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Wednesday, June 29, 2016

Look Whose Mr. Popular

    Me, that's who.  I made a best friend at the busstop.  He wanted to use my phone and when I said no he wanted a cigarette.  I told him my reservations about smoking by a gas station, but he insisted.  I relented and gave into his demands.  Then he called me Mike Newport, saying that's my new name.  Alright!  Best friend!  The good news is class is over.  I predict a B+/A-.  That's A-okay in my book.  B+ okay, at least.  Hopefully A- (minus, not dash) okay.  Okay.  Now the question is To Philosophize or Not To Philosophize.  I'd ask Shakespeare but he's dead.  Long dead.  I watched some of Black Night, the Martin Lawrence movie, last night.  I thought this was gonna be about the Joker and Batmanman.  Batmanman is a trillionare who fell down a well as a kid and saw Batman and it scared him so he became Batmanman. 
    Great.  I think my cold got aggravated today when I was on the bus and the guy in front of me kept sneezing.  I couldn't help but breathe it in.  Consciously, I was like, Better not breathe in so hard.  But then another part of me was like, No one's gonna tell me how much to breathe in.  So I breathed in even harder.  That' shuttem up.  What else and crap.  It's Independence Day next Monday.  About time.  We've been under British Rule for far too long.  Also, let me be the first to say, the term Brexit is crap.  Maybe if Britain was Breetin it's passable.  Then it's real to some extent.  Some cleverness behind that.  Brexit?  What a Clunker.  How about Bradios.  It's about the same thing-- but with some character!  Exit is just a boring word.  Britain is a boring word.  How about Engleave.  That's another way to go.
    Crap and crap.  This is only the third paragraph.  That's no good.  What else is going crap.  I can't wait to watch the rest of Black Night.  That, and the rest of Ernest Scared Stupid.  I watched some yesterday for the first time in two decades and, you know what, it was pretty scary.  The Troll was real scary.  You might even say it scared me stupid.  Anyway.  This can be a five'r today.  That'll shuttem up.  It's July in a couple of days.  That'll shuttem up.  I basically go through months by thinking of songs that have the month in em.  January-- Nothing.  February-- Nothing.  March-- ... Nothing.  April--- I guess there's not as much songs with months in  the title as I thought.  There goes that.  May is Arcade Fire.  June... Nothing.  July is New Pornographers.  August is Rilo Kiley.  September is Green Day.  Pretty sure there's a band called Blue October or something.  The Decembrists.  Pretty sure there's a band called November Rain or something.
    Those are band names, not song titles.  Disqualified.  What else is going on.  Oh, right! June is busting out all over.  It's mainly the summer months, it appears.  All clustered around the middle of the year.  That's relevant for some reason.  December is Weezer, if we're not counting Band Names.  Seasons, though, that's easy.  All four seasons covered in songs.  Hell, they're all covered in just one band's name.  That shuttem up.  Anyway.  I love frozen chicken nuggets.  Way better than any chicken you get at a diner or a chicken depository.  You pop those bad boys in a microwave for two and a half minutes-- delicious.  I'm just sayin' what we're all thinking.  And if the nuggets come in Dinosaur Shapes, well, all the better.
    I don't wanna crap out and do a five paragraph entry.  I gotta ride this thing out like the micro-wave that it is.  I liked how at CitiField you can get soda in a Souvineer Cup for an extra couple of dollars.  It's basically just a large soda, like you'd get at a fast food establishment or a movie depository, but made out of a real cheap and flimsy plastic.  Also, BBook depository?  In my day (Which is teh future instead of the past) we called those Libraries.  Maybe Book stores.  Maybe they stopped using the word depository because of the negative associations with it.  Anyway.  I got to play RFK in a classmate's play today.  I did 20% with the accent, and 80% without it.  That's pretty good, in my opinion. 
    Right?  Probably.  I think I've developed some low level OCD over the past few years.  That's how I feel.  Oh well, there's worse things.  Making your life comply with OCD symptoms, that's pretty great.  Really feels like you're accomplishing something.  Wonderful.  Crap and crap.  This has gotta be the sixth paragraph.  Mostly because it is.  Anyway, if I do take Intro II Ethics, that starts next Tuesday.  I'm pretty much about 50/50 when it comes to taking it.  What Dreams May Come.  I don't know.  This has sure been a month.  The class I just took was entirely in June.  And I knocked it out of the park.  Except for mediocring it up with the final portfolio, not editing or adding as much as he wanted.  But I figure my participation should offset that so I'll still get a pretty good grade.  On the other hand, Who Cares.  I'm graduating either way, suckers!
    The good news is Seven.  What else and crap.  Per Professor's suggestion, I added a bunch of old-school lyrics to one of my papers that's about my musicing/my crushening (of girlinizers).  And then I made him read it to the class, like a fool.  A sucker is born every few... well, the point is we end up with a lot of suckers.  I once hear Britney Spears is a Womanizer.  I don't have all the details.  What else is going on.  The pace of me writing this entry has really picked up.  You probably couldn't tell, but I can.  And now you can tell because I just said it.  That's a dead giveaway.  A dead giveaway is when they're having a clearance sell at the morgue.  Every Body must go!  Pretty sure I made that joke here two or three years ago.  Oh well.
    I just got an e-mail saying Obama is gonna Save Global Warming.  Alright!  I spent four seconds looking at it, but I came away very impressed.  The image they used had words in the IMPACT font, or a similar one, as far as I could tell, so that means they mean business.  Pretty sure I've talked about dinosaur shaped chicken nuggets.  I've pretty much talked about everything except for Brexit because it didn't exist yet.  Brexit.  it just doesn't sound good.  There's got to be a better way.  If they had come up with a more appealing name, maybe the economy wouldn't have gone into such turmoil.  It's all how you frame it. 
    Alright, Two more to go.  Let's knock em into deep left field where the left fielder catches it but the hitter gave it a good run.  I like Brandon Nimmo.  I don't know why.  It's just a good name.  All about how you frame it.  Sure, I like Michael Conforto, too.  It's another good name.  But they're enemies, I guess, cause they play the same position.  Oh well, I wish them both the best of luck if that were possible.  In Sports Betting, is there an option where you can bet that each team just has a good time?  That's the kind of stuff I think about.  I never thought about it before.  Yeah, but I've thought of that kind of stuff before.  You know, stupidity?  Idiocy?  Moronymity, whatever you wanna call it.
    Last paragraph.  We did it, did it hardcore.  Too bad I don't think I can take one class of Philosophy and drop it that day and get 100% of the money back.  I think it would only be 75%.  That's like losing 200$ to pull that kind of stunt.  Gonna have to commit to a decision before hand.  I got a few days to mull it over and whatnot.  Pimped my Music to the entire class today.  You never know when one person might listen to 10 seconds of one song.  Ah, another devoted follower.  That's how that goes.  I feel like there's a song with March in the title.  There's got to be.  Almost definitely some Classical song.  But a 20th-21st century pop or rock song?  Gotta be.  Oh, right.  Let's Get Marchin', by The Flaming Michigans.  How could I forget.
    Let's do one more paragraph for some reason.  If I don't take the next class, think about all the time I'll get to spend in Bed thinking about What I've Done.  That's some real quality time.  I was thinking about my Parents' mortality yesterday.  Real, real scary stuff.  At first, I was like, Holy Fucking Shit, they have like probably roughly 12 years to go.  That's nothing.  Then I was like, 12 Years is like 4000 days.  That's a lot of days.  That's not so bad I guess.  It's all how you frame it, I already established that, I guess.  If I had 4000 days, I'd be freaking out.  They could handle it, though.  They're pretty levelheaded one would imagine.
    I don't wanna leave on that.  One more paragraph to an even 12.  One for each Month in the calendar.  What else is going on.  I don't know how Curtis Granderson does it, I see he's hitting .230 and I'm like, That's pretty good.  Just any number above .200 sounds good when it's connected to Curtis Granderson.  Whatta great guy.  It could partly be because I know it's offset byhim walking a lot and hiting a lot of homeruns.  But it's mostly because Whatta Great Guy.  That's how I feel.  Jeez.  Was this paragraph really necessary?  To Curtis Granderson, yep.  Whatta great guy.  I'll see ya later.

-4:48 P.M. 


Monday, June 27, 2016

You Don't Know Crap About Titles

    That's how I feel.  What's going on Wide World of Sports.  The world of sports got a little wider today when Yulieski Gourriel, who is either Cuban, Japanese, or Polish, held a private showcase for scouts.  What will they think of next.  Polish name for a Cuban.  How many Polish people does it take to be Cuban.  That's what I want to know.  In one of the stories we workshopped today, someone used the adjective Hitler-y.  That got my mind wheels spinning.  At some point, the right wing is gonna start calling Hillary Clinton, "Hitlery."  If it hasn't happened yet, well, we got that to look forward to.  The point is I thought of it first because I'm a genius.  What else is going on.
    I wonder if Hillary is in support of Terrorist Fist-Bumps.  That could be a real wedge issue this election.  What else and crap.  I don't know if I'm gonna take my second summer class.  On the one hand, I could do it.  On the other hand, I can choose not to do it.  These are the abstract philosophical quandaries that might be discussed in class.  I don't want these Philosophists shoving their opinions about quandaries down my throat.  I got my own ideas on some quandaries, you better believe it.  Anyway, crap and crap.  I had a cold this weekend.  I blame Trump.  Probably.  I don't know and crap.  I need a wall of tissue to prevent my mucus from emigrating into the air supply. 
    Huh?  Great, sure, whatever.  Hillary and Trump gonna be popular costumes this year for Halloween.  Or for our candidates for the general election.  Slamm'd 'em.  Ya know, cause they're fake and stuff?  That probably qualifies as a Slamm'd 'Em.  Someone asked me for a cigarette and while I was giving it to him my own cigarette fell on the ground.  I picked it up and put it back in my mouth and was like Can't be worse than what's in em.  And I don't think he got it and he walked away.  Great, now people think I smoke ground cigarettes.  And I do, but I have good reason!  Go ahead, try to argue with that reason!  If anything, the ground makes the cigarettes cleaner, that would be my hypothesis.
    Doing heavy revisions on an English assignment is like going through the scientific process, then, when you're done, you change your hypothesis so it matches what the result was and it takes away the heart and soul and everything good and natural about it.  Also, I don't wanna do drafts.  That's work.  I don't wanna do work.  That's drafts.  What else is going on.  During the workshop for my peice, Professor read my story aloud and in the first line I use the word, "Read," pronounced as Red, but he did it like, Reed.  Changed the entire story.  At first, I was against it, but now I feel it's open to interpretation.  It's a flawless piece of art.  Except that I need to do drafts of it.  My hypothesis is that drafts are a waste of my time.
    Crap and crap.  I told my therapist the story of my How I Learned To Not Be Racist story and now She thinks I'm racist.  I just keep going around telling this story and I keep giving everyone the impression that I'm racist.  It's kind of funny on a philosophical level, but, philosophically speaking, it's really unsettling.  Also, philosophywise, it's stupid.  And, in regard to philosophying, I'm always like, Why Do I Keep Doing This?  I even blurted out two minutes after the story, Now you think I'm racist!  And she was like, No, come on, I've known you all this time, I know you're not racist.  But I know as soon as the session ended, she wrote RACIST on some yellow legal pad or something.
    Anyway.  Jockeys are racist.  That's their job.  What else is going on.  I guess I'm racist for trivializing a real issue and keep bringing it up for humor.  I knew it!  And you all doubted me!  Now I have to learn how to Not Be Racist in regards to this new development.  Philosophically, it's a real quandary that I can only hope our top philosomaniacs are working on.  That's gotta be a branch of philosophy, right?  Probably.  A girl in class wrote a story about her mental illness, and I wanted to be like, privately, I like your story, I can relate because I have my own issues.  But I couldn't get the thought of Jack Black talking to Tomeka about being overweight in School of Rock, and it kept making me laugh thinking about him going, You know who else has a weight problem? ...Me.  That sums that up. 
    Anyway.  Is the, "Me," Jack Black or Me?  It was supposed to be him italicizing it as part of his dialogue, but it can be read the other way.  Open to interpretation!  What else is going on.  Whatta do with the rest of mmy day.  Think about philosophy class.  If I'm thinking of it, doesn't that sort of defeat the purpose of not taking it?  They already got me thinking.  I don't know what things mean.  My cold is pretty much gone.  I blame Trump.  I mean, Huh?  Crap and crap.  I had to use the bathroom a record four times during class.  They must think I'm up to no good, or something.  I don't know.
    Three paragraphs to go!  Great.  I watched Speed over the weekend.  If it were me, I would have titled it Bus, but that's just me.  I respect the choice they made, it's certainly one way to go.  Gotta do drafts for Wednesday.  Great, what bullcrap and so on.  Let's see.  My Mom told me a story about when I was three or four, someone said something about the fly in my pants, and I was like, There's A Fly In My Pants?!  Get It Out, Get It Out!  It was a classic story she'd remember for years to come, and eventually share with me now that I'm older and have more perspective on life and whatnot.  I blame Trump.
    Crap and crap.  One guy in class who's Greek and whose story was barely intelligible said that my story sounded amateurish.  What a J-Bag.  Sure, after the Professor read it, he took it back and was like Oh, Now I Get It, but in a Greek accent.  I don't know.  It's all Greek to me. ... ... ... I blame Trump.  What else and crap.  Is it possible Trump never thought he could win and it's all a big conspiracy to get Hillary elected?  My thoughts?  Probably.  What else and crap.  Personally, I think Hillary is in cahoots with Hillary.  That sums that up.  At this point, I'm guessing that Hillary Clinton really wants to be President.
Prove me wrong!  Huh.  I guess the entry is winding down.  Calling a movie Speed.  What message are you sending to our youngsters.  Mainly, don't use public transportation.  Might end with explosives, you never know.  If you're ever on a bus going over 50 on the highway, just stand up and go, I Saw A Documentary About This, Don't Worry, Everyone Remain Calm, I'll Save The Day!  Why not, right.  I can't think of any reason.  What else and crap.  The pro for taking the class is that it shaves off my graduation date by 2-5 months.  The con is I don't wanna do stuff.  I just was doing stuff.  You mean I have to do more stuff?  Doesn't seem right.  I'll see ya later.

-5:32 P.M.      


Tuesday, June 21, 2016

That's Not Good

    Good.  Hi everyone, it's your faithful guy who does things, me!  How's it going and crap.  Finished 3/4ths of my story for Thursday.  The Follow Up.  Shows how much I care.  The worst part, though, is due next Wednesday, is I have to hand in all the stories I've written with significant revisions.  I'm no good at revisions.  It's not my fault-- I was raised this way.  Raised to never revise.  That's what seperates me from real writers.  That, and the level of skill, and the level of command of the English language, and the level of dedication, and the level of good ideas and insight, and the level of all sorts of things. Besides all that, though, I'm a great writer.  I think my work speaks for itself, right?  If only writers were judged on the adequateness of their titles.  One day.
    Anyway, crap and crap.  That's behind me now.  That's the benefit of not caring too much, just move on to the next thing.  And here we are.  Damnit.  Now I feel like crap because I'm gonna be handing in some real crap.  He might even take it personally, like I'm just fucking around and not taking the class seriously.  I'm talking about the class itself!  How can I not be taking it seriously!  Now he has a piece about what his class is like.  He's a young teacher, he can mine that for some interesting notes about my experience in the class.  It's relevant, I swear!  Anyway, what else is going on and crap.  I drank an energy drink on my way home, for fun, and I was like, Man, I feel like I have more energy!  I don't remember actually feeling like that in past times I've drunk energy drank.
    Oh well, I guess that's part of growing older.  The older you get, the more energy drinks effect you.  As a kid, you're full of pep anyway.  Doesn't make a dent in your natural energy.  That's probably how that goes for some reason.  What's going on and crap.  All writers do five drafts of their crap.  No way.  I'm not buying it.  One and done, that's my motto.  Well, not literally.  I'm not even sure if I have a motto.  I'll think about it later.  What else is going on.  I can't get Rapper's Delight out of my head.  Why didn't they name it Rapper's Delite.  Anytime you get to do a varation of spelling from the norm, you gotta take that opportunity, right?  Saying different things is fun.  That's my motto. 
    Why not, it's a pretty good motto.  I'd stick with it if push came to shove.  That's a motto about the escalation of fighting, right?  When push comes to shove, that's when the fight really takes hold.  I don't know what I'm doing.  Crap and crap.  I participate more than the next three people combined.  That's taking the class seriously, enough, right?  I've earned this bullshit.  That's how I feel.  It's satire, right?  Because it's terrible?  One could come to that conclusion if they really tried.  What else is going on.  This is the fourth paragraph.  That's not too bad.  Crap and crap.  We had an assignment in class that we had to write a synopsis of our favorite thing ever.  Could be a book, could be poetry, could be a T.V. show.  Unsurprisingly, I went with Kingpin.  It made him laugh, and go, You know that he actually bowled those three strikes at the end.  And I went, Yes, I did know that!  That shut him up.
    What else and crap.  Teacher was like, Okay, for the last day, we'll have some fun.  We'll get a pizza.  And I'll bring in a documentary!  You guys ever seen The Fog of WarRight.  That's a party.  Watching a documentary about war.  Couldn't imagine anything more fun than that.  Anyway, what else and crap.  Did Shakespeare do drafts?  Did Chaucer do drafts?  In all honesty, probably.  Who knows for sure.  There's no records of either, though, one would assume.  I feel like that's a safe assumption.  All assumptions are safe.  You know what you're getting into with an assumption, we all get it's not 100%.  I'm not 100% how to indent paragraphs in Microsoft Word without screwing it up so I just hit the space bar for ten strokes each paragraph after the first.  I feel like that's okay.
    Anyway, what the what.  In life, it's no good to have ten strokes.  Your body couldn't handle it.  Although, that might be the record for most strokes ever.  Most people don't get passed one or two.  Ten strokes, medically speaking, is pretty impressive.  What else and crap.  By the seventh stroke, your spouse'll call 911, and be like, Well, Guess What Happened Again.  Yup.  I Know, I Can't Believe It Either.  How Are The Kids?  Great.  What else and crap.  What kids.  That's how that goes.  Anyway, crap and crap.  This has got to be the sixth paragraph.  Got to.  What else and crap.
    Seventh paragraph.  I got whiskey instead of vodka for the first time in months.  How sweet it is.  I guess this could be my last paragraph.  Nothin's stoppin' me.  I've been confronted with my own mediocrity with this story that making ten paragraphs each entry seems kinda pointless.  It ain't nothin' great.  Why push myself.  That's what I'm supposed to get out of this class, right?  Why Even Try?  That's how I feel.  But the point is I'm not trying.  Yeah, but not trying while trying.  There's some trying involved.  Just not enough, apparently.  It's a whole headache.  I guess I'll see ya later.

-6:11 P.M.


Monday, June 20, 2016

I Knew I Did Drugs For a Reason!

    Gotta idea for my third and final story for the class.  Another time I did drugs.  Yeesh.  Anyway, what's crackulating.  Today is Monday, I guess.  Yesterday was a Met game.  They got a hit in the third!  I never woulda guessed.  It was kind of scary, though, our seats were all the way in the back of the upperist level, and it's dangerous getting up there.  Lot of steep steps with very little space horizontally.  If I fall, I fall over and over from deck to deck until I fall on the field.  That's no good.  And people can drink there.  Or even just holding two things at once is dangerous, cause you can't use the handrail.  And also, I don't believe in tying my shoes, so I was hitting the trifecta.  Ended up not dying, though, which I consider a pyrrhic victory of the whole thing.
    What else is going on.  I forgot my phone at home today when I went to class.  It was great.  I had no idea if anyone e-mailed me or if someone had a birthday on Facebook or if ESPN updated their Power Rankings yet.  Totally free to live and love life.  You know, like waiting for the bus for twenty minutes?  Soak it up while ya can.  This story about me doing drugs is different, because it was a different time I did drugs.  Revolutionary!  I was thinking about the strain I used to smoke, at least the premium that I sometimes got at the time, Sour Diesel.  Wonder what that means.  Every title means something.  We learned that over the last four years here.  Really makes ya wonder.
Anyway, crap and crap!  Sour Diesel really made me wonder.  Let's talk about it.  I can't write about times I did weed, where's the stakes?!  I'll have to write about the time I did mushrooms.  The first time!  The second time I already wrote about in a previous class.  The first time, that's a whole other trip, boy.  You better believe it.  I'm a little bit upset they let Chase D'Aurnuad hit for the Braves yesterday.  The Mets live in Citifield.  Citi and Chase, there's got to be a conflict of interest there.  Let's talk about it.  They show the stat Exit Velocity of the speed the ball hits off the bat at.  Who really cares about that.  EXT SPEED: 68.7 MPH.  Oh, okay.  Great.  Get off my eye-screen!
    Crap and crap.  I can't believe they have the activity on the big screen of hiding a ball under one of three caps and then moving all the caps around and we have to guess which one.  They're basically legitimizing the scam-game of three card monte and I won't stand for it.  I'll sit for it.  Also, is it illegal to hold your left hand over your chest during National Anthems and God Bless Americas?  I'm lefty.  I mean, sure, I can do it the other way.  But this is the way that comes natural-- the way I really mean it.  I should be allowed to do whatever I want.  Anyway, what else and crap.  Also, I was still inside the stadium at the concession booth while they did the National Anthem, I don't have to take off my hat for that, do I?  If I can't see it, it's not really happening to me.  This is something I feel very strongly about.
    What else.  Ya see, I did drugs.  Then I was under the influence of drugs.  Then, gradually, I came out from under the influence of drugs.  A, please.  What else is going on.  I can't talk about coming out of the influence of drugs.  Leave 'em wanting more.  With a cliffhanger.  That's the way to go as far as I'm concerned.  Maybe I never came off the influence of drugs.  There's a pretty good chance, I'd say.  Anyway, what else.  The teacher also pointed out in his commentary of my draft that I used Anyway too often, after a student said the same thing on Thursday.  These guys are idiots.  Anyway is a great word.
    Great.  This is already the sixth paragraph.  Knockin' it out of the park.  What else is going on and crap.  How do birds decide when to walk and when to fly.  Do they just get tired flying, and are like, Man, I could use a break.  Start walking some, then, Jeez, I'm not getting anywhere! then fly a bit.  These are the real issues probably.  Why did kids from past generations build tree houses.  You'd think their Dad would be like, I work 400 hours a week to put you in a good, fine house, and you wanna go live in a tree?  NOT IN MY BACKYARD.  Pun'd it.  Anyway.  I got to whistle in class.  I'm not going to go into the specifics and logistics of it, but rest assured, I whistled for a good thirty seconds.  First I whistled, Who Is That Doggie In The Window and then I whistled one of the battle-tunes that I know from Barry Lyndon.
    Nobody commented on how great my whistling was, though.  It's like they don't even recognize greatness when they hear it.  Oh well, what else and crap.  I remember the first time I successfully whistled, thinking, Now!  Finally My Dad Will Respect Me!  That's how that goes.  The Grateful Dead and John Mayor are collaborating for a Musicing in Citifield next month.  Great, you get two bands that lots of people like but more people hate, into one singular act that nobody likes and everybody hates.  I can say it because I like the Grateful dead.  They got some good tunes.  John Mayor, well, let's just say he doesn't know how to spell his own last name, and leave it at that.
    Great.  I got a free Mets cap for Father's Day.  It's gray.  I feel like they were just like Father's Day=Old People=Gray.  Makes sense to me.  I like the people in the stands who get really angry when the Mets are performing poorly.  They sure don't mind letting everyone know how angry they are.  How about that.  This has got to be the eighth paragraph, right?  Alright.  How about that.  What else do I got goin' on.  I'm not a fan of how at Citifield, your cup holder is on the back of the seat in front of you.  I feel like I'm invading that person's personal space every time I feel like some Coke Zero.
    That's how I feel.  I have an Eye appointment in a couple of weeks.  I might go back to Contacts.  These glasses are good, but I keep having to push them up at the frame above the nose, like a Nerd.  I don't do it for effect, I do it because the situation dictates it.  That's no good.  What else is going on.  Not much.  Signed up for Apple Music under my Brother's plan, so it's only 5 dollars a month.  That's great.  I don't have to listen to any Ads, or nothin'.  Unless I tune into their Radio Channel All Ads, All The Time!  I probably won't, though.  Not even 100% why they have it.
    The good news is Last Paragraph.  I forgot my bottle of soda at the liquor store-- for the second time.  I even remember thinking on the short walk over there, Gotta remember not to leave my Diet Pepsi there.  Then I did.  The last time, when I realized, I went back, and it wasn't there anymore, I guess the guy threw it out.  So this time, when I realized it, didn't even bother to go back to see if it was there.  What's done is done.  And me enjoying that delicious Diet Pepsi was done.  I'll see ya later.

-5:41 P.M.   


Thursday, June 16, 2016

Now's Michael's Time To Shine

    Great.  How is everyone doing and crap.  Michael is me.  Time to shine is now.  Now is still now.  What's going on and crap.  Didn't write a story for today.  Just handed in an old story I wrote but never handed it in anywhere.  I feel like I don't care that I broke the law.  Rules were made to be broken.  Except for that rule.  If you break, "Rules were made to be broken," Then you follow every rule.  Except for that one.  That, my friends, is what we call a paradox.  Probably.  I don't know English too well and I feel like I don't care about it.  Baseball game on Sunday.  I'm not sure why tens of thousands of people go to each baseball game.  It's a lot more entertaining to watch it on T.V., if we're being honest.  You can actually see what's going on.  In the stands, you see a fly ball, you have no idea if it's gonna be in shallow right field or a home run.  At least I don't.  I'm not good at seeing, I guess, and I feel like who the fuck cares.
    Also, I think it's kind of telling that 50% of the audience on any given game leaves before the game is over.  Like, subconsciously, we all agree it's a chore to watch a live baseball game, and treat it as such.  I'm sayin' what we're all thinkin'!  Probably.  What else is going on.  The big negative comment I got on my story was that I say, "Anyway," too much.  What do they know.  I'll use anyway all over the place.  That's how I feel.  I like watching the big screen they have in right field, though.  That's entertaining.  It's like we get to watch a really really huge T.V.  That's something I could get behind.  I don't get people who bring gloves to game, trying to catch a foul ball.  This could be my lucky day!  It's a used baseball.  Congratulations.  You lugged your glove all the way here for nothing.  Not to mention the astronomical odds of you actually getting a foul ball.
    If you're bringing a glove to a baseball game, let's face it, you're in the bottom of the gene pool, making it less likely you'll get a foul ball even with a glove.  Some alpha type is gonna get that ball from you with their bare hands.  It's called survival of the fittest.  Get with it, I guess.  If I were a baseball player, no way I'm giving my autograph to anyone.  Whatta scam.  Anyway, what else is going on.  Had to read a play today in class.  A debate between Matthew Mcgahouhehy and Abrahalm Lincoln in 1944 being moderated by Donald  Trump.  I feel like I worked in some decent goofballs into it, but my performance really fell flat.  While writing it with my group, I was surprisingly doing a real adequate Trump.  In front of the class, though, I lost it.  Oh well.  Shoulda been Mcangouhshey.
Oh well, live and learn.  Fourth paragraph.  That's great.  Also, the first draft of what we finished in class was better than the second draft the guy worked on.  He was pretty adequately funny, but once he lost my helpful influence, he really hit some poor notes.  Well, that ruins that.  I feel like I care about this for some reason.  Who knows.  Crap and crap.  The Vodka I have now is Cherry Flavored.  Drinkin' it with Orange soda.  Red And Orange together?  Wow!  The last time I got flavored Seltzer water was actually pretty decent.  Most times I get flavored seltzer, in the dozen or so times I've gotten flavored seltzer, I realize Oh, yeah, that's why I don't get this.  It's terrible.  But that last time, not too shabby.  These are the important issues.
    I guess.  I should actually write a story for next week.  Two out of three of following directions ain't bad.  There's still the Follow Up idea, but I have no idea how to actually write that paper.  Nothing factually interesting happened while writing the first paper and I can't think of any goofballs and/or funnybones to pull, either.  Oh well.  Crap and crap, I guess.  This could be a five'r today.  I did what I set out to do, pretty much.  Kill forty five minutes.  Anyway, what else and crap.  Over halfway through this class.  Then Intro To Ethics.  I can't make any Donald Trump or Matthew Mdsghuufohey jokes there.  Probably.  It would be unethical.  I'll see ya later.

-5:12 P.M.


Tuesday, June 14, 2016

Nope, No Good Title For That...

    Hey friends and crap.  Gotta write another story for Thursday.  Can't think of a good idea.  I set the bar high with How I Learned To Not Be Racist in terms of putting myself in a corner with an terrible idea that made me laugh because of it's terribleness and then turned out to be decent.  What else kind of bullshit can make me laugh and end up being something decent.  The only two crap mediocre ideas I've had were combining the time I ran for class president in 7th grade with a group project we did in seventh grade where I was the leader of the group.  The title I came up with was Lead, Follow, or Lead Again.  But I don't know where I Follow.  There must be a third thing to weave in about me following.  The other idea I had was weave some magic out of boring bullshit about the day a couple of months ago I canvassed for Bernard Sanderbilt and went to a bar with my Brother and his friends.  I can mediocre the crap out of that idea.
    Mediocre'ing it up is no good.  I need something that'll bring the house down.  How about that time I brought the house down.  No, that's no good.  My Mom suggested, if I do the Bernie Sanders idea, I title it, Weekend For Bernies.  Looks like I'm rubbing off on her.  Not literally.  That would be inappropriate.  Anyway, what else and crap.  What about The Karate Kid.  Has anyone wrote a story about that.  Also, I'm under the impression it's a real story, I guess.  That's no good.  I feel half-okay with writing a story which takes into account my illness and crap, but if I could avoid it, that's probably preferable. 
    One thought was to do the time I did cocaine and lost my virginity.  I don't really remember it too well.  And I have little to no insight about it.  Other than Sex, Drugs and Rock 'N Roll, My Man My Man!  That's a good title.  We'll put that in the maybe pile.  That's pretty much how I will decide what to write.  Best Title I could come up with.  That was the same night I cut my hand with a Dorito and it ended up leaving a scar.  That's a fun little anecdote.  Hypothetically, I could just turn in one entry from this website.  That's no good.  Cheating, first of all.  Didn't write it for this class.  Stupid, second of all.  And not good stupid, plain regular stupid.    
    Anyway, My Man My Man!  What else and crap.  I should be starting my story now instead of doing this crap.  I guess doing this crap can potentially help me decide on a story.  Probably.  Stranger things have happened.  The story doesn't need to be about me.  That's all I know, though.  I know pretty well things that have happened to me.  Beyond that is anyone's guess.  Anyway, I wasn't actually gonna consider Sex and Drugs and Rock And Roll story, but with a title like that, guess what, makes it to the maybe pile.  Damnit, that reminds me, need to start making piles.  This may take a while.  Crap and crap.  Rock 'n Roll is in the story.  Immediately after doing the cocaine, my roommate/supplier left the room, and I went right to the guitar and played some real guttural notes all over the place.  I do mean all over the place.  I unplugged the electric and then just ran around the dorm, my room, the common room, playing guitar.  Notes.  Notes I can't remember but can only assume were terrible.  If my memory is correct, the guitar wasn't even tuned, and I knew it, and I didn't care.
    Story!  That's no good.  Maybe not.  What else and crap.  Probably gonna end up doing that at this point.  Well, I'll tackle that when I need to.  In the meantime, we got half an entry to go!    Maybe I should frame it as the only time I did cocaine, not the first time I did cocaine.  People might get the wrong idea.  Like people thinking I was racist after last story.  No way.  What else and crap.  The good news is after tomorrow the class is half over.  See you in Hell in the Future, Class!  I had a dream I was cast in a new sequel to Back To The Future but I was doing a really bad job, and instead of waiting to be fired, I quit voluntarily.  Is that a story.  Probably not is my guess.
    Anyway, shouldn't there be some jokes in this entry.  That's probably the way to go, in my opinion.  Ball Game with my Brother this weekend.  I'm gonna eat the shit out of a hot dog or two.  No one's gonna be able to stop me.  Might get involved in a Wave or two.  It's good to participate in something beyond yourself.  Cheer if the Mets get a hit.  I don't wanna do that.  They should know how I feel without me doing anything.  I'm on their side.  Me cheering isn't gonna add anything to it.  What else and crap.  I don't know.  Got some reading to do for tonight.  Hah!  I can write about the time I wrote my last story.  Finally!  An idea.  Ya see, I went into this worried people would think I'm racist.  But in actuality I'm just an imbecile, as this follow up story would suggest.
    We just may have a winner.  I think we do.  Of course, those lines won't be in it.  It'll be plot driven and great probably.  See, I knew I was writing this entry for a reason.  Sure, I need to think of a title.  Got one percolating right now.  Probably a reject, but you gotta start somewhere.  Hey, I said it in the last paragraph.  Follow Up.  That could be the title for some reason.  I guess.  Crap and crap.  Every week he gets stupider and stupider!  Great.  Jeez, I make myself laugh.  That's what it's all about in the end, I guess.  I could approach it from my perspective, like a first person narrative, or I could make it like a journalism piece where the conceit is I'm not writing about myself.  I like both those ideas.  They're great.  I never woulda thought I'd be writing a journalism piece in this class, even though it's a big component.  This way I get to kill two birds with one stone.  Writing a journalism type thing except it also being about me.
    My Man, My Man.  Jeez.  Tangential idea-- I can write about it as if it's ten years in the future and I'm looking back on this as a piece that really turned it around for Michael Kormblum (which is what a group partner called me in the paper he e-mailed in for our draft).  I like it so much, I might start calling myself Michael Kormblum.  Not the Tangential idea.  I think it's got some merits but it's not the way I wanna go with it.  Jeez.  What else and crap.  What is this, the eighth paragraph?  Probably.  Gonna take some legitimate work, though, making it good.  An idea is but a small percentage of making the finished piece worth reading.  We'll see how that plays out.  I'll let it percolate for 24 hours then get started tomorrow after class.
    Meanwhile, two more paragraphs here for this crap.  I'm a big fan of how Vending Machines now take Credit Cards.  I think that's a huge step in the right direction for Vending Machines.  That's how I feel.  Except a couple of times I forget to hit End Transaction.  So people could be mooching off me for Mountain Dews.  So far, no irregular charges, but the point is I gotta be more careful.  I'm not made out of Mountain Dew.  Who do you people think I am.  Crap and crap.  I don't know.  I'm actually pretty surprised I got an idea out of this crap.  Stupid idea, sure.  But it's right up my alley and so on and slipknot.  What else is going on.
    My Man, My Man!  Last paragraph.  So fuckin' stupid.  Let's move on, we got a paragraph to go, okay?  That's how I feel.  Is it too stupid?  I don't know.  It might be bordering on too stupid.  We'll see how this plays out, I guess.  Jeez.  What else and crap.  Follow Up is a pretty apt title, but I don't know.  Just doesn't sound right to me.  Also, not quite sure exactly what Apt means.  Whatever.  Crap and crap.  I know Pupils can be Apt.  That's about it.  Pupils backwards is Slip Up.  Keep that in mind for future palindromes.  First a story idea, then a palindromic word?!  This must be my lucky day.  Pupils Slip Up alone is a pretty good palindrome, but we can flesh that out when the time calls for it.  Anyway, great.  I'll see ya later.

-6:31 P.M.       


Thursday, June 9, 2016

Titles Never Did No One Good No How

    That's great, just great.  Workshopped my story today.  Went about as well as it could have gone.  The title was Mad Dawgs Are On The Prowl, or: How I Learned To Not Be Racist.  Combining the stories of my brief rap career as a memeber of the Mad Dawgs, and a few times I've bordered on being racist and what that entails.  Look at all that braiding.  I braid with the best of 'em, friends.  Proud to say it.  I was able to get through half the class having forgotten to take my Ritalin.  Maybe it's a Placebo thing I got going on.  Who knows.  I'll take it anyway.  People take Ritalin recreationally.  Here I am, a golden opportunity to take it responsibly, I can't let that go.  I'm the envy of Ritalin-head kids everywhere. 
    That's good, just good.  What else and crap.  MLB Draft tonight.  As long as the Mets either draft a position player or a pitcher, I'm okay.  No umpires or mascots.  I feel very strongly about this.  Sure we're gonna have to phase out Mr. Met eventually, but that's further down the line.  Besides, we could always trade for a better mascot.  I've been hearing good things about the Philly Phanatic.  Apparently he's gettin' sick of Philly.  That's the rumour, at least.  Sure I'll spell rumour with a u.  Nobody's gonna stop me.  I don't get the game variation Ms.Pacman.  Shouldn't it just be Pacwoman.  I guess it turns out Pacman has a real, formal name, and Pacman is his last name.  He could be Jerry Pacman.  And, despite popular thought, Ms Pacman isn't his wife.  Think about it.  Then she'd be Mrs. Pacman.  Ms. Pacman is Pacman's sister.  You've given me a lot to think about.
What else.  I'm not sure on the reasoning that led to Ms. Pacman.  Hey, this is the 80's.  Young girls need a positive female role model.  In the form of pacman.  Sure teaches girls to gobble up some balls, oh boy.  And to run away from ghosts.  That's probably important in life.  Don't get yourself cornered by a bunch of ghosts.  Life Lesson.  Ms. Pacman only gets 79% of the points for gobbling up the same amount of balls.  Doesn't seem right.  Not one bit.  I wonder if the person who created Pacman had that idea in his mind as a child or young adult, before video games existed, and just couldn't make sense of it, and then Atari comes out, and he's like Of Course!  This Is What I've Been Dreaming About!  Finally.
    Great.  Probably.  Hah.  He wrote a paper about how he's not racist anymore.  Whatta maroon.  Before class, I was stupidly briefly explaining my paper to a couple of people, and one was like, So, who are you racist against.  You can tell me.  No!  That's not how this is supposed to go!  Crap!  Anyway, what else.  Gotta weekend.  That's pretty cool.  Anyway.  Fourth paragraph.  Whattado, whattado.  It's funny because Why Would Someone Say They Were Racist.  And How Can You Learn Not To Be Racist.  The good news is I realized it's a similar title to Dr. Strangelove.  I've been a fan of the Title I, or: Title II for quite some time, but this time the title II even starts with, "How I Learned To..."  Knocked it out of the park. 
    Copying existing titles counts as knocking something out of the park, right?  One would imagine.  The important thing is I thuoght of a terrible idea that made me laugh and turned it into a mediocre piece which brought others to the verge of laughter.  There's a throwaway line in the first paragraph about masturbation which really seemed to strike a chord with some people.  In a positive way.  Keep that in my mind rolodex.  People like references to masturbation.  Never know when that piece of information might come in handy.  That so called Throwaway comment was the last sentence of my first paragraph.  Masturbation was the thesis to my story.  Oh well, live and learn.  Oh well, live and learn was the conclusion to my story.  Wonderful. 
What else is up party people.  Apparently Hillary Clinton is our next president.  I don't know how to feel about that.  On the one hand, You Can Do Worse Than Hillary (which is the campaign slogan I'm pitching to her), but on the other hand, What even are women.  I don't know women.  It'll be interesting to see how that plays out and whatnot and crapdom.  My main association with women is that I think of them when, you guessed it, masturbation.  Beyond that your guess is as good as mine.  I don't know middle aged black men either, but that turned out pretty much okay.  Live and learn, right?  That's my motto.
    Crap and crap.  Seventh paragraph.  That's how that goes.  I know crazy seventy year old white men.  Age is just a number.  And I'm a crazy white man.  Two out of three ain't bad.  And I do my best not to know Donald Trump.  That's how all that goes and crap.  The suggested writing assignment for next week is write a post-mortem of a failed candidacy from this year.  I don't have to do it, but we'll see.  I might do it on Neil Walker and his bid to become the starting second baseman in the MLB all star game.  So close, yet so far.  What else is going on.  They're shooting an NBC T.V. show at Queens College tomorrow.  Thank God I won't be there for that.  I'm pretty sure mediocrity looms like a cloud over anything to do with an NBC sitcom.  I don't wanna get mediocrity on me.  I've already got enough.
    Anyway, what else.  Crap and crap.  I'm pretty sure my writing style has evolved to essentially I'm gonna make a throwaway masturbation joke in the first paragraph.  More or less.  It wasn't even a masturbation joke.  It was more of a masturbation comment.  I guess masturbation is funny in and of itself.  Whatever.  The good news is What Else.  Three day weekend!  This is coming off of my three week vacation before this class started.  Three days is better.  Really makes you appreciate it appropriately and whatnot.
    I've actually done all the assignments for this class so far.  Not too shabby.  Pretty great, all in all.  I got an iPhone a couple of weeks ago after having a Galaxy for two years.  It's pretty great.  Now I have two cameras instead of one.  Think of all that stuff I was missing being able to take pictures of.  It's not like I can just turn my phone around as the situation dictates.  I was only getting 50% of what I could take pictures of.  The good news is What Else.  I don't want to take pictures.  I don't want any record of my life.  Who needs it.  Not me.  That's for sure.  Why do I write so much so constantly.  This isn't my life.  Pictures, that's indisputable records of what was going on visually.  This is just bullshit that means nothing.  I can handle that.
    Great!  Last paragraph!  We did it!  Did it hardcore!  I've felt relatively like an adult this week.  I get a good three hours of work in, get home around 5.  That's normal, except most people do an extra five hours of work before the three hours of work.  Pretty close, though.  More or less pretty close.  The good news is What Else.  I don't know.  I was hoping you'd know.  And communicate it to me telepathically, and into the past.  ... ... So far, nothin'.  Way to drop the ball everybody.  Makin' me do everything myself.  Let's see, room for one or two more jokes.  What's the deal with Who Cares.  Have you heard about Who Cares.  You ever notice that Who Cares.  I'll see ya later.

-5:41 P.M.       


Tuesday, June 7, 2016

Aren't Titles Great

    That's how I feel.  They've done me right throughout my life.  Jeez.  Crap and crap, what's going on!  I thought of a story for the one due Thursday.  He gave us a bunch of prompts, but said we can write whatever we want, as long as it's non fiction and we're actually writing it anew for this class.  My idea is either really great or more or less the worst idea ever more or less.  The Title would be, "How I Learned To Not Be Racist."  And it's an amalgamation of events from my childhood where I was possibly a little racist and how that was eventually rectified.  I think it's hilarious.  But it's also really stupid.  We'll see how that goes.  And it's not like it would be a particularly funny piece, it's just that actually going ahead and writing this subject is funny in how stupid it is.  Because I'm an idiot.  I appreciate idiocy and imagine other people do too.
    Sure, with me at the helm, it would be a funny piece.  I wouldn't have it any other way.  I started to write it earlier and it wasn't coming easy, though.  And considering there's an infinity amount of other ideas I could think of, might just put it on the shelf for now.  What else is going on in the wide world of sports.  Sarcasm would be key to the piece.  You can't have a title about learning how to not be racist without playing with sarcasm overtly.  The good news is Huh.  I gotta think of a better idea.  We'll see how that goes.  Write a piece about your cultural heritage.  I don't have a cultural heritage.  The closest thing I have to a cultural heritage is going, Vulture Capitalists?  More Like Culture Vapitalists!  That's what I'm about.
    Anyway, great.  I don't know what a vulture capitalist is.  Sounds kinda scary.  Today is Make or Break for Bernie.  I don't really see it that way.  If he wins today, doesn't quite make it for him.  It's more  Postpone Breaking or Break.  Politics!  Is there still a 5% chance he gets the nomination?  Sure.  All in all, that's pretty good.  It's more of a chance that I have.  My chance is pretty much zero.  I'd need a lot of write in votes.  But, even with that, the vote for me would be split by the different ways people would identify me.  Some people'll put Michael Kornblum, some'll put Crazysheet, some'll put Big MAK, some'll put The Uppers.
    Too many names.  That's why I'll never be elected to anything.  Oh well.  The good news is if I do write the I'm Not Racist Anymore paper (Which is a pretty good alternative title), I'm gonna work in the story about how I was an aspiring rapper as a kid.  Cause it focuses in on one sleep over and there was another sleep over where we attempted the rap game and I can mix those two stories together.  It's called Essential Truth, jerks.  I heard about it in a room.  Heard about it in a room.  Yep.  Lots of group work and participation in this class.  Couple of cute girls in there.  Which I can alternate between glancing at and not glancing at.  Those are my two big moves when it comes to flirting.  So far, not much results. 
    Great.  I've settled into a role where I'm comfortable with the teacher being younger than me.  I just participate like a Mad Man and let the results speak for themselves.  Anyway. Mets are playing Pittsburgh.  When they first started a major league baseball franchise in Pittsburgh, a lot of people must have been like, Why?  That's still how I feel so much time later.  Anyway, crap and bullshit.  This is the fifth paragraph.  Got a good feelin' about getting to ten.  All I need to do is think of as much crap I've already thought of, once more, and we're done.  Great.
    What else and crap.  I'm in the mood to start A Music again, but both my electric guitars are broken.  And the built in Mic on my 8 track is crap, and my regular Mic isn't great either.  And I don't have a stand to put it on to aim it correctly at guitar while I'm playing.  The good news is what else is going on.  I had Pizza Hut for the second time in a month.  I have a real soft spot for terrible crappy crap foods.  Man.  More paragraphs.  This class is making me think too much about writing.  I don't like it.  Tone.  Voice.  Stance.  FOr me, the answer is, Stupid, for All The Above!  Gotta start thinking about it more carefully, maybe.  Nothin' better than a college writer who takes his writing very seriously.
    Anyway, crap and crap.  Seventh paragraph.  We're into the shit now.  Class really gives some structure to my day.  It's great.  Wake up at 11, class at 1, home before 5.  Man I love college.  It's almost like a real life I've been livn' the last two days.  What else and crap, indeed.  I ought to think of a better idea for Paper.  I've got it in me.  Or I've got to knock that idea out of the park.  Either way, parks are involved, and knocking things out of them.  Anyway.  I think the consistent tone I have as a writer is I'm Terrible, But Aren't I Great?  Or, no.  It's I'm Gonna Write Without Having To Think Too Hard About Shit.  A winning proposition.
    The important think is I'm doing something productive with my life.  You know, bullshit and crap?  Knockin' it out of the park.  Don't mean to brag, but my Tweets get dozens of views.  Dozens!  Twelves!  Eighth paragraph.  What's going on in the wide world of paragraphs.  It's like Twelve, no, but a multiple of that.  That's how that goes.  I make sure to mix in some glances at the girl with all the glances away.  Key part of the whole equation and crap.  I can't write a paper about how I'm racist.  Was racist.  What else is there.  Let's see, let's see... I could just make it about my aspiring rap career at the age of 11.  That's a fun story.  Not much to it, sure.  But at least no one goes away from the story offended.  Except for maybe rap musicians.  But that's a chance I'm willing to take.
    Good news, two more paragraphs! Tomorrow is 6/8.  Pretty sure that's not a thing.  I have no association with the number 68.  Pretty much a useless number when it comes down to it.  When in math or life do you really need to use the number 68.  Never comes up.  Primary news trickling in in a few hours.  Great.  Hey, California was the 68th state.  I guess it is something.  Good thing that happened.  I don't wanna write another paragraph.  But I will.  I owe it to all of us, especially me, and California, and the number 68.
    Crap and crap.  People need to know that an eleven year old wrote a rap song where every word rhymed with Mexico.  These are the important issues of our time.  Anyway, what else and crap.  Gotta be something.  I II know-- a story about drugs!  Everyone loves them some drugs.  And people writing about drugs.  And having to read things that people wrote about drugs.  It's uncharted territory!  Ripe for satire!  Drugs!  I'll see ya later.

-7:00 P.M.     


Monday, June 6, 2016

The Sign Of The Beast Turns 10

    Happy mirthday!  What's going on party people.  Took first class today.  Went alright.  Lots of writing assignments, which on the one hand, is good.  On the other hand, it's still good.  Why would it being on a different hand change it's quality.  Let's think, people.  Oh, yeah, but, I can't write about my illness and crap.  That's mostly what my life's been about for the past ten years.  Stupid Anti-Christ.  Thinks he's so great.  I can talk about crap and stuff, I guess.  I'll come up with some bullshit, don't you worry.  I've only been ill for eight years.  Shows how much you know.  Either way, crap and crap?  I don't know.  I've been 'ill' since I was born, baby.  You know, like how minorities talk? 
    Anti-Christ made me make that joke.  What else is going on.  Saying something is Ill isn't how minorities talk.  It's mainly how Beastie Boys talk.  If someone asked me the highest preponderance of having heard the term Ill in my life, hands down, it's the Beastie Boys.  Hands up, too.  The position of hands makes no difference when it comes to the facts.  The good news is Wha.  I can't wait till tomorrow.  That's Free Love Day.  Cause of the summer of '67 or some crap.  Much better than Devil Day.  Internet is just saying, "Summer of Love."  No mention of the love being free or not.  That's America for ya, am I right?  Can't get nothin' free.  Food Stamps for Mexicans!  Devil made me do it.  Crap and crap.
    I saw Endocrinologist today.  Haven't gained any weight!  In your face, people.  I've plateau'd at 180 for almost a year.  Really sucks.  If I was 5'9, and had my current eating/drinking habits, I'd be right on target forever.  What bullshitcrapdom.  Let's move on.  The Endocrinologist even said, bluntly, It sucks that you're short.  And I was like, You're Telling Me!  And she was like Yeah I just told you.  And I was like Well it looks like we're in agreement then.  What else is up Party People.  That's right, I call my Doctor Party People.  She gets it.  Three paragraphs into the shit now, ay?  Crap and bullshit.
    What else is going on in the wide world of sports.  It's been over two weeks since the last entry.  I don't know who to blame.  And what to blame them for.  Lotta question marks in this scenario.  My Doctor wanted to know where to inject the needle to take my blood.  I've been hearing good things about the veins in my right arm.  I don't know what that joke means or accomplishes.  Sure does take up space, though.  I can go back to five paragraph entries.  The statute of limitations has passed.  That phrase doesn't apply.  It does apply if you use it in your essay in in a college application.  Which I did.  Looks like you're The Fool, now! 
    The reason I stuck with this title is because we read a Profile about a Ten Year Old Kid.  Now it's relevant.  Titles should connect to our lives, right?  Should.  Probably.  One would imagine.  Ok, what in the wide world of sports do I have coming up.  Mets game at 7:00.  That's solidly in Wide World of Sports territory.  Great.  I'm older than my teacher.  That doesn't sit well with me. I have more years in my life than him and thus he has nothing he can teach me.  The good news is the entry is almost over.  How much calories does chewing gum burn.  Gotta be something.  Otherwise, why would we do it?  Doesn't make sense.  I like that gum Take Five.  It implies a five minute break.  Do people really need to be on break to chew gum?  Alright, hold on, I'll catch up with you.  Need to chew some gum.  That's how that might go.  I'll see ya later.

-5:21 P.M.