Tuesday, March 31, 2015                        

It's The Title Of My Dreams!

    As far as I'm concerned.  Doesn't get any better.  What's poppa-woppin.  School entry!  Everybody loves them some school.  That's great, just great.  I think I lost a million brain cells over night.  Like, the loss of brain cells from drinking over the past 3 years got backed up, and decided to up and die at the same time.  I'm basing this on nothing.  I base most things on nothing, when you get to the nitty-gritty of it.  Stupid test in Yoga.  Stupid still not having the book in Englush.  Each class she gets progressively more upset with me.  I'm pretty sure she's just gonna scream, "Get The Fuck Outta Here!" at some point, if not today, maybe Thursday.  I finally ordered the book on Amazon last week, but I still didn't get it.  At least there's pretty girls in Yoga.  Makes it all worthwhile, to some extent.  If only I had something to say to them.  Doin Yoga, huh?  Me too.  Me... too.  Anyway, have I ever told you I base most things on nothing?  I wonder what it would be like to be The Real Slim Shady.  Always having to stand up, and whatnot.  That might have been my first favorite album.  I remember listening to it with my brother while we were playing Ken Griffey Jr. Presents Major League Baseball and crackin' up at Criminal (The final track).  Whatta memory.  I never thought I'd have such memories.  I'm drinking Monster Energy Drink.  I'm about 87% that's what The Monster, the song, is about.  Because I'm stupid and crap.
    Yup.  Anyway, huh?  Eh.  I had a dream I was with my old friends, and I made a quick witty joke apropos to the situation that I forget, and I briefly felt, "I'm back in business, baby!"  Then I woke up and lost ten billion brain cells.  Such is life and crap.  I honestly thought about bringing another book to pretend to look in, hoping she wouldn't look at me too hard.  I decided against it because putting a book in my book bag is a five second excursion I just can't afford.  Anyway.  What else is going on.  Writin' some entry.  That's how that goes.  Anyway, I'm insane in the membrane.  I got crushed red pepper on pizza.  That's how I roll, playa.  I also refer to audience individually as, "Playa."  I think that's an appropriate generic term.  Remember the time I went into the playa and became muerte?  It's from a previous entry, you wouldn't understand.  Also, you don't speak Spanglish like me.  Anyway, I read every sentence I write backwards.  Lookin' if there's hidden meaning.  So far, nothing.  Don't you hate it when there's so many dynamos?  Lord Knows I do.  I just spilled my soda.  Serves me right.  I'm a real knob head.  That's an appropriate... hey, look there's a bird.  I remember my Dad has a story where he was taking a Public Speaking course in college, and he had to give a speech about air pollution.  His opening line was, "Look, up in the sky!  It's a bird!  It's a Plane! ... It was a bird" And mimes shaking off shit from his shoulder.  "Air Pollution is a serious problem facing this nation."  Now, when I was a kid, I thought it was an okay story on it's own merit, great, he's happy about it, I'm happy about it.  But now, I'm like, is that really what they were referring to when they said air pollution?  Bird shit?  Except, as part of the story, he gets an A, because he riled up the crowd.  Well, you live and learn, I guess. 
    Maybe they do, I don't now.  It's my role as retired astronaut to remain impartial.  Also, apparently, not to poop in the sky.  There goes my Tuesday.  Anyway, I got a B- on my English test.  So that's good.  Better than not taking it at all.  In English, my teacher said something about if you dream the same thing at least three times, it will come true.  I guess that means I'm gonna get possessed by The Exorcist girl.  Not Again!  I hate it when that happens.  Also, I guess they're gonna make another Batman Sequel!  Which is another reoccurring dream I have!  Where Heath Ledger somehow reprises his role as The Joker, and he steals The Riddler's plot from Batman Forever and makes it his own, and somehow, it's the best movie ever.  It's about time, I suppose.  Also, Kevin Hart is great.  I don't care what people say.  I'm in college!  Never saw that comin'.  For months I've been in crazysheet.  Or music, or the bus, or online poker.  Now I'm in lunch.  How blunderful.  Did I mention Hello?  Probably not.  Hi.  Dog lol God.  Lol.  Meow.  Greyson's Sporting Goods.  That's my retirement plan, who wouldn't want to shop at a retired astronaut's Sporting Goods store?  No one, I know.  I gotta socialize with other people instead of socializing with myself.  Which is what I call the old jerkyjerk.  Huh?  People beside myself exist?  I never woulda guessed in a million years.  Meh.
    Yeah!  What's your problem.  #fourthparagraphproblems.  I wonder how much cats like twitter.  Just one of those things, you know.  Yikes.  So what else is going on.  Gotta think of something to say.  Where am I.  I forgot.  I need to remind myself every thirty seconds where I am.  Ah, right on time to make it to Mars.  I'm retired! Done!  Get off my case, and whatnot.  I'm quickly falling asleep.  Gotta do something.  That's right, something.  Sometimes I notice I'm speaking in tongues.  Ever since I made friends with Admiral Howdy crazy shit's been happening.  Possession is not to joke.  I'll get over it in time.  In Time.  Possibly.  Or maybe find my soul.  It's in here somewhere.  Drawing tiny circles, while the demon's drawing middle sized ones wily-nily.  Slow and steady wins the race.  Steady As She Goes.  Meg White can't drum.  She's better than you.  I remember my brother once told me in college, they were watching Kingpin, and he impressed them all by saying every line of dialogue before they said it.  So, that's what I'm up against, sibling rivalry-wise.  I'll memorize every line to Cop and a Half!  Oh yeah?  I'm gonna do Billy Madison.  Return of the Living Dead!  Mortal Kombat!  Such is a rivalry where there are no winners or losers.  Wait, nope.  There's two losers.  Yeah.  Where am I.  Still here.  Great, how wonderful, and crap.  Mostly crap.  Hey, someone's gotta crap.  That's what toilets are for.
    I don't need to tell you about toilets, you get it.  Slow and steady, baby, slow and steady.  That adage applies to shitting, when you really think about it.  Some jerk just started whistling.  Whistling is great when you're doing it and terrible when someone else is.  I don't need to tell you.  Why is this crap.  Anyway.  Now I'm home.  Great.  It took me fucking half an hour to type that crap.  Because I had to keep looking down and correcting spelling and shitsbergh.  In my Yoga test, one of the questions was something like, "What do you get out of yoga that's great?" And I mentioned having depression and anxiety, so this helps with that, so hopefully she'll take pity on me for the rest of the class.  I didn't say any of my other symptoms, I figure that's enough to get the point across.  That's right, I played the Mentally Ill card.  It's a GHI card.  ABCDEF GHI Jk.  Cracked that code.  Don't try to play a playa.  Anyway, knocked it out of the park.  No more Exorcist dreams plz.  How about something neutral.  Like no dreams at all.  I need a break from this crap.  See ya later.

-5:59 P.M.   
 

Monday, March 30, 2015                        

Gotta Do Something

    Anyway.  I hate it when people use the word, "Corny."  It really drives me up a wall.  That's my name.  That doesn't relate to me, jerk.  Anyway, gotta do something, am I right?  Probably not.  I'm wrong a good 2/3rds of the time.  The good news is owwwwww my liver.  That's good news?  Sure is, jerk.  Everyone but me is a jerk, is what I'm trying to say.  I'm pretty sure my rib cage has grown over the last couple of years.  Not fat, the actual rib bones.  Because I'm pretty sure impossible things could happen.  Anyway.  The working week has begun.  One would imagine.  I haven't had a job in seven years.  I have a test in Yoga tomorrow.  I'm pretty sure I don't know 90% of the Yoga moves I'm supposed to know.  I just copy what everyone else is doing, I don't know the names.  And 50% of that copying isn't really getting the stance right at all.  But, still I deserve to pass.  Failing me isn't very Namaste, is it?  Also, what to do words mean?  Also, I'm always looking at the girls around me to know what I'm supposed to be doing, but I'm a little paranoid they think I'm just checking them out all the time.  That's how that goes.  Hey, the pain in my liver went away.  Time to drink!  Or, if not drink, write this entry.  Either way, I'm gettin' crunked up.  Blogging is a surefire way toward intoxication.  That's how that goes.  What memories do I have.  I remember the first song I ever heard of Elliott Smith was Memory Lane.  I had put him on my mp3 player weeks before, and never got around to listening to it.  That came up on shuffle while I was on the LIRR, and it was great.  It's a memory, and it has the word memory in the title.  Double memory, bitches.  I also remember the first time I heard the Barenaked Ladies.  When they had One Week out, I remember thinking, This is the biggest band in the world.
    Anyway.  Oh, what an impressionable youth I was.  And still am.  Well, not the youth part.  I'm an impressionable adult now.  That's how that goes.  It's wiggity wiggity wiggity wack.  What else is going on.  Did you ever notice that most musical notes are consonants.  They sure all seem like vowels, don't they?  Let's take some calls. Hi, this is Georgie Boy from Philidelphia.  What do you got for me, Georgie?  I saw Get Hard-- It was Fun and a Half-- Kevin Hart was the half.  Gotta let you go, Georgie.  No one makes fun of Kevin Hart in my dojo.  Let's get that straight.  Next caller.  Hi, this is Fatboy Slim from Atlanta.  Are you The Fatboy Slim?  Yes, The One from Atlanta.  I was just tuning in, thought I'd give you a call.  Well, that went nowhere.  Are you tired of your comedy bits going nowhere?  Try Greyson's Going Nowhere Sauce.  How does it work?  Well, You Tell Me!  That's a terrible advertisement.  Terrible.  Or is it great?  No, probably terrible.  Fatboy Slim is kind of a rip off of Notorious B.I.G., aka Biggie Smalls.  Where does he get off?  The Uppers is kind of a rip off of The Get Up Kids.  Where does I get off?  Probably at finishing paragraphs.  That's the most powerful aphrodisiac in my life at the moment.  It's April in a day or two.  Let's say two.  What else. 
    Except when I'm finishing a paragraph too early.  That's a downer only finishing a full sized paragraph can undo.  That's how that goes.  Let's get entryin' with it.  That's how that go.  Hey, there's a new Daily Show!  Hats off to ya.  It woulda been funny if the new host was Stephen Colbert in a fake moustache.  They oughtta do that on the first night.  Or, not.  Who cares.  Whattado.  I'm watching Intervention.  I tried Vicodin once, I think when they took out my wizzdumb teeth.  I want to try it again.  I want to try it all the time.  Just keep giving me drugs.  That's how I feel.  I like how they say not to operate heavy machinery while on alcohol.  What do I look like, Eminem from 8 Mile?  Oh cars.  Forgot about those hunks of junks.  Is that a good reference?  I don't know anymore.  Probably never did, to be honest.  Am I the only fuckin' one whose normal anymore?  Is that a good reference?  Probably not, to be honest.  Let's see, what else is going on.  Are they going to rename The Daily Show to, "The Noah Show-a?"  I suppose they have to, I don't know.  Unless if he pronounces it, "No."  I don't know what they do over there in South Africa.  I guess that's something we'll find out in the coming months.  Yeesh.  I wonder if there's a Comedy Central cover band, where they just play the themes to the shows.  Probably not.  No one would want to see that, I don't think.  I don't have time to think.  I like how I have a jug of whisky.  I'm literally a hillbilly from the 1800's.  Except, not literally.  I'm literally fed up with people who use literally in that sense, when it's 100% not literal.  What's the deal, am I right, been there, done that.
    I always used to spell whiskey that way, but recently I found out whisky is an acceptable spelling, too.  Now, I think I like that better.  It's a lot easier to type, on account of there being one less letter.  It's just more to the point.  This is what the people want to read.  Preferences in spelling!  Anyway, in many respects, it's almost lunch time.  I literally enjoy lunch.  I need an intervention from enjoying lunch too much.  I like that AC/DC song, "Lunch Too Much."  Entryin' it up.  How wonderful.  Whattado.  Finish the entry and stuff.  Intervention is more depressing than I remember.  I think it's because three years ago, my life was even worse, so to me, it just seemed like fun and games, what they were going through.  Now, my life is slightly better, I'm in school, writing, music-ing, and I feel bad for them.  I don't want to feel human emotions!  Where does they getter off?  Or, a more likely reason I don't like it-- I drink every day.  I'm them.  They are me.  No, no, that's not it.  Can't be.  Right?  Probably not, that's how I feel.  Anyway.  What else is going on.  I ain't addicted.  I'm just bored.  That's how that goes.     
    Time to last paragraph it up.  What fun.  What... fun.  Hey, whatsup.  Whattado.  Life is pretty good, all things considered.  I'm pretty happy with how I've been doing.  Gotta quit the drinking, quit the smoking, but, until then, whatever.  Gotta finish this entry, that's first.  No one's really sure why,  It's a perpetual motion machine.  Except for the perpetual part.  And the motion part.   Machine, nope.  See ya later.

-11:17 A.M.                        

Saturday, March 28, 2015                        

Lookit, It's The Title!

    You gotta be shitting me.  Title?  I never woulda guessed in a million years.  Mostly because I only have like seventy to eighty years of life to guess, after that, no way I'm guessin' from the grave.  I had a memory last night!  I remember when I was a kid, seeing people walking their dogs... and part of me knew that is was so the dogs could shit or piss, but my primary impression was, Oh, these guys are showing off their dogs to the neighborhood.  They're proud of their dogs and want everyone to see them.  Memory in the bank!  What else is going on.  Probably stuff and crap.  It's the weekend.  How about that.  So many great options for lunch.  What to do, what to do.  Write the entry, that's the first of all and such.  What else be shittening.  I already wrote a memory.  What more do you want from me?  More memory?  Let's see.  I remember in middle school, in between classes, we would just follow hot girls around to look at their asses.  I might have done it every now and then, but definitely some of my friends did it quite often.  I remember almost bumping into a hot girl in the hallway, and she audibly went, "Ew!" and I was like, Fuck You.  In my mind.  What a jerkette.  I'll follow you around the building, that'll show you.  Hot girls are the demographic key in me not winning the seventh grade class presidency.  Also, everyone else.  I mean, of the eleven people purported to be running, only four of us actually filled out the form to be on the ballot.  That illustrates the competency of the opponents I was up against.  The person who won, was one of a set of twins.  And, to this day, I'm 50% sure that they won it as a team.  Or, they swap in and out, foolin' everybody.  I'm not sure what president of seventh grade does, anyway.  Shorter lines at the snack depot during lunch!  Yeah?  How you gonna accomplish that?  No way.  Great promise, but there's no way you'll deliver.  This might go on my college application!  Yeah?  Well, not mine.  Fuck you.  You can see I'm still holding a grudge.
    Yeesh.  That was my big chance, and I blew it.  I think the theme of my campaign speech during auditorium was, "Don't Laugh At Me!"  Or, at least, that's how I was feeling inside... while everyone was laughing at me.  Not really, though.  Back then, I had a ton of confidence.  Fuck you guys, I'm great.  You're stupid.  That's what I was feeling inside.  Greater space between classrooms for hot girls!  That woulda been butter.  Anyway, what else is going on.  I remember there was a kid in our class for literally only one year named Shin.  I remember him talking about suicide during art.  So, I have a pretty good idea why he wasn't in our class the following year.  What else is happening fifteen years ago.  Probably crap and shit.  Huh.  What.  Else.  I looked back over entries from the beginning of the month, and it seems like it was half a year ago.  I just keep pumpin' out the product.  Good for me.  Yeesh.  I remember for one class, there was a police guy who came by to to tell us stuff.  Office Vita.  And he handed us paper with anti-crime stickers, and I put one on my face, which amused my friends. See, I like to remember that time as me being fiendishly clever, but maybe, it was just a bunch of me putting stickers on my face.  How disappointing.  Nah, I was funny.  I was sitting on a bench during the class trip!  Gettaloadofthat!  Yeesh.
    Great, just great.  Maybe it was funny because he's a police officer, the ultimate authority, and I was clownin' around.  Probably, though, I was just making a fool of myself.  That's how that goes.  What else and crap.  It's the weekend.  How wonderful.  Actually, now that I think of it, the story is a little bit different.  There was no sticker, or, if there was, that's another story.  I drew a line down the center of my face while Officer Vita was there.  A vertical line.  So... that's clever.  The sad thing is, to me, that does seem more clever.  Sticker, eh.  Line down the center of the face?  Where does he come up with this stuff?!  Anyway, that's my life.  Yeesh.  Life is great.  I hope to have more of it for another fifty or sixty years.  Anyway, huh.  Half an entry to go.  I can do that.  It's within the realm of possibility.  I suppose.  What else.  What's cracka-lackin.  I remember during a sleepover, a friend proposed the question to me, "What kind of ass do you like?"  And I was like, "Either really big, or nothing at all."  And I think I actually believed it when I said it, but that makes no freakin' sense to me now.  It just doesn't make sense.  Still amusing, though. 
    Alright, alright.  What else is up.  I think it's standard now to prefer a big ass.  Back then, it was up in the air.  Funny how things change.  This was before we've seen a hundred thousand asses in porn, so we were just going on instinct.  I think, biologically, we're made to prefer big asses, though, because they remind us of big tits, which are good for feedin' children.  I learnt that somewhere.  Not quite sure where.  Anyway, what else.  That sums up my life.  Either really big, or nothing at all.  Anyway.  I know what'll impress girls with nothin' at all!  MEXICO, LET'S ALL GO... Anyway.  That's me.  I started a higher dose of Wellbutrin.  I be tryin' 300 milligrams, buddy.   Anyway.  Whatta entry.  Sure will be five paragraphs.  It's kinda creepy to talk about hot girls in middle school.  I mean, I was their age at the time.  But it's hard to imagine a twelve year old being attractive from any perspective.  Oh well.  That's life, I suppose.  My elementary school had a huge bell on the top of it.  I think that's where they got the name Bell Blvd. from.  Not quite sure why it's there, though.  I never heard them ring it once.  I like how there's a band Bayside from Bayside.  Still never heard a song of theirs, though.  You'd think we'd all have it on our iTunes.  Turns out, nope.  All I know is there's a White Castle on Bell, and that's good enough for me.  I remember the first time I tried White Castle, in seventh or eighth grade.  This is so disgusting, it's the greatest thing ever.  The next five years is basically just me saying, Hey, you wanna go to White Castle?  Let's meet at White Castle.
    Okay.  What else.  Last paragraphin' it up.  What the Hell was I talking about.  Middle school, asses, White Castle.  Okay now I get it.  Yeesh.  Sure killed a morning, though, right?  Killin' time, to the xtreme.  That's how that goes.  Yeesh.  What else.  Probably crap and stuff.  It's Saturday.  I can totally watch T.V.  Not sure how those two things are related.  Not sure of anything, these days.  I wanna see a drug addict documentary.  Watch 'em shootin' up, how it impacts their life.  Entertain me with your problems!  That's what I do for other people, it's only fair it comes back to me.  That's karma, pure and simple.  That's how that goes.  What else.  My life is just a Mr. Destiny where I lost the seventh grade election instead of won it.  Mr. Destiny is one of my Dad's favorite movies.  I don't think I ever saw it. I know basically what happens, though.  His name is Jack Destiny, and he goes around solving people's problems.  And Darryl Strawberry never makes it out of right field.  Eh, whatever.  Gotta finish the entry hardcore.  You're not hardcore unless you live hardcore.  That's how I feel about things.  I wrote five paragraphs of shit.  That's a pretty good accomplishment.  Most people don't write any paragraphs of shit at all.  What losers.  That's how I feel about oww my heart hurts.  I shouldn't have drunk all that drink this early in the day.  Oh well.  Live and learn, as they say.  Lunch is coming up.  How wonderful.
    Real last paragraph time.  Let's get real.  No, everyone wants to meet at V.I. Pizza.  You assholes, White Castle is RIGHT THERE.  They're the ones that turned me on to it, then they never wanna go there after the first time?  Where do they get off!!  Very Important Pizza isn't that bad, though.  People love pizza.  That's how I feel about things.  Yeesh.  Middle school was crap.  Let's get memories from College.  Nothin' ever happened.  What about the time I felt the girls arm?  You forget about THAT PIECE OF SHITSTORY?  There was a cute girl named Ana who was shorter than me I met during the day the summer before freshman year to get acquainted with the school.  Now, whenever I think of Nirvana, I think in terms of, "Nerve Ana."  Because I'm wild and crazy and stupid.  Mostly stupid and crazy.  Sure, wild to some extent.  But stupid and crazy?  Outta bounds.  College was great.  I'm sure I can think of some stories for future entries.  I'm in college now.  But I'm living at home, it's not the same.  Also, I'm 26, not 18.  Pretty big difference there.
    Real last paragraph time.  Can't leave you with that crap.  Can't leave you with this crap.  Can't leave you at all.  Thank God no one reads this crap.  All that matters is how I can leave myself.  Can't leave myself with this crap.  I remember my brother had a friend his freshman year in NYU, whose livejournal name was  Fixintodie.  Now, I know that's a Bob Dylan reference, for the song, "Fixin' To Die."  At the time?  I thought it meant "Fixin' Toadie."  That's how that goes.  Yep.  I met him the one time I visited my brother in college.  We played a 5$ poker sit 'n go and I won.  The only other time I saw my brother in the context of college was my Freshman year, where I scored free tickets for an advance screening of Borat, and since I didn't have any friends yet, I gave the other ticket to my brother.  That's fun.  Great fun.  Much fun.  He's throwing money at the bugs because he thinks they're the Jews!  Wonderful.  Fixin' Toadie.  Forget drawing a line down my face, forget Big/Small Asses, forget White Castle.  Fixin' Toadie is my life.
    Anyway.  What else.  The one time I visited my brother in college, when I was in high school, I remember to listening to Sublime's Romeo and Sublime's New Realization on the train to and fro.  Because I'm hardcore like that.  Sublime + College?  There's a match made in Heaven.  I remember watching a documentary on HBO about kids who were in some college in Texas.  I want to say University of Texas.  And the theme song went, "We got big worries and we got big fears, trying to survive our freshman year!"  And I was enamored.  Or, indifferent.  I'm gonna go with indifferent.  Maybe I should just keep writing the entry for the rest of the day.  No reason not to.  Except for not having things to say.  Also, gotta eat pizza at some point.  Stupid college, thinking it's so great.  Just because it was so great.  Also, the Fixin' Toadie guy's name was Lee.  And my brother was like, "My roommate's name is Lee, and there's a Tenacious D song called Lee!" And that's where I first started my habit of referential thinking, one would imagine.  Anyway, what else.  Might have listened to some Bob Marley on the way to and fro.  Or maybe just being confused by the Reggae roots of Sublime, I don't know!  Anyway, huh?  Wha?  Where am I.  Crazysheet.  Right, right, right.  Okay.  Yeesh.  What else is going on.  Nothing.  See ya later.

-1:24 P.M.                                                                     

Friday, March 27, 2015                        

Entitlement To Title

You got that right.  I assume.  Not 100% sure on what all those words mean.  Title, I get.  To, definitely understand.  Entitlement?  Something about title me nots, that's as far as I get it.  Anyway, greetings.  It's your most with the host.  I saw a Royal Flush in play money poker today.  That's a quotable notable.  Not quite sure what that means.  You know what, let me be upfront about something.  I don't know what anything means.  I just let my fingers do the talking and hold on hope that it makes sense.  These organizations of letters is just nonsense to me.  What else is going on.  It's Friday and crap.  Alright.  What else is crappening.  I liked the term crappening so much I added it to the Microsoft Frontpage dictionary.  I'm a regular Chaucer, I am.  Also, I don't know who or what that is.  Again, just nonsense.  I figured out my birthday is the area code for Manhattan.  1-212.  I did it!  I'm the greatest!  I knew being born on January 212th would payoff eventually.  I wonder if in Military Calendars, they just go by the day.  215th of 2015, or whatnot.  Well, I don't really wonder that.  I know they don't.  But, it's in line with not having A.M.'s or P.M.'s.  And so on and crapshit.  I don't get how windmills work.  Something's not adding up.  How do they harness the energy generated by the windmilling.  I don't get it.  Something's not adding up.
    It's a new paragraph now.  Who saw that comin'.  Not me.  And I'm the one what wrote the thing.  How's it going.  Windmilling sounds like a sex act.  Let's figure that one out, right?  What else.  Did I mention windmills don't make sense to me?  I forget.  What else is going on in my life.  Writin' some stupid, that's what's up.  If not now, then when?  Gotta stupid it up to the maximum amount possible.  That's how I feel about things.  Anyway, let's get real.  I understand like 85% of things.  Let's get real.  I'ma eat lunch eventually.  I got it all planned out.  I was thinking, on my way to my doctor's appointment, I used to listen to my mp3 player literally 100% of the time I wasn't doing anything else.  Most notable difference, I would listen to it while waiting 5 minutes on up while waiting for an appointment.  This is valuable time, I would be wasting it by not listening to The Ataris.  Now, I can't be bothered.  I've heard these songs quite enough.  And I don't wanna miss them calling my name.  I can't take that chance.  I even listened to it while in the pool.  That's why I died.  Oh well, you win some, you lose some.  I don't even have The Ataris on my current Mp3 player.  Whatta joke.  I think I only had them in 2009.  Before and after, no Ataris.
    This is interesting stuff.  Get a load of this.  I guess I can see the movie today.  You know, the one probably worth seeing.  Because who doesn't love to laugh.  Not not me.  I enjoy laughing about 85%.  That's how that goes.  What else is shittening.  I heard the news is talking shit about Stuyvesant.  I went there!  I thought it was pretty cool.  Without Stuyvesant, I wouldn't be able to tell the difference between a Chinese and a Korean and a Pilipino.  Also, I might not be as confident that I Am The Best.  I remember, in Eigth grade, my Mom took me out of school with a friend who also made Stuyvesant to check it out.  And we passed a Hot & Crusty in Penn Station, which amused us.  He ended up going to Bronx Sci, and I went to Stuyvesant.  I guess the Hot & Crusty just amused me a little bit more.  I remember one of the big selling points was that we can go out for lunch.  Lunch at McDonalds?  What is this, a dream?  A dream that's a prelude to heart disease?  Remember in Almost Famous when that girl overdosed on preludes?  Me too, I guess.  I also just kind of liked the idea of being in the city.  My brother had gone to Hunter, which was also in the city, and that just kind of appealed to me.  Also, escalators.  What is this, the future?  Stairs, too. Stairs, too?  How convenient!  Elevators for teachers and physically disabled kids.  Where do they get off.  I wanna elevate myself, too!
    So, yeah.  Stuyvesant is good because of escalators.  That's pretty much what I'm trying to get across.  I remember there was a student humor magazine called The Broken Escalator.  How fiendishly clever!!  Why, I bet those guys are the comedic equivalent of escalators.  I like walking down working down escalators.  Now we're getting somewhere!  I'm like The Flash.  Anyway, what else.  This entry has been pretty pointless.  Windmills?  Eh.  Escalators?  Been there, done that.  Sure killed time, though.  Sure.  Killed.  Time.  What else can kill time?  Writing more, I suppose.  That's how that goes.  What to do with the rest of my day.  Try to make sense of nonsense.  I wanna see new episodes of Addicted, or Intervention.  It combines my two favorite things.  Drugs, and people who are worse off than me.  I'll settle for the 600 Pound People Show.  I believe that's the exact title.  They're basically just circus sideshows pretending to be health documentaries.  Behold, the 600 Pound Woman!  Oh shit, that's alotta pounds!  Now, show me ten minutes of footage of her eating.  Where does she put it?  Oh, in one of her ten thousand rolls of fat.  I was at the bus stop about a week ago, and some guy next to me just starts going through a huge roll of twenties.  So, I was like, Great, you're a drug dealer, leave me out of it.  I don't wanna get involved in shenanigans.  I'm on parole!  More or less, from hospital.
    Anyway.  What else is great.  Gotta figure out a good way to kill time.  That's how that goes.  I can't wait for next month.  New color template.   Who knows what madness the future has in store for us.  White on black?  Black on white?  Blue?  Yellow?  Anything's possible!  Except for yellow, not possible.  Nobody wants yellow.  I can tell Chinese, Korean...  It's an insensitive race joke!  That'll show them for being my friends.  Red, green...  who knows.  What else.  See ya later.

-12:34 P.M.                                                           

Thursday, March 26, 2015                        

Ya'll Ready For Entry?  No?  Well, Come Back Later Then

You best be ready, cause here it comes.  I introduced myself to the music guy down the hall, cause I had heard him say he plays an instrument.  Turns out it was the Cello.  Talk about False Advertising.  I've allotted ten minutes for you to talk about it.  And, begin.  Welcome back.  What else.  I guess shiznit and crapdom.  Today is Pizza Day.  Maybe it'll turn out Rushmore guy plays the Clarinet.  Super Team, Assemble!  I call bands teams.  You can't stop me, I'll do what I like.  Anyway.  What else.  It's today today.  That happens every day.  How's Flavor Flav doing, does anyone know?  He should have been in VH1's Supergroup.  No Supergroup is complete without a Hype Man.  Also, helps them keep track of time.  After all, they each spun back the clock twenty years trying to pretend they're still relevant.  I hate that phrase, saying someone's not, "Relevant" anymore.  You're basically saying, "Fuck that person, they don't matter."  It's more insulting than having never been relevant.  And that's my two cents.  Yeesh.  Anyway. I shouldn't have introduced myself.  Now he's gonna assume I'm eavesdropping on him 34/7.  And then where would I be?  It's irrelevant.  But, anyway, let's keep writing.
    Anyway, huh?  Where am I.  Right, school.  Right, right.  If they start talking about music again, I can butt in.  I'll make friends, whether they like it or not.  Cello.  I should have gone Jack Black on him and insist he take up the Bass.  Either way, hello.  What else is going on?  Things.  Yeah.  What else.  Hmm.  I wonder if people like friendly people.  Probably not.  That's how I feel.  I gotta try the street dogs sooner or later.  Gotta do something.  One would imagine.  Tomorrow, gotta convince my Doctor to prescribe me some ADHD medication.  I Want It!  Now!  Give It!  Then I'll be able to do concentration.  It's about time.  It'll increase my productivity forty nine percent!  That's almost fifty percent!  Stickittothemaniosis.  It's Hell.  I guess.  Probably getting my test back today.  Probably somewhere from a C- to an A.  I have no idea.  Oprah backwards is Harpo.  Harpo Marx isn't relevant.  Fuck that guy.  Anyway, how's it going, am I right?  Probably.  Let's get entry with it.  Hell Yea.  Maybe.  Gotta keep writing for some reason.  No one's really sure why.  Either way, Hi!  How's it going.  Probably okay.  My liver hurts.  But what can I do about it?  Probably nothing.
    Anyway, I suppose I can quit drinking.  It's a worthy pursuit.  At least reduce it by 80-90%.  Even 49%.  That's almost 50%, so I've been led to believe.  Fruck pizza. I'm gonna get Halal food.  No reason not to, as far as I'm concerned.  Gotta do something.  This entry is the pits.  Oh well.  What can I do about it?  Probably shit and crap.  I'm all tuckered out.  My teacher's last name is Tucker.  I'm a fucking genius.  Anyway, now in lunch.  I stuck with pizza.  You don't change horses midstream.  In fact, never change horses.  What did your horse ever do to you that was so bad?  Your horse is an innocent animal, you jerk!  I got pizza with fries on it, because I didn't know what was on it, and I wanted to find out.  That's how I roll.  Coulda been Ziti.  Veni, Vidi, Ziti.  I Came, I Saw, I Pasta.  Awesome.  Fries are crap.  And not good crap.  Oh well.  Curiosity killed the cat.  I don't get why Vicki Vale turns bad in Batman: The Sequel.  Not a lot of things make sense in this universe.  I wonder if there's a super hero whose alter ego is just a shittier super hero.  Probably.
    That's how I feel.  My liver doesn't hurt anymore.  I guess I can keep drinking.  It's about time.  Alright.  This was my big chance to get Halal Food and I blew it.  Oh well.  What else is there to do, after writing two more paragraph?  Go home?  I guess.  It's about time.  I almost fell down a marijuana rabbit hole.  My friend came into class smelling like weed and I said, "Ah, I miss that smell, good memories."  And he was like, "They don't have to be memories," And I just shrugged it off.  Responsibility One, Marijuana Rabbit Hole Nothin'.  Drinking Seventy Four.  Still, though.  I heard Ted Cruz is running for president.  Of America.  Good for him, every election needs some losers.  I'm not gonna get involved, though, it's my role as a retired astronaut to remain impartial.  I wonder what John Glenn's campaign slogan was.  "Remember The Moon?  I've Been There."  He's got my vote.  "Tang?  I've Had It."  Boom, election over. "I'm The Real Star Wars." Can't argue with that one bit.  I guess.  That is where the paper entry ends.  This is where the computer entry begins!  This is where the computer entry continues.  Let's move on, right?  Crappy fries on pizza.  It was forty nine percent even more disgusting than it sounds.  I missed a good chance to talk to a girl when I was getting my pizza after class, also in line was a girl from my class.  Relatively attractive.  And we smiled at each other but I didn't say anything.  Whatta joke.
    Last paragraph.  Life well lived!  Hey, that looks like pasta on that pizza, pasta, pizza, words, crazy.  Hey, umm can I touch your butt?  Anyway, yeah.  What else is goin' on in my life.  Gettin' a new non fiction music book from amazon. Because music is a-okay in my book.  Those crappy fries ruined all the goodwill that good-crappy pizza had built up for me.  It's all gone to putt.  See ya later.

-2:25 P.M. 

Wednesday, March 25, 2015                        

This Is a Title!

Sorry about the lack of quality to it.  You win some, you lose some.  You draw some, you don't participate in some.  You're disqualified from some, you get traded to the other team halfway through the spectacle in some.  That's pretty much it, though.  Anyway, hi!  I think, "!" should mean you're doing a line while on your period.  Because you win some, and you lose some.  I disqualified myself halfway through when I got traded to the other team.  I don't have the book for tomorrow's class.  Teacher is gonna be really upset.  Unless if, when she asks me to read a passage, I just say, "I'll write my own book!  Teacher, take this down.  'There once was a story about...'"  Already a double narrative, man, this is interesting and a half.  Anyway, let's have fun and a half.  What else is going on.  I'm startin' to put on the pounds, again.  Whatta suck.  I just figure, One day, I'll start doing the treadmill two hours a day.  Then, I'll burn off this crap like it was nothin'.  It's foolproof logic, as far as I'm concerned.  I got a test in Yoga next week.  I'm pretty well prepared.  Cyndi Lauper!  Norah Jones!  Guitar solo!   Cyndi La Uppers.  hesgonnasitnexttoyou.  And based on that pun, she takes off 80 points, so I get a negative grade on the test.  There I go, I had to push it.  Push it real good!  Adds seventy points.  Back in business, baby!  Pretty sure that's what NYPIRG stands for.  New York Push It Real Good.  Anyway.  I gotta get a new cork board.  Then I'll be back in business, on the real.
    That's how that paragraph goes.  Anyway.  I bought a jug of whiskey.  I've never had a jug of alcohol before.  I like it.  It's good to know I'm doing something with my life.  Like buying jugs, and interest in cork boards.  My room is so fresh, so clean.  Great, just great.  My teacher, last class, asked us who we would cast in a movie based on the book we were reading, and I seriously considered raising my hand, even though I have no idea what happens in the book, and nominating Kevin Hart.  I just really like Kevin Hart.  And I'm 80% sure the main character was African American.  But, even if it wasn't, Kevin Hart can play any role.  I seen him play a very religious Christian in Undeclared, I've seen him play a Wedding Ringer in The Wedding Ringer, I seen him play Ice Cube's friend in Ride Along.  And, most importantly, he's a short guy that people take seriously.  Not half-heartedly, not demeaningly.  And, if Kevin Hart can't do it, let's go with Terry Crews.  Everyone loves them some Terry Crews.  I assume.  Third choice, Bill Cosby.  ...I got the rape in my Jell-O pudding...  Okay.  Okay.  Maybe that's what he slipped the intoxicator in.  Jell-O Pudding.  It's all starting to make sense.
    Anyway, huh?  Yeah.  Wha?  Okay.  Every now and then, I have a brief moment of lucidity, where I'm above all the crap going on in my head for two or three seconds.  It's great.  I wanna do that all the time.  And if not all the time, most of the time.  And if not most of the time, a lot of the time.  And if not a lot of the time, then some of the time.  And if not some of the time, every once in a while.  And if not every once in a while, once in a blue moon.  And if not once in a blue moon, never.  But, preferably, let's say all the time.  I don't have the book.  What am I, some guy who always has the books?  Hardly.  I'm a guy who writes five paragraphs.  That's what'll be on my tombstone.  The Dude Wrote Paragraphs.  1988-2045.  Alright, lived to 56!  Could be worse, all things considered.  I don't wanna spend time in the 30's or 40's.  That's the future!  The future is scary.  Time for them to make Back To The Past, but, instead of it being a movie, it's just fitting all seven billion of us into a Delorean and going back to 1985.  That's what I wanna see happen.  I wasn't around for 1985 the first time around.  Before anyone even heard of a Bush or a Clinton.  What?  Bush was Vice President?  No he wasn't.  You idiot.  Get a load of that crap.  I remember reading, probably as one of the worst pieces of history in American history, that Bush Sr. negotiated to keep the hostages in Iran until after the election, so Jimmy Carter would lose.  It's fact, look it up. It's crazy.  Just crazy.  Then Ben Affleck came in and saved the day.
    Then he alienated his base by saying, "Read My Lips, No New Taxes,"  We're Not Deaf.  No More Four More Years, Now We're Gonna Chant We Got Ears.  That's how that goes.  No New Taxes.  What, there can be a New Mexico, but not a New Texas?  Where do you get off.  Anyway.  What was I saying.  I managed to get over three paragraphs into this without saying anything.  That's pretty good achievement.  Sure is.  Also, I guess the Read My Lips must have been in 1988, when he was originally elected, because he'd need to be in office to renege on that promise.  Either way, We Got Ears is great, just great.  What else is going on.  Things, and crap.  We Got Ears.  That's my legacy to the world, more or less.  We Got Ears.  Either that, or my scathing diatribe about why do we need ears.  Nobody know.  What else.  The font looks smaller to me than usual, even though it's the same.  Maybe I'm further away.  Or, maybe I'm having a stroke.  Either way, hi.  What's up.  How come there's no English 501-- Studies In Mad Libs.  Because it's nonsense.  Oh, thanks.  There's flies and shit in my room.  You idiots.  I live here.  Go away.  Got this spot taken. The bathroom in the Queens College gym building has like one light bulb.  I have to change in the dark.  What if I forget where things are?  You can't trust me to have everything figured out beforehand.  
    Yep, last paragraph time.  Whatta joy this was.  On a scale from one to eighty percent, I'll give it a fifteen.  Whatta joy.  April Fools is in a week.  Finally, a holiday for jokesters.  Not counting the Ides of March.  Those jerks played a mean ol' joke on Caesar.  Mean, but funny.  Easter.  Where'd Jesus go?  Laughin' from behind a bush.  Yeesh.  Anyway, wha.  Huh?  Yeah.  It would be interesting to track the changes and consistencies in my transitional phrases throughout the course of crazysheet.  Someone oughtta do a thesis on that.  Or, make a diorama of what alcohol I drank and when.  I have a jug of whisky.  It's about time.  That's how I crap about feel.  I have to get a new Metrocard, you assholes.  What else is going on.  Gotta finish up the entry, that's how that go.  I found one more right eye contact lens yesterday.  Gonna get a few weeks out of that, at least.  Even though they're daily ones.  I don't play by the rules, that's just the kinda dude I am.  See ya later.

-2:32 P.M.                        

Tuesday, March 24, 2015                        

Wha?  Title?  Yeah, I Guess So

Anyway, what the what.  No pizza today.  I'm gonna try me some street dogs.  That's the way to go, for sure.  Anyway, what was I saying.  I gotta shave.  Like a chump.  The guy who took my order at Dunkin Donuts had similar facial hair to me, and I was like, "Eugch."  Not even remotely attractive.  In fact, very significantly repellant.  That's how that goes.  Gotta keep an eye on my yoga mat.  Queens College is notorious for it's theiving student body.  That's how that goe  My pen ran out of ink.  This is a new pen.  Also, that's a good thing to say after coming.  I like spelling it as come instead of cum.  Makes it seem a little bit more classy.  And I'm a Wild 'N Classy Guy!  I believe that was Charles Manson's catchphrase.  Yeesh.  Maybe I should get pizza.  It's an entirely unique experience.  And you know how I feel about experiences, right?  I'm for them.  I wouldn't be surprised if Charlie Manson had a band in his youth called, "The Charlie Manson Experience."  Well, I would be surprised.  Especially since I just guessed it based on nothing.  What are the odds?  1, 3, 5, and so on.  They should have titled Three's Company The Odd Couple.  They should have titled everything The Odd Couple.  It's a real B/B+ title, in my book.
    Yeeshkadabahuh.  The people down the hall actually made me laugh.  "Have you ever seen Seven?"  "Is that about who 8 9?"  I laughed audibly.  That joke is right up my alley.  Better than anything I'm gonna say in this entry.  Oh well, I've got the bulk going for me.  Yes, indeed.  I guess.  I'm a Wild 'N Chewy Guy!  I'm a Sweet Child 'O Mine!  I'm as American As Apple Pie!  Mild Buffalo Wings Side.  I'm Simba The Lion!  I'm Leave The Past Behind.  Funny Guy To Find.  Dr. Doofus, PHD.  Anyway, hi!  I'm in lunch.  Lunch, lunch, lunch.  Another one bites the Lunch.  Now we can write entries as we eat!   A reference so nice, I said it twice.  Back To the Future future is in half a year.  Personally, I can't wait.  They raised the price of metrocards!  Without even consulting me.  Or, improving the riding the bus experience.  I wanna hear Weird Al parody Another One Bites The Dust 24/7.  Yeah.  I need to design a logo or picture for The Uppers.  I'm gonna make myself an The Uppers shirt.  Like what broke the band apart in Can't Hardly Wait.  Broke the band up.  The band "The Uppers."  Brain aneurysm.  If that's a brain aneurysm, I must be having brain cancer 24/7.  Hesgonnasitnexttoyou  Anyway. Where was I.  Where was I!  You know, that kind of thing, in a picture.  Anyone out there who is good artistically and has heard my music?  Probably not.  They'd need to listen to my music, read my blog, and be autistic.  The triple threat, the trifecta, The Odd Couple.  The tables in this cafeteria have no napkin dispensers.  What are we, animals?!
    Man, I totally wrote that five hours ago, and now it's later, and I'm typing it.  What will they come up with next.  Moving on.  Probably, I don't know.  Animals who love pizza.  I bet Garfield would like pizza.  He sure likes Gwen Stacy.  I saw about it in a movie.  What else is going on.  Yoga comin' up.  Can't argue with that.  My whole life, I'm just waiting for the moment to turn someone onto The Uppers.  It's pretty much the greatest thing I can wish for.  Hey, nice music!  Well, see ya later!  Mission accomplished!  Life well lived.  Anywhat, what else is going on.  Probably crap and shit and human and animal waste.  What are we, animals?  Doesn't matter, shit is shit is shit.  That's philosophy 101.  Philosophy of Shit.  Not quite sure why they made that the introductory course for Philosophy.  Most things escape me.  I wonder if they'll play Time After Time in Yoga.  I'd say it's about 60/40 they do.  The odds aren't so bad.  In fact, I'd say 60 and 40 are The Odd Couple.  Because I don't know what words mean.  We'll be right back.  And, we're back.  Not quite sure what the point of that was.  Not sure about the point to anything.  Except shit.  Learned all about that in Philosophy 101.  Philosophy 202-- "Is Halal Food The Best Thing?"  White sauce and hot sauce, the original Odd Couple.  Yeah, I went there, for some reason.  1st class of philosophy, words on the blackboard?  "For Some Reason' -- Aristotle"  Discuss.  Foursome.  A Raisin in The sun.  Boo Radley's getting in on that action.  All the way from another book.  That's how much he's into foursomes.  What's the sum of two plus two?  Four sum.  Wrong, two plus two is five, we learned that from our friends Radiohead.  I don't wanna be friends with Radiohead.  That guy's a creep.
    What is this, the third paragraph?  No, fourth.  And here comes Boo Radley.  What a creep.  Alright.  Almost time to Creep It Up in Yoga.  But, until then, gotta kill more time.  It's in the rule book.  What else.  Sorry.  Not sure about what yet.  But there's probably an "I'm sorry," due for something or other.  Bus ride $2.75.  I can't believe it.  Thanks a lot, FDR.  He's still in charge, right.  If you were using a Ouigi board, and you ask who the spirit is, and it spells out, "FDR," how excited would you be.  You're in a for a Fire Side Chat, special just for you and your friends.  Plus, he can't really haunt you, he's in a wheel chair.  What can he do.  Luigi Board is what they do at Guantanomo Bay if Bowser was in charge.  Leave him alone!  He's just Mario in a different color hat!  I have no idea if he's actually faster than Mario in Mario Kart, but I'm pretty sure the consensus is that he is because green is more aerodynamic than red.  And green means go.  It's the rules of the road.  Yoshi is fine too, I guess.  If you're into that sort of thing.  Yo-Sheet.  That's me!  Anyway.  Great.  I'm gonna Yoga it up if it kills me.  There must be some fatalities by Yoga every day.  Breaking ones neck is a serious concern.  I guess.  What else is going on.  Does anyone here have a band?  YES, YES, IT'S ABOUT TIME, YES.  HOW CAN I HELP.  You can stop yelling.  THIS IS WHAT SINGING SOUNDS LIKE.
    Anyway, huh.  Gotta read a book for Thursday.  Like a chump.  I gotta figure out a way to make eye contact without being a creep.  Help me, Radiohead!  What else.  First step towards not being a creep-- shave.  Now I know.  I don't get Dead Poet's Society.  The kids take to poetry immediately with an enthusiasm no one has.  Let's take some calls.  Hi, it's Jenny from Philadelphia... You're wrong, you're Alan from North Carolina.  Next caller.  EEh.  I signed up for two summerclasses.  Slow and steady wins the race.  It's not the habit of the rabbit, it's the rigor mortis of the tortoise.  Pretty sure that makes sense and is applicable.  Or, at least one of those two things.  Or, it's nothing.  I'm putting my money on nothing.  A girl near me said the word, "Sex," and I almost came in my pants.  How about that.  Words speak softer than actions.  This is what words sound like.  Ultra-sexy.  Meanwhile, THIS IS WHAT SINGING SOUNDS LIKE.  Anyway.  My phone's default background is windmills moving.  It's nice to know I'm doing something good for the environment.  I'm a hero, one might say.
    Anyway, last paragraph.  Yup, she's playing TAT for the class before me.  Pay up.  Hey, we made a deal.  Don't flake out on me now.  Corn Flakes, that's me.  Know who you're dealin' with next time you make a bet, buddy.  Creep.  That's an acceptable answer.  I've checked with the judges, it's the only acceptable answer.  Anywizzle.  I don't have the book I have to read for Thursday.  What a conundrum.  I guess.  I hope we learn how to make trash angels in Yoga today.  Something productive like that.  $2.75 for a ride.  What's next?  Three dollars?  Probably.  That's how I feel.  I saw my cardiologist last week, and when he entered the examination room, I just blurted out, "Good!"  I wanted him to know up front exactly how I was doing.  Because of crap and bullshit.  There's a ladder to nowhere here outside Yoga class.  It goes up higher than I can see.  That's just great.  Another thing to worry about.  Yoga is great, one would imagine.  I thought of a story.  My last semester at NYU, I was taking a teaching Social Studies class, and as part of the class, we split up into groups, and each group would spend one class session giving the rest of the class a high school Social Studies lesson.  And, there was one fifty year old Indian woman in this group, who was very religious.  And one of the questions they asked as part of a quiz to the class was, "What was the biggest danger Frontier Women faced in the 1800s?" and the possible answers were like, Disease and Famine and, notably, Lack of Faith.  Correct answer?  You guessed it!  Lack of Faith.  That person is now probably teaching 150 kids a semester.  You're welcome, universe.
    As part of their homework assignment, we had to do something creative or something, so I wrote a song called Lack of Faith.  The guitar was pretty good, but when they played it in class, let's just say it didn't get rave reviews.  And by rave reviews, I mean blow jobs.  So, that's why I dropped out of NYU the next day.  See ya later. 

-6:03 P.M.

           

Monday, March 23, 2015                        

Now That's What I Call Titles Volume 35

Yeesh.  How's it going.  Probably decently, and crap.  Gotta test in half an hour, then, the possibility of pizza.  Then, the possibility of going home.  My brain is fried from all this test preparation.  I looked up the authors of the books I read.  That's twelve seconds I'm never gonna get back.  Sometimes when I drink Orange soda, I get Orange in my moustache.  Like a chump.  I don't need that kind of hassle.  They're talking about Jane Eyre fifteen yards away.  That was the inspiration for my first complete song.  I had an English class Senior year in high school, and for a final project, I wrote a song inspired by all the books we read (Jane Eyre, Alice In Wonderland, Lolita, and possibly a fourth one).  You know, fun stuff.  The song was perhaps one of the most lyrically competent songs I've written.  Nothing great or clever, by very decently plain.  That's a ton of fun, as far as I'm concerned.  And I'm concerned pretty far, when it comes down to it.  Anyway, just took my test.  I had a dream last night I was cheating on the test.  Then, today, I cheated on the test.  I normally wouldn't, but we had a substitute proctor who encouraged us to cheat.  I'm not gonna let him down.  That's how that goes.  Now, Pizza!  Gotta reward myself somehow, right?  Probably.  One would imagine.  One would imagine.  Anyway.  How's it going, am I right?  Probably not.  What else is going on. "...Remember The Big Year?"  Guy's not here.  No such luck.  There's girls here, though.  That's something or other.  Yeesh.  Gotta write something good in case they want to read it... Remember Six Flags?  Huh.  I don't.  I'm already eating pizza.  This is the highlight of my life.  No point in trying to top it in entry form.  Still, gotta try.  That's how I feel.
    This isn't fun.  I was led to believe it would be fun!  I lied to me.  Pretty Little Liars!  Liar, Liar!  The Biggest Lie!  L.I.E!  Catcher In The Lie!  French Lies!  True Lies!  Blackjack!  Pretty sure that's a game where the first person to get a jack of clubs or a jack of spades win.  And then they shoot the loser with a rocket launcher!  I... wha.. where am I?  Sheez.  Crater Spit.  Caruthers Whip.  Clam Bake.  Cranberry Heat.  Kool-Aid Man.  Crust Wheat ... wait a minute... I'm twenty six.  Crap shit.  I handed in my test half an hour before class ended.  To be a true player, you have to know how to play.  Really, that's what I've been led to believe.  That's... huh... eh.  What else is going on.  I gotta figure things out.  My life is a zero.  I guess I could drink scotch.  I haven't done that in a while.  About a year ago, my Dad took me to an evening event they had at the hospital,, about people who hear voices.  And the guy there kept doing a terrible Scottish accent.  The professional, not an ill person.  Because, apparently, he was referring to some expert in the field from Scotland, and figured we all knew who he was. "So blahblahblah couldn't make it today, but if he was here, I bet he would say..."  Stop talking, you idiot.  Nobody here knows that jerk, you jerk.  I have to go to The Shining building.  Oh well.

    Wrote that yesterday, yeaah boy.  That's a saying my hero Flavor Flav says.  He always knows what time it is.  He wears that clock mostly for convenience.

    Wrote that two days ago, yeaah boy. 

    Wrote that four days ago.  Yeah, that's how that goes.  Welcome to Spring.  It's my duty, as my role of Secretary of Seasons.  Also, get ready for Summer!  Can't be over-prepared, is what I'm trying to say.  Anyway, then is Fall.  It is also my duty to get rid of the term Autumn.  Everyone likes Fall better, I think we can all agree on that.  It's the direct opposite of Spring.  Spring/Fall.  Summer/Subtractiontown.  Anyway, wha.  Life is progressing pretty nicely.  I spent three hours yesterday cleaning up my room.  Now it is clean.  How's that for cause and effect for ya.  Yeesh.  I'm starting to seriously consider guitar/vocal teacher.  Gotta do something, right?  I can't write crazysheet forever.  Eventually, crazysheet will become sentient, then not even I can control it.  I don't wanna see that happen, gotta shut it down beforehand.  My room is clean.  I can make a snow angel on my floor.  Except for the absence of snow.  I can lie down on my floor and move my limbs back and forth without bumping into anything, is what I'm trying to say.  In fact, if anything, I missed the opportunity to make a trash angel.  Which is a pretty good generic name for a generic rock band.  Or Criss Angel's brother who works in sanitation.  That's how I crap about crap.  How many empty boxes of reduced fat cheez-its does one guy need pollutin' up his room.  Apparently, six.  Interestingly, in the past two years, the number of cheez-it boxes I brought up to my room?  Six.  I guess I just have a hard time lettin' go.  Life is pretty good, though.  Can't complain.  If I learn how to play guitar and sing, nothing can stop me.  I'd be invincible, so to speak.
    I oughtta give people lessons on how to write non-fiction.  Hey, do something.  Then write it down.  You know what, you don't even have to do it. That'll be seventy dollars.  Or, just go through their wallet, take out seventy dollars, punch them in the gut, and say, write about that.  That's probably the way to go.  Harry Houdini?  He's on first.  You imbecile.  He's in centerfield.  If there was a guy who's like a thousand feet tall, he'd' be crazy at baseball.  Just bunt, walk a couple of steps, boom, inside the park homerun.  Anyway, huh.  Probably another hand-written entry tomorrow.  Gotta kill school time somehow.  There's probably a homeless guy in my attic.  Before I wasn't sure, but it just seems more and more likely as time goes on.  I hope he likes listening to teenage Pop-Punk on Pandora.  Because that would make one of us.  Yeesh.  I found my nail clipper.  Oh boy, does that spell out a lot of fun over the next week.  For someone who bites their nails, having a nail clipper increases efficiency up to 300%.  Maybe that's why I keep getting infections in my appendages.  Oh well, it's worth it.  That's how I things about feel.  Where's my cork board.  Gotta arrange some shit.  I have two old amps stacked on top of each other, in the corner of my room, to conserve space.  Not because I once heard about "stacking" in relation to guitar and/or amps, and didn't know what it means.  Although that is a tangential piece of fact, it turns out.  All in all, we're just another brick in the house.
    Yikes!  Fifth paragraph tizzle.  Great, I guess.  What was I saying.  Oh, yeah.  Entry.  Almost forgot.  My room is too clean. I can't work in this environment!  Thank God I don't have a job.  Stupid life.  Only two more of what I've already done, if I'm lucky.  And, you know what?  I haven't done shit.  Just drug to drug, dependency to dependency, the fault in our stars, we're the millers.  It's a grind.   When we were kids, we were always on my Mom's case for smoking cigarettes.  You're getting smoke on my popcorn shrimp.  Now, me and my brother both do.  I've heard from multiple teachers that they thought I smoked because they smelt it on my clothes.  After saying He who smelt it, dealt it about a thousand times, I just got fed up.  Fed up.  Yeah, well, anyway.  That reminds me, where can I get some popcorn shrimp.  Gotta be somewhere.  Why is it called popcorn shrimp.  It's fried.  So?  Fried, like popcorn.  Madness!  See ya later.                                    

-1:25 P.M. 

Wednesday, March 18, 2015                        

Titles Mean Everything To Me

Cause they let you know what the thing is about.  They're pretty important.  Anyway, back to computer entry.  Dangit.  I'm judging how the entry is going every half sentence, unlike when I write it.  That's too much judgment!  Judgment not lest ye be judgmented.  Lest?  Ye?  We gotta update this maxim.  Don't Judge, Man, Far Out!  Judgment Is For Suckas, Playa.  Who Let The Judges Out?  Alright, that's three.  Rule of threes.  Three is me, have a drink.  If my memory serves me correctly.  How come there's no ante in Kings.  Doesn't make sense.  I had a dream I had a rocket launcher and was rocket launchering the Hell out of everything.  It was a good dream.  That's my weapon of choice in pretty much any situation.  Rocket Launcher.  Anyway.  What the Hell am I supposed to do today.  There's a Yoga pose where you set up your body basically to suck your own dick.  Oddly, it's the one difficult Yoga pose I can do pretty easily.  All my training is finally paying off!  So, I guess I can suck my own dick.  That'll eat up a good fifteen minutes.  I don't wanna do that, though.  I'm not that bored.  What else is going on.  So, apparently Matisyahu defeated Werner Herzog in an election in whose the most real.  I don't know who Werner Herzog is.  That's weird.  Jewish people live in houses with three walls.  That's pretty much my take away from five years of Hebrew School, and is isn't even accurate.  I've shared a few Hebrew School stories here.  Tying my shoe to a file cabinet.  Being scared of apples and honey.  People standing on me.  Cousins Monkey and Sideburns.  Thinking my Bar Mitzvah voice will attract ladies.  I remember my brother's class was doing a play or something, and when he was getting on stage to do his part, he tripped and fell down.  That's a great story.  One of the best I've ever told. 
    Teacher who liked Phish.  Teacher who fell asleep.  Jewish people living in houses with three walls.  Anyway.  What else is going on.  Playing Crazy Taxi and Make Me Laugh with class mate who I would carpool with to Hebrew School.  Adopting Make Me Laugh into a drinking game would be pretty fun.  Or, just drinking, that's fun too.  Anyway, what.  What if someone pulls a Twilight Zone and takes out their tongue so they can't laugh.  That's a very likely scenario.  Why couldn't that guy just put duct tape over their mouth.  Mumbling doesn't count as talking.  I like Beyond Belief.  At the end of the episode, when they're saying which stories were true and false, they should just have a standard, "They're all made up, you idiot.  See ya next time."  I remember my Dad knew someone who was on on an episode of Greed.  But I think they never aired it, so he didn't get any cash money.  What a rube.  The Weakest Link should be all about holding hands.  That's how I feel.  Get some positive message out there, that's all I'm asking.  Or, call it The Weekest Link, and open each week's episode by saying, It's a pun, you idiot. Zack Wheeler is sidelined for the year.  Now there'll never be a Daily News headline Wheelin' and Dealin' after a positive start.  At least, not this year.  Anyway, what else.  I had a dream I was in Burger King, and thinking, I don't want to eat Burger King, but, I guess I have to.  Already there, gotta make the most of it. 
    Anyway.  This is sure a D+ entry.  I didn't have a Bar Mitzvah party.  I think that's probably the most traumatic event of my childhood.  Or, more accurately, lack of an event.  The Have and Hafnottorahs.  Great.  Wonderful.  Grand.  I had a friend in childhood whose father was editor or something of The Daily News.  He musta been responsible for all those puns.  What else is going on.  Probably shit and crap.  One would assume.  Anyway, hi!  I haven't had Quiznos in a while.  My go-to sandwich was the Chicken Carbonara.  Which I assume is Italian for Carbon.  So, not that great for the environment, it was.  I have a distinct memory of Freshman year at NYU, listening to Brendan Benson on my way to, during, and after, eating Quiznos alone in the school cafeteria.  Probably because that exact set of circumstances happened twenty times.  What a cool guy.  I was the Bee's Knees.  I remember on my way to the dining hall one evening, walking by the girl who I had made out with the night before (which was essentially my first kiss), and barely even saying hi to her.  What an idiot!  If I just was a little nicer, instead of socially awkward, I coulda had another two or three make out sessions!  Which would have set my life on a deeply different course.  Makin' out all the time, and whatnot.
    Yeesh.  That's how that went.  I think my third kiss was Sophomore year, I kissed this really tall girl for five seconds, until she changed her mind.  Kissing a tall girl?  I didn't even know that was a possibility!  Turns out it wasn't.  But still got to do it for five seconds!  Jokes on her.  Let's get back to what's important, though-- Chicken Carbonara sandwich.  It ignites all the senses!  Taste... well, I guess only one of the senses.  Still, not bad!  My life is a joke.  Having your life be a joke isn't so bad.  At least you're constantly amusing.  Just not in a positive way.  That's how I feel and crap.  Anyway, yeah.  Got the day mostly over.  That's an accomplishment in my book.  I remember being high freshman year with a friend, and we went to Union Square, and crossed some dividing line to hang out with some statue.  That's fun.  I don't think this ever actually happened, both the activity and the story of it, but I have some recollection of my brother telling me about a time he did mushrooms and took his common room couch out on the street.  That was probably just a dream, or something.  The security guard would never allow that, even if it was physically possible.  I think what makes College Drinking so good is the idea that you're getting away with something.  Because you're really not legal age to drink.  I think that little detail adds to the fun.  Me, myself, all of high school, I looked forward to drinking and smoking weed, for some reason.  I didn't do it at all in high school, but I just figured, when I'm in college, this is something I'm gonna like.  Boy, was I right.  Who cares if I flushed my life down the drain for those two things.  They gave me momentary pleasure!  Jokes on you!
    Anyway.  What else is going on that isn't crap or depressing or depressing crap or crappy depressing.  Chicken Carbonara.  I oughtta look up Quiznoses in my area.  Quiznos.  I guess it ignites smell, too.  That's what their name implies, at least.  I remember watching Army Of Darkness with my friend in college, high.  He wasn't digging it, though.  You idiot, this is a great movie to watch for the first time high and in college!  You idiot!  What an idiot.  Really helps us see behind those empty walls.  That music video was on a bunch my freshman year.  It's a call back to my life!  That you wouldn't recognize!  Unless if I explained it!  Which I just did!  What else is going on!  It was Empty Walls, Ain't Nothin' Wrong With That, Dashboard, and some rap song, possibly This Is Why I'm Hot.  No, I wanna say something from Atlanta, or the Mid West.  Maybe O, Valencia in the latter part of the year.  Man, life was good.  Life.  Was.  Good.  No worries, just fun.  Well, now I know Yoga.  That's great.  I know the Dick-Suck pose.  I know The Matrix pose.  I know the Squat-and-Shit pose.  I know the I Swear, I'm Not Looking At Your Ass, Even Though I Can Make Our Your Thong pose.  Which is pretty much every pose.  I don't get why the teacher plays ominous music during Yoga.  Too scary!  Let's go with some light fare, c'mon.  Some This Is Why I'm Hot, c'mon.  I'm hot cause I'm fly.  Oh.  You ain't cause you not.  Oh.  This is why, this is why, this is why I'm hot.  Okay that explains it.
    Yeah.  I liked how in college, you can see everyone in the building's iTunes library, cause we're all on the same network.  Good taste, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, good, wrong, wrong.  Anyway.  When it comes down to it, I had pretty pedestrian musical taste for NYU.  Pretty much par for the course.  Except I meant it, ya feel me.  I got it.  Also, it's fun to drink in college because you most likely don't have a job.  No worries, just fun.  That's what it's all about.  That's how I feel.  Also, listening to Sublime.  Essentially, that's what college is about.  Listening to Sublime.  And playing Super Smash Bros.  At least, for me.  And waiting to eat until 9:00 because you're holding out hope your friend will call you to have dinner with his group of people.  That was pretty common for me.  And you know what?  Two out of three times, you get that call.  I can deal with those odds.  I'm gonna get lunch and write an entry tomorrow for lunch.  More college feelings!  The pizza hooked me in like dynamite.  Also, I need to pick up my brother's empty guitar case from the NYPIRG office.  The Student Union building for Queens College is really weird.  The floor plan is basically a circle, so 100% of the time in the hallway it feels like The Shining, with the turning through hallways, but it's really 100% curling through hallways.
    Anyway, last paragraph time.  Also, ghost lady in the bathroom.  I forgot about that, but that's another similarity.  Anyway.  What else is there to talk about, and shit.  College.  College was fun.  That's the takeaway from this entry.  Also, Hebrew School was fun.  That's part two takeaway.  Hebrew School wasn't that fun.  It took two hours on Monday and Wednesday afternoons away from me.  That's approximately four hours a week.  And I was in school eight or nine hours for five days a week!  All that time adds up.  That's four more hours I could have spent playing Crazy Taxi.  And a life without Crazy Taxi is no life at all.  That's how I feel.  I'm out of alcohol.  What a joke.  I gotta be up for several hours sober?  I guess I could always drink fermented dog poo.  Except I don't have any dog poo.  And it can't be fermented.  And I'm not 100% on what fermenting means.  Other than that, though, it's a quality plan.  I can get some more crappy pizza tomorrow.  It's about time.  It's been twenty eight hours, now.  Anyway.  Whatta entry.  Solid D+.  See ya later.

-4:20 P.M. 

Tuesday, March 17, 2015                        

Without a Care In The World

Cause I'm an astronaut.  In outerspace.  I should clarify, though, I want to be a retired astronaut.  All the perks of being an astronaut without all the hassle of advancing the human experience.  Anyway.  I'm done with music.  Over a hundred songs in the past year, fine, I can deal with that.  It's time to move on.  Work on my curveball.  If I join a Little League for Fifth Graders, I can be a +0.5 WAR player.  Wins Above Replacement level player.  WAR, What is it good for?  Good sabermetric way to value sporting guys.  Anyway.  Tuesday!  That's how I feel about things.  I gotta test on Thursday.  Really ougtta commit .5 of an hour to studying.  I can be a 0.0 WAR test taker.  Better than negative, boy.  Semesters half way over.  Maybe I should take guitar/vocal lessons.  I feel kind of burned out from it, but this is my one shot to not have to have a real job.  I'd be a fool not to persue it 100%.  Unless comedy.  Yeah right.  Anyway.  Or I can finally devote time to writing my semi-autobiographical Hip-Hopra.  Starring Ray Romano and Cristopher Lloyd.  I'm Ray Romano and I'm here to say/This is a semi-autobiography/Not of me, of the writer/Hey it's me, The Dialoguer!  Kinda broke the fourth or fifth wall there.  The fifth wall is the ceiling.  The sixth wall is the ground.  Seventh wall is time.  Eighth wall if Frankenstein.  Win Frankenstein's Money.  That was a good game show.
    Frankenstein made his fortune drowning meddlesome little girls.  Distraught parents pay a pretty penny for such a thing.  Yeesh.  I don't wanna do music.  Get real.  I wanna be a retired astronaut.  Maybe a traveling ice cream vendor.  Something worth while, you know.  Anyway.  What else is going on.  I'm in my life again this entry.  Before class.  Classes are fun.  What's up party people?  That's what I'm sayin, deep down.  It's only in my posture and facial expressions that people read me as saying, "I'm uncomfortable, go away."  Uncomfortableness drives the ladies wild.  After all.  Anyway.  I got one season of TFTC to go.  Then, what?  Working on my posture and facial expressions?  Get real.  Anyway, what the what.  Now I'm in lunch.  Eating in the school cafeteria, so I can write while I eat.  Nobody has two televisions.  I bet Citizen Kane had two televisions.  If they existed back then.  He probably had the first two.  That's how I feel.  In high school, doing what I'm doing now, I'd be a nerd.  Now I'm that cat's pajamas!  Or, vice versa.  Someone doing something creative as a teen?  That's a first round draft pick.  When he's 26?  Get a job, am I right?  I usually am.  It comes from not having a social life, and having no one to challenge me.  Everybody wants to party with Aretha!  The pizza here isn't half bad.  I like shitty pizza.  Everyone does.  Ain't breaking new ground there.  I should just keep eating pizza all the time, eventually someone's bound to say something to me.  Like how a monkey at a type writer will eventually write Shakespeare.  One of these monkeys is bound to throw a nice grunt my way eventually.  They're not monkeys, just because I have no friends don't make me any better than them.  In fact, empirically, it makes me worser.
    That sucks.  Oh well, let's entry it up!  I gotta start burning 3000 calories a day.  So I can metabolically afford my pizza eating endeavor.  Anyway, Yoga up next.  I'm the cat's pajamas.  In waht alternate universe do cats have pajamas.  Sounds like something a monkey at a typewriter came up with.  I got an A- on a paper I spent fifteen minutes on and never even read the book.  I saw the guy next to me got a C-, and the guy next to him was also complaining about his grade.  Not me, the other side of him.  This wasn't no Tyler Durden situation.  Pretty sure your average Shakespeare Monkey could have gotten a B.  That's how I feel.  Into the third paragraph, we are.  How wonderful.  Anyway, this is fun.  It actually feels like college.  I wanna do this all the time.  I might be blinded by the blinding light of great shitty pizza, though.  They hook you in with the shitty pizza, boy... and I feel for it.  Next time I'll get three slices.  Four!  This isn't an auction.  And, if it was, that's still not how auctions work.  You idiot.  Jerk.  "I saw a really good film on Tuesday... It was called, Rushmore?"  Never mind, don't need a friend.  I changed my mind.  Also, today's Tuesday.  I was gonna insult him based on not really knowing Rushmore, but apparently he doesn't have a mastery of how days of the week work.  Finishing my pizza, I don't see how life is worth living anymore.  Also, it's okay if you don't know Rushmore.  I confuse it with Everest all the time.  I'm still riding high on the undeserved A-.  And the teacher was like, "You're a great writer-- even better than me.  Here are my clothes, you are the new teacher," in so many words. A Midsummer's Night Drean.  So close.
    Alright.  Besides, who really knows Rushmore.  I mean, deep down.  Not me.  Bill Murray plays a jerk and Jason Schwartzman plays a different kind of jerk.  And they're fighting for the affection of a female jerk.  That's how all movies work.  A bunch of jerks jerk around for two hours.  I might be thinking of my life.  Probably just thinking of my life, I guess.  Paragraph and a half to go.  Stupid great pizza.  I ain't fallin' for its trickery.  Never again!  Wha else is going on. "I'm scared of Six Flags."  Aren't we all, aren't we all.  They used to have a promotion for Halloween where they have people dressed up as zombies to startle unsuspecting patrons. They had to stop it because it gave people heart attacks.  "Ferris Wheel is okay."  I'm right there with ya, brother.  Specially if you're doing it backward, boy, that's a trip.  I'll never get the high of eating that pizza for the first time again.  I'll forever be chasin' it. *I can't read the next sentence clearly, but this is what it looks like*  Sorta like a quality Frenchman.  *Oh.  Friendship.*  I'm twenty six, all the good friends are taken.  just my luck.  Just... my... luck.  We should eat pizza for Yoga.  So, for this class, we'll just have a pizza party.  Yay!  Everyone thanks their creator.  They opened up a Chipotle ten minutes away from my house, by car.  I can't drive.  I can't drive!  I don't wanna be snarky.  I hate snark.  It just so happens what I do is right on the borderline between silly irreverence and semi-sincere snark.  That reminds me of an entry I was writing on Tuesday.  This right now.  There's some snark for ya. And, if not that, commenting on it.  And if not that, this.  Not that, this.  This.  This.  Not that, this.  Argh. 
    Where do I get off?  Fifth paragraph.  I've been here for forty five minutes.  I didn't even know that was possible.  Dammit.  Forty five minutes.  It's because that jerk just keeps bringing up titles.  Not even saying anything about them.  "Remember Never Been Kissed?"  "Remember What Happens In Vegas?"  No, but I do now!  Thanks!  This is the definition of snark.  Snark backwards is cranberries.  That's a hidden code in Beatles, or something.  Over that one song, you know.  Cranberry Fields Forever.  Whenever I think of Strawberry Fields Forever, I think of The Simpsons where they're mocking Darryl Strawberry in the outfield, and he cries.  Strawberry Fields Forever.  That's what that song is about, I guess.  I suppose.  Anyawy, gotta get out of the pizza's tractor beam.  What else is going on.  I suppose things and crap.  Also, one of my first kisses, the girl had strawberry lipstick.  But, more importantly, The Simpsons.  Yeesh.  The pizza was only 3/4ths regular pizza size.  Anyway.  The really funny thing?  This guy is sitting with two friends.  I haven't heard either of them say one word.  This guy is dominating the conversation with this bullshit.  Just like Shakespeare.  See ya later.

-1:06 P.M.

The last paragraph was the pits.  I can leave you with a better one.  Probably.  It's possible.  I guess.  Anyway, now outside Yoga class.  I'm gonna get some beer on my way home.  Because that's the kind of guy I am.  The kind of guy with no social life, so he depends on... oh, there's a pretty girl...  so he depends on alcohol and snark just to make the day worthwhile.  I wanna play kickball.  Why doesn't anyone ask me to play kickball?  They should kickify golf.  Or, at least Hackkey.  What sport is that?  Soccer, I invented Soccer.  Trust me, your kids are gonna love it.  I invented Back to the Future.  You can't prove I didn't.  I invented crazysheet.  Back in 2006, it was the cat's pajamas.  Now it ain't even close to being feline sleepwear.  Not even one gigawatt.  Anyway.  Pizza.  Stupid freakin' pizza.  It's the bane and poison Ivy to my existence.  But no pizza is the Mr. Freeze to my existence.  Go figure.  The point is, I'm Robin.  No one likes Robin.  And if they did, they have a funny way of showing it.  That's all I have to say on the matter.  See ya later.

-1:44 P.M.     
     

Friday, March 13, 2015                        

So, What's This I Hear About You Becoming An Astronaut?

'Twas nothin'.  Just foolin' around, and stuff.  Anyway, Hello!  It's me. Whatda write, whatta write.  I had a dream I lived in the stairs.  Like, it was my real house, but my room was just the top of the stairs, and there was a door midway through the stairs, and then at the hallway on the other end.  And I lived there.  Then my Dad got me French Toast for lunch.  It was a good dream.  Why did I capitalize French Toast.  I gotta have more to write about, right?  How did it feel living in the stairs?  I don't know, wasn't so bad.  It was kind of nice to know that if anyone wanted to get from downstairs to upstairs, they have to go through me.  Or vice versa.  Made me feel important.  I also dreamt, like four or five times as in-between dreams, that I found empty gram bags of marijuana.  Made me feel important.  Cleanin' up litter, and stuff.  I could probably take a break from crazysheet for a while, I've been out of stuff to say for months.  But I got shit else to do.  Study for exams?  What am I, some Poindexter?  Not likely.  On the bus ride home from class yesterday, we had to wait fifteen minutes while a wheelchairee got on the bus.  What a waste of time.  You're in a wheelchair, you're already sitting.  Just wheel on over to your destination.  C'mon.  It's still almost Spring.  I got that goin' on.  What else do I got goin' on.
    Anyway, wha.  I remember I used to have a couple of female friends who were really encouraging with encouraging me with my music.  Looking back, I'm like, you were way off.  That shit was crap.  That crap was shit!  You got shit in my crap. You got crap in my shit!  If only they could see me now.  They can, they're not dead.  Eight albums in one year.  And one or two of the songs, somebody actually listened to!  I've listened to all of them.  I feel I have some personal investment in it, I don't know.  I'm gonna get lunch after finishing this entry.  How can I have pudding if I don't finish my meat?  Or something along those lines.  I don't think I've ever had pudding.  The consistency of it is just not appetizing to me.  Same with yogurt.  What the Hell is going on in my life.  I ran into my spring '14 teacher.  He recognized me, but forgot my name.  What an asshole.  I remembered his name!  Looks like I'm great.  And he ain't.  He taught me an important lesson.  Don't go towards the light.  Words to live by.  Also, I started taking Wellbutrin in his class, and I used to imagine Wellbutrin pronounced like, "Well, Be You Tryin?" and I imagined it in his voice.  He became part of my imagination!  Then he don't know my name.  Heartbroken, I was.  He was probably just playing hard to get.  I'm onto your tricks, mister.  I know how you really feel. 
    Yeeeesh.  Also, he went out of his way to encourage me in my creative pursuits.  Without that, I might not have had the confidence to do all the music I've done in the past year.  But mainly, don't go towards the light and Well Be You Tryin'.  Man, back then, I actually did the readings for the class.  Like a sucker.  What else is going on.  I can see lunch in my immediate future.  That's how that goes.  What else.  Man, did I used to be crazy.  I can't get over that.  Now I'm crazy inwardly, instead of outwardly.  I hope, that's what I'd like to think, at least.  Anyway, what the wha.  I had a fight with my Mom over wearing socks.  She said I should wear socks, I wasn't so sure.  That's my life!  It's a hard sock life, for us.  If it's such a hard knock life for you, what are you doin' singing upbeatly?  I'm onto your shenanigans.  Also, Fiddler On The Roof sounds like a horror story.  Close the windows, there's a Fiddler on the roof!  What's he up to.
    Anyway, huh?  Wha?  Yeah.  What's goin' on.  Life ain't so bad.  My main responsibility is wearing socks.  That's manageable.  But, still.  We don't wear gloves all the time.  Why should we wear socks.  Your feet touch the floor, unhygienic.  You're the Your Feet Touch The Floor, Unhygienic.  Anyway, what was I talking about.  Probably crap and shit.  Also, Ovaltine.  Get a load of this shit. If it wasn't for Seinfeld, I'd never have heard of Ovaltine.  Even with Seinfeld, I still never heard of it.  What I'm typing right now isn't making any sense in my brain-area.  Anyway, let's get entryin' with it.  They should have made a spin-off of Seinfeld called Bania.  I'd watch that all day long.  I'm Kenny Bania/That's the name/What's the deal/With Ovaltine?  That's his theme song.  Anyway, what else is up.  What's the deal with gold?  Is this gold, Jerry?  Yikes.  If in the last episode, they somehow worked in Bania saying he invested all his money in Gold!, people would have been a lot more satisfied with the series ending. 
    Last paragraph time, I guess.  This was fun, one would imagine.  Probably, at least.  What to do, what to do.  Finish the entry, that's a good idea.  Anyway, what's going on.  I'm pretty sure this is the fifth paragraph.  Over my years, I've gotten relatively good at counting up to ten.  Five?  That's manageable.  I wonder if anyone signed up for NASA, and then when they have to start counting down from ten for the space shuttle launch, they go, I didn't know there was gonna be brain busters.  Counting backwards is hard.  Anyway, down to half a paragraph to go.  Whatta achievement.  See ya later.



Also, a picture is worth half a paragraph.

-12:52 P.M. 

Thursday, March 12, 2015                        

Oh, It's a Title.  I Get It.

Hello guys and ghouls.  Classes for the week done!  Also, let's have some fun!  Alright.  Let's see.  Remember the times when I used to share stories about my past?  Yeah, me too.  Oh well.  I gotta have some more stories.  If I don't remember them now, when will I?  That's like the Nazi's coming for everyone, up till us, and we did nothing.  That's exactly what it's like.  Remember The Great Deal?  Wasn't that great?  I confused The New Deal with The Great Compromise.  Which is pretty impressive, considering I don't know what either of them are.  The Great Deal is what you get on Columbus Day at Best Buy.  I find it weird we named America after some hack explorer from the 1500's, Amerigo Vespucci.  What makes that jerkhole so great?  Why didn't we call it 6G2 Land?  From a story I've told!  Loyal readers rewarded.  I'm pretty sure I told that story.  In fact, I remember telling the story more than the actual story.  Funny how life works, ain't it.  I have a feeling most of my childhood and adolescence was filled with Great Compromises.  Alright, I'll do my homework, Mom, but what are you going to do for me?  That's pretty much what happened constantly, in truth, yet I can't remember what kind of reward my parents could give me in that quid pro quo.  Ice cream?  I can eat whatever I want anyway.  Stay up late?  Pretty sure I did that as much as I wanted.  Not having to do tomorrow night's homework?  I don't know.  Somethin'.  Gotta be something.  Maybe the threat of taking away those privileges, or grounding, kept me on the straight and narrow.  Grounding.  Yup.  I used to have friends.  That I would meet!  Outside of school!  Still not really much of a compromise.
    Anyway, huh.  It's me.  The Crazysheet guy.  It's Spring, pretty much.  Awesome.  I spent most of my class today trying to figure out how to work the word, "Astronaut," into the title.  I came up with a few.

You'll Never Be An Astronaut With That Attitude!
I'll Be An Astronaut One Day, You'll See!
Fine, I'll Be An Astronaut, Will That Make You Happy?
If I Want To Be An Astronaut, Who Are You To Stop Me?
At This Rate, You'll Never Be An Astronaut!
If I Say I'm An Astronaut, Then I'm An Astronaut
Bein' An Astronaut Ain't No Fun.

    That's how I spend my time.  You already know.  Interesting fact: all seven of those were rejected titles for, "Gravity."  The movie, not the thing.  Anyway.  It's my .25 birthday.  Let's have a party party people.  Can't have a party with party people unless you finish your homework.  But I'm twenty six!  ... And a quarter!  You heard me mister.  My parents never called me mister.  Please, Mister is my dad!  I remember once reading Michael was the most common name for boys born in 1988.  Finally, I'm normal at something.  Took a while to figure out, but I got there.  I once read a book that said 5'2 men are the best lovers.  Normal!  Ya'll heard.  The book was called Lies Short People Tell To Themselves.  My Bible, it is.  I don't think they'd even let short people into the astronaut program.  Too unreliable.  I'm on top of the world... suck it, world!  Seeing how exact they need to get the physics of the thing, having an astronaut gloat over the normals is just a hassle worth avoiding.  That woulda been a good yearbook quote.  Suck It!  Probably woulda just left it blank, though, in that case.  Like my real yearbook quote.  A couple months ago, I was going through my yearbook, and gotta say, Yearbook Quotes?  Not impressed.  You're supposed to be the smartest teenagers in the whole God Damn world.  Your quotes, frankly, are pretty shitty.  Maybe I'd appreciate them better if I knew who you were.  I was too busy reading Fantasy Baseball Analysis's!  You assholes.  Who Are These Assholes?  woulda been the best yearbook quote in the history of mankind.
    Anyway, yeah.  What else is going on nine years ago.  Who should I ask out for the prom?  One girl asked me if I was going to the prom, which I figure is around a 4% chance that she was interested in going with me.  Which, at the time, was good enough for me.  Not having the confidence to pursue that 4% chance, though, I just said no.  Pretty sure she was just asking out of small talk friendship.  She ended up going to NYU, and I once was drinking with her, and when she was drunk, she was like, I hate short guys.  You do realize... I'm short, right?  Oh, yeah, you're drunk.  Well, that explains everything.  And after getting hyped for something possible to happen, I went home confused and disappointed.  Not really confused.  At the time, it was a sentiment I understood too well.  Now, as far as I'm concerned, I'm 6 feet tall.  I never leave the house, so no one's the wiser.  Also, if you count the cloud of voices and thoughts above my head, it does add about a foot to my height.  Short people got no reason to live.  Who The Fucks side are you on, asshole?  If only I had Inspector Gadget legs.  If only.
    What else gigahuh.  Yeah.  Gotta finish this entry.  Two paragraphs to go.  People love a short guy feeling sorry for himself.  If we were playing family feud, the number one answer for Things People Hate is Short guys feeling sorry for themselves.  Cause fuck, who cares.  Not me.  And I'm the guy what doin' the thing is.  Anyway.  The good news is, I started off a sit 'n go in the small blind.  I'll be the last person to have to be the big blind!  Life is full of small miracles, I tell ya.  Joe Pesci was in a Tales From The Crypt, I tell ya.  More like, Tails From The Script.  Because the screenplay usually has an unexpected ending.  Cracked that code.  Man, is it tough being 5'9.  I swear.  I know what'll fix this problem!  Self delusion!  It's the snake oil of the modern age.  Except for when you start to wake up from your self delusion.  ... ... My life... ....  Anyway.  What else is going on and crap.  I visted the NYPIRG offices at Queens College to pick up my brother's coat that he left there.  It was basically just a college common room.  They pay you for this?  I'd pay you to hang out in a college common room.  Well, yeah, everyone pays for that.  Quiet, you!  Did I ever tell you about the time eh fuck that story.  What else is going on.  Man, I never shoulda talked about how I'm short.  Now you'll be thinking, Oh, he only said that because he's short.  Or, he was short when he said that.  Or, I guess he speaks for all short people.  Or, I don't have to listen to what he says, he doesn't speak for all short people.  And shitcrapdom like that.  The point is, Stephen Douglas shoulda started the Civil War.  Anyway, who cares.  Not me.  And I'm the guy what wrote the whole thing.  I had to get Chinese  Food on Tuesday like an idiot.  Now I have to finish it tonight!  I should be able to have pizza, like any American, God Damnit.  There is no justice in this world.  Let's go, what else.  I could get pizza.  In the end, though, microwaved pork fried rice ain't so bad.
    That's how that's how I feel.  Fifth paragraph to the hizzouse. H to the ippo...  Anyway.  I gotta start thinking about Summer classes.  I should probably take one and/or two.  Introduction to Astronautory.  That's how I feel about crap and shit.  I think I took astronomy as my first Queens College class, during the summer, when I was still in NYU primarily.  I took astronomy and some 20th century Europe class.  I don't remember shit from astronomy, and the only thing I remember from the history class was watching All Quiet On The Western Front and The Lives of Others.  You know you're at Queens College caliber classes when you watch two full length movies over the course of a two or three week class.  That's how that goes.  I'll see ya later.

-3:03 P.M.                                                

Wednesday, March 11, 2015                        

Nobody Asked You

Hi, friends.  Whatta day.  Beautiful Spring day.  Except for the fact it's Winter.  Other than that inconvenient fact, it's Spring.  If I wrote the Inconvenient Truth screenplay, it'd be Al Gore saying, "I lost," then shrugging his shoulders.  He's coming back in 2016.  You'll see, you'll see.  All I know is Whatta Spring.  I feel like I'm eighteen years old again.  Except for the fact that I'm fifteen pounds heavier, my lungs and heart hurt from smoking and alcohol, I'm on three or four anti-depressants and an anti-psychotic, I live at home with my parents, and I have no friends.  Other than that, exactly the same.  I was looking at some message board posts I made in 2008.  Man, was I crazy.  I totally see what other people were talking about.  Also, last entry.  Man, was I crazy back then.  Today I'm fine, though.  Feel that Almost Spring weather!  We were learning about Chakras in Yoga, and I find it interesting that, from toe to head, the colors of the chakras are exactly ROYGBIV.  Must be true, then.  Rookie of the Year George Bush In vitro.  Anyway.  More like Al GORE.  Yee-hee-... wait, I didn't change anything.  Original cute girl in Yoga smiled at me a couple of times.  And I saw her ass crack.  Two for two!  I find it hard to relax completely in Yoga.  I don't know why.
    Anyway.  I gotta come up with some new transitions.  Speaking of changing the paragraph...  There's a keeper.  I just used it, though.  Now I gotta come up with a new one.  That reminds me... another good one.  Unfortunately, I just used that one, too.  Now I gotta come up with another one.  Anyway, that's how that might go.  Hey, next year is a Leap year.  Or, an opposite leap year, to be more accurate.  It's the one year we don't leap.  But, yeah, it's good to have something to look forward to.  Speaking of changing the paragraph, what else is up.  That reminds me, wha?  Huh?  Stupid Third Eye Blind conditioning my third eye to become blind.  Where do they get off.  That's probably what my Third Eye is busy trying to figure out, while it should be focusing on me.  I haven't worn a watch in a while.  Probably like nine or ten years.  Watches were good in high school.  When is this period going to end?  Why, I'll consult the time machine on my wrist!  How wonderful.  I gotta get the voices out of my Third Eye.  That's essentially where they are, when it comes down to it.  Stupid roommate whose alarm clock was Third Eye Blind.  All my problems probably stem from that.  That's the reasonable deduction one would make.  The magazine my boss gave me to jerk off to, from 2008, featured an interview and photos of Rachel Bilson.  They were okay, could be worse.  I wouldn't know who she was, if not for the magazine.  So, I guess it's Magazines One, Me Zero.  Also, the year or two I got Rolling Stone because my brother never canceled his subscription.  Magazines Twenty Seven, Me Zero.  Apparently I think there's thirteen months in a year.  Math One, Me Negative Seven.
    Speaking of changing the paragraph, that reminds me.  If I take guitar lessons, I might get better at guitar.  It's an interesting proposition.  Lemme run it by Joe.  My prop guy.  See what he's got to say on the matter.  Anyway, huh?  Yeah.  What else is going on.  I wonder if other people my age played Chinese poker when they were in middle school.  Did I just know it because of the Chinese influence in my student-dom?  I don't know.  I used to hate Crazy Eights.  Look, if you wanna play Uno, let's play Uno.  None of this crap.  I used to like Kings.  Fuck The Dealer, not so much.  There's no sport in that.  It's basically, just keep drinking.  Kings engages all parts of the brain.  Rhyming, picking a mate, strategy for starting a waterfall... I remember always feeling a little bit of extra pressure for Rhyme.  Now's my time to shine!  Oh shit, I just wasted a rhyme in my mindhead!  Speaking of changing the paragraph, what else is going on.  I remembered to bring my Yoga mat home yesterday.  One for one on the week.  What else.  I had a thought recently, I should quit smoking.  Then I had the thought, nah. I'm pot committed to this thing.  I'm in it to win it!  Who knows what kind of damage smoking is doing to my chakras.  Anyway.  How come no one eats chicken and eggs.  Really double down on the whole thing.  It's worth a shot.
    Anyway.  Come to the talent show for the pizza.  You realize pizza is readily available to anyone, anywhere, any time?  There's no shortage of pizza in the world.  If one wants pizza, they can pretty much get it pretty easily themselves.  Maybe they're trying to psych me out.  Confusing talent with pizza.  Those jerkballs.  They put up a short essay I wrote on their website.  Basically, about trusting your doctors.  I wish I could take it back.  I don't trust my doctors.  They're all jerkballs trying to psych me out.  Except, if I had said that, they'd never put it up on their website.  Because they don't want people to know the truth.  It's an inconvenient one, oh boy.  I'll double down on that.  Word.  Anyway.  What to do with the rest of the day.  Enjoy the Spring weather from the safety and comfort of my home.  I hate hearing voices outside my window.  Real voices.  I can hear them loud enough to hear them, but soft enough that I can't make out what they're saying. Hey, you got something to say to me?  Say it, mother fucker.  Bsshh Mshh Ahhh Trcttt.  I don't understand!  Ya'll better come correct, is all I'm sayin'.  I don't want to finish thie entry.  Why me, God?  Let someone else write a paragraph, just one paragraph, of crazysheet.  Why does the burden fall solely on my shoulders?  What have I done to deserve such a fate?  Is it because of that time I skinned and tortured a cat?  I told you already, she was asking for it!  Thinkin' she's so cat, well, I showed her!
    That reminds me... huh?  Wha?  I'd never do anything to a cat.  I'm an animal lover.  And not in the gross way.  Frankly, not in any way.  I don't love animals.  They're okay.  They're no people, though, that's fur sure.  It always astounds me, seeing commercials for animal charities.  You do realize there are people who are homeless, who can't eat, who can't afford medical bills, right?  You do?  Okay, fine, species traitor.  Anyway, huh.  I wanna travel back in time to eight years ago and play Kings.  My rhyming abilities have increased exponentially.  Hit me, give me something to rhyme.  Medical.  Yo, I'm so Dedical.. buzz Crap Shit Fuck!  It's your fault, you set me up wrong.  Sensical.  Should have gone with Sensical.  Speaking of changing the paragraph, it turns out sensical isn't a word.  Nonsensical is a word.  We know that sensical can be negated.  But sensical isn't a word?  Jesus.  Look, sometimes, I can admit when I'm wrong.  But, this time, no.  Fuck it.  Sensical should, without doubt, be a word.  King.  Okay, for the rest of the game, "Sensical" is a word.  Shoulda made the girls undress.  Dang it.  You don't wanna seem too desperate, you gotta keep that one in your back pocket.  Anyway, life is good.  It's Spring, pretty much.  The season of renewal.  This was fun.  One would imagine.  It was a solid five out of ten for me.  If it was even a three out of ten for you, It'd be worth it.  Two point seven out of ten?!  I could deal with that.  Rounds up to three.  See ya later.

-1:13 P.M.                          

Tuesday, March 10, 2015                        

Titles Are For Fun

Hi, it's me.  Me.  The guy whose me.  All the time.  Never stop being me.  Except when I'm someone else.  Can't forget about those times.  They're important.  Without them, I wouldn't have multiple personality disorder.  I don't have multiple personality disorder. Yes I do!  I should, either way.  Like, right now, I'm me writing, I'm me judging what I'm writing as myself, I'm judging as anonymous, And I'm Editing in the future, adding, "Yes I do!"  That's at least three people at the same time.  Now I'm me, but embarrassed.  Now I'm me, but spiteful.  Now I'm me as my own editor.  Writer.  Reviser.  Writer.  Editor.  I'm out of control!  Anyway.  I should host a private crazysheet for special members.  You give me five dollars a month, you get a crazysheet T-shirt.  That's a good idea.  Not the membership part, the t-shirt.  I could design a crazysheet t-shirt!  And an The Uppers shirt. and a, "Michael Kornblum is just a generally all-around awesome guy" shirt.  This entry sucks.  I'm writing it before class #1.  Then I have more time between classes.  What fun.  It's too warm in here.  I'm very gradually melting.  Editors note-- Reminds me of a time in eighth grade our social studies teacher said to a member of our class wearing a winter jacket, "I'm getting hot just looking at you," which amused us to no end.  I'm here, whattado.  Anyway.  I gotta get home.  Everyone's judging me.  And just because I'm editing myself constantly as a unique personality.  Where do I/they get off?  Somewhere, I guess.  Gotta be some place.  Anyway.  Let's pick numbers.  Thirty six.  I was gonna say thirty five, but, you snooze, you lose.  Seventy four.  Ninety six.  Forty nine.  Thirty two.  Alright, I'm all tuckered out.  That was fun.  Anyway, wha?  Huh?  Great.  Possible band mate and best friend is twenty feet away.  How exciting!  One would imagine.  What else.  I should write some lyrics.  I'm eight songs into an album and I really just want to get it over with.  "I like anything with robots."  "But I like zombies more than robots."  Now I'm a stenographer.  How many me's do there have to be?
    Anyway, now I'm in-between classes.  How's that for exciting.  Not that exciting.  Oh well.  Either way, what is up.  I wrote like forty possible song titles.  That's a good way to write a song.  Just incoprate twenty possible song titles into the lyrics of one song.  I'm a song writing genius, I am.  I'm in my Stuyvesant gym shorts to prove it.  Do my slightly chubby calves turn you on?  Better call in the cavalry!  Yee-hee-hee-hee-hee.  More like, the the cadavar-ly!  (Repeat Hee-hee's.)  You know, for fun.  I gotta get me some bottle of water before class starts.  To quench my future thirst.  My future hearse?  I'm basically slowly devolving into the Crypt Keeper is what I'm trying to get a cross.  If only I had his wealth of stories to tell, I'd be all set.  Anyway, huh?  Geh?  Gigli?  I don't think I can waste my time any more efficiently, between this and my music.  It comes right up to the cusp of not wasting my time, without crossing it.  Good for me.  Yoga'll be good.  That's what I've been led to believe.  What else is going on?  Things, and crap.  I need a new hobby.  Other whan watching Tales From the Crypt and drinking beer.  One would imagine.  There was a TFTC about a guy who hears voices, and kills his banker.  I'd never kill my banker.  Who would give me Two Hundred Dollars every time I pass Go?  No one, that's who.  Get a load of this crap.  That's how it goes.
    I've been led to believe this is the third paragraph.  Life is just one long third paragraph.  Because I'm great.   Why else.  I'm wearing glasses for Yoga today.  As a treat for my peepers.  I'm slowly devolving into pudding.  What else is going on.  Probably shitcap, and crapshit.  Crappin' Crunch.  Who made that man a Captain.  Probably some jerkhole.  Yoga'll solve my problems.  And, if not Yoga, then the bus.  And if not the bus, then beer.  And if not beer, sleep.  And if not sleep, then tomorrow.  Hmm, writing out my schedule oddly makes me feel a little more at ease.  Now back out of ease.  Still good.  Still better.  A little bit better.  And... Done.  Where was I?  Oh, yeah, Northshore-LIJ.  How could I forget.  While my body roams the Earth, my soul rests at the mental hospital.  Such is life.  Anyway.  I'm multiple personalities calligraphy.  Sometimes in the same sentence.  You'll never know, though.  You'll have to take my word for it.  I'm slowly devolving into bullshit.  The good news is I gotta take a shit.  All I have to do is stand at the urinal and let it slip.  Yuch.  The urinals say Standard in them, too.  How's that for consitancy.  One for consitancy, zero... fluctuation.  ne point twenty one gigawatts?  Gigawah?  Huh?  Anyway.  If this website is your only knowledge of me, you'd think Back To The Future and The Shawshank Redemption are the only two movies I've ever saw.  Otherwise, there'd be more fluctuation in the references, right?  NO!  Hey, huh?  Where'd... huh... eh? Anyway.  Where was I.  Where am I.  Where am I.  What's going on.  Got half an hour to finish this essay.  When it's written, not typed, I call it an essay.  Makes me sound more professional.  And I'm great, this we all know.  She played Time After Time last week in Yoga.  That's a quality song.  Will she play any songs with lyrics this time?  Remains to be seen.  Heard.  Let's go with heard.
    Alright, two paragraphs in thirty minutes.  Then, it's a life well spent!  I got two dimes back when I gave the robot two dollars for a water.  Two dollars well spent!  I got two dimes out of the deal.  What wonderfulness.  Anyway.  Things things things.  I know Yoga is supposed to help with stress, but things keep happening to me.  Things never stop.  If I had to write a one sentence review of Yoga, I'd say, "3.5 out of 5 stars-- Doesn't Stop Things From Happening."  Yuch.  Some of the music she plays is really ominous and depressing.  Now, I'm no expert... ... What else is happening.  Probably bullshit and crapdom.  I have a midterm test next week in English.  Probably should do a little bit of reading for that.  Like, read every twentith word.  Just to get a quick idea of what's going on.  I probably shouldn't leave my Yoga mat at the bus stop today.  I tried it last week, and frankly, I wasn't satisfied with the results of the exercise.  Anyway.  Life is worth living.  Right?  One would imagine.  That's one of the possible song titles.  "Life Is Worth Living."  I got the idea from a future essay.  This sucks.  It's my glasses fault I'm not having fun.  Us four eyes are second glass citizens, I'm sorry to say.  Dejected Yee-Hee-hee.
    I knoI know what'll cheer me up!  Whiskey.  If you cheer me up, I can learn to love you.  It's from a song, you wouldn't understand.  That's how that goes, I guess.  It ain't how it don't go, that's for sure.  Life is worth blogging, right?  Even if it's just Crypt Keeper puns?  Let me know if there's any interest in a crazysheet shirt.  If this was nine years ago, you'd all be on board.  Nine years? ... ... My Life... ...  Yeesh.  That's how that goes.  Anyway, whatta day.  There was class, future class, essay writing, lunch.  I did it!  I'm a normal!  Except that I have a paragraph of essay to write.  That's aboriginal.  One would imagine.  Where's my ukulele?  My iPod started working again.  I guss I don't need it.  Did teacher play Time After Time to subconsciously addict us to Yoga, that we would come to depend in it, Time After Time?  Probably.  I'm on to your tricks, lady!  Nothin' gets past me.  Except soccer balls.  I'm not a very good goalie, am I.  Am... I... zing Grace?   Hey Grace, nice name, does it rhyme with your face?  Zinged Grace.  Anyway.  Fifteen minutes until classroom opens.  I wonder if Meadow from Soprano's was inspired by Tim Meadows.  I think we can safely assume probably.  Worst entry in a while.  I need a vacation.  Or a staycation.  Or a placation.  Or a Shawshank Redemption.  Yeesh.  Do a class presentation.  Remember my location.  Stuff like that, you know.  Anyway.  I gotta keep writing, now that other people are here, waiting.  I can't just look at looseleaf paper like a fool.  I have to write in it like a fool.  Stupid glasses.  Made me feel like a poindexter.  Outstanding, great.  See ya later.

-1:45 P.M. 

Monday, March 9, 2015                        

Great Title!

Shut up you sarcastic bag of bones.  The good news is Hello.  It's me.  The sarcastic bag of bones himself.  Hi.  What's going on in the world of me.  I went to hospital today.  My therapist is really pressuring me to do this talent show they're putting on with the patients.  I told her Fuck No.  She was like, Please.  And I was like No!  Then she was like There'll Be Pizza.  And I was like Maybe!  As part of my diagnosis, one of my doctors tested me on who is the president, who is the mayor, what year is it, where are you.  And guess what?  THREE FOR FOUR!!!  I forgot where I was.  Still, 75% is passing.  Actually, I got the date half wrong.  They asked me the specific date, and for the month, I said April by accident.  I guess I'm really getting ahead of myself.  Yee-hee-hee-hee-hee!  I recovered quickly, though.  Sorry, I was thinking of my other calendar.  It makes sense I was a month ahead, though.  Because, before the appointment, I was thinking of Elliott Smith's Say Yes for some reason, where he goes, "We Broke Up a Month Ago."  And then, when I was seeing my therapist, and she was trying to get me to talent it up, she used the exact words, "Say Yes," so I figured, two for two, let's get a month ahead of ourselves.  That's very reminiscent of the time I was seeing my therapist, and they ultimately had me admitted into the hospital, and I went willingly because the guy said Walk This Way.  Basically, if anyone ever says song titles to me, that's my one weakness.  I'm like putty in your hands, provided you cite some song titles.  Don't Look Back In Anger.  Okay, I won't.  Take a Chance On Me.  Sure, if you say so.  Freebird.  I never even meant to lock it up in the first place.  Me and my Dad were talking about ornithology in the car.  Say Yes album-- Either/Or(nithology).  Cracked that code!
    Anyway.  What an idiot.  It's like a three time idiot-- thinking it in the fist place, thinking it is worth reading, and then thinking it's worth not deleting.  I'm three for four!  The fourth thing that I missed is counting wrong.  I was thinking about how I was on the Math Team in Stuyvesant.  The first semester, fine, I did it to please my parents, but it was pointless, because I wasn't good, and would never make it past the reserves.  Then, I did it for the next semester.  Why?  Instead of saying 2002 on my college application, it says 2002-2003.  That one extra semester adds a year and a half worth of bullshit.  Coincidently, that's pretty much the only math I learned from that excursion.  I think that was my only extra-curricular thing through all of high school.  Not counting the ambiguous, "Likes to Write," and, "Plays Guitar."  I think I even threw in, "Likes Movies."  Hey, this Kornblum kid likes movies!  Whatta find!  Let's nab him before someone else get to him!  That's not how college applications work.  That's not how any of this works.  Three for four!  More Like, Breathe-ing Poor!  Yee-hee-hee-hee-hee!  Anyway, wha.  Huh?  I wore my glasses today.  For strategy.  I deduced I would need to be able to see things.  That's how that goes.
    Anyway, hi.  We be entrying it up.  What exactly is the Crypt Keeper supposed to be.  A zombie?  I get the impression he was born that way.  So what is he?  Also, he's not that great of a crypt keeper.  I've never seen him leave his room.  The whole rest of the crypt is being neglected.  Also, I have a funny feeling that entire house is just a miniature that the camera makes to look like a full sized house.  Call it a hunch.  Anyway.  Here we are, halfway through the entry.  How's it going?  Solid C-.  Can't complain, can't complain.  Well, I could.  But it would be an errant complaint.  I don't like that anti-cigarette commercial they show before movies, where it's like a horror film, and all these disgusting beasts are accumulating to enter the kid's lungs when he smokes.  It kinda romanticizes it.  Hey, if we smoke, it'll be like Twilight!  And not just during twilight, I'm talkin' all day Twilight!  And if there's one thing I know about kids, it's that kids love Twilight.  Also, that they avoid eye contact with me on the bus.  But that could be said of any population subset.  Population sunset.  Twilight.  Cracked that code!  Now, to solve the mystery of the unfinished entry.  Well, anyway.  What's going on for real.  The rest of it was stupid, now we're talkin' real.  Maybe the Crypt Keeper is supposed to be a Twilight.  Can't discount that possibility.
    Hello.  My heart hurts.  Probably from all those cigarettes.  Either that, or Twilight.  Probably Twilight.  Twilight's a fun word to say, or type.  Let's move on from Twilight, though.  There's other things to talk about besides Twilight.  I started watching a Tales From The Crypt episode, and in the beginning, there's a crappy rock band performing, and I had to stop it.  I don't need my confidence in my own music to be corrupted by being exposed to other's inadequate music!  I won't stand for it!  I will think about direction, though.  And wonder why I haven't before.  I thought of that lyric last week, because I was using a toilet in Queens College which said Standard on it, which I guess is the brand name for those toilets.  Which made me think of the song, and also of the silent complacency towards encouraging males over females, as only males stand when they urinate.  I mean, I'm no expert on the female body.  But couldn't they stand and pee if they really wanted to?  Let's move on.  I'm no expert.  I mean, I could stand and shit.  It just wouldn't be convenient.  And women have a second butt instead of a penis, right?  I've told you, I'm no expert.
    Ow, my heart.  God damn Twilight.  This is the last paragraph, though.  There's no denying that.  What to do with the rest of my day.  Probably shit, and crap.  Finish this entry first though, right?  Right, right.  Where am I.  Stupid trick question.  I should have taken out a compass.  If only I had brought my compass.  Or, I should have said, If you are confused, check with the sun.  And she'd be like Carry a compass, to help you along!  And we'd be instant best buddies.  I'm pretty good at R.E.M.embering lyrics.  Boosh.  Stand.  You're the boss.  Ow, my heart.  Better stay seated, I've got a health condition.  I asked if there would be anyone else playing an instrument at the hospital talent show.  She said no.  If there was, that would be extra motivation for going, to see if they would be a good fit to collaborate with.  But, nope..  Some rappers.  Some singers.  I don't wanna see that.  Well, the rap, sort of.  I do wanna see what a mentally ill person can do on the mic.  And, truth is, they're probably decent.  You gotta have some level of talent to even call yourself a rapper.  Singers?  Memory, all alone in the moonlight... no thank you.  That's great, just great.  Also, what song would I play for them.  Crappy Song #3?  Crappy Song #8?  Crappy Song #31?  So many choices.  Anyway, ow, my heart.

-12:37 P.M.                     

Sunday, March 8, 2015                        

Shows How Much You Know

Shalom party people.  It's your host with the most.  There was a scene in Beetlejuice where they're wearing sheets to look like ghosts.  Where are my royalties.  I want a nickel every time someone even says Beetlejuice.  Just make sure not to say it three times.  That would summon him, and he's a real troublemaker, if I remember my Beetlejuice canon correctly.  Hey, I'm Beetlejuice, get a load of me.  Who could forget that classic catchphrase.  Stupid iPod stopped working.  It must have had a bad reaction to all the crappy songs of mine I uploaded to it.  Just couldn't take anymore.  I heard the Beatles were juicin' on LCD.  That's what the song's about.  All You Need Is LSD.  LCD?  Where is my mind.  I bought my new Yoga mat.  This time, I went with the grey, instead of the blue.  So hopefully I could keep track of it better.  Doesn't blend in with the sky anymore.  Unless if it's cloudy.  Then, I'm in a world of trouble.  I found my old Stuy gym shorts, which I'll start changing into in the bathroom before class.  She said something bad about my pants last week.  I forget what, exactly.  Nice pants, asshole rings a bell in my memory.  Also, the grey yoga mat should attract females better.  Everyone knows gray is an aphrodisiac.  Like that movie.  All You Need Is Pants.  I spelled gray two different ways, and they're both correct.  Let's wrap our minds around that one for a while!  Or, keep reading.  I'll keep writing, so the choice is yours.
    Anyway, what's up.  My iPod is broken.  I'm in a world of trouble.  Oh well.  Such is life.  I might have to start carrying around a ukulele to play on the bus, so I could have something to listen to.  Hmm.  Now I want a ukulele.  Because that's the kind of guy I am.  In the mean time, though, let's write this entry.  I'm out of contact lenses.  I have to wear glasses, like a jerk.  Actually, I have like a whole box of left eye contact lens.  Right eye contact lens, cleaned out.  I think from all those times I only put in my right eye contact lens.  You know, for fun.  And, that month where I put my right eye contact lens in my left eye.  Also for fun.  What else is there to talk about.  I talked about pants.  I talked about my eyes.  Pretty much hit all the key points I wanted to get to.  I can't get rid of these nightmares.  Same thing, every time.  A nightmare.  Sick of it.  Sick!  One of the songs on my Jock Jams CD mix is Tubthumping by Chumbawamba.  If they changed the lyrics to, "I get Jock Jammed, Then I get up again..." I'll end it all and donate my body to science.  That's how high the stakes are of how happy it would make me.  Walkin' in a Winter Wonderland.  Huh?  Wha?  Anyway. 
    New paragraph.  Homeslice.  I know they say seven duece is the worst hand in poker, but what about two seven?  I'd say its equally.. ah, fuck it.  That joke doesn't even deserve to be finished.  Not unlike my life.  The Ultimate Joke.  My music is even more of an ultimate joke.  And my comedy?  Strangely, not funny at all.  Whoudathunkit. Buddhathunkit.  Probably.  He's a clever guy.  I remember using Buddha as a slang for marijuana, before I even smoked, and I'm honestly not sure if came up with that or not.  Either way, whatever.  What else is going on.  Today is Sunday.  That's great, just great.  I know what day of the week it is.  I'm really on the up and up.  Number sixty four pitching for the Mets.  When I'm 'LSD.  Pants.  That's how that goes.  What else is going on.  Clifford Floyd is commentating for the Mets.  He was a good pick for like the 7th-10th round in All Star Baseball 2003.  Which is, I think, the true measure of an athlete.  Where you pick them in fantasy drafts in outdated sports video games.  I'm gonna wear my Tenacious D Rocks t-shirt for Yoga on Tuesday.  You know, as an aphrodisiac.  Uh-oh.  Tenacious Dr. Ocks.  He's a Spiderman villain.  And now he has tenacity?  We're all in a shit storm of trouble.  I was watching Spiderman III a little bit last night.  Lots of good memories tied up in that film.  That's how I feel about things.         
    Okay.  What does the fourth paragraph have in store for us.  Probably crap, and shit.  Or will it be shit, and crap?  Either way,  lets get it over with.  What the what.  Let's get shittin' with it.  It's Spring in two weeks.  Spring!  Let's get springin' with it.  Spring is probably the second best season.  Fall is first.  Then Spring.  Then Summer, then winter.  Winter's pretty good, though, sometimes.  And Spring kinda sucks, when it comes down to it.  I guess it's open for discussion.  Anyway, what else.  I remember me and my friends used to call Mike Cameron, "The Darkness," as a reference to Chappelle's Show.  Because he was very dark black.  Is that racist?  We weren't saying it was bad.  It was affectionate.  To rectify any possible racism, here's a story about that friend which embarrasses him.  We were around twelve or thirteen, and we were talking about how long it takes us to shower.  And when it came to him, he went, "You mean with the water on?"  Which we immediately took to mean, or at least I did, that he would masturbate in the shower, because he heard that's what people do, but he didn't do it when he showered, he just went into the shower to masturbate. 
    There, I can't be racist, because I made fun of my friend.  Air tight logic.  Also, I can't be racist because I'm not racist.  That's exactly what a racist would say.  I think I just played the race card to get out of this entry.  I'm not exactly sure how, or why.  But that's what happened, I think.  Anyway.  Grey yoga mat.  What will they think of next.  Oh, the guy who does the robot in the Chappelle's Show sketches.  That never gets old.  Just picturing it in my mind, it's so fine.  Relative to other things, that aren't as fine.  It's finer than those things.  Anyway, time to wrap it up.  In conclusion, I'm not racist.  And Fall is definitely the finest season.  And Cliff Floyd in round ten is an absolute steal.  The Beatles were obsessed with pants.  Beetlejuice was a thing, as were contact lenses.  See ya later.

-4:18 P.M.      

Saturday, March 7, 2015                        

Werewolf Vs. Wolf Man Vs. Castle Wolfenstein Vs Boy Who Cried Wolf Vs Wolfingtonitis

Sick of these titles that are crap.  Sick!  The good news is I got five paragraphs to make it up to you.  So, hmm.  What's up.  I got a hunch today is Saturday.  Call it a hunch.  I just did.  Good, continue doing so.  Hunchbacks are like onions.  From a crossover movie, some time, somewhere.  Back To The David Souter.  What a jerk.  The only way out of the Supreme Court game is death.  Retiring, like a fool.  Where does he get off.  Probably when court is in session, under the table.  No, I'm thinking of Clarence Thomas.  Sorry.  Youtube didn't have my favorite Tales From the Crypt episode.  Now I have to perform it myself with shadow puppets.  And that's hard work.  I'd need to take classes.  Shadow Puppet classes.  But the payoff is immeasurable. I dropped a half full cigarette pack on the floor.  Oh well, that's gone forever.  You can't expect me to bend down to pick something up.  What am I, The Amazing Elastico Man?  No, I'm just Shadow Puppet Guy.  Isn't one of the Fabulous Four just a guy whose really elastic?  I remember watching that on the NYU movie channel.  It's like a premium channel, except only for NYU.  And they got movies even quicker than HBO or whatever.  I also remember watching the music channel a lot.  Ain't nothin' wrong with that.  Ya'll just got schooled.
    I guess.  I remember one of the stupidest inspirations for a song, was early on Freshman year, in October or so, there was a girl in my room, hanging out with my roommate, and she made me feel her arm.  Like, squeeze it.  I have no idea why.  And it was one of the first times I touched a lady.  So, after she left, I wrote a song about her.  Changed her name to protect the innocent.  That was nine years ago.  Now, I've been rollin' in the arms for a long time now.  I think one of the Fabulous Four was Firearms Magee, right?  Cause he has fire arms.  And his name is Magee.  Also, I might be thinking of Gumby, whose elastic.  That reminds me of a time I poked a girl.  She didn't like it.  I wrote a song about that, too.  It's called Poke, Poke, Poke.  Straight to the top of the charts, it might have went, if it existed.  Add a syllable, it's a Weird Al song.  Take away a consonant, it's a Popeye's Chicken meal.  Take away this entry, four more minutes of your life back.  If there's one thing I want you to take away from this entry... wait, no, I mean, one thing, God, take away this entry.  Oh well.  Moving on.  Let's entry it up.  There was the time I got paper stuck in my ear.  I never did get it out.  Went to the school nurse and everything, she didn't know what to do.  I had a social studies teacher in seventh or eighth grade, who my Mom must have told him I liked history or something, because he was always coming up to me during Auditorium and trying to talk to me about World War II.  I guess he was just lonely.
    Can't blame him, nobody liked him.  What a shame.  I heard he ended it all, a few years back.  Yup.  Got turned onto World War I.  I don't get how Germany could ever conquer the world.  They're just one medium sized country.  This terrible analysis of world history is brought to you by a former Social Studies Education major.  That's why I changed majors.  Wouldn't be fair to the kids.  Also, went crazy.  That too.  The Great Depression reeks of schadenfruede.  That's how I feel about things.  Anyway.  I also had a song that was inspired by a can of Pepsi.  That's how I feel about things.  Pepsi, the choice of a new generation.  I wonder if anyone from the greatest generation was like, You damn kids, with your Pepsi, drinkin' Pepsi all the time, it's all about the Pepsi, I can't stand it.  They should.  This country was founded on  principles.  People used to drink coke.  Anyway.  What else is going on.  I drink too much soda.  I probably get 200% of my daily required sodium from soda alone.  Oh well.  Some people drink, some people smoke, I drink soda.  Also, drink and smoke.  Oh well.
    Anyway, yeah.  What else is up.  Probably things, and crap.  I can't do my reading yet, because the teacher needs to e-mail us what chapters to skip.  And I need to know which chapters not to read in addition to me not reading any of it.  That's how that goes.  What else is how it goes.  I'm into the fourth paragraph now.  That's great.  Just great.  Almost as much as The Depression.  Yeesh.  I wonder if Futures will find it ironic we went from the Cold War to Global Warming.  Probably.  They'll call it, "The Goldilocks Era."  This world is too cold.  This world is too hot.  Mars.  Just right.  Mars is a tough place to raise your kids, though, I've heard.  Not as tough as Jupiter.  That'd be damn near impossible.  Anyway.  I'll see ya later.

-12:30 P.M.               

Friday, March 6, 2015                        

No More Titles!  No More Titles!

Sick of these self-hating titles.  Sick!  What else is going on.  Today's a good day to describe as Friday.  It's got all the right qualities.  It's Friday... Anyway, what else is going on.  I've brought in a statuette of an elephant into my room, to compliment my statuette of Gandhi.  Now, put Gandhi on top of the elephant, and you got the plot for the prequel to Operation Dumbo Drop.  I need more statuettes.  Some people have lives, some people collect statuettes.  I'm kinda grandfathered into the statuette group, based on not having a life.  Also, not 100% on how words work.  Also, shut up.  My grandfather was an antique dealer.  That's where I got my statuettes from.  So suck it, words.  What else.  Got a good three to five days until class starts again.  How many days exactly?  How am I supposed to know.  I'm no brainiac.  Alright, it's four.  I had to spend five hours on that math equation.  I hope you're happy.  Also, I only assume it's five, because that's how many fingers I have.  I assume everything is five.  It's good logic, you idiot.  Got a whole weekend of shitcrap to do.  I guess I could always take a bunch of Tylenol, and see what happens.  My guess?  Liver disease.  Plus, I drink a lot.  Killin' one stone with two birds, that's how that goes.  The stone is my liver.  The birds are Tylenol and alcohol.  now, now, you understand that metaphor.  Or analogy.  Definitely not a simile, though.  Let's get that out of the way.   
    Alright.  This is pointless.  What a jerk, makin' you waste your time.  The good news is I've got my lunch all mapped out.  The only thing that's left is the execution of the whole thing.  I wonder if Big Star thought about naming their band, "*," but then thought, "Nah, not big enough."  Probably.  What The Fuck.  I was looking at reviews for current movies, and Roger Ebert gave The Second Best Marigold Exotica one and a half stars.  He's been dead for years.  That's legitimately scary.  I guess it's appropriate, though, because the whole cast of that movie has been dead for years.  And, my enjoyment of that joke died .25 seconds after I thought about it, and ruined the entire fifteen seconds I had to type it out.  Roger Ebert.  Pshh.  Thinks he's so great, reviewing movies posthumously.  Jeffrey Tambor post-hummus-ly.  Yeesh.  I went up on my Wellbutrin, on the advice of the Will Smith movie.  Hopefully it helps.  Good Will Smithing.  I mean, huh?  Wha?  The Mets' Preschool game is on T.V. today.  That should be fun.  I hope they all hit homeruns.  That's how I feel about things.  I think Trouble With The Curve is a stupid movie.  Oh, the scouts never asked him to hit a curveball?  Also, they sign the other kid at the end.  You can't sign kids wily-nily, you gotta draft them.  Also, Clint Eastwood kept talking to empty bleachers.  Zero stars.  Except for that my Dad liked it.  Two Stars.  Don't insult my intelligence.  I've got five fingers.  Guess who the middle one is for?  That's right.  The empty bleachers.  Those absent assholes. 
    I'm gonna fight em off.  A seven man lineup couldn't hold me back.  Well, it probably could.  The would call the game for the other team, in that scenario.  Pretty sure that happened once or twice in Little League.  Also, Draft Day.  No thanks, I'm gonna draft M. Night Shamalamadinguskhan.  He's more of a safe bet, he's got a solid track record.  Doris Day?  Pretty sure she's dead.  Hey, she's alive.  Ninety years old.  Good for her.  Let's give her a hand.  Not literally, of course.  I need that for intelligence purposes.  Doris Day is 13 on the IMDB url.  That's pretty groovy.  That's how I feel about things.  I don't get 99 cent stores.  "99 Cents and Up."  Yeah, every store is that.  Zero cents and up.  You'd think, Okay, a store where everything is 99 cents or less.  That makes sense.  99 cents and up?  What the fuck.  Huh?  Don't get it.  Five fingers couldn't explain that in a million years.  Also, full disclosure, I heard something like that on a podcast this week, but I had thought it several times beforehand.  So, I feel comfortable saying it here.  Also, full disclosure, I'm not a real doctor.  Someone should say that right when they're giving someone anesthesia for surgery.  For fun.  It's all for fun, when it comes down to it.  Except for hospitals.  Patch Adams tried to bring some humor into the mix, and what'd they do?  I don't know, I never saw the movie. Safe to assume they put up some obstacles for him, though.
    Yeah, okay.  Full disclosure, I'm not a real clown.  Then they float into their rest terrified.  That's how that goes.  Thinkin, What dreams may come.  I gotta finish this entry.  That's what may come.  What else is may be comin'.  Gotta clean up my room, and whatnot.  Ideally do the reading for next week's class.  Get a new Yoga mat.  On Tuesday, I accidentally left my Yoga mat at the bus stop.  Then, on Thursday, it wasn't there.  What the Hell, right?  Anyway, this is enough.  I'll see ya later.

-12:45 P.M. 

Thursday, March 5, 2015                        

Words, Huh?  Well, I'm On Board

Hello. It's the thing that's me.  I wanna say... person?  Eh, close enough.  What else is new.  I gotta write twenty more songs, so I can have another album of music.  Otherwise, the other characters will keep asking, Where's Poochie?  It's, yeah, well, that's what it is.  Where am I.  Crazysheet.  Anything else?  Honduras.  I still can't believe they named a country after a Street Fighter character.  What were they thinking.  How to get back at that madman Bison.  Oh well.  Alls well that ends well.  Coor Slight.  Blight +Ud.  I might as well start begging for change now.  Why wait fifteen years for me to be insane and homeless.  I can be gettin' in good man hours right now.  I can finally get to play, "If it's one, I win..." again.  You tell me, you run into a homeless guy in Washington Square Park, and he asks you to play a game where he's thinking of a number from one to two, and if it's one, he wins, and if it's two, you win, for a dollar, you don't take that bet? I'm a visionary.  I'd be rollin' in the Washingtons.  Every now and then, throw in a two, make em feel like they got a chance.  Man, imagine if I'm the guy who gets a two!  People would love it.  Or, just say four and shrug your shoulders in silence.  What do we do now.  I don't know, you're the bum.  In the dance that is our lives, it is the homeless who lead the way. Washington Square Dance Park.  Cheers. 
    I can't believe I missed March Fourth.  National Army Day.  I was pretty friendly with some kids in class today, and one of them was definitely fresh with marijuana.  I was almost to the point to bring it up, which could have eventually led to me, eventually, smoking marijuana, under certain sets of circumstances.  I kept my mouth shut, though.  Why mess with a good thing.  I'm writing an album of music every month and a half!  At this rate, I'll have the most music ever.  I can't be introducing a new drug into the mix.  Also, this was before class, what if teacher walks into class right when I say weed.  I'd be sent to the principals office!  At least I know he's my pal.  That's the principle of the thing.  I'm surprised there's not much of smoking cigarettes in the bathroom in college.  I guess everyone's quit cigarettes by the time they reach college.  Oh well.  The good news is I can still bite my nails to the highest degree possible.  You mean like a masters degree?  No.  Like 540 degrees?   Nope.  You mean like, "What's the opposite of progress, de-gress?"  Yup, that's what I meant.
    While I was waiting in the hallway for class, there was a group of people in a neighboring part of the hallway, for their class, who I've seen a few times and listened to their conversation.  There's a guy who was talking about Rush, and it was alluded to that he had been in bands, and I really wanted to go up to him, and say, "Listen, asshole, you're gonna be in my band now.  Now, here's some sheet music for Song #2."  That's right, I stole my former band mate's primary song.  The music business is all about stealing, when it comes down to it.  Jimmy Page.  Some guy who stole something from a 7-11 store, somewhere, some time.  The list goes on and on.  I wonder if there's anyone who thinks I cant believe Jimmy Page actually stole Robert Johnson's guitar.  It's like Bill Gates owning the software vs. the hardware all over again.  Except, fifteen years earlier.  And somewhat different.  Also, I'm sixty eight percent positive Robert Johnson wasn't necessarily stolen from.  Besides the Devil stealing his soul.  I sold my soul/For rock 'n roll/Oh Jimmy Page/What an A-Hole...  What was I talking about again?  Also, I'm pretty sure Robert Johnson only sold sixty eight percent of his soul.  That's a good one third of him in Heaven.  Oh well, The Devil is in the details.  Yee-hee-hee-hee-hee!  I spent all last fright watching wails from the crypt!  Life Well Spent.
    Alright.  That's how that goes.  I did have Halal food for lunch today, and future Halal food for dinner.  Six dollars well spent.  What now.  Spent a good ten minutes on my report that was due for class today.  Crushin' it.  I've never used that term before, and I'd prefer to never use it again.  One and done, that's how that goes.  I know I spend a lot of time per entry thinking of the Fright'll.  I imagine someone reading this, after the Life Well Spent bit, and just thinking, "He's gonna make a pun with title, he's gonna make a pun with title, he's gonna make a pun with title..."  You guys are way ahead of me.  Now, weigh a dead!... Of me.  I haven't worked all the kinks out yet of my English-to-CryptKeeper function yet.  Anyway, what else.  7-11 are open from seven to eleven.  Does that mean TGIFridays are only open on Fridays?  Chili's only open when it's cold out?  Also, get the deal with what's the deal with restaurant names.  Read 'Lobster.'  Well, just did it.  Where's my prize?  Also, Five Guys.  Is this a Soylent Green situation?  Probably.  Mount Everest was in the news yesterday.  I used to confuse Mount Everest with Mount Rushmore.  They're both mounts.  It's a reasonable mistake.  And they both sound like pretty crappy pornos.  I'd like to be out hiking, and then come across Mount Rushmore unexpectedly.  Oh, yeah.  I remember those guys.  Huh.  How about that.
    Anyway last paragraph.  This entry wasn't as bad as I thought it would be, based on the slow start.  It was only about two thirds as bad as I thought it would be.  Not bad.  The next Crypt episode I have lined up is all about scarecrow fucking.  I remember it from the last time I've seen it.  That's not the kind of thing one forgets.  At the end, a guy pretends to be the scarecrow, so he can get some of that sweet scarecrow booty, and ends up gettin' killed.  Oh well.  Scare crow.  Crows are pretty scary themselves.  That's how I feel about things.  They were pretty lazy when naming Scarecrows.  It's like if they called a hamburger, an Eatmethingamagig.  Or a car a Drivearoundinthis.  Or English Talktoyerbuddies.  Those are pretty much the three main things, I guess.  With scarecrow being the fourths.  Fourth?  I don't know, you're the bum.  See ya later.

-2:46 P.M.        

Tuesday, March 3, 2015  

    I briefly couldn't find this and was paranoid someone else found it.                      

Don't Listen To Titles

Hey friends.  Happy New March.  That's how that goes.  I'm writing in-between classes.  Which is The Cure's socially conscious alter-ego-song.  Lego of my Eggo songs.  Is it an egg or waffle?  To signify italics in my notebook, I wrote on a tilt.  I'm no msater calligraphist.  Which is when you draw a graph of California.  Or Superman.  Either one, it doesn't matter.  I should do a character in Yoga today.  Just, the whole time, be thinking, "I Am Superman."  That'll win the attention and favor of pretty girls.  Or, maybe make me more like Clark Kent.  Either way, someone's walking up the stairs.  Such is life.  I can't wait till pretty girls come here.  My goal is to make eye contact and never let go.  I learnt that from movies.  Just keep staring, they'll get the message.  Unless if you're Superman.  Then, you might be looking right through them, at the wall.  Man, no one ever told me life would be so difficult.  Those liars.  On my fifth birthday, my Dad should have just sat me down and said, "Look, life is gonna suck.  You will leave the world disappointed and unfulfilled.  And if you ever try, at anything, you will fail.  Now, who wants Cheerios?"  Not me.  Cheerios are disgusting.
    Got to use diagonal writing, though.  So the quotation wasn't all bad.  The good news is shut up.  What else is going on.  Probably crap, and things.  I'm burnt out on music.  I quit.  Also, everything else.  Life?  I quit.  Classes?  I quit.  Glasses?  Wearin' contact lenses.  I like plastic water bottles.  Hey, let's fuck some shit up.  I'm right behind you.  We listen to music in Yoga.  I'm still waitin' for the rotation to hit my songs.  It's what everyone is thinking.  The Uppers is in the class, when are we gonna get to his music?  Also, no one in my life has ever called me The Uppers.  Bound to happen one day, one time, one place.  It's good to have something to look forward to.  I've been called "Upper-son" (A person) I don't think anyone even called me that.  That's how language works, if you want it to.  You probably don't.  Some people do.  Who are these people?  Am I right?  Probably.  I'm right about roughly 80% of things.  Solid B/B-.  Better than you.  Miss Mullins, you're the man.  They should remake School of Rock as a Lifetime horror thriller.  You can basically keep 100% of the plot.  The Plot Against America.  Or, they chuold just re-release School of Rock with the title, "Jack Black's Plot Against Your Children."  There's a part of the soundtrack when they're playing Substitute, which was either by The Who or The Stones, I forget, and there's a line that goes, like, "I look all white, but my Dad is black," and they cut it right at, "Black," and Dewey Finn comes into the frame.  What fun.  I'd even go so far as to say fun and a third. 
    From sea to shining KORNBLUM.  Not sure what point I was trying to make there.  There are no points.  Let's have some Cheerios.  Disgusting.  Who should I be to impress ladies?  Maybe I could be Marty Mcfly.  Kissing you is like kissing my brother.  Mission Accomplished.  Also, I missed the point of that scene.  Was it Cheerios?  And, if not Cheerios, what breakfast cereal?  Give me 500 words by Thrsday.  Five Hundred Words?  Let's see.  Hundred.  Hundo.  Benjamin.  Century. ... ... Eh, close enough.  Four Five Hundreds By Thursday.  That's all I got.  AnAnyway, huh?  I'll never be Superman at this rate.  They should have called, "Chef," "Supper Man."  I have just been chopped.  Well, I gave it my all.  Probably.  At this point, I don't really remember.  It's jard to remember stuff.  All these spelling mistakes are 100% accurate.  You're meeting the bees-knees himself.  There's a line for the ladies.  You're meeting the B-52's.  Lemme make you my Love Schlack.  Another factual spelling error.  My hands are going insnae.  All that italics is throwing them off their game. This is like Yoga for me.  And actual Yoga is like Journal Entry.  Because let's have some Cheerios.  yeesh.  What else is going on.  I had to write the first few lines of what my autobiography would be for my English class.  This is what I wrote:

Well, it's me.  Michael Kornblum.  This is an autobiography.  I once read Akira Kurosawa's, "Something Like An Autobiography."  That's a good title.  I wish I had thought of it.

     It's okay.  It's fine.  It's bungee-jumping sublime.  It's hot.  It's with it.  It's ever-so exquisite.  Its happening.  It's good.  I'm all up out of words.  That's how that goes.  What the what, indeed.  I oughtta be able to finish this before class, then, what I'll never finish-- Staring at that ass!  Made it creepy, I just made it creepy.  I'm a madman, apparently.  Fourth paragraph it up, apparently.  I think they should re-imagine Jack and the Beanstalk, where Jack sells his cow to a handyman, and in return, just get's a reallly really, really tall ladder.  This is the way we climb the ladder, he might say.  tThis is good stuff.  NNo it isn't  It's the opposite of good.  Word.  Crap and a half, they're playing music with words in Yoga.  I can't be hearing words!  My delicate, delicate psyche.  That's how that'll go.  Nothing bad ever happens in Crazyheet.  I wouldn't allow it.  I know!  I'll be Batman.  Everyone loves them some Batman.  Except for Mr. Freeze.  That guy's got problems.  That's how I feel about things.  Anyway.  This is gonna be over soon.  I can feel it in my bones.
    Last paragrapha-slizzle.  You wanna slizzle my dizzle?

The main pretty girl from class had walked into view around the end of paragraph four.
  
    Finally a reasonable thing to say to a pretty lady.  Got that all prepared, what else to do.  use the washroom.  Least favorite term.  Bathroom, rest room, washroom.  In that order.  Crap Town USA.  That''s great, just great.  Batman is gone.  Where is Batman?  We already know that Joker's got a job.  The Riddler's interning somewhere.  Penguin's babysitting.   ANyway, where was I?  Oo yeah.  Summerslam!  Only got four more months to prepare.  What to do, what to do.  It's kind of cool having one day a week to have eight hours of work a day.  I'm gettin' stuff done, and whatnot.  Is it whatnot or whatknot.  Spell check'll figure it out.

The main character I ended up portraying was Millhouse.  However, primarily as his gamer alter-ego, Thrillhouse.

-5:36 P.M.

Monday, March 2, 2015                        

It's a Tough Job, And Nobody's Got To Do It

That about sums this website up.  Except it's not that tough.  And I have to do it.  So, I guess it sums it up at about negative 100%.  I like that tribe that gets mentioned all the time, that they don't want their picture taken, because they think it steals their soul.  Well, a picture is worth a thousand words.  Every time someone writes a medium length article on them, wouldn't that steal their souls?  I think so.  Let's take some calls.  Caller, you're on the air.  Bring back Gang of Nine.  How about no.  Next caller.  Hi, I'm from Connecticut.  So what, you wanna award?  Well, yeah.  Anyway, huh.  You distracted me from poker.  That's five hundred thousand play chips I'll never get back.  Unless if I win them through poker.  I never thought about it that way.  Today is March second.  Nothin' gets by me.  How come I haven't gotten pocket Aces yet, in the five minutes since I lost those chips.  At this rate, It'll take hours to get that money back.  Remember that movie, The Hours?  At the beginning, there's a subtitle that says One.  Then, after an hour, Two.  That's what it's all about.  Alright, pocket Aces.  It's about time.  Did I will the pocket Aces into being?  Probably.  I'm pretty good at willing stuff to happen, when it comes down to it.  Except water.  Water is my one weakness.  Like in Unbreakable.  And in Signs.  M Night Shalamadingdong must really hate water.  And The Lady In The Water.  What's his deal, I don't know. 
    Anyway, it doesn't matter.  Who am I to judge.  I hate mayonnaise.  We've all got our hang ups.  If I ever make a movie, the main villain will be tuna salad.  That's how I feel about things.  It turns out all the Tales From The Cryptatorium are on youtube.  That'll satisfy me for a couple of days.  Hello, boys and ghouls!  HOLY SHIT HOW DID HE DO IT.  WHATTA PUN.  That's probably how everyone feels when they read this website.  Oh well.  It's an easy job, and I have to do it.  What am I supposed to do, spend time reading the assigned readings for my classes?  No, thank you.  Up From Slavery?  I don't want to read about slavery.  That's no fun.  Washington Square?  I used to live around there.  What if it's about me?  I can't take that chance.  Last class, someone spilled some change on the floor, and being the gentleman I am, I picked it all up for her.  Then, I realized, people don't want people touching their money.  To be fun, I should have picked it all up and put it in my pocket.  I direct your attention to the case, Finders Vs. Losers.  Finders keep.  Losers weep.  Those are the rules of the universe.  Even more fun, I should have shouted Five Second Rule!  Then picked it up and put it in my pocke.  I don't get the five second rule.  Is food being on the ground five seconds really any different than ten seconds, or thirty seconds, or a minute.  Not as far as I'm concerned.  And thus ends our segment, As Far As I'm concerned.  That may have been on Comedy Bang Bang.  If not that, then a million things similar to that.  I don't like Comedy Bang Bang, it's too scary a title.  I don't wanna get bang banged.  I barely even want to get comedied.
    And that's the end of that paragraph.  I could very easily have lunch later.  It's totally within the realm of possibility.  What else is up.  Let's do it.  Comedy time.  We got comedy waitin' in the wings.  Up From Slavery.  My band's name is The Uppers.  Who you tryin' to fool.  First you steal the wrestler Booker T.'s name, then this.  Whatever.  Booker T.'s a hero.  I mean, Booker T. Washington.  Booker T is okay, though, from what I remember.  He had a tag-team partner.  Who was it.  Also, who cares.  Not me, and I'm the one what writin' the bastard.  Anyway, huh.  I need a tag team partner.  I'm never gonna win the Royal Rumble at this rate.  Royal Rumble or Summer Slam.  Which is funnier.  I made my choice, and I guess I gotta stick with it.  I got Mankind's autograph once.  Him and Big Boss Man were doing a signing near my house.  Mankind was and always will be my favorite wrestler, but I regret not having a photo with the signature, Big Boss Man on it.  That's a once in a life time opportunity, and I blew it.  I think that's the only autograph I ever got.  I have a baseball with all the duplicated autographs of the 1997 Yankees.  Can't forget about that.  I have a blue rubber ball.  That's worth something.  If only I could find it.
    Yea, huh?  Wha?  Okay.  I gotta finish this crap.  Should be fun. It's all about the fun, as far as I'm concerned.  Also, I shouldn't be concerned at all.  If it's all about the fun.  No reason to bring concernment into it.  I guess I could be concerned about how much fun we're having. I got the idea for Gang of Nine from the back of a Cheez-It box.  The more you know.  And I got that from a commercial.  Recycling comedy is just being environmentally conscious.  I'm a hero.  I like those commercials, It's Nine P.M., Do You Know Where Your Children Are?  What's the target audience for that commercial.  People who go, Oh yeah, children.  Forgot about them.  They need a T.V. to remind them they have offspring.  Anyway, this was fun, as far as I'm concerned.  And I'm concerned pretty far.  My window's open.  Who came up with this shit.  I gotta come up with some crap to say.  You ever notice how you can't find your blue rubber balls.  They're always in the last place you look.  Everything's always in the last place you look.  Unless if you keep looking for something after you found it.  Those dummies might exist.  See ya later.

-10:52 A.M.                                  

Sunday, March 1, 2015                        

Hello Friends.  It's Me, The Title

AHHH TITLES HAVE BECOME SELF AWARE.  The countdown towards doomsday has begun.  Let me start over.  Hi.  It's March now.  Get a load of this crap.  So, what's new.  I got a pretty awesome boil on the inside of my left thigh.  Don't mean to brag, but yeah.  I got that goin' on.  I can't stop looking at my shirts hanging up on the door.  Ha, I remember that shirt.  Then a few hours later, the same thing.  The point is I'm very easily entertained.  Is the phrase, The greatest thing since sliced bread meant to be sarcastic?  I really can't tell.  Sliced bread is pretty good, I guess.  I think it's usually said in earnest.  But, c'mon.  Also, what was sliced bread the greatest thing since.  The printing press?  Probably the printing press.  Also, Luke Skywalker.  Created by George Luc-as.  Is he trying to say he's the hero we all know and love?  Probably.  Also, Jaws.  What's the deal with Jaws.  Who would give a shark a name.  Who are these people.  Probably jerks.  That's how I feel about things.  I like the horror movie The Fog.  Oh no, can't see things clearly!  Whatta joke.  What else is in the news.  Without sliced bread, you can't have a sandwich.  So, basically, the phrase is saying, the greatest thing since sandwiches.  Which is a sentiment I can get behind.        
    What else.  Probably some stuff, that I just haven't thought of yet.  Greatest thing since sliced bread.  Pssh.  How about the greatest thing since shirts.  Without shirts, our torso would be helpless to the external climate conditions.  And then where would we be.  Inside, probably.  The only place that's safe.  What the what.  What's what.  Huh.  Anyway, where was I.  Because of my referential thinking, any time I read or see something that clearly doesn't have to do with me, I'm always like, to the author or whatever, You idiot.  That never happened to me.  You're way off track.  Because life is full of fun stuff.  That's how I feel, at least.   Ha, I remember that shirt.  Sorry I got distracted looking at shirts.  What else is going on.  Probably stuff worth saying, I would imagine.  Hey, new month.  Get to think of a new title for the month page.  First instinct?  Let's Get Marchin' With It.  I'll give it some thought.  Not really.  Let's Get Marchin' With It is perfection.  No way I'll be able to top that.  It's March 1st.  March first, ask questions later.  That's what they tell you in the army.  Just a general rule of thumb.  I like how each Child's Play is more of a comedy, with Chucky getting more and more likable.  Eventually, he's just gonna be a true good guy, and be everyone's friend to the end.  Because, in horror movies, redemption is always possible.  Except in Saw.  That guy's a maniac.  At least, from what I saw.  Happy New Year.  That's my tagline.     
    Yeah, whatever, I guess.  New paragraphizzle.  I think it would be weird if the internet campaign to get Samuel L. Jackson to say I want these mother fucking snakes off this mother fucking plane, instead got him to say, I'm gettin' too old for this shit.  It would be confusing and vaguely racist.  Still entertaining, though.  Tell him Uncle Sam's in town.  Me including that line is confusing and vaguely racist.  Probably.  I get things wrong a lot.  The Nielson ratings.  I scored two and a half Naked Gun 33 and 1/3rds.  Not bad, not bad.  I'm starting to lose life force.  That's what I call getting tired.  To finish the entry, I have to do 100% of what I've already done.  Yeah, anyway.  I like how they call stupid people slow.  Haven't they ever heard of the tortoise and the hare.  The tortoise wins the race.  Dumb people will inherit the Earth.  And that's... The bottom line.  Here's The Real Bottom Line. And that's... the real bottom line.  That's why I write this website.  So I could one day be the king of the Dumbards.  That's how I feel about things.  I hate amazon and websites like that.  When I have kids, I'm not going to have the joy and pleasure of taking them to CompUSA.  Going to CompUSA was probably the highlight of my childhood.    
    Anyway.  Last paragraph was too short.  I'm cuttin' corners.  No one will be the wiser.  And, if they are, they ain't inheriting shit.  Why aren't there new Chappelle's Show shows.  Where is justice.  Justice is nowhere to be found.  Anyway.  We have fun, right?  That's what it's all about.  One would imagine.  I bet someone just said that phrase to John Lennon once, and he was like, Hmm, that gives me an idea.  And the idea was to write One Is The Loneliest Number.  Anyway.  And Blockbuster!  No Blockbuster.  Forget CompUSA, that's the real tragedy.  And I won't be able to celebrate the new millennium with them!  Aww!  What joker thought to call a thousand years a millennium.  That asswipe.  Call it a Grandium.  Thousandterianism.  Change-In-The-Fourth-Digit-Party.  Just don't bring million into this.  Also, in Dumb and Dumber, what the hell was the point of sending Harry up there with a bulletproof vest.  Just go in there, you're the cops.  What are you waiting for.  Movies don't make sense.  What an idiot.  The good news is Huh?  Wha?  Eha?  Anyway, se ya later.        



-9:12 A.M.