Thursday, November 8, 2012

Whatever

     Howdy friends.  In The Exorcist, the devil was originally called Captain Howdy.  That's interesting, because The Exorcist scares the crap out of me.  Once I was tricked into viewing a picture on my computer, where they had two pictures mostly the same, and it said to pick out what was difference in each picture, so I was looking hard, and suddenly an image of the girl from the Exorcist appeared with demon yell and I literally shot out of my room so fast and into the hallway.  It still scares me.  I'm just glad I don't remember the scene where she spider walks down the stairs in the new version, I just remember the turning head, which is still pretty scary.  That image is stuck in my mind forever.  Other images stuck in my mind?  Andy Richter, The Simpsons, and the screen of my old Nomad mp3 player.  I have a weird life.  So, how about the weather?  More like, weather or not, here I come!  That's what I say just before I ejaculate.  Just to show climate change who's boss.  I'm drinking again.  As of now I've had 2 and a half shots worth of drink.  Scotch is what they call it.  I don't know why I phrased it like that.  I call it scotch too.  There's no argument from me on what to call it.  And if there was, I'd probably call it "bluesville nothing town drinky drink."  I need a life.  That's half why I came here.  To do something with my life.  Even if no one reads it, I can still increase the length of this web page.  The old crazysheet was divided into months, and maybe if I get the motivation I will divide this into months, but so far it's not.  Man, I gotta smoke cigarettes too.  Alcohol isn't enough.  My life is regrettable.
    Anyway.  What else is new?  Oh yeah, president Obama got re-elected.  That's good news.  Now instead of bad things being done, nothing will be done.  And I'm okay with that, because nothing doesn't really effect me at all.  Just kidding.  He'll probably pick a supreme court justice or two, and might get some measures passed.  It's really pretty good news.  But that's not what I'm here to talk about.  I'm here to talk about Warheads.  Remember those from when you were a kid?  I'm assuming you were a kid when I was a kid.  Otherwise, quit reading this, grandpa!  Or younger brother.  Both segments of the population I could do without.  I have no living grandparents.  Or younger siblings.  So I'm special like that.  You're still special if you do have one of those.  Just not as special as me.  You're so fucking special.  But I'm a creep, I'm a weirdo.  What the hell am I doing here?  I don't belong here.  But I do.  Because it's my website.  So God knows I belong here.  No one else does, at least.  I can take comfort in that fact.  Remember warheads?  Never mind.  You don't understand anything.  I told my dad I got food from McDonalds when I really spent it on alcohol.  I hope I can still eat dinner, because that missing chunk in my day has left me feeling pretty hungry.  Alcohol has calories, though.  It should fill me up to some extent, right?  Who knows.  Probably some people.  But they won't be able to tell me.  Because they don't read my website.  Damn those nutritionists.  That's been my main beef since day one.  Fucking nutritionists.
    I literally had a dream someone liked my facebook status.  Isn't that sad?  I don't know.  Anyway.  I also had a dream I had pocket 8's but someone else had pocket jacks, and we were all in, and I hit an eight on the river.  So take that for what it's worth.  Nothing.  It's only a dream.  It doesn't mean anything.  But when you're in my state of mind, when everything always seems like a dream, you start to look for meaning in your real dreams.  That's just how it is.  Hey, the entry is half done!  I'll have half a shot to that.  Mixed with pepsi.  So I guess it's not really a shot.  Just half a shot mixed with pepsi.  The point is, I'm an alcoholic.  And addicted to weed, which I haven't even smoked in a year or so.  But I'm still like, "man, I wish I could smoke some weed."  It's good for you!  They decriminalized it in some states.  But that's stupid.  It's still illegal to sell it.  Why not set it up so you can sell it legally, so government can get the taxes, and you can smoke it legally?  People are stupid.  But not as stupid as this.  I hold the crown for most stupidity.  If you want to challenge me, I double dare you.  Remember Double Dare?  Mark Summers.  I wonder what he's up to now.  Probably an alcoholic like me.  He probably was an alcoholic when he was hosting all those shows for Nickelodeon.  I wouldn't put it past him.  Why am I just slandering innocent, random people?  I don't have a good excuse.  Now leave me alone.  I'll do what I want.  I started watching day time T.V.  Like Ellen and stuff.  It's pretty boring, but at least it's something to do.  Ellen is married to Portia De Rossi.  Ellen doesn't deserve her.  Maybe they're just the two lesbians in the entertainment industry, so they had to get married.  I think that's how the entertainment industry works.
    Man, I sure could have had 2 Mcdoubles and a large fries and still gotten three shots of scotch.  But I decided to think ahead, and get enough so I can drink tomorrow.  Or maybe all today.  I'll try not to, though, because six or more drinks, mixed with my medication, will almost definitely make me throw up.  You're really not supposed to drink when you're on my medication.  That's what they say.  So far I haven't experienced any side effects, except for throwing up. Which I guess is a pretty good sign that it's bad for me.  That my body literally can't tolerate it.  Oh well.  What else is new?  That isn't new, that's old.  So what is new?  Ellen had a part of her show where she gave away money to people answering questions correctly.  It wasn't her money, I'm sure it was the network's or the shows.  But that's the part of Ellen I catched.  I wonder if I could physically catch Ellen if she did that exercise when the person falls backwards and someone is trusted to catch them.  She's bigger than me.  So I don't know if I could catch her.  But she'd probably dance her way through the pain even if I didn't catch her.  She likes to dance like an out of touch white boy for some reason.  The way she dances is the way I would probably dance, if forced to.  Anyway.  I've still been playing guitar a lot.  I think I've finally reached rock bottom, so I can only go up, skillwise.  I don't know.  My guitar is really old.  At least 7 or 8 years.  And I haven't always treated it so kind.  I need a new guitar.  Wait, what's that?  There's no future in me playing guitar?  I guess I just need more money to drink more.  That's the wise man's decision.
    Wow, the last paragraph already.  Time flies when you're half drunk.  Because you want to get fully drunk.  I challenge anybody to get half drunk and not want to get fully drunk.  Because you're already half way there.  Oh, oh, living on a prayer.  I think I did that last entry.  But it happened again this entry.  I think that disqualifies both entries for "top entry" entries.  I don't know how the judges will feel about that.  I'm going to smoke a Parliament.  Just cause I can.  I still have Camel Blue, but who knows how long those will last.  And in this weather, and the gas situation, it's hard to just get more cigarettes.  So I have to ration them out.  Anyway.  This was an okay entry.  I assume.  It felt okay while I was writing it.  That's a good indication.  I was reading the short story I wrote in stages on Facebook recently, and it was actually pretty funny.  Check my facebook notes for confirmation.  It gets stupid near the end, but for most of it, it's actually pretty entertaining.  Maybe I could be an author.  That would be pretty hard, though.  I like some of the characters I made in my facebook-book, so maybe I can take them and make a new, real book.  Probably not, though.  Because it's sort of a one-and-done deal.  I guess.  Also, I don't really want to be an author.  I hate books with a passion.  I mean, words printed on pages?  Who the hell asked for this?  Not me.  Anyway.  What's up with religion.  I don't know if I ever mentioned this, but I'm Christian now.  Seriously.  Christ is the best.  He died for our sins, and then came back!  To die for our sins again, I suppose.  We had a lot of sins, apparently, that he had to die twice for them.  Anyway, I'm done.

- 5:21 P.M.   

Friday, November 23, 2012

How Much For The Balloon?

     Hey friends.  It was just Thanksgiving.  I ate loads of crap and shit.  Now I just want to lie down, listen to some heavy metal, inject myself with AIDS, eat a pumpkin at the same time as juggling apples, play my guitar that only has five of six strings, wake up the next morning, and do it all again!  Yes, it's a fun life being me.  Anyway.  Have I got a surprise for you.  It's Kristen, I've been cheating on my wife with Kristen all along!  And don't tell me your sob stories about how I'm insensitive to my wife.  I've been super sensitive to my wife, especially with trying to stop her finding out about Kristen.  But the truth's now been told and we can all move on with our lives.  Me and Kristen, I mean.  I don't care what the rest of you do.  Anyway.  This is hard.  I've been slowly going up on this one drug that supposedly has over a 50% success rate, but it gives me bad side effects, like exhaustion, dizziness, slur mouth, drool tongue, head anarchy, and mind crosswords.  But I'm not at the full dose yet, and hopefully those will go away with time.  So I'll keep two close eyes on that.  Ahh, my eyes are too close!  Anyway.  My Mom thinks I should write a book about my illness, because I'm supposedly a good writer.  She might be right, but with the illness and drug side effects, I'm not a good writer.  I mean, have you read this crap?  I went and checked out my old crazysheet, entries from like five years ago, and it's infinitely better than this.  Well, maybe not infinitely.  Maybe like two times better than this.  Which is still a lot!  When I first started trying to spell infinitely, my computer thought I was trying to say infidel.  Poor spelling is just all the more reason to avoid writing something real.
    What was I doing before I started writing this entry.  Oh yeah, it was mostly sobbing about how I remember things, begging Jesus for mercy, and remembered songs that amplified these emotions.  I like to listen to  songs by remembering them.  That makes sense.  It does if you're a D.J.!  Up top!  I was once a D.J.  I played D.J. on Roseanne for a little while back in the 90's.  He was the youngest kid.  I wonder what he's up to now.  Probably begging Jesus for mercy.  I assume that's what most people do in their free time.  Anyway.  It gets dark at 5:00 now!  How indignant.  That's a good word.  Maybe I will write about my illness.  Let's see if I can write for a page or two here.
    In my younger years, as I look back on my life, there were times when I felt frustrated or unhappy when things didn't work out my way.  Little did I know there was something called Mental Illness (and no, it's not an illness where you're upset that men are tall), which completely outshines even the most amazing problems one could have.  Because an illness of the mind cannot be reconciled with-- you need your mind to do that.  Preceding my mental illness, I abused alcohol and drugs, which no doubt have had some lasting effect on me and the way I think.  In that sentence, we see the first mission the Mentally Impaired have-- trying to find a causation for the mental illness.  It's what's right under the cover-- looking for someone or something to blame.  I just realized I sometimes capitalize Mental Illness and sometimes I don't.  Please forgive me-- I have a Mental Disease.  With that out of the way, we should talk about the second thing people with mental illness' do-- try to get better.  I see doctors and social workers who, presumably would help me fight the mental illness, but in reality do nothing at all.  Every appointment they just ask the same questions, and I give them the same answers, and then it's time to go home.  I take a lot of drugs to combat my illness.  None of them work.  Some of them work in making me drowsy, so I take them before I go to bed, so at least that works.  Right?  Why am I doing this again?  Oh yeah, my Mom is an idiot for saying I should write about my illness.  Now it's time for everyone's favorite segment, "What's Your Name?"

   I gotta start thinking of new segments.  This is the last paragraph.  This entry was really crappy and got too serious.  Thanks a lot, Thanksgiving.  I guess I'm thankful most that I don't have or am expected to have anything significant to give.  As long as I just walk the line, I'm doing alright by most people.  I don't think anyone reads this, anyway.  If you do, you're probably like one of two or three people.  Saying something was written by Michael Kornblum just doesn't have the same clout it used to.  I used to be in a fantasy world, thinking things off the top of my head that make no sense, and now I just live in a dumpster behind a gas station.  I want to be a poet.  I like how Edgar Allen Poe was a poet.  Because his name is in poet.  Sometimes things just work out.  I guess that means I should be a farmer or something.  To make sure the corn blooms.  But what if I am the corn that's blooming?  Trippy.  Enough about people's names.  People's names are interesting, though.  Sometimes they can be a window into the soul.  Especially if you're a member of Soul Hooligans, who are a rap group who wrote the song that they play over The Matrix advertisements on HBO in 2005.  Yeah, I'm done.

-5:51 P.M.