Saturday, February 1, 2014                      

Superbowl Fever!

    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 beers. 
        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 jerkwad.           

        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 Shape?"

-5:38 P.M.          

Monday, 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 Déja Vu, "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 lyrics.
    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.

-5:26 P.M.

Tuesday, 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?"

-7:12 P.M.       
                             

Thursday, February 6, 2014                      

If It Rhymes, It Must Be True

    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 about right.
    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."            

-6:42 P.M.

Friday, February 7, 2014                      

Astronomical!  Biological!  Pedagogical! 

    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, get out!
    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."    

-5:48 P.M.      

Saturday, February 8, 2014                      

Run of the Mill Comedy!

    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 least.
    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! 

-4:52 P.M.
         

Monday, 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.

-4:56 P.M.                    
       

Thursday, February 13, 2014                      

Read The Rest of the Entry Dummy!

    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 is. 
    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."  

-12:21 P.M.

Saturday, 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.

-3:38 P.M.           

Tuesday, 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 spectrum.
    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 parents!
    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."   

-6:22 P.M.               
 

Wednesday, 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 Jesus. 
    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, folks.

-6:56 P.M.             
             

Saturday, 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.

-3:30 P.M.

Monday, 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."

-12:13 P.M.   

Wednesday, February 26, 2014                      

How The Hell Is It Going?

    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."

-1:10 P.M.

Thursday, February 27, 2014                      

Let Me Know If It Turns Up

    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."

-5:35 P.M.

Friday, February 28, 2014                      

You Heard It Here First

    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.