Cotton Swabs Are Great For American Gladiators That Are Really Small

And so endeth another fabulously uneventful Sunday, just as it was meant to be. As it was, is and ever shall be. I again accomplished nothing. I suppose I did laundry. I suppose. One could consider that accomplishing something. I consider it more as merely rubbing in my face all that I could have accomplished, as it is really the easiest task in the world.

1. Put clothes in big metal box.
2. Sit.
3. Move clothes from one metal box to another metal box.
4. Sit.
5. Move clothes from metal box to original location.
6. Sit.
7. Sit.
8. Sit.

While initially eight steps may seem like a lot, if you go back and read the list carefully, five of those steps are simply sitting. Other than laundry I simply watched TV, only not really. Officially, I haven't watched TV in a long time, though I have done almost every variation of it without ever technically doing it. I've watched TV shows on DVD, movies, and recorded shows on my friends TiVo, but never actually watched TV. Screens are nice. They may be blunderous for the eyes, penis, and, hell, whatever the fuck else body part you feel the need of incorporating into this conversation, but for the Sunday-plauged mind, they are a God-sent. Matt Groening put it best when he said "TV is the best because when you're tired, it does the playing for you." Exactly. I've been watching a rather large amount of movies lately. There's really nothing else to do, nor is there anything else I feel like doing. Sunday's are designed for not doing shit, I realized, and thus I have to live up to it's non-potential or else it'll get an identity crisis. If all of a sudden something gets accomplished on a Sunday, it will no longer know who it is and all will be lost, and frankly, I can't afford the medication to keep it stable right now. Besides, I'm plenty happy with the situation. Fuck doing shit. I ain't about doing shit. Shit is for fuckers. Yeah, that's right. All ya'll who's about shit is fuckers. What. And I've got tons to do too. Tons and tons. Papers and tests and other steamy bullshit for me to gnash my rily teeth upon. But do I gnash? Not just yet. For it is Sunday. Though the bullshit will be far easier to sift through if I whip out the shovel now, I'm too lazy to look for the metaphorical garage key. I need this day to do nothing so I can look back tomorrow and all next week and relive in my mind the nothing that I did. It might make me pissed off at my past self for leaving my future self out in the cold like that, but fuck it. My present self is feeling fine. And all that shit I gots to do is no biggee either; I'll just pull lots of all-nighters. I have no problem with getting very little sleep; I go on break in a bit anyway. Alls I have to do is plow through these next two weeks and I'm home-free, when every day can be a Sunday. It's not a long break, but it's a break.

I'm a last minute type anyway. Most of the stuff I have to work on these next two weeks is stuff I was supposedly working on all quarter, so, in a sense, I've been not accomplishing anything, ever. Now it's crunch time, and not the good one where chocolate is involved. No, this is the crunch where you're trying to bust your way through a really big jawbreaker that doesn't taste very good. You have to get through it, but it's really not terribly satisfying when you do. But that's cool. I fully intend to stay up real late real often. Whenever I stay up all night, I realize just how many hours there are in a day. Holy shit, 24? You're shitting me! How come all I do is eat and masturbate then? Damn. Of course, after a few days, I also realize just why human beings need sleep. After a while I feel like I ought to go live in a cave and scrawl my musings on the wall in my own blood; blogging for the criminally insane. I feel an urge to grow a big ugly beard with ticks crawling in it and only eat one food item for the rest of my days (I'd have to choose very carefully though). I feel like connecting with alien life forms. I feel like saying what's on my mind, then realizing once it comes out that my mind is completely shot and that these thoughts must have come to me through some other bodily conduit. Basically I start to develop into the crazy hobo you see on the train who seems kind of interesting, so long as you don't come anywhere near him and have a stuffy nose. And that's usually when it's time to crash, because I don't think I'd look good with a beard.

I wish I didn't have to do this crap, but Sunday is my wondeful safe haven of not having to think about it and instead vegging out with hot dogs and Ren and Stimpy. There is an intense amount of pleasure in hibernating the body; you just have to learn to appreciate it. Lack of sensation is one of the best sensations there is, if done right.

And I do it oh so right.

Your Son Just Had Intercourse With Baggy Breasts

Howdy, all? How are we doing today? I am doing alright.

Ok, that's enough of that.

Universality is an interesting concept in certain cases. It's a well-known fact that all human beings breathe. All human beings need food and water to survive. These are obvious. So much so that I'm considering going back and erasing this entire post for being stupid. But, no, I'm going somewhere with this. I'm going to venture to say that all guys do the shake thing after they piss. I know I do it, and I've seen it done in movies and talked about it with friends. But is this universal concept intrinsic to human behavior? Did we pick this up naturally? I don't recall being taught this little ritual. No father I know hauls their son into the bathroom when they're five for a father-son bonding moment in which the father explains to his son the art of shaking excess urine from one's penis. Did we pick it up because everyone else was doing it? If so, who was the first person to come up with this? If someone were born on a desert island and never saw another human being and was not familiar with the shake phenomenon, would they shake? I suppose that's not the best hypothetical, as I know full well if I never saw another human being I would piss anywhere I could all the time and not give a shit if there was some collateral damage, but (hopefully) that's just me.

There are other examples of universals as well, all conveniently involving the penis to some capacity. When I was young I was frightened that someone would find out I hump my pillow and think I'm a freak of nature. Now I know there is a good portion of men who did the same thing whilst young and exploratory. My little mind is retroactivly put at ease knowing everyone likes ejaculating. Who'da thunk it, huh? I was talking to my freind about involuntary night-masturbation, you know, when you're dreaming and you're half asleep and the compulsion to play downstairs pinball just hits you like a ton of sexually attractive bricks. For me, it's always a tad odd to do so when the roommate's asleep, but I'm half-asleep and can't really help myself. There are also awkward times in which I'll start and go at it for an hour or so and give up because I'm tired. I feel like both the stereotypical male and female counterpart in this situation: Half of me is frustrated that I didn't come, and the other half is still horny as fuck but can't quite cross the finish line. On top of that, I have this friggin' hard horny hinderance getting in my way when I try to turn over. At this point masturbation becomes less about pleasure and more about trying to get this pissy little boner bastard to go away. I was discussing this phenomenon with a female freind, so I assumed this was a pretty universal concept if it crossed the cock-cunt embargo. But when brought up around other freinds, they were confused and thought the whole thing was bizarre and couldn't comprehend. So how do I interpret this? Is this a universal that hasn't happened to them yet? Is it partially universal? Is it not universal and am I just a freak with enough horn-juice to create a new 7-Up spin-off? I know morning wood seems to be a pretty universal occurance, so why wouldn't chopping this wood also be a universal occurance? I don't know.

Part of this whole thing is me trying to justify the wierd shit I do by saying "Oh, everyone does it." This may or may not be true, but it certainly makes me feel better whenever that head of lettuce starts looking pretty sexy. It's a natural tendency to try to justify your actions, even if it's silly ultimately to search for validation. I guess so long as nobody eats a salad anytime soon it doesn't really matter whether what I do is justified or not.

Ok. Goodbye.

That Put Me In The Mood For Cookies And Gay Sex

Warning: You may not like me after this post. But at least you can't claim you haven't been warned.

So everybody's getting all deep on Blogger, huh? Everybody's using this as an outlet for their "feelings" and "emotions"... What happened to the good old days when we all realized blogging is for dipshits? The days in which we'd read other people's blogs who wrote this kind of shit and posted about how much they suck? Back before we had our little "community" and no one really gave that much of a shit what people thought about when they posted because they knew no one was going to read it anyway. Back when I could not post for (gasp) five days and not get messages wondering if I'm still alive. Back when I was lonely and sad, but chose not to write about it because that shit's dumb and even if no one's reading it, no one one would want to. It's fucking weird as hell for me to know people actually read this now. I feel like now I have some standard to live up to when a write a post, as though evey single one has to be a masterpiece and it's a competition of which post can get the most comments. A part of me (that I don't like very much) checks my e-mail 30 times a day in hopes that someone posted a comment on one of my posts. I'd get really excited when I'd see people respond. But now I feel as though if I don't post something brilliant, someone's gonna get on my ass about it. I started this blog because I was bored. It gave me an outlet to post dumb shit when I had time to do so. Now I feel as though I have to post something every day or so or else a lynch mob will encircle me with an e-noose and demand I bitch about something else. I don't often have things I feel like I want to write about. Yeah, it pisses me off when people don't post for a while, but I'd much rather save up and write something really good than write some bullshit en masse. And now to stick with the trend I feel like I should post something about some life-affirming experience or some heartfelt Hallmark shit... Fuck that. Yeah, I got feelings. I think this kind of shit is important, the exorcising of demons and letting people know they're important to you and all that hooplah. But none of you reading give a shit, and if you do, you shouldn't because it's dumb. I feel dumb writing hokum clap-trap, so I'm not going to.

I don't mean to go against anybody nor do I intend to tell you what you can and cannot write about. I guess I'm just kind of pissed off at the concept of blogging right now. Everything I think about, everything I do, everything I am, a part of my mind thinks: "That would make a good blog post". Actually more often than not, it works the other way around: I think to myself "What would make a good blog post? I need to post one today or else someone I've never met will be angry with me..." and then try desperately to take a recent aspect of my life and write something about it. But shit doesn't happen to me. I often don't have anything I feel I should write about. And I certainly don't want to turn into one of those blogs that simply tells whats going on in my life. First off, my life is boring. You don't want to hear about it, and I don't want to type about it. Secondly, there's nothing to it. There's no originality, no creativity, not even any thought. The people that simply post what happened in their day aren't interesting.

But then this got me thinking: Who gives a shit if it's interesting? No one expects them to be interesting; they're really more for the person writing's sake. It's not about who reads the post, it's about who writes it. Which is different for those of us with blogs that people actually read. I used to be one of those people, and I wrote about whatever the fuck I wanted. I actually tended to post more often when I had no readers. Now people read this, and I feel like I don't want to disappoint them. I have something to live up to now. And when I'm busy one weekend and can't post, or can't come up with anything to post, I feel bad because people actually care now. I suppose this is what I wanted: I wanted people to read my writings and recognize that I am awesome. And, believe me, I appreciate every single reader I have, more than you'll ever know (because I'll never do a post saying so). I love it that people read my stuff. I think it's really cool that someone actually gives a shit if I'm not around for a while. It's very, uh, life-affirming and heartfelt. I like it when people respond and my post becomes a discussion topic. I like it when I make a mistake and someone corrects me on it with a tone of pretension, because that means they actually paid attention. I think it's more of a personal issue more than an issue with my readers: I think my shit is stupid. Blogging is dumb. I'm dumb. Stuff I write is stupid. Why does anyone care about this shit? I think the sense of self-deprecating self-hatred in my posts actually adds something to them, because it takes the edge off of wanting to write something good. I know going into it I can't write anything good, so it actually comes out good in the end because I didn't expect it to be. But this self-hatred also helps me recognize when what I'm writing is complete bullshit, and it helps me see others bullshit too. I write posts decrying other people and other bloggers constantly, because they're full of shit. I guess the end purpose of this post is: I don't want to see the rest of you turn out that way. I don't really have that much of a problem with lovey-doveying up and getting all deep and heavy-handed, but be forewarned that you could easily become everyone you (or, more acurrately, I) hate.

A Very Evil Looking Spider Was About To Visit Your Pocket

I've been watching too many movies lately. I am packed to the gills with lines and references that I fully intend to use whenever necessary or unnecessary. I've also been eating a lot of Honeycomb, as the store had a big sale on it for some reason. I got three of those big-ass boxes and a gallon of milk for 8 dollars. Damn, son. I heard rumor that Wheaties is getting pulled from the shelves. This would greatly disappoint me, as I love Wheaties. Breakfast of Champions and all that shit. They will be truly missed.

I'm tired of Greek philosophy. That's pretty much the only area of philosophy school has touched on over three years, and it's starting to piss me off. It's not that we're learning the same thing over and over again, but it certainly feels like it.

"So there's this thing, right? And it is outside of our senses, in a different realm, and it oversees and controls everything."

"So you mean God?"

"No! Not God! It's like this... orb thing... You can't know what it is."

"How do we know it's there?"

"Because it's... Ok, so there's this thing. It takes up no space and lives in no time, yet it lives at this specific location and is happening right now. And there's stuff around it, and all that stuff is perfect, but in it's perfection, it's imperfect. But it cannot be comprehended by anyone."

"Then why are we talking about it?"

It sounds like such stoner philosphy. "There's a thing waaaaaaaay out there, man, and, like, nobody knows what it is... But it's there. And then like all the stuff you see around you, like, isn't there... So like, the real world is like, not real, and like there's this world of like perfection, man, and it lies in the periphery of the cosmos.... Pass the Corn Chips."

My teacher pointed out what it means to be a Platonist today. I've never quite been able to figure out why I disagree with Plato, until he pointed this out: Plato is concerned with the inadequacy of the sensible realm. His thought of the coincidence of opposites tells us that the sensible is flawed by the fact that it can be compared to something else. That girl is less beautiful than that girl over there, but she is more beautiful than, say, a rock. Therefore she is both more beautiful and less beautiful. However, in the intelligent realm, which he claims we must all strive towards, there is no coincidence of opposites as everything is simply beautiful, not less than nor more than. My immediate thought is "This is bullshit, you stuffy old dead coot". That girl is beautiful, bar none. End of discussion. I couldn't give a shit about some theorized other realm because I'm currently getting an eyeful of some hot chick in this realm. There may be perfect beauty in that realm, but you can't even be sure it exists. I know full well that this girl is hot, and unless a hotter girl is presented to me in this realm, I'm not going to discount this current girls bootylicious curves for some imagined hottie who lives in the cosmos somewhere. I think Plato just has too high standards. He can't expect everything to be perfect. Fuck perfection. So the sensible may not be perfect; it doesn't make it any less than it is. This is my key problem with Greek philosophy: They view the sensible world as a distraction. Me, I love the sensible. Sex rocks. Food is awesome. Flowers smell good. Music is beautiful. Naked ladies are pretty. The sensible world kicks ass. I know the devils advocates out there will tell me that I am being distracted by the sensible like Plato suggests and that if I could just get my hand outta my pants I'd be able to see nous, or the intelligble world, and thus complete my life. To them I say "Fuck that". I'm having a hell of a time here in the sensible world. All other worlds, be they the intelligible of Platonic beliefs or heaven and hell of the Judeo-Christian peeps, are not proven as existant. I know I'm here now, so I'm gonna have fun, dammit. And besides, any belief that prevents any mode of current enjoyment for potential future enjoyment is bull-huggly, as either way your enjoying yourself at some point.

Basically, I think it comes down to the fact that I'm both bogged down with Greek philiosphy and I'm really, really horny. It's a great combination when you want to get really indignant.

Oh, and one quick note: I really want to do this.

I Hope Your V-Day Doesn't Turn Into V-D-Day

Hey, it's Valentines Day, innit? How about that. Interesting that it falls on a Monday, the most depressing day of the week. Actually, come to think of it, Valentine's Day is in February, easily the most depressing month of the year. You've just gotten into the most drab and downer part of winter, and on top of that the holiday season is over so there's nothing to distract you from how much life sucks. It's about as far away from any time or event that one might be looking forward to, and despite being only 28 days long, it seems to last for-fucking-ever. (Also interesting to note that it's Black History month. Yeah, you blacks can have a month to celebrate your history, but it's gonna be the most shit-storm ballsmoking, not to mention shortest, month of them all. Enjoy!) Few things are more depressing than being lonely on Valentine's Day, and it only helps to accentuate it if the weather and surroundings are utter shit. At least after V-Day candy drops in price and you can eat away your sadness. Who cares if you gain weight; no one will love your ugly-ass anyway.

I suppose having Valentine's Day in February may be for some an attempt to make the month better, but somehow sugar-coating the blah with pasty candy, Shrek 2 cards and impulse-aisle flowers doesn't seem to cut it. The holiday is far too based in consumerism to truly make anyone feel better about anything. "Aw, a talking Mr. Wonderful Doll? I knew you loved me!" Does anyone buy/enjoy recieving bullshit like that? There must be some sort of community of thoughtless gift-givers and airheaded gift-recievers out there, because these things exist, which is proof enough of some sort of demand. Then there's these golddiggin' hoes that expect expensive jewlery and shit. That is the main problem with this holiday is the expectation. You have to buy your special someone something. You have to. It's Valentine's Day for chrissake, what kind of a boy/girlfriend are you? How is that an expression of any kind of feeling if you feel so damned obligated? Anything you give is meaningless because the day mandates that you give it. This holiday is simply the invention of Hallmark and Russel Stover as a way to squeeze as much guilt-money as they can out of susceptable couples, and in turn the rise in awareness of these couples existance kicks those without anyone in the teeth.

Obviously this is not an original opinion. Everyone nowadays thinks they're all rebellious by saying "Yeah, I don't celebrate Valentine's Day. It's all bullshit." Ok, granted, I agree with them, but I believe their stance on it lies more in the desire to not have to do shit than in the desire to take a stand against corporate proliferation. If you come off as crusading against Valentine's Day, you won't have to do shit. Most people like to use the handy excuse "I don't need a day to tell my [significant other] I love [them]. I don't need to give gifts on a specific day; I give them whenever." This, of course, is bullshit. No you don't. Admit it. "Just Because" flowers typically imply "I'm giving these to you 'just because' I slept with my secretary on your bed". Besides, if you gave your whomever everyday gifts anyway, why not use Valentine's Day as an excuse to give them gifts? You don't need to buy into all the corporate bullshit; make them something. Make sweet love to 'em real sexy-like. Be nice to them. Do good. Who fucking cares if Valentine's Day is bullshit; we all already knew that. It's bullshit in the sense of corporate whoring and monetary expectations, so fuck that shit and focus on the concept: Love. That's right. Love people. Even if you ain't got nobody, be kind to your fellow man. Plant a tree. Give a homeless dude a sandwich. Valentine's Day is an excuse to love and be loved, so quit yer belly-aching and start shakin' some sheets.

Flarp!

Here I am once again in the situation of writing in my blog rather than doing homework. I find it a bit odd that to distract myself from writing, I write. How about that.

Apparantly there's a man roaming around Chicago who bares a striking resemblance to me, with the distinct differences being that he is older, sadder, and smokes. The sandwich guy asked me why I was coming back in, as I had been in earlier that day, and as I had apparantly between sandwich visits discovered the ways to make myself younger, happier, and smoke less. I told him that wasn't me, and my friend let me know they had seen this same person on several other occassions, as some of my other friends. I hope to meet this man someday, or at the very least see him from afar and then have Rod Serling step in front of me and begin a monolouge. I think he is my future self come back to prophesize something, or maybe just live the same life he lived before but be able to watch older TV shows. I can see myself being old, sad and smoking. Actually, it's quite a probable outcome now that I think about it. This man is an eerie little premonition. Should I use him as an acceptance of my fate, or should I take it as a sign to try and change so as not to become this sullen man? Or should I just think of it as a silly coincidence that I happened to think about too hard?

I should've asked the sandwich guy what sandwich this man got. That would've made a world of difference.

I've realized recently that this blog may put forward an image of me as a bitter, angry hermit who hates everything. I was initially going to decry this notion with tales of how much I love everyone and how blue the sky is and how much I love Jesus and Easter and fluffy bunny wabbits and how I skip every day with ponies in fields of greenery and sing songs and love my fellow man, but then I realized that maybe this Jack Spencer I put forward on the internet is the true Jack Spencer. If I'm typing my thoughts and feelings and beliefs, how could it not accurately represent who I am? Then I think, shit, I don't want to be this bitter person that I am. So I prop a big smile on my face and glisten my pearly whites into the sun. Then I realize they're really pearly yellows and they're simply competing with the sun, so I go back to my cantankerous frown and sulk until my posture looks as poor as a game of Jenga in the final rounds. And this is usually the mood I'm in when I type. Happiness is never usually a substantial writing piece for me, nor does happen enough for me to write on it consistantly:

"Hey, I'm in a good mood!

Well, I'll post an update tomorrow!"

Then I'd turn into every other fucking blog on Earth; every one of those motherfuckers who updates every six hours with "hey, im doin' cool good big forever" and no content. Bitterness provides me with plenty of content, and if I can get those negative feelings out on here, I'm less likely to bother people with my bullshit in real life. So maybe this makes me a better, happier, more well-adjusted person. Maybe that man is what my life would be like without a blog.

Ha, what bullshit.

You Should Change Your Name To Mashed Potatoes

So, here goes my first attempt at a requested post. If you have a request, post a comment here. This one's about headphones.

I love headphones. I really, truly do. I came to fully realize this while living in a city that tends to have people come up to you and ask you for shit. Human contact is not usually on my to do list, so I love to able to drown myself in the world of music and pretend I can't hear or notice anyone. If some Children International fuck tries to get me to care about the events in our world, I simply motion towards my muffed ears and make some gesture implying "Sorry, these give me immunity from having to give a shit!" and keep walking on my merry way. Though in the case of last weekend, I would very much have enjoyed a jambox to carry on my shoulder not only to compliment the day and my music choice, but also so I didn't completely look like a fool dancing to music that no one else could hear. It depends on my mood. Mostly I'm in an angry, self-and-others-loathing mood that causes me to don the Senny cans, but sometimes I'm about togetherness and community through music. But only through my music. Your music sucks. Mine is awesome and yours is bad. Your music is bad and you should feel bad.

But, as with everything else that I love this much, I also hate it with a fiery passion. Because of course if I love something, it must find a way to piss me off. I keep my cool like Biz Markie, but little things like CD player skipping or shit like that set me off like a wound up car toy you used to get in Happy Meals. My headphones always manage to get entangled in something or in knots or unable to be found, and my eyes twitch and I begin to curse nonsensibly like the Looney Tunes. As far as life span goes, these bitches are lasting me a while. I made sure to get the good ones, as I've found I can no longer tolerate anything less. Earbug style, especially those damned iPod shits, piss me off. I've never been one to stick things into an orifice in order to listen to music. They're called headphones for a reason. They go on your head, not in your ear. I don't give a shit how portable they are or how able you are to put them in your gleaming little pocket. Earbug headphones are like earwax magnets. Only q-tips and tounges should go in your ear, end of story.

My past headphones were all $1 pieces of shit I bought at a gas station because my last $1 piece of shit had broken earlier that day. Several of them I found on the ground. One of my favorites was the retractable ones, you know, the one that folds in on itself? Yeah. Those were cool because they fit in my pocket but didn't go into my ear like some mind-control device from Farhenheit 451. But they had that shitty blue styrophoam shitty shit shit on them and didn't last me very long. They got ripped apart and then broke and then snapped and then the wire broke and then I lost them. I would've kept wearing them after all that if I hadn't lost them, because my only other alternative were those pissy ear-huggers that go around the back of your ears. Ick. Those shits hurt my frail little ears. I can't wear them for any extended period of time without feeling like the back of my ear has contracted an STD. Taking them off is like removing a band-aid from your penis. Those appear to have a long life, but I'd much rather have a piece of shit that's going to fail on me in two days then headphones that give my ears the crotch-rot feeling.

Now that I've got my Sennheiser cans, I'm set for a while. Though it is bothersome to try to shove that much cord length into my pocket, especially when I have other things of importance in there that potentially need retrieval. I especially hate in when I put my CD player in my coat pocket, which has a hole in it (wouldn't you know it), and the CD player falls in it and the cord gets all tangled the fuck up. Actually, whats been happening of late is, since there are actually too very distinct holes in my pocket, I have to retrieve it from the lining when it falls, but I get it from the wrong hole and the whole thing gets in one big jumble. And there's usually about fifty dozen knots in the cord already. I swear, there's Gremlins or some sort of small mythical creature that has starred in a mainstream movie (because how else would I know about them?) living under my bed who comes out at night and tangles my cord, because I see no possible way it could get knots in it if I untied all of them the night before and hadn't touched it since. This happens almost every morning.

My math teacher once went on a rant about how he hates headphones because they've turned America into a self-centered, uncaring bunch who don't listen to others or communicate in our day-to-day endeavors. Or at least I think that's what he said. I wasn't really paying attention. My thoughts on that are that nobody really wants to communicate with anyone anyway. If we're going to be steadily ignoring everyone, we might as well have something to rock out to while we do so.

Snoopa Stoked Fun Time Off Tha Hook

Aint no L-I-M-I-to-tha-T. is you bored n on tha internet? why not read words thiznat thugz hizzle written?

Thank god I'm easily amused.

Hey, I broke the 1000 mark! Sweet!

I'm losing focus... Someone tell me what to post about and I'll do it.

Absoludicrous

I guess it's a sign that people actually read this when they appear to care that I haven't posted in a few days. I've been too busy living, bitches! It's been beautiful outside, like friggin' summer. I've been running around outside like I was six or an elf or on speed or something... I'm just high on life, man! I've been running around listening to old school hip-hop and smoking honey cigarellos... Oh man, I should almost just list the awesome things I've done. They're very simple, and most suckers won't appreciate their simplicity, but I find extreme joy in the simple.

- Corn Pops!
- Apples! Good apples too! They taste like fruit and not like a wet plastic bag like the fruit they sell at my cafeteria!
- Afrika Bambataa!
- Fatboy Slim!
- Beastie Boys!
- Chemical Brothers!
- Hot ladies!
- I bought 10 movies and 9 television episodes on DVD for 8 bucks! Dragnet, Bonanza, The Brain That Wouldn't Die, Swamp Women, King of the Zombies, Little Shop of Horrors (with Jackie Nicholson, of course), Vincent Price's House on Haunted Hill and The Last Man Alive, Tormented, and so much more!
- Amelie!
- The original Batman! Fuck yeah!
- I went for a long walk and stumbled upon Odd Obsessions, a rare and underground movie store, at which I rented Cremaster 1 and 2 and Mr. T's Be Somebody or Be Somebody's Fool! And Gary Coleman's Safety Tips! Oh, and for free!
- Swings!
- I wore a t-shirt! A mother fucking t-shirt!
- Tequila body shots!
- We finally met this guy we'd been stalking for a while and now we're friends!
- Dancing on a bench!
- Somersaults? I wish!
- Marshmallow fluff!
- Free meal!
- Big smile!
- Reminiscing about Eek! the Cat, Life With Louie, Bobby's World, Pinky and the Brain, Animaniacs, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turles, Inspector Gadget, 2 Stupid Dogs, and pretty much every show I used to watch as a kid!
- Exclamation points!
- Breakin'!
- Playing guitar! REALLY fucking loud!
- Strange cab drivers!
- Chocolate covered cherries!
- Boston Baked Beans!
- Big cheeseburger and chocolate shake!
- Seeing a car get hit by a bus!
- Bunny! BUNNY!!!
- Not doing homework!
- Dressing up all classy style!
- Good root beer!
- Masturbation!
- Tea!
- Smoking tea! (I dunno; it seemed like an alright idea...)
- Running around like I was an elf!
- Going to a shitty party and watching two girls make out!
- Laughter!
- Joy!
- Glee!
- Etc!

Blogging has been the last thing on my mind. I've been outside 80% of the past four days. Last thing I need is typing words onto a screen. Sorry loyal fans, but I'm too happy to write angry things right now. I know this happiness is just Phase 1 before life pushes me down again to laugh at me like I was a cripple with a tumor and ugly clothes, but 'til then, YAAAAH!!!

Cock Is Like Diet Fuck

Soap ads always say their product kills "99.9% of germs". Couldn't quite pull off that last .1, could ya? I assume the ad execs say to themselves, "Well, we can't legally say it kills 100% of the germs... What's the next highest percentage we can use?" Unless of course each individual company actually calculated their products effectiveness and they all happened to be exactly 99.9%. In this case, I will gladly retract my statement and zip up my big mouth right quick. I'll probably end up doing so once that ASS MescalineBanana informs me of a spelling, grammatical or scientific error I've made... That should be the basis of your blog: devote it to the mistakes that I make on this one.

I was tempted to leave "make" as "amke", but decided against it. But I guess it doesn't matter either way, as I added this follow-up sentence.

In every ad for any sort of toiletry, such as shaving cream, acne medicine or toothpaste, as soon as the man is finished washing himself, a random woman comes up to him and proceeds to make out with him. Where did this woman come from? Did she somehow sense he had just shaved and magnetized towards him? This doesn't happen in real life, at least not to me. I don't remember the last time I finished wiping my ass and some random girl came up to and begin to lick it. Well, granted I was drunk at the time...

You know what scares the fuck out of me? Those creepy-ass Charmin bears who enjoy wiping their ass way more than they should. Wiping appears to be equivalent to sexual release, and the fact that they're cartoon bears that look like they came straight out of a Hallmark card you'd throw away without reading certainly doesn't make it any less fucked up. All they appear to do is shit and wipe and molest trees. What kind of sick, hedonistic world is this Charmin is presenting to us? What happened to the militaristic warnings against squeezing the Charmin? I always wonder who comes up with these ad campaigns, and what the fuck was dying in their head when they did.

Whatever happened to the Reach guy? You remember him? The dorky little naked dude with a big nose who told us the benefits of the brand of toothbrush he was named after? Nobody made out with him after he brushed his imaginary teeth. He missed out on the trend. Poor guy.

Oh god, I'm also disturbed by those new Gillette commercials. The dude shaves, rips all the skin from his face to reveal the disgusting shiny blue gel that is his innards. I think he's from space. It makes the blade look like the most painful thing ever. He bleeds neon blue, and some chick still makes out with him! What the fuck?

In conclusion: Never brush your teeth.