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Wednesday, September 30, 2015

All You Need Is Eggs

    People wear weird shirts these days.  I guess it's a generational thing.  In my day, we wore regular shirts!  Not like this nonsense the kids are into these days.  Stupid taglines, they're all wearing stupid taglines.  That's twitter for ya.  Are middle school kids on Twitter now?  What the Hell could they have to say.  Doin' homework #homework.  Are parents like, No twitter until your homework is finished!  And the kid's like God, the whole point of twitter is procrastination!  You don't understand me and you never will!  So I guess that's a thing.  What else is going on.  Turns out my story is due next week.  Which is a relief because the story I ended up writing was pretty crappy crap.  It was about homeless people.  I might adapt that concept for the new story, but leave everything else behind.  It was mostly crap.  Will I finally write Homeless Girlfriend?  The odds are forever in my favor.  Anyway, yeesh.  My Dad got free bottled water from the supermarket.  I brought one with me to class.  #savinsomemoney.  #Wherearethejokes.  In the thirty or so cars from Springfield Blvd. to my house, no less than ten of them have the letters, "G" and "X" in the opening three letters.  Why.  I gotta crack that code one day.  Hey, Generation X.  I live on Generation X street.  Also, Galaxie is a car brand or something.  I learned it from music.  Startin' to put the pieces together.
What's so X about Generation X.  I don't get it.  Someone explain it to me.  It turns out who cares.  What else is going on.  Geckoplex.  That was a website in the late 90's.  A joke themed website.  The only thing I remember is a thing where you had to write epitaphs for fake people who died.  Like, they'd give a name, and probably something he did in life or how he died, I forget exactly, and you give a clever epitaph and people vote for the ones they like.  Possibly my first foray into online comedy.  Also, what else.  Too bad Bartolo Colon didn't come up through the Mets minor leagues.  Then, when he was called up from AAA, the headline could be, "Colon makes the Mets!"  Terrible.  Doesn't even barely make sense.  Colon makes a mess, that's what I was going for.  Too much clunking, I'm afraid.  Let's see, what else.  I gotta write Homeless Girlfriend.  I owe it to myself and to my fan(s). I remember in elementary school having an electronic portable fan.  I thought I was the bees knees.  I had it all figured out.
    Whatta story.  Gonna start a new month next entry.  Gotta plan out color schemes.  I like the elevated seats in the back of the bus.  Makes me feel good.  Real good.  Maybe they're vanity plates and everyone wants to keep up with the neighbors.  They start with a GX?  We're Gonna Start With a GX!  They ain't better than us!  It's a theory worth entertaining.  Probably.  Anyway.  I did the math, and this semester is the eighth class I've taken since my triumphant return to society.  Eight classes!  That's a lot.  I did the math.  Counting's math, right?  It's math in it's purest form.  Before there was calculus, before there was algebra, there was counting.  Sounds like a movie.  So, let's start with one.  What about zero?  Like, none?  He's a witch, burn him!  Some things take a while to catch on.  They didn't have witches in those days.  Witchdom hadn't been invented yet.  You gotta give it to them, though, Roman Numerals have stood the test of time.  Two thousand years later, people still can't get enough of 'em. 
    Where am I.  Who are you.  What's going on here.  Oh, fourth paragraph.  Right, right.  Maybe it's G-Ten.  That's a thing, right.  There's a song about it or something?  Ten grand.  Tell Burt Reynolds Ten Grand Isn't Money!  It's from a movie you morons.  And now it's relevant in license plates.  Turns out it was a hundred grand in the movie.  Jeez, the bad news keeps comin'.  Ten G's, that's the buy-in for the WSOP main event.  Also, whenever I try to think of what George Will looks like, which is pretty often, I picture Mike Sexton.  Which are both people I don't need to know exist at all.  I just picture Mike Sexton waxing politic on CNN.  And he'd keep making poker puns.  Donald Trump really went all in on this speech.  A second joke.  A third joke.  Anyway, great.  I named the park the homeless lived in in my story Cunningham Park, thinking, that's a pretty good name for a fake park.  Then on the bus home today we passed by the park I knew existed and I saw a sign that said, Cunningham Park.  Turns out I can't even make something up.  That sums up just about how bad I am at fiction.
    Anyway, this was a lost entry.  Still, though, it's an entry.  I thought I was making a Happy Days reference.  Man am I dumb.  What else.  Did I mention I don't like people's shirts these days anymore?  It's my main point of contention when it comes down to it.  I could probably make twentys of dollars starting my own T-Shirt company.  I'd have all the great catchphrases.  "This Is a T-Shirt," on the front.  "I Wouldn't Lie To You," on the back.  You'd have to be constantly spinning to make sure everyone gets it in its entirety, though.  A lot of them are just so aggressive, too.  It's like they're angry at me for reading their t-shirt.  This generation of children don't know how to process their feelings and it manifests itself in angry and aggressive t-shirts.  It's an epidemic that only the surgeon general himself could solve.  He's gotta do something besides telling me not to drink while pregnant.  I already knew that!  I know I'm not supposed to drink while pregnant, but can I be pregnant while I drink?  Put it on a t-shirt!  Jeez.  I watched some of my songs on YouTube a few days ago.  I don't like doing it, because it pads the Views with my views.  Which is dishonest.  Instead of six, it really should be zero.  I'm not trying to pull the wool over anyone's eyes, honest.  Of course, I Liked all my videos.  Gotta get the ball rolling.  And, half a year later?  Still at one like.  Hey, no news is good news.  They didn't revoke any of my likes, I take solace in that.
    Anyway, whatever.  I keep feelin' like starting a new Music, but it's hard.  Stupid kids with their t-shirts.  Everybody wants to be heard.  And the only way to express yourself is through t-shirts, I guess.  Hey, it's Fall.  That means soon it'll be good weather.  I like good weather.  I've mostly always considered Fall to be the better of the seasons.  The good news is Huh?  Did Daylight Savings happen yet?  I feel like I've missed it.  I guess it's in a month.  It's not so much a guess as it is a verified fact from Google.  "See Ya In a Month."  Another T-Shirt!  There's a market for nonsensical t-shirts that's being underutilized.  Maybe it's because the t-shirt got you pregnant.  I like that.  See, now I want that t-shirt.  Twentys of dollars, comin' up!  I keep going back and forth between capitalizing the "T" in t-shirt and not capitalizing it.  It's called an artistic license, you jerks.  You know, Like GX etc.?  I was gonna use the bathroom in class, but as I was about to get up, some girl got up and left the room.  I had to sit back down.  You can't have two people leaving the room at once, that's bad classroom etiquette.  What if we were gonna go behind the vending machine and start smooching?  Or if I followed her into the lady's bathroom saying, "You can run, but you can't hide!"  Lots of reasons to just wait five minutes.  I had to give a presenation on a Literary Journal, the kind of thing you submit stuff to.  I was the least prepared of anybody, but the teacher didn't make me feel like an asshole.  Probably gave me a lower grade, but was just like, alright, whose next?  Thumbs up.  I don't deserve to feel like an asshole just because I didn't take your assignment seriously.  And then lied about having done more research than I did. 
    Two strikes does not an asshole make.  It's baseball, you wouldn't understand.  The class has gotten me vaguely interested in potentially doing stuff with my writing, that's sort of his hook.  That's why I've been feelin' like music lately.  Music is writing.  And I get to rhyme.  Rhyming is a great thing, maybe the best thing.  I've written a few stories where I've had the narrator just go into rhyme for a paragraph, for no apparent reason.  It's fun.  Nobody else is doin' it, might as well stake out my territory.  Anyway, what else.  It's been over a decade since I first started muckin' around on the guitar.  And I've gotten to the point where I can play nine or ten chords.  Good chords, too.  Not like E flat, or anything.  Can we all agree E flat is probably the worst chord?  Anyway, what else.  I got a new flavor of Vodka, Black Cherry.  It goes well with Wild Cherry Diet Pepsi.  And entry writin'.  It's a brand I never gotten before, too.  From a new liquor store.  I believe it's called Cunningham Park & Liquor Store.
I believe this'll be the last paragraph.  Gotta have faith in something.  I could write a song tonight.  I could do it.  It's within the realm of possibility.  Unlike that realm of impossibility, I hate it so much.  Twelfth entry of the month.  Just like those nights in that Shakespeare deal.  We really gotta be measuring it by paragraphs, though.  That's how I feel.  And strike out to walk ratio.  Anyway.  Hey, I get to read other people's short stories!  That's always fun.  What are my peers up to, I don't know, this is my only exposure.  Givin' comments, that's no fun, though.  Gettin' comments is bad.  Let's just read and agree to give each other all two thumbs up.  I'm not here to judge.  Also, the story I wrote, that luckily I end up getting to redo, it sounds like a child wrote it.  I mean, the pacing is fine, there's a few jokes, but it's not descriptive at all.  There's no adjectives or anything.  That seems to be what all the stories we read are.  All sorts of adjectives.  I don't like it.  Anyway, see ya later.

-5:59 P.M.                                         


Monday, September 28, 2015

Batman Gets A Colonoscopy

    I have to write a short story for Wednesday.  Naturally, I'm here.  It's nature, you can't argue with it.  I can't come up with any good ideas.  Oh well, it'll sort itself out.  I'll come up with something great by writing this entry.  Batman talking about having kids: "There can't be a batboy, this isn't baseball."  Which is a joke I made here a couple of weeks ago.  See, already payin' off.  Anyway, what else is going on.  My first idea was Batman Goes to an Open Mic, but I think that probably violates the rule that it's not supposed to be about anything we do in class.  Also, the unwritten rule #4- no Batman.  I don't even know comics, I can't write about that.  What do I know.  Already wrote about drinking the last assignment.  I've done stories in previous classes about mental illness.  And, besides, this is supposed to be fiction.  Besides, Batman Stories would be better suited for the ten minute play I'm gonna have to write.  A dialogue between Batman and the Penguin.  What will they talk about?  We'll have to wait and see!  Let's see, stories, stories.  There was the time I fell down a well.  Shit, that was Batman.  The time I fought the Scarecrow?  Damn, that too.  Oh yeah, and it's supposed to be fiction.  Not supposed to be the time I did something.  I shouldn't even have a main character that's supposed to be me, winking at the camera.  I need a completely blank slate.  To fill things with.  To become a regular slate, one with crap on it.  The good news is I put it off to the last minute to write it.
    Let's see.  Stories.  Well, let's do the math.  Gotta have characters.  Gotta have a plot.  Some sort of conflict.  And all of this created and inhabited by words.  An idea I had was to rip off one of my Dad's stories that he had written as a kid and has told me several times throughout my youth.  But I can't do it.  Just can't do it.  Wouldn't be authentic.  To try to think of a story, I was thinkin' about what music I've been listening to recently.  I came up with Fountains of Wayne.  So I thought about writing a story about fountains.  And, then, well, you know the rest.  Batman.  Batman!  I did cross Utopia Parkway on the bus.  So that's relevant.  Batman shufflin' with his iPod.  Not much of a story there.  Not much of a story there yet.  No Batman stuff.  I don't even know comic books. Let's see, no class stuff, no violence, no a third thing.  Sex?  Probably.  No Sex?  What are you talkin' about, my life?  No, I'm talkin' about this fiction assignment, try to keep up.  He never said no drugs!  That completes the sex and violence trifecta!  I wrote about drinking last assignment.  Damn me and my ways!  I'm no good at fiction.  I know-- a story about trifectas.  Yeesh.  My world is too interesting to clunk it up with fiction.  I keep trying to Keyser Soze it, lookin' at what's around me.  So far, no luck.
    Will I think of a story by the end of this entry?  I'm puttin the odds at about 25-30%.  Let's see, story, story.  The Zoo!  Everyone loves the zoo.  And the characters could be creatures from the zoo!  Like lion and giraffe.  No, no.  That's retarded.  Also, no one likes the zoo.  Also, I just described the movie Madagascar.  Something goes wrong at the Mets playoff game.  And only lieutenant Frank Drebin can... wait, no, that's Naked Gun.  I should just hand in an abbreviated version of Naked Gun 33 and 1/3.  What would people think.  Anyway, let's move on.  Maybe a crime story.  Everyone loves crime.  Except for civilians.  I don't like crime, though.  Not at all.  What about The Shawshank Redemption.  Nobody's written that.  I make a deviation of that joke every other entry.   I know-- entries!  Okay, stop.  Back on track.  Real ideas.  Let's go.  Characters, characters.  What do I know, but wouldn't be non-fiction.  Jeez, who would have thought thinkin' of some words to put together would be so hard.  I know!  Confessions of a Class Clown.  It'd have to be just one confession though, this is a short story.  And it can't be true-- thems the rules.  Also, no!  That's a terrible idea!
    What's a good idea, though.  Let's get on that track.  Rock 'n Roll, Cola Wars.  Cola Wars!  Tab's tryin' to get back on the market, okay, hear me out.  Coke's doin' everything they can to stop them.  They don't want Tab muckin' around their business.  No, that wouldn't work.  Tab is owned by Coca Cola.  Let's see, what else.   How about a group of people who didn't start the fire.  No one would buy that.  Of course they started the fire.  If I keep writing bullshit, an idea will reveal itself to me.  That's the rules of writing.  Michael J. Fox and Christopher Lloyd talkin' about what Back II The Future II got wrong about 2015.  We'll put that in the maybe pile.  He did say we could use the last story we wrote revised.  I don't wanna read that to the class, though.  They don't need to know about my alcoholicism. We'll put that in the maybe pile.  It would really make this entry worthwhile if I come up with an idea.  Now I doubly need to come up with an idea.  To save this website.  I could do one of my Dad's stories.  It's kinda corny.  But it would be a good exercise.  And then I can show it to my Dad and have a real good father-son moment.  And then he'll tear it up and say THIS WAS NOT WHAT I INTENDED.
So we'll put that in the maybe pile.  Maybe.  It would be a good exercise.  I don't know.  I don't wanna do that.  Gotta do something, though.  I still have a paragraph to come up with somethin'.  And then I have more time.  It's due Wednesday.  I'm not even gonna notify Facebook of this entry.  If you're here, it's your bad luck.  Let's see.  Someting with cigarettes.  Everyone loves cigarettes.  A guy who walks down the street for three pages and gives people cigarettes.  And they're like, thanks! or good lookin' out!  And that happens for one to three pages.  There's no plot, sure.  There's no conflict.  There's barely a character.  But it's got cigarettes.  Also, it's not fiction.  The main character is me.  It all happened to me.  True story.  I'll keep thinkin.  See ya later.

-5:18 P.M.                                            


Sunday, September 27, 2015

Scary Titles to Tell in the Dark

    Hi!  It's the guy who I am is.  It's Sunday.  That happens all the time.  Roughly 1/7th of the time, at least.  I'm pretty sure I should know the assignment I have due Wednesday.  But I'm also pretty sure  never got any instructions.  It's a real dill of a pickle that I'm in.  The Mets won a baseball yesterday, ensuring they get to play more baseball.  Jeez these guys really love their baseball, you shoulda seen 'em.  I think after the Mets won, the Nationals, who were in extra innings, shoulda been like, well, that's it, let's go home.  Those chumps.  What else is going on in the wide world of sports.  I wanna get started on my assignment.  All I know is "Fiction (1-3 pages)."  If I knew that's the entire assignment, I could get started.  But there could be details.  There's always details.  Usually when there are details.  I mean, huh?  Wha?  Paragraph, right, right.  Too bad about Barnes & Nobles closing down.  Now where will I read sports statistics while I wait for my friends to realize Barnes & Nobles isn't fun.  Topical humor.  Because they closed down recent months ago.  And I read sports statistics recent twelve years ago.  Anyway, what else is going on.  Sunday.
    That paragraph didn't have one redeeming factor in it.  I feel like I've let down everyone.  All ya'll.  Anyway, let's move on.  It's been quite a year.  There was February, March... all the months.  That's how I feel.  I feel like I've been having to deal with people saying how time flies more and more.  Maybe that's a symptom of global warming.  It's the only theorem that makes sense probably.  Messin' with the seasons and whatnot.  If Frankie Valli was a cartoon from the 80's, each of his band members would be a season.  As God intended.  I think the first thing I was ever peer pressured into in my life was watching Power Rangers in Kindergarten.  Possibly the last thing, too.  I'm comfortable in my own skin and whatnot.  Let's bring scalping back.  It's been awhile.  The main thing I know about scalping is that white people started it, doing it to American Indians.  Then they started doing it, and it became associated with them.  Because white people are dumb and racist.  The more you know.  Whatta ya do with a scalp.  You can't put it on display in your living room.  You can't really just throw it out, after all you did to get it.  Sell it back to the scalpee at twice the price?  That's the smart way to do it. 
    Anyway, huh?  Thanksgiving sounds kind of passive aggressive.  That's how I feel.  I saw the last part of Exodus: The Movie last night.  Not one allusion to Matzoh.  Really dropped the ball on that one.  You don't see any commercials for matzoh around Passover time.  I guess the lesson is Jews don't listen to commercials.  They got bigger fish to fry.  Like Lox and stuff.  The parting of the red sea probably led to a bunch of fish dying.  At least they can take solace in the fact that it was for the greater good.  But that's probably why no fish are Jewish.  All leads back to that.  Anyway, let's get back on track.  The Mets won baseball, now what am I supposed to OCD obsess over in terms of, "Magic Numbers."  Spent a good hour each day over the past week runnin' the numbers in my head.  Because there's things wrong with me.  Every now and then one of my organs hurt.  Or I pull a muscle in the general area of one of my organs.  Oh well, what can you do.  It's weird how people can die at any age.  I could be dead by this time next year.  Isn't this time next year the same time as it is right now.  This time next year would just be a year ago.  Also, huh?  Wha?  It's call deconstructing bullshit, get with it.
    Great, great!  Great.  The good news is once you're dead, you're dead forever.  It's all over, for billions of years.  That's something to look forward to.  Anyway, great.  I don't get the original Child's Play trilogy.  They gotta be like, This kid keeps killing people.  Let's let him keep goin' from place to place.  Also, dolls can't be people.  That's not realistic at all.  And if they could, they should be restricted to the laws of physics.  Only move as much as your plastic joints allow.  Certainly no talking, you got no vocal chords.  You can't bleed.  You have no blood.  A fourth thing.  Anyway, what else.  The tagline for Three's Company should have been Comedy Comes In Threes!  Probably woulda been if it was released in the last five years.  Seems like that's direction T.V. has ended up.  Whenever I think of The Odd Couple I think of three people.  Three people would be an odd couple.  Because I don't understand English.  I also think of the T.V. show and movie.  That's the obvious association as far as I'm concerned.  I don't know why I'm proud of this bullshit.  Every time I get around the fourth paragraph, I'm like, II'm doin' a job well done.  Hero!  I don't know how I would react if I was reading this other than writing it.  I'd probably be like, This is great!  He's exploiting his mental illness for our enjoyment!  Aww, he thinks he's funny.
    Great!  I am.  I've been known to make a pun or two.  Better than nothin', that's my philosophy, pretty much.  I like how in baseball video games, they have manager mode.  Where you set the lineup and watch the game unfold.  It's for people who like all the fun of making pitching changes without the hassle of having any fun.  I'll never win manager of the year with that attitude.  Anyway, what else.  They gotta have a bunch of baseballs every game.  Gotta keep like 100 in stock, right?  At least.  These are the pressing issues.  I've been listening to a lot of archived Best Show on WFMU's.  It reminds me of living downtown in Spring 2008, gettin' high and drunk every night and listening to podcasts.  Otherwise known as My Golden Era.  The epitome of all I ever wanted to be.  And then it was taken away from me by the cruel, cruel summer.  Which was pretty good too.  Rearranging my bed.  Having a cork board for a month.  #Blessed.  I remember I used to keep my alarm clock on the bed with me.  Cant be bothered to put it on a night stand.  Also, in dorm, I don't think I had a night stand.  So it had to be in bed with me.  That's just logistics.
    Anyway, great.  I wonder what Michael's alarm clock situation was seven years ago.  Now you know!  Eventually I made the shift to using my phone as an alarm clock.  Which was also in bed with me.  These are the pressing issues.  The Mets lineup has one regular in it today.  And they're still winning eight to one.  This team is going places.  Why, they must have been in 28 or 30 different stadiums this year alone.  Probably less.  I think you don't play every other team in inter-league play.  But maybe more, I believe the Chicago Cubs have five different stadiums that they rotate through.  Inter-league play was a hotly contested issue in the late 90's.  Turns out fifteen years later nobody really gives a shit one way or the other.  The All Star Game deciding home field advantage for the World Series is still pretty stupid, though.  Mostly because the A.L. always wins.  This is funny, funny stuff.  Hah!  A.L.  Don't know what it stands for, but it sure sounds funny!  That reminds me, I want to watch UHF.  I was doing a crossword and the clue was, "The U in UHF."  Turns out UHF is a real thing that the title was based on, but I figured at the time it was just a clue about the movie UHF. 
    I forget what it is.  I want to say U'll Have Fun.  Also, the worst is when you don't know how to spell a word.  You know what it is, but you have to leave a letter or two blank.  Ya just don't know.  #Crosswordproblems.  Don't mean to brag, but you could usually find me doin' the Tuesdays.  Unlike you Monday mouth breathers.  I breathe with my mouth.  I breathe with my mouth all the time.  I take offense to that term.  I like the phrase The Best Offense Is a Good Defense.  Nope.  Pretty sure the best offense is a good offense.  The best defense, that would be the best defense.  You got it mixed up in your head and I'm here to straighten things out.  I hope Todd Zeile makes the post season roster.  The odds are against him, but you never know.  Checkin' ESPN, he actually had pretty great all time stats.  I always just thought of him as a serviceable player.  Anyway, what else.  Probably one more paragraph after this.  I'm in a groove of bullshit.  Right, right.  Gotta write a fiction short story.  I'm no good at fiction.  Don't know where to begin.  With something fictitious happening, yeah, I know.
    Alright, last paragraph.  I handed in a pretty big piece of bullshit in my English class last week.  It'll be interesting to see what kind of comments I get on it.  Probably just Quit The Bullshit.  That would sum it up nicely.  Maybe that assignment is what I'm supposed to use for this upcoming assignment.  Kinda hope not, though.  It's a pretty big piece of bullshit.  The New Daily Show starts next week.  Gotta see what that's gonna be all about.  Most likely a show that's daily.  Also, the Daily Show isn't daily.  Roughly only half of the days, I'd estimate.  And I'm pretty good at estimates, don't mean to brag.  Also, what else.  Stupid late afternoon.  I've gotten into a groove over the past weeks, the morning is good, the early afternoon is crap, I take my second Ritalin, good for a few hours, dinner, then more crap, culminating in the crap of trying to fall asleep for an hour or two.
    Okay, last paragraph.  Ferrealz this time.  Why.  I have nothing more to say.  But I'll think of something, don't you worry.  I don't wanna go from the relative okayness of writing entry into the crap of entry being done.  That's why, and crap.  If I ever write an autobiography, the title Whatta Crap ought to be a leading contender.  Considering how fond I am of titles, though, I'd have to think of something really, really great.  My Mom jokingly said recently I should write a book called Confessions of a Class Clown.  I haven't been a class clown in 23 years.  Well, 13 years.  I've clowned it up since then, but not really in class.  And Class Clown is sort of a derogatory term.  I wasn't a clown.  Don't call me a clown.  Also, no confessions.  What you see is what you get.  I think she just liked the alliteration.  If I write one more paragraph, that'll be ten paragraphs.  That's something worth aspiring towards.
    So, let's do it.  One more.  One more, then I'm ready for the crap that will take over.  Maybe Confessions of a Class Playa Ya Heard?.  That's a title I can work with.  I remember tying in fourth on a poll of the girls in my class rating cuteness of boys in the class, in middle school.  Possibly my greatest achievement to date.  What else is going on.  I haven't seen a movie in a while.  Maybe I should see Hotel Transylvania II.  I'm a fan of horror movies.  I generally like kids movies because they're mostly fluff, but it's kind of creepy going to one by yourself.  Just a little bit.  Although I did go see Lilo & Stitch by myself when I was eleven.  So there is precedence for this.  Back then, the thought of going to a movie by yourself was unfathomable.  Now when my number of friends has dwindled down to microscopic numbers, it's pretty much a necessity.  Oh well, you win some, you lose some.  That's fun.  That's fun, fun stuff.  What else is going on.  Nothin'.  Well, see you later.

-4:05 P.M.                                                         


Saturday, September 26, 2015

This Title Is Great

    No it isn't.  Stop lying.  Anyway, here's another entry.  It's about time.  Just like clocks.  Time is their main consistent theme.  What's going on in the wide world of Me.  It's the weekend.  Pretty sure that's exclusive to me.  Saturday, eh?  Great. What's going on.  I have to write a 1-3 page fiction for next week.  I don't think I have any specific instructions yet.  Except for I have to use Times New Roman.  What is this, the middle ages?  We got tons of fonts that I want to utilize.  Especially Courier New.  Otherwise known as the best font in the world ever.  That's how I feel.  And it's also a fact.  It covers both.  I'm fine with size 12, you got no argument from me there.  It's the standard, you don't mess with a standard.  I think in high school I used to do papers in Courier New, 12.5 font, 2.25 spacing.  I milked the crap out of it.  It's called being intelligent.  Also, put in everything you can think of in the header.  Name, date, class, everyone knows that.  Teacher.  ... Maybe I didn't have a special plan for that.  Pretty standard.  I would use dots instead of slashes for dates.  Like, today would be 9.26.15.  The epitome of class.  And always use the date the assignment's due, not when it's written.  That's the way to go as far as I'm concerned.  I guess that's what's going on in the wide world of Me.
    Second paragraph!  I did it!  Maybe even a space between paragraphs.  I don't think I picked up on that till I was in college.  Now everybody's doin' it, I don't wanna get left behind.  Anyway, yeah.  What else is going on.  Also, for some reason, since I've returned to school part time last spring, I just cannot motivate myself do to a works cited list.  It'll take five minutes, I won't lose 5 points off my grade.  But when I'm done, I'm like, I just wrote a paper.  Isn't that enough?  Just can't be bothered.  Maybe just put down the book and the author.  But in no specific order.  Anyway, what else is going on.  Mets magic number is one.  I'm liking their odds.  Now their goal is to win the post season.  Finally put that ten man lineup in order.  No one would see it coming.  And it's like Yogi Berra said, "The key to winning a baseball is the element of surprise."  That guy used to be a baseball player.  Read the news much?  Anyway, great, whatever.  I like how if a guy is 5'10, the commentators say he's short.  I was being factious.  I don't like it.  It makes me feel bad about myself.  It's terrible.  I wonder what the post season roster will be.  Probably twenty five players.  That's my best guess.  Nine players arranged into a batting order each game.  It's as exciting as it sounds.  The first batting order I was ever exposed to was the 93 or 94 Seattle Mariners.  Because of video game.  Joey Cora, A-Rod, Ken Griffey Jr., Edgar Martinez, Tino Martinez, Jay Buhner, then, I forget.  Probably some more Martinezes.  They tend to stick together is my experience with Martinezes.
    Joey Cora?  Alex Cora?  Could have been both or neither.  I'm leaning towards one, though.  Anyway, great, whatever.  I also learned from NHL 95 that the most fun part of hockey is the fist fights.  It was actually part of the game.  You'd go through thirty minutes passing and skating, then suddenly a fist fight breaks out and you're like finally, this just got interesting!  See, the key to fist fighting in Hockey, is to pull their jersey over their head and then beat them mercilessly.  And to make a movie called Sudden Death staring Jean Claude Van Damme.  The best two strategies.  Anyway, what else is going on.  And the best part of boxing is the hockey.  It doesn't come up often, but when it does, you're in for a treat. And the best part of Gladiator is lying down in some weeds.  It's all gladiators can think about.  Remember the good ol' days when we didn't have to fight to the death and can just lie down in some grass?  Oh, how we'd spent hours lying down in a field for no apparent reason.  That's sports for ya.  No one in Roman times ever just thought, Why don't we just kick a ball around?  That way nobody dies, and the crowd is still entertained.  Romans are notoriously illogical, though.  That's how I feel.  I mean, they were the big proponents of Times New Roman, I assume.  What crap.
    Great.  Liverpool sounds like a medical condition when you're an alcoholic.  Also, I was just talking about The Beatles.  Remember?  Fist fights?  Who came up with the name The Beatles.  And who dropped the ball on saying That's the stupidest band name I ever heard.  Turned out okay for them, though, I guess, that's what I heard.  Maybe they pulled a Spiderman I and Ed Sullivan came up with it.  They wanted to call themselves The Human Beetles and he un-clunked that one up.  Remember when John Lennon said, "We're bigger than JFK dying?"  I thought that was in poor taste.  He made some okay songs, though, all is forgiven.  If JFK was alive in the 90's he would have called Bill Clinton an amateur.  And then John Lennon would have said We're bigger than NAFTA.  Anyway, is this the fourth paragraph already?  It is!  How grand.  Al Gore gettin' called out on not inventing the internet.  If it wasn't for algorithms the internet wouldn't function.  Because puns.  Anyway, what else.  I like how I said Al Gore gettin' called out on not inventing the internet like it's current events.  That was fifteen years ago.  And I shouldn't even have to say he never said he invented the internet, but was key in gettin' it goin' in some way.  Which is true.  Politically, or something, is my guess.  It's fifteen years ago, I don't remember the details.  Also, let's start a new paragraph!       
    What's goin' on.  Fifth paragraph, that's what.  I can't wait for October.  Wake me up when September ends.  I'm not proud of that riff.  Not at all.  Pretty sure it doesn't even qualify as a riff.  Qualifies as filler, though.  Whatever little filler it is.  I heard the Pope was in New York.  I believe it was called Papacy Takes Manhattan.  Not proud of that, either.  It's the fifth paragraph, c'mon.  And don't count on a works cited list.  I don't know the MLA style!  Or Chicago Style!  Which I assume is deep dish citation.  I was tellin' my Mom about how I want to go to some museums.  Which is true.  I didn't say about how I wanted to get high beforehand, though.  That would be a good day.  Except for bein' high.  I can't handle that.  Also, museums.  Who needs 'em.  In elementary school, you're all like We're Taking a Class Trip! (YAY!)  We're Going To a Museum! (EH!)  Anyway, what else.  Also, how did the kids in School of Rock know where Jack Black lives.  And how did they get out of the class room.  And why did the bus driver take them to Jack Black.  Lots of holes in that two minutes.  Anyway, what else.  They should have had a scene at the end where the original, regular teacher the class had, goes up to Jack Black and says, I really appreciate all you did in my absence.  It woulda been a big moment of redemption.  Don't know why they didn't include it.  Now, let's get back to Gold Stars and Demerits.  It would take some time for the kids to get back into the groove, but that's life.
    Also, you're always hearing about Permanent Records in movies and T.V. shows.  What the Hell is a permanent record.  I never had that.  We had report cards that go into the ether each time there's a new report card.  No colleges are looking at your elementary school statistics.  It's a completely false premise.  And I don't like it!  Except for how it's filler.  Gotta love filler.  Also, what movies and T.V. shows am I watching.  I meant in the past.  Anyway.  What else is going on.  Hit most of my kke talking points.  Seattle Mariners 1994 lineup.  Algorithms.  Permanent records.  Cecil Fielder was a DH.  Oh, the irony!  It's relevant because it crossed my mind recently.  That's how relevance works.  Anyway.  You gotta have some balls to name your child Prince.  Except for the Artist Formally Known as Prince's father.  He got it right.  Also, I think he's known as Prince again.  He's the artist formally known as the artist formally known as prince.  Filler!  Look at all those words!  What else is going on.  I drop lit ashes on myself all the time.  I'm not proud of it but there it is.  Feel the burn!  Anyway, what else is going on.
    Let's do one more paragraph.  Because great.  What else is going on.  It's the last paragraph.  I got that going for me.  Have class on Monday.  Like a chump.  We're having a guest speaker.  To tell us about crap, I presume.  I'm in a group and we have to arrange our own reading series.  Like chumps.  Someone else volunteered to do that scouting/booking part, though, which is good, like a chump.  I still have to write a ten page play, though.  The only two plays I've ever done, since out of elementary school, was this one about Jesus talking to the devil or something in Speech and Debate in high school, and a play about a guy and his dog in an acting class in Queens College.  Those are my two reference points for what a short play could be.  Also, the abbreviated version of Julius Caesar.  Which is just Caesar getting stabbed for ten minutes.  No dialogue or anything to clunk it up.  Just action!  Great.  See ya later.  

-3:39 P.M.                                                    


Tuesday, September 22, 2015

Title In The Title With Titles

    I guess I've used all the good titles.  Now it's onto bigger and better things.  Bigger and better things, in this case, being worse titles.  Anyway, eight day vacation!  It's about time.  I was scrolling through my Facebook history, and it's literally just two hundred happy-go-lucky notifications about new entries.  I sound like a crazy person.  I'm just being a positive adman!  But it could come off pretty crazy if you read it that way.  Anyway, great, whatever.  What's going on in the wide world of sports.  Why doesn't he know no one cares.  It's called keeping a positive attitude you chumps.  I'm HIV positive attitude.  Which I believe is what you get when invading a hornet's nest.  Nests are hives.  If they were hives it would be a hornet hive.  Which has alliteration, so you know it's a good phrase.  Braggin' to my therapist about how I'm getting decent at crosswords.  Oh, I like those word searches, where you circle the words in a jumble of letters.  Oh, great, I didn't realize I'm being therapizised by a four year old.  Oh, I love those mazes on the placemats of iHops.  I guess that's her qualifications for therapy.  Helpin' people get out of mazes.  And finding little bits of sense in the nonsense we patients spew.  I've come full circle on this.  I'm still against it.
    Anyway, second paragraph.  Too bad there wasn't an early scene in The Shining which establishes Danny is good at mazes.  Then, when it comes up at the end, he's like, my time to shine.  Pun.  It's a pun.  Notify the presses or something.  It would have been interesting if Jack Nicholson's character's first book, before The Shining takes place, was just All Work and No Play over and over.  Then when his wife reads his new work, she'd be like, Hmm, coming along nicely.  Really stepped up his game for this one.  Also, Danny has no qualifications for being a doctor.  Not unlike my therapist.  I love adding and subtracting.  Can I subtract myself from this therapy session?  That's where my head's at.  Jeez.  What else is going on.  The Mets' real magic number is at seven now.  Look whose stupid now.  I saw it coming way back in the last entry.  Fuckin' everything up though with this mismanaging of the pitching staff.  It's just adding unneeded stress to the team.  Just have a five man staff with regular starts.  If you want to give someone a rest, use a sixth guy.  Why use a six man rotation if you're still gonna skip starts and have abbreviated starts.  Take it from me-- I'm a baseball genius.  Remember, it was me who came up with the revolutionary idea that defensive indifference is dumb. 
    Remember, it was me who started a new paragraph and stopped spouting baseball nonsense.  Cause it is me, right now.  Anyway, jeez.  Also, don't aim to hit the ball into the ground.  What did the ground ever do to you.  And play outfielders outside the walls.  I've got a lot of ideas, it turns out.  Or at least have them start out on the top of the wall.  Let's move on.  There's no rule that says a dog can't play.  And Moneyball G.M. based on frequency of foul balls.  Undervalued part of the game.  Anyway, what else is going on.  We're halfway through the entry.  I didn't see that coming in a thousand years.  This entry just turned into a Best Of stupid baseball jokes.  Let's turn it back into something worthwhile!  Whose with me!  I'm the only one here!  Gotta remain positive!  Exclamation marks are the epitome of a positive attitude.  Also, use a ten man lineup.  No rule that says you can't.  Jeez.  Gotta think of another topic.  What's going on in the wide world not including sports.  I need a new Metrocard.  These are the real issues.  How come half the busses I see are not in service.  What's the deal with busses!  I walked by a school bus with the door open, and the only one inside of it was the driver with a cringing expression on his face with his head in his hands.  Finally-- strung out drivers for our children!  It's about time.  They've been getting a free ride for too long.  Pund'it. 
Anyway, great.  My brother turns thirty in two weeks.  That blows my mind.  I remember him being eight.  Now he's thirty.  Worlds apart.  Hearts broken in two, two, two.  And all that jazz.  But really, c'mon.  We're full blown adults now.  That's not supposed to happen.  We were kids!  I thought that was always gonna be the case.  Or at least I would have a nice transition from adolescence into adulthood.  I just woke up one day and I was in my mid twenties.  And then I'll wake up one day and be thirty.  And then I'll wake up one day and be dead.  Stupid life.  Anyway, what else.  I think I'm still a kid as long as I don't have a job.  That's probably the practical cutoff point when you think about it.  I can't have a job.  I'd have to use up a bathroom break every twenty minutes.  They'd dock my pay for that sort of shenanigans.  And there's a bunch of jobs you just have to stand there.  Or sit there.  And just do things constantly.  No breaks.  I can't do that.  Physiologically I can't.  Like working at a gas station.  They don't even have bathrooms.  I've had the thought more than once recently, Why can't I just pee on the sidewalk.  I'll wait for when no one's around.  I need to go, c'mon, stupid laws and orders.  They'll fine anything these days.
Anyway, whatever.  Maybe I should have a catheter.  It's the only solution when it comes down to it.  I think that's the real cut-off into adulthood for me.  When I start using a catheter.  Anyway, what else is going on.  I turn 27 in a few months.  I believe that's when I'm arbitration eligible.  Anyway.  I feel like gettin' started with a new music project.  Can't come up with any lyrics, though.  Guitar's the easy part, just some bullshit chords and bullshit riffs.  I bet if I sat down to write some lyrics I probably could.  I'm just used to bullshitting lyrics on the spot, though.  And three bullshits to a song?  Too much!  You can get away with one bullshit, two if you're lucky. Three bullshits, not many can pull that off.  That's how I feel.  Also, I've used up and reused up all the ten or so standard drum loops on my 8 track.  You wouldn't want me using the same drum loops, would ya.  Would ya?  Oh, you don't care.  That's a relief.  Where am I.  Entry.  Right, right.  Music, that's what I was talking about.  I like it!  That's my take on music.  Anyway, what else.  I like how several albums I had from when I was a teenager, for whatever reason, I had the songs in the wrong order.  And now when I listen to them how they were meant to be, I'm like, my order was better.  What's this crap.
    Alright.  I even had a The Shins album, in the wrong order, with the titles jumbled.  I kinda remember thinking, hey, they use the title from the other song in this song.  Didn't really register with me at the time.  My future therapist would love this.  I assume she enjoys all kinds of puzzles.  Anyway.  What else is going on.  I mean, I always bullshitted lyrics.  But now, having bullshitted solid C- lyrics, I'm in my head about it.  Try too hard.  Or not enough.  One of those.  Or the right amount.  And something else is the problem.  One thing's for sure though-- nobody cares.  What else is going on.  The Metropolitans are playing tonight.  That's always entertaining if they win.  That's how I feel.  Now I can't get the closing track of The Shins album out of my head.  My closing track.  The better closing track.  Yeesh.  What else is going on.  That's what I get for downloading illegally.  Messed up track order.  Enough to deter any music criminal.  Smooth or not.  I also had a bunch of bands with no track order, just songs.  Which I think could be a positive.  AC/DC, Led Zeppelin.  You just get into the songs individually.  As God intended.  I should fast for Yom Kippur.  Just to play it safe.  But what if another religions right.  Then they might penalize me for fasting.  Decisions, decisions.  Christians would probably get it.  We used to be Jews, too.  That's great, just great.
Okay, last paragraph.  What else is going on.  Sundown is pretty much right after I would be done with dinner.  But I got leftover Chinese food.  I can't fast tomorrow.  It would be fiscally irresponsible.  Surely Jewish God would understand that.  On account of stereotypes and such.  Are you allowed to give birth on Yom Kippur.  Seems like that would be in violation of not supposed to being in labor.  Pund'it.  The kid would have to spend his birthday apologizing to God his whole life.  That doesn't seem fair.  I have to finish this entry.  That doesn't seem fair.  I wrote most of it, can't one of you pick up the slack.  Yom Kippur is esentially making God Santa Claus.  He's gonna decide whose naughty or nice.  And another thing, I need to finish this entry!  There should be a sketch about an adult who truly believes in Santa Claus.  It could have jokes and everything.  Anyway, see ya later.

-5:58 P.M.                                            


Wednesday, September 16, 2015

Title Or Title

    It's a real brain buster, that one.  Anyway, what's up.  Got done with my class for this week.  Like a champ.  Bought 32 White Castle hamburgers at the Keyfood.  Which isn't food made out of Allan Keyes' family.  Soylent food is green!  Pretty sure that was their tagline.  I wanna get really good at acoustic guitar.  I don't know how to accomplish this.  I can't just practice.  With thousands of hours of practice, I'm somehow worse than I was with only twenty hours of practice.  Because Soylent People and crap.  I just wanna record myself playing acousic chords and tryin' riffs and stuff over it.  I don't know why I came to this website to talk about that instead of going to my guitar and 8 track and doing it.  Probably because of Fear of Failure.  Which, c'mon, isn't really a fear as much as it is a guarantee.  My iPod stopped getting radio connection.  I can only listen to 11/12ths of that Alkaline Trio album.  Soylent Soylent.  I thought a girl in my class was wearing an Airborne Toxic Event shirt.  Turns out just the Toxic part.  You mean I Wasted valuable half a second of my time thinking you were a music fan?  She's the right age group for that band, and crap.  The good news is shirt.  What am I doing here.  Wrote the second half of my homework on the bus.  Time just flew by.  Which really kinda irked me, I love the bus, I want it to last as long as possible.  But that's the assignment, and whatnot and whatcrap.
    Great, just great.  Pushes the last entry down one!  Making that joke actually triggered a real memory of that honestly being a prime goal in writing old crazysheet.com.  One more in the bank!  Whatta archive I'm developing!  I hope it'll be available on archive.org one day which is a website I don't know what is yet!  The point is I'm a pioneer.  Also, I'm a real champ at taking the bus home now.  I got it all figured out.  I watched some of Requiem For a Dream last night.  And then, today, for the first time since I started taking it, except for one other time, I ended up taking two doses of Ritalin right after another.  Like in the quick montage of the lady taking the pill, putting it in her hand, poppin' it.  I was like jeez, talk about power of suggestion.  Then I suggested we talk about power.  Still took the regular daily dose, though, overall.  because I'm a champ.  I can be trusted with controlled substances.  Champ.  I have two possible lunches that accumulated when I didn't have lunch the last couple of days.  So I guess I have to combine them for dinner tonight.  Baked Clams and a slice of Sicilian pizza.  I don't make the rules, but I don't break the rules. 
    Champ.  And then tomorrow for dinner I can have White Castle with scrambled eggs.  Because who cares and whatnot.  What else is going on.  When you're used to eating omelets, boy, are scrambled eggs a welcome break from the norm.  This isn't connected?  It's like a puzzle that I put together in my stomach!  What fun!  Also, of course I know how digestion works you idiot.  I wrote the book on digestion.  It was called Digestion: Fact or Fiction.  Readers Digest.  Pssh.  So do non readers.  You ain't special.  The Mets magic number is seven.  I know technically it's ten, but I just feel seven is even more magical.  That's a joke that went nowhere.  And stayed there.  Anyway, what else is going on.  Half an entry in the books.  That's great.  And then on Friday I can have a steak and an iced coffee.  Whatta odd pairing!  Let's read more.  Soylent Jokes are worthless!  Why are there no trash receptacles on busses.  I need to get rid of some trash.  I did the reading assignment before class.  Hero.  I had a dream I was taking this class, but there was ten times more work involved, and I was doing a lot of work, but not A+ work.  Also, apparently I was snoring in my sleep last night.  I don't usually do that.  Someone would have told me.  I did used to sleep with my eyes open.  Gotta be hyper vigilant  if any shit goes down, that was my philosophy.  It must be tough for people with no eyelids to sleep.  Also, to blink.  Seems like it would be damn near impossible.  Just put a sheet over their eyes, I guess that's a good strategy.  People with no eyelids need strategy.
    Anyway, great, whatever.  I don't like Van Gogh cutting off his ear.  He's leaving that side of his face vulnerable!  Now there's just an open hole in his head just beggin' to be jammed with something.  Also, really, did you think that would work to impress your loved one?  They get freaked out by that sort of shit, believe me.  I heard they can grow human ears on rats.  Why would rats need a human ear.  Makes no sense to me.  No sense!  Soylent Sense!  I guess Saturday it's Rat With Human Ear and Soylent Green.  What part of the human goes into Soylent Green?  I mean, I know the most delicious part.  But I don't know what that is.  Also, I never saw that movie!  What else is going on.  I guess I can try to fuck shit up acoustically when the entry is over.  That would be good.  I got the names of the people in my English class group.  Let the Facebook stalking commence!  Just kiddin'.  Leave something to the imagination, right?  Right.  I was right!  Like a champ.  We're gonna have to do a presentations on plays, or something.  The title will be: Plays: A Total Waste of Our Time.  Nobody needs 'em.  The Mets magic number is now eight.  Gotta ride the wave.  Magic is constantly in flux, I think this is something we can all understand. 
    Great.  Great!  I can save the pizza for tomorrow lunch.  And have Baked Clams and White Castle.  That's an idea worth entertaining.  One would imagine.  Mets are playing Yankees this week.  That classic rivalry.  When you reach a certain age, you realize, though, can't we all just get along.  Rodney King's catchphrase, I guess.  Except it's not a desperate plea to get along.  It's more of a, C'mon, guys.  C'mon.  I don't hate the Yankees anymore.  We're all human.  I hope so.  I don't want any non-human parts in my Soylent Green.  Yuch.  I imagine the Soylent Green Is People! to be a horrifying declaration, the most impact part of the movie.  But, in real life, I'd be like, Whaaaa?  Huh?  But, wait... Huh?  They've been eating... wait, hold on.  Huh?  Wha?  Soylent Green is... Wha?  It'd take my two minutes to fully process it.  And by the time I have a grasp on it, I'd already be like, Well, that's not so bad.  We should eat people.  There's no reason not to.  Anyway, wonderful.  See ya later.

-5:01 P.M.                               


Tuesday, September 15, 2015

It's An Entry

    It's me!  Just like all those other times.  Anyway, what's going on.  School tomorrow.  You know what that means! School tomorrow.  Pretty self explanatory, I think.  The good news is Hello.  What's going on.  Here's a story I was reminded of over the weekend.  My Dad being processed for jury duty, about a drug case.  Is there any reason you would be unfit for this trial.  I don't like drugs.  We all don't like drugs.  I really don't like drugs.  Woulda been better suited in the middle of the entry.  Upfront, it's not as great.  Oh well, I blew it.  What else is going on.  I got an iced coffee today.  Like a champ!  The cashier told me to tie my shoes.  You handle your business, I'll handle mine.  I mean, it's one thing to tell me my shoe's untied.  I know it is, great, fine, whatever.  You tellin' me what to do about it?  Where do you get off.  People these days, am I right.  Right about what, you didn't say anything.  Where do you get off, fine, great, whatever.  Also, what else is going on.  My doctor took my weight today, and I had my eyes closed because I didn't want to know what it was.  But I could hear the vibrations of the scale.  I could hear the vibrations!  Damn my sensory skills. Let's get to some yukk-yukks.
    Anyway, whatever.  Fear the Walking Dead. Don't tell me what to do.  If I want to fear them, I'll fear them.  I can make up my own mind.  Everyone's up in my business, I don't like it.  Uppin' the dose of Ritalin.  It's about time.  Been cutting down on my drinking a bit.  That's good news.  Probably.  I've been led to believe that, at least.  The Mets can't stop winning.  Where do they get off.  Probably at the stadium.  That's where most ball games are.  Why do sports teams have their own channel.  Is it because they want money.  That's my best guess.  Anyway.  I just decided this entry is funny because it's not funny.  My self defense mechanisms are firing at all cylinders!  Which is an expression for logical reasons, I presume.  What else is going on.  Probably something.  Something's gotta be going on.  Mathematically, and crap.  I don't know.  If nothing else, this entry pushes the last entry down one.  That's a win any way you look at it.  For homework, I gotta write a story in a place I wouldn't normally write.  My first instinct was fuck that, but I might as well, get into the spirit of the thing.  The place will be the bus.  The time?  Tomorrow.  The place?  The bus.
    The paragraph?  The third.  I recently watched the trailer for Air Bud.  They should have called Nonstop Air Bud.  Because of all the friends Liam Neeson made on the plane.  There's no rules that say a dog can't play.  What about that he isn't in your school?  Unless you pull a UNC and have a curriculum scheduled around taking shits outside and eating dog food.  That should be the curriculum for autism kids.  You know, for laughs.  Eating dog food was my second dog reference.  Feel like I coulda done better.  I'm just not in it today.  Oh well, you win some, you lose some.  That's what I've been led to believe.  Anyway, what else.  I dreamt a new name for a band.  Now all I need is a band.  And talent.  And drive.  Probably some other stuff too that I'm forgetting.  Also, don't particularly like the name.  Lots of things working against this endeavor.  Anyway, huh?  What else is going on.  Also had a dream I had a catheter.  Don't know what that's about.  But it's probably relevant in one way or another.  Dreams are nature's candy.  That, and candy.  Natural candy.
    Okay.  Okay.  It's not fair how they call taking steroids, "Juicing."  Juice doesn't need any more bad press.  It's already good for you.  Who wants that.  On the cover of A Clockwork Orange books, there should be a picture of John Boehner.  That's my topical humor.  You got a problem with that?  I would hope not, it's not particularly problem-some.  Except for me.  Low quality.  That reflects poorly on me, the writer.  My book would be called A Clockwork Bullshit.  That's about right.  Anyway.  This has been a real sledge entry.  That reflects poorly on me.  It's a good thing no one cares.  Also, I killed valuable time.  Negative valuable time.  The kind of time that needs killing.  There's only so many podcasts a guy can listen to before he goes mad.  Probably.  That would be my educated guess.  Based on experience.  That I'm experiencing.  Right now.  Current experience.  Yeesh.  Mets are kicking ass and taking names.  Don't know why kicking ass is associated with taking names.  You don't need the name of the receivers of ass kickings.  I don't think so, at least.
    Yeesh.  What crap.  Reminds me of the first incarnation of crazysheet.  Even worse.  Whatever.  That's my philosophy.  Apparently the Black Keys got into a fight with The White Stripes.  And by The Black Keys, I am not referring to Alan Keyes' family.  White Stripes vs. Black Keys.  That's an incarnation of a joke I made here a year ago.  In other words, nature's candy.  I mean, I'm a hero.  I mean, Clockwork Bullshit.  Next is The Strokes vs. Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers.  You heard it here first.  The Get Up Kids vs. System of a Down.  Anyway.  What else is going on.  I have lunch in my near future.  That's a positive.  I'm running out of alcohol.  That's a negative.  I'm running out of entry.  That's a positive.  There was just a plumber in my house.  That's a negative.  Yeesh.  Anyway.  I haven't worn contact lenses in months.  I don't have any.  That explains why.  I think there's a poker site where you can play real money in New York.  I gotta look into that.  I can be making fives of dollars.  Also those sites usually have plush freerolls.  I remember in high school, there was one poker site which not a lot of people knew about, and they had 10,000$ freerolls for about a month, totally free, which maybe 100 people signed up for.  I won at least a thousand dollars from exploiting that.  The point is, the entry's over.  See ya later.

-12:37 P.M.                                    


Thursday, September 10, 2015

Five Letter Word for Title

    Hey what's going on.  I knocked the shit out of some hint fictions.  Where's my parade.  What, is twenty five words not enough to warrant a parade?  These days we live in, man.  Anyway, what's going on.  Also knocked the shit out of getting into a good assigned group in class, which we will meet in regularly.  Me and four girls.  Attractive ones.  Looks like I'm the cock of the henhouse.  I almost feel like teacher did me a favor when arranging these groups.  That's where my mind goes.  I can only wonder what he wants in exchange.  I guess that'll reveal itself when the time comes.  In the meantime, what you wanna make some eye contact while talking about words?  I'm all over that.  Also, four words into each girl's analysis, I'm like Shut up you moron I got somethin' to say.  I've always heard girls respond to confidence, so I'm pretty sure that's the kind of thing they're talking about.  Then I had to wait for the bus with a bunch of high school kids.  School was just letting out.  And, it sucks, being in a pack of high school kids, with some teachers or crossing guard aides or whatever around, I basically have to go through 90 seconds where, for all intents and purposes, I am a fifteen years old.
    Busses are weird.  Anyway.  Also, it turns out today's youth has no respect for red lights.  They feel like crossing the street, they're gonna be crossing the street.  I can only imagine to impress girls.  I spent half an hour just looking at my credit card yesterday.  The bird where it changes colors depending on the angle of the light source.  Captivating.  So anyway I got a charge out of that.  Sad old man talking to me at the bus stop on the way to school.  Busses take too long to get here.  Someone's gonna get hurt in this rain.  Wah wah wah.  Listen, Forrest Gump, unless you start telling me some interesting stories, or giving me some sort of chocolate, I don't wanna hear it!  Anyway.  I lost my pen halfway through class, though.  How'd that happen.  Had to borrow a mechanical pencil from one of the girls.  All part of the plan.  Now that I have something of hers, she needs to call me to give it back, and then, before you know it, sex.  Except for the fact that I gave the pencil back at the end of the class.  And she doesn't have my number.  I blew it!  At least I got to write in pencil for half an hour.  That's a win anyway you look at it.  I wonder what ever happened to that pen.
    Went to White Castle?  Could have.  I watched a few episodes of Twin Peaks last night.  That's some funny crapshit.  The good news is six day weekend!  Anyway, what else.  I got on the wrong bus for a few stops.  I'm not proud of it, but there it is.  It was the right bus number, but it went a different way.  Different color sign.  Different strokes for different folks.  What else is there.  Had to analyze a hint fiction about an alcoholic as the group.  This guy's a hero!  Relatable to everyone!  Why are people always on his back!  He's not hurting anyone!
  The story is implying he did hurt his family.  What do stories know?!  That's how I feel about things.  I can't go on that rant.  I could, but I won't.  What I will do is finish this entry.  In time.  Bartyolo pitching for the Mets tonight.  Its funny because he's overweight.  Look at him go!  Has anyone ever had a heart attack on the mound?  Seems like he'd be a leading candidate for that snippet in the record books.  Also, it turns out I'm overweight.  But I don't throw 100 pitches every five days.  Eighty, sure, maybe.  100?  My arm won't allow it.
    I bet if I really tried, I could throw thirty five miles an hour.  If I really dug in.  And almost make it to the plate.  I think the reason I was so unsuccessful at little league was not just that I couldn't locate the balls to hit them well, but that the bat was too heavy for me.  I'd need to start swinging while the ball is still in the pitcher's hand.  Don't mean to brag, though, but I got my fair share of foul balls.  Foul balls.  That's a funny term.  Someone should make a pun out of it, that's how I feel.  Someone should write five paragraphs every 100th day.  Really give it some time to refine and retool.  There's no one at my house now.  I wonder why.  My Dad's supposed to be teaching, my Mom is missing in action.  Which is weird, because she's always here.  I guess it's Time To Throw A House Party!  Alright, you invite all the houses you know, and I'll look up the definition of, "Party."  We'll have this shindig going on in no time.  What if that was the definition of party.  Party (noun); Shindig.  What if.  What if.
    Anyway, last paragraph time!  Hopefully everyone's okay.  My house just got a phone call, and the message they left was a busy signal.  I've gotta get to the bottom of this.  Or, just sit around and type words.  Everyone loves words.  Press redial, that busy signal sounded important!  Great, just great.  In all honesty, Bartyolo has a 25 scoreless inning streak, it would be sweet to see that continue.  And I genuinely like him because apparently he's imparted all sorts of pitching wisdom to the younger Met pitchers.  In other words, he's a hero.  Also, Colon.  It's funny!  Also, I found out where my parents were.  My Dad took my Mom to a doctor, and then they went to vote.  I assumed my Dad was teaching, on account of me having a Monday schedule, I assumed he did, too.  If I didn't know that, I woulda guessed correctly what happened.  Except for the voting.  That threw me for a loop.  I had no idea there was an election going on.  It's not like someone came to my door to talk to me about it.
    Wait, wha, huh, but you said, huh, wha, hey, wha, huh.  I wonder what the world record is for websites inducing a stroke.  I'd browse through a Guinness Book of World Wide Web Records.  Un-ironically, even.  The Net really dropped the ball naming their movie The Net.  It's a dated term.  Internet, World Wide of Webs, Online Place.  All would have been better titles.  I'm crazysheet.net.  And my third incarnation, when I'm in my mid thirties, is gonna be crazysheet.org.  When I've got a couple of kids, crazysheet.us.  Then, when I'm an old man, crazysheet.biz.  It's the natural cycle of crazysheets.  Almost beautiful, in it's way.  Maybe before I die, I'll finagle a way to have crazysheet.crazysheet.  And, maybe, the next paragraph will be worth reading.  It's within the realm of possibility.  Anyway, what else is going on.  Main Street compared to Kissena.  It's a whole other world.  Half a mile away.  There's a cemetery across the street.  And another one on the way there.  I'm assuming neither of them are haunted.
    Haunted by the Q88, though, at least.  It's like those bus tours they have in Hollywood, for famous people's houses, except we just go around to different cemeteries.  And take pictures of gravestones with funny names.  You know; respect the dead.  Anyway, what else is going on.  People payin' thousands of dollars for quality coffins.  Just give the grave digger a twenty and toss him in in a plastic bag.  He'll be none the wiser.  And the grave digger scores a twenty, everybody wins.  Also, I want to be stacked in a coffin with all my friends and relatives.  What's the group rate for one cemetery plot?  Have some fun and stuff.  Anyway, what else.  This is like the seventh paragraph or some shit.  Whatta hero am I.  I'd be even more of a hero with eight paragraphs.  You know my weak spot-- wanting to be a hero!  Guess I gotta do it, then.  Call of duty, and whatnot.  My teacher got us started on a hint fiction story, where the first line is seeing a pink elephant.  Without thinking, I just started a monologue about how I know that reference and how that in and of itself makes it a great story.  Because I'm a jackass.
    Probably due to this website, I'm prone to make any story just some guy talking.  I gotta get out of my comfort zone, though, I guess.  Stick to comedic undertones, though.  I wanna write stuff I would want to read, that's my philosophy.  Hell, let's go with some comedic overtones.  The more obvious the better.  That's how I feel about things.  Anyway, what else.  I wonder where my blue pen is now.  Probably still in the classroom, somewhere.  Around where my seat was.  I don't know why I feel the responsibility to engage with crazy people at the bus stop.  Since he kept talking, I just took my earphones off so I can respond to him with a modicum of respect.  I don't wanna keep taking it out and putting it back in.  Just accept that, "This'll be my life for five more minutes," and let the bullshit in. 
    Anyway, last paragraph time, probably, for real, this time.  If you've got such a problem with the bus, here's the sidewalk, you can walk!  I won't have anyone bad mouthing the MTA to me, I won't stand for it.  This bus is taking forever.  Damnit, he got inside my head!  That's how that goes.  What else is going on how it goes.  I can't wait to switch up the background/font color again.  I'm countin' the days.  It's twenty something, right.  Anyway, great.  I just saw a pink elephant.  Then, suddenly, Nuclear Bomb!  Cross that off my homework list.  Also, I have one class this semester.  That is the entirety of my homework list.  That, and try to figure out how to re-compensate teacher for such a plush group assignment.  I understood the pink elephant reference, are we even now?  Only time will tell.  What else.  I'm either gonna watch a lot of H.D. television this week, or none.  It could go either way.  Probably a lot.  That's my best guess.  See ya later.

-6:04 P.M.                                                                    


Monday, September 7, 2015

I'll Be The Judge of That

    Someone's gotta do it.  Might as well be me.  Anyway, greetings.  It's a Monday.  I wouldn't lie to you.  I would have no motive.  Anyway, what's going on.  School on Wednesday.  That's roughly two days away.  Still gotta write a 25 word story.  How many nuclear bombs going off can I fit into one story.  "Bomb!  Bomb!  Bomb!  Then Another Bomb!  What Next?  You Guessed It!  Another Bomb!  Jeez, I Still Got A Few More Words To Write, Oh, Okay."  I can't do that.  It needs to be on something specific.  Specifically not bomb-related.  And the title is, "You Guessed It."  Save that story for later, for my anthology.  Which I'm pretty sure is a word and being used in the correct context.  I'm getting back in the normal rhythm of watching T.V.  For most shows.  Some shows are still, "Jeez, you're just talking, then waiting to talk again, then talking again."  Good shows, though, seem to hold their own.  What else is going on.  The power of suggestion is even more pronounced in H.D.  See the yellow of eggs in Kevin Spacey's breakfast.  Suddenly, Mom goes, "You want some eggs?"  See an Apple logo.  Let's eat some apples.  Coca-Cola vending machine.  Maybe we should go into the vending machine business.  You know, crap like that.
Anyway, great.  What else is going on.  One thing my Mom doesn't seem to understand is that just because the screen is bigger, it doesn't mean she has to listen to it at twice the volume.  I'm trying to get some sleep here!  It's fuckin' 7:30 o' Clock!  That's a pretty good time.  Gotta remember for a future story.  Somethin' happening at 7:30 P.M.  Put that down in my writer's notebook.  Also, get a writer's notebook.  Doesn't matter which one.  Stephen King, Michael Crichton.  It's all good.  Stephen King seems to insert himself into 90% of his stories.  There's always a writer.  Get some new material!  Stephen King has gotten a free pass for far too long.  Also, it's possible Michael Crichton thought he was a velociraptor, but that's unconfirmed.  Anyway, what else.  Today is Hot 97 day.  That's great, just great.  Someone bein' born on Labor Day.  The mother's like, "Yeah, great, this is a pun."  I like that lady.  She's got her head on straight.
    What else.  Still got three more paragraphs to go.  That should be tons of fun.  I had to explain the term, "Breaking the fourth wall," to my mother.  She was an English major, she should know this stuff.  Also, it turns out, I'm a genius.  I know tons of things.  You ever notice how every computer on T.V. is an Apple?  It's cause they pay for the product placement.  Now, let's go eat some apples.  That was a misfire, naming their corporation the same name as a delicious fruit.  If I had to choose between the two apples, the fruit wins every time.  I don't like fruit.  This whole thing is a lie.  I wanna see a laptop with a picture of Bill Gates on it.  Just once, Microsoft, pony up the dough.  If I was born twenty years earlier, I would have a standard joke, "Microsoft?  They must be talking about my penis!"  And then say it on my zine every few months.  I can't have a website in 1993.  Also, what's a zine.  My favorite use of technology is the machine they have in some amusement parks where it's like a car, that simulates the ups and downs and curves of a roller coaster, but you get to design it yourself.  It combines my two favorite things.  Creativity and riding in things.
    That's okay.  It's the next paragraph.  What else is going on.  My least favorite technology is when Skynet destroys the world.  Not a fan.  I kinda like the world.  Anyway.  What else is going on.  Is it ironic that the writer gets hobbled in Misery and Stephen King later ended up in a wheelchair?  Probably not.  People really get heated up over defining what irony is.  I don't want to attract that kind of negative attention.  Let's just say it's a coincidence and leave it at that.  Stephen King should have written a book called, "Jurassic Park III: Now It's My Turn."   And the main character is a triceratops in a wheelchair.  I don't get To Kill a Mockingbird.  There's no explanation of how to kill mockingbirds in it, just a total waste of my time.  I feel like I've seen someone make that joke before.  If not that, something very similar.  But, if not that, then, I thought of it!  I'm a genius!  I pretty much always confuse To Kill a Mockingbird with a Raisin in the Sun.  In that I don't remember anything about either of them.  Hmm, I can go for some Sun Raisins.  Fooled again.
Alright.  Great.  The prequel should have been called, "To Kill a Mockingbird: The Phantom Menace."  Because it's stupid and I'm stupid.  That's why.  Anyway, what else is going on.  I like how the first thing I learned on Piano was the Star Wars theme, and I had never even seen any of the Star Wars.  That's interesting and crap.  Bordering on interesting, at least.  And most definitely crap.  As a complete novice at piano, you never hit the black keys.  They sound different.  I ain't fallin' for that crap.  Maybe that was just me.  It seems like it would be a universal experience.  Also, my birthday is wrapped up in the piano experience.  12 notes, 88 keys.  12/12/88.  Turns out I'm a gift from the piano gods.  Hey, you wanna hear the Star Wars theme?  No?  Well... are you sure?  It sounds pretty nifty.  C'mon, just listen, it'll only take a second."  I think the second thing I learned on piano was Lean On Me, because there was a girl who was always encouraging me with my musical pursuits in college, and she taught me how to play that.  Now, well, I must know a dozen melodies.
    That's not interesting.  Still crap, though.  But I will make it up to you with extra paragraphs.  Or, punish you with extra paragraphs.  Depends on your point of view.  Other outtakes from my 1993 stand up, "Computers?  There's a flash in the pan.  And don't get me started on a second reference!"  Anyway, what else.  What else.  I'm wasting valuable T.V. watching time.  I've come a complete 180 on the whole thing.  And I was sittin' around doing crosswords like a chump.  I can watch people say things!  And each line is never the same.  They always say something new.  That's captivating television.  I'm watching the Mets game on ESPN gamecast.  I have a T.V. right behind me.  Dammit, another situation where I could benefit from Exorcist head.  Exorcist head.  Sounds pretty unpleasant.  I can't turn my head 120 degrees like a chump.  Either all or nothing, that's my philosophy.  Also, watching it online is like watching a video game.  Everyone loves watching video games. 
    Anyway, let's go with the last paragraph.  What else is going on.  Gotta do something.  I like how pretty much every baseball game now, there's a call overturned.  That means, before they introduced this challenge feature, they were getting roughly a call wrong every game.  And you call yourself an umpire.  Maybe sometimes they get the call wrong just to be challenged.  They love the attention.  Holdin' up a John 3:16 sign while the play is under review.  Anyway, what else.  I gotta watch some more House of Cards to see what to get for dinner.  That's my life now.  See ya later.

-3:20 P.M.                                          


Sunday, September 6, 2015

I'm Walkin' Here!

    At least I used to be.  Now I'm sitting here.  Gotta do something.  Anyway, hey, it's the weekend.  Three day weekend!  Unlike all those worthless two day weekends I've sat through.  Whatta waste of my time.  Anyway.  My parents got an H.D. T.V.  It's terrible.  Now that I can see clearer, it turns out T.V. is just a bunch of jerks acting.  I can see that anywhere, don't waste my time.  And I really believed you were Bosch.  Whatta scam.  The lesson is, I guess, watching T.V. should not be the prime use of your time.  Maybe secondary, tertiary.  It's terrible, is what it is.  Anyway, Hi!  Today is ? & The Mysterians day.  All hail "?" And if there's time, "&."  I don't think I ever learned how to write a "&."  They never taught me that in elementary school.  What's the deal.  You in the pocket of big, "And?"  Whatta waste of my time.  I gotta calm down.  It's Arbor Day weekend.  What would our fore-arbors say if they saw me actin' a fool on today of all days.  We need to remember what's important in this country.  Arbor.  And you can take that to the bank.  I'm tryin' out some new catchphrases.  Gotta do something.  Anyway, where was I.  And where will I be.  And if there's time, where am I now. 
    Great, just great.  Stupid phantom smells.  When I just took my walk to get alcohol, figured I'd get Halal food for dinner.  Three blocks away, I got the smell.  Mmm, that's gonna be good!  I get there, and the cart is nowhere to be found.  Phantom smells?  Get out of my life.  All riled up today.  I need to lose myself in fiction!  I need my fix!  I get no pleasure out of watching a bunch of jerks saying words in a preordained way.  Might as well get a life of my own, if that's what it comes down to.  I wanted to ask the cashier at the Liquor Store, You got any Halal food on you?  That's a lie-- I was acting.  See, nobody likes it.  Anyway, the young lady running for councilwoman or whatever came to our door last night, and I answered without a shirt on.  She fought through her initial impulse to faint out of attraction, and we made some small talk.  She's pretty good looking for a candidate.  I keep telling you, I don't vote for women.  Then, my Dad has a nurse come every month for some blood transfusion or something, and we had a new nurse today who was also attractive.  All these attractive ladies and H.D. T.V, that's the story of my life.  What a world, what a world.
    Anyway, great.  Also, it turns out actors are no more attractive than the rest of us.  That's disappointing.  And, just now, some state legislator came to our door to campaign for the first lady.  Didn't see if she was attractive, though.  So I am not informed well enough to vote for her.  Especially because I'm pretty sure she's not running.  Anyway, there's more to life than female politicians and ugly actors.  There's Halal food too, if you're lucky.  Which I am not.  What are you taking Sundays off for.  You ain't foolin' anyone.  I love walking by elderly people on my walk.  Ya snooze, ya lose.  I'm gonna get where I'm going in a fraction of the time these geezers are taking.  An extremely close fraction, sure.  But a fraction nonetheless.  Anyway, what else is going on.  At least I can still watch T.V. the old fashioned way-- on the computer.  No H.D. nonsense for me.  I really like convulsing on my way to throwing up.  I can really feel it in the taint area.  Gotta do something.
    And you can take that to the bank.  Not sure why you'd want to.  It isn't legal currency, nor can it be exchanged for any monetary value.  But, sure, knock yourself out.  I guess it's only cartoons from here on out.  At least I know those animations aren't acting.  Unless if cartoons have become sentient.  Then, God Save Us All.  Anyway, yeesh.  So, I dropped that second class.  I'm busy doin' stuff and crap!  There's a line in Mr. Show that says, "There's a reason for the phrase, 'As dumb as an actor."  I never truly understood that until this past weekend.  Anyway.  I'm dumb, where do I get off calling other people dumb.  On my website!  Oh, right.  Carry on, then, me.  I've been listening to live bootlegs of concerts the last couple of nights.  It's a nice to way lull myself to sleep.  I know that... song, what's ne... xt...  Sleepin' like a baby.
Alright, great.  What else is there to say.  I've been doin' some crosswords lately.  I'm gettin' okay at it.  I know all sorts of words, don't mean to brag.  Probably at least thirty or forty.  Matt Harvey in the news over innings limits.  If they decide to shut him down after 180, like they might, I'm hopin' for a headline that says, "A Complete 180!"  Because of degrees and stuff.  Anyway, another entry in the books, or so it seems.  That's great.  A solid D+, if I do say so myself.  And I do.  I did.  It's done.  I don't like thinking I'm as good looking as an actor (... if I was thinner).  Then I'd have to become an actor.  And I don't want to be an actor!  Jerk, sure.  But jerking it up while saying written dialogue?  Where's the appeal in that?  Then you just look like a jerk2.  Anyway.  E=MFUCKOFF2.  It's an angry Einstein.  I don't know if we'll ever really know what E=MC2 stands for.  Just one of those mysteries to plague mankind for ages.  Anyway, this was a fun one.  See ya later.

-6:59 P.M.                               


Wednesday, September 2, 2015

Hey Whatever and Crap

    Hi!  In-between classes now.  Like a pimp.  Gonna give the second class another chance.  That's how I do.  Anyway, what's going on in the wide world of sports.  Is it luge season yet.  I feel like I've been waiting forever.  Yeesh.  Gotta do something.  I can use a good nap right about now.  I'm not doing anyone any good by being awake.  Got to make some yukk-yukks in creative writing today.  By writing creatively.  Woudathunkit.  Eating a fish sandwich from Nathan's.  I wonder if there's any fish in it.  It's okay to eat fish.  They don't have any feelings.  I like to imagine Kurt Cobain, homeless underneath the bridge, eating a Filet-o-Fish.  It seems wrong, on account of it's highly commercialized nature, it doesn't fit in with his mythos.  But if, in real life, you're living under a bridge, you're gonna be eating some McDonalds.  You better believe it.  When are they gonna start a chain-restaurant called, "Bridges," where the only structure is a bridge.  And you eat under it.  And Jeff Bridges is there.  Just for good measure.  Probably soon.  Is it soon?  I'd say soon.  Whatta idiot.  My spiral notebook is only one section.  I can't take a second class under these circumstances.  That's the reasonable conclusion to make.  Anyway.  Gotta write a 25 word story for next week.  I can manage that.  It's just words.  It's all just words.  Well, mostly.  Sometimes there's grammar and rhetoric, whatever those things mean.  Who knows.  I'm exhausted.  I'll be dropping this class like it was ecstasy!  Words, don't fail me now!  Where am I.  Monday of next week off.  I wanna say it's... Arbor Day?  Earth Day?  July 4th?  One of those things.  Anyway.  Why isn't the government subsidizing certain McDonalds to teach a man to fish.  Give a man a fish, he'll filet for just one day.  Teach a man to fish filet, he goes happily on his way.  I want the next 15 seconds KFC ad to just be Norm MacDonald saying, "Fish?  Do we do that?  I don't think so."  Give me money for commercializing you assholes.  Give a man an asshole, he'll crap for just one day.  No he won't.  That doesn't make sense.  Where am I?
    I am home now.  I was talking to someone between classes and she said she was a physician's apprentice.  And me, half listening, suddenly perked up, thinking she said she was a magician's apprentice.  That's the kind of background of potential friendships I can get enthusiastic about.  Probably gonna drop the class.  Even though I was friendly with some classmates.  Not worth it.  New Jersey backwards is Yes Rej Wen.  I like to imagine Scott Auckerman saying it to Reggie Watts.  Yes Reg, When?  What are they up to.  My second class teacher called me on the roster as, "Michael Korn."  I'm oughtta here!  I don't need to take any of this bullshit!  Anyway, whatever.  School is old news.  I've been home for a solid half hour.  Talkin' to the hot girl from the second class right outside of campus, smokin' cigarettes, before class.  It made me realize how little I actually have to say.  I told her stories about remember how fresh cigarettes were the first time you smoked them? and yeah, I go back and forth between Camel and Menthol.  And thought about adding, if you catch my drift.  And then would have thought about further adding, Tokyo Drift.  And then maybe adding, RIP Paul Walker, you were one of the good ones.  And then adding, I wonder if Tokyo is in Japan.
And that's why I'll never have sex.  Isn't it ironic that his name is Paul Walker and he is in movies about cars?  And died in a car accident?  He should have stuck to walking.  Well, then there's The Walking Dead.  Always gotta take that into consideration.  What the Hell.  What the Hell am I doing.  Where am I.  What am I.  Oh well, onward and upward, as they say.  I love having to tell people I went to Stuyvesant.  What high school did you go to.  Oh, I went to
Stuy-ves-ant, maybe you've heard of it?  Imagine it in the tone that Larry David uses when he's talking about the guy who cured polio's mother bragging to her friends.  Cool, I went to Townsend Harris.  WHAT YOU THINK YOU'RE BETTER THAN ME?  Anyway.  That happens a lot.  I got escalators, bitch.  You got escalators in your school?  I DIDN'T THINK SO.  Anyway.  What else is going on.  Halfway through the entry.  This one's a keeper.  I don't think I registered one word in the entire second class after him calling me Michael Korn.  I didn't do the reading and just drew in my notebook.  In the middle of the notebook-- I folded one page in half for division purposes.  I gotta be some sort of genius or something I guess.        
Anyway, great.  We had to write a six word story, hand it to the person next to us, and they read it aloud.  Since I had time, I wrote about four, and ended up telling the person to count/read the second one.  Wasn't that great.  Should have stuck with the first one-- "Remember Me, From Before?  You Don't?"  I wasn't sure we could use the first person.  Or third.  Or whatever one that is.  Gotta go with my first instinct, that's what I take away from that story.  Don't play it safe-- reach for the stars!  Shoot for the moon!  Stare at the sun!  It's okay, it won't hurt you!  Anyway, whatever, what else is going on.  Gotta make final decision about the second class by midnight-- the witching hour.  Why did I say that.  Where am I.  Who knows.  Gotta make the rest of the entry count, though.  That's for sure.  No second guessing.  All remembering me.  From before. 
    Great, great.  Fifth paragraph?  I can do that.  I've done it plenty of times.  Why should this time be different.  It's Rosh Hashanah soon.  Hashanah being some sort of fraternity I imagine.  Anyway, what else.  Gotta week off.  About time.  Half of the hint fictions I read, where they can only be twenty or thirty words, half of them end with a nuclear bomb.  Writers love it.  Jack was eating a plum.  Then he saw the mushroom cloud.  At least three or four of the twenty stories I read.  Titles really come into play, though, because they give you a context that often isn't in the story at all.  I can dig that.  Titles are great, we should be depending on them more as a culture.  Our greatest untapped resource.  Anyway, what else.  Whatta day.  It was all kinds of hours and stuff.  See ya later.

-7:51 P.M.         


Tuesday, September 1, 2015

Please Don't Hurt Me

    Hi!  Saturday!  I know that day.  Don't mean to brag, but I've got the days of the week more or less down pat.  What else is going on.  Today is Saturday.  Already covered it.  Right, right.  How often do women shit when giving birth.  Often?  Very often?  All the time?  That would be my guess.  These are the important issues.  What else is going on.  It's the weekend.  I never woulda guessed. <><><>  Hi!  Monday!  Anyway.  I'm in school now.  Yeesh.  My first class seems okay.  But I'm gonna have to do some creative writing.  Like a chump.  He even said, "Journaling is not writing."  What the Hell have I been doing the last... my entire  post pubescent life.  You just made a very powerful enemy, my friend.  Is he your enemy or your friend.  He's... wha... shut up!  I like the building it's in though, it's a converted middle school.  I can dig that.  He may have meant journaling with no apparent obvious.  Intended audience.  Sorry wasn't paying attention.  I'm taking two classes today.  Like a chump!  That's how that goes.  Sometimes I feel like turning my head around like The Exorcist.  Pretty sure that's a Yoga move.  Gotta do something.  Think of all the stuff I'm missing by always facing forward.  That's only roughly 60% of what's going on, counting peripheral vision.  Her head turns around at breakneck speed.  Which is an expression for some reason.  I shaved like a hero.  And haven't drank since hours ago.  Like a hero/chump.  All people can be measured on the hero/chump scale.  That's how I feel.
    Chimpanzees aren't monkeys.  They're apes you idiot.  I told my class about falling down the stairs.  Oh well, blemishes and all, and so on and what crap.  This pizza just tastes crappy!  Oh well.  Gotta eat something.  I don't think they're monkeys.  Who knows for sure.  Probably chimp experts.  Those chumps.  I gotta collapse.  I really spread myself thin with this crap.  There should be napping stations somewhere.  I need a napping station!  Where's my napping station.  What else is going on.  I have to go to readings.  Make my own reading, or something.  If I knew I would have to do work in school I never would have signed up.  I have to use the bathroom.  I'm saving it, though, for half an hour before class.  I need something to look forward to.  Sure as hell can't look behind me.  Stupid head on straight.  What'd it ever do for me. <><><>  Tuesday now.  Might be dropping my second class.  The day is too long!  I can't be doing college full time for two days a week.  What am I, some sort of super man.  Hardly.  Changed the background/type font format at again.  If there's one thing I learned in life it's that websites come and go, but backgrounds never change.  Except for when you change them.  Which I do every month.
    Anyway, what else is going on.  The teacher of my second class described himself as a white Jew from the upper east side.  Oh, so you're Phillip Seymour Hoffman in The 25th Hour. Down to a T.  You're gonna sexually assault one of us.  I can't be having that.  I need to stay in the class in case there's a call for a hero to intervene and save the day.  And by save the day, I mean step in for the original victim to get sexually assaulted instead.  Hey, when you need to be a hero, you be a hero.  Sexual Assault Victim and all.  Also, there's no school today.  Why am I talking about school.  School, schmuel.  Which I believe is what they call school in Hebrew.  I wonder what side of the road they drive on in Israel.  Whichever side the landmine isn't on.  Oh okay I get it.  In Hebrew places, they drive backwards.  You know, to be consistent with their language and crap.  People going to the Dead Sea to float.  Hey, if I wanted to float, I'd lie down on some land.  We've got land here I can float on.  Maybe the water Jesus walked across was the Dead Sea.  That makes a bunch of sense. 
    A little too much sense.  Wha... huh... Anyway.  Then a guy follows him and also walks on water, and he's like, Hey, I'm Jesus too!  One negative about Jesus is he has no sense of humor.  I haven't known him to make one joke in his entire life.  Of course, I know nothing about him or anything.  Anyway, where was I.  Unless if the whole thing was a practical joke.  Then, I admire his commitment to the bit.  It's September.  The sewer themed month.  I never woulda guessed.  Why did I capitalize "sexual assault victim."  It's not like a title you can put on your résumé or anything.  Probably not.  Chump experts.  Those chimps.  During the Iraq war, they should have called
résumés, "Freedom Dossiers."  I mean, "Freedom Reports."  I mean, "Freedom Qualifications."  There we go.  Report isn't French, this ain't no Colbert show.  Probably not.  Anyway, where was I.  I've got a napping station five feet away.  That's the life, ain't it. 
    Okay, last paragraph.  Gotta decide by tomorrow night whether to stick with the second class or not.  I'm probably gonna go to the class tomorrow to better inform my decision.  And if I don't, that's a pretty good sign to drop the class.  Falling down the stairs.  That's the funniest thing in the world to me.  I don't know why.  Anyway, what else.  I walked by two girls I had in previous classes yesterday.  First one didn't see me, or avoided eye contact.  Second one saw me, but I didn't see her.  I mean, I eventually did, but I didn't process I knew her until after the fact.  That's a solid 50% on whether girls make eye contact with me.  I'll take those odds any day of the week.  Well, most of them, anyway.  Class in converted middle school.
  The steps on these stairs are so close together!  I'm having a blast!  Finally, a stairway for me.  Then when I was smoking a cigarette just off campus between classes, there was a guy with an eye patch smoking a cigarette.  He made eye contact with me.  No plural.  Unless he was using his third eye, well, second eye, to connect to me on a metaphysical level.  Which I roughly assume is what third eyes are all about.  I don't know, I only took one Yoga class.  We don't get to that until Yoga 404.
    Anyway, last paragraph.  This time, for real.  I don't know if he had an eye behind that patch.  What am I, some sort of genius?  Anyway.  I can't decide which I dislike less, Bud Light or Coors Light.  It's truly a lesser of two evils scenario.  The main thing I learned from Yoga was that, if I really wanted to, I could probably suck my own dick.  Haven't put it into practice yet.  Not literally, at least.  Journaling isn't writing.  It's writing in it's purest form!  The easiest!  We all know writers are lazy mofos, this is the way to go, as far as I'm concerned.  Gonna have to write a short story for the first half of class, and a short play for the second half.  The short story can't have sex, violence, or talking about the class itself.  Because it's too easy/obvious.  What about suicide?  That was my first thought of what to write about.  That's violence, though, I guess.  I also thought about writing a story where a guy goes to Heaven and God is a dinosaur.  That's violent and sexual.  What kind of dinosaur.  I think I settled on Stegosaurus.  They rarely get their fair shake.  What if it's about me raping someone in the class.  I feel dirty just for writing that.  It's disgusting, is what it is.  What bullshit. 
    Anyway, one more last paragraph.  Can't leave you on rape.  That's why I should stick with the second class, just to make sure it never gets to that point.  It's time for a hero.  Also, the main reason I would stay with the second class is that there's a hot girl who I made some positive discussion-interaction with and she smiled at me.  Girl smiling at me?  Wha... huh... Do it again.  Anyway, what else.  Where am I.  Right, right.  What if it's about, I don't know, a guy who plays ping pong with his head.  And makes it all the way to the ping pong championships with his unorthodox style.  What if it's about, hmm, a guy who runs out of potato chips.  And what kind of drama that would induce.  What if it's about a guy who... shit.  I'm no good at fiction.  The majority of fiction I've written for classes before have all been just based on crap that happened to me.  I can't do that again.  It's not in the spirit of the thing.  Ten minute play, that's even worse.  Has A Midsummer's Night Dream been done?  Yeah, I think Shakespeare wrote it.  Well, then I'm out of ideas.  Wait a minute... Othello!  Shakespeare.  Crap.
    What an idiot.  One more paragraph.  What about an I Know What You Did Last Summer.  Don't think anyone's written that.  The entire movie was improvised, it seems.  What kind of fool writes a play.  Write a movie you dolt.  That way you can see from the entire scope, through multiple cameras.  I'm only seeing 60% of what's going on when watching a play.  I'm no chump, that's no good.  Anyway, what else.  I got a new spiral notebook.  That puts me firmly into Hero territory.  I shoulda checked my syllabus when getting books from the bookstore.  Instead, I got to the section my class was in, and was like, yeah, that seems about right.  I had to hand in my book bag ahead of time, and I think I briefly thought, I should check the syllabus now, but, what can ya do, no work ethic.  Anyway, see ya later.

-4:09 P.M.