Hi, My Name Is Carol N...

COKE 12PK
Bud LT 12 PK
VALET DEGREE
RICE A RONI
CHZ IT CHDR
ARRWHD 15/24
1.48 lb @ 1.59 / lb MINNEOLAS
KRSPY SLTINE
CHORE BOY
TWININGS TEA
SALT & PEPPER
RA TRSH BAGS
PWRADE MATRX
YO CRUNCH
VLASIC DILLS
YO CRUNCH
J.D. BISCUIT
PACK CIGS

TAX 1.95
BALANCE 62.25
CASH 62.25
CHANGE 0.00

05/13/03 10:27 pm

$ 2.31 Toward Wine Club
$ 10.32 Toward FINDING NEMO
$ 17.90 Toward Pet Club

Speechless…

Hey, that’s good. Joe might have set me up a new interview with his job. That would be nice, wouldn’t it? Kevynn the waiter/bartender is fun and all, but this job was only supposed to last a couple of months. Not two and something years. But, I don’t regret it. I was a desperate, laid-off, dot com guy. Funny, huh? Isn’t everybody a laid-off dot comer? All of them have jobs or are dead, though. I smile and talk, and look smart in my big, fat tie and wrinkled, white shirt. I ask you how to make your drinks and sit down at the tables with the old men. People ask me how my weekend was. I tell them stories, they laugh. They tip. I follow them to their car, and say, “ Hulk Smash!” and then tip their car over. I wake up in an alley with nothing on but a pair of shredded, purple pants. Nuff’ said.

I don’t know what the hell’s been going on with me recently, but ever since I came back from my two month hiatus, my sense of discombobulation has increased. My fingers don’t respond to me as well as before. There’s a bad connection. My sleeping habits have gotten worse, I think about things to write, projects to tackle, things to start, and my arms fill with concrete. The fire from my brain starts to slow down. Eventually it congeals and solidifies. Making me walk around like an ape. Apes can’t talk; so then people can’t understand me. People can’t understand me, so then I get frustrated. When I get frustrated, I get mad. When I get mad, I get violent. When I get violent, I throw things. When I throw things, my bad aim comes into effect. Old ladies walking their poodles get hit in the ears. They can’t hear me apologize. Nobody is happy.

No, really. I need that old, mad, flavor. The premium gas. The bomp dee bomp. The ramma lamma ding dong. I need to lop off my arm and replace it with a chainsaw. Rip up this keyboard. I need to stop typing like an old woman.

Or, at least, to get an old woman to do my typing.

Lucky Lager Had The Right Idea...

And don't you think that it would be cool if they posted comic strips on the sides of beer cans, Bazooka Joe style? Or maybe like they used to on the thermos things from our childhood lunch boxes? It give some people other things to do other than watch soft core porn and baseball. And you know that by the time the majority of people got the joke, because everybody knows, if you're drinking a tallboy of Budlight in a can, then you're a slow idiot like me - It'd be time to crack open a new one. Or pee. Or to shoot a rabbit from your front porch or something.

Pardner.

Kurt Wagner...

I'm sorry, but somebody just did a google search on fake nightcrawler teeth and wound up on my site. Nightcrawler from the new X-Men movie, not nightcrawlers - the fishing bait. Anyway, kid? Fake nightcrawler teeth? You should have bought some on Halloween for about a couple of bucks. They were right by the Werewolf and Vampire make up.

Oscar...

It is astounding how much trash and dirty dishes a two-person household can produce. If I had kids, it would be worse? Sometimes I think that this place is a factory and that I'm the janitor, and just that nobody's told me yet. Where's my benefits, damnit.

April Greiman?...

Damn, I forgot. A friend of mine gave me twenty bucks to write a paper for her advertising and graphic design class. The dork doesn't even know when it's due. So, I might have to tackle that pronto, Tonto. I used to do a small amount of this in high school. I'd write a paper or monologue for lazy people. I'd get five bucks or a six pack of beer. Even after high school, I use to work with a dumb kid, who had a lot of money or a big allowance or something. He'd pay me a crapload to write his papers for him I didn't feel any guilt with this guy, because he really didn't give a crap about anything other than smoking pot and racing cars. After he graduated, I heard that the kid spent a lot of time in and out of jail. Dummy. But then, he might be doing better than me now, who knows?

Now, I don't feel like writing a paper. I'm either really dumb...or I need to up my asking price, doody-fresh.

Building A Robot...

I just erased my post by accident. Bastards. I just worked almost fourteen hours. Tomorrow, I will do nothing at all. I will try my hardest. I swear. I will pay a bill, and call the dentist back, but that's it. I want to sleep. I will wake up, eat, and then go back to bed. I will Drink beer and roll up my girlfriends change when I am asleep also. I'm serious. I will not answer the phone. I will check my comments. I will dot my eyes and cross my tease. Ha. What? I don't know. That was stupid, yo. I want to do absolutely nothing. I will die for a day and cease to exist. I will hire a Puerto Rican midget to handle all of my affairs tomorrow.

I will love you forever. I will be dreaming about throwing things at your crotch. Thank you.

The Incredible Mr. Limpet...

I had so many things to say today, and now I'm just kind of puttin' around. I was going to write about a couple of things, but erased them. I just didn't have it in me to write anything that actually required effort. I haven't been able to focus on writing in the last couple weeks or so. I've also noticed that less people visit this, now that I'm not stuck at home with the broken ankle. I had a lot more time on my hands and the opportunity to post more. Maybe I'll jump out of a car again and break the other one? My ankle still hurts and I can't walk for extended periods of time. It starts to hurt and swell up. I felt like a goon at Disneyland the other day. I was the guy, when you're getting off of rides, that slows down all of the people trying to leave. Sorry, folks - but fuck off. Don't make me limp on over to you, try to kick you, and then fall down.

Just Said To Me By My Girlfriend...

You're an angel............of darkness.

Ha Ha Ha! I think.

The Mud People Cometh...

I live across the street from a beautiful park. Today, when I came home, there was a huge tanker/truck thingy, and a man shooting out new sand out of a big tube into the playground. I stood, fascinated for a bit. I had the urge to call the fire department and see if I could have them shoot an equal amount of water out of their hoses at the same time, so that we could have the mud fight of all mudfights. This is either a kid's fantasy or a pretty homoerotic one.

Then I thought that it would be cool if I slipped the sand guy some bucks to spray some in my backyard so that I could have an awesome summer/beach type party with umbrellas and lawn chairs, but I didn't think that the landlord would appreciate that, and maybe all of the neighborhood cats would use it as one big litter box. I might be tempted also...

So I didn't ask.