September 29, 2014
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
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.
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
September 27, 2014
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
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.
September 24, 2014
That Rings a
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.
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.
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
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
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.
September 8, 2014
More Than a
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.
September 7, 2014
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
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
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.
September 6, 2014
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?
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.
September 5, 2014
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.
September 4, 2014
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.
September 3, 2014
Title To The
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.
September 1, 2014
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!"
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
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.