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Thursday, June 19, 2014                      

I Knew There Would Be a Title!

   Hello, it is me.  You know, the guy whose not you, or anybody else.  I'm almost done with my first summer session course.  That's a solid six credits in the last five months.  At that rate, I'll have my last 40 credits done in about sixty six years.  I think.  I'm not too great at math.  At that rate, I could take about 150 math classes, so luckily it'll work itself out.  I'm pretty good at algebra.  Don't mean to brag.  I'm surprised that under Bush, we didn't change the name from Algebra to Freedom Math.  Seems like a no brainer.  It's Summer in two days.  I can't believe it.  It seems like it was just Spring tomorrow.  Time flies.  What else is new.  I've been doing a lot of music lately.  Because I likkkkkke music.  I mean, I don't just like music, I think I like like music.  When I was in high school, teachers always called me out on saying, "Like," too much, as in, "I think, like, that, like, the reading, like says, like..."  I guess that's like music.  If my voice was very melodical.  Which it probably was, because I was a eunuch.  It wasn't until I was nineteen years old that I grew a new pair of balls.  I remember I always used to get paranoid that my balls were switching places.  That's probably significant, I guess. 
    Anyway.  What to do with my weekend.  More music, I guess.  It's getting kind of boring, though.  But there ain't much else to do.  I've been eating pretzels lately.  What of it.  What if The Karate Kid was called The Pretzel Kid, and it was just about Daniel La Russo eating pretzels all the time.  What if.  There was a car accident by my house a couple nights ago.  Some ruffian knocked over a fire hydrant.  What a jerk.  If there was a fire in my house, we'd be helpless!  I'm getting back my first essay for this class today.  Hopefully I did good.  Because doing good is better than doing bad.  As far as I can tell.  What else is going on.  I've been wearing shirts lately.  You know, to cover up my torso.  So far, so good!  I'm gonna get a cyst I've had for years removed next month.  Really lookin' forward to that.  I wonder if anyone's ever gotten a tattoo of themselves, and then if you look really hard, you can see the part of the tattoo that is the tattoo, and you can see another tattoo inside that, really small... Never mind.  I'll never wonder anything again. I got a new pair of eyeglasses a couple of weeks ago.  They're pretty sweet.  I can totally see clearer now.  And I owe it all to my glasses. 
    My Dad got angry at me when we were getting the glasses, because he wanted to get me a second pair at a discounted price, and they weren't having any of it, and he finally got them to drop the price halfway between what the real price was and what he wanted, and he was still arguing, and I basically said, "Look, they lowered the price some, this is it, either take it or leave it."  And then when we left the store, he invoked The Godfather, and bluntly said, "You never speak against the family."  Because me saying that weakened his position.  I was stunned.  I felt like shitty crap after that.  The truth was, though, I didn't want a second pair, I thought it was a waste of money at any cost.  I have two back-up pairs of my old prescription, which is almost the same.  So, that's that.  Man, how am I gonna make it up for him.  I guess I can do the opposite of speaking against the family, and speak for the family.  Just go everywhere and say, "The Kornblums Are Great!"  That sounds like a thumbs up idea.  Anyway.  I gotta get back to my music.  No I don't.  It all sounds the same at this point.  But it's half-way productive, which is more productive than most of the things I can do. 
    Anyway.  Another entry, almost in the books.  Close it up with another comic.  Everybody loves those.  Why wouldn't they.  A picture is worth a thousand words.  And we all know what's a Wordsworth.  It's a poet.  If your name is Wordsworth, you gotta be a writer.  Just like Poe, he needed to write poetry.  And Charles Dickens needed to be a male prostitute.  That's how things work.  Anyway, later.

-10:12 A.M.


Friday, June 20, 2014                      

No, You're The Idiot!

   Hello guys and female guys.  They really gotta come up with a name for female guys.  About 50% of us are them.  Anyway.  Back to back entries for the first time in God knows when.  I assume God knows when.  He seems like the person to have a calendar hanging up somewhere.  I finally finished up the music project I've been spending the last two or three weeks on.  I like to call it, "Invented Seas."  Because that's what I've titled it.  Check it out at theuppers.bandcamp.com.  Because you love my music.  It's good, though.  It's so good, you'll go, "Wow!  That guy really has a guitar, and probably some recording equipment, and at least like a half hour of spare time a day!"  I'm your man!  But I've run out of the ability to create new songs on the guitar, for a while.  My fingers cannot physiologically produce interesting new rhythms or melodies.  All used up.  I previously misspelled, "Hour, as, "Our."  Maybe that's wonderful.  Seems like it would be.  I gotta start thinking about how I'm gonna spend all my free time now that music won't be taking up that time.  Possible ideas: typing on my imaginary typewriter till I... realize... this is my computer?  And I'm in the middle of writing an entry?  And I'm in my underwear?  Oh No!  It's ironic, because this is actually one of the rare times I'm wearing pants. 
    Hello guys and other things.  I don't like Oust air freshener. I don't need to be questioned of my street credentials every time I want the air to smell fresh.  I wish I could write and direct a five second commercial for Oust.  It'd go, "Hey, air doesn't normally smell this fresh!" and then a mom turns and winks to the camera.  The end.  I remember once, my friend from high school came over to smoke weed, and then was taking a shit, and used air freshener, and my Mom assumed it was because we were smoking pot, but she was wrong!  It was shit!  Oh yeah, I think we actually weren't smoking pot that day.  Which made her suspicions unfounded.  Unfounded!  It's a story that will always be fresh in my memory, because it's one of maybe the ten times I've had a friend over.  Well, to this room, anyway.  The first half of my life, till I was a sophomore in high school, I lived in a little room, maybe about like 12x12 or 15x15 feet big.  And when my brother went away to college, I successfully lobbied my parents to let me move into the bigger room.  It was kind of a big deal for me.  Sometimes, I miss that old room, though.  It sure had it's charm, let me tell you.  In fact, thinking about it now, just...
    Sorry, I fell asleep.  What's going on, now?  In fact, I remember listening to the White Stripes song, "Little Room," and I was totally like, "Yeah!"  That's the most benign anthem there's gotta be in rock music.  Getting teenagers to celebrate their small rooms.  I remember freshman high school year, doing sit-ups and push-ups on my bed.  I guess because I wanted to get in shape.  So all the girls would fuck me.  Turns out, none of them did.  I don't know why.  I was so virile at the time.  Not like now.  Now, I couldn't get hard and come if a beetle was up inside my dick.  Pretty sure that's an expression from the 1800's.  Look it up.  Don't really.  The one and only search result would be this entry.  Hey, it's an honor just to be accepted onto google.  Have you seen some of the novelty porns they have?  Porn sites such as www.watchmethinkaboutsomeoneelsewhileisexyou.com, www.mehappywhenpornishappening.com, www.thejerkoffexperimentmkv.com. Don't know what mkv means.  It's possible I'm misquoting a license plate. License plates are the true art of our generation.  Does our generation have any notable artists?  I mean besides Bill Bilbo, the Hollywood impersonator who hangs out in front of that seedy bar in Penn Station?  Who actually goes to the bar in Penn station.  Seedy isn't really the right word, but really.  Who says, "It's party time!" and then goes to Penn Station.  I don't know.  I actually think I'm wrong on this one.  Penn Station is freaking awesome.  I remember the year before Stuyvesant, my mom arranged for me to go on a tour of Stuyvesant, and, of course, Penn Station was on the way.  And I saw the store called, "Hot and Crusty," in Penn Station, and that more or less sealed the deal.  Store called, "Hot and Crusty" on the way?  I'm in!    
And that's how I began my life long love affair with titles.  What were we talking about again?  Titles, right?  That's pretty much how every entry starts.  Hey, I was reading this entry so far, and it's really good!  I bet I can do this every day!  Or, I will spend two to three weeks trying to duplicate today's success with embarrassing repercussions.  Embarrassing to myself, at least.  You gotta wonder if they came up with the word, "Embarrass," by just combining three syllables, and thinking to themselves, "Hey, that looks like a word."  You have to wonder that.  Wonder it!  But anyway, things are pretty good now.  I've been drinking about every other day, which in itself isn't a positive, but, to tell the truth, it makes me feel better.  And feeling better is a positive!  That's what I contend.  I also, keep this on the down low, but may or may not have found a 1/20th filled bag of weed on my walk, and smoked that shiznit.  DON'T TELL ANYONE.  Especially not my parents.  Although I've been talking about weed a lot with my mom lately, and she totally seems into gettin' some of that medicinal shit once it trickles down to her.  I'm totally encouraging, and in my mind, it's all about, "I don't need or want to get high anymore, but she needs it for her arthritis, and stuff.  How do you spell 'arthritis?"  So that's that thing. 
    Anyway.    God Damn, I don't know about you, but if every entry was like this one, I'd be in a good place.  Truthfully.  Also, I was drinking today.  I guess that's a given.  I'm not proud of drinking all the time, alone, but, you know, whatever.  I don't really know if my life is so stressful anymore that I can justify it.  I don't know.  It is what it is.  It's already 2:30, though.  That's almost bed time.  And you know what bed time means.  Horrifying and Mindfuckingly Terrifying dreams!  Hey, some people need to have terrifying dreams so some people can have mildly pleasant dreams.  It's in the law of averages.  Look it up.  Now, enjoy a comic thing.

-2:32 P.M. 


Saturday, June 21, 2014                      

You Got That Right

    Helllo.  Turn that frown 180 degrees in some direction.  Doesn't matter which one.  Three more days left of my summer class.  Then, a week off!  Schools out... for the last week of June!  Wait, I don't have a week off.  I've been lied to!  The teacher of my next class is named Moreland.  He woulda been a good president during Manifest Destiny!  Oh, doctor!  Why are jokesters always calling out for a doctor after their punch line.  Is it because laughter is the best medicine?  Probably.  I don't like Manifest Destiny.  When learning about it in history class, it's like, "Oh, this is just a general thing that happened."  But if you're an American in the 1800's, just hanging around, minding your own business, and some politician tells you, "Hey, Jerk!  Manifest Destiny!  As In, NOW."  It's kind of a really intense direct order.  Maybe people thought it was inspiring.  "Manifest Destiny," was the "Just Do It" of it's generation.  Manifest Destiny, brought to you by Greyson's Cough Syrup.  If it's not Greyson's... it's somebody else's.  So, today is the first day of Summer. Summer: Brought to you by Greyson's Cough Syrup.  Greyson's-- Yes, We're Still Around.  Good for them.  Man, I could go for some Greyson's right about now.  Talk about your masterful subliminal advertising campaigns.  Actually, don't talk about them, then they'll be superliminal.
    What the Hey.  I can't believe it's not even 1:00 yet.  Because I'm not easily impressed upon.  What's goin down.  Hey, it's 1:00.  Let's have some cough syrup.  Remember, from before.  Gooood times.  Also, are jokesters always calling out for a doctor after their punch line?  Sorry, I slipped into a coma for about half an hour, and just came to.  I don't know if I've ever ingested cough syrup.  I remember, as an elementary school kid, I would get fevers a lot, and bloody noses.  Not really recollecting a lot of coughing spells, though.  I used to love fevers, because it was a day off from school.  I would camp out on the couch, watching VCR after VCR.  VCRs are the main reason why I don't want to be lumped in with millennials.  They don't know the VCR experience.  Recognize ME as a generation!  Also, when I was a kid, all the games on the computer?  You got to them through DOS.  DOS!  None of this operating system bullshit.  All those bells and whistles.  Just let me make some C drive commands!  We'll all go home happy.  One of my favorite computer memories was, when we first got a computer, my brother typed into DOS, "C...A...N...Y...O...U...T...A...P...I...N...T...O...T...H...E...S...C...H...O...O...L...C...O...M...P...U...T...E...R?"  A reasonable question.  Not sure if he ever got an answer.  I also remember, in the later half of the 90's, getting into trouble with AOL for using hacking devices.  I was just a poor, impressionable youth!  I had no idea actions had consequences!  Poor AOL.  Talk about a reversal of fortunes.  They flew too close to the sun, and just lost it.  Poor AOL.  If I had AOL, I would hack the shit out of shit.  Send E-mail blasts... impersonate other screen names... anything else hackers can do.  I like the movie Hackers because they filmed part of it at Stuyvesant.  I don't like the movie Hackers because I don't remember anything else about it.  I like the movie Lord Of The Rings because it was based on my childhood.  I don't like it because not enough Sudden Deaths.  That's why I like that Jean Claude Van Damme movie.  Pretty sure I had that on VCR.  Why wouldn't I.  If I had a radio station, I'd call it VCR... "Very Cool Radio."  Because I'm a buffoon.  "Yeah, he's an idiot, but man, look at those anagrams!"  What the fuck was I talking about?  Can I start this entry over?
    No? Oh well.  What else is going on.  It's June.  Been like that for weeks.  Pretty soon, July.  It seems like it was just six months ago that the year started.  Has anything notable happened this year?  Anything?  There was the Olympics.  Pretty sure some sports were played there.  There was March.  That was... March.  Anything else?  I think people are still high off the end of the world not happening in 2012.  Anything else is just gravy.  I don't like the expression, "Just gravy."  Just gravy is pretty bad.  I don't even like gravy when it's with something.  Call me a madman.  I never really got into Madmen.  I watched the first half a season back when it first came out, and remember sort of liking it.  I remember sort of thinking, "Oh, this is a show about adult people.  Why am I watching this?"  I'm not even an adult person now, and I surely wasn't then.  Anyway.  Hey, it's me.  The Fuck? I  gotta write half an entry?  Okay, let's get to it.  Remember the thing that inspired the thing which made me write about the thing the thing happening thing?  Okay.  Let's forget that ever happened.  Without deleting it, because it takes up space.  The last week or so, I've let loose from my diet, and just gone into maintenance mode.  Gotta tell you, it's pretty great.  Also, If I owned the penthouse of a building, I'd be in main-tenance mode.  Words!  Smoking that miniscule amount of marijuana yesterday really made me want to try using it in a regular basis.  I was like, "Oh, yeah, this is great!  And it's been so long, now it's like, it's great, in an entirely new context!"  So, once I have disposable income and my own residence, I have something to look forward to.  Something Mega to look forward to!  Like, even before I felt the effects, I had the taste of marijuana when I exhaled, and I was like... well, I was like... I was happy.  Let's put it that way. 
    Anyway.  Anwar Sadat.  Huh?  Is it still past 1:00?  Good.  What else is goin on in the ol' life o' M'.  Me.  Drinking a lot of orange soda.  That's soda that tastes like orange.  Couldn't figure that out?  I don't blame you.  It's confusing.  I've lost enough weight that I could fit into any of my old shirts, but a significant amount of them are not in my room and I don't know where they are.  In-ter-esting!  Anyway.  My next class is gonna suck.  It's all about literature and novels and books and readings and stuff.  Whoooo cares.  Unless the writer is Mark Twain.  Did you hear his real name is Samuel Clemens?  Ooooh!  I wonder if he's related to Roger Clemens.  The Strike Out King of Boston.  Probably not.  :(.  What kind of person thinks, "Clemens isn't a good last name.  Twain, now that's a good last name!"  A sucky person.  My favorite author is Al Franken.  There's a guy that's got his head on straight!  I wonder if Frankenstein had his head on straight.  Frankenstein is a doctor.  Why wouldn't he have his head on straight.  Because he made a monster out of various limbs and extremities.  What an asshole.  I don't get what's so scary about Frankenstein.  He's just an asshole made out of dead people.  Who cares.  When I was a kid, my favorite horror movie was Return of the Living Dead.  It's just a fun movie.  I give it several thumbs up.  Probably two, if that's still the limit.  What I don't get, though, is it has dead people coming out of their graves.  Even if there was a gas to make corpses zombies, how would they get out of their caskets and six feet of ground?  They're not that powerful.  "Zombie Movies Are Too Unrealistic!"  What an idiot.
    Alright, gettin' close to having another entry in the books.  Celebrate... good times... oh yeah!  That song comes from a time which I'm not sure is worth celebrating.  Oh well.  Another entry in the books.  Yes, indeed.  What to do with the rest of my day.  Who cares.  Not me, that's for sure.  Wait, I care.  To some extent.  Who beside me cares?  Trick question-- there's no one beside me!  Except for my ghostly shadow-self.  That guy's here, somewhere.  He's cool.  Never talks out of turn, always seems to back me up.  Thumbs up to my ghostly shadow-self.  He better keep quiet, though.  I don't need no rabble-rousers, even if they're ghostly, and/or my shadow-self.  What was I talking about.  Oh yeah, I was wrapping this up.  So, it was nice... to see... you?  All I saw was white courier new on black background.  You were there somewhere, I guess, but I missed you.  Probably.  I might have seen you hanging out around the end of the first paragraph.  I could be mistaken.  Anyway, enjoy this comic, and take it easy.

-3:27 P.M.       


Sunday, June 22, 2014                      

My Title!  Get Your Own!

    Hello.  Pretty sure today is a Sunday.  Earlier, I checked my wrist to see what time it was, and I don't even have a watch.  #EpicFails.  #SarcasticHashtags.  #Metahashtags.  #GonnaDrinkSomeSoda.  Let's get that last one trending!  Also, what does, "trending" mean?   Also, where am I?  Oh.  Hello.  Hi.  I appear to be in my room.  That's what my five senses seem to be telling me.  Did you know that there's a blind, deaf and dumb kid who sure can play mean pinball?  Take it with a grain of salt, though.  I'll believe it when I see it.  That's something he can never say.  Well, he can say it, but it just means he'll never believe it.  The boy can't see!  That reminds me of when I was in high school, getting DVD after DVD from Columbia House, and I got Tommy.  And it is, literally, the only DVD I got which I still haven't watched.  It just seems kind of tedious.  Like playing pinball.  Maybe, if you're older, pinball represents a gay ol' time, but for me, it's like that scene in Back to The Future II... "You mean you have to use your hands?"  I don't know.  Maybe it's just me.  I always wished I was better at air hockey.  I would have enjoyed many a birthday party that much more.  I think, looking back, my two favorite arcade games were NFL Blitz, and Cruisin' USA.  They're the only two that stand out in my memory of me having particularly liked.  Also, they're the only two that I can remember at all.  Not counting any number of Terminator-inspired shoot-em-up games there were.  But none of them were canon, so they lost my interest.  If I'm not actually participating in the legally binding Terminator universe, what's the point?
    I know everyone loves the, "I'll Be Back" catchphrase, but wouldn't it have been even better if he said, "I'm Back," when he came back?  That's what I think.  I never saw all of the original Terminator.  Just the second one.  That's why I implicitly trust robots, instead of fear them.  There's a generation gap there.  That's why I implicitly trust Arnold Schwarzenegger.  Thank God spell check knows how to spell his name.  Spell check is why I implicitly trust God.  Or something.  I have a feeling I could have figured out the spelling by myself, if I gave it some time and effort.  Give me some credit.  I saw a dog on my walk today.  Doggy!  I saw a cat on my walk yesterday.  Kitty!  I miss having a pet.  They're real morale boosters.  Hey, this thing depends on me to live!  Alright!  If I ever have pets again, I'm gonna have a dog and a cat, and name them Siskel and Ebert.  You know which one's which.  Obviously.  I remember, as a kid, I had a book of all of Ebert's bad reviews, called, "I Hated, Hated, Hated, Hated This Movie."  It was hilarious.  The guy is great.  Well, was great.  He's reviewing Heaven, now.  Anyway.  What's going on.  Met game starting.  Who cares.  They're only five games out of first, but they have four teams ahead of them.  I don't think it's gonna happen.  I like how the Mets always say their goal is to, "Play meaningful games in September."  Not win the world series, or even make the playoffs.  Just play games in September that are vaguely interesting.  The funny part is, they set the bar so low, and they still don't even live up to it.  Whatever.  Well, if they're playing a wild card bound team, it's interesting for their fans.  I guess that could be what they're talking about.  The only thing less interesting than watching baseball is reading about baseball.  Hey, I think I'll turn on the Met game.  Hey, it's baseball.  That guy just threw a pitch.  The fielder fielded it.  You're Out!  What a gay ol' time.
    Anyway.  What's happenin'.  I like the foul lines.  Is it fair, or foul?  What fun.  Anyway.  I'm gonna have slice of pizzeria pizza for lunch.  I remember, the last time I did a comedy open mic, I got a pizza with a fellow open mic-er afterwards.  It was literally the only time I felt confident socially.  It was like, alright, I'm gonna give this kid some tips.  What an idiot.  The reason I felt so confident was because he was the only person who did worse than me at the open mic.  Anyway.  Hey, the Mets have a runner at third!  Whoudathunkit.  I saw a guy who looks like Chris Christie on my walk today.  Except he was wearing glasses.  And was smiling.  I have a feeling if you ever saw Chris Christie, his face would look exactly like, ":-<"  That's my opinion.  The Mets have the bases loaded, and I'm still bored.  "Bases Loaded."  That sounds like a Taco Bell commercial.  Maybe it's just me.  Holla.  Anyway.  What the fuck is going on?  The Mets are winning.  Who knows, after today, they might be only four games back.  That's certainly circumventable.  Also, what do words mean?  Man, I'm gonna finish the shit out of this entry.  Two and half paragraphs?  Consider it done.  It's gonna be great.  For maybe a second, I thought the guy was really Chris Christie, and when he smiled at me, I was like, "Chris Christie Likes Me!'  That's how my brain works.  Gotta finish this entry.  Two paragraphs and change to go.  What the Hell was I talking about.  Mets.  That's what's on my TV, at least.  My head hurts.  Anyway.  Gotta finish this entry.  Gotta Finnish this entry.  Who really knows anything about Finland.  Really, ask yourself.  Besides that it's the Spanish spelling for, "End-land." 
    Two paragraphs to go?  I can do that.  Today's the twenty-second.  All day.  Gonna eat dinner in a few hours.  Food is great.  It's like, "Do I get to do this all the time?"  Nope!  Only three or four times a day.  We've got cans of chocolate soda in my house.  From a brand called, "Canfields."  Canfields makes cans?  WHAT THE WHAT THE WHAT THE HEY.  Life is strange.  That's my opinion.  Anyway.  The Mets are still winning.  Let's go Metropolitans!  I mean, five games isn't insurmountable.  Who knows.  Hey, it's dinner time in three hours.  Talk about your win-win situation!   The win is getting to eat dinner.  The other win is also getting to eat dinner.  What to do with the rest of my day.  I mean, I know write another paragraph and a half.  But after that, I mean.  Hey, this entry is still going on.  What was I talking about  The Terminator?  Oh yeah.  That was a laugh and a half.  I guess.  I don't really remember.  I'm doing pretty good with my play money account on Pokerstars.  It's because I'm fantastic.  My friend told me another site started accepting real money accounts from New York.  I've been too lazy to check it out.  Mets just hit a homerun!  Let's Go Metskies!  Anyway.  Am I still writing this entry?  It's been like two hours.  C'mon.  Anyway.  Gotta write another paragraph.  That means I have to think of things!  What did I do to deserve this?
    So, another entry in the books.  After this paragraph.  We had a bunch-o-fun, didn't we?  Double play by the Mets.  Alright!  Anyway.  Anyway.  Anyway.  Anyway.  Is the last paragraph done yet?  Anyway.  The Mets are gonna win today.  Alright!  Anyway.  Alright.  Anyway.  Alright!  What was I talking about, again?  How is the baseball game already more than half over.  Baseball is supposed to take a long time.  I guess my brain is just working extra-slow today.  Oh well.  Almost over, now.  I wonder what I'm gonna have for dinner.  Probably food!  Chris Christie, eat your heart out!  I don't really know what that expression means.  Oh well.  But if anyone can live up to it, it's Chris Christie.  He loves food! Cause he's a fat!  Ugh.  What to do with the rest of my day.  Probably lie in bed, and think, "Is this the way?  Shouldn't I be doing something else?"  But, probably not.  And, if so, should I?  Probably not.  What's going on, again?  The Mets are winning?  I guess that's good news.  Time to end the entry.  In conclusion, meow mix.

-2:44 P.M.   

Monday, June 23, 2014                      

Leave Your Child Alone Day

    Hello, it is me.  The guy who is, "I."  At least for me.  In other words, hello.  Three more sessions of my class, and I'm done!  There's a really hot girl in my class who I trade glances with every day, but what the fuck, how am I supposed to take the next step?  This is something I should have learned when I was sixteen.  However, when I was sixteen, I was too busy staring at my notebook while listening to Led Zeppelin.  Or the Ramones.  Or the Kinks.  Or any number of bands.  I just picked Led Zeppelin because they represented what I was trying to say the most.  The Ramones second most.  The Kinks third most.  I guess I should just walk up to her, and tell her, "Hello, I want to put my mouth inside you."  That's pretty standard dialogue, right?  You'd think so.  If you were me, at least.  I'd think so.  I guess I could just go up to her, and say, "Just Let Me.. Ugh... I Want To... JESUS!"  That's about what my inner monologue is, at least.  I wonder if Jesus had this kind of problem scoring with chicks.  Probably not.  He had all sorts of tricks up his sleeve.  Anyway.  This is the fourth day in a row with an entry.  Assuming I finish it.  That's amazing.  I am like some sort of diary-writing behemoth.  Earlier, I was looking at some Facebook photos of when I used to have friends.  It's really sad.  I mean, I'm always sort of sad, thinking, "Oh, I used to have friends!"  But seeing those pictures, I realize their thoughts are, "Remember when Michael was still normal?  LOL."  What freaking jerkbags.  How dare they think such things in my imagination.  Also, including acronyms in your thoughts?  Very tacky.  Tsk, tsk, tsk.
    Anyway.  In my poetry class today, I got very disturbed.  The teacher was talking about the disassociation in poetry, and it caused a sort of mushroom-drugged type reaction where I thought, "HOLY SHIT!  IS ANYTHING REAL?!"  Scary stuff.  Good thing real life isn't poetry.  And if it is... *Shake Fist At The Sky*.  We all know there is Poetry In Motion.  At least, according to Pop Culture References That I Don't Fully Understand.  I gotta take a break.  This whole disassociation thing is givin' me heart palpations.  No!  I must power through!  Who cares if Nothing Means Anything!  That still means that something means something.  It's simple mathematics.  Ahh!  What if this entry means nothing?  Wait, it does mean nothing!  SHIT!  I know I wanna fuck that girl in class.  That means something.  And if not fuck her, at least fondle her a lot.  That would be fun.  I'm fond of fondling her.  Maybe that's what I should say to her!  She'll think I'm a poetic.  Ugh.  So, soccer is still going on, is it?  What does that mean?  Do I mean soccer, literally, or as a metaphor?  What does it represent in terms of being a part of this entry?  SHUT UP.  SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP.  I think I just really don't like soccer, and it's manifesting itself thusly.  That's probably it.  Soccer, then, represents something I don't like.  Case closed!
    New paragraph.  Case reopened!  Ugh.  I have to revise my first essay, which should take about an hour, and write a new entry by Friday.  Oh well.  If you want to get the credits, you gotta put the work in.  I'm getting pretty tired of poetry.  "Great, you put words together."  NEXT.  I remember in high school, I used to sometimes wear earphones without listening to music.  Just because I didn't want to talk to anyone.  That's the kind of guy I am!  I have such great memories of waking up at 6 A.M., putting on my mp3 player, having my Mom drive me to the LIRR, taking to train...  I mean, at the time, I was like, "FUCK, I'm tired."  But now, looking back, it's like, "Man, did I like listening to music."  I would usually listen to a whole album, and then shuffle around for the remaining 20 minutes.  Ugh.  I still have to write half an entry.  Could this day get any worse?  Probably!  I wrote, "... write a new entry by Friday."  Meant to say new essay!  Oh, what fun we have.  It's fun! Get in the spirit!!!  Man, if I could just be 18 again, I would be so happy.  If someone said, "You're going back to NYU, as a freshman, and get to relive that over," I'd give them a hug and a kiss.  Because I like to show affection.  Gettin high and gettin into hijinx.  Playin' Super Smash Bros.  Listening to indie rock religiously.  Drinking with friends (and even girls)!  Oh man.  What did I do in a past life to earn such happiness in a more recent past-life, that is really part of my present-life, but may as well be past-life.  Who knows.
    Anyway.  I'm a twenty five and a half year old man.  Those days are long gone.  Gotta focus on the present.  Like, trying to fall asleep at 7:00 P.M.  If I don't fall asleep, I won't be able to wake up at 5:00 A.M.!  And do nothing.  Gotta finish this entry.  Because that would be accomplishing something.  At least, according to present me.  Present me thinks of ending this entry like, "Yeah I did something!"  Future me is like, "Did that entry really need to be written?"  Oh well.  Guess I could finish it now.  See ya lates, Kathy Bates.

-5:33 P.M.     


Tuesday, June 24, 2014                      

I Know It's Around Here Somewhere...

    Hello.  I dropped my credit card while I was standing next to the hot girl in the hallway.  And I spent sixty seconds at her feet, trying to pick it up.  Every excruciating second, I felt more and more like the biggest creep in the world, but I just couldn't get a good grasp of it.  Partly because I bite my fingernails, partly because, I don't know, maybe I was just trying too hard.  And then when I finally got up, she sort of walked away, and a guy next to me just looked at me like, "Did you really just pull that shit?"  Oh man.  Cause she was wearing short shorts, or whatever.  I didn't really notice.  I was too busy trying to pick up my god damn credit card.  Then we went into the computer lab, and it took me forty minutes to sign onto my computer, because I couldn't remember my username and password.  And I was sitting next to her for that.  So I just kept typing in usernames and passwords for forty minutes, and she must of thought, "this guy is literally retarded.  And I don't use the word, 'literally' flippantly, when I think the word literally, I mean it literally."  I'm not sure why her train of thought is so awkward.  To each their own, I guess.  Man, in the time it took me to pick up my credit card, Nicolas Cage could have made a crappy movie about cars!  I remember my Dad has told me, sometimes in class, he tells people to count quietly to 60 seconds, and raise their hands when they're done.  As an exercise, I guess, to see how good they are at telling time.  Some people raise their hands at thirty seconds, some people at two minutes.  Not really sure what he's trying to accomplish with that.  I'm sure there's some sick, twisted perversion he gets out of knowing student's internal sense of measuring time.  He's up to no good, I tell ya.
    If he found out I wrote that story, he would be very upset.  Doesn't matter how innocuous it is.  He also once told me he won a disco dancing competition.  Boy, would he be angry at me for sharing that little tidbit.  He also once told me, when he was heavier, he once ate an entire pizza and a hero.  That kind of is sort of bad to share.  But, in my mind, it's good, because he's all fit now, so it's like, an... inspiration?  "Hey, Mike's dad used to be fat, but isn't anymore!  This makes me want to improve my life."  Not sure why your train of thought is so obvious.  I saw that coming a mile away.  A mile... a... way.  So, I've been thinking about maybe not taking a class in the second summer session.  I could use a break.  We'll see, though.  Hey, remember that time I dropped my credit card?  My inner monologue was just, "This is terrible, how much worse is this gonna get, this is terrible, how much worse is this gonna get, this is terrible..."  And each grasp kept coming up empty.  What fun.  And I'm such an idiot, I imagined her inner monologue to be something like, "Wow, I never thought I'd meet such an idiot!  What a great story to tell to our kids."  Yeah, I went there.  Kids!  I will marry this legged-woman.  Or, at the very least, go home and smoke cigarettes.  My true love.  Until I quit.  Which I will.  Get off my back!  No one's ever pressured me to quit, ever.  I don't know why I'm so defensive about it.  Commercials during the Mets game pressure me to quit.  But who listens to what commercials say.  All I've ever learned from commercials is that there's a hot redhead who works at Wendy's and that insurance exists. 
    Anyway.  This is, what, the sixth day with an entry in a row?  Good for me.  Sometimes when I'm feeling down and blue, I flip through the book of the old crazysheet my college friend made for me, and it really lightens up my day.  I think, if I was a comedy prospect, I would be taken in a higher round around 2006, compared to now.  Now, I'm a bit more polished, but back then, I had more promise.  Oh well.  I truly miss the joy of being impulsively funny in conversation.  My mind just doesn't work that way anymore.  Oh well.  I guess it's good, because most people don't wanna be joked at when they're just trying to have a conversation.  Try telling that to an eighteen year old me, though.  I wouldn't believe it for a second.  I also kind of remember being overly contrarian.  I don't know why.  I think I just wanted to make a strong impression on people who I did talk to, because it would be so rare I talked to anybody.  Hey, remember when I used to be a person?  Yeah, me too!  Anyway, what else is up.  I made a fair number of casual acquaintances this class.  Not too bad.  Even that hot girl I talked to a little bit, about a week or two ago, when we were split up into groups to do something.  I don't have that great a memory.  Two weeks ago?  What the Fuddruckers?  It's good, though.  Reading poetry has helped me slowly get over my referential thinking.  Progress is good.  That's what I always say.  I'll even make sure they put it on my tombstone.  "Michael Kornblum, 1988-2035 'Progress Is Good'."  Don't know why I'm planning on dying that early.  Well, if you prepare yourself for disappointment, you won't feel so bad when it actually happens.  Hey, I just had a great money making idea.  Mobile Graves!  They basically put you in a truck, and the truck has to ride across America, 24/7.  It'll be like you get to go everywhere you didn't get a chance to when you were alive.  This is great, this is gonna catch on.   
    Wait a minute.  Wait a minute.  That's a terrible idea.  New paragraph, though.  That's good.  Mobile Graves could be where they bury you in a crib with a thing hanging up above your head.  Now that's a money making idea.  I remember, when I was a kid, I was always scared there were bloody heads in my closet.  Mainly because my brother would keep reminding me that there were bloody heads in my closet.  I also remember always sleeping on the very edge of my bed, because I imagined there was a ghostly girl on the other side.  I even fell off the bed a few times while I was sleeping.  From ages 6-12, I probably literally spent more time sleeping on the couch in the Den than in my bed.  I would watch T.V. and V.C.R all night and just fall asleep.  I think it started because I was afraid to sleep alone, and it just ended up being that I wanted to watch T.V. more.  Anyway.  This isn't a blog about my sleeping patterns as a child.  Although that would make a fascinating blog.  Especially fascinating because after two or three entries, you'd probably be out of stuff to say.  But you'll have to keep saying things.  That's how blogs work.  How come blogs never really caught on the way Twitter or Facebook did?  I would read any blog, written by anyone I know.  Maybe it's because pioneers like me created our own websites to blog.  It's all my fault, is what I'm trying to say.  Also, maybe it's because pioneers like me showed blogs to be an ineffectual and possibly detrimental addition to the human experience.  Oh well.  It's an honor just to be included in the human experience!  Have you seen some of the things they include?  Skydiving, circumcising, candy coating... and those are just three things inspired by the titles of CD cases I have stacked by my computer!   
    Yup, another entry in the books.  We did it hardcore!  Maybe Mobile Graves is just when they ship you to Alabama after you die.  Talk about adding insult to injury.  Another day in the books.  Gonna end it with a comic.  Cause I'm fairly extremely lazy.  See ya later!

5:55 P.M.


Friday, June 27, 2014                      

Thanks For Your Help, ASSHOLE!

    Hello.  I just turned in my final paper.  I had to get directions from two people in the building.  First, from someone on how to get to the third floor.  Then, from someone on the third floor on how to get to my teacher's office.  Then, back to the first person, on how to get to the bathroom.  Let me tell you, there was a double mission accomplished.  I'm talking down town!  Yeesh.  I recently found a new genre of porn that I like, where it's short guys having sex with tall girls.  You'd think this would be an epiphany-type moment for my travels through porn, but not really.  It just sort of makes me sad.  Am I just a piece of meat to you women?  A piece of short, erotic, five limbed smorgasbord of what a man should be?  Probably.  Only one of those adjectives is accurate.  Oddly enough, it's smorgasbord.  Whouda thunk it.  Also, I think they may all be nouns in this context.  I'm pretty sure smorgasbord is not an adjective.  Should be, though.  Let's write a letter to those Merriam Webster people.  Their dictionaries are a smorgasbord of words.  Let's move on with the entry.  I think, after this entry, I'll never forget how to spell smorgasbord.  I've used it enough.  I really think I'm leaning toward taking the second summer session off.  Just relax, chillax, live a lackadaisicalaxing lifestyle.  You know, get up at 5:00 A.M., fuck around for fourteen hours, go to sleep?  It's every boy's dream.  And you know what more free time means!  More time to write entries.  Wait, that's no good.  Maybe I should take a class.  So many choices!  Like, either taking a class, or not taking a class.  The choices are innumerable!
    I mean, on the one hand, I don't want to do nothing.  But on the other hand, I don't want to do anything.  Anyway, who cares.  This sort of stuff works itself out.  Most likely by me not following through in any regard, and end up taking no class as a result.  See?  The system works.  Anyway.  What the Heck am I gonna do with all that free time.  God, I really should take a class.  You know what, I don't think so.  Actually, maybe yes.  You know, actually, no.  On the other hand, ye.  But also, n.  Eh.  Somebody change the channel.  I gave a yard worker a cigarette today.  See, I'm very progressive.  Don't know what point I was trying to make with that story.  Nobody has ever doubted my progressiveness when it comes to giving cigarettes to day laborers.  The fire hydrant outside my house is still knocked over.  I really shouldn't have been giving out cigarettes, that's just asking for trouble.  Also, these shits are fifty cents each.  That's 100% more than a quarter!  Quarters are pretty cool.  When you've paid for things using pennies before, like I have, you really start to appreciate a quarter.  The thing I used pennies for were alcohol.  Just like most people.  I like using pennies to buy alcohol.  You just gotta suck it up, smile, and think, "These are the cards life has dealt me!"  Good for me.  Yip.  There's no good classes to take.  That's part of the problem.  That's part and parcel of the problem.  Not really.  I just never used that phrase before.  Maybe it's synonymous.  Who knows.  I need to get on Merriam-Webster's mailing list.
    Anyway.  Maybe this paragraph will be better than the last one.  That would be interesting, huh?  So, what's been going on.  I mean, obviously the class, but let's dig a little deeper, shall we?  Well.  I've been... drinking.  And... playing guitar... and writing the website.  ... What's up with you?  Don't answer.  I don't wanna know.  Leave something to the imagination!  I'm really getting into whistling.  Like, what's it all about?  I think I may see Jersey Boys this weekend.  Because I like fun.  Who doesn't like Fun.  Other than the other members of The Format.  They feel left out.  That's an accurate pop culture reference, right?  Too lazy to look it up.  I couldn't deal with the heartache of being wrong.  Shit, I just realized, whether or not I take another class, I'm gonna have free time right after this entry!  Free time is the worst. 
Give me something to do!  I may not excel at it, I may not even be passable at it, but, please!  Shitskies.  Ok, that's it.  Time to get back on track.  What's the deal with FUCK.  Why would anyone think, "Oh, I have this free-verse writing composition to make!  I guess I'll try to work in there some question that's been gnawing at me that I have no chance of solving within the confines of the logical parameters set in this exercise!"  A MORON, that's who.  Yip.  Also, people who think, "Doing something creative will solve my problems!"  Unless your problem is too much free time, nope!  Wait, my problem is too much free time!  Yip!  Also, the bus?  GET OVER IT. 
    What the Hell just happened.  Anyway.  I'm gonna take the session off.  I just have to.  Get my head straight.  Somehow.  Moving on.  I was supposed to hand in my paper in a folder, and I just had it loose.  I think that's where all this stress is coming from.  I might fail because I didn't have a folder.  Yikes.  Jeez.  Whatchamacallit.  Also, I've been drinking beer while this entry has been happening, and I realize, when the entry is done, roughly, there's to be no more beer.  It's just not good to associate alcohol or drug use with an activity.  You're only setting yourself up for disappointment.  I just went all in when I shouldn't have.  I could have lost all my chips!  I could have... lost.. all... my... chips.  Yipes.  What am I complaining about.  I get to lie in bed all day.  That's every boy's dream!  I wouldn't know.  Freddy Krueger would know.  That's his specialty.  How come there was never an 80's novelty rap song by Freddy Krueger?  Because people don't like fun, that's why.  "My name is Freddy Kruger and I'm here to say/Killing you in your dreams like we were in Bombay!"  Most novelty rappers do things that rhyme with, "Say," it turns out.  What a coincidence.  My name is Freddy Krueger, I'm not here to fool ya, killin ya in dreams like I'm a way-ol schooler."  The fun practically writes itself!  Also, never watch porns where the subject's main attribute is something you're not proud of.  What are you, an idiot?  I'd rather watch a regular size porn and think, "I'm just like them!"  That's how porns work.
    Anyway.  Another entry in the books.  I'm looking forward to the next entry.  Imagine all the laughs we'll share.  And the structure!  Why, there'll be the first paragraph, and the second paragraph... I can't wait.  Gonna lie in bed, now.  Maybe that's why it seems so terrible.  I just picture myself ending this entry, getting into bed, and staying there for two months.  Which isn't so far off from the truth, but still.  It's not a pretty picture.  Whatever.  Let's close it up with a comic.  See ya later, masturbator.


-2:49 P.M.


Saturday, June 28, 2014                      

My Title Tis Of Thee, Sweet Land of Title-ty

    Hello friends and jerks.  Me again.  How's your weekend going?  Mine is just fine.  And considering this weekend is going to last two months, I'm feelin' high as a kite.  A kite that's being flown.  Not a limp one tucked away in a carriage somewhere.  I bet the guy who came up with that phrase is feelin' pretty proud of himself.  It's a work of metaphoric wonder.  "Hey fellas, I'm so happy, I'm high as a kite!"  And then his friends jaws just drop in astonishment.  "Holy shit, did you come up with that yourself?  That's fucking beautiful!  I can't believe it!"  Amazing.  What else is going on in the wide world of sports.  Well, it's the morning.  That happens all the time.  I'm enjoying my day, so far.  We'll see how long that lasts.  Well, I will.  I'm not really concerned with keeping you updated on such matters.  Wouldn't, "Orange Is The New Black," be more popular if it was called, "Pen Pals?"  I think so.  I've never seen it.  Maybe that's a good show to binge-watch, now that I have all this free time.  Who knows.  Maybe.  If watching a show many episodes in a row is called binging, when they are shooting a show, do they call it, "Purging?"  #Nobodyknows.  I guess that's probably where they got the name for that movie from.  Damn, Hollywood, always two steps ahead of me.  What a jerk. #SteveMartin.  #HollywoodHumplik.  Anyway.  Shit, I'm only one paragraph in.  Gotta say some stuff.  I remember in my third grade classroom, the ceiling was a dome!  Dome!  Dome! 
    Okay. Maybe I can watch some digital venereal diseases on my computer.  That could be fun.  A digital venereal disease is when you get herpes on your finger.  Hey, it could happen.  Always make sure, when you finger blast someone, always wear a condom on your finger.  And maybe update your 'terms for sexual acts' list from when you were in sixth grade.  Anyway.  This entry is far from over.  How devastating.  Anywayans.  So,
De Blasio has been a pretty good mayor so far, right?  I mean, we've been having pretty nice weather lately.  Gotta assume he has something to do with that.  The Central Park Five have been exonerated.  De Blasio's a hero!  The Central Park Five had to either be a barebones, street-musician themed R n' B musical group, or a rape group.  With that kind of name, your options are kind of limited.  If I were in the newspaper business in the late 80's, I would have called them, "The Parker Bros."  Give your readers something to chuckle about.  Man, rape is the worst.  Really.  Murder is even better than rape.  At least with murder, you're not scarred for life.  Because there is no more life.  Also, murder is red rum backwards.  And who doesn't enjoy a drink every now and again.  I like that song, "Rapist's Delight."  Remember, from the 80's.  Good times.  Or, actually, 1979.  Man.  I don't even like making jokes about rape.  Although I do enjoy the joke from crazysheet classic, where it goes, "I think I would be able to cope with being raped by just thinking, 'Wow, I never thought this would happen to me!'  Because life is full of surprises."  Something like that.  Ugh.  Ugh.  Ew.  Egh.  Eh.  Aww.  Meow.  What was I talking about?  Oh yeah.  Rape is not funny.  It shouldn't even be talked about.  Why would someone spend a paragraph talking about rape.  What's wrong with this kind of person.
    Eh.  At least I'm a kind of person.  Being in the same category as others?  Not too shabby.  Part of me just wants to erase the last paragraph.  The other part of me loves The Parker Bros. joke.  The third part of me is lazy.  The fourth part of me is grouchy.  Anyway.  When the entry is over, it will all be forgotten.  Ugh.  Sorry.  The third part of me is the domineering part as of now.  See, I'm getting raped by my laziness.  It's all fun and goofs until it happens to you.
  Anywayans.  I lost my train of thought.  Man, this entry is still far from over.  How upsetting.  Remember Clifford, The Big Red Dog?  When I was a boy, I wanted a dog just like that!  But Michael, how could you have wanted it when you were a boy, it only just came out five years ago?  Oh, I mean, it made me feel like... eh.  Psh.  Ah.  When's lunch?  Gotta finish this entry, first.  Did I mention my third grade classroom ceiling was a dome?  Wrap your mind around that one, friends!  My only two memories from third grade were, I had a crush on a girl, and it was around Christmas, and I kept singing the Hess Truck theme song to her.  Then, on Valentines Day, I gave her a valentine, and she never talked to me again.  The other memory, is we had some assignment, and I said I left it at home, and while I was in the office calling my mom, still pretending that I left it at home, my teacher went through my desk in the classroom and pulled out the unfinished assignment.  I also remember, when I was in second grade, I was misbehaving, so my teacher sent me to sit in the third grade class, and some kid kept poking me with a pencil.
    So, I guess that's why I'm scared of third grade now.  Too many bad memories.  Anyway.  Time to finish this shit up.  I had a blast.  A digital blast!  What to do with the rest of the day.  It's such a nice day outside, why don't I... sit at my desk and smoke cigarettes.  You know, really make the most of this weather.  I guess I could... eh.  Ah.  Ahh.  Eh.  See ya later, chirpinators!

-10:44 A.M.          


Sunday, June 29, 2014                      

Tastes Like Chicken.  Oh, It Is Chicken?  Well, That Explains It.

    Hey yo foolios.  It's your boy Big Mak Attack with another mesmerizing, tantalizing, ostracizing entry.  Y'all ready for this?  I saw a school bus parked in a house's driveway!  I think I figured out where Otto lives.  I mean, I've heard of taking your work home with you, but this is ridiculous!  And actually, I never heard of taking your work home with you.  Someone explain it to me.  As far as I know, it's just a mish-mosh of words.  So, another glorious day off.  The sun is out, the birds are singing, a third thing is happening.  Wonderful.  They entry has started a-flowing.  The classic rock station was playing the Sunday Morning Beatles block.  What a great way to start the day.  Hey, that rhymes.  That gives me a good idea for a song.  Okay, imagine this.  It starts out, "What a great way/To start the day."  That's all I have so far.  I think it's gonna be a hit!  Let's see.  "What a great way/To Start the day/Killing you in your dreams like we were in Bombay."  Man, this song practically writes itself.  Man, this entry practically writes itself.  I also walked by a communal mailbox, and the key was still in the master lock.  But messing with the mail is a federal offense, so I high tailed it outta there.  I don't need the federales on my back.  Also, my neighborhood is technically a part of Mexico.  Due to some zoning issue, or something.  We're trying to fight it.  Anyway.
    Anyway.  I remember I used to sometimes get Popeyes my second semester sophomore year in college.  I remember, it was like a ritual, on Tuesday nights, I'd get Popeyes, a bottle of whiskey, and listen to The Best Show on WFMU.
  It wasn't so much a ritual as it was I would do those things every day, and on Tuesdays, I would listen to The Best Show on WFMU.  And I remember, when I was ten, on my way home from seeing my psychiatrist, we would get KFC.  So chicken is sort of my thing.  Because I've eaten it on occasion.  When I was a kid, too, chicken breasts were one of the few things my Mom would sometimes cook.  Fascin8ing.  I kinda want to take a Yoga class for the next semester, but the time conflicts with when I have my doctor appointments.  Oh well.  What could have been.  Or, in this case, what couldn't have been.  Cause of the time conflicts.  Lets get logical.  Maybe I'll see Jersey Boys today.  Because fun is sort of my thing.  I'm wearing a pretty nice shirt today, if I do say so myself.  It's made of a material and looks like something.  Oh man, and the one NYU eatery had a Chick-Fil-a station.  The only Chick-Fil-a in New York, to my understanding.  I enjoyed that chicken sandwich, and their waffle fries.  The same place also had a Quiznos, and they had a pretty good chicken sandwich, too.  Chicken Sandwiches are pretty much a good thing, if I do say so myself.  Hey, remember the times in my past where I've eaten chicken.  You do now!  You're welcome.
    Anyway.  What else be going on.  Maybe I will try to work Yoga into my schedule.  We'll see.  Only time can tell.  And only clocks can tell time.  And only time keepers have clocks.  Why does Frontpage think Fascin8ing is a word.  I guess I must have added it as a word.  Or, it's a word.  I don't know.  Anyway.  Let's get into it!  Maybe I'll see Jersey Boys tomorrow.  Because I'm a guy who does things.  Anyway.  What did I do in fourth grade?  Well, on the first day of class, I told the teacher my name was Philip Chung.  Not a bad alias to have, in my opinion.  Then, the teacher had something wrong with her eye, where it was all red.  And she would say if we did something bad, she would, "Give us the evil eye."  I think it was fourth grade that I learned how to play, "My Heart Will Go On," on the recorder.  I remember I got into a fight with someone, cause we both had the same best friend, and we were competing over who was his best friend.  And the way we dealt with this, was, we were standing in a single file line, it was the guy I was fighting with, then, behind him, our friend, and behind him, was me.  And we fought by bumping our friend into the other one.  Fourth grade, I think, was also the summer we went to Florida.  I remember reading a choose-your-own-adventure on the plane ride.  I had orange juice in a champagne glass, because we were bumped up to first class for some reason.  I ate my fair share of matzoh.  I remember being in a car, on the highway.  What the hell happened to this entry. 
    Anyway.  It's still so early.  What did I do in fifth grade?  Somebody end this.  In fifth grade, I wrote a classic story called, "Mr. Glassesface."  It was about a guy who wore glasses.  And his name was Mr. Glassesface.  He also had a cat.  Classic stuff.  Fifth grade is around the time I started taking school more seriously.  I mean, I've never been a model student, but before fifth grade, I was really bad.  Anyway see ya later.

-11:11 A.M.


Monday, June 30, 2014                      

This Is The Title.

    Hey friends and other things.  It's me.  First official day off of the semester.  Alright!  I'm celebrating by wearing my bath robe over my clothes.  Talk about luxury!  Soooooooooooo.  Hmm.  Yep.  I heard an interesting thing on my walk toda FUCK IT THERE'S NOTHING TO TALK ABOUT.  I mean, when I had a class, that was two hours of the day, taken care of, and the two hours before and after where I would think about that two hours that were taken care of.  Now.... what?  Hey, I still have a window.  Bet the outside is still there!  Hey, I got cigarettes.  Yeah, what else is new?  Lets see, what did I do in sixth grade.  Are we really gonna play this game?  I guess so.  Okay, sixth grade.  Gather round.  Okay, so for one project, I had to do a speech or presentation by myself, about the Middle Ages, and to make it more fun, I decided to do it like a talk show, and I called the talk show Jelly.  Because I had no notion of titles having to be appropriate in regards to content.  Sixth grade is also when I first started going through P.U. Bertie.  Suddenly, it turned out girls had asses, and boy, did that fascinate me.  Sixth grade is the year before I got Bar Mitzvah'd.  Sixth grade was the first year of Middle School.  I attended M.S. 158, the Murie Curie school.  She invented radiation, and then her husband got run over by a horse and carriage.  Sixth grade is the year I failed the Hunter High School test, and then punched a hole in the wall.  Sixth grade is when I first started seeing a psychiatrist.  That's where, before an appointment, I was arguing with my family, insisting that George Washington's teeth were made out of hippopotamus.  Then, during the session, they brought it up against me, like, "He's a compulsive liar!  Everyone knows George Washington's teeth were wooden!"  Then it turns out I was right.  Because I'm a brilliant, beyond my times! 
    Wooden teeth.  Psh.  How gullible can you get?  Anyway.  Let's save the second half of sixth grade for next entry.  Give ya something to look forward to.  You know what?  I'm gonna make myself some coffee.  And nobody can stop me!  And if they try, I'll punch a hole in the wall!  Just kidding, walls.  I would never hurt you.  I learnt my lesson.  Maybe, when you're punching a hole in the wall, inside, it's really like a wall is punching a hole through you.  Thanks for that, italics person.  Maybe, when, inside, a wall is punching a hole through you, even more inside, there's a tiny you punching a hole through that miniature wall.  You never know!  Maybe I'm just obsessed with walls.  That's my problem.  Walls and punching, walls and punching.  Now, have I ever told you the story of how I got my chair?  What else is going on.  I liked my first psychiatrist.  He was a good guy.  And he had a beard, so you know he meant business.  My second psychiatrist, fast forward to my sophomore year in college, was more run of the mill.  He was of the school of basically, all he did, was say, "Keep talking."  You're paying them a hundred dollars an hour just so that they'll say, "Go on," in-between your rantings.  I might as well have just ranted to myself in the mirror for an hour, and then I see him, and he goes, "Give me money," and that's that.  I remember, also my sophomore year in college, well, the summer afterward, I got a cork board to hang up on the wall over my bed.  Because I thought it would be cool to write names of songs I have on little pieces of paper and re-arrange them.  I just thought that would be a cool thing to do.  Cause I couldn't do that without a cork board, right? 
    Now there's a part of the wall with scraped off paint from when I took the cork board down.  Take that as a lesson, friends.  Every action has consequences.  Probably.  At least, actions involving cork boards.  I had a banana today.  Because, while I was walking outside the hospital during my visit, I saw a banana on the ground.  And I thought, "Hey, that's not a bad idea!"  So, that's that story.  I didn't eat the ground banana.  Give me some credit, right?  Although it was in it's peel.  So, if I really wanted to, I could have.  I didn't though.  Why don't you believe me?  FINE, I ATE THE GROUND BANANA.  IS THAT WHAT YOU WANT TO HEAR?
  Not really.  I mean, c'mon.  Man, a ground banana sounds pretty good right about now.  I'm not gonna lie, I'm thinking about taking a banana outside, leaving it there for a few hours, and coming back to reap the benefits.  Bananafits.  Erg.  My fire hydrant is still down.  My entire family is defenseless against fire.  How am I supposed to live my life with that in the back of my head.  Fire can take hold at any moment.  I'm pretty sure we could sue the city, if there's a fire, and the fire hydrant isn't working.  Unless if I started the fire on purpose.  That would ruin our whole case.  Wouldn't it?  Yeah, probably.  I've never had roasted banana.  Not yet.  That's the kind of thing you want to try once before you die.  I've never finished this entry.  Sorta seems like something worth striving toward.
    Anyway.  Maybe I'll see Jersey Booys today.  Because I like it when things happen.  Man, if there's a scene where the Jersey Boys are arranging songs on a cork board, I'll cum in my pants.  And then, if there's a scene where they're taking the cork board down, and it scrapes off some of the paint off the wall, I'll top cumming in my pants, somehow.  Just imagine whatever the next step is, after cumming in your pants, and that's what I'll do.  And then, if someone in the movie reveals what the next step is, after cumming in your pants, I'd be extremely grateful, because I can't figure it out.  Anyway.  I guess I need to leave in like fifteen minutes.  That's great.  Close this up with a comic.  Enjoy your day!

-12:53 P.M.