Saturday, June 2, 2012

Short Story & Some Bloggin'

                Roger ate a bagel.  It tasted okay, but not great.  He sat in his Mustang and pondered what to do.  He decided to throw the paper bag the bagel came in out the window.  He shifted the gear of the car into drive and sped off to his home.  Once he got there, he got out of the car and went inside his house.  “I’m home!” he said to no one.  He emptied his pockets on the armoire and sat down on the couch to watch T.V.  Nothing was on.  He turned the T.V. off and read the newspaper.  Bad news seemed rampant.  Earthquake in     China.  Stock market crashing in Europe.  Homicidal maniac in New York.  He put the newspaper down and decided to take a bath. 

                After the bath, Roger dried up and went to bed.  It took him several hours to fall asleep.  He thought about nothing in particular during this time.  He thought of his mother and father, God rest their souls.  He hoped the girl who served him his bagel found him attractive.  He was far too shy to show any interest in her at the time, but in the privacy of his own house, he masturbated to the memory of her appearance.  He bit his fingernails.  This is a habit he had had since his youth.  He even bit the pieces of skin around his nails.  “Guilt by association,” he jokingly  thought to himself. 

                Once he finally fell asleep, he entered dream land.  Roger had recently bought and skimmed through a book defining the symbols found in dreams.  For example, he learned that a dream of flying represented the sensation of power.  I could have told him that.  Tonight, Roger dreamed about going to a race track and blowing all his money on the horse that came in last place.  “Oh well, better luck next time,” Roger felt in his dream.   

     Hi.  I wrote that a while ago but I figured it would kill some space.  I like how nothing happens in it.  Those are my favorite kind of stories.  That, and episodes of Tales From The Crypt.  Those are some pretty good stories.  There was one where there was a house, and every time the guy went up a flight of stairs, he got older, and every time the woman went of the flight of stairs, she got younger.  At least how that's I remember it.  So the guy keeps following her until she's a baby and he's an old man near death.  At least that's how I remember it.  And how I remember things is by putting them into my blog.  You see, it comes full circle.  I really need to start dividing my blog into months.  This would be the third month, or the "Now."  Time flies when time flies.

    I highly suggest you check out my music.  For a good rock song, listen to "I Don't Care."  For a good acoustic song, listen to "Never Be Lonely."  For mediocre songs, listen to the rest.  Just kidding, there's some gems in there.  I lost the ability to multi track about a year ago because I lost the piece that lets me plug my microphone into my eight track recorder.  So, both those songs have multiple tracks, but I can't do that anymore.  What a shame.  I went to the pool today.  It was cool.  I was the only one there and I just swam back and forth for a good twenty minutes.  Although I know it has a minimal effect, although they say swimming is the best exercise, I actually felt lighter and more able to breathe while and after I was swimming.  Until I started smoking cigarettes again.  Cigarettes, you'll be the death of me!  More on this later.  Later being when I die from smoking cigarettes.  But then the more will come in the form of an obituary entitled "Nonsense Man Smokes Self To Death." 

    I've been starting to realize I really want to do something with my music.  My guitar playing ability plateued a year or two ago, so I want to take lessons.  And I never really learned how to sing, so I want to take lessons in that.  Then get another guitarist, a bassist, and a drummer and form a band.  No old songs.  I have hundreds of old songs, but none of them will make the cut.  Maybe one or two.  But that's it.  Today, just for the hell of it, I wrote an imaginary double album of my best songs.  Twenty Four songs, and yeah, they're all songs, but are they all good songs?  I don't know if I'm qualified to judge, but if I am, I would probably say no.  I need a fresh start.  I want to take song writing classes too, but I don't know for sure if such a thing exists.  Also, I don't think my parents have the money to spend on these classes.  So basically I'm up shit creek, in a good way, without a paddle, in a bad way.  But whatever.  It's just that from playing music every day for so long and for such a big chunk of my day I've sort of grown addicted to it, and can no longer imagine a life without music.  This could easily be me picking stuff out of my ass, but I don't know.  We'll see how it goes.

-9:44 P.M.

Monday, June 4, 2012

Plan For Tomorrow Today & You'll Have A Happier Every Day

     Hey.  What's cooking.  I just ate a turkey sandwich.  The turkey was cooked a while ago, I think.  The bread, I don't even know man.  Quit grilling me.  Pun wasn't intended, but I realized the pun would happen while it was still but a tiny notion in my head and not the words typed out, so I guess there was some intention involved as I was hitting the keys on the keyboard to put the words onto the screen which will eventually be uploaded to the internet to be seen on your computer screen.  Man, my life is boring.  I got up at like eleven today and have just been doing bullshit all day.  Lay in bed, watch some T.V., listen to some music, play some guitar.  I know just last entry I said "oh, I want to dedicate my life to music," but no, I really suck, I'm done with it, I swear.  Something just fell.  It couldn't have been something important, because it didn't make a loud noise.  Only heavy things are important, as the young Doc Brown finds out in Back To The Future.  I didn't do much of anything else.  Smoked some cigarettes.  A few days ago I chewed some nicotine gum and it really brought me some full nicotine flavor and then when I smoked cigarettes after that I could taste the nicotine more, in a good way.  I think they say not to chew nicotine gum and smoke cigarettes at the same time, but I think they mean at exactly the same time.  But, also, I was also doing it at exactly the same time.  So either way, I now have lung cancer.

    My dad's favorite band when he was young was ABBA.  I like picturing him dancing to ABBA.  My dad's favorite band now is System Of A Down.  My Mom's favorite band is Sugar Ray.  My grandpa doesn't have a favorite band, because he's dead.  They're both dead.  Everyone's dead, when you think about it.  Just not yet.  But we all will die one day.  What happens to people after they die?  Some think we go to Heaven or Hell.  Some think we are reincarnated.  Others think we live the same life over and over as a loop because we're trapped in some Total Recall Machine and the engineer's a drunk who doesn't have time to take us out of our implanted lives.  Personally, I think when we die, we get reincarnated as words.  Like, when I die, I will come back to life as the word abandon.  Whenever you hear or see that word, it will actually be me, until I die again, and I come back to life as a sound.  Like birds chirping.  That could be me two lives from now.  Oh, the possibilities are endless.  My previous life was as a shopping bag.  That was fun. 

    My last improv class is Sunday, and then my show is on Monday.  If any of you are interested in coming, hit me up on facebook, and I'll give you the details.  But it'll probably suck, so you don't want to waste your time watching me and my improv class partners suck.  And if you do, a pox on you and your house.  My last life, as a shopping bag, I was like a house for objects and things.  Things are another way to say objects.  Try to keep up.  Improving is I guess what we would be doing.  I think that's the real word for it, but maybe it's spelled different.  Because we're not improving at anything, we're just improving.  I'm proving that right now.  I'm improving.  My life sucks.  It takes at least twice as long to write this as it does to read it.  Unless you're doing something else as you read it.  If so, please write me and tell me what my website inspired you to do.  I will dedicate a section to pictures of people doing things while reading this.  Don't think I won't.  I won't.  Now that I've admitted it, you can think I won't.  Because that's a lame idea.  Unlike having a website where you talk about how you sleep all day.  That's what cool kids do.  And at twenty three and a half years old, I'm concerned with doing what cool kids do.  Cool kids listen to Abba.  In the 70's it was probably pretty cool.  Remember when you were a kid and you would hide something and then tell someone if they were hot or cold as they were getting closer or further away from it?  I think they should implement that in bargaining things or setting the budget for things.  The mayor wants to dedicate 1.2 billion dollars to cancer health care, but the council is only allowing 700 million.  Then someone says 900 million, and the mayor says, "warmer," and the city council says, "colder."  It doesn't really work now that I've thought it out.  But it was a fun game for children.  Sort of like having a website.

    It's getting close to time to go to sleep.  That's my favorite time of the day.  Cause everything during the day sucks, I just do it to get through the day to go to sleep.  Last night I dreamt of Emma Watson.  I don't think she was in character as the Harry Potter person, but she might have been.  She definitely wasn't like the real Emma Watson, who is a classy actress, because she was friends with me.  And she wasn't snooty or uptight or anything.  I have a friend, I won't say his name, but in college he told me he wanted to fuck every girl in the world, and he really meant it.  Every girl in the world.  That would be really hard.  I don't think I'd have the time.  I'd have to fuck some of them as the word abandon, too.  Wouldn't be able to fit it into one life time.  The reason I bring this up is because he wanted to fuck Emma Watson.  Which was kind of gross at the time, because we were 18 and she was like 14 or 15, probably.  Maybe she was like 16 or 17.  I don't know, I'm not her biographer.  But if I was, I would get paid a multitude of money just to describe the life of someone, and I would get all my information from her family and friends.  It would be a no fuss, no hassle piece of business.  And I would just stick to the facts, leave all the trashy speculation out of my biography.  And every time I write the word abandon, which I assume will be like "When Emma Watson abandoned the Harry Potter franchise..." I will know that when I die, I will live on in the biography.  Anyway, see ya later.

-8:24 P.M.     

Wednesday, June 5, 2012

Testicular Self Exam Commencing

     Hey.  What's going on.  Don't answer that, especially because you can't.  Also, especially because I don't care.  I'm too obsessed with my own things.  Bang Bang!  That's what Cactus Jack says.  He was a wrestler persona of Mick Foley.  I have Mick Foley's autograph.  It's one of the only autographs I have.  I also have one from Big Boss Man, who is another wrestler.  Those are my only idols.  Someone who calls himself Mankind and someone who calls himself Big Boss Man.  I don't know what he's the boss of, but surely he must be big.  It says it right in his name.  You know I'm crazy and that I'm shit, because it says it right in my name.  This is how business is conducted.  That's why Steven Smith changed his name to Elliott Smith.  Because he wanted to talk to E.T. and he couldn't unless his name was Elliott.  He's dead now.  Now E.T. is lonely.  Not Entertainment Tonight.  Although they might be lonely too.  I can't wait to tell you on Facebook I updated this.  I always have these short, semi-witty things to say.  They're not really witty, but I have to come up with something each time.  Otherwise you'd be confused.  I bet most people on Facebook blocked me for spamming them.  Oh well, to the victor goes the spoils.  I'm not sure that applies here.  Pretty sure it does.

    Anyway.  Today's Wednesday.  I met with my court appointed AOT today.  He's doing fine.  He's more concerned about me.  I'm concerned about him, though, because surely it takes him at least 10 or 20 minutes to drive to and from my place, and we only spend like three minutes talking.  Plus, I say basically the same thing each time.  Same symptoms, maybe a slight increase or decrease in them, but basically each time I just say I'm doing the same.  This is your taxpaying dollars at work.  Why would I bring that up on my website?  Becuase it's not solely meant to entertain you, it's mainly just to kill my own time.  And anything I think to write must go in because otherwise I wouldn't have killed that two minutes.  Elliott Smith has a song where he goes, "killing time, won't stop this crying."  I wouldn't have known that if I wasn't E.T.  I guess even though his name is Elliott he can talk to people other than E.T., but it's probably not suggested. 

    I'm probably gonna jam with a friend on Sunday.  This is both exciting and stress-producing, because he's a lot better at music than I am.  But I've jammed with my brother before, and that sort of thing tends to bring out the best in me.  So yes, Foo Fighters, someone is getting the best of me.  And it's my brother.  Is that weird?  Too bad.  Anyway.  I'm slightly more than half way through with this website.  High five!  Actually, I mean I'm slightly more than half way through with this entry.  Although it may be possible I'm more than half way through with this website.  I can't predict the future.  And if I could, I'd probably just predict we all drive in hover cars and that no one ever is going to fix that big clock tower Marty McFly always hangs around.  I get most of my thoughts from movies.  This is also why I think Harrison Ford is president, Neve Cambell is a constant survivor of killers, and that Snoop Dogg is an airplane pilot.  I don't know if he was a pilot in How High, but I'm assuming he was.  I bet before shooting that movie, he had to do a lot of training to learn how to fly on flight simulator.  That must have been hard on Snoop Dogg, because it's hard to focus when you're high all the time.  It's much easier to eat pizza when you're high all the time.  There should be a movie How Pizza, and it's about eating pizza.  Will Hollywood ever learn???

    Pizza is delicious.  Which brings me to my first contention: large pizza pies should be legalized in New York City.  I'm pretty sure last week they outlawed large sized pizza.  I don't follow the news, I get it all second hand.  I do follow Huey Louis & The News, though, from gig to gig.  I'm a super fan.  What was their song again?  I Want A New Drug?  The Ghostbusters theme?  I forget.  The important thing is that I remembered things close enough to possibly being true, and possibly being the real truth, and shared it with you in a fun way on a website.  Man, this website sucks.  My music sucks.  Everything about me sucks.  Except my mouth.  Just wanted to clear that up.  My mouth is freakin' awesome.  Plus, doesn't suck dicks.  That's what I originally intended to mean, but then when I thought about it I realized my mouth is pretty non-sucky in and of itself.  Mouths are constantly in and of themselves.  Man, this used to be so easy.  When I was in highschool, no shit, I could just talk shit off the top of my head for hours.  Now I have all these distractions.  Like Fun. setting the world on fire.  They've already threatened to do it in song, how did these mother fuckers escape police custody?  It's a cry for help, really. 

    Let's write a concluding paragraph and then I'll get to write the Facebook comment everyone likes so much.  What's the deal with leprechauns?  All they really care about is their pot of gold.  I'm sick of these mothers.  I almost registered for a summer course at Queens College, but I wasn't activated until a day after the last day you could register for class.  Way to blow, Queens College admissions office.  Some kid is laughing outside my window.  I'm pretty sure he's laughing at that leprechauns joke.  I'm not pretty sure what makes it a joke.  It's more like a random comment that means nothing to no one.   I'm sick of these random comments that mean nothing to no one.  Anyway.  I want to go to sleep.  My brain is so tired, but my body's so wired, because I keep smoking cigarettes.  Plus, I have only been up for 5 hours, so why should I be tired?  You tell me.  Send me an email at mankindguy@gmail.com telling me why I should be tired.  Bye.

-3:21 P.M. 

Sunday, June 10, 2012

Guantanamo Bay Is For Losers

     Hi.  So what's up?  I had my last improv class today, and the show's tomorrow.  If you're interested in seeing it, facebook or text me for details.  If you're not interested in seeing it, don't worry, I'm not interested in seeing it either.  I'm gonna suck.  I can't give monologues because I've never had a life and my brain is too wired to focus in on the funny from the back line.  The back line being an industry term for the people in the back line during the show, who, two or more at a time, will go up to act out scenes.  I can think straight enough to usually come up with something that makes sense to fill up my square amount of time on the stage, but my head's just not really in it.  Plus, I usually just go up after someone else goes up, because they have to initiate it, and i can just sort of figure out what to do based on what they do.  It's the easy way out and there's no pride in it, and there's certainly no payoff for me.  But at least I met some chill people and will drink with them after the show. 

    I want to write a semi-autobiographical novel and call it "This Is My Story To The World," but like I said, not having a life has reared it's ugly head on that dream as well.  No monologues and no novels.  Everything else is fair game.  But the not having a life, in and of itself, leads to more not having a life, which leads to nothing ever happening.  I just say I want to do things and then never do them.  I want to quit smoking.  I want to quit wasting my time with the guitar.  I want to lose weight.  These things will never happen.  They've become a part of me, and the worst part is is that they're habits I can see the benefit of while doing them, but the destructive part of them only underscores my life, so I will never have the real motivation to stop doing any of them.  The only hope is losing weight simply by being less hungry, which has been working out the last week or so.  But who knows how long that will last?  Most of the guys from Prometheus would know, but they're more concerned with other things.  I guess all of the gues in Prometheus would know, because my life at that point will have been played out, and if they knew me, they'd know whether I ever lost weight or not.  They probably wouldn't know me unless if they're my children or grandchildren.  Or if they knew my children or grandchildren.  Which is unlikely, because people in my family apparently don't have lives, as shown in the example of me.

    By the way, I saw Prometheus.  That was a good movie.  For like half the movie, there was probably like only two pages of diologue, but the whole thing was really constantly entertaining and fun and thought provoking.  On the flip side, next week That's My Boy opens, with Adam Sandler acting like a douchebag and Andy Samberg being his son.  Maybe it's going to be as breath taking as Prometheus, maybe not.  I'm not one to judge.  As stated, I'm too scared to even get off the back line.  It's not that I'm too scared, I'm fine with going up there and failing, it's just that I don't want to.  Anyway.  I played guitar with my friend today.  It was fun, but I felt bad because I just kept playing my own songs and he was jamming to them.  I was hoping to create new songs, but such is life.  Sometimes we're inspired, sometimes we rehash what we're comfortable with.  Sometimes we have good haircuts, sometimes we have crappy haircuts.  Sometimes we're desperately fighting off two alien creatures in horrifying fear and terror, sometimes we're not.  This is how life works, people.

    I thought of a monologue I could give if the appropriate word initiates it.  I'm not kidding, I can only think of one monologue, while other people probably have 1,000 they could go to.  I don't want to give it away in case you come to the show and somehow, by sheer luck, they say a word that allows me to delve into my semi-interesting story with a decent payoff.  In class, I already used the one where I was high and then took Lolita to read in the park, and there was a swamp for some reason, and I kept flipping through Lolita while walking through the swamp, and it was one of the most traumatic experiences I've ever had, if not the most.  But people laughed at it, which was intended, because one man's pain is another man's pleasure.  I thought of another monologue I could do.  My life is literally like three memories and then listening to music the rest of the time.  Or playing music and/or writing a blog.  But you can't do a monologue about playing music.  If I had played some memorable set on stage somewhere, and something memorable happened, then maybe that could be a monologue, but I've only done open mics where the most memorable thing is that the person who went after me in one went by the name "U-Wish," and then a year later when I was in the hospital, I saw a fire extinguisher and became convinced that "U-Wish" named herself based on part of the word "extinguisher."  And that's not a monologue, that's just crap.  That's probably my fourth most memorable memory.  Now that I'm relatively sane I realize it doesn't even work, only the word "Wish" is phonetically in "extinguisher."  So now it's just a memory of how I'm retarded. 

    Great, now it's almost time to lie down for two hours, waiting to fall asleep with nonsense going through my head, and then finally falling asleep, and having a disappointing dream, then getting up and waiting to lie down again and have nonsense go through my head until finally falling asleep, and having a disappointing dream, then getting up and... well, you see how it goes.  That's a lie, tomorrow is slightly different because I do have plans for the evening.  Improv plans.  And then drinking plans.  It should be interesting drinking with my improv class.  It could go disastrously because I have nothing to talk about, even though we all get along well enough, or it could be fun, because I'll be interacting with real people with the aid of alcohol to help me through the hopeless haze.  I want to get those shoes that add like 2-3 inches to your height.  That way I'll be like 5'5.  Pretty cool stuff.  Until I trip and my shoes fall off and everyone sees I'm 5'2 and outcast me to the outer realms of society where nothing is accomplished and certainly no friends are made.  It's a dog eat dog world out there.  Not really.  It's a president eat dog world out there, apparently.  Fire works keep going off in my backyard.  Is 6/10 a holiday I don't know about?  My half birthday is 6/12.  I'll be 23 and 1/2 years old.  That's exciting.  Not really.  And when you take all the days into account it's probably not technically my half birthday.  Stupid February only having 28 or 29 days.  It ruins everything, I swear.  I hope in the future they abolish months.  And we just say, "oh today is day 167," or whatever.  Months are so pointless.  Especially now that foolish weather is acting up, and months don't mean what they used to, weather-wise.  Anyway.  I'm done now.

-9:12 P.M. 

Wednesday, June 20, 2012

Satisfaction Guarenteed!

     Hi.  I've been up to nothing since my last entry ten days ago.  I started reading Kierkegaard.  That mother fucker knows how to captivate a reader.  Even though it's translated from Danish or whatever, it just flows so nicely that makes me want to keep reading.  Plus, it's really interesting stuff that makes you wonder about your own identity.  Like, do I see myself as a poet, a tragic hero, a knight of faith?  I don't know man!  All of the above, please!  Just kidding.  I see myself as a tragic poet.  At least in the form of this website.  But I have many faces, so I could be others at other times.  Anyway.  What's in the news.  Romney and Obama, right?  Presidential race is heating up.  So is the weather.  It's like in the 90's today.  I know this second hand because I refuse to leave my house, unless if it's for ice cream from a truck.  An ice cream truck.  Let me retract tragic poet as my identity in this website, and replace it with ice cream truck.  I don't really go to ice cream trucks, but I hear them all the time.  I live in a neighborhood with a lot of children, I guess, plus I'm a block away from an elementary school.  Schools out for summer, though.  Schools out forever.

    People, listen!  I have words to offer.  It would be a mistake to forego them, and miss your opportunity in reading my outlandish comments and witty thoughts.  What's the deal with chairs.  Do we have to sit in them?  Maybe our chairs should sit on us for a while.  That's a frequent fantasy I have.  Please, don't go!  There's more wit and hilarity to be had!  Remember the Titans?  I do.  The movie told me to.  I do whatever titles say.  I don't really care about the movie, or book, or song, or whatever.  I just care about the title.  That's how I know Philadelphia exists, Celine Dion's heart will go on, and that cigarettes are made out of camel meat.  This is a core contradiction though: I didn't say I get all my information from titles, yet that is the essence of the joke I just made.  I retract my joke, especially since it wasn't particularly funny in the first place, and instead beg you to read on in the hopes that I will eventually say something funny in this entry.  Please, continue reading, as I will continue writing.  Insofar as the consistency of this entry is concerned, I will, by the law of probabilities, try to sound like an educated jack ass, without making any jokes at all.  So, if such a thing interests you (and, to a certain percent of the population of readers, it will), continue reading.

    I've never seen a commercial for oatmeal.  How do I even know such a thing exists.  Maybe I have seen a commercial for oatmeal, but not lately.  Lately commercials are really in your face about things, and oatmeal is just a hard product to take that sort of marketing route.  You can't be in someone's face about oatmeal.  It's too bland and uninteresting in and of itself.  It would be really hard to, at least.  I'm wearing my 3-D glasses that I got from Prometheus.  That's the only prom I ever went to.  I like my 3-d glasses because when I wear them and look at my computer screen, sometimes it gets darker or lighter for some reason.  While I'm wearing the 3-D glasses.  I don't know what causes this phenomenon, I just know that it exists.  Perhaps further investigation is called for, but I wouldn't know where to turn.  I guess just google "3-D glasses side effects," but lo, wouldn't it be sad if such a thing were labeled a side effect when it in fact brings such joy to my life?  I have an ECT tomorrow.  That's when they put you to sleep and then send shockwaves through your brain.  It's supposed to help with my symptoms, but mostly I just like how they put you to sleep.  They stick a needle in your arm and then you fall asleep within ten seconds.  It's a joyous feeling, I guess it's sort of like 1/10th of what heroin is like.  Did I discuss this here before?  I think I did.  But, if not, I'm going to smoke a cigarette now.  Even if I did, I would still smoke the cigarette, just to be consistent with what I originally set out to do anyway.

    I just checked, and I did mention I have ECTs, but I didn't really explain what they were.  I still don't really know.  All I know is they send some sort of electricity through my head when I'm asleep, and that's supposed to help eradicate mental illness in some way.  I hope it works.  I don't really see a difference, and in fact after they do it I usually have a headache and feel worse.  But maybe if I didn't do it, I'd feel even worse in the meantime, so I guess I'm not really in a position to judge it either way.  However, there is one person to judge it, the judge who sentenced me to have it, among other things.  I was in a real courtroom and there were observers and a stenographer and everything.  I didn't do anything wrong.  Why am I on trial here?  I wasn't on trial, necessarily, it was just a formality.  But why am I on trial here, in this website?  I constantly feel the need to defend myself to you, perhaps because of the stigma of me admitting my mental illness and trying to appear sane at the same time.  But I don't need to prove myself to you.  I guess those sentences contradict each other, because the first sentenced pointed out my need to prove myself to you.  Draw your own conclusions.  The most likely conclusion being just that "Michael isn't very funny anymore.  I used to think he was sort of funny, but now, I want to kill myself."  In which case, I would plead that you take mercy on your own life, because we are young, and have so much ahead of us which we can't even contemplate.  Love, Career, Family.  Grandchildren!  Here's a short story I wrote in a class six years ago.

    I am a man who is happy.   One day I woke up.  Happily.  There was a store, and it was went to, by me.  It was on fire but I was so happy.  I got some milk and left.  I was really happy.  I went home to eat breakfast.  The surprise ending of the story is that I started the fire.  Also, I don't really like milk.  I mean, it's healthy and all, but I don't like how it tastes.  And actually I heard it's not all that healthy, it just gets a lot of good press because the damn dairy companies run the government.  Also, what's the deal with the government?  Have you seen this thing?  The surprise ending is I set the government on fire.  I'm a regular Michael Dukakis!  That makes me pretty happy.  I hope I am never forced to end this story.  That would make me unhappy.  But I can just refuse.  I refuse to lose!  And read this.  And lose!  And read this.  And lose!  if I keep writing, I can just say I'm not done yet.  It's the best plan ever.  Hey so what's up.  I love it when I don't know whatever.

    Oh, what a story.  Tell your grandkids about that one.  As we draw near the end of the entry, I choose to reflect on how pointless and unfunny this was.  But it sure killed fifteen minutes!  I think every entry I qualify the entry on the grounds that it killed time.  That does not bode well for gauging the entertainativity of the entry.  I'm going to add that word to the dictionary.  My computer dictionary.  Just because I don't like seeing those awful red lines under the word.  Who needs that sort of negativity?  Not I.  Since that story, I've started drinking milk sometimes, in coffee.  So I guess I've grown a bit.  Also, I used to eat it in ice cream.  Not anymore.  Even though ice cream truck music is a main part of my life now.  Sometimes I hear it past 9:00 P.M.  Really, what's the market for an ice cream truck past 9:00 P.M.?  Maybe the driver is just bored and figures it couldn't hurt to try.  That's what I'd like to think.  Maybe the driver is a pedophile who is trying to lure children out of their slumber and into his van.  That's not what I'd like to think.  But I thought it anyway.  Oh well.  Do you need a license from the government to drive an ice cream truck?  You probably would, right?  I don't know.  Anyway.  Farewell. 

-1:44 P.M.