Tuesday, May 1, 2012
Guy Who Falls Down Stairs And Sues The Stairs
Anyway. What's going on. I just woke up an hour and a half ago. I guess that's not really just waking up. I can see it in your hearts that you're already disappointed you chose to read this entry. Well, have a good day. You can leave any time. Oh, you're deciding to stay? What a surprise. I'm thinking about buying an electronic cigarette. It's basically just a cigarette you can text and play angry birds on. Rather than dwelling on that, let's get to more interesting topics. Like, it's May now. What dreams may come. Probably none. May is historically a very boring month. I have a poster board on my wall that I keep track of months and rank them in order from boring to interesting, and May is historically far down on the scale. I released four albums of music online yesterday. Click on the music link to listen to the songs. They're mostly from 2010, but that doesn't matter. They're all special in their own way. I have to say nice things about them, or else they'll get depressed and kill themselves. Songs are very fickle.
Enough about that. Lets get to the funny. Why did the chicken cross the road? Because the chicken was Jesus, and the road needed saving. Why was six afraid of seven? Because seven could beat six up. I don't think seven would really eat nine. That's just bullshit. Anyway. I'm three weeks into my improv class. It's going rather well. I still kind of suck. Like, we are all pretty decent, but nowhere near the level of real improvisers. I think someone should start a campaign to improve visors. Like, get them to cover our heads, too. Improving visors is basically just making hats. Do you know what book sucks? Catcher In The Rye. That kid is nothing but sexual desires and venom. He hates everybody. J.D. Salinger is a real douche. I don't want to read that. I'd much rather read Kierkegaard, who actually likes people. What a novel concept. Too bad Kierkegaard didn't write any novels. If he did, it probably would have been called I Love You (Especially If You're Regine Olson). That's a Kierkegaard joke. He was engaged to this woman, then he broke it off, but then he still loved her. What a joke. At least we got some good philosophy out of him.
On my driver's license, it says my eyes are "Br." Now, I know that means brown, because I own a mirror, but how do people know it doesn't mean one eye is blue, one eye is red. People can't tell, because they're all idiots. I bet 100% of people who watch T.V. watch commercials. What prostitutes. This is your time, people, don't sacrifice to your industrial overlords. That's why there are no ads on this site. If you choose to read it, it's all content you're getting. I guess me talking about my music is a sort of commercial. But you can listen to that for free, you don't have to pay for it. It's just a suggestion. I guess commercials are just suggestions, too. But they're way too in your face about it. Thumbs down, commercials. Way to ruin T.V. And for anyone who says that there would be no shows without commercials, because the commercials give way for the shows to have money, I say, why not make shows just for fun? I bet there are people out there who would make shows designed to be on T.V. with their own money. We just need to find them and use them for our own self-interest.
People need to put food on the table, though. Especially waiters. They're doing it practically all the time. I like geologists. "Oh, I'll study the Earth!" What losers. I hate all scientists. Do something productive with your time, like write music no one wants to hear, or write blogs no one wants to read. I secretely want to be a scientist and end climate change. But I'm too scared Environmental Science is too hard. Besides, it probably would take a lot of team work to end climate change. And I am but one man. And I don't work well with others. I'm like Iron Man from that commercial about The Avengers. Commercials about movies are okay, because they're like mini-movies. Thumbs up, commercials about movies. Why is the Hulk an Avenger. It just seems like he'll get mad and start attacking the Avengers. This guy has no control over himself.
Last paragraph time. Got to make it count. So far, not counting. Let's see. Do you know what movie sucks? White Oleander. Oh, I'm a girl, but I have problems. Welcome to the real world. A car horn is going off in my backyard. My backyard is a parking lot. That's not funny, it's true. I just had a bagel and some coffee. And I'm smoking cigarettes. Welcome to the real world. Real world: my house. It's all about how my family relates to each other. Mostly through genes and DNA. But also, through talking and actions. Why isn't that a show. We'll do it for free. We have no scruples. What the hell are scruples. Sounds like Russian currency. Anyway. I thought of a name for a band. It's called "Thenything," and the first album will be called "Nothing Much." I'm never going to be in a band. That's why I feel comfortable sharing these names with you, it's never going to happen. Nothing ever happens. That's another good album name. Thenyway. Time to close the entry. I hope you all enjoyed yourself. I didn't.
Wednesday, May 2, 2012
I'm Scared of Everything
I'm glad you're here. Someone was talking about hockey and I got scared. Everything scares me. Especially hockey. Especially sitting in a car with someone while hockey is playing on the radio. Especially the movie Driving In Cars With Boys. Especially driving in a car with a boy after seeing the movie Driving In Cars With Boys who doesn't have his license. I saw WFMU's Seven Second Delay live at the UCB tonight. Man, were they something. Todd Barry was so funny and his voice was so soothing I fell asleep twice during the five to ten minutes he was on. The musical guest, Dinosaur Feathers, made me realize how far down on the ladder of music I am. I mean, there's good alternative rock, there's "indie rock," there's pop, there's bad alternative rock, there's good actual indie music, there's mediocre actual indie music, and then there's me. But still, check out my music by clicking on the sidebar. I promise you won't be disappointed. I promise you won't be as disappointed as I am.
What else is new. I'm scared of the news. My parents always have these 24 hour news networks playing and they scare the hell out of me. It's always someone yelling about the one percent or someone talking about the president like he doesn't know. Don't talk shit about the president, he has ears you know. He'll find out. Who are these people who talk about things with no regard of the repercussions. I'd like to meet them and then get scared of them because the theme of the entry is that I'm scared of everything. Porn scares me now, too. I'll watch porn, finish up, go lie in bed, close my eyes, and then see the porn happening in my head. I'm pretty sure that's what A Clockwork Orange is about. I don't want to be Alex from A Clockwork Orange. I want to be Alex, from Jeopordy. He knows everything and he's not scared of Sean Connery or Burt Reynolds at all.
My mom did something with my ashtray. It's not here. Maybe it just disappeared. Disappeared means to diss one's peers, right? Otherwise, my understanding of the human language is shaky at best. I was feeling pretty down today, but I drank two beers, and now I'm pretty buzzed. I hope no one hits on me while my inhibitions are loosened. I hope no one hits me with a hockey stick while my inhibitions are loosened. "It's Okay," the voice in my head says. I think it's Taylor Swift. What a liar. Nothings okay. Have you heard about what's going on in Afghanistan? The war's gonna freakin' end! Think about what that will do to our economy. Our news economy. We'll have to go back to covering what zodiac sign Gary Busey is and what percent of politicians eat at McDonalds.
I really hope someone marries that girl Taylor Swift. Have you heard this song Love Story? She's desperate. On the train, some lady was talking to some guy about how 18,19 is young to get married, 20, 21, 22, is like, get it over already, and 23, 24, 25 is just right. What the fuck? Get married? I can't even keep tabs on my ashtray. Or listen to hockey, apparently. I like Jeremy Lin because he's a basketball player. He shoots hoops into nets, and this website is crazysheet.net, so we're like brothers. My real brother passed the bar recently. Good for him. He's 26. Too old to get married. He might be secretly married. Or secretely married. I'm secretely married to my mattress.
Anyway. This sure killed ten minutes. Ten minutes of feeling alright versus 23 hours and 50 minutes of feeling on edge about everything all the time unless I'm singing some crappy song no one is ever gonna hear about some crappy topic to some crappy chords that no one gives a fig about. And smoking parliaments. I'm smoking parliaments instead of camel blues now because they're healthier or something. They burn quicker, though, which I don't like. This website burns pretty quick. It probably takes longer to read than it takes me to write. What a shame.
Sunday, May 6, 2012
Put It Off For Another Day
Hey. What's up? I got the update. Still doin' nothing. I hope you don't mind my nonchalance and apparent not-care-itude, but that's what gets me through the hopeless haze. Music sucks. Check out my music. I'm listening to Elton John and thinking about the movie Eraser. It's weird they made a movie based on the nub of a pencil. I'm talking about Elton John, of course. He was made of the nub of a pencil. We're all God's children, check it out. RIP MCA. Beastie Boys got me through high school. Sure made me feel cool walking down the street listening to their songs. I think MCA was a Buddhist, and I think they believe in reincarnation, so he might be reading this right now. I assume most mothers get their newborns to read this. I wouldn't have been able to, because I was in the hospital for two weeks after I was born, cause I was born five weeks prematurely and was underweight. I was born with hair, though, spiky hair. The newborns called me the punk baby. I mean the nurses. The newborns didn't speak that much. If they make enough sequels to the Bourne identity that they have a new person playing Matt Damon's part, he'll probably look down on them and sign, "The New Bournes..." That was stupid. So are you. You're ugly, too. And mean. Stop reading my website you loser.
That was out of line. I once did cocaine. Everything I did for the following twelve hours was out of line. I think I would do cocaine again. It was a lot of fun. I recommend it to nurses and newborns. What would happen if you gave a newborn cocaine? Someone experiment and put it on youtube. Guarantee a lot of hits. It'd probably just die. Such is life. Death is apart of life. The main part. It's sort of the resolution of life, in screenplay terms. The climax is when you retire, the dénouement is when your spouse dies, and then the resolution is when you die. I have a book on writing a screenplay and it just references All The President's Men and Dog Day Afternoon a lot. I guess those are good screenplays, or something. Man, our generation sucks. I am our greatest hope at some sort of semblance of a good legacy. That's this website. Our only hope. You all, too busy with your having friends and i-phones and sexual healing. I'm putting in the man hours to lie in bed all day and then write for ten minutes every other day. I'm drinking vitamin water zero BECAUSE I CAN. Get off my back.
I spend half the day playing guitar. I literally just play the same terrible, terrible songs over and over again. Sometimes I try to improvise terrible, terrible songs, and then upload them to my computer, listen to them, and then repeat the process. So that's the update on how I spend my time. Check out my songs. I'll kill you if you don't. I wonder what it would be like to kill a man. It would probably resolute his life. And dénouement his spouse's life. I put my cigarette down on the ashtray for too long and now it's just a cigarette made out of ash. What a waste. I'm gonna start a new cigarette. This is breaking news. I have to document it. I am smoking a cigarette now. This is important, topical, and entertaining stuff. This cigarette sucks. Why did I ask my dad to get me parliaments. Parliaments suck. Should have stuck with camel blues. I talk too much about "I'm smoking a cigarette" and "listen to my music." But it's true, I am smoking a cigarette and listen to my music.
I got my improv class in ten hours. Hopefully I'll get some sleep beforehand. There should be a video on a porn site called "Beforehand" and it just shows a guy and a girl talking. Not sure if that made sense. Moving on, I'm at a loss for words. Words One, Me Nothing. Did you guys ever see that movie Mask? Feel free to not respond because you can't. When I was in the hospital, that was on the T.V. and I saw part of it. At least, I think I did. It might have been something else. My memory is a little shaky. Damn ECT's. ECTs remind me of Ghostbusters, because of ectoplasm. So I feel like I'm slimer after I get my ECTs. Did you guys see Ghostbusters II? Slimer was driving a bus. How'd he get that gig? I'd drive a bus for a living. That's a lie. I can't even drive a car. The Beatles once asked me to drive their car, but I had to turn it down, because I can't drive a car.
Take the next step. I read that on a piece of paper. Now it's on my website. See how easy it is to create meaningless, directionless, and redundant content? You should all start doing it. But no, you have lives. Only I may write a blog. I remember in high school, I was always thinking about if girls read my blog. Now all I care about is being transparent to everyone. I once knew someone who's last name was Tran. Transparent was probably okay, because she was an okay person. I'm an idiot. Great, now my ashtray is on fire. Not the ashtray itself, but sometimes when you put cigarettes out in a full ashtray, the fire breaks free and everything goes aflame. Better just cut this short so I could put out the ashes. I could easily put out the ashes and return to this, that would work out just fine, but I'm so close to the end I can taste it. So, without further adieu, goodbye.
Hi. It's me again. It's not someone else. If it was though, it'd probably be Philip Chung. That's the fake name I gave on the first day of fourth grade. Then I said I take the bus home when I really got rides from my mom, and the teacher got really pissed at that because that could cause serious problems. Saying I'm someone else, apparently, wasn't so bad. I don't know why I gave an Asian last name. Probably because I was in fourth grade. In fifth grade I wrote a story about a guy called Mr. Glassesface, and I forget most of it, but I remember part of it, I said "He had a cat too," and then one of my classmates started laughing uncontrollably. So that's some insight into my elementary school years. If only I could return to those simpler times. Now we live in a world filled with terrifying truths that we wouldn't even want to cement into stories. That's why I spend my time writing crap.
Anyway. I remember in second grade, I was misbehaving, and to punish me, my teacher sent me to sit in on the third grade class, and one of the kids I was sitting near kept picking on me. Thanks a lot, Mrs. Levins. You ruined my life because now I'm scared of people picking on me. I remember in fifth grade, I had to write a report on the Bill Clinton impeachment, and I got an A. I wrote a really good first paragraph in which I detailed the arguments for and against, but my thesis statement was that he shouldn't be impeached. I also have this paper I wrote on Johnny Tremain from some elementary school grade, and for it I drew a cover of some guy biting his fingernails. The guy was Johnny Tremain, I assume. Maybe it was a self portrait referring to how I felt about writing the paper. I don't know everything.
Frontpage tells me this website will take 30 seconds to load on a 28.8 speed internet connection. So if anyone from the 1980's is reading this, sorry. By the time I'm finished with this entry it might be 32 seconds. They probably just round it to the nearest five or ten though, I should be alright. I had my improv class today. It went okay. I had a headache the entire time, but I got to rap three times, and that was fun. As a semi-practicing musician, I have the ability to rap marginally better than my improv counterparts. Of course, as semi-practicing improvisors, they have the ability to improvise marginally better than me. That's why it truly was my moment to shine. The last improv rap sucked, though. I ended up rhyming rhyme with rhyme.
Fourth paragraph time. I found a pen in my room. This was great news, because I was sure I would never be able to write anything ever again. I thought I was bound to either typing or improvising, but no, I can write again. Now all I need is a topic. Japanese headbands. Morticians who are floozies. Watching Ratatouille while drinking a combination of energy drink and vodka. Freshman year in college I drank a lot of vodka. It was fun. Anyway. I had a dream a couple of nights ago I was getting raped. That's not even a joke. I just had a dream I was being raped. It was horrible and frightening. I don't know why I would share it on a comedy blog. I guess it was sort of funny. Because, like I always say, rape victims always have something to laugh about, because they can think, "I never thought that would happen!" Because life is full of surprises, no matter what Radiohead says.
Fifth paragraph time. I found a pen in my room. This was great news, because I was sure I would never be able to write anything ever again. Nevermind. That was fourth paragraph time. So, what else is new? I had to walk by two sports games today. After the improv class I walked by Madison Square Guarden, where there must have been a game going on, because it was unusually crowded, and then on the LIRR home, it stopped at Mets-Willets Point, which I don't get why they don't just call it Citifield, and a fair amount of people were there to get on the train. I assume because the game wasn't quite over, but the Mets were losing and it was late in the game. It was that amount of people. Some kid was doing some great improv moves pretending to dig into a batters box and then swing for the fences. He was probably better than all the people in my class. I'm going to use that move somehow next week in the class. Anyway. This is over.
Monday, May 7, 2012
I Like You
Well, it's Monday again. Better get those taxes in. I don't understand how Monday's or taxes work. I haven't had a job in four years. No I didn't. I wish I was a coach for a basketball team. I'd just say "dribble more," and they'd have to dribble as much as they could, because I'm the coach. Look, it gets better. Don't give up on me now. Just in case you've given up on me, I'm going to start talking shit about you now. You know that guy who gave up on me? That dude is totally gay. Oh, you're still here? I was talking about someone else. Mitt Romney is gay. That's a rumor we should start here and now. He experimented in college and never truly let it go. Mitt Romney also reads this website, and gave up on me after that dribble more joke. So I will never forgive him.
I'm reading this book on language evolution. Like, what's it all about? I learned about statistical reading, where you start reading a sentence and your brain processes it and guesses how it's going to end. That's pretty crazy stuff. My goal is to make sentences that no one can blue red orange hat telephone grey frat gorge vanity frank allusive popsicle quasi jism. Anyway. I have this book called Invisible Monsters. On the cover there's this drawing of a beauty queen, but when you look at it upside down, it's a grumpy old woman. I read the book a long time ago, my freshman year in college. Best years of my life. Vanished in the hay. I know a guy named Vanish. And I know a song called Needle In The Hay. This means something.
Probably gettin' my camel blues later in the week. The parliaments are starting to grow on me a little. At least in my heart and lungs. And the brain. Cigarettes really weigh you down. Remember that movie Across The Universe? Did you know that there's actually a Beatles song called Across The Universe by coincidence? So look, what I'm trying to say is never give up on true love. It will always guide you into the light. I think that's what Poltergeist was about. That little girl just really loved that midget lady. Crazysheet is a pretty good name for a website, but I thought of a better name. iamawebsite.com. It's probably available, so if you want to rival me in websiting you can register it and do what you like with it.
I like Hawaiian shirts. They put the ah in aloha. There's no ah in aloha, unless you spell it backwards. There is phonetically, which is what really counts, I think. Taxmen really count. They count your money. Your money backwards is yenom ruoy. This is important, topical stuff. Remember a few years ago when there were all those sex scandals in the government? That was funny, because people talk about the government fucking you over, and in those cases, the government were litterally fucking someone over. Maybe not over, but it was certainly over once the press got wind of it. All those sad mistresses and prostitutes. I hope they hit the big time and star in pornos with their D-list fame. I like how that guy who got his penis chopped off and then sewn back was in a porno. I'm thinking about cutting my penis off just so I could be in pornos. It makes sense when you really think about it.
This is the last paragraph. Don't be sad. At least I didn't call you gay. That's the worst thing you can do in the world to someone. Because they really like the opposite sex, but people don't know it. What's opposite sex. Xes, letterwise. I guess opposite sex just doesn't exist. That's how lonely cavemen talk. What a day. I don't want to get too serious, but seriously, every day is a struggle. I have to teach myself the alphabet every day in the morning, have a light lunch, teach myself all the numbers up to 99, have dinner, then come here and write. It's a real struggle that no one should have to go through. At least I'm always learning. Learned about opposite words today. That was fun. Every entry needs a hook. The hook to this one is that I don't have Simcity 4000 to occupy me, so I write blogs for my friends. I'm exhausted. My mind told me to say that. My mind speakez to me all the time.
Wednesday, May 9, 2012
I Need Someone To Write Titles For Me
Hi. How are you? I'm doing fine. Remember the Anamaniacs? I don't. Anyway. I've been kind of depressed lately. They didn't have my brand of cigarettes at the store so now what am I supposed to do? Quit smoking? Smoke my mom's cigarettes? Go to a different store? Look at my predicament. There are no reasonable solutions. So I will have to go with option D, which is start smoking helium balloons. They don't have the amount of nicotine I'm used to. My brain just called me a moron. Maybe you are too. I'm banking on everyone being as moronic as me, or else this website is never going to get off the ground. Actually I'm smoking my mom's cigarettes. They're okay. I found my earphones today. That's good, because when I was listening to music from my laptop speakers, it was too far away and took too long to get to my ears. Now there's no fuss. Obama endorsed gay marriage. This opens a whole new world to gay and lesbian couples because the president supports the idea of them getting married. If only he had the power to actually let them get married, they'd be set.
Microsoft Frontpage doesn't recognize Obama as a word. Get with the times. Microsoft Frontpage doesn't even recognize Frontpage as word. Get with the times. I need something to do to occupy my time now that I'm so sick of playing guitar. I need to get a job. But that would interfere with all my hospital appointments and seeing my court ordered AOT. So that's why I'm not getting a job. Not because I'm lazy and/or unqualified. I miss busy work. It actually becomes quite fun once you really get into it. Like when I was uploading my songs onto the internet, first I had to transfer them bit by bit from my old computer to my newer one, then I had to put them on the website, and all that had a bunch of small, remedial steps, that at first I was really reticent about, but actually ended up liking, because it occupied me. Don't occupy wall street, they're occupied enough. Occupy me. Don't occupy me like you occupy wall street, that would be disastrous. Also, why would you do it? I didn't do anything to you. It's not like it's my fault your lives are terrible and meaningless. It's probably not my fault, at least. It might be my fault.
I want to move to Britain. It just seems like a really nice place. Hope you have the money to send me there. Please sponsor my staycation to Britain. I will be accepting donations at the end of the entry. I don't really want to go to Britain. I don't even eat fish. That's a lie, I eat fish sometimes. I like sushi and salmon and filet of sole and lobster and shrimp. I guess I like a lot of fish. But America is still better than Britain. We have two songs called "Stronger," and they have none, so we're obviously stronger than them. Also, better time zones. I mean, eastern standard time? Holy shit, that's what's up. Yesterday I just ate a bunch of product 19 straight for the box. It was good for me because it's a healthy cereal. It was bad for me because I ate half the box and it's not a productive habit. You know what a productive habit is? Please tell me. I need to know.
Well, my dad's in a coma. No he's not. Telling blatant lies and then retracting them is my main habit. I gotta kick it somehow. My dad was the inspiration for Will Ferrell's character in Kicking And Screaming. That's true, you can fact check that. That's bad. Because Will Ferrell was a dick in that movie. You don't know because you never saw it. At least I didn't. I assume you didn't see it without me. That would be sad, sad for me. That movie caused the second world war. I'm tired of doing this. This website was a bad idea. I know how precious I am, and that the world is desperate for content from such a precious person, but it turns out, not really.
I really want to start doing drugs again, but I have no money, live at home, and am constantly checked up upon by doctors and the like. I guess I could hide my drug habit from them, but I have no money. I am now accepting donations for my future marijuana use. I had a weird dream last night that I just was so disconnected from everybody and someone finally offered me a potato, and I took it, just because nothing else was going on. Also there was a little girl at some point that I felt bad about, because I felt distant and disconnected from her. Sometimes I tell blatant lies to people for no reason. I told one guy in my improv class I had bad memory, which is true, but then I told him I took a pill to help rectify it, which isn't true. I didn't have to say that. But I did. Then I gave him the name of one of the pills I do take to help with my depression. I assume he'll never check up on it, but if he does, he'll be like, "man, that kid lied to me for no reason." What a life.
Thursday, May 10, 2012
Honestly, What's The Point
Hey. It's me again. I was thinking about buying an external keyboard for my laptop because they're easier to type on. But my lack of money has reared it's ugly head on that dream. It was an actual dream. I dreamt I was typing on a keyboard, with moneybags all around me, and then a duck came down from the ceiling and some game show host from the 1950's came in and shook my hand. Then I woke up and vomited a lot. It was a bad dream. Good news! I'm getting my own cigarettes tomorrow. I plan on smoking them, on average, every half hour. Or, as they would say in my neck of the woods, a pack a day. Right now I'm smoking my mom's cigarettes. Yuck. Yauch. He's the live Adam from the Beastie Boys, right? I always liked the Beastie Boys. "Went inside the deli and my man's like 'what?,' I write the songs that make the whole world suck" may possibly be the best lyric in the history of music.
I have an early doctor's appointment tomorrow. That means my doctor is Jason Lee. It could be worse. Once I went to the doctor after believing in Jesus for a good two days and I just sat there emotionless without moving for a whole 45 minutes. I guess I was more motionless than emotionless. Then I listened to Ryan Adams' "Nuclear" on the way home and decided to become a doctor. So that's still where I'm at, career-wise. Man, I keep thinking about this one card, the six of diamonds. It's got all the qualities of a great card-- it's one of the fifty two cards in the deck... and so on. I've been listening to a lot of Z-100 lately. Good for me. No one is interested in this crap. They're interested in FiOS cable and Subaru's and having their precious phones live their lives for them. Me, I'm an originalist. Originalist isn't a word, so I guess I'm the originalist mother fucker out there to try to make it one.
I'm smoking a cigar-cigarette that's vanilla flavored. I've gained a lot of weight in the past few months. Now I wear size large clothing, and I'm a short feller. It's not good. I keep telling myself once I quit smoking I can start exercising again, and by that I mean once I quit sucking dicks I can become the exorcist. Maybe not the exorcist, but an exorcist. I had some trouble turning on and off the italics. This is hard work. I have this book called "500 guitars" that my uncle got me for Chrismikuh. It probably was like 30 bucks, I could have bought a tenth of one of the guitars in the book with that money. Now I just get to look at things I can't have.
I miss human contact. That's a contact lens you put in your eye that has DNA and is actually a tiny little baby. Or it's a human who, for a body, just projects the movie Contact with Jodie Foster 24 hours a day. I miss misery. Elliott Smith was right. I do say I miss misery. Before I said that, he was wrong. How come rock star heroin addicts always kill themselves. I guess not all of them. There's probably a lot of living rock star heroin addicts, we just don't know. When I grow up, I want to be a danger man. I don't know what that means. I was talking to my mom about John Belushi the other day. Apparently she really liked the original cast of Saturday Night Live. I didn't know what she talking about, but apparently SNL used to be called Saturday Night Live. I guess it still is. They say it every time in the opening. How could I forget. Well, all they say is that it's Saturday Night. I own a deck of cards, I know what time it is, thank you very much.
It's Thursday night now. At least it is now. When you read it, it might be Friday afternoon, or Sunday morning, or last Tuesday. Did you guy's know that according to Lynard Skynerd, Tuesday's Gone? I guess we just go from Monday to Wednesday now. I miss Tuesdays. Let's start a band together. You, me, and a drummer. That's a good name for a band. I need a really rockin' guitar to be in a band. And, apparently, a shitload of heroin. I used to not need heroin, because I got it second hand through music. That's the way things work when you're a kid. Now I'm twenty three years old and I need heroin. That's a good name for an album. Anyway. It's almost time to wrap this up. I wish I could go to sleep at night. I usually can. I think I'm going to ask my doctor about trying a drug I tried before, but used to make me really uncomfortable physically and like I couldn't move and it hurt. But I need something, so I'll try it again. That's a good name for a song. What is? I lost track of what I was talking about. No I didn't. That's a good name for a song.
Friday, May 11, 2012
I'm Gonna Smoke 10 Cigarettes In A Row!
Hey. There's nothing going on. So I will smoke cigarette after cigarette. No. Not really. My body couldn't handle it. That's a lie, my body can handle anything. Who cares? My body never did anything for me. It's all been my sensory sensors and brain thinking. I just watched Game Change. I couldn't tell if it was a comedy or not. I'm pretty sure all movies are comedies now. Hey, you know what movie's not a comedy and was really good? Kindergarten Cop. That was a horror movie. There was one scene where Arnold Schwarzenegger was dreaming and the bad guy showed up in a window in slow motion and was going to shoot him. Scared the suit right off me. I was wearing a tuxedo as I watched it when I was four years old. That's a lie. I just said suit because I have the seven of diamonds and the four of diamonds on my desk. So, they're suited. I'd be insane not to force it into my webpage.
Once when I was really crazy about a year ago, I thought I could talk to birds with my mind. I was lying in bed as the sun came up and the birds were out chirping away, and I was focusing in on one bird who was chirping differently, and trying to make him their leader. I think that's how Nazism came about. I kept chanting "Not-see, not-see, not-see" to the other birds, so only the one I wanted would be able to see. Then I realized I was chanting Nazi and stopped. One of my key brain thinking contentions is that Nazism is bad and should be against the law. I remember another time I was crazy, I saw this image of a portrait of Christ in my head, and then there was also some plant, and then I put the plant next to the portrait of Christ, as a gift offering, but I don't think he liked it. Christ doesn't care about your plants. Take that as a moral lesson.
Well, it's time to write a third paragraph. You guys know about fire? Did you know they sell things that start fires in stores? They're called lighters. And if you buy cigarettes, they just hand out little pieces of wood that you can strike against a surface to start a fire. I, for one, am appalled. Also, disgusted. Also, shocked and awed. Also, my brain hurts. I haven't had a cigarette in two minutes. What kind of Nazism is this. A couple of days ago I got angry at God and started mocking him. I started talking out loud like a retard going, "DUHHHH, I'M GOD, I'M GONNA MAKE MICHAEL'S LIFE TERRIBLE FOR NO REASON, DUHHH, I'M GOING TO HURT INNOCENT PEOPLE, DUHHHH," and that sure seemed to get his attention because then I had a dream about eating a potato. I told you about the dream, but I didn't tell you why I had the dream. It was because I insinuated God was retarded, when really he just doesn't care that much, but will still give you recognition if you give him recognition.
The world is a real place. I meant to say the world is a weird place. But it's true, the world is also a real place. No one's trying to deny that. They even have that show, real world. I like how the people on that show always never get along. In the real world, most people seem to get along pretty well enough. In the T.V. real world, people are getting paid to become E-list celebrities and party in a house for a couple of months, and they never seem to be positive about anything. What's wrong with these people. Oh, they're being coached and told how to act? WHAT? THE REAL WORLD IS FAKE? I mean, the T.V. REAL WORLD IS FAKE? E-7. You sunk my battleship. WHAT, WE'RE NOT ALL PLAYING LIVE ACTION BATTLESHIP? WHAT THE FUCK? Those commercials lied to me.
I would watch a movie about battleship if it was just a documentry of nerds and kids having a battleship tournament, and it interviews the different people and shows them playing their games. I'd also watch a movie about battleship if it was about a 40 year old 360 pound guy who calls himself "Battleship." I realized recently how much I rely on music to get me through life. It's literally all I have. I'm not even joking. Stop reading it in a sarcastic tone, I'm not joking. Ok. Now what do we do, now that you stopped reading in a sarcastic tone. It's May 11th, 2012. Dunkin Donuts is five blocks away from my house. I've told you everything I know, can we please get back to the sarcasm? Let's just end it, then. Not life, this entry. I wasn't talking to you, God. Or you, Hitler bird. I don't know why I made you the Hitler. I should chirp in some resistance birds, but I lost that power a long time ago. Maybe I can get a job as like a bird watcher. That's a thing, right? Never mind. It was a bad idea from the start.
Tuesday, May 15, 2012
I've Failed You Again
I'm against legalized marriage. Can you believe this bullshit? I'm going to write half an entry and then share some shit I wrote when I was high or something. So, what's in the news? What a country. Remember Yakov Smirnoff? That guy was before our time. He was a Russian man who would say things about America, and then negate them, saying, "In America, 'so on and so forth,' and 'in Soviet Russia, so forth and so on!'" I don't know how long his act was. I can't imagine how terrible the people in the audience must have felt, sitting there for at least an hour hearing the same joke over and over. In soviet Russia, joke hears you. I've been trying to decide what to do with my life. I think live, and then die. But I can't decide how to live or when to die. I'm thinking about living for as long as possible. Anyway, here's the crap I wrote when I was high or something.
16 begat 17. Seventeen became 18. 18 turned into nothing at all. Nothing at all turned into a metaphor. A metaphor turned into a piece of crap. A piece of crap turned into an investigation into the human soul. Myself turned into a generalization of myself and the world around me. I live in a sad symphony that only lives every seventh movement. Only the background knows the real locks that are my true soul. Kerry’s still gonna win. He can’t lose. People aren’t that stupid. We’ll see when we get there because people want to see. These are the same people who say sex appeal are the real issues that people vote for. We’ll see if Kerry wins by enough that the Republicans won’t steal it. I turn to my eyesight that which can take me somewhere new and unexpected, and therefore correct, right, and not wrong. But I can only see when I see something truly random, something I can quickly interpret because no one else is interpreting it at that same moment. No one else being me. And O.J. Simpson, who was inspired to kill because of The Simpsons. There will be a full investigation into my death because it will not be natural. Death on its nature is crossed out. President Resident is obviously a term I came up with because of the Twilight movies. When I was younger I wanted to change my name from the name I changed it to. I don’t know. By far, the most often used transitional phrase is “I don’t know.” At least for me.
I guess that's halfway entertaining. At least no less than half the halfway entertaining my entry would be without it. In soviet Russia, Entertaining halfway's you. I don't know what I'm doing anymore. I keep thinking back on times past when I used to be happy, and then I start crying because I can only remember like still images of those times, I can't actually relive them in my head. But the still images are pretty nice. Like walking around NYU, kissing girls, playing football in the street, making cracks with my friends. Lots of good memories. My recent memories aren't as good. For a few weeks now I've been home from the hospital and just lying in bed all day, getting referential thinking, and playing terrible terrible songs and then listening to them. I know how bad they are, and I just keep doing it. It's the same thing each time. I don't know why I don't stop. It's a habit worse than smoking cigarettes. I get up, listen to a couple of songs, and then think "oh, I better make an album," so I make 10 or 12 songs at a time and listen to it as it goes. And it's always terrible. Somebody stop me. The mask said that, well, Jim Carrey's character said it while he was wearing the mask. It wasn't just the mask, because when the mask was on a different person, it had different effects.
Max Payne Three is out. Diablo is out. I can't believe all these old school games have turned gay. In soviet russia, Max Payne Three outs you. I used to have this game Red Alert II which was like a war game. Sort of like Diablo, but with real world war. I was pretty good at it, I got to be in one of the best clans online, it was called Black Assassins. It never occured to me how fucking racist that is. "Mike, it might be assassins who are black," you might say, but no, everyone in the clan was white. I was pretty good, but the head of the clan (yes, the Black Assassins 'clan') admitted he let me in mainly because I was funny. I'm pretty proud that at 12 I was funny to a grown man. Now I'm not even funny to soviet Russia. In soviet Russia, soviet Russia isn't even funny to soviet Russia. It was a fun game though. Every country you could play as had a special troop. The two best were America, who had paratroopers, and Iraq, which had a desolator, which could like cause radiation. So there were weapons of mass destruction in Iraq, George Bush was right, but it was only in a video game. He was so close. In soviet Russia, close finishes journal entry.
Thursday, May 17, 2012
Me Bad Astronaut Elliott Smith Arcade Fire
I'm sorry to write to you again, but here's my thoughts. Evil is inside all of us, but especially me, because Taylor Swift asked me to pray for her, but instead I thought about the numbers 1 to 10,000. I saw Dark Shadows recently and all it did was confirm that dark shadows do exist. Johnny Depp should play a mortician in his next role. A mortician who buries himself. And the White Stripes should be playing the entire movie. I think The Carpenters got their name from morticians. The only thing they build is caskets. I was going to start a band called The Carpenters for this reason but it turns out The Carpenters already exist, and they wrote that stupid song that happens in There's Something About Mary. It turns out the thing about Mary is that she's famed and renowned Cameron Diaz, from Hollywood fame. Hollywood is a place where they make movies about things that haven't happened yet.
I'm going to sleep soon so I can dream about being chased underground until being saved by an unexcited Steve Carrell and then who knows what will happen. I'm not Hollywood, I can't predict the future. But if I could, I'd say that the number 8,982 will have special significance. Maybe that's the year the world will end, because it certainly isn't this year. Not if I can help it. And I can help it, because I'm personally friends with Jesus, so I'll just prey to him to keep the world going, or at least keep Taylor Swift happy, becuase apparently she's been having a tough time lately. I don't doubt it. I can only imagine what it would be like to have two hits simultaneously playing on the iTunes top 200. I said I can only imagine it when I really meant I can't imagine it. But I guess I could. I would be nonplussed.
That's a lie. Let's all move to Aruba. I saw a map of Aruba on the subway car today and it had all the hot spots highlighted. I think there's a place called Hollywood in Aruba. They stole that from California. California should beat Aruba up and cut it's hair. Or legalize gay marriage in Aruba. These are coincidently the presidential candidate offerings we have in the fall. Anti-hippies and the anti-hippie. Like the anti-Christ, who probably isn't all that bad, because he still believes in Christ in some form, and if the movie The Omen is any indication, dies eventually and loses. The Omen series, I mean. In the first one the kid lives, and in the future ones he even becomes president. But I'm pretty sure he dies, because there's The Omen Four, where there's a new anti-christ and it's a girl.
The Good Son is another movie about good versus evil. Elijah Wood is the good son, because he's a better actor than Macuclky Clookin, as proved in his presence in The Lord Of the Rings Trilogy and his brief mention in the time I did cocaine where one girl said I looked like Elijah Wood. I got really offended because I don't like to look like anyone else, I look like myself, God Damnit. While I was in the subway I looked at myself through the reflection in the glass and realized I look a lot like the guy from the game Operation, but that might have just been me projecting. I'm not obsessed with my appearance, though, especially because I couldn't even spell appearance until the third try, and the third try was just me using spell check, so it wasn't even me trying at all.
Home Alone Three is a movie that exists. There are many nonbelievers out there, but it still exists no matter what they believe. I wish I had the power to finish this paragraph with one sentence but that's just not the way things work out. Let's play Never Have I Ever. Never Have I Ever... wrote a crazysheet entry. I'm the only one who has to drink. But I'm home now, and the only alcohol we have is a bottle of wine I stole from a cabinet but can't open because I don't have a cork screw. I don't know if you really need a corkscrew to open it, but I tried all other options, such as opening it with my hands and my mouth. Don't try to open things with your mouth. It can only lead to bad situations. Last year some of my hair started falling out, which I had completely forgot about until my Dad reminded me today. But then they injected something into my head which made it grow back. Hair is tricky like that. One day it's falling out, the next day it's grown back. I wish life was like hair.
Sunday, May 20, 2012
Mocking The Emporium
I have another confession to make. I'm your fool. Dave Grohl said it, but I don't know what his first confession was. We can narrow it down to everything except him being our fool. Anyway. What's up? What's good? What's shacka-lackin'? I had a UCB class today. I'm okay at it, but not too great. There's this one guy there that makes me laugh all the time. He's like 5'6 and wears glasses and just comes out immediately into scenes with grade A stuff. Meanwhile, I'm doing B, B- material after getting settled into a scene. Just because my brain is so blank, I've started to come up with phrases to think of ways to start talking. Like when someone is talking about something in a monologue, I'll think the phrase "thanks for nothing," and then think of what the person who is saying "thanks for nothing" really means. I only started doing it today, and I didn't try out any other phrases, but I figure it could work with a multitude of phrases. So we'll see how that goes. I'll see. You'll assume I made an ass of myself, and we'll never speak of it again.
That sign on the church on the LIRR path into Penn that says, "Is It Nothing To You, All Who Pass By?" used to intrigue me, but now it really annoys me. No, it's not nothing. Leave me alone. Anyway. I had to urinate a lot today. This is topical stuff. The topic is me urinating. Let's talk about it some more. I like to do it into toilets, either man-stalls, (fe)male chairs, or onto the goods at supermarkets. Scientists have confirmed my urine contains potassium and vitamin C. I have one pack of camel blues and a carton of regular camels, and I'm trying to space out the blues so I won't run out of them immediately, but the truth is I've stopped being able to tell the difference. Which is a good thing, I guess. In Queens College, outside my acting class a girl I lent a cigarette to was flirting with me and telling me on the island she was from, somewhere in Euro-Afri-Middle East (I don't know how to spell Meddeterainin sea, so I went with the continents that surround it), all they smoked was camel blues. I don't know if she was flirting with me or just giving me information. I've lost the ability to tell the difference. That's half why I think the automated voice that tells me I have voicemail is coming on to me. The other half is because I'm retarded. And not in the good way. Oh, it's Mediterranean. Spell check finally picked up on that one. Spell check has a crush on me, I think. Every time I wink at it by right clicking on words it gives me information. Information I need so that I could masturbate to it later, when I'm alone.
Anyway, I'm going to have a camel blue. I only have five left after this. And if that girl comes by with all her island friends, I'm going to be in some serious shit. Or if she comes by and suddenly for some reason has multiple personalities who all smoke cigarettes... at the same time... I'm going to be in trouble. And so is she, because it's hard to smoke five cigarettes at a time. I assume. Now I kind of want to try. I guess I could start at two and build my way up. I will keep you updated on this situation as it progresses. Oh yeah, that's the goodness. It feels like butterscotch mixed with whipped cream on top of a plate of lobster where the lobster is still being boiled and the lobster is cracking it's claws at you. Now I know how Jesus must have felt when he turned water into wine. All I do is turn water into whine, am I right? Thanks for nothing guy? No. I had to take the cigarettes out of my mouth. But anyway. I'm gonna start an "I Don't Care" guy. "So, are you ready to go to the prom?" "I DON'T CARE!" "Garrett, we just found out you have testicular cancer." "What's on the news?" "Michael, you're getting duel cigarette ashes on your keyboard." "Tell me something I don't know." It's hard to say that in a conversation with yourself because there's no logical retort. Trust me, I've tried that line many times when having conversations with myself. Not once has there been a logical retort. Except that absurdism rules the day and crazysheet.net rules my minstrel cycles. I tried to say that other word, but spell check only offered me minstrel, and I'll accept it. Me and spell check are going steady now. Who cares in the world.
I woke up at 6:30 A.M. today. Do you even know what it's like? Of course you do, because you have jobs and stuff, but it's weird for me. Since I've been out of the hospital, I've always gotten up at around noon. I DON'T CARE GUY SAVE ME ON THIS ONE. Who cares in a world with so much blah blah blah I'm going back into the backline. Man, the "I Don't Care" guy really doesn't care. Someone should talk some sense into him. Thanks For Nothing guy? "You've given me nothing but crap, Mr. IDC." This entry is full of shit holes and water balloons. I wish that was my yearbook quote. Anyway. The internet is weird. My grandparents are still trying to figure it out, and they're dead. Yeah. The two cigarretes are almost done. It tasted like one cigarette, but now I'm starting to get a headache, but that could be for any number of reasons. We have no reasonable suspicion to blame the two cigarettes. Two cigarettes is like a slice of life, in that it doesn't exist unless life is pizza. So, if life is pizza, "Get on with fucking ending the entry!" I don't know who that guy was, but I like his attitude.
Phones are weird. Nowadays, at least. Everyone I see has an earpiece and talks into the phone like a speaker phone. What is this, the future? Not by my count. It's still 5/20/2012, the one month anniversary of Hitler's death. I think anniversary is a word you only use for years. But fuck it, you fuckers believed it made sense and no one would have been the wiser if I hadn't said anything. For now on, I'm not going to say anything, and no one will be the wiser. I will be the wiser. Only me. Hey, now that all my favorite shows are on summer hiatus, I fear my life will lack the void those shows create in my head while they're playing on my T.V. Now I will only have the void in my head when I lie down on my sheetless bed and when I cook eggs, eggs that run. I've never seen an egg run. Topple, maybe. Roll, definitely. But eggs don't run. That's why an egg should be the president, he'll never (cut and) run. But I guess that's also why an egg will never be president, becuase it won't run. Who am I kidding, cooked eggs run all the time. Not for office, though. And I will not be filling a void in my head with the Office for months. Now how will I be able to see commercials for cars I can't drive and so on and so forth. Oh well, I guess on the upside I've talked enough about eggs to win a free trip to the egg capital of the world, You hate me, don't You. You stay out of this, Thanks For Nothing guy. Egg capital is when a country pays for things in eggs. Pretty sure that's what they're doing in Europe nowadays.
I Don't Care Guy: WHAT'S SO FUNNY?
Friday, May 25, 2012
Voting For John McCain This Election
I'm going to write an entry now because that's what I sometimes do. I do it every few days. This point has been done to death, because it happened in two sentences. I've been smoking a lot of tobacco cigarettes lately. A noise just happened in my backyard. That's what I call farting. Fart is a word that really bothers me. Maybe if I start saying it a lot it will stop bothering me. Another word I hate is boops. That's what my mom used to call farts. She used to call taking a shit a B.M. That bothers me, too. Everything that grown ups and children do, but we have special names for it for children, those words bother me. Like calling sex conjunction. That's what my mom called making sex. Making sex? What is this. I don't know. A noise went off in my real backyard, though. I call it a B.Y.M. Back Yard Movement.
I just listened to Bob Dylan's "Time Out Of Mind," and it blew me away. I've always liked Bob Dylan of course, who doesn't, but I went in just expecting boring songs, cause they're all like seven minutes long, but I got really caught up in it. Then I fell asleep for half an hour when nothing was going on in my mind at all. It was amazing. So thank you to Bob Dylan for momentarily releasing me from the prison that is my mind. Even if it was just for an hour and a half, it provided me great comfort. I call Bob Dylan B.D. Or at least I will from now on. His real name was something different though. That's the easy way out, changing your name. If I could be a musician and change my name, I'd probably use Adam as the first name, which is currently my middle name, and something else as my last night. Maybe Sterling. I knew a guy named Ethan Sterling in my high school, and he had long hair and looked like a girl. But it's still a solid name. Adam Sterling. Reminds me of Alfred Hitchcock.
I'm going to eat half a turkey sandwich when I'm done, which will be in approximately ten minutes. Anyway. I don't follow the news anymore. All my news I get from comedy shows, which is probably what most of my generation does. I used to read this website called fark.com, which listed all these wacky news stories, I don't know if it's still around. But that's where I originally got the name for Crazy Sheet. Because it's a misspelling of a curse word. Originally crazy sheet was going to be movie reviews. I think I wrote two. One for Lilo & Stitch, and one for About A Boy. Because there's a whole segment of the population who want to read movie reviews from a 14 year old boy. About the same segment of the population that want to read nonsense from a 23 year old half man, half boy. I think that's the best way to describe myself. I went to the doctor today and he weighed me, and I was close to 170 pounds. For someone regular height, that's normal, but for someone my height, that really means I need to lose weight. I would start exercising, but I need to quit smoking cigarettes first. Anymore things I need to do? Didn't think so. Start smoking weed again. But I don't have the money. Plus, my parents are super strict about it, on account of my mental illness and all. Maybe one day when I'm healthy I'll convince them it's good for you. It treats depression in California, I think.
I saw Men In Black III today. I will refrain from reviewing it, but it was good. Something weird that happens to me when I see movies in theaters, this has been going on for years, is that one or two fingers of my right hand start going numb throughout the movie, in a somewhat uncofortable way. I can't explain it, it only happens when I see movies at the theater. That's weird. Almost turkey sandwich time. Russell Brand has a talk show. Why did this happen. I like Russell Brand as an actor, but him hosting a talk show just seems like a disaster waiting to happen. But, either way, I will refrain from reviewing it. By that I mean I will never watch the same episode twice. That's what reviewing means. I need to think of a better name for myself. Adam Sterling just isn't going to cut it. The real reason I thought of Sterling was because there's this half mirror weird block thing in my shower, and it says Sterling on it. I guess that's the company that makes it. I don't know. Please suggest possible names to me. I'm not even kidding. Michael Kornblum has lived it's life and now it's time to move on to bigger and better things. Like, I wonder what Adam Sterling has got up my sleeve. It must be weird to change your name though, to get used to other people calling out the new name and you having to react to it. Or other people saying your old name and you not being used to not being it. I guess it comes with time. The weird thing is, is that because of this website, and it's previous incarnation, I respond to the word "crazy," as if that person is referring to me. I guess that's like the Ouroboros of craziness.
Saturday, May 26, 2012
Live Out Of State
Hey. You know what really pisses me off? Growth and healing. This website is supposed to do more than fill a void in my life, it's supposed to do the words heal the pain thing, and make me grow as a writer. Meanwhile, all I can do is just replay the scene from the Simpsons where Skinner tells Milhouse to lower his eyebrows, one at a time, over and over again in my mind. And sharing this crap with my friends? Pure bullshit. I had lasagna for dinner. That's a lie, I had sushi. That's a lie, I had a bagel with cream cheese. That's a lie, I really had the sushi. Really had you going there for a while. Till I fell out of style. Don't put me on trial. I'm just trying to make you smile. You will after a while. Let's fo to the beach where the waves are tidal. If you hand around with me long enough you'll become a pedophile. I'm like Vladamir Nabakov with these rhymes. More like Vladamir Na-knock-off.
Sleep pleases me. I keep having nightmares. I started reading this book on dream symbolism, but it isn't that good. All it says is every other thing represents a penis or a vagina, and everything else is stuff you can basically figure out on your own. It helps me interpret songs, too. Songs are like dreams that don't really apply to your life. I don't even think dreams apply to you life, I'm sick of this bull shit. Man, I'm 23 years old and have no achievements. I graduated high school and since then, all I can say I did was graduate highs chool. I'm going to go back to colege, but lo, what to do. I have a headache. I missed my high school five year reunion last November. I would have gone, but I was probably too busy playing with myself. A.K.A. masturbating. A.K.A. suck my dick.
Man, I gotta keep writing paragraphs. That's what real writers do. If I was a real writer, I'd write a book or something. Something that has characters and a theme and dialogue and a setting. But I'm not good enough. If I could pick one book from the last hundred years that I wished I could have written, it would be 500 guitars, A Definitive A-Z guide. It lists 500 guitars and tells you specific details about what makes them unique. Or I would have written a dream definition book. That author is probably rolling in the money. I wonder what he dreams about. He probably dreams about what an inordinate amount of stress it is to write something with so little reward. Or maybe he thinks about that in his waking life. He should, he's wasting people's time who are reading his book, looking for answers. Instead they just find out that an airplane means a dick and the number three is good in some vague way.
Time to close it up. That's what the doctor says after the baby is born. I don't know how anatomy works. But apparently, I think after a baby is born, the vagina gets sewn up. Just horse shit. This place is a church of bull shit. Time to close it up. If you're a member of the church, and you are, since you read it, you are now trapped inside. I'm locking the doors. Boarding it up. No escape for the wicked. And if you read this, you are wicked, from the cast of wicked, or a fan of candles. Probably just a fan of candles. I'll let the fans of candles out. You've been good to me. I hate scented candles, though. Rooms, quit trying to be something you're not. Anyway. What else is up? I was going to go see an improv show in the city tonight, but it was too hot outside, so now I'm here writing crap and waiting to fall asleep so I can dream of repressed childhood memories, or repressed current memories, which aren't really all that different, because I'm still a child at heart. Except my heart is a whore with lots of cigarette smoke in it. Hey, just like my mom! That was mean. She's not a whore. She just has a lot of cigarette smoke in her. My step parents are whores though. I don't have step parents. But if I did, they'd probably be whores. Anyway, what's up with you? You still doing okay? Better than me? I assume the only reason to read this crap is just to have that faint recognizable feeling that, "oh, I'm doing better than this guy." So glad to be of service to you. I'm really angry this entry. It's because I dreamed of a gypsy in a corridor and that represents I'm going to die soon. So, see you later.
Tuesday, May 29, 2012
Somewhere, In-between the middle of no man’s land and a pretzel factory, our hero awakes…