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Saturday, January 31, 2015                        

January, I Hardly Knew Ye

Kan, I hardly knew ye.  Well, goodnight!  Nah, I got more stuff to say.  Like, of all the letters, I only like ones that are symmetrical.  Preferably the same left as right, but, in a pinch, I'll accept the same up as they are down.  Well, goodnight!  That is pretty much what I came here to say.  I'm gonna try to give up drinking around 90%.  I figure the time is now to become an adult.  One last taste today, then no more for, say, a week?  That sounds fair.  Speaking of goodnight, I remember, my freshman year in college, when I would be hanging out at a friend's dorm room, with other people, drinking, I would always dread the moment one of them gets ready to leave and go to sleep.  I want this party to never end!!!  I'm seriously considering doing an open mic next week.  It's four minutes of stage time, so I figure I would need 10-12 jokes, and not just one liners, the jokes would need some set-up.  See, setting up jokes.  I'm already learning.  Right now I'm at five jokes I feel pretty comfortable about, so, more or less halfway there.  I can always use what I have, then go on a two minute rant about how all morticians are floozies.  I kid, I kid.  Maybe, if I'm lucky, I'll come up with a joke this entry.  Maybe, in my five paragraph comedy blog, I'll think of one funny thing.  I like those odds.  I'll take those odds every day of the week.  Except Tuesdays.  Tuesdays are notoriously unfunny for crazysheet.  I don't like IFC's slogan, Always On, Slightly Off.  First of all, always on?  Congratulations, you made it past the 1960's of television.  You and every other channel.  Every channel is always on.  And slightly off?  You're planting the idea in your viewers head to turn the channel off.  Why create that seed of doubt upfront, in your slogan no less?           
    So, we all watch T.V.  You ever notice how some channels have slogans?  Alright, get ready for the jokening.
  I won't use that in my open mic.  I'm not that desperate for jokes.  Anyway.  They say that attractiveness comes down to facial symmetry.  I'm not buying it.  I've seen thousands, tens of thousands, possibly hundreds of thousands of people in my life.  Everyone's face is symmetrical.  It's the one thing we all have in common.  Eye here, eye perfectly placed there.  Mouth right in the middle.  Someone's lying about human attractiveness, and I'm about to get to the bottom of it.  Then again, the freckles in our eyes are mirror images, and when we kiss, they're perfectly aligned.  Who has freckles in their eyes.  That's not symmetrical one bit.  It's a good thing governor Cuomo came out against freckling.  Hey, you guys know about fracking?  What about freckles?  What if we confused the two words?!?  Queue deafening laughter.  Uh-oh, the five jokes I wrote, while I was trying to go to sleep, turned out to be nothing but scribbles.  They were all previous jokes, so I could probably remember then in due time.  Anyway.  Ain't that always the way.  Yup, I can say it is.  I've done two open mics with plans to do a third one.  I think I have a pretty good handle on the ins and outs of this whole comedy thing.
    Anyway, let's move on.  How's everyone doing.  I don't know how to do crowd work.  Mostly because, when I'm in a crowd, I'm not gonna give off any energy. You guys ready for some jokes? 
No.  Well, I guess.  So that's how I imagine other people would react if I tried to do that.  I guess I could get the crowd to chant Comedy for sixty seconds.  Just start it off myself, "Calm-Ed-E, Calm-Ed-E" and encourage everyone to join in with my hands.  There's a hand gesture for everything, this much I know.  Yeah, it's called sign language.  So, we got a troublemaker in the crowd tonight, huh?  I wonder if in Eddie, anyone ever told Whoopi Goldberg to calm down, and then she turns to the camera and winks.  Probably.  I hope I don't get any hecklers.  Get off the stage!!  Excuse me, sir, but you're hurting my feelings, and I'm prepared to cry over it.  That'll shut 'em down.  A more realistic scenario:  Get off the stage!!!  I swear, I wish I could.  Get off the stage!!  The whole world's a stage, our friend William Shakespeare taught us that.  You suck!!  I Puck?  Man, you sure do like Shakespeare.  Can I be honest for a moment?  I hate Shakespeare.  Can't stand it.  Okay, moment of honesty is over.  Time to move on.  No one heckles at open mics, everyone there is there to do the open mic.  Or, even if they're not, where's the sport of heckling an open micer?  Pick on someone you're own size.  That's not a bad response for me to use on hecklers.
Okay, whatever.  So, that's a thing that might happen.  You suck!!  Target acquired.  Preparing to shoot laser.  Because I'm an idiot.  If only I knew how to shoot comedy lasers.  That's pretty much the job description for comedians.  Shoot comedy lasers.  So, weekend.  What to do, what to do.  Anyway, see ya later.

-9:14 A.M.         


Friday, January 30, 2015                        

Don't Confuse The Title With The Titlist

Hey guys and gals.  It's your pal, me.  I had class yesterday.  The good news is, I went an hour and fifteen minutes without making a total fool of myself.  That's a minor achievement if there ever was one. What?  There've been more than one?  Minor achievements?  You gotta be kidding me!  I would have put money down that there was none, or only one, and it happened to be related to something I did yesterday.  Anyway, what the what.  I saw possibly the biggest clock I've ever seen today.  In the Au Bon Pain that's inside the hospital, they have a huge fucking clock on the wall.  Three to five feet in diameter.  I don't know why there's a bakery named after deceased AC/DC front man Bon Scott, but who am I to judge.  Aww, Bon Pain.  Bon's Pain is probably related to his uncontrollable alcohol addiction.  Or, the pain of being dead.  There was a zombie in some movie who constantly talked about how she eats brains to ease the pain. What pain?  The pain of being dead.  And I don't know about you guys, but I take the word of fictional zombies in movies.  They have no reason to lie.  Unless if lying somehow gets them some delicious brains.  Then, they might fib a little.  I used to consider the original Dawn of the Dead as one of my favorite movies.  I'm not sure why.  It just seemed like an vaguely artistic and intelligent 14 year old's favorite movie.  Or, maybe because I love malls.  Malls, malls, malls.  I like malls.  There should be a movie called Down With The Dead about hipster zombies.  Because ppl would be dwn with them, on acct of their clness.  Also, not typing complete words is the pinnacle of coolness.  I should know, I minored in Pinnacles in NYU.
Anyway, today is Friday.  And what a Friday it is.  I hate when stores have banners outside advertising, "Grand Re-Opening!"  Yeah, you were open last week.  Nothing has changed.  Do they actually reel in any suckers who go, Holy Shit, A RE-OPENING!  GET OUT OF THE WAY I GOTTA BE FIRST IN LINE.  I mean, I guess they do, otherwise, they wouldn't do it.  Who am I to judge, I consider every entry I write to be a grand re-opening of crazysheet.  That's how I feel about shit and stuff.  Anyway, weekend time.  You know what that means.  Weekend time.  Closing in on three years of crazysheet.net.  And about a year and a half of it being vaguely readable.  Not too shaggy.  I've also done five or six music albums in the past year.  I think it's safe to say that I'm pretty much an all around renaissance man.  If being mediocre at everything qualifies you.  I can't do anything great, but I can do everything half-assed!  Not too shaggy.  How did they catch Shaggy on camera.  This was before camera phones.  Do you mean to tell me that there's actually a person walking around with a Polaroid camera, on the off chance they'll catch someone in a sexually compromising position?  Doesn't add up.  Does not.  Add.  Up.  Also, did they catch Shaggy on camera, or the other guy.  I demand answers.  Maybe she hired a private eye, they have access to camera.  The good news is huh.  Wha?  Hu.  There was a cute girl waiting for doctor in hospital today.  Made my peen move back and forth.  Gross.  My blog, ship with it or ship without it.
Alright, hey.  You have chosen to ship with it.  Please turn to page 67.  I wanna write a regular book, and each page, it says to turn to whatever the next page is.  Turn to page three.  Turn to page four.  Turn to page five.  Some people need a little extra help gettin' through life, why stop them from reading books.  Some people get to the end of the first page, and are like, "What do I do now?"  I'm pretty sure Tinder is an app for burning books.  There should be an app that makes your phone explode like a grenade.  People love weapons.  Problem is, it's kind of a one-and-done type of deal.  I don't know who to support for the Superbowl.  It comes down to whether to root for chalk, or root against chalk.  Chalk is what happens when you, "C," hawk.  So, am I pro-chalk, or anti-chalk.  My first instinct is anti-chalk, but if you think about it, chalk isn't that bad.  Also, Cattle is what happens when you, "C," Attle.  Cattle sounds demeaning, so I don't like it.  This is pretty much how my brain works 24/7.  Now you know.  In retrospect, I'm no better than the feebs who need to be told how to turn pages.  All I know for sure is that I'm rooting against the commercials.  Hopefully the Good Year blimp doesn't deflate.  Pretty sure that's what caused the Hindenburg to go down.
    Okay.  I've fulfilled my quota of one barely-mediocre joke.  Now, time to chill out and relax.  I don't get the Good Year blimp.  Good year?  You said that last year.  It can't always be a good year.  One thing's for sure, though.  Today is Friday.  I'm almost 100% positive.  What else is going on.  Probably things, and crap.  That's always happening.  Things, and crap.  Usually coinciding, that's been my experience.  It just so happens most things are crap, and most crap is things.  Anyway, what else is going on.  Groundhogs day coming up.  I like Two and a Half man.  Which one is the half man?  They always leave ya guessing.  Also, I've never seen Two and a Half Men.  I've seen Cop and a Half.  Does that count?  I've drunken half and half, probably, at some point in my life.  I've pondered whether they glass is half full or empty.  I've been exposed to the phrase, "Not Half Right."  There's an Elliott Smith song called, "Not Half Right," and I always imagine him saying it to Dave Chappelle in relation to his movie, "Half Baked."  And Elliott's goin, "Not half, right?"  This pretty much how my brain works 24/7.
Anyway, let us move on.  Sorry.  Let's move on.  Hey, I wrote four paragraphs.  That's pretty good.  Most people couldn't do that.  Most people wouldn't want to do that.  I guess I'm the special.  I remember during sleepovers, my two most go-to movies were Return of the Living Dead I, and Mortal Kombat.  And during college sleepovers, Child's Play III.  My roommate my sophomore year had the song Jumper by Third Eye Blind as his alarm clock.  Which, I always thought was kind of weird.  It's a song about suicide, and he's waking up to it every day.  I wish you would step back from that ledge, my friend... Ah, another good morning!  Something doesn't add up there.  Then again, my alarm clock was Lacrimosa by Mozart.  So who am I to judge.  I remember, the first time I did mushrooms, we watched The Rules of Attraction.  Because my friend thought it was like a feel-good comedy, not a dark-comedy.  So we watched that.  And I was too high to talk him out of it.  That's what you think we should watch on mushrooms, then surely you know better than I.  I vaguely remember my brother telling me when he was in college, they did mushrooms, and they took out the couch from the common room onto the street, for some reason.  There's a good 60% chance that was a dream I had, though.  Anyway, see ya later.

-11:11 A.M. 


Thursday, January 29, 2015                        

Mavis Beacon Teaches Titling

Wassup titlers.  It's me, your friend.  Here to entertain your socks.  Off, or on, or something.  Something to do with your socks.  I can't wait till my teacher takes attendance for the first time in class.  Michael Kornblum.  My name is Michael Kornblum and I'm here to say, taking English classes the old-school way!  And everyone would alternate between blank stares and muted mocking.  That's the kind of reaction I'm used to, in pretty much any situation.  The inspiration for that reaction was when I was a senior in Stuy, taking a history class, and my teacher asked if anyone could do a Mickey Mouse voice.  And I was like, sure, I could do that.  And I tried, and was extremely terrible.  And people literally booed me.  To make matters worse, I'm pretty sure the principal was observing the class that day, so now his one exposure to me left much to be desired.  Also, the same day, I argued against alcoholism being a disease.  The teacher was talking about it, for some reason, and I was like, It's not a real disease, it's just a matter of self control.  Thinking I was the shit.  Of course, now, I realize, alcohol addiction is a legitimate disease.  Shows how much I knew.  I was just showin' off for principal.  Right or wrong, he's gonna remember me.  That's how I felt.  If high school is like jail, and in jail, you're supposed to pick a fight with the biggest, baddest inmate you can, to gain respect, does that mean ninth graders should beat up the principal?  Probably.  Oh well, live and learn.  My Dad was an assistant principal.  It's actually a pretty terrible job.  In New York, assistant principals actually make less money per hour than regular teachers.  Cause the teacher's union is pretty strong.  And they have a lot more responsibility.  Overall, assistant principals make more, because they put in more hours.  But there's something pretty fucked up about that.
So, that's how that goes, more or less.  I remember, for my high school graduation, you get one automatic ticket for someone besides yourself to the graduation, and you have to apply for more.  And, I sort of didn't do that by accident, I thought I had, but I didn't.  I had two extra tickets, but they weren't real tickets, they were tickets to get the real tickets.  But, luckily/unluckily, the morning of graduation, my Mom got really sick, sort of a follow up to her cancer, and she and my Dad had to skip it to go to the hospital.  So, when I got there with my brother, it was only then we found out that I fucked up, with no harm done, at least.  Except for my Mom's health.  And that my parents didn't see me graduate.  To this point, they only have my word to go on.  They've seen no actual proof.  And it's possible I've been fibbing this whole time.  I wouldn't put it past me.  I mean, are we really supposed to believe I passed chemistry and physics?  I also think I never picked up my diploma.  Man, am I a lazy motherfuck.  Probably.  The odds are for it.  I have class in four hours.  A whole new group of people to look at.  That's right, I see ya.  Well, see ya next week!  I am the ultimate social.  Fifteen minutes in, I plan on raising my hand and saying, "I have to make a boom-boom." That'll make sure people remember me.
    Yep.  Yip.  Yup.  What else is going on nine years ago.  After talking about Halal food yesterday, now I really want some Halal food.  There's Halal food carts outside Queens College.  That's certainly something to keep in mind.  I have a pretty bad memory, though.  I should probably write myself a note.  Note to self-- Halal Food (?).  There, now I'll remember.  I ain't no Hala-ul girl.  I liked that video for personal reasons.  We already discussed that.  You know what's pretty cool?  There's like a two percent chance I'll meet a girl in class that I could eventually do sex stuff with.  Two percent is both low and high for that type of thing.  Low, because one in fifty is not very good odds.  High, because, holyshitwhatif!!!  It would be grand.  That's also why I like two percent milk.  Because holyshitwhatif!!!  It's possible you'll pour yourself a glass with 50% cream, you never know.  Today's Thursday.  It feels like a Friday.  Shows how much  I know.  I had a 1/7 chance of being right, and I blew it.  Oh boy, did I.  I really should shave before the class.  I'm terrible at shaving, though.  Is it worth the hassle?  I don't know.  I asked my parents for a quality electric razor for my birthday, something that would make it easy.  So far, nothin'.  That's a sign that I'm growing up, I think.  When you're eleven, you never ask for something practical for your birthday.  You just want the new wrestling game for X-box.  Also, I'm twenty six.  There should be no, I think I'm growing up...  There should be I'm a grown up.  Oh well, live and learn, as they say.
Yup.  I remember me and my friend used to make fun of the way Chris Benoit looked in one of the wrestling video games.  Then he killed his family and himself.  Suddenly, Chris Benoit wasn't so funny anymore.  Death by piledriver.  That's the coroner's official report.  Anywizzay.  What else be goin' on.  I got some floss.  You want some floss?  Maybe I'll meet a girl that I can have 2% sex with.  Like, we can shake hands.  That's as far as it goes.  I'll take it, why not.  I mean, a long handshake, exceeding ten seconds, that's not bad.  I can deal with that.  Anyway, see ya later.

-7:28 A.M.                     


Wednesday, January 28, 2015                        

Tomorrow Is School.  School is Cool.  Cool rhymes with School.  Cool School.

My Dad likes to tell me, he tells his class he went to Jurassic University, and then hums the Jurassic Park theme song.  Now, I can recognize the Jurassic Park theme song on hearing it.  But why would they be able to?  Don't make no sense.  Anyway, sure started that entry off right.  Boring story about my Dad, who specifically has told me not to write anything about him here.  I guess I just can't be trusted, that's the moral of that story.  Can't be trusted to respect other's privacy.  Can't be trusted to be constantly entertaining.  There's a lot of reasons not to trust me.  I do have school tomorrow, though.  This much I know.  I'm a little concerned about farting during Yoga.  My instinct would be to guess that yoga induces a lot of farting.  And I don't need that kind of embarrassment.  I don't even like saying, "Fart."  That's probably the worst word in the English language.  Let's move on.  What else is going on in the wide world of sports.  I'm here to entertain the people.  And if talkibg about what's going on in the wide world of sports, then talking about what's going on in the wide world of sports is what I'm gonna do.  I have to take a penis-shit.  That's what I call when you urinate.  I'm back from penis-shitting.  One of my favorite facts that I ever learned was that, despite contrary belief, urination isn't just disposing what you drink, and shitting just disposing what you ate.  The truth is actually a bit more complicated than that.  How much more complicated?  A little.  Like, let's say, 20-30%.  To some of you, that might be a lot.  You may have thought a little meant 2-5%.  In this case, you would be wrong.  A little means 20-30%.
    Nobody knows what I'm talking about, and that's the way I like it.  I mean, people know what I'm talking about.  They just don't know why.  Cause I'm stupid and lazy.  I got grape flavored rum.  I soon discovered that's the best flavor alcohol there is.  Except for wine.  Grapes in wine?  Yeachh.  If kids drank wine in elementary school, they'd count it as a fruit.  That's how I feel about the hot button issues in today's culture climate.  I I remember, in elementary school, one of my classmates had his mom give him fried chicken fingers for lunch, and they were the talk of the town, how good they were.  People would suck up to this kid for months to get a taste.  I never did, though.  This was the kid who made fun of me for sitting on a bench, insinuating I was doing it for laughs.  I never did like him all that much.  I remember, when I was in hot lunch, the second half of elementary school, there was a main core of four of us that would sit together.  And even though this was pre-pubescent, I felt, and possibly it was mutually felt, that the other guy and one of the girls were, 'together,' and I was with the other girl.  I haven't talked to her in fifteen years.  I wonder if she still holds our lunchtime memories as priceless as I do.  Probably not, because even I don't.  There were also some Asian guy stragglers who sat with us, but they were mostly there to donate us their chicken burgers, so we could make double chicken burgers.  If my life flashes before my eyes for five seconds before my death, I hope four seconds of it is of chicken burgers.
    Anyway, hello.  I remember watching... well, Freddy Got Fingered, but I was about to say, "I Remember watching 'Chicken Burgers," but, yeah, either way, I remember watching that in college with my roommate.  It was good bonding time.  Too bad it happened the last week we were there.  Chicken burgers are a key part of the movie, though, that's why I bring it up.  Sometimes I think about why I got so into marijuana.  Like, I started with my friends, and why did I get so into it, and not my friends?  I don't know.  Oh well, the more the more you know.  Or, in this case, the more you don't know.  That's way more appropriate.  Anyway.  Time to move on.  I wrote this half of the entry, that's good, that's over and done with.  Now let's get into some sweet, sweet, second half.  I can't tell if this glass of soda has rum in it or not.  Damnit.  I wanna say, yes.  But if not, and I drink it, I'm wasting my time.  And if so, and I add more, that's too much!  This is the classic deal-or-no-deal scenario.  I mean, lets-make-a-deal.  Always pick the one that wasn't cancelled out, modern math has proven that much.  This is a classic Family Feud Scenario.  This is a classic The Amazing Race scenario.  Anyway, what was I talking about.  Oh, yeah.  Hello.  I was talking about greetings, or something.  Either way, I have to finish this craptacular crap.  Why can't I watch Child's Play II or III whenever I want.  There's no reason why not.  It's not fair.  I rememebr I was once watching Child's Play III in college, depressed over some girl.  And I was watching Child's Play III.  Then I went outside, and got Halal food, and saw her walking by with another guy or two.  Then I went back to my room and cried for four hours.  While eating Halal food, at least.  I remember, when I was very high the whole time, my first semester sophomore year, I was always paranoid all my friends were out doing stuff without me, but together.  Like, reasonably, they made new friends or whatever, and moved on with their life.  But in my imagination, they were all still friends, they just dumped me.  Which I guess is possible, but I realize at this point, pretty unlikely.
    Anyway, yup.  This is the fourth paragraph, that's how that goes.  One would imagine.  Yip Yap Yap.  Class tomorrow!  That's pretty cool beans, one would imagine.  Imagine it...  I like Weezer's song Represent because it's like the sequel to John Lennon's Imagine.  That's pretty much how I feel about things, in general.  Yeesh.  I like the idea of this entry being over.  But I still need to put in some work to get there.  Where is the justice?  Having to commit time and effort to see my dreams fulfilled?  What is this, Albania?  Probably not, I would have noticed.  Albamaniacs runnin' around, here and there.  Let's move on.  Hello.  Repeating greetings are a great way to jump-start a conversation!  Thanks for the tip!  I remember, I once got a chair for my birthday.  I was around 13, and I got a swivel chair for my room from Staples.  Oh, man, was that exciting.  What kid doesn't love a nice new swivel chair.  Am I being sarcastic?  Maybe about 30%, but, yeah, I mostly loved it.  Anyway.  I had a Something About Mary moment about a week ago.  I zipped up my peen.  Luckily, there was no damage, and I was able to undo it relatively easily, but, yeah.  Gotta pay attention to what you're doing.  Then I greeted Ben Stiller about ten times.  Actually, I did that before.  Where is my mind.
    Alright, we be in the thick of it now.  No turning back at this point.  This was a worthy entry, right?  I mean, nothing spectacular.  But passable.  It's adequate.  It's solidly mediocre.  I'm nonplussed about it.  In the most positive way possible.  Absolutely.  Man, imagine if there are girls in my class.  Odds are, there will be.  Oh, erm, hmm, shweep, swipe the hair back, reposition my spectacles, hummina hummina.  For some reason, I'm a nerd from the 1950's.  That's me.  What today is it, Wednesday?  Yeah.  Alright.  Wednesday's are fine with me.  Probably.  I don't really remember.  There's seven days, who can keep track.  God created the week in seven days.  Sounds reasonable.  In Sublime, when he says, "I smoke two joints before I smoke two joints, and then I smoke two more," how many joints is that total?  Six?  You can make a case for either six or four.  It's unclear, is all I'm trying to say.  Also, that's a lot of joints.  After a while, I don't think it'll make much of a difference.  That's how I feel about huh.  Wha?  Hu?  Oh, right.  Paragraph.  Almost forgot.  I'm developing a bad habit in poker, where I'll make terrible bets or calls, just to show the other players that I'm an idiot.  I justify it by thinking, if I confuse them about the quality of my play here, I'll make them pay later on.  But, in honesty, it's just boredom, makin' me want to do something.  The good news is it's play money.  Anyway, that's it.  See ya later.

-3:51 P.M. 



Monday, January 26, 2015                        

How Dare You

Hellos all around.  You get a Hello, you get a Hello, you get a Hello!  All those were to the same person, I just really wanted to drive the point home.  Outstanding.  I uploaded 150 of my old songs to my new computer, which I plan on putting online in a 2-4 CD collection of my early work.  It's not very good, but, boy, does it exist.  No one can argue that.  And, to be honest, when I first started doing music, having it exist was pretty much the goal.  Just get in a number of songs, then the honeyees will be all over you like flies to shit.  And did it happen?  Not exactly.  But those songs still exist, and if I ever reach the point where my music is popular, it's notable and vaguely interesting to see how I started off.  That's how I feel about things and stuff.  That's even pretty much how I feel about my current music.  Each album is a step forward towards artistic and/or commercial success.  Like, for example, 1.2 people listened to my last album, compared to .85 people who listened to the album before that.  The good news is BIG ASS STORM IS COMING.  It's not really good news, I guess.  Unless you're a storm fetishist.  There's gotta be one out there, there's fetishists for everything.  Big snowstorm really gets me goin', boy, yes, oh my.  What a Winter pervert.  It's like the sky is raining a white Cleveland steamer on me.  Too far?  I might have gone too far.  The good news is Jamba Juice.  What about Jamba Juice?  I don't know, I was just possessed to say it.  That's pretty much the most benign possession there could be.  A demon that makes you say Jamba Juice wily-nily.  I'll take it, it could be much, much worse.  I had an idea for an app, that I'm sure will be developed within five years.  Being able to track a delivery, specifically food, while it's being delivered.  You call the pizza place, order a pizza, and then on your phone, you can check where the car is at what point.  I'm a genie-us.  That would make the delivery man stop stoppin' off at the titty bar, though.  He won't like that one bit.  One story I have about ordering food, was, the first time I did mushrooms, at the beginning of Sophomore year in my dorm, we are all high, obviously, and we wanted to get food, but we were just too out of it.  So we convinced one of my friends there to call his girlfriend, and have her order the food for us.  That's relevant because it was my friend's girlfriend ordering Chinese food.
To be read as Seinfeld.  Hell, just read all this website to be read as Seinfeld.  Except for the opening.  That's Opera.  Oprah.  Alright, whatever.  Seinfeld can say it too, in his charming, amiable nasally voice.  I'm too scared to see Selma because I'm scared it will be about The Exorcist.  Because there's someone named Selma Blair, and the Exorcist's name was Linda Blair.  Therefore, I'm scared.  Remember that time Martin Luther King Jr. spun his head around and threw up on everyone.  The truth is, the injustices that led to inspire the Civil Rights movement were far scarier and more horrible than something in any horror movie.  The more you know.  Hey, I already knew that.  The same amount as you know, then.  Anyway.  What else be happening.  Sometimes when I look up at the sky, I get the feeling, if I was a foot taller, I'd see the sky and the panoramic landscape, and buildings, and everything, from a noticeably different vantage point.  Everything would look smaller.  Or bigger.  I haven't decided yet.  It's like, when I leave the city, the sky and everything looks so big.  So, when I'm in my neighborhood, if I imagine myself being taller, the houses wouldn't be so big, so the sky would be bigger.  That's how that goes.  That makes sense to maybe one person.  And I'm not him.  I really should copyright that delivery app idea.  Eh.  I'll do it tomorrow.  I don't think I've ever been to a titty bar.  Wait, let me rephrase that.  I've never been to a titty bar.  I'm pretty sure I would know if I had been.  That's the kind of thing a person would remember.  I've done 99% of my drinking outside of bars, but I do like the bar atmosphere, even if I haven't utilized it much, up to this point.
    To be read as Jason Alexander.  Anyway, what be goin' on, and stuff.  Probably things, and crap.  How come we don't eat turkey eggs.  They gotta lay eggs, they're birds.  And we know they're delicious.  I wanna eat the eggs.  I think eating eggs is the ultimate way to show you're higher up on the food chain.  Fuck eating you, I'm gonna eat your unborn children.  It's pretty horrible, when you think about it.  Anyway, yeah.  That's a joke.  If I ever sift through crazysheet to find open mic jokes, that'll do just fine.  And by just fine, I mean just fine.  Just enough fineness.  The only joke I'm 99% on, through all my years of crazysheet, both incarnations, is the uncle joke.  We all have repressed memories, and sometimes, we don't even know why.  Like, I have a memory of my uncle high fiving me.  Totally normal.  Except he didn't use his hand.  And he high fived me in the mouth.  You can't argue with that joke.  Can't argue with it at all.  The other joke I really liked, but at this point, don't like as much anymore, was there should be a porn of a guy who looks like Jesus fucking another guy who looks like Jesus, and it's called JESUS FUCKING CHRIST.  Back in the day, I thought it was hysterical.  Now, eh.  Live and learn.  The last time I did an open mic, I was writing down possible jokes on index cards, and, looking back, most of them were just totally irrelevant and non-funny non-sequiturs.  I'm tired of these morticians that are floozies.  That's a joke I came close to almost saying.  It was on the tip of my tongue.  That's it, no punch line.  That's the self delusion of the 15-25 year old new jokester.  Thinking anything is funny, just because they thought of it.  Well, live and learn, as they say.  They're calling us Sledge!!!
Looking back, confusing sledge and sludge, and coming so close to saying it out loud to people, is funnier than any joke I could have told or heard at that open mic.  Also, how I reacted to the one other open micer who talked to me.  I was like, I'll take you under my wing, let you know what it's all about.  Meanwhile, this was my second open mic.  Well, second comedy open mic.  I've done four or five music ones, which actually went relatively adequately, for the most part.  He did say he thought I did really well.  Before he said that, I sorta felt like I bombed, but after one throw-away comment, I was like, Yeah, I guess I did do great.  That's how I'll choose to remember this evening.  Again, the self delusion of the beginning jokester at work.  I remember, when I was about ten or so, I was at a sleep-over at someone's house, (I wouldn't necessarily call him a friend) and we were watching MADTV, but someone said the B-word (Bitch), and his mom made us shut it off.  That's my third go-to comedy story.  Open mic story, open mic story, MADTV.  Anyway, yeah.  I ougtta do an open mic soon.  Can't now, the Winter storm.  But, maybe next week, or something.  My goal should be to keep doing open mics until I'm actually mostly comfortable on stage.  If I do it enough, I'm bound to get there eventually.  Probably.  I don't know.  I think my natural inclination is to think that people don't like me.  So, when I get on stage, before anything else, I already feel like I'm in a hole, because of my lack of self-confidence.  Oh well, maybe not having self confidence is my brain's way of saying you have nothing to be confident about.  It's a pretty reasonable explanation.
Anyway, final paragraph time.  I wasn't paying attention to what I was doing, and I almost just poured some whiskey into my ashtray.  I caught myself just in time.  This is funny because it's my ashtray.  To be read as Newman.  I don't like that episode of Seinfeld where Kramer and Newman are playing Risk, because it breaks the fourth wall.  It's not possible.  You can't play Risk with two people.  Totally ruins the illusion that this is real life.  That's not what breaking the fourth wall means.  You're not what breaking the fourth wall means!  And, besides, yes it is.  Sort of.  Also, the idea that you can move around a board with all those pieces on it, from wherever they started, to Jerry's house, to on the subway, etc., is laughable.  You can't move it six inches without the pieces getting fucked up.  Laughable, I say!  Anyway, what the what.  Actually made it through five paragraphs, this time.  Alright.  Nova Scotia.  That's a place, I guess.  Hey, The View is about to start!  The View is one of the day-time talk shows I might watch every now and then, depending on the guest.  Because my life is empty without T.V.  Don't tell anyone.  What would that do to my reputation.  Hey, you know Michael watches the view?  Who told you that sack of lies?!  I only watch Portlandia and the commercials on the Sundance channel. Yeah, whatever.  I guess.  Anyway, see ya later.                         

-10:59 A.M. 


Saturday, January 24, 2015                        

I Run The Dope Game!

Why, hello.  I had a dream last night about Marlow from The Wire.  I was new in his gang, but I started to get the feeling he was gonna kill me for whatever reason.  And he was camped out in my house, my real house, where I live in real life.  Which is next to a park, and I deduced the entire reason he was dealing with me and staying at my house was because, in the dream, the park next to my house was prized drug real estate.  But, in the end of the dream, I confront him about leaving, because I felt like he was planning on killing me, and I was like Look, I know what's gonna happen here, thinking he'll fess up to planning to offing me.  And he was like, You been in this game one week, and you think you know?  Then I woke up.  So, that means something, I'm sure.  Not 100% sure what, but something, definitely.  Also, as part of my cover, in my non-criminal life, I was taking a swimming class, taught by my real-life therapist.  And I remember jumping into a pool in the shallow end, and thinking, It's a good thing I didn't break any bones. So, when I woke up, I consulted my Dream Symbols book, but, surprisingly, they didn't have an entry under, "M," for, "Marlow from The Wire."  Anyway, dreams are fun.  Who am I to think I can outwit Marlow.  I've only been in the game one week, I don't know how it's played.  Anyway.  There was a Winter storm last night.  Snow was involved.  That's how that goes.
    Second paragraph time.  Alright!  That's how that goes.  Dreams are fun.  My Mom told be about a dream she had a week ago which involved me.  I was in second grade, except my teacher was my nursery school teacher, and she was telling my Mom that I was 30 pages behind on some book.  And she made it clear that I could read, but I just wasn't doing the assignment.  So, I thought about that non-stop for several days.
Why was my nursery school teacher my second grade teacher.  Nursery school, what happens there.  You learn about sharing.  Different colors.  I don't know, haven't figured it out yet.  I could, I'm just 30 pages behind.  Lisa Simpson's in second grade.  Is that relevant?  Probably.  One sign I'm addicted to T.V. is that my association for second grade is Lisa, and my association for fourth grade is Bart.  If I had an old friend say to me, Hey, remember in fourth grade... I'd just start thinking about the Simpsons.  And my association for Kindergarten is sharing, because I made a pun here once about In Kindergarten is where we learn to Cher, because I had just mentioned Cher.  At least that's something I wrote.  It's closer to being relevant to actual life.  Also, calling it Freedom Class, another joke I made here.  I just remembered another mini-dream I had.  In high school, in real life, I would sometimes get McDonalds for a friend, take it back to him, because we had the same class after my lunch.  And, in my dream, someone did that for me.  I forget who it was.  It was either a real friend or someone from T.V./Movies.  Either way, I remember feeling, So, the tables have turned, ever so deliciously.
Anyway, what.  BRBCB. Coffee Break.  Be Right Back.  Period.  Back I am.  Bim.  Anyway, time to shed the italics.  What else is going on that's non-dream related.  They did have an entry under, "M," for Murder.  That's a movie or something.  Or so I've been led to believe.  Hey, also, I had a mini-dream where I was talking to someone about solving Myst, the computer game.  And I made some reference to the final clue, and they were like, Hey, do you know how to beat The Raven, which is the computer game sequel to Myst.  And, since I didn't, I just kept talking about solving Myst, which I did know.  Gotta stick to what you know, that's the take-away from that story.  I wrote the Myst screenplay, if anyone knows how to solve it, it's gonna be me.  One of the made-up-actor's-names in the movie was, "Joe Salmander."  Both because I'm stupid and I didn't know how to spell salmon.  And thought it would be a good last name.  This is coming from the guy who made up the unintentionally-homo-erotic name Mike Rimsert.  And the meant-to-be-appropriate-for-me name Philip Chung.  At least I was spot-on with the name Crazy Sheet.  I knocked that one out of the park.  I've been using The Uppers as my imaginary band name for about two years, now.  Kinda getting to the point where I'd like to take it back.  No one cares.  I got the name from when I was listening to an old song of mine, and I was like, The sensation of listening to my own song and following it is sort of like taking a very light stimulant.  From thenceforth, a legend was born.
    Anyway, new paragraph.  Too bad I didn't think of The Get Up Kids at the time.  Oh well.  I don't think of The Get Up Kids nearly as often as I should.  Anyway.  What else is going on.  Non Get-Up-Kids related.  The Get Up Kids do a good cover of Close To Me.  That's Get-Up-Kids related.  No it isn't, it's Close To Me related.  What an idiot.  Anyway, what's going on.  Probably nothing.  I'll see ya later.


-12:57 P.M.     


Friday, January 23, 2015                        

I Think We Both Know How This Title Is Going To End

With the entry beginning!  Hey, I was right.  How about that.  My Dad was telling me about a dream he had where he fell down in the shower, and it brought back a flash memory of taking showers in the hospital.  It's notable to take a shower in the hospital, because they have seats where you shower.  There's something you sit on while the shower showers shower on top of you.  I guess because mentally ill people aren't 100% when it comes to having the ability to stand.  But, yeah, talk about luxury.  Gettin' showered without even having to balance myself on two feet.  So, that's how that might go.  It is.  It is how it went.  What else is new.  I'm writing an entry.  That hasn't happened in several hours.  I finished watching Misery.  Turns out, Misery did it.  I solved that caper.  I find it odd that James Caan was a writer in Misery, and a book publisher in Elf.  Very, very odd.  Something's going on there, and I don't like it.  Not a bit.  And in the bible, he was the land of the ancient Israelites.  Canaan.  Which I believe inspired the country of Canada.  They should make a sequel to The Prince of Egypt, and call it II Moses, II Furious.  Because it's great.  Well, anyway.  What else is going on.  Thirty years from today, it'll be 1/23/45.  Everyone mark your calendars.  Do it now, before your calendars become sentient.  Then, they'll be marking you to keep themselves up to date.  That's right, calendars are at the top of the mechanical food chain.
    I think we both know this is the start of a new paragraph.  Right again.  I'm on a roll, of some sorts.  Thirty years ago, it was 1/23/85.  This is notable because huh.  Wha.  Hu?  That was the day they commenced shooting on Back To The Future.  That's my main reference for 1985.  Also, Michael Jackson, Pepsi, Reagan, JFK blown away...  What else do I have to say.  Michael Jackson, Pepsi, Weird Al was so, Sexy.  Put that in your accordion and smoke it.  Pope John Paul the Sixteenth.  Lunar Landing Skeptics.  Moses parts the Red Sea.  Some people have leprosy.  Fox finished shooting, next scene.  Slant rhyme is what I'm all about, when it comes down to it.  Is ...joke/pee-pee coke the original slant rhyme?  Cause of their eyes?  Get it?  It's a stereotype?  Any of this ringing a bell?  Anyway, what else is going on.  Is it possible that the movie Shoot 'Em Up got it's title from a direction in the script to the director?  I think so.  Anyway, today is Friday.  I know, because of calendars.  If they approached me in the 1960's to be the first astronaut, I'd be like, Are you fucking kidding me?  Get the Hell out of here.  Cause really, what are the odds you come out of that alive.  All the way into space, fine, maybe.  But making it back alive, too?  No way.  Can't happen.  There should be conspiracy theorists who believe we really went to the moon, but don't believe any astronauts made it back.  They just have body doubles claiming to be them when they return.  I'd sign up for that kind of paranoid thinking.  Also, Elvis is really still alive.  He just lives on the moon.  That's what the Andy, Are You Goofin' On Elvis line cryptically means in that song.  That's how I feel about things.
    Alright.  I also feel this is the third paragraph.  You can't argue with a feeling.  You can try, sure.  I guarantee you you won't get far, though.  I shouldn't be making guarantees wily-nily.  In the future, guarantees from me will be what we use for currency.  I call 'em, Michael Kornblum Fun Bucks.  What was I talking about.  The space race.  I believe that was the original title for E.T.  The Space Race.  Later re-named The Extra Terrestrial.  I've never seen E.T.  I think it's one of only two movies we had on VHS that I never watched.  That, and some production of Peter Pan.  I have a vague memory I might have seen part of it when I was very, very young, and the puppet scared me.  And, if that didn't scare me, the later part of the movie eventually would have, when they're on the bicycle.  I never learned how to read a bicycle.  Therefore, bicycles scare me.  You want me to get on this two wheeled contraption and set myself into motion?  Get the Hell outta here.  I'm no dummy.  It's a space race because he's his own race.  And they race each other in the climax.  All good titles have duel meanings.  What else is going on.  I heard R.E.M. got their name from randomly flipping through a dictionary.  That's the kind of artistic decision making I can get behind.  Choosing something at random, and just hoping it sticks.  Now we know their inclination is to skip to around 2/3rds through a book.  Good to know.
    Okay.  Two thirds into the entry, now.  I'm havin' fun.  Right?  Probably.  It's only three minutes till midnight on the doomsday clock.  I'm pretty sure when it hits 12:00, Tubthumping by Chumbawamba starts playing on a loop for the rest of time.  Not really sure why, it just seemed appropriate.  Anyway, what else is goin' on.  Fourth paragraph already, huh.  That's good news.  Anyway, I'll see ya later.

-2:56 P.M.                  


Thursday, January 22, 2015                        

Ground Banana III: Ground Banana Awakens

I saw a banana peel on the ground.  On my walk.  Today.  There is a new ground banana, and I don't care about anything else right now.  Anyway.  How'd it get there.  Did I will it into being?  You can't will bananas to do anything.  They're sentient creatures and they do as they like.  Maybe being on the ground is the natural state for bananas, and I just didn't know.  Or, maybe I'm lying about seeing a ground banana.  I wouldn't lie to you about that.  My credibility is my bond.  Anyway, I just got back from recycling some cans.  Or, at least, trying to.  The machine kept breaking, as I stood there for forty minutes, watching this fiasco unfold.  What came to mind was, "This is the first thing I've done in months."  It's good to get out of your house and do something with your life.  Like confront a broken machine, and lose to it in a battle of wits.  Anyway, back to drinking at home.  Cheers!   The good news is, cute Indian cashier who smiled at me!  I high five'd myself in my mind.  Then, I walked under a ladder.  Seven years of bad luck for me, I guess.  Seven years is a long time to have bad luck.  If I broke a mirror when I was a second term sophomore in college, I would still be suffering the consequences.  Well, she didn't smile at me.  More like just looked at me.  That's a better way to put it.  Still, I chalk that up as a minor victory.  First thing I've done in months.  Well, yeah.  I started watching Misery earlier.  I think I'm my own misery.  If that makes any sense.  It probably does.
    Anyway.  I started watching Chappelle's Show.  I think I'm my own Chappelle's show.  I wish.  While Chappelle's Show was overall great, one part that I always liked is when they had white actors on the show in sketches.  Because they would be like, close to normal, but a distinctive 10-20% geared toward portraying white stereotypes, rather than just acting 100% natural, and that would just make me laugh.  You don't see that kind of acting anywhere else, to my knowledge.  Maybe soap operas.  Anyway.  I'm pretty sure that's the most racist thing someone can say about anything.  The only good part of Chappelle's Show was the white actors.  I apologize.  Especially because it's not really true.  To be honest, I don't particularly like what I just said I did, I just notice it, and it fascinates me.  The other parts of the show are way funnier.  Anyway.  I need a book to read.  Preferable a memoir written by a Rockitician.  Or a Comedic Mastermind.  Something along those lines.  I guess I can just play Mastermind with myself.  That's fun, even when you're alone.  I read novels about Led Zeppelin, AC/DC, and Big Star.  And the main thing I remember, from all of those, is that AC/DC smoked cigarettes when writing songs.  That's what I honed in on.  We would smoke a cigarette in the studio while working a song out.  Bingo!  That's what I like to hear.  People getting together, producing great art, while smoking cigarettes.  Yeesh.
    Yeesh.  Anyway, what up.  Haven't done anything in months.  I got two classes starting next week, Jack.  I had a dream I went to the supermarket, and they had frozen White Castle hamburgers.  Turns out, they do in waking life as well.  How wonderful.  The dream could have told me not to bother with the cans today, though.  They really dropped the ball on that one.  The dream was last week, though.  So I probably woulda forgotten anyway.  All I remember is something about dropping balls.  That reminds me, shut up.  What else is going on.  I shoulda just been like, Look, I'll give you these cans, for those hamburgers.  That's a fair trade.  In fact, when politicians talk about fair trade, that's what they're talking about.  Used cans for frozen hamburgers.  Anyway, I'm gettin' pretty tired.  But still got half an entry to write.  That ever happen to you?  You know, you're like three paragraphs in, and you can't go on?  Just tired.  At least there's hamburgers.  That's how I feel about life.  We must move on.  And forward!  Through that drive thru that is life.  If life is a drive thru, what are the odds they're gonna get your order wrong.  You turn seventy, and you realize, This isn't what I asked for!  That's how that might go.  One would imagine.  I specifically asked for no cheese.  Alright.  Did I mention making eye to eye contact with a lady?  Because I did.
    Did I mention I started the new paragraph?  I hope not, because if I mentioned it earlier, it would be too soon.  Now is just the right time to mention it.  Anyway, what.  What's going on.  This'll be a four paragraph entry.  I ain't kiddin.  Anyway.  Sometimes I get caught up in life, thinking about one thing or the other, through the distorted lens of my mental illnesses.  And every now and then, I have the epiphany about my life, wait, this is because I'm crazy.  It's sorta something I'd like to forget.  We all have our crosses to bear.  I just have a bunch of them.  I don't know.  Either way, let's finish it up.  School next week.  That's something to do.  Probably.  See ya later.

-2:52 P.M.                                            


Tuesday, January 20, 2015                        

Ground Banana II: The Return of Ground Banana

There is no return of ground banana.  I'm a false based liar.  However, I did find a bag of marijuana with an ever so little amount still in there!  So, I came home, spiked a cigarette with it, smoked it, and felt nothing.  Great.  There's probably some rule that parents should tell their children, "Don't smoke things you find lying on the ground."  Can't be worse for you than regular cigarettes, though.  The good news is what the what.  It's January twenty.  You know what that means.  Tomorrow Winter is 1/3rd done.  Anyway.  What's going on.  The good news is I made it through my walk without falling down once.  I'm gettin' pretty good at walking.  Didn't fall down once.  I'm good at walking.  I didn't fall down once.  I have a recurring dream, every night.  I won't tell you what it is, though.  Don't wanna jinx it.  Alright, it's about the ground banana.  Not really.  It is about falling down, though.  That much I can say.  Anyway, who knows.  I have this book about interpreting dream symbols.  And it's basically like a dictionary, A-Z, of things that could come up in dreams, and what they mean.  The part I like about it, is it has a bunch of numbers, one, two, seven, thirteen, whatever.  And for 90% of the numbers, it just says, "X is a symbol of wholeness, or completeness, or whatever."  How could all numbers mean that.  Something doesn't add up, and I'm gonna get to the bottom of it!  The only number they have that doesn't mean that is thirteen.  And I think they're wrong on that.  Why can't thirteen be a symbol of completeness.  They dropped the ball on that one, boy.
    Anyway.  What the what.  We can have all the second paragraph we want.  That's how I feel.  I guess.   It's a good thing black Friday is celebrated the day after Thanksgiving, and not Martin Luther King Jr. Day.  Then it would be insensitive.  Because the day after MLK day is a Tuesday.  So calling it a Friday would be 40 shades of wrong.  That's how I whatever.  Alright, I'll tell you what my recurring dream is about.  It's about having sex with Asian people.  There, are you happy now?  Good, because I tricked you.  That's a dream I only had two or three times!  A joke that is emblematic of me at the time, around 2004, was making a pun about Star Wars, "Attack of The Clones," and saying it's about Asian people.  Insensitive, not very funny, immature.  Hey, we all gotta start somewhere.  I started off by saying Asian people look like clones.  The funny thing is, from going to Stuyvesant, I can probably tell, with a 90% accuracy, what country an Asian is from, based on either their name or how they look.  Most Americans probably couldn't do that.  I'm the special.  Great guy.  What a wonderful dude am I.  That would basically be me just saying, "You're Jamaican."  "No."  "Well, you're making me crazy!"  You're from Siam.  No.  Siamese Twins!  Siamese Twins what?  That's not a country, its just an outdated territory from Risk.  Siamese Twins!  It's good to be able  to relate to people on their level.
    Anyway.  That was a lost paragraph.  What kind of idiot smokes things he finds on the street.  The junkie idiot, that's what kind.  That's me.  What else is goin on.  Oh, yeah.  A few entries ago I was talking about fights I've been in.  I was once almost in a fight, around ninth grade.  I was in Bay Terrace, and a group of younger kids walked by, probably around sixth or seventh grade.  And one of them bumped into me, and they started taunting me, trying to initiate a fight.  And my manhood was threatened, so what did I do?  Nothing.  They walked away.  Also, once in Hebrew school, we had a trivia thing where the winning class gets a pizza party.  And I got a key question wrong.  So, when we returned to our classroom, one of my classmates knocked me down, and then stood on top of me.  And my friends, my so called friends, stood idly by, probably laughing.  Also, in second grade, I was misbehaving, so as a punishment, the teacher made me sit in on the  third grade classroom.  Not really sure how that's a punishment.  But, how it's a punishment revealed itself, as the person from third grade I was sitting next to started flicking my ear and just bullied me in general.  What a jerk!  Also, the third grade classroom, there's a dome on the ceiling.  Imagine that!  A dome!  When I was in third grade, I gave someone a Valentine Day card.  I just liked her.  And what response did I get?  Nothing.  No response.  I guess that's what I deserve.  No answer at all.
    I'm pretty sure 5/5 of the stories I told in that paragraph, I've told here before.  Oh well, now it's all in one place, for convenience.  What a depressing thread of stories.  That's how I feel.  What else is going on.  What about times I was in the opposite of fights.  What's the opposite of fights.  I remember, I once had a dream there was website called Ghost Fights, and you pay to see videos of ghosts fighting each other.  That's fun.  One would imagine.  Ghost Fights.  Hah.  That's a thing.  Let's finish this entry up.  A paragraph and a half to go.  I've also fought people using the medium of Super Smash Bros.  That, the ultimate of duels.  You can't be Mario, I'm Mario.  We can both be Mario.  Fine, but I'm Super Mario.  Mario does the thing with his cape to turn people around.  That's the most powerful move in the whole game, as far as I'm concerned.  Anyway, I'll close it up with a paint.  See ya.

-12:44 P.M.                               


Monday, January 19, 2015                        

What If The Title Related To The Entry

What if.  I'm not that great a writer, though.  I can't be having things making sense.  Anyway, hello.  I was drinking a beer before seeing a movie this weekend, and I had just spent the entire week watching The Wire, and for some reason, I felt like I was nodding in and out, sort of like heroin does.  So, I was like, so this is what it would be like to be a heroin man.  I didn't like it, suffice to say.  It did make me feel like Mr. Cool, though, to some extent.  Heroin junkies are the original rock stars.  Because most rock stars are heroin junkies.  And, now that I'm a rock star in my own mind, gotta know what heroin is like.  Well, not what heroin itself is like, more like what the come down is like.  I think my symptoms also sort of are part of the cause.  These voices all the time lulling me into a dream like state.  Of course when I go see a movie and drink a beer out of a paper bag in an underground stairway and listen to Sublime after spending two weeks solely in my head I'm gonna feel like a homeless heroin junkie.  Anyway.  That settles that.  It doesn't settle anything.  Not as far as you know.  It's like, I just got caught up in a rhythm of 50% depression, 30% euphoria, and 20% muted anxiety.  Then, when I was in the theater, I saw literally the weirdest looking person I've ever seen.  It was just an elderly man or woman, I couldn't really tell, but their face was just madness.  It looked a little bit like the old woman in that picture where one side up the design looks like an old woman, and the other side up makes it look like a young woman.  But even weirder.
    Anyway.  Today is milk day.  Where we celebrate milk.  I probably have drunk straight milk at most two or three times in my life.  Not counting baby-time.  With zero times being a real possibility.  That's how I feel about things.  That's not a feeling, or about things.  It's sort of about things.  Get off my case.  Sometimes I wonder, if I drank milk as a kid, I might be two or three inches taller.  Oh well, we all make mistakes.  Like, getting the chicken pox.  Now I can never get it again.  I shoulda saved it up until a time where I could really fully appreciate it.  I had a weird feeling getting beer today, at the cashier, I was sort of checking out the girl cashier, like I'm prone to doing, but I suddenly realized, "Oh, shit, I'm shorter than her."  Which would have been my main thought from ages 11-22.  But the last couple of years, I sorta just forgot about it.  But, suddenly, there was that feeling again.  Oh well.  Don't hate the player, hate the game.  That doesn't apply.  You don't apply.  I found the old paper from where I first got signed to be a student intern.  And, yes, I am purposely putting it into sports jargon.  And then, a year later, I was designated for assignment.  Should have taken human growth hormone.  When I was a kid.  Then I might be two or three inches taller.  Remember in like 1998 when they cloned that sheep.  How come they stopped there.  It's been fifteen years since the breakthrough, and they still haven't cloned a human.  What's the hold up?  We were all excited about cloning for a few months.  Also, Princess Diana.  Who were the real killers.
That ain't right.  I had a dream that a girl I liked really, really liked Beavis and Butthead.  I'm not really sure what to make of it.  One of my favorite quotes from any T.V. show is in The Critic, there's a college student complimenting someone, saying in earnest they're, "Smart as Beavis, handsome as Butthead!"  Or reversed.  Either way, tickles my funny bone.  What else is going on.  Anyway.  When I first started watching The Wire, I took a walk, and felt like Bodie.  Of course I'll devolve into Bubbles.  That's the natural order of things.   Hey, my classes start next week.  Should be good.  I'm glad I took the month off, though.  Now I'm rested and refreshed, and ready to get back into the thick of things.  Anyway what else is going on.  I should start watching The Six Million Dollar Man so I'll feel like a Six Million Dollar man.  That's a lot of money for just one man to feel like.  And if you factor in inflation, interest, and the like, it's probably like the eleven or twelve million dollar man at this point.  Sometimes when I look out the window, I see shadows of birds flying that I'm fairly certain don't really exist.  It's a phantom shadow from a phantom bird.  Hey, if I can hear things that aren't there, why not see things as well.
    No reason why not, that's why.  Not.  Anyway, what the what.  Hello.  On the Coors Light can, it says, "The Silver Bullet."  Is that meant to imply this drink can take down werewolves?  What other association does silver bullet have, other than the killing werewolves use.  It also says, "The World's Most Refreshing Can."  I guess they never heard of Jessica Alba.  Jokes!  Can means bottom.  Check it out on urban dictionary.  When I was fourteen, I added crazysheet to Urban Dictionary.  I really wanted it to catch on.  Then, when I was 19, they removed it, e-mailing me the caveat, "Nobody likes you."  I think I was around 19 when I realized nobody likes me.  Too young for it to feel permanent, too old for it to really bother me.  Right in the sweet spot of self awareness.  Also, on the can, it has a label saying, "Cold."  Which isn't that weird.  Except, right under it, there's another label saying, "Super Cold."  Make up your mind.  You gotta commit to something.  I'll suggest Super Cold, because there's nothing you have to base it on, so might as well make the most positive outlandish claim you can.  Then again, you don't want something to be too cold.  Anyway.  Pretzels.  Huh.  Who needs em.  Not me.  Sure, I like them every now and again.  Like, when I was recording my last batch of songs, I would reward myself with a nice bag of pretzels for finishing work on a song.  Anyway.  What else does it say on cans.  If I was pregnant, I'd drink alcohol.  Maybe I want a kid with birth defects.  Teach him some tough love early as possible.  A life without overcoming obstacles is no life at all. 
    Anyway, last paragraph time.  Here we go.  And off we are.  It begins.  The paragraph, at least.  This was fun, I guess.  It was something.  More or less.  Maybe I should watch Aladdin.  Finally get me those three wishes I've been after. Tobacco, Alcohol, and fire arms.  That might be my wish list right there.  But I already have two out of three.  Two out of three ain't bad.  Except when it comes to having things you can potentially wish for.  Then, the more you have, the worse it is.  Wasted wishes.  Anyway, see ya later.

-1:41 P.M.                                          


Thursday, January 15, 2015                        

I Did It!  Lived Until Thursday!

Throw a party.  In a couple of months, it'll be Thursday again.  Now the goal is to live until then.  I think I can do it.  Just remove all sharp objects from my room, child-proof my pill bottles.  I don't get how that's really child-proofing.  When I was eight, I'm pretty sure I could have figured out how to push down on something while twisting it.  And if I didn't, I sure learned it at puberty, boy howdy.  I wish that didn't make as much sense as it does.  I mean, what?  Huh?  Forget it.  Anyway.  What's up.  You don't have to answer that, that's what I'm here for.  To tell you what's up, and so on, and whatnot.  Nothing's up.  I hate to break it to you.  Nothing at all is up.  I know, it's sad.  I'm as disappointed as you are.  And what's down?  Everything.  Everything is down.  Except for the things that are at level.  Anyway.  I've been out of Camel cigarettes for a couple of days.  I'd walk a mile for a Camel.  Because I do what taglines and slogans tell me to do.  Hey, we all gotta do our part.  What else is going on.  I'm writing the entry.  That's going on right now, as we speak.  Probably.  I don't really remember.  What.  What's going on.  What.  Whatever.  I still gotta write this shit?  Yeah, probably.  Nothing better to do, at least.  Let's dive into my memory banks and see if I can't come up with some sort of story.  There was the time... well, hmm.  Now, let's see.  I think the first comedy album I ever owned was Chris Rock: Bigger & Blacker.  The main thing I learned was that there is no sex in the champagne room.  There's a song about it.  So, that happened.  That's a story, almost.  If you were to pepper in some story-aspects.  Like, who, what, where, when why, and sometimes how.  Who was me.  What was comedy album.  Where was here.  When why was 1999 because I said so.  How was ears.
    One story, in the books.  That was easy.  Almost too easy.  Nah, just regular easyI remember two of the first DVDs I ever owned, possibly the first, were My Myself, and Irene, and Meet The Parents.  Me, in my room, in the ears, with a sledgehammer.  Colonial Mustard was in on it too.  Kernel Mustard.  Whatever.  What other things have I done.

Hi.  I wrote that previously.  I changed the day of the week to protect the innocent.  Although, if you're into reading this blog, you gotta have some dirt on you.  No one with a clean record is into this crap.  How come it's accepted as standard in Monopoly to pay 200 dollars to get out of jail.  What kind of justice system is that.  I wonder if Park Place is the Parker Bros. idea of a joke.  Yeah, that's your name.  Good job.  Didn't think we'd notice, huh?  Well, we did.  I wonder how they got started.  No one ever thinks, One day, I'm gonna make it big in the board game industry.  I imagine you just sort of wake up one day with a vision in your head, and get to it.  And if you're lucky, get your brother on board with it, NPI.  NPI means no pun intended.  AI.  Acronym intended.  I once had a science teacher named Dr. Arce.  That was where I got a 4 on a test.  Hey, if you label everything a vein, something's bound to come up correct.  What about Life In Vain, by Daniel Johnston.  How does that relate to this story.  It doesn't?  Oh.  Sorry for leading you ashtray. It's a hard knock life, in vain/we're from Annie, we can't, com-plain.  I never saw it.  The closest I've come to seeing Annie is that song.  What was I talking about again?  Hmm.  Released some new music online this week!  What fun.  I even started a youtube channel, for all the times I hear, You should put it on youtube, then people will listen to it.  And guess what?  Wrong.  Fifty four out of the fifty five hits my songs got collected were me.  The fifty fifth?  Probably also me, and I just lost count.  Oh well, not worth getting upset about.  I still got a blog that I have to write for an audience of myself.
    Alright.  It's noon.  H'come people don't blaze up at noon and call it, "High Noon."  What's wrong with the youth of America these days.  What's noon.  It's when the clock has a double twelve.  What's a clock.  I've marveled at the amazement a clock is before on this blog.  How do they do it?!  Get it to tick exactly a second each time, and whatnot.  I couldn't figure that out in a million years.  I wonder if, in 20,000 B.C., they would just hire a guy to count what time it is constantly.  Like, in court rooms, or royalty houses, or some stuff like that.  Just have guy announcing every time the minute changes.  The Human Clock.  Sounds like a super hero.  He always knows what time it is.  Sounds useful.  I guess that makes Flavor Flav a super hero.
I knew it.  Flavor Flav is just his civilian identity.  So people don't catch on to who he really is.  Who really is Flavor Flav.  I've never seen him out of character.  Also, I might have seen a total of thirty seconds of him on T.V. throughout my life.  It's easy to keep track, on account of the giant clock.  Anyway.  Flavor Flav.  What's his story.  And how come I don't really care enough to follow this line of jokining.  I know why.  Because I'm bored.  Anyway.  I haven't writ an entry in a while.  That's good.  Real good.  What else is going on.  Back to class in two weeks.  You know what that means.  It's pretty straight forward, at least, so I'm assuming you could decipher what I mean to convey.  It's that class starts again in two weeks.  That's what.  Remember the movie Salt.  Me neither.  I was just thinking about salt and pepper shakers.  That made me think of The Battle of Shaker Heights.  That made me think of Shia Labeouf.  That made me think about salt.  That made me think about the movie Salt.  Shake'r what your make'r gave... yer.  Or something along those lines.  I don't get why the go-to business idea for children is lemonade stand.  It's been done.  Nobody is going out for a walk in their neighborhood thinking, "I need overpriced lemonade served to me by toddlers."  I think, for literally half an hour, I tried setting up a lemonade stand, and no one came, and I gave up.  This was two months ago.  Jokes!  No, I was probably around eight.  And I was like, It's time to do something with my life.  Now, sixteen years later, and you couldn't convince me it's time to do something with my life if you tried.  Maybe that's it.  That's the answer.  Lemonade stand outside my house.  Get a dozen customers a week, then sell franchising rights to Starbucks for 516 million dollars.  Checkmate.  I don't know who I'm checkmating in this scenario.  All those who doubted me, I guess.
    Maybe I should be a lemonade wholesaler.  Maybe not.  I haven't decided yet.  I know I seem like a guy whose got it all figured out, but that's not the case.  I still don't know where I fall on whether or not to be a lemonade wholesaler.  I used to like Lipton's lemon iced tea.  Before I started drinking diet drinks.  Notch that up in the memory column.  Also, when did I start keeping columns.  I don't remember that.  Inside The Actor's Iced Tea.  Anyway.  My Camel cigarettes have a new design on the packs.  Which is appropriate, because my lungs now have a new design too.  You gotta be in it to win it.  Not quite sure on how that applies.  Anyway, see ya later.

-1:05 P.M.                  


Wednesday, January 7, 2015                        

Sounds Like a Plan

Hello friendlies.  It's me, me.  I like the term, "Friendly Fire."  Can fire ever really be friendly?  Probably.  You're asking the wrong guy.  I'm no fire expert.  All I know is that there was once a Quest For Fire.  They made a documentary about it.  I dunno I never saw it.  I think in some history class they made me watch it.  Look, homeless cavemen invented fire.  I'll take your word for it.  No need to spend two hours watching a dramatic reenactment.  Also, I don't think there was really a quest for fire.  That would imply like a space-age-lets-put-a-man-on-the-moon mentality.  By the year 125,000 B.C.E. we'll have fire!  Also, why are we counting the years backwards.  They didn't know what they were doing.  Countin' the years backwards, they didn't know which way was up!  Until they threw that bone up in the air.  That's when they discovered what Up was.  And men forgot, until 1999 when a popular commercial begged the question, "Whazzz Up?"  And we came to terms with our own fatality, or something.  Mortal Wombat.  Letting kids play Mortal Kombat is a sincere error.  Now they're just gonna go around committing fatalities on their friends.  It takes a village.  Just say no.  You are the weakest link.  Anyway.  What's going on.  It was Laura Bush who said, "You are the weakest link," right?  My memory ain't so great.  Most of what I remember is commercials from the turn of the century.  The rest is baseball players' names and relative statistics from 1997.  Like, Vladimir Guerrero.  It made all the sense in the world back then, but now, I wonder, "Why is a Guerrero named Vladimir?"  When you're a kid, you don't even question these things.  I'm older and more mature now, though, and I demand answers.
    Anyway.  I watched over 1000 minutes of Roseanne the past week.  It's true, I did the math.  And it still wasn't enough.  Netflix doesn't have all the episodes, for some reason.  Maybe if we start a petition... I don't know.  What else is going on.  Oh, brother.  Stupid Roseanne and her stupid likable T.V. family.  I can't stand it!  Can't stand it.  I think they should play The Critic theme song at the opening credits for every show.  It's a really good song, that's why.  It would be weird if you die, and suddenly you wake up, and can't see anything but an extremely bright light, and The Critic theme song is playing.  And it turns out Heaven is just a never ending episode of The Critic.  And above Jesus' bunk bed is a poster that says, "It Stinks!"  I assume Heaven is just us rooming with Jesus.  I'd sign up for that.  And God is like the R.A., I suppose.  You took it too far.  Jesus roommate, fine.  God only being an R.A.?  That I won't stand for!  Even though it was I what said it!  Won't stand!  Anyway.  God's probably the security guard in the lobby who checks you for alcohol.  And if he catches you with alcohol?  Straight to Hell.  It's not worth it, guys.  Just say no.  Weakest link.  Oh, brother.  I like the song, "Highway To Hell."  Obviously, Hell has to be doing something right if they have a budget for infrastructure and transportation.  Can't be all bad if they're taking care of public works responsibly.                        
    That's how I feel, probably.  Anyway. You distracted me from Poker.  You made me lose play money chips.  Won't stand for it!  Won't!  I don't get the expression, "I won't stand for it."  Standing sucks, who wants to stand.  I won't stand for anything.  Either way, though.  Gotta continue with the entry.  Continue until it's finished.  That'll be fun.  What else is going on.  What was I talking about.  Erm.  Hmm.  Oh yeah, Roseanne.  What happened to Roseanne.  She was here just a minute ago.  For over 1000 minutes.  Now, gone, forever.  Into the ether.  As if it never even really happened.  Until they upload the rest of the episodes.  Then, Roseanne's back on!  That should be fun and a half.  I like Roseanne.  She's purdy.  Personalitywise.  Pennywise.  He was a clown.  He was It.  He lived in the sewer.  Don't fall for Pennywise, thinkin' he's gonna be purdy.  He ain't.  Clowns think they're so hot, but they are so not.  Anyway.  What was I talking about.  Oh, right.  Right, right, right.  What was I talking about?  Anyway, whazzzup.  It's the afternoon.  I love it when that happens.  Well, it's okay.  Let's not get ahead of ourselves.  Anyway, what is going on.  My website maker program is malfunctioning.  Someone, call a robot doctor!  Not a doctor who's a robot, a doctor who treats robots!  Robots meaning all technology!  Okay.  Okay.  The worst is over.  But that may just mean we're in the eye of the storm.  Oh... okay, good.  Back to normal.  It was too cold outside to carry beer, so I had to get rum instead.  Precious, precious rum.  If you get rid of the K, the O, the N, the B, and the L, my last name is Rum.  This is important, because it's factually correct.  Also, hey, how you doin.
    Anyway.  What's going on in the wide world of sports.  Sports news, and stuff, probably.  That's not what I'm here to talk about.  I'm here to talk about entry.  This entry.  How it's goin, and stuff.  I don't really know,  I'm too caught up in the moment, and such.  But, either way, let's keep going.  Robot doctors.  Psh.  They're never there when you need 'em.  Unreliable, them robot doctors are, I always say.  Anyway, what.  You gotta problem?  Let's take it outside.  I don't think I've ever been in a fight in my life.  There was the time I was competing over best friendship in the yard, in elementary school, and we fought by bumping our friend into one another, I've told that story.  There was also the time in college where I allegedly drunk a suitemates vodka, and it came to fisticuffs a little bit.  I kind of remember instinctually punching him in the balls, which is a low blow, I know.  But I was high all the time then, I can't even say for 100% that any fighting even took place.  What other fights have I been in.  I think that's it, as far as physical fights go.  Probably some rough-housin' with my brother, but nothing serious.  There was the time I read Fight Club.  But I'm not really supposed to talk about it.  That's probably the fourteenth time I've made that joke here.  Never gets old.  Except for around this point, it sorta seems kind of old now.  There was a Japan movie called Oldboy.  I never saw it.
    Last paragraph time, though.  That's good.  I'm pretty sure that's what the adapted Benjamin's Buttons from.  Anyway, hi.  Hello, in other words.  How's it goin'.  I decided not to take my winter class.  Back, last week ago.  When I told you about it originally.  Just thought I'd give you an update on things that have already happened and you know about.  You know, for fun.  Yeesh.  Time to wrap things up.  Another entry in the books.  On a scale from one to ten, it ranks a Who gives a crap.
  Not bad.  Could be a whole lot worse.  A whole.  Lot.  Worse.  Probably.  I don't really remember.  The good news is Who gives a crap.

-2:48 P.M.  


Monday, January 5, 2015                        

That'll Do, Website.  That'll Do.

Hello friends.  It's me.  Your friend.  Me.  The guy.  Whose friendly.  With you.  Friendly enough to be a friend.  Friend friend friend.  You have a friend!  It's me.  I'm your friend.  Anyway, welcome to January.  I hope it'll be great.  It probably will be, because great things happen in January.  New Years Day.  Martin Luther King Jr. Boulevard Day.  January 18th, Martin Luther King Jr. Day's Eve.  And so on and so forth.  I'm gonna write an entry, because that's what I do sometimes.  Also, I already started.  Remember MLKJRDAY talk?  All part of the entry.  See, I started it so seamlessly that it just blends into your regular life.  My remote is due to come any day now.  Hopefully it's not a Stay Tuned remote.  That would just be a hassle and a half.  Pleasantville Day remote, that's fine.  Nothing bad happens in Pleasantville.  Hence the name.  I still remember hearing John Ritter's death on the radio, because it was around the same time I heard Elliott Smith's death on the radio.  At the time, I didn't know who Elliott Smith was, but I still remember hearing it on the radio.  At the time, I didn't really know who John Ritter was, to be honest.  I know he was in my beloved childhood movies, but who really knew John Ritter.  He was a man of Mystery.  They based Austin Powers on him.  The main thing I know about John Ritter is that I thought he was Krysten Ritter's father, but now I don't think so anymore.  All I do know is that Jeffrey Jones is a bad guy.  Child pornography.  That's children in regular pornography.  Not pornography for children.  Pornography for children would be paintings of the Ninja Turtles fighting Dinosaurs while Transformers are watching.
    That's a paragraph.  As far as I'm concerned.  I wonder if Spiderman is friends with Charlotte's Web.  I bet The Fly can't stand either of them.  Either The Fly.  Except the Jeff Goldblum The Fly is actually at the top of that food chain, on account of his size.  He's even bigger than Spiderman, probably.  Jeff Goldblum is relatively tall, if I remember correctly.  Hey, I was right.  He's 6'4.  Now, the question is, why do I know the relative height of Jeff Goldblum?  I heard it on the radio around the time Bernie Mac died.  I dunno.  I never really appreciated Bernie Mac when he was alive, but now, whenever I see him in something, he's always great in it.  Bernie Mac was pretty tall too, I think.  Yup, 6'2.  I'm pretty short.  If I remember correctly, I'm about 5'9.  If I was 5'9, my life would be really different.  Hey, it's not the size of the boat, it's the motion of his ocean.  Danny Ocean.  George Clooney is probably one of those guys that's like 5'7 that they make up to look 6'0.  He just seems like the type.  I'm probably just jealous.  He was in the first season of Roseanne!  Talk about hitting the big time.  And he would later join John Goodman again in Oh, Brother, We're Art Now.  Oh, brother.  What about former Mets manager Art Howe?  How tall was he?  I'm gonna say no one cares.  In a college art class, for the final, the teacher showed a blank painting, and made the class write a paper critiquing it.  If you said, "Art How?" you got an A.  Because he's a Met fan who loves puns.  He's not really trying to teach anyone a lesson, he just loves himself his puns.
    And the succeeding manager is what a wife says about her husband who deserted her.  Will, 'ie Ran'd Off!  There ya go.  See, I told you I wasn't wasting my time writing crazysheet.  Willie Randolph.  Well he ran'd off.  I never told anyone I wasn't wasting my time writing crazysheet.  Especially not you.  I wouldn't want to plant the seed of doubt in your head.  Not after we got this far.  The good news is the entry is half over.  If I remember correctly, entries are about five paragraphs.  Yup, 5.3 paragraphs.  I'm on a roll.  I like how there's a several episode span where Roseanne works at a bar.  Her name is Barr!  That's the kind of things that excite me.  And, the more it happens, I get excited exponentially.  Like if the episode after her working for a bar had her becoming a lawyer, I'd be even more excited.  Exponentially more excited.  I'd give you an example of how my exponential excitement might manifest itself, but, you know.  Don't wanna be gross.  Anyway.  Don't bother reading the last eight sentences.  Let's move on.  Terry Call-in's-the-air-cause-it's-a-coin-flip.  Skip that sentence too.  Anyway.  What else is going on, now that I've got you here.  Probably nothing.  Nothing much.  I can't believe I went through watching Breaking Bad, thinking, "This is John Ritter's daughter," like a sucker.  They reeled me in and I took the bait, hook line and sinker.  I used to go to a seafood restaurant that had a giant boat wheel in the front lobby.  Whatever you call those.  The big wheelie deals.  And you could spin it around.  This is relevant, not because I was talking about, "taking the bait," but because they filmed a scene of The Devil's Advocate there.  Which featured Jeffrey Jones getting killed.  Unfortunately, fictionally.
    That's how that goes.  Probably.  I forget exactly what happened.  But it's reasonable to assume it went how it goes.  On the side of my Bud Light can, it says, "Superior Drinkability."  What kinda tests did they do to prove that.  It can't just be an errant claim.  There's gotta be something to back up such a statement.  I want answers, and I want them yesterday.  I can tell you exactly what made me figure it was socially acceptable to be drinking beer throughout the day.  That's My Boy.  Adam Sandler is always drinking a beer in it.  And that got lodged into my brain, so years later, I'm like, I guess people can do that.  And this is in tandem with watching Roseanne the past week, where John Goodman is always drinking a beer.  So, those things together.  Anyway.  I just realized the closest things I have to friends are the people who work at Dunkin Donuts.  We see each other almost every day, we recognize each other, we make a little small talk.  So, that's that.  With the people who deliver food to me a close second.  Because I only see each one once or twice a week.  But there's something more congenial about having someone at your front door week after week.  Plus, I give them money they haven't earned.  I call it a, "Tip."  They seem to get a kick out of it, I don't know.
    Time to wrap it up, I suppose.  What have we learned today.  Puns exist.  Actors are tall.  John Ritter's deceased.  Big wheelie deal.  Yeah.  I gotta read a book or something.  I'm goin' insane in the membrane trying to figure out how to kill time benignly.  I already bit all my coins to make sure there wasn't chocolate inside.  That's where they got the idea for bitcoins.  That's where they got the idea for chocolate.  That's where they got the idea for killing space.  Yes, indeed.  I remember the last time I binge watched Roseanne, and also, the first time, was around the end of 2009.  I was still in NYU then.  And it was right around when I first started smoking cigarettes.  Everything was so Fresh.  Especially that Roseanne.  She's quite the character.  Damn, I was just playing poker, and I got distracted, and lost 99.3% of my bankroll!  It pays to not get distracted.  That's how I feel.  Oh well, easy come, easy go.  Anyway, that's enough for now.  See ya later.

-1:58 P.M.