When Will I Be Special?

Monday, September 29, 2014

Yep, These Words In This Spot Sure Make a Title

Hello friends. It's the guy who is me. Right? Who else would I be. Achilles' tendon was the original Lou Gherig's Man's Disease. That's why on the battlefield, Achilles said, "I consider myself... the luckiest man... on the face of the Earth." And then someone slit his tendon, or something, one would imagine. I just realized Led Zeppelin's, "Achilles Last Stand" is a pun. How wonderful. I wouldn't have taken Led Zeppelin for big pun fans, but I guess I would have been wrong. I guess, "Led," is a pun. There goes my entire theory. So, the baseball season is over. Good. Get some rest, guys! Except for the teams in the playoffs. Play some playoff games, guys! I don't get the big fuss over Derek Jeter. He's no Rey Ordonez. And Rey Ordonez is no Kaz Matsui. And Kaz Matsui is no TRIPLEH THEHITTER, a shortstop I created in All Star Baseball 2003. Triple H is severely miscast in the short stop role. He's probably a first baseman, or left fielder. Whichever position is responsible for the most piledrivers. If I was Triple H (Hunter Hearst Helmsley), I would have made my wrestling name, The Consistent Consonant. I guess he was copying his idol, Hulk Hogan. AKA Double H. I'm excited about the Mets, going into next year. If they make even just one or two significant acquisitions, they'll have a pretty exciting team. It's exciting. I remember, in high school, when we were playing whiffleball in gym, I hit a homerun! Only in Stuy does the 5'2 white guy reign supreme in sports, over the 5'2 Asian guys. I remember one semester, we had swimming for gym. Something about seeing my classmates in bikinis seemed so wrong... yet so right. Because I was a pervert. Also, nothing to boost the confidence like being nude in a room full of Asian high schoolers.
    I hated getting undressed in gym. I think that's a pretty universal feeling, though. Ain't treading new ground there, or anything. I remember one of my friends in high school, who would sometimes play poker with us, was actually a little shorter than me, and damn, was he an asshole. He's what inspired my scientific theory in the shortness:assholeness ratio that I've been working on the last seven years. Give me some more time on it. Still haven't worked out the kinks! Were The Kinks short? Seems like they might have been. I'll buy a book on them next. Reading books about my rock heroes has had a sort of weird affect on me, in that, while I'm reading them, I'm like, "Yeah! This is exactly what I want to do!" but then when I play guitar, I'm like, "What The Fuck, Why Aren't I Writing Hit Songs?" It's quite the conundrum. I guess the shorter you are, the closer to other people's assholes you are. Unless you're too short. After a certain point, the rule would reverse itself. Anyway. October in a couple of days. October is a pretty awesome month. One of my top ten favorites. That's how I feel. Anyway. It's still a couple of hours till dinner and sleep. Gotta make em count. One would imagine. What's the deal. I've been cleaning up my room, and looking through a lot of my old papers. Readin' a paper I wrote about the Roman Colosseum... in 1999! Where's my royalties, Gladiator? WHERE? Did you know that the Roman Colosseum could hold up to 50,000 people? 'Cause I did! That was a good class. Core, with Mrs. Winters. Core is like a combination of Social Studies and English that I had in sixth grade. We read A Tale of Two Cities, which, to my great amusement, a classmate commented on, halfway through, and proclaimed, "I think Jarvis and Mr. Lorry are the same person!" Which is hilarious, because, yes, they are the same person. And there was no masking of that fact, at all. The jokes on me, though, because that's literally the only thing I remember about A Tale of Two Cities. Other than that it is different from Les Miserables. Not the same thing. Middle school was a nice weird little pocket of time. That's where I first discovered sex. Well, sex related activities and pursuits, at least. It's also where I consumed Jamaican Beef Patties. Which is arguably on the same level of sex.
    Boy, that was a long paragraph! Oh boy. It's 2:30. How hilarious. I always like buying alcohol around this time, because the high school kids are all like, "Whose that kid with the alcohol? Maybe I should be friends with him. I'll talk to him during period one." The jokes on them, though! I ain't gonna be there! Anyway, let's write the second half of this business. I remember I used to own a song on iTunes by a band called The Business. I have no idea how I found them. It was a punk song called, "Smash The Discos." That's a fun story. That's a pretty good band name, though. I should steal it. That would be a very punk thing to do. To Hell With International Copyright Laws! Hey man, he's saying what we're all thinking! Yep. Music is fun. I just ate a fiber one chocolate bar. Cause I'm hardcore! That's how that goes. I remember in 2009, when I went back to NYU after I first got sick, I was totally obsessed with food. I remember, one time, I had to go to get my NYU card picture taken, and on the way from Chinatown, I stopped off at seven or eight food carts, and got an assortment of donuts and croissants and the like, one from each cart. And I still have the card with the picture from that day taken, and I just look totally out of it. It's hilarious. And, for some reason, I remember, when they were taking my picture, the radio was playing, "Say It Ain't So," by Weezer. Not sure why the radio was playing. Maybe it was a CD. Not sure why a CD was playing. Maybe it was my imagination. Not sure why my imagination was playing. I'm pretty sure it was real, though. Who knows.
    I've been watching, "Fat Actress," a show on ShowTime from 2005 starring Kristie Alley. It's not so bad. Isn't there a fat actress in us all? Well, in me, at least. Anyway Is this the fourth paragraph? Yeah? Good. What else is going on. What wonders will the last two paragraphs of this entry hold. One can only imagine. Wait, one, you don't need to imagine. Just keep reading! Don't waste your precious imagining skills when you don't need to. Wow. Still gotta write the rest of this entry. Great! Who knows how great it will be! Probably mediocre, and stuff. That's how I feel. Anyway, what's going on. I gotta start playing my guitar in the bathroom more often. The acoustics are off the charts! Plus, I get to see my fingering skills in the mirror. Lookin good, Mike's Fingers! Also, I just took the bathroom into my guitar with me. You know, for fun. And I mixed up words recently, too. You know, for fun. What else is going on. Shit, this entry is gonna be done in a paragraph. Okay. Gotta make it count, I suppose. What's the deal with the Roman Colosseum? I mean, how many people did it really hold? My guess? 50,000. That's how that goes. What else is how it goes. The day keeps progressing, nearer and nearer to it's end. That's great, I guess. I'm listening to The Airborne Toxic Event. I first heard them, from, I met this guy in the hospital day program in 2008, after I first was an inpatient there, and I met a guy there who played the drums. And I went to his house a couple of times in Long Island to jam, and one time, he drove us to this hookah bar, which I had never been to before, and in the car, he was playing Sometime Around Midnight, with an extremely heavy base. That's fun. I guess?
    Gooooooood times. He also made us watch Hellboy I and II, and when he was turning the DVD player on, he bent over, and we all saw his ass crack. Funny the things that our minds remember. Maybe it's because Hellboy was so unmemorable. There, I said it. And I remember thinking it was pretty appropriate, because he apparently thought he heard the Devil talking to him. So, if I'm gonna watch Hellboy based on the suggestion of anyone, he'd be the guy. Is this the fourth or fifth paragraph? Fifth. Okay. It's weird, though. Two girls, of different times I was in the hospital, wrote me nice cards, in color marker, and with pictures, of how great I am and how I should persevere. Those are two papers I will never throw out. Nothin' better than a hospital girl affirmation. Seriously. Nothing better. Almost wants me make to go back to the hospital. You know, press my luck, and such. I'd go back into the hospital, and be like, Why Don't You Love Me? The main thing I remember of the last time I was in the hospital, two and a half years ago, was an autistic guy saying, "They're Fighting Over a Mushroom!" while I was trying to play basketball during yard time. That, and listening to Z-100 on the wire-free radio headphones my parents got me, before sleep. That, and they gave us way too many cookies during the after-dinner snack time. I mean, it's great at the time, but as they say, once on the lips, (in the hospital), forever on the hips. (In the hospital.). Anyway. Sixth paragraph tizzime.
    Yeah. I remember they had a T.V. in one of the common rooms in the hospital, and the only memory I have of it was they were showing Mask at one time. How delightful. Also, the last week of the hospital, my parents got them to allow them to bring my guitar in, and I could play it for half an hour each day. And, once, the main psychiatrist of that wing wanted to hear me play, and I told him to pick a number from 1-12, to decide which song I would play, and I had only decided that number 11 would be a certain song. And he picked 11, so I played that song. That worked out pretty nicely, I guess. Sometimes I think about what it would be like going back to the hospital. I mean, playing the odds, there's a decent chance I will be back, even though I've been out for two and a half years. I try not to think about it, though. But part of me sort of feels comfortable there. I don't know. Once you're there, though, it's terrible. So, that's that. Anyway. That's depressing, I guess. Time to move on! There's also a pretty decent chance I won't be back in the hospital, considering I've been out for a pretty long time, and have been the best I've been since I got sick. I remember, when I was in the last time, it coincided with the "Lin-sanity" of the Knicks. Goooood times. And how appropriate, when you think about it. Great. It's not my fault! I was Lin-sane! Okay, I'll see ya later.

-3:56 P.M.

Saturday, September 27, 2014

Where We're Going, We Don't Need Titles

Hello friends and sdneirf. It's em. I mean, me. Today is 6:20 A.M. Let's get this entry on the road! Still waiting for my new pair of earphones, since my old pair is broken. What beeswax. I can neither listen to music on my walks or my ellipticals, nor record electric guitar with my 8 track. What the Hell am I supposed to do. I can only porn it up twice a day! Three times, and it's playing with yourself. I heard that somewhere, I don't know. I've been reading the AC/DC book. Australia is weird. It's like a real place, but it's not, it's Australia. I believe Australia's main claim to fame is being the best place to start off in Risk. And that it started out as a prison colony. It was the original Escape From L.A. Escape from New York was the original Escape From L.A. I don't know, I never saw it. It was the original Lord of the Flies. If you equate convicts with children, which I think is fair. Those preteens are up to no good. Piggy, "I need my glasses to see!" Get over it. I'm out of orange soda. Why, God, Why? Yom Kippur is coming up. I can ask him then. Also, Are you sure you're the real God? Why don't you prove it, huh? Go on, Wow Me. God'll do what he wants. He didn't get to be God by listening to every Tom, Dick, or Harry. I believe the slogan of Heaven is, "No Rules, Just Right." Annnd it ties back into Australia. I'm a master.
    Okay. It would suck if you die and it turns out Heaven is just a Hard Rock Cafe. That would get boring after a while. Anyway. I love the short peoples of AC/DC. They ain't playin' no games, though, they're tough as nails. Way tougher than me. Reading these books is inspiring, though, I'm seriously looking into getting guitar lessons. I figure, if I'm really good at guitar, I'll be, well, hmm. Really good at guitar! That's it. It sucks, though, in the books, they're always like, "That guy was insane at guitar! Amazing!" Aren't there any successful musicians that people just say, "Yeah, he could play some chords. But, somehow, he turned that into music gold!" Hey, there's gotta be a first for everything. I believe the slogan of the USPS is, "No Rules, Just Write." I'm waiting for the USPS to deliver my earphones. What are you waiting for? I'm pretty sure there are rules in the USPS. The first rule of USPS, don't talk about the USPS. Duhhhhh I'm a moron. I like how the acronym for the United States Postal Service is USPS. Hey, when we write letters, us P.S. too! We have so much in common. I would hate to suffer from Post Traumatic Mail Disorder.
    Yeesh. Anyway. Third paragraph time. I had three burritos over my last five meals. Still got one left! When I do the elliptical in the exercise room my neighborhood has, I usually go at the same time my Dad does the treadmill. It's some real good father-son bonding time. Good for us. Anyway. I would love to be in a band. But, I gotta get better first. Then, second, I have to meet people who want to start a band. Both of these things will probably never happen. Oh well. The good news is, I'm gonna get an iced coffee after this entry is done. The bad news is, no music on my walk. The good news is, shut up. Actually, I'll go get the iced coffee now. The good news is, I just got my iced coffee. Hooray for me. I could have gotten a hot coffee for free. But I don't play no games with my coffee. And if I did, it would probably be iced coffee pong. Man, the loser is gonna get so caffeinated! I'm still waiting to meet an Asian man named Ping Pong. It's on my bucket list. Anyway. Today is a pretty good day so far. I'm basing that on practically nothing. But, prove me wrong! If I get my earphones, that would be goodness. I'm having a tough time picking a guitar tutor. They all look alike to me. I know, I know, that's racist. I've been reduced to judging them based on the first name, and thinking, "How comfortable would I be saying that name to address my teacher?" This is the important criteria to pick a guitar teacher based on.
    Anyway. Today is the fourth paragraph. How do you like them apples. They're okay. That's how I feel. Gonna get back to reading that book. I can't get enough of this stuff! I like the AC/DC book, because two thirds of the quotes, they have to add in a bunch of words in brackets, because Australians don't speak right. They just leave out key words in sentences when they're talking. I like that kind of stuff. So. What to do, what to do. Finish this entry, yeah. But what words will I use? My options are almost unlimited. My psychiatrist recommended a guitar teacher to me, that he said he had as a kid, but now he lives in Long Island. I can't go to Long Island! They'll eat me alive. Let's pretend Long Island people are tough as nails. Queens is technically on Long Island. I've always considered it a cross between city and suburb. It's the best of both worlds! In fact, I can't go anywhere. That's why I'm looking for teachers that make house calls. But that's also why I have to eliminate female teachers from my consideration. Once they're in my room, I'd be like, "So... do we kiss?" That's how that goes. If I saw there was a teacher that was lefty, all other things the same, I would easily pick him. All the ones I've seen are righty, though, so hopefully that wouldn't make much of a difference. It's tough being a lefty. Everyone thinks you're evil. At least, everyone from 500 years ago.
    Okay. What to do, what to do. Take off italics, for one. There we go. So, it's October in a few days. You know how that goes, right. Good. Good. I heard Keith Octobermann is in trouble for something. I don't know. I just. Don't. Know. I like how Freud said, "Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar." Well then, what the hell do I need you for? You're contradicting your entire body of work! Idiot! Sometimes a Freud is just a fraud. There, I said it. I like seeing a psychiatrist, though. Hey, what's up. You deal with my problems, I got shit to do. Not really sure that's how it works. I've been seeing the wrong psychiatrist, apparently. Seeing psychiatrists was better when I was just depressed. Now, with my more major illnesses, they talk down to me, like I was a crazy person. Before, I was their equal, just with some emotional problems. Oh well. You win some, you lose some. As they say. That saying doesn't account for ties. Boy, would I hate to be the guy who coined that phrase. Cause he's wrong. Nobody likes to be wrong. Anyway, see ya later.

-8:45 A.M.

Wednesday, September 24, 2014

That Rings a Bell

Hello jerkholes and bagballs. It's me, crazysheet. Been a while, hasn't it? Oh yeah, I forgot, you can't answer. Because you're a disabled. At least, when it comes to being able to write on crazysheet. Only I have the power. So, it's been a while. Since last entry, I've had a couple of Queens college classes, I've released an album of musics, and, I don't know, one would imagine I've done some other stuff in my spare time. I hate it when a cigarette butt catches on fire in my ash tray. Especially when my garbage can doesn't have a plastic bag in it, so there's nothing I can do with it. Some people just want to watch the world burn. Thanks, Michael Caine. It's weird, because I actually have a recurring dream about The Joker, which happened to reoccur last night. It basically involves there being a Batman sequel, with the Joker as the main villain again. I don't wanna give away the plot in case I ever make it as a screenwriter and can sell it, but let me tell you, it's captivating as shit. Also, I'm assuming we can bring... what's his name... I wanna say Hugh Laurie... back from the dead. Langston Hughes? Oh, Heath Ledger. I was so close!
    It's a really good dream. Whenever I dream it, I'm captivated as shit. And I always wake up, thinking, "I wish that was a movie I could re-watch." To tell the truth, I barely remember any of it, but the basic plot I sort of remember. Which, who knows, maybe that's all I need. Anyway. Been a while since I was here. Almost two weeks. It's good to be back. I read a book about Zed Leppelin in my time off, it was pretty good, and I just received from Amazon a book about AC/DC and a book about Big Star. I only know one of of Big Star's songs, but I figured I'd give it a shot. I think it would be fair to say that AC/DC was in my top three most listened to bands in high school. Even if it's false. It would still be fair to say that. I have a distinct memory of listening to, "Hells Bells," while getting on the Tribeca bridge to get to Stuy. Which is kinda appropriate, cause of school bells, and all that shit. I'm gettin Chipotle tomorrow. No big deal. I'm drinking Pepsi tonight. I'm used to it. When I was a kid, I was always a Coke man. Or, coke kid. Then, when I was 19, I was another kind of coke kid. Now I'm a Pepsi man, through and through. I used to drink Snapple a lot, just because I loved the facts. I live to learn, and I gotta buy Snapple to be exposed to new ideas. That's how that goes. I remember, one of my last improv classes, in the class I never finished, I was doing a character who loved Snapple. And I remember referencing them, saying, "Did you know that one in every ten adults is dyslexic?" Got a huge laugh. That's why I stopped going to the class, wanted to go out on top. They'll never forget the Snapple dyslexic joke. Might as well cruise on the residuals from that for the rest of my life.
    Yeah, whatever. September is really just flying by. It's already Fall. I love the Fall. It's just great. I like AC/DC, because everyone in that band is 5'4. That's practically as short as me! Awesome. I was just skimming the entry so far, let me say-- Don't put out burning cigarette butts in a plastic bag. Dump it in the toilet, or something, if you have to get rid of it. I don't want any fires over my head. Or, under my desk. Unless I put a fishbowl under my desk, then I guess I could empty out my flames into that. Pew. My earphones are broke, I'm waiting for a new pair from Amazon. It sucks having to take walks and exercise without earphones. I have to listen to the outside world. Yeesh, you people actually live in this? Gimme the music, yo. I remember, when I was a teen, my orthodontists waiting room had a huge fish bowl, and they would also always show Finding Nemo on a T.V. Talk about synergy! They have the fish-fan market cornered. "I'm a fish, I lost some other fish, gotta find him." That's what's going on in Finding Nemo. I remember, I stopped going to the orthodontist before I was really done, I was like 90% done. Which, in retrospect, is really a bullshit move. You went through all the trouble, financial and timewise, and you're still gonna leave with an imperfect set of teeth? Moron. When you're a kid, you're self conscious about the braces thing. Although, according to Something About Mary, which I believe was a documentary, some girls like guys with braces. Actually, though, at that point, I think all I had to do was wear a retainer, and I still gave up on it. Leave this plastic in your mouth all day! It's not the end of the world.
    So, that's how that goes. The worst part of the orthodontist was the waiting time. I would have to go after school, and it would always be two to three hours wait. It's 4:00 P.M. on a weekday! I should be asleep by now! That's how I rolled. Hey, I'm into the fourth paragraph. Seems about right. Oh, hey, check out my music at theuppers.bandcamp.com. Brand new entry. It's the shizznit. Brand new album, I mean. Either way, I guess, who cares. I'm gonna eat dinner later. Just try to stop me. No, don't! If you knock the fork out of my hand, I'd be helpless!!! I don't know about you guys, but I always use the fork less traveled. That's how I roll. Anyway. Gettin' close to finishing this shit up. What else is going. On. I talked about Finding Nemo, I talked about Snapple, I talked about Hell's Bells. Pretty much covered the important stuff. Talked about not dumping fires into plastic bags. McDonalds stopped their $1.00 Large Coffee promotion, after months. Oh well. I guess I'll have to survive without iced coffee, somehow. I guess I could always try to haggle with the McDonalds employees. They seem like they're open for bargaining business. They're probably not, though. It's just a front.   Anyway. I guess I could always get a job at McDonalds, and sneak in some illicit iced coffee, from the inside. No one would be none the wiser. Or something.
    Anyway, hey, last paragraph time. I've been elipticalling it up for a good two weeks now. Good for me. I get to watch The Price Is Right, while my earphones are broken. I wonder if that guy is gonna get the price right. What fun. When I was in high school, for part of the time, I sorta wore headphones as a fashion statement. Like, I would leave them around my neck during class, and I was like, Yeah, girls will respond to this. Now I wear earphones, so I could put them in my pocket. And I have the added knowledge that girls won't respond to that. Also, I'm practically 26. It doesn't make sense anymore. My brother will be in his thirties in a little over a year. That's kinda freaky. I remember when he was five. Vaguely, at least. I remember, when I was like nine, I, for some reason, successfully petitioned my parents to let me move in with my brother, because he had a much bigger room than mine. So we went through all the trouble of moving my bed, and stuff. And, that night, he did his best to scare me, somehow, and make me uncomfortable, that I just went back to my old room. So, that's how that goes. The jokes on him, though, now his room is my old room, the small room. Of course, he does have his own apartment. But if he ever wants to sleep over here, he has to sleep in the small room! Hah! Looks like Michael's got the last laugh on this one. That's how that goes.
    Let's do a six paragraph. You know, for fun. Led Zeppelin really pulled some crazy shit. It's a fun read. Anyway. This entry is almost over. It could be over now. But it isn't. It's almost over. That's how that goes. Yeesh. It's almost the end of the year, relatively speaking. By the end of the year, it should be 2015. That's how I feel. Watch out for any 3-D Jaws advertisements. And eat mini-Pizza Huts that turn into regular sized-Pizza Huts in the microwave. And get fired over the T.V. from Asian peoples. I guess I'll read those books over the next few days. Should be fun. I've been giving more considered thought to actually try to work on my music, and get better, so maybe I could do that for a career. I'd need to get better, though. But, hey, there's lessons you can take, and stuff. It's not entirely outside the realm of possibility. Just on the very fringes of it. As good a chance as anything, though, I suppose. Or, maybe I can become an orthodontist. Once you pay for the aquarium bills, it's practically all profit! Or, I could just advertise myself as an orthodontist on Craigslist, and post, "Put This In Your Mouth," and include a picture of my dick. That wouldn't be very nice, though. Kinda bastardly, in my opinion. I remember, the second half of my sophomore year in college, I seriously scoured Craigslist for sex. I added a couple of phone numbers to my phone, that I contemplated calling. I ended up not going through with it, though. And I ended up having sex on my own accord, eventually. Hooray for me.
    Seven paragraphs. Let's do it. Or, not. See ya later.

-4:10 P.M.

Friday, September 12, 2014

You Can Title Next To Me, If You'd Like

Hello friends and framily. It's me, again. Man, so much has changed since the last entry. Like, it's now forty eight hours later. What will they think of next. I ordered an English Muffin yesterday as part of my dinner, and I called it an, "Egg Muffin." Boy was my face red! We ain't McDonalds, son, is what the person said to me. Probably. I don't really remember. I was not not drunk. The good news is that it's over and done with. And I learned an important lesson for the future. Don't place orders while drunk. Always have a designated food order-er. I wonder if rich people just have a designated driver always on staff. Seems like they would. Oh, wait, they do. And they just call them a driver. Driver is a kind of golf club. That's the only golf club I know. Which is kind of unfortunate, because it's not even real. So, I have a big decision to face for tomorrow's class. Do I stick with my new glasses. Or go with the style of my old glasses. Or wear contacts. Or just freeball it, no enhancement for my vision at all. There's a certain comfort in not being able to see clearly, I've found. It keeps you from getting too invested in the outside world.
    Okay. Today is my three quarter birthday. I'm 25.75 years old. What fun. I got Chinese food a couple of days ago, with my credit card, and on the receipt where you leave a tip, I wrote, "4:00." By accident. The guy must have been like, "Hmm, I didn't know retards ate Chinese food." Actually, it might have been diner food. See, I don't even know what the Hell I'm ordering and eating. The good news is, I learned an important lesson for the future. Don't tip with time. And if you do, at least write an A.M. or P.M. Don't leave 'em guessing. Is P.M.S. when girls live during the afternoon? Is A.M. radio? Yeah, I guess. It's a good thing radio doesn't announce itself. I... AM... Radio. Run away, it's a robot. So, so far, I'm two days into my exercising. It's goin' good. Goin' good. Now that schools in session, the lines at McDonalds are longer. That's okay, I can just cut in line to the front. And if anyone has a problem with it, they're gonna have to deal with my fists. And they're high school kids, they're not fully grown. They're only eight inches taller than me.
    Anyway. Why doesn't my iPod radio get reception in McDonalds. I have to go through four minutes without radio! I...Am...Radio... ...Powering... DOWN. Anyway. What else is going on. Probably not much, and stuff. Hey, "Driver," is a real golf club! I'm a smart! Yeah. I have a sandwich for lunch. Get over it. It's actually only half a sandwich. Isn't half a sandwich just a thing. No, half sideways. Idiot. Anyway. It's Friday the 12th! Run away! Anyway. See ya later.

-9:11 A.M.

Wednesday, September 10, 2014

We Be Titling

Hello guys and female guys. What's going on. It's me. The guy who is the thing that's me. I made a terrible decision this morning, and got food from McDonalds. Their sausage burrito seemed so alluring. It combines two of my favorite things-- sausage, and burritos. *Editors Note-- Those are only two of my favorite things if my 'favorite things' list is 200-500 items long* It wasn't terrible, just not worth it. Next time, I'll just listen to Kielbasa Sausage, by Tenacious D, and Burritos, by Sublime, over one another. That's zero calories, and probably not as grating. Aren't D.J.s the chefs of our generation. Aren't chefs the chefs of our generation. I think McDonalds is the chefs of our generation. What a let down. In good news, though, it's Wednesday. Have a party! So, this Jewish year is winding down. I remember, I actually fasted last Yom Kippur. Well, not completely. But to some extent. Which, I think is pretty good. I bet if you asked Gandhi, "Did you really fast?" He'd say, "Yeah... sort of." I think that's actually true, though, now that I think about it. I think if you're on a hunger strike, you're technically allowed to eat a miniscule amount, just to stay alive. I'm not 100% sure of the rules of hunger striking, though. There's no Hunger Striking For Dummies book. Also, there's no For Dummies books anymore, I don't think. We have google now. Google is For Dummies for dummies.
I still remember where I was the day that Google became the prominent search engine in my mind, over Yahoo. It was in seventh grade, during English class. I just suddenly realized, "Yahoo is old news. Google is where it's at." That's how that goes. Yahoo has fantasy baseball, though. A million points in favor of Yahoo for that. So, it's practically fall. How wonderful. I don't feel complete being outdoors without my sweatshirt jacket. That's as close to having a style as I get. Sweatshirt jacket. Grey, black. Either/or. So, what am I gonna do with the rest of my day. I'm gonna start doing the elliptical again. No reason not to. Except that it's physically demanding. That's a downside. Once I get in the habit, though, it won't be too bad. I don't like the idea of a book calling me a dummy. You just talked yourself out of a customer. But, yeah. Burritos are my 234th favorite thing, and sausage is my 496th. And, when you combine them, it's my 144th least favorite thing, it turns out. Man, that's pretty high. Or low. Depending on how you look at it.
Okay. Man, imagine all the sausage burritos I can eat now, now that I'm doing the elliptical daily. Why, I could have one and a half more a day! Or, I can use this as an opportunity to stop obsessively counting calories and just try to eat healthy in general, now that I will have a calorie cushion. That's probably the way to go. Or, sausage burritos 8 times a day! Yeesh. What an idiot. What else is going on. Probably nothing. See ya later.

-8:05 A.M.

Monday, September 8, 2014

More Than a Title

Here I am! Sorry, didn't mean to frighten you. Stop having a heart attack. This entry is gonna be the shits. So, the working week has begun. When the working week's begun, girls just wanna get work done. I haven't had a job in six years. Unless you count being mentally ill as a job. Which is fair, because I do get a paycheck from social security every month. So, at least I'm doing productive with my life. How did they come up with hockey. Hey, let's play a game on ice. Why? Air hockey, now that I get. That's fun. Wait, no. I'm thinking of quidditch. Air hockey's fun, too. British royalty should get to play air hockey to decide who's gonna be king. Because stupid stupid stupid. One can only assume that the Queen plays goalie for both teams. Somehow. Let's just say she gets around. Or, let's not, because that phrase is being misused here. Mmm, iced coffee. I can taste the ice, I can taste the coffee. It's a slam dunk proposition, to drink iced coffee, as far as I'm concerned. Instead of saying, "The Sun Never Sets On The British Empire," the king should have just said, "As Far As I'm Concerned... Yeah." Man, what a terrible king. What do you mean the sun never sets on the British Empire. What about when the sun sets? Well, there's another part of the British Empire, halfway around the world, that the sun isn't setting. Oh, I see what you did there. Kinda cheating, though. In fact, one can say the sun is always setting on the British Empire. Guards, have this man removed, and sent to France, for guillotine treatment. Hey, that sounds fun. What's a guillotine?
    Oh, you'll find out. Fictional person from the past. Today is Monday. Ya-da-ya-da-ya-da. You ya-da-ya-da'd over the best part. I MENTIONED THE MONDAY. Yeesh. Anyway. I think I'm gonna get back on the music wagon this week. Because I love to entertain... myself. It's in my blood. One of my top priorities in life is self-entertainment. My other top priority is external-entertainment. Gotta wait till 9:00 A.M., though, before I can start singing. Don't wanna wake up the neighbors with my beautiful, beautiful, terrible, beautiful, hideous, ungodly voice. I don't even have a voice. Every song sounds the voice sounds different. The only constant is that it's hardly ever adequate. Well, we're gonna turn that around this week! That's my goal. Good voice-work. I wouldn't say my voice is ungodly. I mean, it's not evil. It's just not good. Maybe that's a form of low-grade evil, though. I'm not in God's inner circle, I don't know. If I was, though, I'd have the voice of an angel. That's just logic, that's all that is. I finished my Southern Comfort bottle in four days. Could have been worse. God loves alcoholics. That's in the Bible, somewhere, I believe. Alcoholics Shall Inherit The Earth. Alright! We did it, you guys. What to do. What to do... what to do. I need a drink.
    Okay. I think this new album is gonna be lo-fi, just straight recording electric guitar tracks and vocal tracks at the same time. I call it, playing the guitar and singing along. I know, it's a revolutionary idea, but it just might work! Also, I'm not 100% what lo-fi means. It sure sounds like it's applicable, though. Who am I kidding. This will never come to fruition. And if it does, it will be predictably mediocre. I don't know, I guess we'll see. One important thing, I shouldn't limit myself to a week or two. If I do only one song a week, and it's adequate rather than mediocre, then that's obviously the way to go. So, this is shaping up to be another long moth of crazysheet. Although we have started doing two-four paragraph entries. So, that' good. We? Whose We? Me. So, back off! I guess, "We," is me, and that italics guy who questions me. God, I hate that guy. Anyway. Got some time to kill before 9. And, then, after 9. Today is shaping up to be a wonderful day. I guess. See ya later.

-8:05 A.M.

Sunday, September 7, 2014

Hi, Crazysheet. How Are You Today?

... There's no answer. Talk to me, website! I guess it's giving me the silent treatment. Which isn't a terrible name for a band. It's worse than terrible. I should release an album of children's rhymes. One track could be the A B C's. And Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. I guess that's it. Because that's the only tune I know. But, hey, they're public domain. It's 100% profit. Anyway, what the Hell. I had class yesterday. Boy, did the teacher not spend enough time going over readings, and went on boring rants. Who could have predicted such a thing. Looks like the score is, internet One, teacher Zero. Also, for some reason, in every class I have, I privately pit the teacher against the internet in a grudge match. Rarely does anything relevant happen to give points, so this is a pretty big deal. There was that poetry class where my teacher said, "I hate the internet! The internet can suck my dick!" She was a pretty good teacher, though. I don't know what I'm doing. I'm giving serious thought to deleting this and starting over. But it takes up space. Instead, I will encourage you to skip this first paragraph, and start reading at the next one. Please heed this advice.
    Anyway. I wrote a song yesterday. Looks like it's my songs One, blahblahblah zero. Crazysheet Zero, am I right? That's the diet Crazysheet that I'm going to begin marketing in the Fall. Guaranteed zero calories! This website is the equivalent of ice chips. Or, will be, once Crazysheet Zero comes out. It's good to have something to look forward to. As far as I'm concerned, looking forward is the easiest direction to look in. It's already where my eyes are facing. That takes care of that. I lost my rubber ball. I will be holding a memorial service next Sunday at 10 A.M. How come God rested on the seventh day, but Sunday is the first day of the week? Jesus, some consistency, please. Leave Jesus out of this, it's not his fault. Maybe it is his fault. I don't know. Someone's gotta be held accountable. What to do with the rest of my day. What to do, what to do. More music crap? Why not. I haven't put out an album in almost half a week! And that one sucked balls, I need to erase all memory of it. I need to keep making progress. "Progress Is The Key To Success" -- Rosie O' Donnell. There's a lady with her head on her neck. I want to grow a goatee. Too bad I can't. I think I would look sophisticated. I guess I could get a hair transplant. Probably not worth it, though.
    Yeesh. I can't start singing till after 9:00 A.M. I can record guitar tracks, because I play directly into the 8 track and hear it through headphones. Whatevs. I don't even want to do it anymore. What's the point. Hmm. What would Rosie O' Donnell do. Probably drink orange soda. I guess I'll do that. I'm gonna be straight with you-- I don't know if Rosie O' Donnell would drink orange soda. But, deep down, I know that's what I want to do. So I'm gonna do it. Mmm, carbonated orange. Yesterday, I told you I would be sober by the time the class starts. Turned out, I was sober around the time the class finished. So that was a ton of fun. It's kind of appropriate on a Saturday class, though, because I was more or less hung over, so, it's as if I drank a lot Friday night. People do that, right? I'm a people. At least, a people in disguise. During one of my teacher's rants, I should just just shouted, "Booooring!" Just to see what would happen. He'd probably go on a twenty minute rant about how he used to play handball. Because that's what he did anyway. I wonder if my supreme sense of disinterest is what other people feel when they read this. I hope not. Probably not, though. Because, if you felt that way, why keep reading it? You're making an active choice to read this. Unless a sick, sadistic bastard is forcing you to read this. In that case, I only have one piece of advice-- run away! You don't need to be listening to some sick sadistic bastard.
    Okay. What else be happeninginging. I had a small slice of Banana Cake for breakfast. I did it! In your face, Eggos and frozen egg sandwiches! I miss Eggos. I'd hate to think they're jealous. I guess I could have two eggos for Brunch. Brunch-- the meal so nice, they created it by averaging out two other meals. How come no one eats Linner? Or, preferably, Dunch? Because they're morons, that's why. Hey, I'm a moron. How come I love Dunch? What else is going on. Looks like it's gonna be a full five paragraph entry. What joy. Still got a little ways to go. I should do an open mic, comedy or music, soon. There's a comedy open mic tonight, and a music one tomorrow night. I don't know. It would be good to get out of the house. One would imagine. Hmm, it seems the comedy open mic tonight no longer exists. Phew. That wouldn't have gone well. Hey jerks, laugh at my stupid jokes, with no narrative, delivered extremely nervously. And the music open mic, I'd have to carry my guitar all the way there and back. We'll see, we'll see. Maybe I should take an improv class at UCB. I'm up to 301... I took a 301 class halfway but never finished it. I was really not in the right mindset at the time. I think I talked about it here a little bit, and explained that my role in every scene was, "Guy who doesn't know what's going on." Mostly because in real life, I'm a guy who doesn't know what's going on. But maybe it would be better, now. We'll see. It's like, the person would insinuate who their character was and what the scene was about, and I would be like, "What? Are you sure? Is that what's going on?"
    Alright. The worst part about sucking in an improv scene, is that you're not only letting yourself down, but your scene partner. They had some great comedy ready, and you're ruining it. Also, the teachers don't appreciate jokes. We're supposed to see two improv shows to satisfy the class requirement, and two thirds into the class, I still hadn't seen one, and I was like, "I'm saving them up!" or something, and the teacher was like, "No, that's the wrong thing to do, I want you to see them so you can get better." I was joking, jerkball. Also, I don't like interacting with other people. That solves that problem. I mean, in theory, I love interacting with other people. In practice, not so much. Man, if the open mic was today, I seriously might have considered going. Oh, well. Before I go up, I'd request they play Stone Cold's entrance music. Even though they don't have a P.A. system. They could figure out some way to do it. Jokes. Man, you guys like jokes? I love jokes. Ugh. Man, now I kinda wanna take an improv class. Let's see if one opens up, I'll keep my eye on it.   It'll just be another failure. You never know if you don't go. You never shine if you don't glow. Hey now, you're an all star. Ger your game on, etc, etc. I'll start every scene by saying, "Comedy In The Housssssse!" People love an asshole idiot. Or, an idiot asshole. Depends on your perspective.
    Let's go for six paragraphs. It'll balance out those shorter entries. I'm gonna get pizza for lunch/dinner. /Dunch. Yo, I'm the funniest, way the best at cunnilingus... I wanna take an intro to freeestyle rap. Oh My God, I would take that in a heart beat. I should be a rapist. Everyone loves a rapist. I once had a pen-pal from Canada, in sixth grade, for a class, and, knowing I lived in New York, he asked me if I know any, "Rapers." Sorry, buddy. Haven't come across one yet. I'll let you know when I do! Although, at the time, I was in a rap group called, "The Mad Dawgs." And my name was, "Lil' MAK." The only thing I remember writing was an entire song where all the lyrics rhymed with, "Mexico." Every line rhymed. And I remember once writing a rhyme that basically copied an Eminem line, and someone else in the group was like, "Yo, this is sick!" But it wasn't really mine. I remember, we were sleeping over at one of the Mad Dawgs house, and we took turns going into the bathroom to record raps, because we were too embarrassed to do it in front of each other. Heh. Good times. Then I lent a mutual friend twenty dollars and never got it back. Now I hate rap. Rap, you owe me twenty dollars.
    Seven paragraphs!!! No, you gotta be kidding. Yup. Lunch isn't for another three and a half paragraphs. Man, I honestly think I'll sign up for an improv class when one opens up. Why not. Hopefully my brain will be better than it was last time. In my previous improv classes, I was comfortably average. Too bad they're all sold out right now. If there was a class open, I would have impulsively signed up. The worst part of improv is playing, "Crazy Eights." It's a game you play, I guess to loosen inhabitations, where you all stand in a circle, and shout to eight, and then to seven, and so on. I hate shouting in unison. I hate it. I could happily do without the game. One two three four five six seven eight nine eight... and so on. Hmm, it turns out I don't know how to count. No wonder I hate that game. Whatta Entry. Anyway. Pizza for lunch. Does it get any better than that? I guess I could get pizza hut for lunch. But each slice is the same amount of calories as a regular pizza, while being 2/3rds the size. Just not worth it. Maybe one day, when I have friends, and we're drinking late into the night, we can order pizza hut, and I'll enjoy it. That fantasy gives me something to look forward to. Something that will probably never happen. It can't hurt to pretend, right? Anyway, see ya later.

-7:57 A.M.

Saturday, September 6, 2014

Hey Man, Dig This Groovy Title

Hello jerkballs. It's your favorite guy whose me. Then again, I'm the only guy whose me. To my knowledge. Maybe there's another guy whose me, a million galaxies away. And he's writing a crazysheet entry right now... and giving mention to me! AH! I just made contact with him. How's it going, fellow? Jeez, nobody appreciates these entries, am I right? This is me talking. No, me. Me. Not you. Me. Stop it. Okay, anyway. That really kind of freaked me out for some reason. I don't like the idea of someone else being me. I've gone through great pains trying to isolate my personality. I have a class in a few hours. I get to read a story I wrote! It's just two pages of, "Check out my music," more or less. And if my friends are any judge, nobody cares. Oh well. Luckily, my friends aren't any judge. Today, I had to decide between two shirts, my "All You Need Is Love" shirt, or my Wilco shirt. I think the AYNIL shirt is too on the dot. Also, it's acronym spells out, "Anal." And I don't need that kind of publicity. So, I'm going with the Wilco shirt. That's how that goes. What else is going on how it goes. I bet when I'm talking about my music, all the girls will cream in their pants. That sentence delights me to no end. Because I'm a moron. Hahaha. Cream.
    Yup. I tried a piece of cheesecake today. I'd never had it before. And it was fucking disgusting. I had to spit it out into the trash. Sweet cheese? What monster thought up that crap. I'll stick to my fortune cookies. We have about ten fortune cookies stored up in a cabinet. I'm rich! All that fortune! What? What do you mean, they're only cookies. It says, "Fortune." Are you calling cookies a liar? What did cookies ever do to you. Man, I wish I had a chocolate spoon. That's livin'. I'm gonna start putting sweet 'n low on everything. Why not. Everything can use a little sweetness. That's how I feel. Whatever. Hey, what the Hell? I'm writing a crazysheet entry? And I'm a paragraph and a half in? Are you sure? Hmm, my powers of deduction have concluded that you're right. Hello, friends! I gotta stop drinking before noon. People might start to think things. Like, crazysheet is an alcoholic. Nobody refers to me as crazysheet. If I had a following, sure. But I don't. It's just the odd person off Facebook who hasn't concluded that Michael sucks. If that describes you, then-- Thank You! I Might Not Suck!
    Yeesh. Anyway. What's going on. I gotta write a paragraph or two, or three. That's fun. People look up to me for entertainment. I have an important role in my friends' lives. They can't get enough of this stuff. They need me to fill out their day. "I put in some long hours at work, I went through a lot of stress, I need some crazysheet to make my day complete." The only person who says that is me. And I don't put in long hours at work or go through a lot of stress. So I guess I'm just a bald-faced liar. Or, a false based liar. If that's your thing. The good news is, I get to each lunch in an hour and a half. And, at 1:00, start a class... with girls in it! Who knows, maybe one will like me. The odds are that I will eventually meet a girl who likes me. Probably. Why not now? Wassup lady. I have paranoid schizoaffective disorder. Turned on much? Gotta be someone out there.   I won't tell them that. I'll just tell them that I ritually drink alcohol and write terrible songs. That'll lure them in. Anyway.
    Okay. Or maybe I'll just let my shirt do the talking. Wilco? Never heard of them. I'm In Love. Hooray! Gotta finish this entry soon. Thank God. I should be sober by the time the class starts. That'll be good. Everyone loves a sober person. Everyone hates a drunk person. Hey, that guy's cheating! He shouldn't be that happy! Sorry. I guess I'm juicing on that happiness. Please don't ban me. Alcohol is a depressant, though. As far as I know. I can't believe I didn't drink until I was 18. And now I can't stop. Funny how things work out. When I first started drinking, it was only once our twice a week, with college friends. Friends! Can you believe it! Once I started smoking marijuana regularly, though, they didn't want anything to do with me. Thanks a lot, friends. I guess you weren't friends after all. Eh. Good times? I guess.
    So, five paragraphs. Good. The way nature intented it to be. Why did I drink before going to class? What am I, an idiot/asshole? I guess so. Oh well. No going back now. Just gotta sober myself up. Anyway. Who cares about class. This entry is what matters. Class will be gone after two hours, this entry will be here forever. Hey, now lunch is in an hour and fifteen minutes. Hooray! I did it! Killed some time before lunch! That's what Crazysheet is all about, don't you know. No, today will be good. I'll be relatively sober by class, have some fun, come home, have some fun, go to sleep. It's all good. Wow, it really is five paragraphs. I didn't know I had it in me. The paragraphs are relatively short, sure, but still. What an idiot. Drinking at nine in the morning. The good news is, I wrote a crazysheet entry. How many of you can say that? None! Unless one of you is me. Then one of you can say that. Or, the guy a million galaxies away. There's a guy with his head on his shoulders! He's got it all figured out. At least, as much as I do. Anyway, see ya later.

-9:50 A.M.

Friday, September 5, 2014

Titlin'

Okay. That's perhaps the laziest title ever. I like it. I am a huge supporter of laziness, in all forms. Didn't Jesus say, the lazy shall inherit the Earth? It was either lazy or meek. Probably lazy. Tomorrow is class! I like class. Hey, guys! It's me, your classmate! Lookin' Good! That's how that goes. Oh, here comes the professor. Let's Listen To Teacher. I made a joke in the last class, and I think at first, the teacher was trying to decide if I was being an asshole or just having fun. At first, I could tell he thought I was being an asshole, but, then I could see he was thinking about it, and after fifteen seconds, he started smiling and then smiled at me. So, either he changed his mind, or he thought about what he'd like to do to this asshole if he had a chance, pictured in his mind a perfect revenge fantasy, and then grinned at me diabolically. I'd like to think it was the first one. I have enough troubles. Don't need no teacher's diabolical scheme to harm me. I noticed pedestrians on my walk are giving me more smiles than they used to. I guess I've just been projecting a chipper facade lately. If they only knew the diabolical schemes I was plotting against them.
    Yeah. Oh no, somehow my rubber band fell into my ashtray. That's dangerous. Luckily I found it before any damage could be done. Whew. I mean, I've heard of burning rubber, but this is ridiculous! Pow, Bam, Alakazoom! I'd like to think I have cornered the market on terrible jokes. It's a niche that somebody's gotta satisfy, might as well be me. That's how that goes. Next week is Friday the 12th. How almostly unlucky! I'm gonna go out on a limb and say that Friday the 13th happens one out of seven 13ths. Prove me wrong! If it happened more, or less, then yeah, that would be pretty scary. That date is defying the laws of probability! Get Out Of The Way! Scary stuff, in my opinion. I've never seen a Friday the 13th film. I remember when I was about five, "Jason Takes Manhattan," was on Pay-Per-View, which at the time was only one channel, and I wanted to see it, but my parents wouldn't let me buy it. Too scary. Also, too much money. If it was on TNT, they woulda let me watch it. Jason Takes Manhattan sounds like the gay version of Debbie Does Dallas. That's how I feel.
    Anyway. There might have been a warning of nudity for J.T.M., and that's why my parents wouldn't let me watch it. I think, in general, though, my parents didn't have a problem with me seeing nudity. Why stigmatize it, was their thinking. We have several pieces of art where there is artistic nudity hanging up on some walls. So, that's fun, I guess. What to do with the rest of the day. I have to read a book for class tomorrow, but he didn't tell us until yesterday, so I didn't have time to get the book. So, that's a pretty good way to start the class. I did read it in high school, but I forget pretty much everything. Except that it is a book. And has words. Possibly divided into chapters. And when he asked us if anyone read the book before, I was the only one who raised their hand. So he might go out of his way to call on me to talk about it. I guess I could just plead the fifth. Thank God for the bill of rights. He'd be like, Michael, this isn't a court room. And I'd be like, How Did You Know My Name? And he'd be like, It's here, on the attendance sheet. And I'd be like, I plead the fifth again. If I was ever on stand in a court room, I'd plead the fifth for everything. Just for fun. Even if I would say something, I'd be like, I plead the fifth!! No, just kidding. Yeah, it was him what murdered that dog.
    Okay. Is murdering a dog even a crime? Dogs are our sworn enemies. They're our main competition for consuming dog treats. Dogs are man's best friend. But I think that's just because of the keeping your enemies closer bit. Anyway. What else is going on. Time to close up shop here, I guess. See ya later.

-7:47 A.M.

Thursday, September 4, 2014

Did Somebody Say Title?

Oh, no one said it? Never mind then. I'll leave now. Did somebody say I'm leaving? Yeah, but that guy was probably lying. Because here I am and here I will be, for a few paragraphs. So, what's going on. My class starts in two days, minus a week. That should be fun in the past. I'm looking backwards to it. So, what's the big news. I ate breakfast today. I eat breakfast every day. Get with the times, man. My phone ran out of batteries. Wha? Huh? Wha? That's not interesting or confusing. I'm wasting your time... to the extreme! That's how that goes. I miss angelfire. Seems like it was only fifteen years ago everyone had a terribly designed, objectively pointless angelfire website. Hey, having an angelfire page when you're nine is the first step towards having your own website when you're fourteen. So, I'd like to say, thanks for nothing, angelfire. Way to make me waste my life. Also, angelfire is sort of a contradiction. Unless it's a dark angel. I believe angelfire.com was the inspiration for that Jessica Album show. I mean, Alba. Talk about your Freudian slips. Because, once you start talking about them, you will come to the conclusion that wasn't one. Just stupidity. Why isn't there footage of Sigmund Freud play-falling down over and over, to Benny Hill music, and the caption, "Freudian Slips?" Because comedy wasn't ready for it, yet, that's why.
Yeah, I guess. I like that photo of Albert Einstein with his tongue out. That's, sincerely, possibly the greatest photo of all time. Either that, or one of the Where's Waldos. Where is Waldo? He's gotta be here somewhere. Oh there he i... wait, no, that's not him. What fun. I like Where's Waldo. It teaches kids to be conformist. Gotta learn sooner or later. Why does Frappé coffee exist? Don't they know someone's just gonna call it crapp-ay? And once somebody says that, it's over. What the freak am I talking about. Halfway through the new, three paragraph-styled entries. Although I guess I could just end entries whenever I want. To Hell with consistency. That's how I feel. Anyway, see ya later.

-8:36 A.M.

Wednesday, September 3, 2014

Title To The Rescue!

Hello friends. It's me. Mr. Crazysheet. Please, Mr. Crazysheet is my father's name. No it's not. He hates this shit. I don't know if he hates it, or is just supremely indifferent to it. Well, I do know. Probably the second one. My parents are always like, It's good that you're writing, you're such a great writer. But do they ever read this shit? Thankfully, no. They probably just don't want to be disappointed. I can't blame them, considering the multitude of ways that they already know I'm disappointing. Every now and then I work a crazysheetism into conversation, and they have about a 50% success rate. Hey, Mom. What's Your Name? Julius Contraband? Cal Ripkin the VII? Ugh. I think it was pretty good foresight to name my website crazysheet before I had developed any mental illness. Looks like I have the last laugh. Or the first laugh. Or one of the middle laughs. Or no laughs. Or all the laughs. Anyway. I've been crushing the play money online poker tables. If that doesn't make my parents proud of me, I don't know what will, I give up. In other news, I don't know what will make my parents proud of me, and I give up. That joke is a real D-. Oh well. They can't all be D+'s! I think starting using mnemonics to represent grades at, "F" is sort of too late. You've already gone through A-D, which mean nothing. Just stick to the alphabetical order, or make everything a word. C'mon. You're better than that.
    Okay. Awesome. Break Even. Ceh. Duh. There ya go. That's why it's called the Awesomebreakevenbet. Duh. I like watching documentaries about people in prison. Ha! My life is better than yours! Except when they're eating lunch or dinner. Man, I wish I had some of that slop. It really sucks to be in a prison type situation, I know from being in hospitals. You're in a confined space, and you're literally not allowed to leave. Yup, that's what prison is. Hey, shut up! Okay. What else is going on. Today is Wednesday. People love Wednesdays, am I right. "People love Wednesdays, am I right?' This is what Michael has been up to for two years?" Bingo. Could be worse though, right? One would imagine. I could still be making that awful, awful music. Yeesh. Which, oddly enough, is the musical equivalent of, "People love Wednesdays, am I right?" Man, I love Wednesdays. I want to read comedy and listen to music which will confirm this affirmation. I'm your man! And, to everybody else? I'm not your man! People who've been to jail love Wednesdays, because every day in prison is like a Wednesday. If you're lucky.
    Yup. I don't know how to adjust to life on the outside, after living Wednesday after Wednesday for so long. Oooh, crazysheet.net! That sounds like a Wednesday making machine, as far as I'm concerned! Wha, The Uppers band? It's like they captured the very essence of Wednesday! It's good to know I'm giving back to the world. All this Wednesday talk really feels like a Thursday. I'm sorry. What the Hell am I talking about. Can't let you know, then it'd be a Tuesday. Sorry. Anyway, another three paragraph entry. Enjoy. I mean, hope you have enjoyed. Unless you really get off on time stamps. In that case, enjoy.

-9:13 A.M.

Monday, September 1, 2014

Happy September Day!

Hi! I had to change the month. What the Wha. I'm pretty sure August was the most prolific month of crazysheet, not only in this incarnation, but ever. And in high school, I wrote a shit lot. However, about 50% of August was those stupid, stupid comics. Man, what's the point of those. Nobody know. Now there's an August 2014 on the sidebar. How nifty! Also, that's the first time I've ever used the word, "Nifty." That's the second time. When will be the third time? Stay tuned! I got pepperoni pizza by accident this weekend. I mean, I meant to get it, but after the fact, I checked how many calories pepperoni are, and boy, what a shock to the system. I have this vague memory, I'm not sure if it was in my life or in a movie or T.V. show, of a kid saying, "Fish Food!" And then another kid eating some sort of food out of his hand. Wherever it's from, I don't like it. You're better than a fish, son. Don't eat quote unquote fish food out of someone's hand. I also once had a friend who made me eat dog food. And, not like in a bullying way, or as a prank. He was just like, "These are really good, here, try one." And he had one, and I had one. It was like beef jerky, like a dog treat made out of meat. So, now I can say I've eaten dog food. Hopefully I'll never have to though. Except in weblog. I wonder whatever happened to that guy. Dog Food taste tester? Possibly. You can't have dogs testing the taste, they wouldn't know how to rate it. Here's your sample, rate it on a scale from, "Bark!" to "Ruff!" Doesn't work.
    Okay. Meow. Hey, who let that cat in here? Anyway. I wonder if there are any dogs that are vegetarian. I mean, not that their owner's are vegetarian, and force their dogs to be. I wonder if there are any dogs who, themselves, have decided not to eat meat. Probably a few, socially conscious ones. I did my walk route today backwards. Yup, that's right. I like to mix it up every now and then, you know, keeps life interesting. This is the first entry in a long time that I've written without the aid of iced coffee. Once you start associating an activity with a drug, or food, or beverage, it's hard to break out of that pattern. But, I did it! I'm the greatest! Iced coffees aren't addictive. Hey, anything can be mentally addictive. Like, take, for example, writing this crap. I gotta do it, just to get well. No one cares about any of this. This is all my own thing. I can't believe it's already September. Soon, October. And then, who knows what. Probably jerks with calendars. No spoilers! Soon, the third paragraph. Can't wait. Did you ever notice that six upside down looks like a nine? Who comes up with this stuff? Indians invented zero, that much I know. In Rome, mathematicians were like, "What's less than one? You know, nothing?" and the other guy would be like, "What The Hell Are You Talking About?"
    Yip. My t-shirt has a pocket in it. What? Huh? Wha? Ha? You better start making sense, t-shirt, or it's into the garbage with you. I ain't got no time for creative t-shirts mucking up my shit. Or, shitting up my muck. Just leave my shit and my muck out of it. That's how that goes. I want a pepperoni sandwich. Start making bigger pepperonis, assholes. Now's the time and the time is now. Gotta write the second half of the entry, now. What have I done to deserve this? Oh, start the entry? Yeah, I guess that makes sense. You know what? I'm gonna write a three paragraph entry. No reason I can't. Here's a comic, and get outta here.

-9:31 A.M.