I...

I don't skateboard around town anymore. I limp to my dirty car. I have to remind myself to look up. I feel tired. I'm not as adventurous as before. My band is dead. Two cats are also. I talk to homeless men more than I do my sister. Did that sound incestuous or did that sound like I like to have sex with homeless men? I still pretend to listen to people. I want a letter in the mail. A real life letter, written on lined, college ruled notebook paper. I'm sick of all of my music, and all of the choices I make at the store suck ass. I'm glad that I started to read comic books again. I rarely go to the movies. I hate living on the first floor. I still drink and smoke, but still don't do drugs. I haven't had a black eye in three years. That's good. I have ten rolls of film that need developing. I still need a new job. I am lazier. I write less. All of the thousands of pages of stuff I've written are now in the garage and seem less important as time goes by. The Beastie Boys are old. I am not excited about the next Star Wars movie. I wish Bukowski would write a new novel. Oops, he's dead. When I make lists of things to do for the day, half of it is phone call bill bullshit. I still try not to kill ants. I still look exactly like I did five years ago. I never buy new shoes, although I think about it all of the time. Master Of Puppets is a great album. I want to own a house. I pulled a bad ass car move when I was going to the store tonight, but it would be too confusing to explain - but trust me...it was damn cool. Blah, Michael Knight. I still have no appetite. I am learning how to make some pretty fucked up drinks. Where I am, right now would've been perfect when I was twenty-one. I don't write poetry anymore. I am happy, just tired. I still have mistletoe hanging above the front doorway. I think I'll keep it there for another seven months. I may have jinxed myself about something important last night. Knock on wood for me right now, please. Screw the people around you...tell them you're practicing jokes.

I'm not whining - I'm just trying to write more like I used to and to not think that somebody else is reading this. The ha ha's should only come when the ha ha clause delivers the ha ha. You must be good to have Ha Ha Clause visit you. Otherwise, you get a lump of thermo nuclear detonator. I have a report I should be writing, but won't tonight. I can't concentrate. Frozen orange juice has no problem with this. That's why all of the best writers are found in the freezer section of your local grocery. No matter how much time passes, The Pixies still sound cool. I think that the opposite sex still finds me attractive even though I have girlfriend glazed over my eyes. I may be wrong. Maybe they only want a cigarette, or want diet secrets from me. Maybe they want to ask me if my father really did work for a secret, ultra cool branch of the government. Maybe they want to ask me why I don't look either Vietnamese or Irish. Maybe they want to ask me what they should look out for next time they're at the swapmeet, do I want anything besides comic books and skull rings?

Columbus was a fag. So is Strom Thurmond. I wish that Barbara Streisand, post-U-Turn-J-Lo, Celine Dion, Bette Midler, and every girl that cries on a reality show gets pummeled in the crotch by meteorites. Human beings need to get the hell off of this planet permanently. We're giving Earth indigestion. I need to get on the ball with the screenplays and the clothing company research. Joe, Dawne, and I need to be rich. Then I can hire Colobus monkeys to type my thoughts. I hate Columbus, but love the Colobus. I need to remember to ask Cheeks what the weather is like in London. In the 60's and partially cloudy? I can feel the beginning of summer. I hate the summer. I need to buy an ironing board. I can't iron worth a fig anyway, but doing it on the kitchen table is really destroying the miniscule abilities that I do have at it. Chewbacca looks lonesome standing there in the corner, he must've deactivated Threepio because his eyes aren't lit up. I wish that people could carry around Samurai swords. But then we'd have Cingular Swords, and Sony Swords, Ford Swords would suck and would cost more to make in America, the majority of swords would be made in Mexico or in Communist China by political prisoners. There would be designer swords. Donatella Versace would continue her brother's legacy...D&G Swords. Hot Topic swords. McSwords. Would you like to super size that for 65 cents more?

Anybody who reads this must leave a comment in the comment section. I know that you don’t have the time, you may be at work, this may interrupt your porn surfing. But, I'm telling you - EVERYBODY MUST DO THIS OR I WILL STOP PAYING YOUR MOM'S BILLS. It's nice to know that the plants appreciate your singing sometimes. It's nice to collect rent off of, even, Baltic Avenue. Sometimes, it's good to punch yourself in the arm, just to remember that it's still there. Even if you can only say HI.

DO IT.

Thank you, Nasty...