would
be called, "The Incredible Sulk." Just an idea, throwing that out there.
When he gets angry, he sulks. That's his power. Anyway, enjoy an
episode of a new series, "What Kind Of Phone Do You Have?"
February 6, 2014
If It Rhymes, It Must
Hello geekwads and jerk...somethings.
Just completed session FOUR of my college class. I didn't even know
college classes lasted this long! Because I'm a moron! I got to make
a joke in this class. It wasn't really a joke, but people laughed.
That's the number one thing to do, for me, socially. A smile from a girl,
a validation of an intelligent thought, those are okay, but the feelings
inspired by them are too complicated. Laughter is pure, laughter is good,
and laughter... is what I'm after. It's like, if a girl smiles at me, I
get in my head about, "What does it mean? How should I respond? Am I
over-thinking things?" If I make a joke and people laugh, I just get
caught up in the moment and think, "Yeah, this is funny." A feeling I
don't get to have that often anymore. But, the more I go out and do
things, the more it'll happen. Mathematically speaking. Is when you
make a calculator say, "BOOBS" an example of mathematical speak? Probably.
Ha! Boobs! I know those things. I miss menthol cigarettes.
Tell myself something I don't know. I can't, I don't know it.
Anyway. Five day weekend! These are the memories
that will last a life time. Or, at least they will, now that I've cemented
them in my journal. This is a journal that will last a life time. I
kinda hope not. Hopefully, one day, when I'm 93, someone will say to me,
"Remember the online journal you kept in 2014?" And I'll be like, "No!
What! I don't remember any such thing!" Because these are the
memories that shouldn't last a life time. Man, I just imagined being 93.
I'd be so angry and sad at 93. One would guess. There are no 93 year
olds that are really just loving life. I guess the burden is on me to live
a life that would make my 93 year old self proud and content. Or, just die
in my 40's. But then I'll have to be dead. And no one wants that.
Except for my enemies. But I would never give them the satisfaction!
Screw you, enemies! I have no idea what I've done to deserve enemies.
I'm relatively harmless, I'd like to think. Maybe I'm my own worst enemy.
That's a thing. I'm probably my own casual acquaintance. That seems
Third Reich? How about third paragraph?
Yip. What else is going on. Bees knees, the Superbowl was last Sunday!
I didn't watch it! I'm no conformist! I'm too busy soiling my
bed sheets with masturbation after masturbation. Anyway. I'd like to
introduce a brand new segment. It takes the old segments, and blows them
all away! I will now have fixed characters, and we will
watch them grow from one segment to the next. So, enjoy.
No one knows why they got together. No one knows how
they got together. But they are... "The Gang Of Nine."
February 7, 2014
I might not know what 33%
of those words mean. I sort of have a good idea, but no solid
understanding. Anyway, here I am. Are you not entertained?
He's lucky he phrased it like that, because people got confused whether to say,
"Yes," or "No," based on his negative alignment. I might not know what
alignment means. Or I might know and be extremely lazy. I have a
sneaking suspicion I saw that exact joke somewhere on T.V. in the last three
weeks. Oh well. If it ain't broke, don't fix it. I'd like to
see someone try to start the phrase, "If it is broke, fix it." He just
says it any chance he get, hoping it'll catch on. Little does he know it's
obvious, stupid, and repetitive. "If it's broke, fix it." No shit?
I was just gonna throw it out in the trash. But you're telling me I could
fix it? The level of your philosophical genius truly knows no bounds.
Oh, man. I had to stop chewing gum recently. Too sweet!
Really. I need to have someone to chew my gum for me, so after ten
minutes, I can chew it, and get the appropriate amount of sweetness.
What's on deck for me in the upcoming days. Well, I have a therapist
appointment Monday. That's tons of fun. "Have You Still Been
Experiencing Symptoms?" Yes, and yes! Also, one of my symptoms is to
OCDly repeat every affirmative affirmation I make.
Maybe they have Diet gum. Probably not, though.
Already February 7th. So far, the year has been pretty good. I've
been moving forward, so to speak. Went to the casino with my Uncle, got
started on the Queens College class, writin' da blog. It ain't one giant
leap for mankind, but it sure is one small step for man. I wonder who the
first guy to take a shit on the moon will be. I mean, out of their
uniform, on the Lunar soil. In effect, that guy will more or less own
the moon. That's why I go to open houses, take a shit in the living room,
and hold my hand out for the lease. That's just how things work. I
might go see the Lego movie this weekend. I saw the poster for it a couple
of months ago, thought, "Really?" but apparently it's getting really good
reviews. And do I really have to see Monuments Man? I mean, I
guess I do. But, really? Why? I imagine that's how a
close friend (if I had a close friend) might feel about reading my website.
I mean, I should be involved in what Michael's up to. But, really?
I don't blame you. It's boresville. So, it's the Winter
Olympics. The Olympics are boring. Lets raise the stakes a little
bit. The country with the highest score at each Olympics gets to run the
world for the next two years. That'll increase interest. That's
probably why so many Americans have no interest in the Olympics, while it's
still popular in other countries. Americans just take for granted that
they're pretty much on top. For other countries, this is their one chance
to shine. Also, I have no idea what the numbers on how many Americans are
interested in the Olympics compared to other countries. I am just pulling
shit out of my ass. It's a free website. If you don't like it,
I also have no idea what the numbers are on if America is,
'Pretty much on top.' Who cares. Olympics blow. We know
America is on top in at least one category: most successful at eradicating
indigenous peoples! I'm taking a class on Early America. That's
where that comes from. I think it's odd that American Indian people are
known for their casinos. Personally, I wouldn't want to try a Native
American's luck. Doesn't really look like it's been working out for them.
Anyway. I guess I'll do another entry of my Gang of Nine series today.
Still got a paragraph and a half to go for the regular part of the entry.
I think maybe nine was too many. I was gonna do 8, but I threw in the
extra one to make an even 3x3 square. Oh well, there are no rules here.
I'm free to try new things, and have fun with it. Disclaimer: I usually
try old things, and don't have fun with it. Oh well, that's how it goes.
Anyway, Jimmy Fallon is moving up one, and Seth Meyers is getting his own show.
I'm excited to give both a try. I don't think I've ever seen a full Jimmy
Fallon show, but now seems like the perfect time to get aboard the "F Train."
Anywho. Aren't the Mighty Ducks the real Duck
Dynasty? They had like three movies! That's dynasty territory.
I never saw any of those movies. As I child, I was scared of hockey.
Or ducks. I don't remember. I remember in NHL '95, on Sega, they
actually had fights as a built in part of the game. While attractive to a
video game player, that seems pretty egregious. That's like if, in a
football video game, you can gamble on the games. Or, in a baseball video
game, you can have your star player take steroids. Maybe I will see
Monuments Men. There must be something redeeming in it. There has to
be, you'd think so, right? If I was a film reviewer, I'd boil everything
down to this: "Yeah," or, "No." Anchorman II: Yeah. The Indian in
the Cupboard: No. Titanic: Yeah. John Carter: No. Good
luck getting simpler than that! I wouldn't be a good film reviewer (or, in
technical jargon, a "critic.") I see good and bad in every movie.
Maybe I could say, "Do It!" or "Nah." These are discussions I can have
with my producers. Anyway, enjoy another segment of the always wonderful
Gang of Nine.
No one knows why they got together. No one knows how
they got together. But they are... "The Gang Of Nine."
February 8, 2014
Run of the Mill
Hey, yo. Sit back
and relax while I guide you through another four to five paragraph dose of me.
Don't sit too far back, though, your chair might tip over. And don't relax
so much that you stop reading; then, for you, this entry will cease to be.
Today's Saturday. I knew it would be, too, all of last week. I kept
saying, "February 8 will be a Saturday," yet no one listened to me. I'm
like the boy who cried wolf. Mainly because I kept saying, "February 2nd
will be a Saturday," and "February 3rd will be a Saturday," and, "February 4th
will be a Saturday," that people simply stopped believing me. Then I got
eaten by a wolf. That's how that parable ends, right? The boy cries
wolf, no one hears him, then boom, he's wolf meat. He's not wolf meat.
He's meat the wolf eats. That's a tongue twister. Meat the wolf
eats. No it's not. I'm the boy who cried tongue twister.
Anyway. What was I talking about. Oh yeah, the date. My Dad
often tells this story, where he was in seventh grade, they had electives I
guess, or seminars, and one of the classes he could have taken was called,
"Dating For Seventh graders." And he was thinking, "What can be said
there, you put the date in the top left, in the top right, it's just different
places to put the date?" And then at some point he realized it was about
discussing dating (the social activity). That's a fun story. My dad
shuold have a blog. It would be ten times better than mine. But he's
not a huge proponent of sharing his life with strangers. Not me! If
I haven't shared my life with a stranger, how do I know it even exists?
It's like a tree falling in a deserted forest scenario. I need strangers
to know what I'm doing, or else it'll be as if it has never been done!
Damnit. The boy who cried tongue twisters. I make
myself laugh. What else is going on. I'm not going to do another
Gang of Nine segment today. I think we all need some time to fully process
the ones that are already there. Or, maybe I'll hit a wall after
four paragraphs, and we'll be blessed with a third installment of the series.
I'm sure you just wet your pants in excitement. I don't think I've ever
pissed my pants. I consider that a victory. Not counting diapers,
and stuff. I don't know what, "And stuff," means! Just diapers,
let's say that. I've been listening to a lot of podcasts lately.
It's a good, fun way to kill time. I even briefly fantasized about having
my own podcast, but I have little enough shit to say to make small talk with
people, how the Hell would I have enough to talk for a show for an hour every
week. Also, I don't like anyone enough to share a podcast with them.
Maybe my brother, but he audibly sounds too much like me, so the podcast would
sound like one person talking to himself. Besides, he's busy doing
whatever the Hell it is that he does. He seems like a busybody, to me, at
What to do with the rest of my night. Probably wear
socks. That's a plan worth enacting! I don't know. I want
somebody else's life. I mean, my life is interesting. That's
true in every sense of the word, and it does mean a lot. But somebody
else's life? Oh man! I can't even imagine. Well, I can
imagine. Hence this line of thought. I guess it's on me, though, to
do what I want to do with this life. I wonder if a mute person ever
signed, "Easier done than said!" Because I wonder idiotic things.
When my Dad took me to get my new smart phone, a few weeks ago, we were driving
around Bayside and beyond, and all these memories of hanging out with my friends
came flooding back. I don't even want to say that I miss it, because that
sounds too sad. I just want to say that I was happy to vaguely relive
those memories by driving down those streets. I've had some good times.
And I don't have to feel bitter, that I haven't been able to keep up with my old
chums, because I have such good memories that I don't even feel any negative
feelings. Everyone moves on in their life, and it's on me to somehow make
that leap, too.
Fourth paragraph. Just letting you know. What
else is up. What to do with the rest of my life. I mean, night.
So many options. Lie in bed, lie in bed, lie in bed, lie in bed. So
much fun things to choose from. My life is fun, though. There's lots
of hidden joys that keep me satisfied. Like, "The boy who cried tongue
twisters." Other people don't get to experience that. I'm already
bored of it. Psh. But there are things that keep me happy. Why
aren't these Newports mentholated? Who needs non Menthol Newports.
What a joke. Anyway, I'm a winner! In conclusion, here's a wonderful
entry of Gang of Nine!
February 10, 2014
That's Crazy Talk
Hey friends and everyone
else. It's me. Gotta keep it quiet, my Mom's asleep. If I type
too hard, she'll wake up! My mom needs Vicodin. I'm not a doctor
though: I cannot prescribe it to her. She has pains in her leg, or
something, though. So that's how things are going here at the old folks
home. What else is new. I had to go see my therapist today, and
check in over at the "Clozapine Clinic." The double C! Alliteration!
Clozapine is a drug I take, and it can greatly reduce your white blood cell
count, so you need to get a blood test done at least once a month. So far,
so good! Although my blood pressure was twice what it should be, which my
doctor attributed to shoddy equipment. That's also what my girl attributed
not fucking my why towards with. Also, I have an inability to form and
relay rational thoughts! Something that really should have come up in my
therapy meeting. White blood... Cell Count! The double C strikes
again! Hey, you know that Yankees pitcher, C.C. Sabathia...? Me too!
I hear he's pretty good! I want to one day be on a baseball team, and try
to encourage other people to treat me like a retard, so that would be my role on
the team. I would go up to the pitchers, and say, "Throw me some flame
balls!" and then run ninety feet away and squat. Or during batting
practice, pick up a bat, and say, "What are these for?" And when they ask
me what I want my jersey number to be, I'll say, "It's all the same to me.
I can't read."
Anyway, so I was seeing my therapist. It kinda sucks,
because each meeting, I've been making more and more progress, which is good,
but I'm at a point where I can't really make any more progress, so the only
direction to go is down. I mean, I could make more progress, in the
sense that there's a lot more progress to be made. But I can't make
progress, because I'm doggone tired. Can't I just camp out here for a
while? I'll make more progress in a couple of months. I'll get right
on it. I need to figure out how to make my phone ring and/or vibrate when
I get a call. Who can work these things?! Not me. I've tried.
I'm thinkin' veggie burger for dinner. Who has the tenacity to challenge
me? Sometimes I like it when a flock of birds fly by. It sort of
gives me dual opposing thoughts: "Man those birds look free," and "Man, those
birds are really confined to their flock." Birds! Get it together!
Are you free, like Lynard Skynard would suggest? Or are you a flock, like
Flock of Seagulls would suggest? Also, what's Flock of Seagulls? I
never heard of that before. Should I really get a veggie burger? I
deserve something taste-acular. You know, on account of doin' my thing and
stuff. My therapist is a jerk. She asks like she's interested, and
encouraging, and stuff, but I know deep down she doesn't give a fuck about me
and she thinks I'm scum. There, I said it. She thinks I'm scum.
For that to be funny, you have to know that, in reality, she is always really
positive and nice, so she probably doesn't think I'm scum. But she should,
folks. I'm scum. Taking up her valuable time with, "Oh, once or
twice a week, I feel really depressed!" "Get over it, asshole!" You'd
think she'd say.
So, I was taking a walk, and a nice lady handed me a
pamphlet, and apparently, there's a canyon, and we're on one side, and God is on
the other side. And the only way to get to the other side is by accepting
Jesus. I don't know what to think. On the one hand, I've always been
taught never to cross canyons with strangers. Cross canyons, double "C,"
that's how I remember. On the other hand, I don't wanna be stuck here on
this side with all of you creeps. I'm gonna take that risk and cross that
canyon! Eternal bliss for me. Suck it, nonbelievers! Truth be
told, I don't trust anybody saying he can get you across a canyon without some
sort of bridge, or pulley device. The minute Jesus gets helicopters, fine,
I'm in, but for now, I'll just wait and see what my options are. Religion
just bums me out. Because I don't know what to believe, so basically, I
know, whatever the truth is, I'm wrong. Because I don't know. So
whatever happens, I was wrong. But admitting that brings me closer to
Right. But saying that bring me closer to Wrong. See, I think I'm
stuck at the bottom of the canyon, and I'm just running around from cliff to
cliff. Waiting for Jesus, or whatever, to glide in on his jet pack and
carry me to safety.
Anyway. This was a fun entry. I'm gonna sleep
well tonight! Ugh. College class tomorrow. That's always good.
The only negative thing is, I've gotten in the habit of having a little drinky
drink after my classes, and I've run out of money, so none of that tomorrow.
Would Jesus have turned water into wine if he didn't want us to become
alcoholics? Something to think about. Anyway. See ya later.
February 13, 2014
Read The Rest of the
Hey guys and girls.
It's me, me. Good thing I cleared that up. Today, I am taking a
break from my Queens College class on account of the snow. I owe you one,
snow! Now I get an extra four hours of lying in my bed, staring at the
ceiling. I'm not in a great mood today. Everything just seems a bit
mundane. Everything just seems a bit Andy Dufrane. Everything just
seems a bit The Song Remains The Same. Everything just seems a bit I can't
complain. Anyway. David Wain. What else is new. Tomorrow
is Valentine's day. I've never had a girlfriend. Not sure if I want
to make that leap, and then talk about how I've never had a girlfriend.
Probably not. I don't need a girlfriend, though. I want complete
radio silence, and by radio silence, I mean I want to be alone, by myself, for
24 hours a day. Dealing with other people is a luxury I just can't afford.
What if something they say bothers me? I can't have that. Not worth
the trouble. One of my cigarette butts is burning, and it smells really
good. Like a fireplace, or something. Man, is it snowing outside.
Yes, it is. Mersh. I think they should have titled, "Speed,"
"Speed: The Bus That Kills People." I like having a coffee after I've
drank alcohol. I got into the habit from when I would drink a beer before
seeing a movie, and then getting a coffee in the theater. They balance
each other out pretty well. So far, in my one class, I've gotten
progressively lazier when it comes to the home work. But, at least I still
do it, to some degree. Anything is better than nothing. We learned
that from our good friend, Elliott Smith. "New Monkey." Good song,
listen to it. When I was younger, I wanted to write a script called, "The
New Monkees," where it was a modern take on The Monkees. Six years later,
I'm pretty sure that 100% of shows on Nickelodeon are band-comedy themed.
I am truly a visionary ahead of my time. Except for, at some point, I
Imdb'd the Monkees, and found there was a show called, "The New Monkees," in
like 1986. I am truly a visionary 22 years behind my time.
Anyway. I've been having lots of dreams about college.
And not even my college! Dreams are weird. I go through phases where
like, for an entire week, I'll dream about the same thing, and then the next
week, it's a new thing. And the content is usually pretty intense.
I'm not a huge fan. Sleeping should be a restful rest from reality.
Intense dreams. Who needs 'em? I dream about girls a lot, too.
It almost exclusively involves a girl liking me at first, and quickly getting
bored of me as the dream goes on. I never really thought about it before,
but that's pretty amusing to me, now that I think about it. Hey, anything
is better than nothing. Except for when it comes to girls. Radio
silence! I don't need to have my mind provoked and my thoughts challenged
and my heart worked upon. I just want to live in a vegetative state for
the rest of my life. Is that so wrong? I wonder if vegetables feel
bad about the term, "Vegetative." They're probably like, "Why single us
out? Look at fruit! Fruit never does anything!" And they'd be
right. Think about it, when an artist is gonna paint a still life, they go
to fruit. Not vegetables. They should have titled, "Fruit," "Fruit:
The Food That Won't Move!" Basically, though, I don't want to be in any
real life situations. I just wanna hang out with my parents, lie in bed,
and play internet poker. It's taken me years to find a status quo that
works for me, and I'm not ready to give that up. My inner monologue can't
handle any change. I have a hard enough time making sense of my life as it
Anyway. My first paper for my class is due in two
weeks. It's only 3-5 pages, though, so I could probably do that in one
sitting. But I haven't written a paper in a while, so who knows. I
saw a statistic that over 1/3rd of American adults are overweight. Man,
does that tempt me to not give a fuck what I eat. I mean, we've already
covered how I have no genuine interest in a relationship, what's the point of
watching my weight? Health? Bah! I once read that it's
actually healthy to be a little bit overweight. And if I once read
something, it must be true! I guess I'm just watching my weight because I
know at one point, I will take my appearance seriously, because I want to attact
girls. I mean, I'm already at that point, but like I said, 1/3rd of
American adults are overweight. Just playing the odds, that means that
there's a lot of people who won't care if I'm overweight. And besides, if
I can trick a girl into being attracted to me, it's probably not my body that's
gonna be attractive to her, anyway. "Oh man, I've always wanted to be with
a guy 4 inches shorter than me!" I'm your man! I had a dream two
nights ago I saw Peter Dinklage, and I was like, "Oh, wow it's Peter Dinklage."
And I sort of looked at him like, "Hey, recognize me?" I don't know why he
would recognize me. But anyway, then the next day I came across a dwarf on
the sidewalk, who was walking really slow, and I was like, "How do I get around
this person?" So I just pushed her to the side and ran laughing down the
street. How unfortunate is that name. Dinklage. I can
say that because my name sucks, too. Corn Bloom? It's like an
American Indian name. Who needs it. Also, if you change the first
letter to my first and last name, it's Kike Mornblum. I'm a disgrace to my
Jewfolk everywhere. It's always weird, for me, when I see a dwarf, because
I instantly have the realization that this height difference is what other
people see when they see me. I want to get my legs paralyzed, so I'll be
in a wheelchair for the rest of my life, and no one will notice how short I am.
It's a fool proof plan.
It's our differences that connect us, though, in a way.
So they should be celebrated. That's how I feel, at least. It may
not be a popular position, I know. Anyway. What to do with the rest
of the day. Get workin' on my New Monkees script. Better late than
never! It was gonna be like a movie, and it's like about an agent or
manager who is trying to get the "New Monkees" together, and it's filled with
hilarity. That's as far as I got. I was like, "I'm making the
executive decision that this movie will be filled with hilarity. That's
enough, I think." Actually, I think I did write like 100 pages of
dialogue, during the summer of '08, when I was almost exclusively high, but
there was very little plot or exposition. And most of the characters were
based on people from podcasts. Man, that was a weird summer. I just
kept listening to Daniel Johnston and the Meat Puppets over and over. And
over, and over. And rearranging the bed in my room. West to East?
Lets try at North to South for a few weeks. Oh, want to go back West to
East? Not so fast, I want to go back North to South! And eating
chicken parmesan in my room. One positive thing from my illness is that I
stopped smoking weed. I mean, I'm sure once a week or so wouldn't have
been terrible, but I was smoking three or four times a day. And I was just
plain stupid. If I never stopped smoking, that could have really stunted
my emotional and social growth. Moreso than it already did.
Ey yo. Another entry in the books. Maybe not as
funny as it should be, but certainly as many paragraphs. I'd like to have
been the person who discovered dinosaurs. I'd be like, "Holy shit, look at
these fuckin' things!" I don't know. Anyway. Here's another
entry of Gang of Nine.
No one knows why they got together. No one knows how
they got together. But they are... "The Gang Of Nine."
February 15, 2014
The Wind Still Blows
Hey friends and enemies.
I keep telling you, enemies, if you don't care for me, stop reading my blog!
Get over it. So, it's another fun-filled day over at the Kornblum
residence. It's been a real crazy week. Like, earlier in the week,
for a few days, I was having hunger pangs all day, even after I ate. But
then, later in the week, it went away! What a relief. I owe it all
to Jehovah. I presume. I don't know what my target audience is.
Whatever it is, no one asked for this nonsense. Actually, the real goal of
this is to waste the time of my enemies, but I already banished them earlier in
the paragraph, so I don't know what else I'm supposed to do. ...Entertain...
my... friends? First of all, what's a friend. Second of all,
what's, "My?" And, penultimately, what's a period. Lastly,
the last thing I said was the real last thing. I just wanted to say
penultimately, so I made up a fake, "Lastly." What the Hell am I babbling
about. Hey, this is on you, you, being my enemy, were supposed to stop
reading! And don't give me any of that, "I'm your friend," nonsense!
Website writers can't have friends! We need to keep our wit sharp and our
palates clear. Only enemies for this guy!
I recorded Face Off yesterday, to watch today. That's a
movie where you wonder if they came up with the plot first, and then the title,
or the title first, and then the plot. Either way, it's perfect.
Perfectly bad. What kind of message is this movie sending America's
youth? That if you committed a crime, you can just change faces with the
cop who arrested you, and take his life? Kids see these movies, and they
get ideas. I remember a story, that, when my brother was young, he saw
Back to the Future, and wanted to build a time machine. So he told my Dad
to go to the hardware store, you know, for parts. Hah! And the funny
thing is, I think my Dad indulged him, and got him some stuff to play around
with. I could be wrong about that. I don't think my Dad would
actually give a young child hardware store equipment. Who cares. I
remember in high school, I went to a hardware store to get a Masterlock, and
found a 20 dollar bill on the floor. Now that's what I call a, "Win!"
"These locks practically pay for themselves!" is what I might have been
thinking. I remember, in all eight semesters at Stuyvesant, I never once
claimed or used my locker. Which was probably a mistake, carrying around a
heavy book bag up and down 10 floors. And I don't even care about the
difficulty in carrying it, in retrospect, I care about the appearance.
Cause it's one thing to go, "Hey, there's that short kid walking around," and
quite another thing to go, "Hey, there's that short kid with the book bag bigger
than him walking around." You don't want to accentuate your negatives, is
what I'm saying.
Anyway. If you weren't my enemy at the beginning of the
entry you surely are by now. If boring someone is all it takes to make
them your enemy. And it might be, in today's modern world. Anyway.
Halfway through February. Actually, damn, that was yesterday. Why is
February so short! Probably has an underactive thyroid. That's what
did me in. So, we got a leap year coming up in two years. Better
prepare for it now. So.... get on it. Hmm. Yup. What
else is there. The Olympics is still going on, I think. Why don't I
care about the Olympics? Have they just failed at marketing Olympic Fever
to my generation? Or is it because there's too many sports? If the
Olympics was literally just one match of one sport, sure, I'd probably think
about watching it. But it's like two or three weeks long. It's just
too much to commit to. Or if Aaron Paul was competing in each event, I'd
probably watch that. I just don't care about luge-ers. Make me care,
I dare you. Actually, don't. Yikes. I remember in high school,
I used to have a binder. Who does that? Man, I'm halfway
through this entry, and everything to this point has just been a snooze.
Nothing new or interesting in the whole lot of it. I mean, I realize that
the website is rarely good, but I'd like to think there are entries which
at least bring something new to the table. Actually, scratch that.
New things could be scary. People are afraid of the unknown. I want
entries that bring you the exact same thing as you're used to.
Unfortunately, in this website, what you're used to is crap. And at least
five to twenty sentences of overanalyzing the entry itself.
What joker thought reading this would be fun. Hey,
it's on you, folks. It's simple supply and demand. If you started
reading some other asshole's blog, then I'd have to step it up, in order to keep
you here. But you just keep comin, and comin. Of course I'm gonna
get lazy! I don't know what I'm talking about anymore. Actually, if
you started reading some other asshole's blog, I'd say, "Thank God," and hang it
up. I long for a life without crazysheet. Why would I say
that, no I don't. Crazysheet is the only thing that keeps me going.
Anyway. Ugh. Do I really have to watch Face Off now? I mean,
when I saw it coming up, I was like, "Shit, yeah!" but now that it's in my DVR,
I'm like, "Really? Fuck." I don't have the attention span for a two
hour movie. I don't even have the attention span to write five paragraphs
of bullshit. In the last couple of days, I've been reading through my old
crazysheet.com book, and I've reached a point where, when I'm reading it, I read
it as if someone else wrote it. This could be interpreted as either good,
or bad. It's good, I guess, because I am ten years older, and I should
have grown as a person. But it's bad, because, I was the guy who what did
that, and I should remember who I was was and what my intended tone was when I
wrote it. In conclusion, who gives a fuck.
Last paragraph time. Hey, I give a fuck. I think.
In ten years, I'll be reading this, from my permanent cell in Creedmoor, and
think, "..." because I'll have had a full frontal lobotomy. Oh, well.
All good things come to an end. Probably. Are there some good things
that last forever? That would be awesome. Anyway. I guess I
could do a Gang of Nine episode and end it here. But I'm not in the mood.
And I wouldn't want to sully the Gang of Nine with a subpar entry!
It's funny, cause I don't give a crap. Really, Frontpage doesn't
recognize, "Subpar," as a word? Fuckin' idiot. Oh well, takes one to
know one. I got myself there. Anyway, see ya later.
February 18, 2014
Make Me Proud!
Hello friends. It's
your faithful narrator, me. I don't know if I'd say faithful. I've
been seeing some other blogs on the side. I also don't know if I'd say I'm
a narrator. To myself, I am, I guess. I'm more of a transcriber.
Why isn't there a blog site called WEBlog.com? Because nobody would know
how to say it correctly intuitively. Also, blogs aren't, "In," right now.
If they were, I'm sure crazysheet would earn an, "Honorable Mention" award on a
list of worst blogs. "I don't understand what's going on," the reviewer
might say. That's pretty much what is going on in the blog, though,
so it would be oddly appropriate. Oh well. A lot of people don't
know what's going on. Not knowing what's going on is a part of life.
We gotta soldier through it, and make people believe we know what's going
on. I love it when people in my class raise their hands and say something
stupid. "Ha, stupidity! This I get!" is what goes through my
mind. It works on several levels. First, it makes you feel smarter.
Second, it's funny, because they're wrong. Third, it's a bonding
experience, because you and your fellow classmates can briefly feel superior
together because of your classmate's folly. Fourth, you get to feel
empathy, because you think, "Aw, poor guy." He'll get his act together
eventually, I'm sure. Oh, and fifth, it's a learning experience, because
we learn through each other's mistakes. In general, though, I'm not a fan
of a group mentality. It just doesn't sit well with me. I want each
person in the room to be thinking about how cool I am through their own
What the Hell. I realized I really need to start
shaving and grooming myself properly. Basically, while I thought the
message I was sending out to people was, "I don't care about this stuff," it
turns out the message I was sending out to people was, "Look at me! I
Don't Care About This Stuff!" Which is pretty embarrassing. It
really sucks, though, because the truth was I didn't care about that
stuff, and just didn't want to shave myself every day. Oh well, we all
gotta grow up some time. Probably. I think I once heard that by the
time you're 30, you pretty much are who you are. So I got a good five more
years of dicking around. See, you can find the positives in any situation.
I mean, we all live in the same world, in which we need to abide by certain
rules and customs, but we also have our own, private worlds, to different
degrees. My problem is, it's just one big blob to me. And I've been
through some tough, private things, that tend to make me closed off on social
situations, but I just gotta figure out how to power through that shit.
Because nobody cares, and I mean that in the nicest way possible. I
can continue to let my troubles define me, or I can join the real world.
Both options sound so appetizing! Whatever. It's tough to let a part
of your identity go. Ideally, you need to replace it with something else.
But, I guess, just give it time.
Anyway. It's like, how I used to watch Netflix all
day, now I play online poker. No! You idiot! Is it
wrong if my urine is green? I used to like the color green, but then
when I went to play poker at Sands Bethlehem, the table was green, and I was
like, "Ahh! Too green!" It freaked me out. The littlest things
freak me out. I remember in Kindergarten, me and another guy both said our
favorite color was green, and we became best buds over it. Then, I got a
birthday present where you could fill up these glass shapes with different color
sand, and since he was sleeping over at my house that night, he got to fill up
one of my glass things with my sand. And I was like, "If I
have to share my glass figurines filled with colorful sand with someone else,
maybe it's not worth having a best friend!" So that was the end of that.
I got a carton of Newports after several weeks or months of having differing
brands of 100s. Fuckin' midget cigarettes. As a 5'2 person, I'm not
a fan of the term, "Midget." But as a fan of cigarettes, fuck
Newport regulars. They're basically saying, "One isn't enough! Keep
on smokin'!" What else is new. Time marches on. Especially in
March. My parents birthdays are both next week. They both turn a
hundred and sixty six, minus a hundred. They just met with a lawyer today,
to make sure I'm taken care of after they die, on account of my illness and
everything. They don't want to see me ending up in a hospital for the rest
of my life. That's pretty nice of them. Thumbs up to both my
Families are great. You're basically given a list of
people you can't hate, and it's wonderful. Unconditional love is probably
one of the top five things ever. Anyway. I really like the French
Vanilla flavor Mcdonalds and Dunkin Donuts put in their iced coffees. It
makes a pedestrian iced coffee into a flavorful adventure. Anyway, enjoy
another entry of Gang of Nine.
No one knows why they got together. No one knows how
they got together. But they are... "The Gang Of Nine."
February 19, 2014
This Entry Is Tee-rrific!
Hey it's me again.
Don't act so surprised! Although, when you're reading the blog of a
schitzo-affective, would it really be surprising if it was someone else?
I don't think so. Neither do I! That's a common misinterpretation of
schizophrenia, that it means people have multiple personalities. That's
multiple personality disorder. It says it right in the name. You
should have been able to figure that one out. Schitzo-affective disorder
is when you can't quit playing skits in your mind. I assume so, because my
understanding of English is very poor at best. Anyway. What did I do
today. The real question is, what didn't I do today. Wait,
the real question was what did I do today? Sorry I wasn't paying
attention. I really should have written the entry before I said it was
tee-riffic. Now you can sue me for false advertising. Fine, sue me.
You can have 20% of my expired metrocards. I'll survive. It would be
a sweet prank to get on a bus with 100 expired metrocards, and keep swiping, and
see at what point the bus driver cracks. That would be sweet, dude.
Also, you can see what the point is of the bus driver's crack. "Oh, I get
it." Everything means something. We learned that from Close
Encounters of the Third Kind. What were the close encounters of the first
and second kind? Most likely was explained in the movie. I never saw
it! Because I don't watch trash! Except if I'm recording a
VHS for Thora Birch. Then, fine, I'll watch trash for a while.
"I guess he's trying to... convey... that he has to...
shit... sometimes." Interesting concept, Joelle. First I was
gonna say Joanne, then I was gonna say Joel, but I settled on Joelle.
That's that character's name. I hope he or she makes more appearances,
this website could use a man or a woman's touch. Anyway, the last couple
of days I've been staying up all the way to around 9! Man, is that wild.
Probably not. Oh well. I think I must have gotten in this pattern
from being in the hospital, where bedtime is like around 8. But I've been
out of the hospital for closing in on two years, so I really should have
adjusted to life on the outside by now. It's now, or never. Mostly
because I'll be in the hospital again within a few months, most likely.
Just playing the odds on that one. Nah, I'm better now. I've paid my
debt to society. That's why they put people in hospitals, right? To
pay debts to society? I need to contact someone to help finance my debt to
society. That makes sense, right? I just used some grown up words I
knew and threw them together. Hah! "Finance" and, "Debt" are the
grown up words that the conceit is, I don't fully understand! I truly am
an idiot. Is the sequel to "Menace II Society," "Debt II Society?"
Well, the news is in, I just IMDB'd Menace II Society, and it seems that the
fellow in that movie, while advertised in the title as a menace, is in fact a
good person, so he would have no need to pay a debt. I will now wear my,
"I'm a Racist" hat for the next ten minutes, after which my debt to
society will have been paid, and I can take it off.
Anyway. Imagine if that's how we dealt with real
criminals. Hey, you killed somebody? "That's right, I did. I
promise, though, I will think about what I did for a good half hour."
Alright, when's lunch? You can't criminalize thoughts, though.
Minority Report was sort of about that. But it does beg the question, when
is lunch? What did I end up talking about here. Gotta get back
on track. Is it lunch time yet? Oh, wait, that's tomorrow. How
silly of me. The last couple of days I've been having half a sandwich for
breakfast, instead of lunch. It's good, because it satisfies me more than
another breakfast would, and it's still not a big meal. I promise
to keep you updated on this developing situation. So, the Olympics is
ending this weekend. I think I'm more excited about the Olympics ending
than I was about the Olympics. Also, menaces can still be good people.
Look at Dennis the Menace. That boy had a heart of gold. Stupid Mr.
Wilson was just always provoking him, that's all. Also, how much of a
Menace can he be if he's using Roman numerals. Actually, I take it back.
The Romans were pretty big menaces. Look at the prank they played on
Sorry, Jesus. Sorry, Romans. Sorry, menaces.
Sorry, pranks. That always kind of confused me, though, that the Cross is
such a big symbol in Christianity. I mean, I totally get repurposing the
enemy's thing for yourself, it just seems kind of weird, that's all. I'm
sure, historically, there's a good explanation for it, but I'm no historian!
I just played one in college, that's all. And even then, I was too busy
hanging around in Washington Square Park, drinking Snapple spiked with whiskey,
to go to my history classes. Man, I used to love whiskey. I haven't
had whiskey in years. Unless you count scotch. Do you count scotch?
I'm no alcohol aficionado. I just played one in college, that's all.
That's not entirely accurate. But yeah, for a couple of semesters, I would
literally be stoned and drunk all day, and my day would revolve around walking
around, listening to music, and planning my next meal. Oh, and thinking
way too much about my own songs, and playing and writing them. And
mostly organizing them into an album. Man, I spent so much time just
fantasizing, "Oh man, this song would be great first," or, "This'll fit nicely
at 11," and so on. What a maroon. And I remember, I thought, "Okay,
if I record a good version of this, that's it. I never have to play it
again." I totally didn't understand the point of music! I mean, I
still don't, but at least I can tell that what I did think was way off.
Anyway. Another fun filled entry. Already the
19th. Time keeps flying by. I had a dream that something good
happened, but then I false awoke, and wondered if the good thing really
happened, found out it did, and then I false awoke again, and wondered if the
good thing really happened, found out it did, and false awoke again, and
repeated this cycle literally nine or ten times, until I finally truly awoke and
found out the good thing didn't really happen. But it was still a
fun dream. I was just happy to finally be awake. See ya later,
February 22, 2014
One Small Step For
Man, Two Giant Steps Backward For Mankind
Hey guys and ghouls.
And Frankensteins. Not Frankenstein's Monsters, I'm just talking to the
doctor Frankensteins in the room. Someone should host a convention for
Frankensteins, I have a feeling they could amalgamate all their knowledge into
one singular... anyway. What's up. Today's Saturday. And what
a Saturday it is. Mid 50's! That's so hot, it's almost high 50's!
Yeesh. It's fun to take walks in this kind of weather. Everyone's
smiling, everyone's happy, everyone's comfortable. And there's no tripping
on ice, and falling down and breaking your back. And if there is, it's
very limited. Sometimes I think about, when I'm walking on an icy
sidewalk, I think about string theory. And I imagine the alternate
reality, where 1 in a million times I fall down, trip into the street, and get
run over. "One out of a million times, I will die on this sidewalk."
Pretty sobering stuff, huh. So far, I'm on the path of life where I
haven't died on a sidewalk, yet. So yeah, I can't complain! A
million might be a little low. All I know is, when you're actually out
there in the street, walking on that icy path, you know intuitively you could
slip at pretty much any step. Also, it doesn't help that I tend to run
down the icy sidewalk. Hey, I've got places to be!
That's a lie. I don't have the lung capacity to run.
But lately, my ability to walk quickly has made stellar progress. What
else is going on. My first paper for my Queens College class is due in
about a week. I really should do it. Probably. It's only three
to five pages, that's not anything too substantial. But it's been quite a
while since I've written a paper. And it's gonna be in the back of mind,
one out of the million times I write this paper, I will die. Paper cut.
Could be deadly. It's hard to get a paper cut from a computer. It
could have been when I printed it out, but this paper is directly e-mailed to
the professor. So that can't happen. Oh well. I love the idea
of the paper cut, because paper is so benign, you don't think it can ever hurt
you, but then, one day, slit. And you're done for. Paper's
not benign towards rock. It covers it. Thus rendering it useless.
Hey, there's paper over my rock! Throw it away, it's been defeated.
If you chop off someone's legs, they'll be defeated. Booyah! Now
seems like an opportune time to remind you that I hate myself.
Specifically after that joke. I can't stop playing online poker.
It's almost as if gambling could be addictive.
Anyway. Time stopped flying. While things were
going good, sure, time was flying. But now I'm bored and depressed, and
time is standing, still. Of course I know when and where to use commas,
what, am I an, idiot? The case for such a thing could be made. I
can't make it: I'm an idiot. But someone could. I'm getting re-used
to these regular Newports. Sorry I called you midgets. I don't know
if anywhere else you can find someone talking to their cigarettes in their blog.
And I don't know if anywhere you can find someone who would find such nonsense
appealing. And I don't know if anywhere, anyone has ever said, "Tangerines
are the classy man's orange." Mostly because I don't know things.
Anyway. Let's settle for a midget entry today. See ya later.
February 24, 2014
Jump In At Any Moment
Hey friends and nonfriends.
It's the guy who's me! What a beautiful day. Dunkin Donuts knows my
order. I go in, they know exactly what I want. Which is a relief,
because if I have to tell them every time, I'm sure they'd get it wrong a third
of the time. This way, they'll only get it wrong a ninth of the time.
Oh, happy day! The person even told me to go online and fill out the
survey, to praise her. But I ain't gonna do that. I've got things to
do, Dunkin Donuts lady! I can't dick around. My dad thinks Macaulay
Culkin's name is Kevin McCorkel. He says it all the time! This is
extremely relevant. His birthday is in three days, and my mom's birthday
is tomorrow. I'm thinking a pack of Magic cards for my mom, and a pack of
Magic cards for my dad. I don't want either of them to get jealous of the
other. But, still, whoever ends up with the more valuable cards is gonna
warrant some jealousy. Magic: The Gathering. That's the official
name, I think. What a brilliant business plan. Keep buying cards.
If you don't know what Magic is, I would tell you, but I barely know what it is.
I did it for a few months in fifth grade and hardly remember anything.
It's sort of like a fantasy card game. I remember, in the past, I would
sometimes play Risk heads up with my brother, and half the time he would get
really annoyed by how lucky I got that he would start screaming at me and flip
the board over. What a great guy. Risk, when you're playing with
only two people, you have to have a third "phantom" player, where they're just
like, neutral. Dat phan, turn off Dat Phantom. Dat Phan was a very
successful comedian in the 2000's. I believe he went on to have a show
where he worked in a hair salon and knew everyone's secrets.
I would get a haircut today, but a little birdie told me
barbershops are closed on Monday. Sorry, a little bird.
Calling it a birdie is repetitive and, frankly, a little condescending.
What else is new. I think I saw a half smoked joint on the ground during
my walk. I didn't want to pick it up and look at it, because then I could
be arrested. It easily could have just been a half smoked cigarette, too.
But when I saw it, my eyes popped out of my head, and I went "Ow-ooo-gah!"
It's not uncommon to see empty dime bags on my walk, so it's not that out of the
ordinary. Are you supposed to dunk donuts in coffee? You must be
supposed to dunk donuts in something. America runs on, Duncan. There
was am ambulance rushing down the street, but it was a little bit away, so I
decided to cross the street anyway. I realized immediately that was a real
dick move. Even though I almost definitely would have made it
across with the ambulance maintaining it's speed (and I did), do I really want
to slow down an ambulance in action? What an asshole. "Hey, I'm
just giving the heart attack a head start." I'm a hero! Just
buying my man some time. Time to die! It would have been funny, if
on the second day of my class, at the end of the class, I handed my teacher back
the syllabus, filled with cross outs and changes, in a red pen. I gotta do
that next time. Every class needs a prankster. Thank God for
Michael. Nobody likes a prankster. Except for the prankster.
He thinks he's the bees knees. Wait a minute, bees don't have knees.
Not yet, they don't. Looks like evolution is teasing us with what soon
will come. But even if they did, who cares. Nobody cares about bees.
I don't even care if I get stung by a bee. It's their funeral. If
they really think it's worth their life to give me a minor pain, fine, so be it.
Mosquitoes are a whole different story. Except for how they're the key in
bringing dinosaurs back. With that caveat, well done mosquitoes! I
think from now on, every movie should be a Jurassic Park. That's just me.
Anywho. Life finds a way. I wonder what dinosaurs
taste like. Cause, if we do ever bring them back, we're surely going to
want to eat them. Otherwise, what's the point? Nobody understands
me. Except for Inspector Gadget. That dude knows his shit.
He's an inspector, and he has gadgets. That about sums it up.
Anyway. Class again tomorrow. That's cool. It's fun to
participate in a real life scenario twice a week. If only because it
justifies my nonsense for the rest of the week. Hey, I go to class two
and a half hours a week. Cut me some slack! Yep. Maybe I
should fill out that survey for the Dunkin Donuts lady. She deserves it,
I'm not a bad guy. I should recognize greatness when it's due. Also,
if I bring in the receipt next time, I can get a free small cone if I buy a
small cone! I ain't gonna do that. If I eat ice cream, it's all, or
nothin'. No small cone crap. Amiright? Most likely not.
I remember a day when Dunkin Donuts and Baskin Robbins were different
stores. What a crazy world we live in. Anyway. I long for a
day when everything is one store. How great would that be, right?
Right? Right? I guess not.
Anyway. Today's Monday. Can't get nothin' by you,
can I? My hospital called me to see if I wanted to do a research study
about mentally ill people who smoke cigarettes. I said, "Are you giving me
free cigarettes?" and they said no, so I said no. Then I said, "Will my
participating help other patients down the line?" and they said, "Yes," and I
said, "No, I still don't care." I hate my hospital. It's years of
judging me, but the day they want a research study subject, it's "Oh, please
help us!" You should have thought about that before you diagnosed
me with schitzo-affective disorder! If they never diagnosed me, I never
would have had it. Ignorance is bliss. Anyway, enjoy another entry
of Gang Of Nine.
No one knows why they got together. No one knows how
they got together. But they are... "The Gang Of Nine."
February 26, 2014
How The Hell Is It
Hey Bolognese. It's
me again. I have a paper due on Monday! I don't know how to prepare
for this. I guess by starting the paper. But I need to
prepare myself mentally to be able to prepare myself to actually doing it.
Maybe this entry will be a motivating factor. It would be nice to get some
real use out of this website, other than Hey, here's a pun, or Hey,
these words rhyme. A couple of months ago, someone recommended I
devise a way to for people put in replies to my entries, or like a message board
or something. But I don't have the technical wherewithal or the literal
work ethic to do such a thing. But I do have the intuitive understanding
of my audience that no one would participate in such a thing, so it would end up
just looking sad. Besides, what would people say? "Hey, I read it."
Thanks, buddy! "Not as good as your last entry." Hey, you're not as
good as your last entry, either! I would actually love to get that remark.
It means that I did have an entry that was good, at one point. I remember
I did have a website with a message board, at one point. In seventh grade,
I created a website for my class, where I would put up all the homework and
stuff, and I'm pretty sure I had a message board. I don't know why I did
it. I guess I just love attention. And I got some positive
recognition from some of my teachers, they thought it was great. "This kid
is going places!" they might have thought. Hell yeah, I'm going places.
Straight from school to my computer.
I also have the intuitive understanding of my audience that
my audience doesn't exist. It's just me in an empty vacuum. I
remember around seventh grade, I wanted to be a screenwriter and/or a director,
and I got this video editing program for my birthday. The only problem
was, I didn't have a camera. Hah! I really didn't think that one
through. Similarly, in college, I spent like 200 dollars on this audio
sound system, only to find out that it's not compatible with any music playing
devices I had. Oh well, it makes a hell of a decorative piece. It's
like modern art. I probably could have sent it back and gotten my money
back, but I was too busy being high. Being high is a full time job.
Now, my full time job is trying to be mentally sane and competent. I'm
not great at it, but it pays the bills. I haven't lost weight in like six
months, and I've been dieting the entire time. I guess it's time to just
accept the fact that this is going to be my weight. I'm only like five
pounds overweight, so it's not that bad. And being slightly overweight
adds a mystique about you. Hey, look at that slightly chubby guy.
I wonder what he's been eating. Wouldn't you like to know. I
like people who have personal trainers. Genuinely. Because I know
it's tough to motivate yourself to exercise, but having someone else involved in
the equation is probably a pretty good motivation. Although, on the
surface, it seems like a complete waste of money. You know what you need
to do, just do it! However, I know from personal experience, it's tough to
motivate yourself to exercise, so having someone else involved in the equation
is probably a pretty good motivation. I've been watching these programs
about 600 pound people getting weight loss surgery and turning into 250 pound
people. Good for them. My favorite part is watching them eat, before
they start dieting and the surgery. It's the same reason I like watching
drug addicts from intervention shows do drugs. I just like to watch people
enjoying themselves. Is that so wrong? I'm certainly happy when they
get the help they need, and end up doing better. That's good, too.
But, oh man, when you see a fat person eating pizza, you're just like, You
love that food, don't you? Oh man. I can tell you love it.
It sounds almost pornographic, almost, but it's not really. It's just
like, good for you! I can live vicariously through someone enjoying
themselves, that's really it.
It's like, I can't eat whatever I want, so when I
watch someone who does, I get to live through them. It's probably not
healthy, though. Some deep psychological problems there, probably.
Whatever. If you're reading a crazysheet entry, you're gonna find some
deep psychological problems. It goes with the territory. Anyway.
What's on deck for today. Probably just fuckin' around on the internet,
and stuff. That's what I live for. I keep getting spam mail from
Sands Bethlehem. I gave them my e-mail address for five free dollars on
slot machines. Even while doing the slot machines with free money, I still
felt like a sucker. It's completely free, and yet while pulling the
lever, I still thought, "I'm a fucking idiot." Nope, doesn't line up.
Nope, doesn't line up. Nope. I don't understand people who actually
enjoy this crap. I didn't do too good at the poker, either. I was
playing pretty tight, thinking that was the way to go, but I didn't realize how
fast the levels change, compared to how many hands you get to play.
Online, you go through so many hands per level, but live, it's a lot slower.
So I just got chipped away really quickly. Plus, for some reason, the
environment made me feel like I was giving my hand away. When I played in
school, or at a friends house, I was perfectly fine, but there, every time I
looked at my hand, I just felt like I was giving it away with my facial
expression. I guess I'm just not meant to be a poker pro.
What am I meant to be. I figure, if I'm not dead, and
I'm not living in a hospital, that's a win. Whatever I'm doing doesn't
matter. If I'm not dead, and not in a hospital, I've succeeded.
Anyway. It's good to have goals. That's how I feel. Anyway,
enjoy another entry of Gang of Nine.
No one knows why they got together. No one knows how
they got together. But they are... "The Gang Of Nine."
February 27, 2014
Let Me Know If It
So, it's me. Get the
deal with it. I mean, I'm just one person, it's not that hard to keep
track. Exposed busom. I mean, get with the flow, duda. Anyway.
I'm not gonna deal with crazy antics today. Cugalism is wrong. Turns
out it's not even a word. Cujo is wrong too. Cujo: The Dog With
Rabies! Cujo: The Dog With Rabbis! My name is so frustrating.
There shold be a superhero called Empty Man. Empty Man, folks. That
will go down in history as one of the top two stupidest things that is a thing.
Agree or disagree, it's written in internet print. One line review for,
"Non-Stop?" "Non-Suck." Which could be read as either negative or
positive. I lost my I.D., so for several hours, I was like, "Who Am I?"
Without alcoholism, I'm a completely better person. Probably. I'm
trying to do something new! This is all about context, you know, you can't
believe everything you hear. Literature, after all, is the root of all
evil. "Non-Stop?" More like Non-Starter. "Non-Stop?"
More like, Please Stop!
I'm frustrated I can't make paragraphs longer. That's a
big source of feelings of sexual inadequacy for me. "The paragraph's too
short." That kind of thing. The new paragraph is not going so well.
Or is it. Or am I? Or, Am I? Bah! This was a
terrible mistake. I gotta learn to let go. Let go of what? Let
go of everything. Everything sucks. Everything stops. That's
my own addendum. Addin' dumb. I can do that like a pro. I have
nothing else to say. You can learn to live, or you can learn to survive.
Please do both. They're synonyms, so it shouldn't be too hard.
Things are going good, though. This is how we do it. Keep doing it.
Non Stop. Never stop. Don't stop till you've had enough. I've
had enough after four paragraphs and a comic. "Ah, satisfaction," a deep
voice in the back of my brain calms me. Then startles me! Then calms
me. Calms me. Goodnight, folks!
Don't ever lose your grasp of reality. You may get
confused. Nothing can stop me now that I've grasped reality! Except
for enemies with two by fours. Run away immediately in that scenario.
That's what I do. I need to make certain my feet work. Good thing,
too, because sometimes they stop working. Like that time I kept falling
down. It happens more than I'd like to admit. That reminds me of a
time I was doin' something. I forget what. It's tough to do things.
I don't know how people do. It. By it, I mean things. Surely.
"Goodnight, Folks!" would be a good title to as suicide note. There should
be a movie about a guy forced to write a suicide note, and when he stops, he
dies. It could be called, "Speed: The Bus That Kills People!" There
would be some copyright infringement involved, though. I bet after they
got off that bus, the survivors got right on another bus which can't slow down.
Once you get started, some people just don't know when to quit. Anyway.
I forgot everything I just wrote. Thank God. We got to keep moving
blindly forward. I'm a weirdo. I've learnt to live with it. I
appreciate all my peccadilloes, because that's a good word. This is going
nowhere. Thank God.
Okay. I won't own up to anything I say. Thank
God. it does sort of limit what I write, but whatever. I ain't in
this bitch for the awards. I'm in it for the shining mediocrity. Yes
indeed. What was I saying. I had class today, and will again next
week. Other than that, enjoy this next episode of Gang of Nine.
No one knows why they got together. No one knows how
they got together. But they are... "The Gang Of Nine."
February 28, 2014
You Heard It Here
Hello friends. It is
I again. Me, the master of tomfoolery, the insister of irrelevance, the
guy of something. I have to write a paper this weekend. Oh well.
Worse things could happen. Whenever I get off a bus, I make sure to get
off in the front, because I'm not confident I can push the back doors open.
And then I'll be stuck on the bus for God knows how long. Maybe till the
end of the line. I once fell asleep on the LIRR and ended up in Port
Washington. Boy, was my face red. I remember when I first started
going to Stuyvesant, I would always take the local train, because I didn't
understand the concept of the express train. I also remember going to
McDonalds during lunch and eating alone. So many great memories.
That was me being facetious, but it's hard to tell, because going to McDonalds
and eating alone could easily be a positive memory. Case in point, when I
was in college, and would eat fast food alone all the time. But then, it
was because I was a rebel. Sometimes I would eat empanadas.
Sometimes, not. If I remember correctly, empanadas were a little bit more
pricey. I remember in Middle School, me and my friends would always go to
a pizza place after school. One of my friends would always get a 2 liter
bottle of soda, just for himself. Gosh, did we watch him drink. I
would usually get two slices of pizza. Sometimes, we went to a Chinese
restaurant. I was fond of the Hunan chicken, which my friends gently
nicknamed, "Hu-Man chicken." The dish itself was heavy in vegetables,
which, at the time, I wouldn't eat. At the time, I wouldn't even eat rice.
I've heard constant rumors about the lack of cleanness of Chinese Food
restaurants. I innately believe them, but sometimes I picture my meals
literally having rat feces in them, and I don't know, I just can't taste it.
And whose to say a little rat feces is necessarily a bad
thing? If it's good enough for a rat's ass, it's good enough for me.
There's even that saying, "I don't give a rat's ass." I wonder where that
came from. Whoever coined that term must be pretty proud of himself
whenever he hears it. Maybe he doesn't care. He probably doesn't
care. Personally, though, I suspect he might care a lot. That
colloquialism is probably just a self-defense mechanism to protect himself from
exposing vulnerability, in the form of being too closely involved, emotionally,
in a situation or circumstance. Or maybe he just doesn't give a rat's ass.
Either way, it has to be one or the other. The truth is, I was a picky
eater. I wouldn't eat potatoes, I wouldn't drink juice, and certainly no
peanut butter. That story came to an end, though, because as I increased
in years, my adventurousness with food, and my palate, increased. I
remember, the first time I was in the hospital, during visiting hours, as a
treat, my parents would bring me a bottle of Diet Dr. Pepper, and a bag of
potater chips. Imagine that! Me, in my Cleveland Steamers shirt,
drinking Dr. Pepper in the hospital, like I owned the place! Coincidently,
my first stay in the hospital is also where I first had sweet potato (or,
"Yam"). I have enjoyed it ever since, and most likely will, ever to be.
There isn't an abundance of food that has an alternate, sweet version. The
truth is, if there was, it would likely cheapen the original.
To this date, I have never had sweet potato fries, but I'm
positive such a thing exists. In New York, and possibly other places,
there is a delicacy known as the, "Hush Puppy," which is a hot dog encased in
potato. If you ever get the chance to try one, I highly recommend it.
I've always heard that New York has the best bagels and pizza. This, to my
understanding, is due to a better quality of tap water, which makes bread taste
better. I believe during my stay in Florida, I had a bagel, and did notice
that it wasn't quite up to par. If it was, I don't remember it.
Today was the first spring training game for the Mets. I'm confident that
if they stay healthy, and play their hearts out, they can make it all the way to
October. An octopus is a funny animal. I've never seen one up close,
but they seem nice. My God, what am I talking about. Octopi?
That's a laugh and a half. Laugh and a half. Laugh and a half.
Where have I heard that before? It's certainly ringing some bells.
When I was a child, I certainly made some dioramas.
It's a standard project in elementary school classes. However, get this, I
was so lazy, my Mom probably made half of them for me! I was always a bit
of a no goodnik. Mom backwards is still mom. My friends call such a
word, a "Palindrome." Personally, I've never been on a picnic. It
seems like a very romantic setting for young lovers. I can still remember
my first valentine. Her name was Stephanie, it was in third grade, and it
was unrequited. On the plus side, in middle school, the girls in my class
ranked the boys in my class in order of cuteness, and I was tied in fourth!
I wish this entry never happened.