Wednesday, October 2, 2013

These Titles Practically Write Themselves

    Today is a Wednesday.  That's right: I own a calendar.  It's on my computer, in the bottom right of my screen.  This application cost me 600 dollars, but with all the time I save from looking at a paper calendar, it practically pays for itself.  I've been watching a lot of documentaries about people who are 600-1000 pounds and can't leave their bed.  It almost makes me want to gain 200 pounds, and still be able to walk and move around, and feel like I'm gaming the system.  "Yeah, I eat all I want, and guess what?  I'm still mobile!"  It truly is the best of both worlds.  I don't trust mobile phones.  The first chance they have to escape, they're gonna leave you.  I'm pretty sure there's a city called Mobile somewhere in the south.  Ironically, the town stays put.  Ah, Mobile, Alabama.  If I was in Alabama, I'd want to leave too.  I like how in Monopoly, you get a card that says "Go to jail," and then you go to jail.  You're a criminal!  You don't have to listen to a card.  Steal someone's hotel, or something.  If you were arrested in real life, and the cop just said, "Go to jail!" you'd say, "Fuck that," and carry on with your day.  Monopoly has a property called Oriental Avenue.  That's offensive.  That's their word, they can say it, not us.  I'm pretty sure the only thing close to "their word" is Chigga.  Which is a denomination of a word that isn't their word, so I'm not sure if it's okay for anyone to use it.  That's literally a word no one can use. 
    I was looking through some old things, and I found a tube that was used in tandem with a cheap vaporizer I bought in 2007.  Unfortunately, there was no weed inside.  I thought there might be, because I didn't know how to use it correctly, so it was very possible there would be weed in a part that it didn't belong in.  No such luck.  I remember the vaporizer itself looked like a pencil sharpener.  That was fun.  I bought it from a chigga on St. Marks Place.  He wasn't really a chigga, he was an elderly man.  Saying that reminds me of in middle school or something, I once wrote a story called Crazy Asian Grandpa, but I forget everything about it.  I remember the title and a basic description of the lead character.  That's something, I guess.  Lately, when I get out of bed or out of a chair, I feel really lightheaded and like I'm going to faint.  Most likely a side effect of one of my medications.  It's quite unpleasant!  Man, I wanna read the crazy Asian grandpa story.  I wonder what happens.  If I had to guess, I would say it involves a man in a hospital, and a doctor giving him the bad news, and saying, "The results are back.  It appears you are a Crazy Asian Grandpa," and then he would be upset, because it's neither sensical or amusing.  Sensical isn't a word.  That's nonsensical.  Amusing is a word.  I have no qualms with that.
    If you're upset about something, can you say, "I have qualms with that!"  You'd sound like an idiot.  I checked the internet, and I guess you can say that.  Now I sound like an idiot.  Percy Jackson: Sea of Monsters looks like a really good movie.  Now I sound like an idiot.  I miss sleeping on couches.  When I was a kid, my brother and I would always sleep downstairs on 2 squares of the couch/1 square of the couch + the ottoman.  Cause we would watch T.V. all night.  Sleeping on couches is pretty awesome.  If I ever live in my own place, I would seriously temporarily consider getting a couch in my bedroom instead of a bed.  It would be tough to bring home women and have to explain it to them.  I'd probably just say, "What happens on the couch, stays on the couch!"  Especially if you never wash the sheets.  Which you wouldn't, because couches don't have sheets.  Problem solved.  I wrote like seventeen entries this month.  It's because I kept landing on the "Write a Journal Entry" space in my Mind Monopoly game.  I'm playing as the Iron!  Mostly because I can't remember any other game piece.  Is there a dog?  I'll be the dog.  Oh, there's a top hat.  I wanna be that.  Oh yeah, the race car.  That's usually one of the most popular pieces.  Probably because people subconsciously want to get through the game as quickly as possible.  Because no one likes Monopoly.
    I got some Kit-Kats for Halloween, but I ended up eating them all.  I guess that's my start to gaining 200 pounds.  A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step.  A journey of a thousand miles concludes with about 1,999,999 steps.  So don't feel too proud of yourself for that single step.  It's really not that great.  I bet people who were in wheelchairs, and finally gain the ability to walk, always say, "One small step for man, one giant leap for mankind!"  Because they're a marvel of modern medicine.  I wonder if people like that, who have just gained the ability to walk, have fun walking around.  It's something we all take for granted, but imagine how much fun walking would be to someone who's never done it before.  They'd be going crazy.  I guess I just described what happens when babies learn to walk.  But in that scenario, the parents are more excited than the kid, probably.  The baby can't really process how awesome what he's doing is.  So that's that.  Lately I've seen this commercial several times about carpet, and it was just oddly intense.  Like, "Let's do this.  Serious.  This is serious."  Like it was for a luxury car or something, pointing out all the features in a seductive, forceful way.  But it was about carpets.  Well, they got my attention, so mission accomplished, I guess.  I'm the target audience for all commercials, right?  "Hot pockets?  I need that!"  "Carpets?  I need that!"  "Car insurance!  You had me at Car!"  I don't even have a driver's license.  Sometimes when my parents are driving me to my doctor's appointments, I just picture myself behind the wheel, and I think I'd be scared as hell.  You can so easily get into an accident, I don't get how people are so calm and collected while driving.
    I have a hard time keeping myself focused while I'm smoking a cigarette and watching T.V.  I don't have the attention span to drive a car.  They keep raising the price of metro cards, though.  What bullshit.  I'd like to show up at a crime scene, show them my metro card, and say, "It's okay, I'm a civilian."  Last paragraph, I originally misspelled "attention" as "intention."  That was not my intention.  But I did get my attention.  Well, there's a stripper pouring paint on herself on Springer.  I don't even know what to think.  I need a haircut.  My hair, uncombed, is starting to look like a faux-hawk worn by a punk girl, minus the hair dye.  I mean, I like the amount of hair I have, it's just not cut properly to look good at this length.  I need to figure out what to ask for, so that when it grows, I'll be happy with how it turns out.  The issue at hand on Springer, currently, is "Who Do I Want To Spend My 21st Birthday with?" And it's two girls competing to spend another girl's 21st birthday with them.  Man, did the stakes really get lowered.  Also, spend it with both of them!  This just isn't very captivating T.V., I'm sorry.  What's next?  "What Should I Eat For Lunch?"  Frankly, I don't care.  "What magazine should I read?"  What magazine are you interested in?  Leave me out of it.

-11:14. A.M.                                                

Like, Uh, What's Going On?

         Hi.  This is the second entry of the week.  For those of you who can't count.  Also, for those of you can't count, "Second" is the second number.  I don't know if that helps.  I like people who say, "You can count on me!"  Because they're wrong, usually if you're counting on someone you can only get to around 20.    My life has taken a turn for the worse.  I had a dream last night that I was thinking really clearly, and it was a good dream, but then I woke up to my regular thoughts, and I thought, "Shit." Or at least I would have, if I could get a word in.  My mind is cloudy with a chance of meatballs.  Two.  Two is the second number.  The second positive, non-fraction, non-zero number.  Non-fractions are what we in the business like to call, "Integers."  Naan fractions are what we in the business like to call, "Pieces of bread."  Perchance this entry become better?  We'll see.  I don't know what I'm doing with my life anymore.  I just want to go live in a hole and die there.  But a really nice hole.  With air conditioning, high-def T.V.  Maybe a cappuccino maker, I don't know.  Definitely a DVD player with at least nine copies of Paul Blart: Mall Cop.  Probably an ant farm.  Why is it called an ant farm?  They don't do any farming.  These things are useless.  Unless you're farming the ants, I guess.  I don't know, man.
    Actually, maybe the ants do farm?  They might.  I know they like carrying little rocks, for something.  What are they up to?  Ants are weird.  Ants can carry ten times their body weight.  I learned that somewhere.  Hopefully the complete lesson isn't, "Ants can carry ten times their body, wait, that's not right."  Because then it's misleading and so on and thereforth.  Thereforth isn't a word, until now.  I like it.  I like making up words.  It makes me feel as smart as the dictionary.  The dictionary is one of the smartest books there is.  Plus, it's always honest and straightforward.  It's not like jerks are writing the dictionary.  If a jerk wrote a dictionary, it would be like, "pollen: GO FUCK YOURSELF."  That's why jerks don't write dictionaries.  That sassy kid Webster writes dictionaries.  I like that guy.  You know, I bet Webster got so much pussy.  Anyway.  Showtime has this series called "Inside Comedy," where they interview comedians and comic actors.  I like how they ask them like, "when did you first become enamored with comedy?" Or something.  I know, if I was ever famous for comedy, I would say, when I was like 2-4, when my Dad would bathe me, he used to make up T.V. shows to entertain me, and then do fake commercials in-between them.  That's one of my first memories.  Now, all I need to do is become about 340% more funny, 92% more dedicated, 10% more work-attuned, and I'll be successful at comedy, and someone will ask me that.
    Actually, I might have just dreamed that thing with my dad.  That would explain why, when my bath was over, I remember him exclaiming, "I'm Jumping Jack Flash!" and then he jumped into the mirror. My memory isn't very reliable.  It's true.  I don't know if my Dad knows The Rolling Stones.  Whenever I talk to him about music, he reluctantly says his favorite band was ABBA.  I think ABBA's okay.  I don't have any qualms with ABBA.  I think it's appropriate even, because Abba means father in Hebrew.  So it's got that going for it.  My Hebrew name is Avram Zelig.  My Dad likes to say, "it goes from A-Z!"  And I trust him.  I don't know why.  My main memory from Hebrew School, was the first year (when I was in 3rd grade in regular school), I tied my shoe lace to a file cabinet, and it took hours for us to untangle it.  I'm not sure what Jewish lesson that teaches me.  I guess, don't tie your shoes to file cabinets.  The hospital where I get my mental health is starting a website for new patients, and they want me to write something about my experiences to share with others, to help them.  I really don't want to do it.  Partly because I don't like to help people, but mostly because I'm lazy.  And also because I don't know what I would say.  "Listen to your doctors!"  The end.  The sad thing, though, is that even though that's the most common sense thing you could say, it's also the things new patients need to understand the most.  But that's something people need to learn on their own, anyway. 
    That was depressing.  Well, the next two paragraphs will surely make up for it.  I wish I had something to drink today.  It's just one of those days.  Oh well, I'm better off without it, I guess.  I just mixed sodas for the first time in fifteen years.  A third diet wild cherry pepsi, a third diet 7-up, and a third diet cranberry ginger ale.  Because each bottle only had a little left.  It tastes like all of them combined.  I never would have guessed.  What else is there to talk about, besides soda?  That's what's on everybody's mind.  You know, I bet some of my friends don't even drink soda.  I can't even imagine.  I guess that's their choice, though.  Sorry, no.  I mean they were born that way.  Ha.  Born not liking soda.  Whatever you say.  Anyway.  What else is going on?  I just blanked out for ten minutes.  I can't wait till this entry is over.  I guess that's probably something we have in common.  That, and we each have sex organs.  Probably.  I hope you don't not have sex organs.
    That's a pretty good pick-up line.  Yep.  This is the last paragraph.  How do I know?  Because every entry has five paragraphs, almost completely consistently.  Also, because I have complete control over how many paragraphs there will be.  If there's one thing I have control over in my life, it's how many paragraphs each entry into my online journal there will be.  And having that rock in my life is something I depend on, you know.  Does anyone know if TLC wants scrubs or not?  I have a bet with someone.  Anyway.  Well, it's that time again.  Time to say goodbye.  Good bye!  Shit, I have a good two to five more sentences to go through.  Anyway.  Pink a wink a dodo.  Freak no mice.  Forever and ever, frankfurter.  Hello good bye love liar.  Joke with the best of them, Yidster.  Jerk off my chicken chain, gargoyle.  Police the outer boroughs with your big mincewords.

-12:30 P.M.                       

Thursday, October 3, 2013

Read This Entry!  Why Not!

         Hi.  I think there should be a documentary about people with cancer trying to get health care, called "Finding Chemo."  Because I'm an idiot.  Well, this is the third entry in a week.  I just got new cigarettes.  Ciga-Yeah!  I think that's from a commercial.  I like commercials.  They give publicity to the products and services they advertise and make them money.  Good for them.  There should be award shows for commercials.  And there should be commercials for awards shows.  There are?  Well, I guess I'm behind the times on this one!  If I had to create a product for a commercial, I'd call it "Perfect 10."  I don't know what it is, or what it does, but I would market the shit out of it.  And if people use and enjoy the product, that's just the icing on the cake.  Advertising Perfect 10 is good enough for me, really.  If it actually serves the population, then that's just gravy.  Maybe Perfect 10 is gravy.  Maybe it's a population server.  These are things that could be figured out in phase two of the product creation.  Phase one is always the name, then phase two is figuring out what the name signifies.  That's just how our economy works.  I like how economies can work.  It would be bad if our economy was unemployed.
    Are you tired of the daily grind?  Worried your children won't be able to afford to go to go mountain climbing when they hit 18?  Want a matchmaking website to pair you with more appropriate parents?  Want to win academy awards, without ever being involved in the film making industry?  Want to share whiskey and bourbon with the ghost of Scott Joplin?  Perfect 10 might be the product for you.  For more information, dial 777-5032-7439, and, when you get no answer, simple!  Use your imagination to talk to one of our representatives.  And take it from me.  I'm not only the founder... I'm also the co-founder.  And the CFO.  And the landlord.  It's important to me that you buy this product, so I can make money!  Please send 23 million dollars through the U.S. postal service to me.  I live on the moon.  No address needed!  Just write, "The Moon," and they'll know what to do!  And, one more thing, don't worry about the man in the moon pre-using and defiling our product.  He's been warned not to interfere.  And there's a pretty decent chance he'll respect that warning.
    This is the worst entry I ever wrote.  Anyway.   Just trying to generate some "buzz," I suppose.  Hey, did you read the new crazysheet?  I didn't get it!  But I assume it made sense, somehow!  Better read it again!  And that's how you lure the customer to keep coming back.  By confusing them.  That's just Commercial Arts 202.  What was I talking about.  Oh yeah, cigarettes.  Freud said, sometimes a cigarette is just a cigarette.  Other times, it's a joint.  Other times, it's a phallic symbol.  Other times, it's prison currency.  "That's pretty much all the things a cigarette could be." -- Sigmund Freud.    They should have award shows for cigarettes.  And there should be cigarettes for award shows.  I like this entry.  It's like, "the last few entries were pretty decent?  Well, no more!"  Serves you right for expecting something from people who are just trying to live their life.  Get off my case, bud!  I ate a salad today.  Probably because I'm awesome.  I don't have to answer to you about my eating habits, bud.  Unless if I'm eating your food.  Then you have a right to be concerned.  Well, serves you right, for making such delicious and impeccable food.  With that kind of quality food, you have an obligation to share with others, bud.  That's why the only food I buy are baked Lays.  No one else even wants it!  I never liked ketchup.  Does that make me different?  Good.  There should be a sitcom called, "Indifferent Strokes," about intellectually lazy people masturbating.
    I've been watching a lot of Maury/Bill Cummingham/Steve Wilkos/Jerry Springer lately.  It reminds me of times when I would stay home from school in elementary school and would watch those shows.  I used to stay home a lot, not because I was sick, but because I pretended to be sick, so I wouldn't have to go to school.  Man, when you're in elementary school, and you get to stay home and watch daytime T.V., that's a great experience.  It's sort of like my entire life now, so the novelty has worn off a bit, but it's still pretty sweet.  That's kind of sad.  No one's highlight of their life should be daytime T.V.  Unless they're eight, then it makes a little bit of sense.  They used to have shows about out of control teens a lot, now it's mostly just people cheating in their relationship.  I like the out of control teens, because I was a pretty out of control adolescent, but at least I didn't do drugs or have sex.  I just yelled and cursed a lot.  This was before I learned the most important lesson of all: respect.  Spell it out, and then find out what it means to me.  Warning: Next Sentence Sucks.  If they had e-mail in the 18th century, and someone asked Ben Franklin about his glasses, the title of his return e-mail would be, "Re: Spect(acles.)"  What a spectacle.  I know those two words are pronounced the same way, but spelled the same way?  C'mon, that's just lazy.  I understand their meaning is connected, yeah.  But they're two different things.  I mean, c'mon.  C'mon.  I mean, c'mon.  C'mon.
    How come in Jurassic Park, the T-Rex worked so hard to try to eat the humans?  That would be like if we spent hours trying to catch and eat, uhh, some really small thing.  A person or two couldn't possibly satisfy the T-Rex's hunger.  It's completely unrealistic.  How come in Rosa Parks, she wasn't allowed to sit in the front of the bus?  Were they racist, or something?  Otherwise, I don't get it.  It doesn't make sense.  How come they didn't make any sequels to Jurassic Park?  That was a pretty good, successful movie.  You would think they would have capitalized on it.  But they didn't.  They really didn't.  Oh, wait.  I'm being told they did.  What?  You want me to stop saying stupid things that I know are false just to be mildly amusing to myself?  How come Star Wars was a movie?  I don't get it. 

-1:15 P.M. 

Friday, October 4, 2013

Plants Are ALIVE!

         Hey.  This is Friday.  Technically speaking.  Also, metaphorically speaking, literally speaking, and textually speaking.  So, the post-season of baseball is in full swing.  That joke was a real homerun.  Mathematically speaking.  Fourth entry of the week!  So, I was thinking about seeing a movie this weekend.  Gravity was using it's weak gravitational force on me, Runner Runner was enticing me to Run to the theater, and Don Jon, well, had some T.V. spots I saw.  But in the end, I decided to just stay home and masturbate.  No hassle, no worries.  I think I read movies have been underperforming at the Box Office this year.  That's not really fair though.  You can't judge a movie by it's success at the Box Office, you have to judge it by how it does overall, in the world.  Oh, that's what the Box Office is?  Never mind!  I saw some good movies this year.  I think Harrison Ford is in like nine movies this year.  I like that.  His career wasn't really gaining traction, I guess, so he's really put himself out there.  Personally, I think this guy has got the goods, we'll be seeing more of him in the future.  Anyway.  Movies always amaze me, because when you watch them, or, at least, when I watch them, all I see is the finished product, and it usually works as a complete thing, but hundreds or thousands of people put their personal, individual work into it, so it really astounds me how you can capture a singular tone throughout the movie.  I guess that's the work of the director.  They should call the director, "Head Honcho" in the credits.  They should call the producer, "The Arbitrator."  That sounds more exciting.  Note to self: Look Up Definition of "Arbitration."  They should call the marketing team the, "Tell People About It!" team.  And if there's more than one best boy, they should list them as, "Best Boy," "Second Best Boy," "Third Best Boy," and so on.  I'm not sure what a best boy does.  I don't think anyone is sure what a best boy does.
    Hey, it's the weekend.  That's the end of the week, and the beginning of the week, all wrapped up in one!  It is only called the week "end," though.  Seems unfair.  I guess including Friday tilts the odds.  And in Spanish countries, Monday is the first day.  What will they think of next?  There's 52 weeks in a year.  It's true, add them up.  I would not consciously deceive you.  Maybe I would.  But I didn't this time.  Oh, but, you already knew that about the week?  I didn't know I was blogging to braniacs!  Or, brainiacs.  Braniacs are people who are extremely enthusiastic about bran.  Yeah yeah yeah.  Anyway.  The worst part of living at home and not going out for anything is no interaction with females.  Man, it's a sausage fest at my house.  There's me, my dad, and my mom.  That's two out of three sausages!  I like turkey sausage.  It's like sausage but healthier.  I didn't include a comma in that sentence strategically.  For fun.  I didn't include a comma in the second to last sentence here because I wasn't sure if it needed one.  I miss going to school.  I'm gonna go back in the spring.  Really, I have to.  Well, I don't have to.  No one's holding a gun to my head.  If they were, I, of course, would be like, "Don't shoot me!  I promise I'll go back to school next semester!" And they'll be like, "Huh?"  Cause what do they care. 
    Man, I have to write three more paragraphs.  This sucks.  I'm just going to type rapidly to fill this up.  Pee has cooling properties.  Feline means cat, or abrupt gentleman, in certain countries, not including Scotland.  George Bush was a president before he became a Fuckin' Canuck.  Okay, time to get back on track.  I don't know what I'm doing with my life.  I know that's pretty much the theme of every entry, but really.  It's like, I can get better mentally, and health-wise, but, as Pink Floyd predicted, there's always a wall.  That's from their song.  "All in all, there's always a wall."  They said it, not me.  I just got to get through this entry, then I can relax.  Or at least that's the lie I'm selling myself.  Maybe I'll relax first, and then finish the entry.  Okay... here we go!  OKAY!  I somewhat relaxed for three minutes, and now I'm back!  Hey, I just found out my grandfather reads these entries.  He sent me an e-mail about it.  Because I have no respect for his privacy, here it is.

    What?  Oh.  Hello dear.  I was intregued bay your emial sight...  so use more much persnal dtails.  why u share about this?  I am ur china grandpap.  Is it your brisday yet?  i have a check worth 15 dollars with your name on it, that wasy you can cash the checik, it must have your name on it.  i was eating ab apple the otehr day, i noticed it was green, like your eyes.!  tHE WHO? HAD A SONG? CALLED BEHIND BLUES EYES. I THINK IT WAS EITHER ABOUT AN EVIL MAN WITH BLUE EEUS, OR JESUS.  WAT ELSE COULD IT BE?  GOTTA BE SOMETHING.  THAT WAS THE MOTTO OF THE METS WHE N I WAS YOUR AGE, SON.  ALSO, DONT EVER DRINK VODKA!

      Ha-ha!  Killed a paragraph.  I'm looking forward to hopefully chillaxing when this entry is over.  I'm feeling a bit... wait, what the hell?  Double space?  WTFGDMLFETSALIATI.  No way to fix this!  Anyway.  Really, though, even though I feel kind of crappy today, the past few weeks I've been starting to feel better, and I'm really thankful.  I just gotta hope I don't jinx it, and it goes back to the way it was.  Well, if I delete this, then I can't jinx it.  Thankfully, there's no scientific data that "jinxing" something actually effects it's chance of occurring again.  Not to my knowledge.  I feel bad about the government shut down.  My mom was talking about it to me, and she got really worked up over it, and I just had to tell her, "don't get upset over something you can't control."  Because she watches cable news a lot and gets upset.  There's nothing you can do, so just live your life, right?  I used to be all into the news and current events, but now I don't really pay attention to it, because what's the point?  It's just depressing, and it's useless.  Now I pay attention to alternative rock and the Mets.  I guess those are equally depressing.  Oh well.

-2:04 P.M.         
 

Monday, October 7, 2013

Then The World Exploded

         Hello good sirs and gentleman.  And madams and ladies.  And chickpeas and falafels.  I falafel after that joke.  I don't know how it's a joke, exactly.  Lately I've been seeing a lot of bees in my house.  I don't know how they get in.  The windows are all closed.  Maybe they just regenerate, or spawn, in my house.  Like in a video game, or something.  That's probably it.  Most things that can't be explained under normal circumstances can be explained through video games.  I'm going to pour myself some coffee to regenerate myself.  And I'm back.  Anyway, what the hell is going on.  There's not much new in my neck of the woods.  The neck of the woods connects the torso of the woods to the head of the woods.  This is valuable information.  I'm starting to cross the boundary of being somewhat fat to being slightly overweight.  It's cool.  Dieting is all about willpower.  My parents always told me, you could do anything you put your mind to.  Actually, that might have been Marty McFly's parents.  And they only said it after he told it to them.  Either way, there's a lot of bees in my house.  Half of them are already dead when I find them.  I just see them lying in the empty bathtub.  My guess is they had an in air collision with each other, and nobody survived.  I wanted a chicken pot pie for dinner last night.  But they were out of chicken pot pies.  I had a hamburger instead.
    1.21 gigawatts?!  Anyway.  I was talking to my mom recently about how I'm maturely, emotionally, and socially stunted since I've gotten my illness.  It's basically like I've been 19 for the last 5 years with no growth or change.  That must be why I still like pokemon and playing MASH.  Because I did those things when I was 19.  I guess.  I might be confusing 19 with 12.  It wouldn't be the first time!  I don't know what that means.  The truth is, it doesn't matter how old you are, as long as you're young at heart.  That's why every year, I get heart transplants from babies.  Not just any baby, though.  I harvest the best young babies to donate their hearts to me.  With farm equipment and hospital tools. 
    I think I cried when my local blockbuster burned down.  It didn't really burn down, it just went out of business and turned into an after school learning center for Korean children.  Now it's a Dunkin Donuts.  I think I might major in astrology.  That would be stupid.  What up peace dawgs.  That's how I say hello when I'm bored.  My brain hurts.  There's no time to fix it.  Thereforth, perchance I go to college to occupy it?  Locomotive is one of the best ways to travel.  I like in the Oregon trail, you can choose how much you want to eat as a group.  To mix things up, you should sometimes have passengers who are anorexic or bulimic, or maybe binge eaters.  And then, when you get to Oregon, there should be a graphic of balloons and text that says, "Have A Party!!!"  And then you can either start over or close the game.  Once you're finished with any game, those are pretty much your choices.
    I don't know.  I wish someone would give me prompts on what to write entries on.  It would probably make it easier.  Or harder.  Or about the same.  Definitely one of those things, I bet.  Did you know one foot is 0.3048 meters?  These are the things that keep me up at night.  I remember when I first got sick in 2008, my parents wanted to take me to see a doctor, and his name was Dr. Bere (pronounced Bear).  And that scared the shit out of me.  Dr. Bear!?!?!  I don't know why.  The worst doctor I actually had, namewise, was the supervising psychiatrist the last time I was in the hospital, and his name was Dr. Stearns.  Dr. Stern?!?!?  Gie me a break, man.  Luckily, it just turned out to be Daniel Stern wearing a white lab coat.  And the doctor I see now has a pretty bad name, too.  Dr. Ol vet (I added the space in case he googles his name).  WHAT'S HE VETTING ME FOR?  My first psychiatrist, when I was about 10, was named Dr. Navone, and my dad would always call him the guns of Navarone.  Which I believe is a movie.  Well, I more than believe it, I'm sure of it, since I googled it to check the spelling.  Anyway.  Psychiatrists are the bomb.  Everyone should have one.
    Dear the internet, I know we've just shared a special four paragraphs together, and it was great, it really was.  However, I'm afraid this will be my last paragraph.  Just for a while.  I promise I'll be back eventually.  Try not to get too upset over it.  These things are out of your control.  Just know, it's not because of you that I'm leaving.  It's me.  Also, can one solitary man eat the world's record worth of gumballs?  And does that make him gay?  That's something I had written down in a notebook.  Believe me, it has nothing to do with this paragraph, or this entry, or even this website.  Although, being in it now, will surely shape the future of this website through good times and bad, as we will all remember the, "world's most gumballs" joke.  Try not to take it to heart; it was just meant to be silly and irreverent.  I by no means encourage anyone to try to eat the world's most gumballs, and then question their sexuality.  It is only there for entertainment purposes.  With that said, see you later.

-11:49 A.M.           
 

Tuesday, October 8, 2013

Damnit, My Bathroom Alarm Clock Is Broken

         Now how am I supposed to know when to use the bathroom?  Anyway, howdy boys and girls.  I like the Hero's Journey.  It's a 17 step thing that supposedly every story follows, from the beginning of the journey to the end.  Sometimes I try to figure out which step I'm on at a specific moment of my life.  I'm not sure if it's supposed to pertain to real life, but it should.  I'm a hero, and I'm on a journey.  What's the problem?  Maybe I should write my own hero's journey to apply specifically to me.  Here we go!

1) Smoke First Cigarette
2) Throw Remaining Cigarettes In Pack In The Garbage
3) Find A Carton Of Cigarettes In The Street
4) Have A Dream That I Was A Cigarette And Someone Was Smoking Me
5) Get Lung Cancer
6) Win A Trip To A Willy-Wonka Type Place, But For Cigarettes
7) Become Possessed By the Ghost Of The Person Who Invented Cigarettes
8) Meet A Girl Who Is Made Out Of Cigarettes
9) Convince My Father And Mother That Cigarette Smoke Smells Pretty Good
10)Win A World Record For Most Cigarettes Smoked In A Month, Receive 10% Off Health Care
11)Finiance My 10% Off Healthcare Into Money I Could Spend On More Cigarettes
12)Think To Myself, "I'm A Hero.  What Steps Of My Journey Are There?"
13)Have Deja Vu When I Smoke A Cigarette That I Already Smoked That Cigarette
14)Deciding To Finish That Cigarette, Even If I Already Smoked It
15)Smoking Another Cigarette, Without The Queasy Feeling Of Deja Vu
16)Asking God, "Are There Cigarettes In Heaven?"
17)God Replying, "Good Morning.  No."

    So, what else is going on?  I had a nightmare last night, but the only part I remember was the girl from the Exorcist screaming, "Yippe-Ki-Yay Mother Fucker!" in her demon voice.  I also remember, in a positive side of the dream, that I was with a girl hiding out from the scary stuff.  I can't remember the last time I just hung out with a girl socially.  Honestly, it was probably when I was in the hospital a year and a half ago.  I hang out with my mom a lot.  But I'm just not attracted to her, I don't know why.  We got mini 3 musketeer bars in preparation for Halloween.  I had half of one.  It was okay, but since I've been dieting, I find things with a large amount of sugar to be sweet.  I mean, too sweet.  I started eating apples.  Those mother fuckers are sweet as hell, really.  Yesterday, I was watching T.V., and it was bothering me, so I made a pact with myself to not watch T.V. till Thursday.  Two days without T.V, that's it.  But then I watched some T.V. this morning.  Oh well.  There's shit else to do.  Anyway.  My dad says I'm getting really good at whistling.  I know everyone, at some points of their lives, searches for approval from their parents.  And I gotta say, it feels really good.  To have my dad concede that I'm good at whistling, well, it just brightens my heart. Yes, indeed.  There should be whistling competitions.  But the kind of competition where everybody wins.  Like the Special Olympics.  Because, let's face it, if you're in a whistling competition, there's something pretty special about you.
    I hate artichokes.  I'm not really sure what they are, but I wish they would all just die.  Oh, apparently it's a thistle.  That explains everything.  I like it when my phone rings.  Whenever I hear it ring, I imagine it being like the publisher's clearinghouse saying we just won a million dollars.  Yeah, I know they come to your door.  Maybe they've fallen on hard times and are limited to phone calls now.  They can't afford traveling, I mean, have you seen the size of some of those checks?  They're oversized!  What's the point of those.  They gotta be like a hundred dollars to make.  If I won one of those, I'd say, just give me the money you would have spent on the oversized check.  If I want an oversized check, I'll make it myself and save half the cost.  I have a real Do It Yourself attitude.  It should be a Do It Myself attitude.  A Do It Yourself attitude is just condescending.  Anyway.  When the phone rings, it says who's calling.  It's always exciting when it says, "Unavailable."  I wonder who it is!  So exciting.
    So, what else is going on.  Lately I've been using the fourth paragraph to stop being funny and share some memories from my life.  I like it, it balances out the entries smoothly, and crap.  So, let's see.  I remember when I was 4, I went to some water park, and I got halfway through one of the slides, and then got scared, and didn't want to keep going, so I was trapped in the slide.  It was pretty scary.  Also, I remember, around the same age, I was with my mom in a pool, and she was holding me up, and then she let go of me, and I sank under the water for like 20 seconds and thought I was going to drown.  I didn't, though.  That would have been the end of my hero's journey.  I think that's the real 17th step.  "Hero drowns."  No, I don't really think that.  Also, I remember I once saw Weekend @ Bernie's.  Those are my three memories for this paragraph.  Actually, I don't know if I ever saw Weekend At Bernie's.  I know I saw Weekend At Bernie's II.  I remember when I was a kid, I used to be scared that a dead old lady lived in my refrigerator.  Really.  I would be trying to sleep, and I imagined her in our upstairs hallway, and then going down stairs, and then go into the fridge.  So if I woke up and wanted to get something to drink in the middle of the night, I was way too scared to get it.
    That should be the new M. Night Shyamalan movie.  "Lady In The Refrigerator."  Refrigerator is a pretty tough word to spell.  I'm not telling tales out of school; try to spell it.  Without checking previous instances of the word for clues.  Go ahead, I'll wait.  Back?  Great.  How did you do?  E-mail me the answer.  My email is weekend@bernies.com.  This entry is high on the craptitude scale.  Oh well.  It's better than watching This Is 40 again.  That movie scares the hell out of me.  Yesterday there was a tornado.  I like weather.  It's pretty much the only variable in my life.  At least, it's the only constant variable.  I'm oxymoronic.  I guess.  Anyway, see ya later.

-11:34 A.M.       
                                

Everybody's Doing It

         Hi.  There's a greeting rarely used.  By people don't speak English.  Bye people who don't speak English!  They can't understand what I'm saying.  I wish there was a way to communicate with everybody and have them all understand what you're saying.  Unfortunately, that's not the world we live in.  I SAID... THAT'S NOT... THE WORLD... WE LIVE IN!  The world we live in is Earth.  It was named after Amerigo Earth.  He discovered it while walking in a park one day, looking for a pond.  He didn't find the pond, but he made friends with the nice tree monsters and Turkish game hen.  So it wasn't a complete loss.  They ordered Chinese food and contemplated on the philosophical quandaries of their day.  Having reached no absolute conclusions, they departed with their intellectual appetites whetted, but by no means satiated.
   This is the second entry of the day.  Because I didn't know what else to do.  Should I just sit here and pray?  And wait, calm, for something new?  There is a reason for my rhyming here.  It's to astound and to amaze.  As welcome as an ice cold beer, you can't spell my name wthout some "K'"s  For sure, my first name is Mike, and my last a synonym for maize, if you add a "blum," alright, then I suppose, yup, that's my name.  Ain't I a stinker?  Blah blah blah.  I like mistletoe.  Because it reminds me of things.  The jokes on you, buddy, I don't even know what mistletoe is.  I think that's what they call it when you toe bang someone.  Could be wrong.  Not sure.  I've been feeling stress lately.  Any of you ever feel that?  It's an unpleasant feeling.  It's like going to a Fourth of July party at William Hung's house.  It's like writing an entire book only to realize at the end, the only applicable title is, "I Fart A Lot."  It's like your parents dying due to grief caused by an epic avalanche in a J.C. Penney's two towns over.  AND I MEAN TWO TOWNS OVER.  Anyway, I was talking about stress.  I think.  Or something.  I have semi-selective amnesia.
    Okay. Penne ways.  I haven't had an energy drink in a while.  And I blame you.  Don't blame me, I'm the gingerbread man.  Now I'm gonna run, as fast as I can.  I wonder what Native Americans are really good at.  There's gotta be something.  I mean, if I had to guess, off the top of my head, I would say soda bread.  They make good soda bread.  But that's just a guess.  Selling cheaper cigarettes?  That could be it.  I guess they like to be called American Indians.  That's like if gay people wanted to be called American Faggots.  I assume.  You know what happens when you assume, though, right?  You make an ass out of you and me.  And that's just what the American Faggots want.   They're gaming the system and they've got you all played!  P.S.  Apologies for inappropriate name calling.  I mean Western Hemisphere Faggots.
    Sorry, though.  Really.  Sometimes I get a bit carried away.  Anyway, let's go to our Fan-Cam, to seat 7S... And look at that wonderful, beautiful fan!  I wonder if they meant to be here.  They look confused.  That was stupid.  But if you're actually in seat 7S, you're probably even more confused.  I didn't mean to call you out.  I was just horsing around.  Is horsing around when you do heroin and then drink a round of beers?  Because if it is, blah blah blah.  You guys remember The Very Hungry Caterpillar?  I heard they're making it into a movie.  It's gonna star Stephen Merchant.  Should be pretty good, I bet.  I would bet even money on it.  Except for the fact that it's fake.
    Last paragraph time.  Two entries in a day.  Woot.  That's hard to do with all that stress.  Well, not that hard.  It's probably harder to read than it is to write.  And I just mean in general.  Reading is hard.  I have books on understanding language to help me, but I still have difficulty, mostly because I need to be able to read to read those books.  I'm an idiot.  This was fun though.  We should do it again some time.  Just not too soon!  I think we'll need some time to cool off and reflect on our lives some.  You know, if you take the time to pause and really think about your problems, you might come away with some wisdom.  In other words; think about things, and then you'll have thought about things.  Okay, see ya.

-4:55 P.M.

Thursday, October 10, 2013

I'm Because Do To What Me Tells Nobody

         Hi.  Here is another entry.  I hope I write it.  Otherwise, how will it exist?  You're surely not gonna write it.  Lazy bones.  I gotta do everything around here.  Just because it's my website doesn't mean you can't contribute!  That's why when I read the nytimes, I send them e-mails with a more final draft of their articles.  Mostly it involves changing the headlines, making them very pun heavy.  As of now, they're only pun-dit heavy.  Oh yeah.  I pun'd it.  I've gotten a bit of the flu.  I have a sore throat.  That's an interesting thing to say.  It conjures up memories of when you've had a sore throat, and makes you feel intense emotion for me, because of my illness.  I like the nytimes.  It's pronounced "Night-Times," right?  That's a good name for a paper that gets delivered at night.  Or a circular your parents hand out when it's your bedtime.  It's full of lullabies and the past week's sports scores.  And an editorial on why all dogs go to heaven.  I remember when I was a kid, I had this computer game "3-D Movie Maker," and it was basically what it promises, you could make animated 3-d movies.  And I remember, I made one, and I also made a poster in photoshop, and I printed it out, and put it on the kitchen wall, so I should show it to my parents, like an event.  So I guess at a very early age you could see signs of unwarranted self importance and delusions of grandeur.  Delusions of grandeur means unwarranted self importance.  It's because of both that I feel the need to bulk up sentences to make me seem more coherent and impressive.  If I had just an appropriate sense of self, I would have no qualms being concise and avoiding faux/forced-verisimilitude.  I don't know if I used that word correctly.  I don't even know if it's really a word.
    I should start my own online paper, like Arianna Huffington.  Possible titles: The Kornblum Gazette, The Ballsack Quarterly, The World's Asshole, the Jew York Post, The Weekly Imaginaterium, The Daily Paper, the This Is Like a Book But Every Day, and, my favorite, the Go To HELL You Son of a Bitch Herald.  Anyway.  Tomorrow is Career Day.  Or at least I assume it would be, if I was in elementary school.  If Hermione ever asked, "What School Comes Before Hogwarts?" someone sure can say, "Elementary, My Dear Watson."  Pun'd it.  That's gotta be my new catchphrase.  Replacing previous well known catchphrases, "Leave Me Alone," and "In The Face!"  There's a news analyst on MSNBC named Krystal Ball.  Pun'd it.  Today is 10/10.  Ten Ten Wins.  That's a radio station.  I'm pretty sure.  I kind of want my own talk radio show.  I don't know what I'd talk about, but I'm pretty sure it would be great.  You know why?  Because I'm great.  Sometimes I confuse "Great Expectations," with "Cruel Intentions."  Which one's which, I don't know.  It's 8:20 P.M.  This is literally the latest I've been up, and out of bed, in months.  I need my beauty sleep.  And I need my sleeping beauty.  I bet that's where they got the name for that fairy tale from.  Just reversing words.  Lazy motherfuckers.  I guess the phrase might have come from the fairy tale.  Or maybe it's just a coincidence.  Gotta be something.  But yeah, I really do go to sleep extremely early.  It's because before I go to sleep is when my symptoms are usually most pronounced, so if I go to sleep earlier, then they'll be decreased.  It's good logic. Get off my case! 
    Well, here's another paragraph.  I'm doin' fine.  What else is going on?  I'm looking forward to being asleep.  Going to sleep is ok, but it's no being asleep.  And waking up?  Please, don't even talk to be about waking up.  My T.V. keeps breaking.  I think it's called commercials.  Sorry.  Anyway.  I don't know what else to talk about.  Probably things, I guess.  So, this isn't going well.  I mean, it was, but then the last ten minutes I've been stuck on the last sentence.  That's a funny word.  Sentence.  What does it even mean, really?  Nobody knows.  I mean, who comes up with this stuff?  Not me.  Sorry, I was just doing a character.  It's the, "guy who gets confused by regular words, and insists it isn't his fault," guy.  That character is gonna be a hit, I can tell.  You can put him in all sorts of situations, and when he gets to a certain word, oh boy, get ready for the fireworks.  I don't like the new Maury/Springer type show, The Test.  #whitepeopleproblems.  I'm not sure what that means.  I am sure, though, that's the first time I've used a hashtag, in any situation, ever.  Watch their stock soar due to their reference here.  Ain't that usually always the way sometimes?  I have a soar throat.  Pun'd it.  My stomach is pretty upset.  That's a phrase I can distort to mean something different, sort of as a "child's pun."  That's what they should call childish puns.  It's pretty much calling them "childish puns."  Some people may say all puns are childish.  No soup for you!  That's how you deal with people complaining about puns.  Throw in some references or catchphrases.  In the face!  Leave me alone!  Classic crazysheet. 
    I hate myself.  I mean, what.  I was thinking about the, "Is the glass half full, or half empty?" quandary.  It's gotta be half full, because the glass itself takes up some space, so it's definitely tipped over 50% full.  So, there you go.  I remember the last class I took in college, it was a poetry class, and on the first day the teacher asked us what our favorite homonym was.  She said hers was "leaves."  I said mine was, "crackers."  I didn't really say that.  Should have, though.  It might not really qualify as a homonym, anyway.  Wait, is leaves a homonym?  I see now leafs is a word.  I don't really know what's going on.  This was 2 years ago.  Get off my case!  Case is a homonym.  Case closed!  Mike Piazza was a homonym.  Case closed!  Bud is an homonym.  When I was your age, that's what we called marijuana.  Also, I assume you're 18 years old.  That makes me jailbait!  Wait, something's off.  Never mind.  We also called marijuana herb.  That's another homonym.  Marijuana is another homonym.  From that commercial for marijuana... "marry juana, don'cha wanta?"  I might be thinking of Dr. Brown's Diet Cream Soda.  Which I believe was created in the old west by a time traveler.
    I'm exhausted.  That's what the thing said to the thing.  I was reading through an old English journal from high school, and one of the prompts was to talk about a club we were in, and I wrote something like, "the first rule is I'm not supposed to talk about it, and the second rule is I'm not supposed to talk about it," and that made my day.  What a jokester.  Anyway.  This entry is about over.  It's been fun.  Gotta kill another half of a paragraph, though.  This is a lot of fun.  I like writing entries.  It's fun.  I like wrapping up entries.  It's kind of cool, when you think about it.  Not realy.  Its all fun, though.  Especially thinking about what to type and typing it and it's fun when it happens.  The best part of typing is you are typing at the speed of thought but your thought is either a little bit behind, a little bit ahead, or perhaps right in tune with the speed of typing. 

-9:37 P.M.
                                                    

Sunday, October 13, 2013

Four Out of Five Dentists Agree!

         Hi.  I'm bored, so I'm going to write an entry.  Already off to a promising start!  That is, I promise there will be a start.  Hey, there already is!  Boy, that's a load off my back.  Now, let's get down to business.  There should be a high fiving competition.  The only problem is, there has to be two winners.  I personally enjoy things with only one winner.  That's why I don't like professional sports.  The whole team wins.  Doesn't seem fair, there might be some hanger-ons.  In the world series, after one team wins, it should have to split itself in half, and then play itself, and so on, until there's only one winner.  Look, Mariano Rivera won the world series!  That tickertape parade would be pretty quick.  I got a carton of Newport 100s by mistake.  These cigarettes are too long! Boo.  I guess I could just smoke 9/10's of them, and then after 10, I can smoke all the remnants as if it were one cigarettes.  But that's easier said than done!  Even the filters are longer.  What's the point of that?  This is funny and interesting material.  Not this entry, the filters on my cigarettes.  Anyway.  What else is up?  I'm starting to lose my sense of self.  The last couple of months, the spacing between my doctors and therapists appointments have increased, so my time talking with people has decreased, and most of the time I'm just watching T.V. or listening to music.  So I just caught up in whatever medium I'm using to distract myself, to such a degree that I don't even know who I am anymore.  I mean, I know I'm me, I just don't know what that means anymore.  At least I know I'm me.  Some people don't even know that.  I don't mean they don't know that they're me, I mean they don't know they're them.  Not really.  Most people know they're them.  But for me, it gets confusing!
    I started watching this show about people with embarrassing health problems, and half the cases for some reason deal with women who have problems with their chest.  And they show their breasts a lot.  I guess they're banking on people who want to masturbate watching their program.  But, for me, a show about people with embarrassing health problems isn't a great place to start thinking about jerking off.  Am I right?  Oooh boy.  Maybe some people are into that.  I'm not here to judge.  I'm here to be jury and executioner, but not to judge.  I go against the grain like that.  My mom had to see a doctor today and take some tests, and beforehand, she couldn't eat any carbohydrates.  She was against the grain like that.  It was just a routine check up.  Don't worry.  I know most people who read this entry are just concerned about my parent's health and are checking to see if there are any major developments.  There aren't.  Although, as I said I was sick a few days ago, both my parents were, too.  But we're all better now.  We face problems as a team, and we solve problems as a team.  Our solution is living for a few days until the problem goes away.  I like how God rested on the seventh day.  Oh, I didn't know God needed a break.  God was just, "I'm tired, just give me a day or so to recoup."  You're God!  C'mon.  Get it together.  Anyway.  I kid God, I kid him because I love him.  Maybe he just took a break because he knew we'd need a break, and he wanted to keep us company.  I don't have all the answers.  I only have about 30% of the answers.
    There should be a dating show where the contestant learns about the guy or girl they're being set up with by asking questions to their ex's.  And it's called "Exquisite!"  HAHA.  Cut to nine months later where that  show exists.  But they drop the name.  C'mon.  I still have to write the second half of this entry.  Why me, God?!  Oh, he's resting.  We'll, he'll get the message tomorrow.  I assume he has an answering machine.  Anyway.  This entry sucks.  I hope no one reads it.  If they were to read it, then they would be like, "Oh, I'm reading it, and now I see he says I hope I'm not reading it, should I keep reading it?  I assume I should, but you never know."  And I wouldn't want anyone to read that.  Man, I gotta finish this entry, I got a lot planned today.  Like lie in bed for seven hours trying to cancel out the noise in my mind.  I wonder what I'm gonna eat for dinner.  Oh man, it's a mystery.  Could be anything.  There should be a thing with things and more things until the things finish this paragraph.  My guess is that the things will be called, "things," and even more so, the idea of things will come to suggest that my own interpretation of things really brings the house down.  At least, I hope.
    Okay.  I'm thinking about changing my dream subscription.  Right now, I have Verizon, but I'm giving some serious thought to Time Warner Cable.  I'm also thinking about stopping taking myself so seriously.  So what if my dreams are broadcast through Verizon?  Stop trying to control everything!  That's what I say.  And if I say it, it must be true!  That's something I seriously have been thinking about a lot.  I just need to take a step back.  But, as the saying goes, I could take a step forward, and two steps back.  So, that means, in order to get further back, I have to keep taking steps forward.  Because then I'll get doubly as many steps back.  It makes when you think about it.  No it doesn't!  Or does it?  Alright.  I took a Klonopin and am feeling a little bit better.  Klonopin is an anti-anxiety drug.  I take it as needed, and the weird thing is, I never feel it working, it has no noticeable effects for me, but I always feel better after I take it.  It's just in a sense I can't really pinpoint.  Maybe it's placebo.  Or maybe my anxiety was placebo anxiety.  Ever think about that?
    Last paragraph time.  This should be good.  We've waited the entire entry for it.  I know you guys, you read the whole entry, but in the back of your minds, you just keep going, "How's it going to end?  I cannot wait until I'm up to the last paragraph!"  And I'm with you, I love the last paragraph.  Mostly because it means I'm almost done.  Newports shouldn't come in 100s.  It just doesn't seem right.  It would be a crime against nature if cigarettes themselves weren't a crime against nature.  Well, they're not that bad.  I could see myself getting used to them.  And then getting cancer 1/10th of the time sooner than I would have.  Oh well, c'est la vie.  That's what I say.  I say la vie.  Phonetics joke.  Well, another entry in the books.  I counted all my entires a few days ago, this one is around the 76th or 77th in this incarnation of the website.  That's pretty good for a year and a half.  The overall grade I would give it is a B+, because I like my websites like I like my women, "Be Plus (sized)!"  That doesn't mean I like overweight women, it just means I like any woman, because they're all plus sized to me.  Anyway.

-1:45 P.M.   
    
 

Tuesday, October 15, 2013                      

Be Quiet

         Hello.  Time for another entry.  This should be good.  It probably won't be, though.  The odds are against it.  The evens are for it.  I had a friend in elementary school who insisted zero was both even and odd.  What a joke.  He also thought the square root of 9 was 17.  And that 7 was a perfect number.  Don't get me wrong, 7 is a pretty good number.  But it's far from perfect.  I like how, in Jerry Springer, to encourage the guest whose doing something outrageous, the crowd chants, "Jerry!  Jerry!"  He's not doing anything special, it's the guest.  Chant for the guest.  As it is, you're just being disrespectful.  I like how those shows have the "sexy decoys" to entice guests accused of cheating to fool around with them, to show on the show the next day as evidence against them.  I'm pretty sure that's a form of prostitution, and should be illegal.  But they still do it.  Good for them.  I think Maury and Jerry Springer should release a sex tape.  I don't know.  I drank some coffee this morning.  I don't drink hot coffee that much anymore, because it gets cold too fast.  They should invent a heated mug that keeps its contents warm.  Did you know that the best part of waking up is Folgers in your cup?  I had no idea.  I always thought it was regaining consciousness and beginning your day.  I'm just gonna put this out there: I like coffee cake.  I don't eat it that often, but when I do, I usually enjoy it.  I know it's a controversial statement, and I know I'll get some backlash from it, but I don't care.  I remember when I was a kid, I used to hate milk.  I wouldn't drink it at all.  Now, I like it in coffee.  Funny how things change.
    What's milk of magnesia?  I don't know what that is!  I looked it up on google, and I still don't know what it is.  I guess I'm an idiot, I suppose.  Oh, I guess it's a laxative.  Wonderful.  I like how google is a compound of the words, "go ogle."  Makes sense.  Because of porn.  Anyway.  Milk with cereal really disgusts me.  The slurping combined with the wet crunchiness is just gross.  Even that sentence disturbs me.  I don't like descriptive adjectives.  Too much information!  I guess all adjectives are descriptive.  That's what they're there for.  Descriptive itself is an adjective.  O, the wonders of language.  I said "Oh" without the "H" because that's how Shakespeare says it.  And if there's one writer I'm trying to emulate, it's obviously Louis Sachar.  He wrote children books.  I guess by now they're fully grown and adult books.  They might even have children books of their own.  Probably not, though.  I don't want to be offensive, but they're a little immature.  Anyway.  So, yesterday was Kristof Columbus day.  In 1492, Columbus sailed the ocean, blue.  I wonder what he was sad about.  Probably missed his friends and family back in the homeland.  A lot of people give Columbus credit for proving the Earth was round.  Truth is, most educated people already knew that.  So, basically, Columbus isn't that great.  I hope his family doesn't sue me for defamation of character.  That's weird.  There's probably some people out there that are distant relatives of Columbus, and they have no idea.  They just love sailing and they don't know why.
    I'm pretty sure "enjoying sailing" is an inherited gene.  I could be wrong.  I usually am.  That's okay, though.  As my dad likes to say, "I'm not perfect, but admitting that makes me closer to perfect."  I don't know if he likes to say that.  He sometimes says it, but I have no idea whether he enjoys it or not.  Admitting that I don't know whether he enjoys saying that is a sign that I'm 100% perfect.  Yup.  And recognizing that I'm 100% perfect makes me 104% perfect.  I hate people who use the phrase, "110%"  Well, I don't hate them.  I'm not that spiteful.  It just irks me, is all.  You can say "100%"  We understand that's the most.  You know what?  I take it back.  I don't care.  Say whatever you want.  Maybe when you say, "110%" you mean two and a tenth times more than the baseline.  Anything's possible.  Anyway.  What else is up.  I'm getting used to these Newport 100s.  You'd think there's no noticeable difference, but there is.  And I think I like it!  Woo.  I remember I started smoking because I was having problems with my eating habits, and I thought if I was smoking, I would eat less.  I think it worked, but was it worth it?  Probably not.  Certainly not monetarily, these shits are expensive.  I've probably spent 3-5 thousand dollars of my parents money just on cigarettes over the past four years.  That's pretty crazy.  Maybe a little less, but still.  Maybe a little more.  See, I'm not that great at math, either.
    I wonder if Columbus thinking he found India, when he found America, is a metaphor for when people die, and they think they're in Heaven, but they're actually in Hell.  Or maybe, they think they're in Hell, but they're actually in Heaven.  Probably not that, though.  If you think you're in Heaven, that's a pretty tame version of Hell.  I bet in Heaven, Columbus finally finds India.  Because that was his dream, and stuff.  It makes sense.  I bet Columbus would have liked foursquare.  Anyway.  This was an ok entry.  Not too good, not too bad.  It's important I don't write entries that are too good.  Then you'd raise your expectations, and I wouldn't be able to meet them.  I'd love to meet your expectations someday.  They seem like good people.  I'm a moron.  What's so silly about silly string?  Don't ask me.  I'm 190% sure silly string isn't... wait... hold on.  I want to start a cigarette.  Yeah, so, what was I saying?  Doesn't matter.  I like when I get my blood taken, and they tape a piece of cotton to where they took the blood, and twenty minutes I can take it off.  It's a weird mix of pain and pleasure to take tape off your body.  For me, I like to call it sex tape. 
    Moron.  Last paragraph time.  Maury Povich's production company is called, "MoPo"  Too bad his last name isn't Ronald.  Then it would be, "MoRon."  I wonder if Maury is a crip or a blood.  Anyway.  I like garlic bread.  I can't be the only one.  There's nothing going on.  And I can't even watch Maury, or whatever show is on right now, because I'm recording two programs.  Life's just not fair.  I guess I don't need to record antiques roadshow.  I like it, and I record every episode, but I never watch it.  If it's on, great.  But I'm just never motivated to go out of my way to watch it.  Anyway, it's more fun to watch with other people.  You can predict how much things will be worth.  It's fun.  I wonder what the last thing I ever write before I die will be.  Hopefully not a crazysheet.net entry.  But if it is, I can only wonder what it will say.  Hopefully not a suicide note.  Me, I'm gonna go out through natural causes.  I'm just a daredevil like that.  I hope I die in my sleep.  They say if you die in a dream, you die in real life.  That can't be true.  I heard if you drive a car in your dream, you're actually driving a car in real life.  And if you go to sleep in a dream, you're actually sleeping in real life.  Anyway, see ya.

-1:03 P.M.                                   
                     

Friday, October 18, 2013                      

I Like Talking in Typing

     Hello.  What's going on?  This entry is going to be delicious.  That's right: reading this entry will be like eating food.  Delicious food.  I like The Food Fighters.  One of my top 250 favorite bands.  I like their hilarious cover of, "My Sharona."  It's called "My Bologna."  In case you couldn't figure that out.  I guess it could have been called, "My Albino."  But people don't eat albinos.  Not to mention it doesn't rhyme.  There should be a knock off of Weird Al who does songs that almost rhyme, but not quite.  I'd listen to him, and be one of his few non-ironic fans.  I mean, his musicianship is pretty good.  Also, musicianship appears to be a real word.  I used good wordsmanship there.  Wordsmanship is not a word.  Not yet.  I like the movie "Saw."  If you watch it backwards, it's "Was."  Oh, everyone already realized that?  I'm sorry, I didn't know everyone reads titles backwards nowadays.  I guess I'm just behind the times like that.  People's wrists are behind the times.  Assuming they wear watches.  And let's face it, they probably do.  Watches are the "in" thing right now.  How do blind people who want to know what time it is get by?  They might have hearing aids that just constantly announce what time it is.  I guess they can call them "listens."  Hahahehoha.  I had a dream I was really funny.  Honestly, it was just a dream where I kept saying funny and clever things, and people were laughing.  And then at the end of the dream, I was rapping, and rapping really well.  I woke up delighted that I'm not burdened with such astounding gifts.  If I was exceptionally talented at something, I'd have pressure to share my gift with the world.  As it is, just being mildly talented, the world can suck it.
   Anyways.  I like watching "Chopped."  It's a cooking competition show on the Food Fighters network.  I think it's about editing for T.V. and film.  Not sure.  The editors of the show are paid, I'm sure.  They're already winners.  To have a job in this economy, am I right?  And the judges are winners, too.  To have a meal in this economy, am I right?  I think I am right.  On both counts.  I don't get how the judges can eat that much.  Each episode, each judge has to eat four appetizers, three entrees, and two desserts.  That's a lot of food.  Every episode ends with the judges getting gastric bypass surgery.  I don't know if you should get that surgery more than once.  Probably not.  So, today's the 18th.  How's that working out for 'ya?  I don't know.  On my remote, the power button to my cable box doesn't work.  I have to turn it on manually.  This is important, topical stuff.  At least I'm getting some exercise.  Probably burns off a good .75 of a calorie.  I had to close my window today.  It's finally too cold to have my window open.  Aren't seasons weird?  Am I right?  I'd like to see a comedian who has a good 15 minute chunk on seasons.  Why not.  "Don't even get me started on winter!"  Hilarious.  My 6th grade Core teacher was named Mrs. Winters.  We read A Tale of Two Cities.  That's a pretty long book.  Dickens wrote it in installments for a newspaper, and was paid by the word.  Truthfully, it ran a little long.  I'd like to see it edited into, "A Tale of a City."  Don't overdo it. 
    I'm bored.  I'm gonna smoke a vanilla cigar.  It's not like a real cigar, it's like a longer cigarette, that Native Americans sell.  Mmm.  Tastes like I'm smoking vanilla ice cream.  Not really.  I just wanted to sound cool.  That's a lie.  I just wanted to say something.  Anything!  I like Vanilla Ice.  He was like The Verve of the early 90's.  Vanilla Ice is a bittersweet symphony.  I like Time Warner Cable.  They're like the Verizon of people who have Time Warner Cable.  I like Time's man of the year.  I'm pretty sure last year's man of the year was the Roadrunner.  Eh.  This entry is half done.  Now what am I supposed to do?  Oh yeah, write the second half of the entry.  Forgot about that.  I have a doctor's appointment on Monday for the first time in a month.  Because I'm a superstar like that.  It's a doubleheader, too.  First, to set things up, a 20 minute appointment with my therapist.  Then, as an interlude, get my blood taken.  Then, an appointment with the clozapine clinic!  Clozapine is a drug I'm on.  It's pretty sweet.  I feel tired after I take it and it dulls my brain.  What more can you ask for, really?  Frontpage doesn't recognize clozapine as a word, and it's first suggestion for what I'm trying to say is, "cocaine."  If only every month I went to the cocaine clinic.  That'll be the day.  I really wouldn't want to do cocaine with my mental illness.  I'd literally lose my marbles.  Well, maybe not literally.  But figuratively, definitely.  And possibly literally.  I remember when I was a kid, I had a big bowl of marbles that had belonged to my dad, and one day I got mad and broke the bowl.  I don't know what happened to the marbles.  It's a family secret.  We just don't talk about it.  It's a faux pas.  I also remember when I was like 3, I broke my dad's guitar by smashing it with some toy.  I never saw him play it, ever.  But maybe that's because I broke it.  Who knows.
    Fourth paragraph time.  Time to kick it into overdrive.  I like how in Maury/Springer/etc., the crowd always supports the person who talks first.  They go "aww," and when the other person comes out, they always "boo" him or her.  Talk about snap judgments.  C'mon, take some time to hear both sides of the story.  You don't know, you don't know.  I like how Maury Povich is married to Connie Chung.  I like to imagine in their courtship, Maury asked her if she loved him, and she said yes, and then he said, "The lie detector determined... that was a lie!"  And then he grinned at her and they broke up.  But I guess that didn't happen, because they got married.  I guess he could have said "...and you're telling the truth!" And then they smooch and make up.  Not sure why they're making up.  I never said they were having difficulties, per se.  I don't know, use your imagination.  They should make a new show like that, where a robot hosts it.  (in robot voice): "You are not the father."  Then the guy celebrates.  And it's a robot.  I like robots.  I used to be on the fence, but they won me over.  Anyway.  Remember that statuette of Gandhi I was talking about a couple of weeks ago?  Well, I found it!  And now it's on my desk.  See, miracles do happen.
    Last paragraph time.  Time to slow down from being in overdrive.  How come when girls are fighting on Springer, they never kick each other in the balls.  Anyway.  "I don't care if you want him," "I don't care what you care," "I don't care."  Actual exchange between two women.  You can't write this stuff.  And if you did, you'd be an idiot.  Anyway.  This entry was okay.  My cigarette butts are on fire.  Guess I have to dump them in the toilet.  Meh.  I'm gonna finish this entry first, though.  I ain't no procrastinator.  I used to be, though.  That was before I was procastrated, though.  That's a lot of, "though's."  Three out of four sentences.  Now it's four out of five.  Sort of.  Anyway.  It's the weekend.  That's fun.  I presume.  Why are they called the Minnesota Vikings?  Are there Vikings in Minnesota?  Yes, the Minnesota Vikings.  But besides that.  Nobody knows.  I like places, and names of things.  And asking the hard hitting questions of our times.  Well.  I ate a fiber one bar for breakfast.  Those things are great.  I wanna learn how to play basketball.  I mean, I know how to play.  Put the ball in the hoop.  But I want to be good at it.  It seems like you could probably get decent at it with just a little practice.  Sure, I'm short, but all you need to know is how to throw the ball from the right angle and at the right velocity and so on.  I mean, if you're actually playing basketball, it's a lot harder.  I just want to be able to stand somewhere and "hoop" the ball.  That's good enough for me.  I don't need any unneeded competition.  Anyway, that's it.

-11:31 A.M.                                      
   
 

Saturday, October 19, 2013                      

Now THAT's How You Write a Title

     Hey.  The blogosphere is erupting due to my amazing title.  Of all the spheres, the blogosphere is probably one of the most pathetic.  Suits me fine, though.  I got Halal food yesterday.  That shit cray.  This entry is halawful.  I think I made a pun with "awful," a couple of weeks ago.  I have fun with words.  That's one of the most innocent ways to have fun.  Unless if the words are under eighteen.  The words "seventeen" and under are off limits.  I don't make the rules, but I do play by them.  Oh, I guess I just said "seventeen."  She was coming on to me!  You all saw it, right?  I read an article in The Rolling Stone about a teenage girl who killed herself after embarrassing photos from when she was passed out.  That just depressed the shit out of me.  Yet another example of how technology is destroying our social fabric.  The first example was this website.  Maybe they should force preteens to keep their own blog, full of embarrassing facts and life stories, to train them to be able to deal with the lack of privacy the internet creates.  I know that's why I started this website, when I was a preteen girl.  Just kidding.  I was post-teen.  Actually, more accurately, I was teen congruent.  I was 14.  I'm 25 in a month and a half.  I hope for my birthday, my body's natural sleep cycle breaks down and I sleep for 72 hours straight.  That would be a dream come true.  Literally!
    I'm not sure if saying that a 17 year old was coming onto you, and other people saw it, would save you from the mighty hand of the law.  Hey, the new The Rolling Stone came.  I started reading magazines recently.  I'm not sure if I like it, or not.  If I wanted to be exposed to external thoughts and point of views, I'd talk with the voices in my head.  Which I do.  So, I guess it can do no harm.  Unless you get really caught up in an article and run over your neighbor.  Not with a car, just sprinting.  It still would hurt, I bet.  It would probably hurt you more than if you were in a car.  Unless if you were in a 'danger' car, wired with booby traps that go off when you have a collision.  Those cars most likely don't really exist, though.  Oop, Rolling Stone has an article about "Danger Cars."  Page 40.  Guess they do exist.  Now I'm scared of danger cars.  They're out there, and they're dangerous.  More on this later.  I'm gonna watch Mama later.  On HBO.  I bet that's what Cheryl Hines' daughter says.  I have this fantasy about swiping a prostitute's ass crack with a credit card, and then saying, "Why isn't this working?"  It's less of a fantasy and more of a scenario that makes me laugh.  I'm stumped on how to continue this entry.  I bet radio listenership has gone down in this country due to the "The War of The Worlds" incident.  "America declares war on Germany!"  Yeah right, I'll believe it when I see it. 
    Anyway.  We're just a more jaded people nowadays.  Fool me once, shame on you.  Fool me twice, shame on you!  You already fooled me once, now you're just taking advantage!  Alright.  I started watching The Amityville Horror.  I live near there.  Oh, the humanity.  I remember when I was a kid, I always loved Halloween.  Eating candy, watching scary movies.  One time, I went as The Invisible Man, and stayed at home.  I didn't get any candy that night.  Well, I did, because we stocked up on candy for the neighborhood trick or treaters, and there would inevitably be very few of them.  My neighborhood just never had that many children. Story goes, those children that there are, are Asian, and are probably too busy with violin practice.  I presume all Asian children have tiger moms who force them to practice violin on American holidays.  I went to schools that were over 50% Asian-American.  You'd think I'd know a little bit more about their culture other than generic stereotypes.  All I know is that they don't eat lunch, for some reason.  In elementary school, the Asian kids who got hot lunch would always donate their chicken burgers to those of us who did eat.  And you know what?  It was delicious.  Double, or, on the rare occasion, triple chicken burgers?  I'm in heaven.
    So that's how that goes.  We used to call them, "double-deckers."  True story.  Yep.  I think we were inspired by The Smiths, "There Is A Light That Never Goes Out."  Probably.  Anyway.  Today was a good day.  I'm happy about that.  I hope tomorrow is a good day, too.  You know what?  I hope every day is a good day.  For everyone.  Especially for me, but, yeah, you should have good days too.  Don't count on me to make your day good, though.  I can't.  It's all up to you.  You, and the external circumstances that each day puts you through.  But I wish you the best of luck!  Well, not the best of luck.  The best of luck, I wish for me.  You get the rest of the luck, though.  Whatever's left over.  And I wouldn't have it any other way.  Django Unchained is on On Demand.  I'm trying to convince my mom to order it.  I already saw it, but I'd watch it again.  Frontpage doesn't recognize Django as a word.  Racist!  Golly gee.  One of my favorite jokes from the old crazysheet was something like, "I feel bad for people who run marathons.  Don't they know you can't run away from your problems?"  Only I phrased it better.  Or possibly, worse.  Either way, it could be executed better.  But that's not the business I'm in.  I have no business being in that business.  Now stay out of my business. 
    I'm in the pun industry.  That's about it.  Last paragraph time.  This should be good.  It better be.  I'm in the middle of a cigarette, and my goal is to be finished with this entry by the time the cigarettes done.  I better hurry up.  Lately it's been taking me an hour to an hour and a half to write an entry.  That's too long, especially considering the quality of the finished product.  But, whatever.  Who am I trying to impress?  That's not a rhetorical question.  Really, who am I trying to impress?  Gotta be someone.  Think about it!  I'm scared to watch that documentry series on the American Mob on the discovery channel or whatever.  I'm scared if I watch it, the mob will track me down!  And that's a hassle I don't need.  I'm also uncomfortable in Starbucks.  All these people are judging me!  I gotta get out of here!  And so on and thusforth.  Here, though, I'm in my element.  I guess I'm really not trying to impress anyone.  I'm just doing what I know and love.  Writing paragraphs of adequate mediocrity.  It's a tough job, but someone's gotta do it.  I don't know why anyone has to do it. 

-5:41 P.M.                                                       

Monday, October 21, 2013                      

I Put a Lot of Thought Into This or Not

     Hello friends.  Fall is now 1/3rd over.  November is coming up.  After that, December.  After that, who knows?  I can't predict the months.  They should mix up the months every year.  For fun.  Keeps people on their toes.  I had a breakfast sandwich from McDonalds for the first time in like a year.  Man, that shit is gross.  When you're used to eating it, it's great, but after some time off, it's a completely different story.  The person behind me in line at McDonalds had a baby, and the cashiers were giving the baby a lot of attention.  Needless to say, I got jealous.  Plus, they weren't really paying attention to my iced coffee, and put in too much milk in relation to the coffee.  Why should I suffer?  Life's not fair.  I had a doctor's appointment, and they were taking my blood, and they said I can't smoke before getting my blood taken, because it makes it harder to find a vein.  What is this, Nazi Germany?  So I said, "I'll smoke whenever the fuck I want!" then pile-drived them.  You can learn a lot on how to handle life's delicate situations by watching the WWE.  Of course, when I said that, they bleeped out the word fuck.  Gotta keep things PG-13.  I think in PG-13, you're allowed one curse word.  I actually have no idea.  It's just a guess, I guess.  Also, PG-13 is for movies, and WWE is on T.V.  There's a lot of holes in my story.  I don't understand why people like wrestling.  "I'm the best in the world, and I'm gonna prove it on Sunday at Summerslam!"  And it's all about pitting big egos against each other.  I mean, it's no secret that wrestling is scripted.  What exactly are you the best at?  Acting out your character?  I shouldn't talk, I guess.  When I was a kid, I liked wrestling.  But I'm still not sure why people over the age of thirteen enjoy it.
    If I was a wrestler, my persona would be, "MAK Daddy," and I'd wear a fur coat and have hos around me.  Basically, I'd be a pimp.  And I'd have my hos wrestle for me.  As soon as the bell rings, I'd run out of the ring.  And people would boo.  That's the kind of persona wrestling needs more of.  Cowards.  Maybe my name could be, "Howard the Coward."  But that drives the point home a little too much.  Gotta leave something to the imagination.  Or how about, "Walker the Talker," and when the bell rings, he takes out a cell phone and holds his hand up to his opponent so he could have a conversation on the phone.  Then his opponent will get enraged and the crowd will go wild.  I should write for the WWE.  I think I found my niche.  Back when I was a kid, it was the WWF, but they lost a lawsuit to the World Wildlife Foundation for the name.  Oh well.  Maybe I should write for the World Wildlife Foundation.  "Save The Koalas!  They're Not Gonna Save Themselves!"  I'm not sure koalas need saving.  They seem to be doing alright.  We need to focus on saving the things that need saving.  Like the last dance.  Gotta save that.  I don't think I ever danced with someone.  In high school, I once asked a girl to dance, and she said okay, but then she said, "Ow!  My knee!"  and pretended to have a knee injury.  That never happened.  You probably figured that out for yourself.  MIMS should release a remix of, "This Is Why I'm Hot" so it becomes a song against global warming.  "I'm hot cuz of carbon dioxide/you ain't cuz of extreme weather conditions that could also include cold weather."  It's hard to remix a song and have totally new lyrics.  Unless you recorded a totally different vocal track in your original recording that you never included.
    "What?  No man, I'm just in a wrestling match.  How's your daughter?"  Anyway.  They should have a resting match.  And the person who stays asleep the longest wins.  Or maybe the first person to fall asleep wins.  And while they're trying to sleep, the crowd chants, "GO-TO-SLEEP!  GO-TO-SLEEP!"  That sounds like fun.  Anyway.  I'm bored.  My therapist gave me some relaxation CDs to listen to.  I look forward to that.  Not really.  I'm just bored.  I wonder if, in the future, "boredom" will be accepted as a symptom for mental illness.  I hope so.  Then I could get my medical marijuana prescription card.  Or, I could just steal it from someone.  But then I'd be a thief, and I could go to jail.  You wouldn't want me to go to jail, would ya?  Think, McFly, think!  Aah.  The entry is half done.  Or half undone.  Depends on how you look at it.  Not really.  It's both, no matter what you think.  I found my old ID card from high school, and it has a picture of me from 2002.  I look really sad/angry.  Cheer up, little guy!  Start a website!  Find your voice!  Grow half an inch!  There's so much in store for you!  Like, energy drinks, and mountain dew code red, and snapples!  Snapples!  Can life really be that bad when you have snapple?  Well, it could be.  But the odds are greatly reduced.  Professional studies have proved as much.  One of my most shameful memories, was in high school, on the day of parent/teacher conferences, I was walking to the train station from school, and my Dad walked by me, and I was embarrassed of him, and I just walked right by him like he wasn't there.  That's really offensive, and just thinking about it makes me feel like shit.
    That's not funny!  Unless if you are a malicious individual who takes pleasure in other people's pain.  And you might be, I wouldn't put anything past you.  That reminds me of another joke from old crazysheet I like, "Wouldn't it be funny if you were buried alive?  Well, not to you, but to your enemies."  Why can't I write jokes like that anymore?  Oh, because it took me four years just to write 5-10 of that quality of joke?  Good reasoning!  Anyway, what?  I gotta finish this entry.  I gotta Finnish this entry.  No I don't.  Nobody likes Fins.  But maybe it's up to me to turn that around!  Most likely not, though.  I had a dream about a girl I had a crush on when I was 12, and in the dream she liked me.  That's a great dream to have.  Also, in the dream, we were our current age.  So it wasn't weird, or anything.  My mom keeps telling me she has dreams about coffee.  I don't know what to tell her.  There's a reason for everything, I'm sure. I just have no idea what it is.  I don't get people who climb mountains.  Do they also climb down mountains?  Is that as rewarding as climbing the mountain?  Also, can you "climb down" something?  There's many questions with no answers.  Like, "What do you say are the answers when you have no answers?" 
    I want to become a dentist.  Then, when I have a patient, I'll just say, "You have good teeth.  I can tell."  Then I'll tell them to set up an appointment in six months with my receptionist.  There should be a comedy-competition movie with dentists.  It could be called, "Dentists' Inferno," ...  That's the only thing it could be called.  My robe has a cigarette hole burned in it.  I don't mind.  I expect 39% of anybody's wardrobe to be damaged by fire or smoke.  I once heard where there's smoke, there's fire.  I guess they never heard of E-cigarettes.  I don't know if that produces smoke or vapor, or nothing.  Gotta be something.  Anyway.  Have you ever heard you're not supposed to stare at the sun?  That greatly effects my lifestyle choices.  But I guess I'll stop.  I don't make the rules, but I do play by them.  It's not really a rule that you shouldn't stare at the sun.  It's more like a helpful tip.  Man, I just muted my T.V., and heard a ghostly woman humming, and got really creeped out.  Turns out it's my dad in the shower.  Oh, the shenanigans.  Anyway.  See ya later.

-1:42 P.M.                                                      
 

Tuesday, October 22, 2013                      

But I Don't Wanna Write a Title!

     Hello.  I feel I am regressing into early childhood, if the title is any indication.  Thankfully, the title is rarely an indication of anything.  I'm trying to make people realize, titles aren't the end all, be all.  It's an important lesson we all have to learn sooner or later.  I wish I was regressing into early childhood.  Adulthood is hard!  I remember when I was a kid, I threw a lot of tantrums.  Sounds bad, right?  Wrong!  Throwing a tantrum is a good way to get what you want.  I should write a book for children.  Tip 1: Don't underestimate the power of a well executed tantrum!  Tantrum is murder backwards.  If there's anything I learned from The Shining, it's that.  Also, that Jack Nicholson loves late night T.V.  If you think about it, The Shining is really just one long tantrum from Jack Nicholson.  "Oh, I can't write a book!  MRAHAH  THAT MAKES ME MAD."  Let's move on to more pleasant subjects.  My pee hole hurts.  The new Carrie is out.  I wonder what happens.  It's not like the same exact story was already a movie.  Carrie threw a tantrum, and then everyone respected her.  I'm pretty sure after releasing all that blood at the prom, someone started a slow clap for her, until everyone was applauding.  Then she was voted both prom queen and king, and the credits rolled.  I didn't go to my high school prom.  I didn't want the other students to be intimidated by my swagger and dance moves.  I just took the limo to Taco Bell, then went home. 
    It's probably hard for a limo to maneuver it's way through a fast food drive thru.  That commercial is misleading.  I guess they could have gotten out of the limo, picked up their food, then gone back in.  But where's the fun in that?  Trick question: Fun. is playing in the background.  I italicized the period after "Fun."  I don't think it's noticeable, so I'm saying it, just to make sure you're aware.  Anyway.  I had two eggos for breakfast.  Eggos aren't all that great.  I guess that's why on Halloween, mischievous children throw eggos at people's houses.  Just trying to get rid of them.  This Halloween, the first trick or treaters, when they say, "Trick or Treat!" I'm gonna say, "Hmm, give me a minute," and then stand their thinking for a few minutes.  I need time to weigh both options, and there's no point in making a snap decision if I'm going to regret it later.  So that's how that goes.  How did they do trick or treating before the availability of fun sized candy bars, or even regular candy bars, for that matter?  What did you give the kids?  Cookies, I guess.  But what did they do before the availability of razor blades to hurt the children?  Some sort of poisonous household items, I guess.  After the kid bites down into his razorblade cookie, you should say, "I guess it was trick after all! HAHAHAHAHA!"  Then get carted away to jail, or more suitably, the insane asylum.
    Anyway.  I'd like to hand out mini bottles of water on Halloween, and then say, "Stay hydrated."  Another thing I'd like to do is, when the bell rings, answer the door, and then look at the kids, and say, "Never mind," and close the door on them.  There's a lot of fun stuff you can do.  One of my neighbors recently got a grandfather clock or something, that chimes on the hour.  It reminds me of my freshman year at NYU, when there was a church nearby that chimed on the hour.  Also, my neighbor's clock is a few minutes off.  I hope somebody tells them.  It's not gonna be me, though.  It ain't my responsibility that you know the correct time.  Who invented the clock.  That guy was a genius.  I couldn't do that.  Halfway through another entry.  When I had my blood taken yesterday, another thing they told me was to drink a lot of water.  So I said, "Why don't you just get better at finding the vein, BITCH?"  In my blog, I'm really rude to the hematologists.  I don't know why.  I actually kind of like the sensation of the needle in getting my blood taken.  And the hematologists are pretty nice people.  And they always have the radio on.  Maybe I'm just upset I don't get a lolly when I'm done. 
    That's probably it.  I hope when kids trick or treat at a magician's house, he says, "Glad you asked!" and then does a card trick for them.  That's what should happen.  Another thing you could do, is when the trick or treater says, "trick or treat," assuming they're wearing a costume, is to go, "AHHH!!!" and then run screaming into the house.  Because their costume scared you.  Anyway.  This was a fun entry.  Sort of.  I say, "sort of" because I still need to write a paragraph and a half.  And having to do anything is no fun.  Even if it's something fun.  Having to do it makes it less fun.  Although, if you have to do something, then you do it, it's fun to feel the satisfaction of having done something.  I presume.  I haven't done anything in my life.  That's a lie.  I went to school for a few years.  I remember, my freshman year in high school, I was still in my old room, which is really tiny, and I would do sit-ups and push-ups on my bed.  Being on the bed makes it somewhat easier, but I'm sure I was still getting some of the benefits of exercise.  Just call me the Exorcist.  I don't know why I wrote that joke.  I knew while writing this, "this is stupid, repetitive, and boring."  But I just kept at it.  Nothing's gonna slow me down!  Also, I knew while writing that explanation, "This isn't the correct use of the word 'repetitive,' I hope they understand what I mean."  What I mean is, the joke is obvious, and has been done before.  Just call me the Exorcist.  Now it's repetitive.
    I'm glad they don't make "Exorcist" masks for Halloween.  If I saw that, I would piss my pants.  Anyway.  This entry is almost done.  You know you're a bad writer when everything you write has 3-5 instances of musing on how far through the piece you are.  Stephen King should do that in his next book.  "Page 68, about a quarter through the book, at this point.  Anyway, blah blah blah."  Anyway, blah blah blah.  When did they have Halloween before they invented October?  Now I'm just being an idiot.  Oh well.  I had a good run.  I'm pretty sure October is the villain in the second Spiderman movie.  A couple of days ago, I forgot the name of the guy from the Iron Man movies.  He's like the highest paid actor in the world, and I just couldn't remember his name.  I kept wanting to say, "John Cusack," but I knew that wasn't right.  Eventually I figured out it was Robert Downey Jr., but man, that was an annoying five minutes.  And the funny thing is, I really like Robert Downey Jr.  I just had a mental block or something.  Anyway, I guess this entry is almost over.  And by almost over, I mean there's still the time stamp after this sentence.

-11:53 A.M.                                                                         

Thursday, October 24, 2013                      

Nobody Likes Sprite

     Hey friends, and enemies.  And those of you who are uncommitted and are in-between.  Pick a side!  I'm gonna spearhead the creation of a new crazysheet entry.  It could take years.  I read a book where a month was half an hour.  That makes a year 6 hours.  So, what I'm saying, is it could take days.  You know, one day I should write for 48 hours straight, just to see what happens.  Probably a lot of self-doubt, boredom, and insincerity.  I have a glass of water that I keep looking at with disdain, because I forgot I poured myself water, and thought it was there from yesterday or something.  Now that I know it's fresh, I will proceed to drink it.  I had a gulp of water.  Well, somewhere between a gulp and a sip.  It tasted like water.  Filtered water!  What am I, an animal?  I'm in a different rhythm of writing today.  I think it's a good thing, but you never know.  Don't count your chickens before they hatch.  And don't read a website that's made of eggs.  That's my own addendum.  I talked about eggos the last entry.  Eggs are too close to eggos.  Website will self destruct in 5... 4... 3...  Never mind.  I just took a piss.  I took it out of my penis and into the toilet.  This happens 5-9 times a day for me.  Should I see a doctor?  Anyway.
    I was thinking about my future, as I'm prone to doing, and trying to visualize my ideal life.  No matter what I came up with, my recurrent thought was, "That'll get boring."  Most of the time, I don't understand how other people aren't bored out of their wits.  I mean, me, I got a pretty interesting life.  But people who just have jobs and go home and just do stuff, I don't get it.  Perhaps that's just because I'm so used to being alone, and finding ways to entertain myself, as a party of one.  I don't understand how a simple conversation or activity could be fulfilling.  I mean, activities, I get.  Yeah, you're doing something.  That's fun.  But then you have to do it again the next day, and it's the exact same thing!  I just dropped a cigarette on the floor.  Thanks a lot for distracting me!  I can't find the butt, now.  I'm going to spearhead a campaign to look around the floor, or something.  Well, I don't see any smoke coming from the floor.  Good enough for me!  I started a new cigarette, because I'm addicted like that.  I saw a show about addiction on cable T.V., so I guess it's an okay thing.  I also saw a show on extreme wife swapping, so I'm looking forward to that a few years down the line.
    This morning, the temperature was 43 degrees!  Do you know how many degrees that is?  Forty three!  We had to turn the heat on, to scare the cold away.  Coldness is scared of heat, right?  That's what I learned in chemistry.  I had to retake chemistry in the summer, because I didn't hand in my labs.  And I didn't hand in my labs because I didn't do them.  My teacher wouldn't accept that as an answer, though.  Still made me retake the class.  It was alright.  Normally, I'm terrible at sciences, but taking it in the summer, as my only class, I managed to get like an 85.  Then, two weeks later, I forgot everything, but still.  I didn't forget I took the class, and that I got an 85.  That's something.  I also remember to listening to Sublime's "S.T.P." which I believe stands for, "Standard temperature & pressure," so I thought that was appropriate, and also Weezer's "Love Explosion," which would have been appropriate if we combined chemicals to make an explosion, which we may have.  Probably.  I know the sophomore girls in that class made my junior self love explode in my pants.  And by in my pants, I mean metaphorically, in my head, while I'm listening to "Love Explosion," by Weezer.
    Yesterday, I pricked my finger on a guitar string.  I stopped the bleeding, but I probably now have tetanus.  Oh well.  Good things come to those who wait.  If you're at a quality restaurant, good things come by those who wait.  See what I did there?  I like tetanus.  It sounds dirty.  And oddly Vietnamese.  I was looking at an old paper I wrote for an English class, and the response from the teacher was, "This fine, but I'd like even more."  'This fine?'  Yeah, I think I'd like even more... maybe a, "was," or "is!"  I mean, c'mon!  I was reminiscing the other day about how I was student-observing at Stuy when I was in NYU in 2010.  Most people don't have that opportunity to go back to their high school several years later and see what it's like.  The negative part of that memory is remembering how I was perving out on the 16 and 17 year old girls while I was 21.  I thought I looked so cool with my cup of coffee and my leather jacket.  At this age, I'd like to go observe me from 2010 while I was at those classes, and say, "Eyes up here!"  I wouldn't know where to look, tragically, because I don't know how I could interact with myself at all, let alone going back in time to do it.  So I'd just be confused.  And, to be clear, I didn't talk to the girls, or even stare at them, but I was thinkin' about it.  Not while masturbating.  But I was thinking about thinking about it while masturbating, believe that.  Oh boy.
    I guess now there's probably an amber alert with my name on it.  Oh well, I had it coming.  I can't go to prison, though.  You know what they do to guys like me in prison, right?  Put me in charge of the library.  And I can't handle that kind of responsibility!  They wouldn't really put me in charge of the library.  That's a quality job in prison.  Who's dick do you have to suck to get that job?  Probably the wardens, or one of the senior guards.  It ain't coming for free, though, I can tell you that.  Also, in The Shawshank Redemption, how did Brooks keep that bird from flying away?  Did he cripple it's wings?  That's what I would have done.  That's a nickel's worth of free relationship advice.  If you love someone, cripple their wings.  Then they can never leave you!  But they'll probably grow to like you for you after five or ten years.  So in a way, you're doing them a favor.  Anyway.  What else is new.  This was a good entry.  I did good.  Plus, I wrote it in half the time of the average entry.  A penny saved is a penny earned.  So that means, if you save 100 pennies, you end up with 200 pennies!  I'm not too good at logic.  I had a friend in middle school who would always use the phrase, "That's illogical!"  Well, more of an acquaintance then a friend.  Well, more of a target of me and my friends bullying than an acquaintance.  He's alright now, though.        

-6:39 P.M.
         

Friday, October 25, 2013                      

This Isn't Going to End Well

     Hello guys and dolls. It's that time of the month again.  It's the 25th.  This is already the tenth time that's happened this year!  No one cares.  I'm watching this documentary on a woman with 15 personalities and one of her personalities is really good at basketball.  Really.  And they showed it, she/he really was good.  I thought that was cool.  If I had different personalities, It'd be cool if one of them was just a really good liar.  "So, Benny, are you a different person than Michael?" "No!"  Liar.  I hope Benny is Benjamin Netanyahu.  That way, if I'm ever elected as prime minister of Israel, I'd have some experience.  No one wants to read this.  I have a friend who works at the LIRR, taking people's tickets.  That's a sweet job.  You get to ride the trains back and forth, all day.  That's like a three year olds dream.  I would guess.  I don't know what three year olds dream about.  Probably about showing their parents a picture they drew and having them respond, "That's lovely, dear."  Then they'd be like, "Alright!" and wake up in a good mood.  And for some reason, find a stain on their comforter.
    This is a new entry.  So far, that's all it's got going for it.  And in a few weeks, it won't even have that going for it.  Now, lettuce continue.  Bunnies love that joke.  Mos def.  I meant that as the phrase, not the person.  At least, I assume.  B-Dawg made me write it.  If I was a 65 year old rapper, "Mos Def" would definitely be my name.  Mostly deaf.  Benny wrote that, too.  From now in, Benny wrote 92& of my material.  Just so we're clear.  For one week, they should switch the hosts of the programs on the Food network with the hosts of the shows on Animal Planet.  True that!  BENNY!  Alright, I'm going to stop being stupid.  Within reason.  See ya, Benny.  I guess I'll never solve the Israel/Palestine conflict.  FAt keast U;kk gave wrutteb five solid paragraphs of crazy's heet.  I mean, at least I'll have written fvieo solid crazys' heet.  It's like there's a party in my brain, and no one's invited!
    Anyway.  I like the word smegma.  People should use it more often.  I guess it doesn't come up that often.  I remember in high school, I had a sex-ed class, and one of the things my teacher told us was that she liked reverse cowgirl.  Not sure if that's appropriate.  Maybe she was coming on to me.  Or one of the other 30 people in the class.  But most likely, me.  So, anyway, I of course tapped that ass.  And that was the beginning of my life as a player.  Now you know how it all started.  Move over, Wilt Chamberlain!  Avram Zelig is in the house!  Callback.  I hope one day, I wake up and regain consciousness, and someone solemnly says, "Michael, you've had a stroke," so I can say, "A stroke of genius! HAHAHAHAHA!" and then get carted away to the animal hospital, or more appropriately, the house from Goldilocks and the three bears.
    What kind of house has different sized chairs, portions of food, and beds to conform exactly to each resident.  Most houses just have things in a standard size.  I guess the three bears were really anal retentive about things.  So was Goldilocks, though.  "This bed is too soft."  GOD DAMNIT JUST GO TO SLEEP!  It's not even your house, what are you doing going to sleep?  You're the worst trespasser I've ever seen!  That response was too hot!  *Blankly Stares Off Into Space*  That response was too cold.  You're in a fairy tale!  That response was just right.  What kind of a name is Goldilocks, anyway?  Get a real name!  "Hi, I'm Goldilocks."  No one's gonna take you seriously.  Anyway.  This entry sucks.  I mean, it's okay.  But I just don't like it.  Maybe it's because I wrote it on paper, instead of typing it.  Maybe it's because I feel shitty for other reasons.  Probably because the entry just sucks.  That's okay, though.  Some entries suck.  That's just a part of life.
    You down with OCD?  Yeah, you know me!  You down with helicopters?  Huh?  Anyway.  I think I'm gonna get a tattoo on my right ankle that says, "Hello!"  I'm not sure why, though.  I'm also going to permanently install a set of googly eyes over the curve in-between my thumb and pointer on my left hand.  The reason for that is obvious.  Wah wah wah.  I'm also gonna get a blood clot in my temporal lobe.  You know, for fashion.  Why did Venom make Spiderman's suit black.  It's just his suit, it wouldn't be effected by a symbiote.  Maybe Spiderman made the black suit as a fashion statement.  Sorry I wasn't paying attention. 

-3:23 P.M.

Monday, October 28, 2013                      

Remember Me... From the Last Entry?

    Hey poindexters and wannabe skateboarders.  "Oh, I wanna be a skateboarder!"  Get a skateboard and start practicing!  It's pretty straightforward how to live your dream.  Anyway.  Halloween is coming up on the 31st.  I think it was on the 31st last year, too.  Talk about your coincidences.  Really, talk about them.  They're a good conversation starter.  I've been thinking about some good Halloween costumes.  You know the standard, put a paper bag over your head with two holes for eyes, and you're a ghost.  Well, I say, put a spin on that, and put a plastic bag over your head.  That way, after 15 minutes, you can be a real ghost!  When I'm in a supermarket, and they're gonna pack up my purchases, and they say, "Paper or plastic?" I like to say, "Surprise me!"  They don't know what to do.  Another good costume is to go as a paraplegic.  It's got the prefix, "Para," which insinuates ghosts, so there's that.  And it's fun.  The only problem is, you can't go trick or treating or to a party or anything.  You just have to stay put.  At least you'll learn a lesson on understanding what paraplegics really go through.  Maybe in the future, Liberals will have sucked all the fun out of Halloween, and it will be all about learning to understand and empathize with the people/monsters who you're pretending to be.  I bet Halloween is a really scary holiday in Florida, or any state with a stand your ground law.  I would guess there are hundreds of fatalities, committed by people who are scared of sexy secretaries and supermen.
    I guess that's a pretty good costume.  "Redneck from Florida."  I predict that one Halloween, some idiot will go as a Muslim terrorist, and make the news.  And there will be debates over whether it's insensitive or not.  "It's insensitive to Muslims!"  "It's insensitive to 9/11 survivors!"  "It's insensitive to people who couldn't think of such a clever idea!"  Or, it's not insensitive.  I'm not here to pick a side.  I'm just preparing myself for when this actually happens.  I wonder, if of all the idiotic people who think Obama is a Muslim, some people are defensive of him.  "Well, uh, sure our president's a Muslim, but I respect that, he has a right to believe what he wants."  There's gotta be some people out there.  On Halloween, you should go to a party you weren't invited to, hosted by people you don't know, and say your costume is, "one of your friends."  According to the rule book, they have to let you in.  Anyway.  I read a book on dream symbols, and it says that ghosts could represent your mother.  It may have just been a "Yo Mama" joke that I misread, though.  "Yo Mama ain't even Yo Mama, you're secretly adopted!"  That's a good "Yo Mama" joke.  It doesn't really insult your mother, but it does make you question the basic tenets of what you thought your life was about.       
    I hope one time on Maury, he says, "The results are back.  And the DNA test results say... I am the father!" Oh man, would that be great.  I saw a protest on the news recently where people were chanting, "No More Oil!"  Really?  No more oil?  It's there, it's not hurting anybody.  My guess is you mean don't drill for oil, and use oil for energy.  But no more oil?  Stupid is as stupid does.  So, anyway.  What else is new.  I'm going to finish this paragraph in style.  The good thing about that, is I didn't say what kind of style.  It could be anything.  "Jerry Springer" would be a good name for a pet bunny.  This is relevant stuff.  Springer is such a snarky butthole.  I can't believe this jerk gets laughs.  He's got nothing on Maury, or Cunningham, or Wilkos.  Or Judge Mathis, for that matter.  I used to not really like the "Judge" shows, primarily Judge Judy.  But I like Judge Mathis.  He's snarky too, but in a likable way.  And it's a good relief from the other shows, because they literally have only 3 or 4 stories that they do over and over.  The court shows, there's new stuff on it that you haven't seen before.                 
     Hello.  I had a dream that one of my old friends from high school was actually Vladimir Putin.  He didn't realize it, he thought he was my old friend.  But he was obviously Vladimir Putin.  Can you make a joint out of rolling up a playing card?  Probably not.  They're slightly laminated, you can't burn through that no matter how hard you try.  Why am I lying?  Of course you can.  I just did it.  But you probably wouldn't want to smoke the chemicals that make it laminated.  Unless they get you high.  I burnt the 10 of hearts.  I think the next Pixar movie should be, "Cards," and its about playing cards that are friends with each other.  And then when people shuffle the deck, and do that thing where they quickly shuffle two parts of the deck together, in the cascade thing, the cards scream in agony.  I wonder if, when they're together in someone's hand, the cards think, "We're working together!" and have a spirit of camaraderie.  I bet the other cards are all jealous of the Ace.  I know I would be.  "Why did God make me a five?"  They're depressed for their entire life.  Well, some cards need to be fives so other cards can be aces.  And then, if they hit a pair, they'll think, "I'm winning!  I'm winning!"  So cute.  I bet when someone does a 52-card pick up on someone else, while they're lying on the floor, the cards think, "Everybody hates us."  Chin up!  You'll be creating fun before you know it!  Well, if you have brain damage.  If your brain is working correctly, you'll know it as soon as it happens. 
    I got a new cable box.  Now I can record shows again.  The only problem is, half the time it only records eight seconds of the show, then stops.  At least I get a taste of what I'm missing.  Even if it's only a fraction of the commercial before the show, you get a hint of what might happen.  All you need to do is use your imagination.  In conclusion, here's something I wrote in an English journal for a class 15 years ago.  The prompt was, "Talk about someone you admire."

    I admire Joe Camel.  He's a camel, but he smokes.  There are a lot of people who try to tell him he can't, that it's wrong, but he's cool, he does his own thing and doesn't let what other people say affect him.  And it would be easy to give in, of course he knows the health risks.  But in the face of adversity, Joe Camel sticks to his principles.  I respect that.
               

-11:15 A.M.

Tuesday, October 29, 2013                      

Today Is Tuesday.  I'm Sorry.

    Hey!  Fun fact: the title rhymes with itself.  Actually, I make sure every title I write rhymes with itself.  I like watching crappy Twilight Zone rip-offs from the 80's.  And I'm including the reboot of The Twilight Zone from the 80's.  They're so cheesy, but I just have a soft spot for that kind of T.V.  I remember when I was a kid, FOX had this show called "Fact or Fiction?"  Where they told like 5 stories in an hour, all of them horror or fantasy themed, and you had to guess whether they made them up, or based them on a true story.  It's kind of hard, because their definition of "fact" includes someone saying it happened, without any verification.  I have a distinct memory of getting a delivery from a restaurant that used to exist called "The Garden of Eating," and eating strips of steak with toasted garlic bread while watching it.  The restaurant doesn't exist anymore, the show doesn't exist anymore, and steak with toasted garlic bread doesn't exist anymore.  And this entry doesn't exist anymore.  Wait, no.  It still does.  I was thinking about deleting the entry after I said that, but then I'd be out a paragraph.  A few sentences ago, I misspelled "definition," as "defection."  How delectable!  Wait, I don't mean delectable.  I mean destructible.  That's how the story goes.  One of the shows had an episode with the guy who played Eric in Billy Madison, and in it, he plays a screenwriter who sells his soul to the devil so he could write a movie that sells.  I feel guilty every time I watch a show where someone sells their soul to the devil, because I think by watching it, I'm implicitly agreeing to sell part of my soul to the devil, because I'm taking pleasure in watching it.  Gotta be careful what T.V. shows you watch.  You could be selling your soul to the devil without you even realizing it!
    I like the new Pope.  He's dope.  He gives me a lot of hope.  Is he not infallible?  Nope.  Anyway.  Since he seems to be on the forefront of things, the Pope should deliver a mass in freestyle rap.  He's infallible, imagine what kind of rhymes he could spit if he put his mind to it.  Of course, then the Catholics will think he's speaking in tongues, and burn him at the stake.  Preferably, with some toasted garlic bread.  I was watching a documentary about something, and someone asked someone, "What year is it?"  And they said, "Twelve."  I'm sorry, I didn't realize we were far enough into the century that we could drop the "Two thousand."  When did this happen?  I mean, I guess it was inevitable, I just didn't think it would happen this soon.  I still don't.  Anyway.  I wonder if in heaven, as they have horror movies on Earth about dead people in the realm of the living, they have movies about living people coming into heaven.  They probably don't have movies in heaven.  Maybe the angels put on skits, but that's probably as close as you get.  Also, the scenario I described may have been what Land of the Dead is metaphorically about.  Actually, I don't buy that anything is metaphorically about anything.  It is what it is.  Any "metaphorical" connection is just your brain working too hard.  Sure, we like to think of things metaphorically, because it's more attractive to the palate.  The mind palate.  I don't know what palate you were thinking of!
    I'm pretty sure you pronounce "palate" as "pah-lah-tay."  Because I'm an idiot.  I mean, I think of things metaphorically.  But you gotta take things with a grain of sand.  What?  It's grain of salt?  Are you sure?  Pretty sure it's a grain of sand.  What?  No one said anything to me, and I'm talking to myself?  Pretty sure there's an audience who reads this website.  What?  I can't interact with the audience before I even put the entry online?  Shows how much you know.  I lost a little piece of paper into my lighter, the place where the flame comes out of.  I had to unfold a staple and really dig in there to get the paper out.  This is a highlight of my life that will live forever.  I don't know.  I guess we need metaphorical thinking, otherwise living would just be boring.  I wonder if there's metaphorical thinking in heaven.  I mean, you're dead forever there, so you'd probably hope everything would be straightforward.  But where's the fun in that?  Nobody knows.  Shows how much you know.  I remember once in middle school, in-between school and Hebrew school, I was playing a video game with my friend, and I kept repeating the phrase, "That's what they want you to think!"  And he got really annoyed, but that didn't stop me.  Once you get me started, I can't stop.  I'm not sure what got me started, exactly.  But I'm gonna finish it!
    Fourth paragraph.  I think it's great that a slice of pizza is 285 calories.  That's one of my favorite things in the world.  I bet in Italy, they pronounce it "Pie-Zuh."  I wonder how the pope pronounces it.  However he does, we should all follow his lead.  This guy knows what he's talking about.  The Vatican isn't really in Italy.  It's in Vatican City.  I guess they speak Vatican-ese.  Or Latin.  Probably Latin.  I always thought that Latin was a dead language.  But the pope has resurrected it.  This entry talks about religion too much.  Religion is like region with a "li."  Think about it!  Or don't.  Everything just got quiet.  God is angry at me for waking him from his slumber. 
    Happy Halloween.  I might eat a bagel with a little bit of cream cheese.  I might not.  I should, though.  I need to get some meat on my bones.  Or, I could take a pill which makes my bones increase density.  I remember when I was like 15 or 16, I wanted to take pills that would make me grow taller, but my bones had already fused, and when that happens, you're stuck as you are.  What a giant disappointment.  Or, more accurately, what a petite disappointment.  I believe it's pronounced "Pet-it."  I'm strategically not using commas before quotation marks this entry.  You gotta wonder if it'll pay off in the long run.  I hope talking about the devil here doesn't implicitly sell my soul to him.  Oh well.  As the saying goes, the devil knocked at the door, faith answered, and the devil said "trick or treat?" and faith was confused.       

-1:23 P.M.                                   

Wednesday, October 30, 2013                      

I'm Not Bothering Anyone!

    Second entry of the day.  Hopefully.  Already off to a grand start.  I like the 100 grand bar.  They couldn't just call it a grand bar.  "A thousand dollars?  Fuck that, this tastes like a hundred thousand dollars!"  I never thought I'd say this, but I'm getting tired of these Intervention shows.  Maybe it's because they spend too much time on the intervention and the recovery.  I want to see you do drugs!  Abuse and degrade yourself for my amusement!  Some people get off on other people's pain.  They're called Germans.  Well, they invented the word for it, at least.  I was just being sarcastic, though, as I'm known to be, from time to time.  Honestly, I like watching it for pretty much the opposite reason.  I like seeing people enjoy themselves.  Is that so wrong?  There should be a documentary where, each show, they just follow a family around an amusement park for a day.  The audience would be captivated.  It's all the fun of going to an amusement park without the burden of actually having to leave your T.V. room.  I remember the last time I went to an amusement park, and I will say upfront, this is depressing.  I was like 14, and I just really wanted to go to Six Flags, so my dad drove me there.  With no friends.  And I remember after an hour of two of going on rides, with my Dad just waiting around for me, I finally realized, "Of course this isn't fun," and we went home.
    My favorite thing at Six Flags is that virtual roller coaster you can do, where you can actually design it yourself, with the uppies and the downies and the loops and so on, and then it's like just a car-type thing you sit in, and it simulates being on a roller coaster.  I like that because it makes me feel like I'm taking pleasure in my own work, so to speak.  I also like those huge, 10 inch long novelty circular lollipops.  It's for anyone who's ever had a regular lollipop, and then thought, "This ended too soon.  I'd like to suck on something for another 14 hours."  I remember when I was like 8, we went to Hershey Park, and we stayed there at the hotel.  And at the hotel, they had a bingo tournament, and guess who won?  This guy.  And what was the grand prize?  A Hershey bar!  No, not a 100 grand bar.  A Hershey.  It was Hershey Park.  In Hershey, Pennsylvania.  If you've never been there, just picture Jurassic Park, but instead of dinosaurs, it's chocolate.  Then you'll get a pretty accurate picture of what it was like. 
    Tomorrow is Halloween.  I'm already over it.  I talked about it too much leading up to it, and now it's tomorrow, and I'm not enthused at all.  It's good though, because I'm TWENTY FOUR.  Wow.  World of Warcraft, that's exciting.  That's what people will think "wow" stands for in 100 years.  Wow upside down is "mom."  Your mom upside down is what's on my desktop.  I think that's a slam.  I don't want to slam people.  People have enough troubles as it is.  What made me think I could write two entries in one day?  The drive to succeed!  And what's preventing me from finishing this entry?  The acceptance of failure!  I say, if you've got the drive to succeed, and the acceptance of failure, you're gonna have a pretty solid chance at dealing with life's difficulties.  And if you have openness to new ideas, that's wonderful.  And if you're committed to reading my website, as a main tenet of your life, then good on ya.  Sincerely, I hope there's a reward in this website, other than for me.  But I kind of doubt it.  People come to hear me whine about cigarettes and alcohol, but stay to hear me whine about loneliness and mental illness.  Or maybe it's the other way around. 
    Anyway.  I gotta finish this entry.  That'll put me in a good mood.  It's good if, while other people are working 10-12 hours a day, that I can write 5 paragraphs every other day.  Because of lower standards!  When I was a kid, before I got sick, I was always held to high standards.  What good is that.  Motivating someone to achieve more?  Eh.  I'll take conditioning someone to be fine with mediocrity any day of the week. Except for Sundays.  Those are God's days.  God, and the NFL.  And 2 Sundaes for the price of one at Baskin Robbins.  Actually, that's on Tuesdays.  You'd think it would be Sunday, though, right?  It's easy to play Monday morning 'head of marketing for Baskin Robbins' though.  I bet Tony Robbins likes to say to his students, "Bask In Robbins!"  BECAUSE I'M AN IDIOT.
    One paragraph to go.  This was fun.  Probably.  I have a bump on the back of my dick.  It's been there for several weeks.  I probably have cancer.  Just wanted to share that with you.  That way, in a couple of months that it's confirmed I have penile cancer, I could point to this entry as a "toldya so."  Also, penile cancer is a thing?  Fuck!  I probably really do have that.  Great.  I'm heating up a chicken pot pie for myself, but I keep checking it, and it's just Never HOT ENOUGH.  I mean, the outside gets cooked, but the inside just stays cold.  What the hell am I supposed to do?  I would put it in the microwave, but it's in an aluminum tin.  I think it's aluminum.  I don't know how to tell metals apart from one another!  Anyway, it's the world series.  I'm rooting for St. Louis, in memoriam of Lou Reed.  You should, too.  See ya later.

-5:28 P.M.