Moon Patrol...

this is my primary blog. blog, meaning-not a novel.
i am too lazy to eat.
i need to remind myself to make that file with all of my compounded brain activity.
hey, put on some music, too - you boo radley.
might as well.
while you're wasting time.

(why doesn't my archive work??????)

Help??????

Mappy...

Our house smells like cat pee. I think I'm gonna go out and buy some firewood to cover it up. Word.

I got two early Christmas presents this year.

The cool, black shirt I ruined while using bleach.

The bottle of vodka didn't make it past midnight.

I rule.

erghhh...

Kelly Clarkson is in my head.

I Have Another Blog...

And I just wrote something much funnier than this on it.

Much funnier.

Boss #3 took me out to lunch today which happened to be right across the parking lot from a place that I worked at for about four years. This old job of mine had windows on pretty much one whole side of the building that the employees often used to look out of when they got bored (which was often).

Anyway, I was out in the parking lot for a bit and wondered if any of the old employees were still there. I wondered if they could see me and thought that maybe I should peek my head in and say hi?

Then I said FUCK ALL THAT and didn't.

The End.

M'i Afeerd fo brees....

Three seperate times today a bee was hovering outside my car window.

Why?

Johnny Blaze, Daniel Ketch And Truman Capote...

Seriously, I noticed it a long time ago and mentioned something but - what's the deal with 30 hits a day looking for Ghost Rider?

Is he really that popular?

The Spirit Of Vengeance. Really?

Mannnnn.....

When the boring job (not the cool one) now won't let me access You Tube due to their firewall?

That's when things get even more boring.

What am I supposed to do? Bring a book?

Horrible.

I Am Hunter S. Thompson Without The Drug Habit And Access To Firearms...

Maybe I'm more like the reclusive J.D. Salinger, but without the talent and the one good book. Am I'm totally not comparing myself to HST. Well, I do have access to arrows. I can't wait for the day that I get arrested for shooting drunk kids in the park with my bow. And no, I don't have a quiver or go to Renaissance Faires (sp?), but I am as pretty as Legolas if not prettier, that sissy-boy.

I'm thinking that I've got to keep up the blogging-things because I'm developing some serious gaps in my chronological documentation for my future sperm-spawn. I mean, I sure as hell am not going to talk to them, so how will they know what I was doing back in the day when we talked on cell phones and had polar ice caps?

Not that they'd be able to gleam anything useful from Fat Free Milk because unless they were looking for bad poetry and fart jokes, then they'd be better off asking one of the many Tijuana whores that I've traded comic books with.

This is why I don't write as much anymore.

Because I am even more distracted than I used to be, more of a drunk, super-sexy, totally Greg Louganis, getting paid for writing on a regular basis for an awesome company and pecking away at things, but not consuming them wholly as I should.

My brain gets so synaptically overloaded, I think that it just goes into Cherynobel-status. Meaning - whatever.

What? Huh? I can't concentrate. Air conditioning and planes and the setting sun and to-do-lists and have to drive to pick up my car

bzzt