SF

So I linked to that Doctorow/Schloss story earlier even though it had problems. Doctorow’s stuff is usually either pretty good or a little lacking. But this story is great.

If you like the first page, you have to watch the Salon sitepass ad and then do an actual serach for the story’s name (0wnz0red) to find the rest. But it’s worth it.

There's a dead animal in that woman's mouth.

In response to Cricket’s post, here’s my oft-told Ayn Rand story: I asked our high school English teacher for an Ayn Rand scholarship application once, and he gawked at me like I’d just raped a butterfly.

“What’s wrong?”

And he muttered, as he shook his head in loathing, “You don’t want her money.”

Since I’ve never read any Rand, I have no idea why.

…

My endless quest—and that’s what it is, really, wow—for ways to pass time at work lead me to Unwirer, a collab SF about wireless networks and the Man keepin em down, written by Cory Doctorow and Charles Stross. The story’s pretty flawed in places, and overall not that wonderful—you can almost smell the oil in the Deus Ex Machina near the end—but the way they wrote it is great and weird. They blogged it, taking turns with sections. The best parts are the ones where they’re arguing over whether or not pulling a gun on a cop explodes the suspension of disbelief.

…

This morning there was rum on my breath, so:

Me: Can I have a piece of gum?

Co-worker: Oh, sure. (hands me gum) Usually I don’t buy gum, but this morning I thought something had died in my mouth.

So many words!

I was just browsing the quote database that Mr. Goat linked to some time back. I've been flashing through the sentance long bits of inspiration while my computer makes photoshop catch up to me. While I'm searching, I hit this bulwark of a quote. I'm not surprised when it turns out to be from Ayn Rand.

http://en.thinkexist.com/quotation/in-the-name-of-the-best-within-you-do-not/347689.html

It instantly reminded me of the Fountainhead. I'm still interested to read that brick of a book, wanting to see the big (and hopefully good) differences between it and the film. If you ever want a giggle and some social commentary, watch the movie. If you can do without the giggle, read the book. Either way the social commentary has to be good for you. Right?

GORE HIM.

The only person I can imagine being interested in this is Goathead, but here's some stuff some writer for some magazine had to say about his first go-through of a Flannery O'Conner collection:

Everywhere an unsentimental view of human weakness, with beautiful consequences. Mrs. May? Gored. Lucynell Crater the younger? Left sleeping at a diner. The fool and his turkey? Soon parted. The grandmother? Which grandmother? Doesn’t matter, doomed.

I just liked the goring. What shall we do with wayward DaveO, Mr. Christopher? GORE HIM.

Cold Wars: Attack of the Garlic

It's about time the Chinese government wakes its lazy communist ass up and treated its people like...I don't know...PEOPLE!

I was sick as hell the last two weeks, starting with sinus problems. The sinus problems eventually led to a sore throat and chest problems. To put it another way: I had a runny nose and while I slept it drained down my throat and into my chest. Disgusting, I know. No one would think it more disgusting than its victim...me.

It got so bad last Monday that I couldn't even get out of bed. I couldn't talk and I was coughing up stuff the color of pea soup. I was sure I'd have to go to the doctor.

But here I am a week later feeling ten times better, still not having seen a doctor. What's my secret? NyQuil, medicinal tea, and concentrated garlic. The only reason I thought I would need to see a doctor is because in the past when I've had a cold move into my chest like this it turned into bronchitis and I developed an infection. I have an inhaler for inflammation but I would still need antibiotics for the infection. To get the antibiotics I would have to see a doctor.

Then I got a crazy idea, "What if there is some kind of natural antibiotic?" So I looked it up and found a number of possible things I could try. This site was probably the most helpful. Even though garlic isn't scientifically proven to be effective, I found a lot of sites that recommended it, and it also happened to be cheap ($5.00 for a bottle of 100 pills at Walgreens). So I gave it a try. Much to my amazement, the next two days I feel a lot better. Today is only the third day since I've started taking it and I can't believe the difference I feel between now and Monday.

I don't know for sure that it was the garlic, but all the arrows are pointing in that direction. I'm not totally over the cold yet, but I'm only feeling a few lingering effects. We'll see if it disappears or if its just waiting for an opportune time to strike back. I'll keep you updated.

But would you rather swim in cheese...OR COTTAGE CHEESE?!

Interesting Neil Gaiman/Gorillza interview in the new Wired.

We will strip him of hair using Bondo.

On the subject of zombies as ninjas: while it’s true that a zombie could never be a ninja, a zombie could be a useful toolfor a ninja. Let’s examine some situations.

From the heavens: Cricket points out that instead of stealthily descending from a ceiling, a zombie would simply drop like a rucksack full of Popov-fed kittens. In most situations, the ninja would fare better.

But what if the drop from ceiling to floor is too far for the quiet ninja? He would creep back along the ceiling and return home to cry into his sushi. But if the ninja were wise, he would have had the foresight to bring a zombie buddy. The zombie buddy could be dropped, would smack into the floor, and although the target would be allerted he would swiftly be killed.

The plus side to this is, of course, that the ninja has not only disposed of any enemy but also gained a new zombie helper.

Flinging stuff that is, for once, not our own feces: Despite feeble attempts in Dawn of the Dead and Land of the Dead, a zombie could never muster the coordination to fire a projectile with any accuracy. A ninja, however, can. The ninja can fling his sharp and barbed weapons at an enemy, forcing the enemy ever closer to the Zombie Trap.

Enough of this.

Today I dined once more at the hospital café and Abba Zabba, were there hot women everywhere!! Actually, no there were not. But there was some deepdish burrito and rice and corn. Also some PepsiLime. I recommend this beverage wholeheartedly. Trust me, friend, this is no CVDDP.

Batman Begins and Katie Holme's Sanity Ends

Batman Begins was a really good movie overall. It had a good story, believable characters, and some really kickass action sequences. All that was great but what does any good Batman movie need, aside from the story and the ass kicking? A hot, bat-love interest. Batman has rubbed wings with such hotties as Heather Locklear, Michelle Pfeiffer, and Nicole Kidman; so naturally the new movie is going to have to deliver equal or greater hotness to compete.

At first glance it appears that they've succeeded in doing that with the addition of Katie Holmes. She is hot, after all, but there's just one little problem: SHE'S BECOME TOM CRUISE'S ZOMBIE LOVE SLAVE! And that is enough to put a blemish on the face of Batman Begins.

Don't believe me about the 'zombie love slave' business? Read this. Cruise used his Scientology brainwashing masters to change sweet little Holmes into his own personal Scientology Stepford Wife! Oh! It just occurred to me! Part of the Batman Begins story involves a mind-altering chemical that makes it's victims go insane. In the movie, Holmes is exposed to this chemical. Coincidence? I think not!

Why would Tom want to brainwash Holmes? Let's face it, Tom's image as an ultra-weird, new age voodoo, priest of Scientology, homosexual hasn't really done him any favors. It would take a shining star like Holmes to polish up less-than-favorable appearance. What's more is that the Scientology gurus would have a lot to gain from a polished Cruise, so they would be eager to lend a hypnotic hand.

The Scientologists must be stopped.

Adventures in parking (and zombies)

When trying to (poorly) parallel park in front of your workplace, remember this: you are probably entertaining your co-workers. Essentially, I tried to park with the same skill goat had at the arts festival over the weekend. Unfortunatly, my skills were not up to the challenge. But I did give my co-workers a show.

Last night it came to our attention that zombies should never also be ninjas. They just wouldn't work out. Instead of being quiet they would always be making some kind of noise. Instead of dropping down cat-like from rafters they would just fall like bricks. They'd be the worst ninjas ever... but maybe pretty badass zombies.

Blargh

I think I have now seen the most offensive bumper sticker to date on a car that was quite literally hidden under them. An obviously pious christian vehicle with many pithy statements adhered to its shell to certify this phrase yet ill skilled at moving amongst its heathen fellow cars had this centered in the back panel
"Satan is a Nerd".

Not sure why that among all the other rediculous sayings got me irritated, or if it was that I had time to read the many phrases as this damnable car sat in front of me instead of going as they should have out of the off ramp and into the open lane.

Oh and yes about the Booze and Books idea. I've been straining my creative machinery trying to come up with a business model that would work on this side of town to begin the process of liberating people from their complete reliance upon crappy jobs. This one has some promise, I'll have to check some of the logistics out this weekend when I have time to do some looking up of details. Dinner out made for an interesting prequel to my very long night of resetting lingerie. I so terribly hate that section of the store and it further dismisses that dated theory that women are less messy than men. That would be bullshit. Ah well, enough ramblings. Now I sleep.

Quickly, Mr. Wells! Into my falcon-shaped aircraft!

On the Interstate this morning something like a train whistle kept sounding. Where the hell was a train whistle coming from? It got to the point where I was watching my rearview. By the time I got into DM proper, I wouldn’t have been surprised to see a steam driven ghost train barrelling up the middle lane, tossing cars willius nillius over the edge of 235, into the slums below.

A fun game would be to play tag with those CLEAR!!! defibrilator paddles. The only tags that count are the ones to the chest that send you flying backward into a pile of oily rags.

As most of you know, I’m currently in northern Central America looking for the lost Mayan city of gold. (This is not to be confused with the old TV show, Mysterious Cities of Gold, which is but one item in my large research satchel of primary sources.) I proposed a 50/50 split of costs and rewards with Dave, as he has sway with the elusive and beautiful sniper Fiona X, but he was too busy going to Cedar Falls on the wrong day and eating frozen Snickers bars.

Damn you, Fiona X! Will you ever return my love?!

During my PMI (Post-Marie Infatuation Period) and prior to my OBRWS (Occasionally Bizarre Relationship with Shalina Period) I said that I would only relinquish the golden amulet of singleness to a rich, hot Egyptologist with tentacles in the publishing world. Now I would be willing to give it up to anyone with tentacles, period.

Here is a brief anecdote from the OBRWS Period. You are familiar with Shalina’s mother? Good. I knew you were (you pervert). After our relationship detonated in a blaze of mediocraty and Goathead-related oral shenanigans, Shalina and I continued to hang out. Sometimes I would go to her trailer house to watch a movie. The trailer looked something like this:

(there once was a crude map here, made of X's and other keyboard symbols, but it did not survive formatting. Alas.)

This is a very rough and crude and dirty illustration, but it will give you an idea of the layout (I have been told that it was the same design as the Heather Perry family trailer, but because of the disorienting effects of Dalmations, I have no idea what the inside of the Perry trailer looks like. Except that there used to be an N64. This I know. And a large living room. And a kitchen. And generally, it looked a little nicer than Shalina’s, although you’d be surprised how nice those things can look on the inside. Wait! I think Shalina’s trailer was bigger? Perhaps? I think Heather occasionally reads this blog, so maybe she can shame me with an expert opinion).

In the map, the “9” represents a jazz bassist playing a funky groove, because that is where Shalina’s bedroom was. The “M” is her mother’s recliner (her mother is reminescent of Meagan's mother, vaguely), and the “!” is the location of a map leading to the lost Mayan city of gold.

So: on the day in question, I was lead to Shalina’s bedroom to watch a movie. I do not know what movie this was, but possibly it was that Kevin Bacon movie about the kid who kill a little girl and bury her in the backyard. Briefly into the movie, her mother bellows:

“You two don’t need to be wallerin around on that bed in there!”

Which was probably supposed to be a quiet instruction to her daughter, but was not.

Morgan and I will now be partnering up to open a liquor/books store. The primary feature of this store will be the package deals: for example, $25 will get you a Tolstoy and a bottle of vodka; Faulkner can come with whiskey. All relationship self-help books will come with a large flask of grain alcohol, to be consumed upon failure. Ryan and Andy and Martin are also creative associates, but because I do not remember how enthusiastic they were exactly, they are cut out of the store charter and also out of my will. In fact, they are dead to me. If you mention their names in my presence you will surely be punched in your lying throat.

Dave, however, is not dead to me. Dave is undead to me. Which means he can still help me find those mysterious cities of gold.

Giddy. Mind numbingly giddy!

Fuzzy kittens playing in a pile of candy cars giddy! That's how damn giddy I am today!

I didn't expect such fun news when I woke up this morning. I'm clearing my schedule right now for mid-july.

Why you ask? Because of this: http://www.fpm.iastate.edu/Knapp-Storms/

parking and finding a decent vantage point might be tough if a lot of people show up for this, but I already have that planned out and taken care of. It's going to be a rockin' good time. Anyone else want to watch? I'm considering renting out a video camera for the occation. Maybe a grill out would be appropriate.

This all sucks.

1) Overdrew $2.50 on my bank account. I now have a balance of -$180
2) Sarahs schedule is fucked up so no partyin for Dave
3) Paycheck...not gettin it.
4) Phoneline here. Bah! Try callin me. Any way.
5) School is pissed off at me.

So if I die...yeah. Youll know why. Cuz God smite my head to explode.

Job moaning and the melting point of chocolate

I am so bored.

We’ve had this ongoing project here in the Cave of Research for about as long as I’ve worked here. The people in the Hall of Transcription all handle dictations from our counselors—probably about 130-150 counselors. Each dictation fits onto one of 22 letter templates. Back in November we changed our company logo (or are we an organization? A bureau?) and the logo had to be taken off each letter. Small bits of the footers and stuff in the body had to be changed—from Division of Blah Blah to Blah Blah Vocational Blah. Instead of asking the fucking counselors to take five minutes and change their unique 22 letters, they asked me to do them all. And the other researcher, but she’s hardly here. And the real bitch was that they told me straight up that when the new design was approved in a few months, I’d be doing it all over again. That’s like … 3000+ letters each time, click, click, delete, swear, have a breakdown, urinate in pants…

So today I just got done with Round III, after the third revision, the third casual mention of “hey, can you go through and change these five points? Yeah, in all of them [all 3000 fucking plus). And as soon as I got done the boss stopped by and actually said that oh, that was nice, now I’d need something new to do, huh? And off she scuttled to Satan’s Factory, where new busywork is forged from the tears of old employees.

It sucks, but counterbalancing it is the fact that I really have no other responsibilities here. No research requests today, and I’ve exhausted the entire Internet. Which explains this rambling post.

Dave should now be on his way north, to see Sarah and Christine. I was interested in going, but am out of time off, at least for now. Also, during our drunken conversation, it seemed like there was some conflict or Dave had to go alone for some reason or just hates me and desires solitude. Hates me. So Sarah and Christine, if you read this, I did want to make it up there, but Dave hates me.

The problem of chocolate: I left four king-sized snickers in my car Saturday. Needless to say, when I retrieved them they were mush. Mush in plastic sacks. I put one in the freezer and gave it to dave, and I’m sure it was terribly hard. Another I put in the refrigerator here at work and it was hard and messy. The last I ate somewhat recongealed but mostly goopy. Yegh.

Obviously chocolate has a melting point. But at what point does it turn back to normal candy-bar hardness? Chocolate sustains its form at room temperature, so why does it not harden at room temperature after it’s already been melted? The candy bars stayed at room temperature for almost 46 hours now to no avail! Still a sloppy mess. Damn.

I’m done. Ryan, what time is your proposed dining experience?

Real Native American drums made by real Native Koreans

Hot damn. Its hot. Damn. The Carnies came to town last nite, heralding the fact Cruizin Albia is upon the unlucky villagers of Albia. Crazy as fuck.

I write this post from the Perry Cahoot. It is most scary in this apartment without the manliness that once posessed this place.

I hate being in Albia mainly cuz I have to wait to use the Dialup internet and even then doing a blogpost takes a thousand hours. I will definately partake in your little Zombie jamboree that you have planned.

My cell is fucked up. How fucked up? you ask? It's fucked up more then Amish's grandma going back in time to kill her whore of a grandmother and end her bloodline only to be stopped by a sexy amish from an alternate universe, but hes a robot and has lazer nipple implants or some shit. Yeah. That fucked up. It works in Des Moines, but not in Albia. Crezzy.

More Dispatches from the Seedy Underbelly of Crime

I just got back from Quizno’s which means: disgusting taste in my mouth. My mouth taste like a rotton mushroom. Who wants kisses?! Woooooooooo! Anyway, I bought a Dew to fix the taste issue, and when the bottle splashed down in the dispenser area of the machine, it reallysplashed down. As in, my hand and forearm got wet. It’s like the Mountain Dew bottle took the log ride on its way down. FLOOOOOOOSH!

The wet doesn’t smell like soda either. It’s water.

As indicated in the comments of my last post, Amish has been contacted about Brraaaaaaaainsfest 2005. And he, like my old college buddy Mandrake Flynn, is in. So in.

That just means that we’re waiting on Wes. Wes, you son of a whore.

…

One of the problems in the me/Alyssa relationship was that I didn’t feel I got to see my friends enough. She didn’t beat me, or chain me down, or slip on thigh-high leather boots, or…wait, that’s not where this is going. She didn’t chain me to the apartment or anything, but when she was around I felt like I should be with her, and when I did have time to myself I always ended up going through this list of backed up projects which (I hoped) would be better for my sanity than another night of Budweiser-fueled karaoke.

So anyway, one day the friends issue came up (we were drinking). “And Bil!” I said. “I never see Bil! Fuck!” (I’m sure it came out a lot whinier).

Months later, after we broke up, I was planning the Royal Mile/2 TV Halo shindig (two parties at my place ago) and Alyssa asked who was coming. I rattled off the list.

“Oh? Not Bil? Not PRECIOUS, PRECIOUS BIL?!?!”

I just now got her permission to tell that story.

[addendum: she put this story on her own blog a few weeks ago. I scanned it and said something like

"You spelled his name wrong! There's only one L!" And proceeded to stick my tongue out, or perform some other juvenile gesture.

"No I didn't," she said, and it's true, she didn't. Damn.]

…

I probably linked to this back in the day, but in case you didn’t read it: Ask a Former Professional Literary Agent. It doesn’t really get good until this one.

A Convoluted and Overwrought Proposal for this Weekend's Activities

My zombie senses must have dulled, because somehow I missed the shuffling, moaning approach of

LAND!!! OF THE DEAD!!!

Which unfortunately has chosen to attack our farmhouses on the most bizaarly busy weekend this month: Wells is here, Goathead is moving, Cricket was killed in that parachuting debacle. All I want to do is mortar myself into a little room with my computer and write horror and SF. But as a service to you, World, I come out and cast the rays from my sun-like countenance upon you. This is why I am sometimes called the Sun King. Also, the walls of my apartment are covered in mirrors and gold leaf.

Here is the schedule as I understand it:

Friday: Goathead moves to a new Goatpaddock, which is actually the Goatpaddock/Ryankaraokebarhomebase. This involves several large items of furniture such as the television. The godforsaken Mayan idol of a television. It’s bigger than my car. We could probably all raft on it down the Des Moines River. If we could haul it to the top of one of the downtown skyscrapers and toss it off, the impact would probably throw the Earth off orbit and plunge us all into an iceage from which there is no return!

Saturday: …nothing? In a tentative itinerary sent me by Goathead yesterday, tomorrow lookis like this: 2-5 pm something, possibly fighting zombies at the theater. 5 pm to 2 am is budgeted for wrestling tournaments in the new apartment.

However, this itinerary ignores the basic human need to eat pizza and watch Dawn of the dead before seeing the new movie. So my proposal is that 1) Wes somehow get up here Saturday afternoonish. If this involves fellating a trucker, or truckers, then so be it. Probably Amish could also be forced into coming. 2) Others get here. 3) Watch a zombie movie. 4) Watch the zombie movie at an early evening show—7ish. 5) After-ward, back to Goathead’s. This leaves plenty of time for wrrestling, pit fights, three man brawls, and the dreaded lawnmower rumble.

Mostly I’m concerned about Wes’s ability to fellate said truckers to get himself here, and Andy’s…well, I’m not sure. But he seemed set on that matinee. There are hot women at evening shows, Andy. And having their lives threatened by zombies will make them eschew frivolous things like clothing. ESCHEW THEM. I’m not even sure what that means.

Also Dave is about, but his presence is as unpredictable as that of sasquatch.

Oh, also at issue is where, if anywhere, we could screen a pre-zombie movie zombie movie. My roommate and I are in an awkward situation and she hates the undead. Unfairly.

If this idea is universally despised, I’ll mebbe go to Albia tonight to catch the movie. And I’ll take your precious Bil with me! Fuckers. You’ve all been warned.

Whatever you do...

Don't taunt a desperate hobo when you're lost on the side of a freeway. He will stab you with a dull knife and try to take your bike.

I really need to figure out why I have such messed up dreams...

...and then I reached into his mouth and ripped out his tongue!

This old dude may be tougher than Grandpappy!

When I first saw the headline I thought, "Now what is Grandpappy doing in Kenya?" But it looks like this guy might be someone else altogether.

THE EXODUS HAS BEGUN!

Ryan has started moving his stuff from Heidi and Heather's over to my little one-bedroom. We can't move into the two-bedroom yet because they're still working on it. I was informed yesterday that we wouldn't be able to start moving in until "mid-afternoon on Friday." I'm going to take that as being around two or three.

So considering all of the stuff that Ryan had over at his other place, you can imagine what my apartment looks like right now. It's like Megan's family is living there; boxes and junk all over the place.

I could really use a hand with all of the moving tomorrow evening. Laborers will be rewarded with an alcoholic beverage of their choice!

There is enough room at my apartment to play chess (last I checked) so if you guys would like to come over and do that, feel free. And if you want to come early, say seven o'clock, we could play at Caribou under the adoring eyes of the hot Caribou barristas.

I'm boarded up in a farmhouse in the middle of a field.

Brraaaaaaaaains...

(you might have to register, which would be too bad. But I don't think you do)

Subconscious Babbling

Last night's dream was a bit odd... I was on a road trip with a bunch of friends, both new and old. We got hungry and pulled off the freeway for a bite to eat. We stopped at a sprawling truckstop-type place (if you've ever been to Wal Drug you have an idea of the cheesiness of this place). At some point we decided it'd be a good idea to play a game. So we play shootout, with guns, inside the resturant.

Now, these were gun type guns, not filled with blanks, not paintball or airsoft either. Guns.

So we start shooting up the place trying to kill each other. We think it's all great fun. And really to my surprise, no one around us really seems to notice or care. We're busting out windows, diving across tables, hiding behind the fish tank.

Finally, some of the group decides to team up so some kills can be made. But they don't see me hiding behind a partition. I get the drop on them, fill 'em full of holes before they realize I've ambushed them. Interestingly, the guns didn't actually kill them. Just put holes through their cloths and them. They didn't scream or bleed or die... Just got dissapointed that they just lost and went back to our table.

The game wasn't over yet and I knew I wouldn't get an opportunity like that again. I swung around through the kitchen and had a quickdraw moment against another friend. I caught a break and it was just me and one other. I went through a pair of swinging doors and was outside...

I was around apartment buildings on the southern edge of a lake. People were everywhere along the shore and near the buildings. Like people waiting around for fireworks to start, out on beach towels in the grass or hanging out on the doorsteps.

We never finished the game...

Words of Wisdom from People at the Church Dave and I Attended in High School

“See what that says about God’s word? It’s a two-edged sword. That means she cuts both a-comin and a-goin.” – Hatfield, Sunday School teacher (Fatfield to Dave)

…

“Come here. You want a dollop of this macaroni. Here, just have a dollop. Come on...” –old church lady, chasing me with a ceramic bowl of macaroni

…

Harris: “And we stopped just short of those tracks. I heard the train whistle at the last second and hit my brakes and that train was five feet in front of my car. And do you know what I needed right then?”

Dave: “A new pair of pants?”

…

And, of course:

Fatfield: “Intendo! You’ve got these little kids and instead of wantin to go play outside they jist wanta sit inside a-playin that Intendo! You know what? You take the ‘o’ off the end, and what do you get? Huh, what do you get?”

Everyone: “...”

Fatfield: “Come on. David, what do you get?”

Dave: “...”

Fatfield: “You take that ‘o’ off and you get “intend!” Intend! You see?”

Everyone: “...”

…

“SHWWRARRRRRK!” –Fatfield hocking his hourly loogie into a handkerchief, in between reading Bible verses.

Google Sepuku

This is a bit blasphemous, but also entertaining.

Suck Eggs, Wifflekid!

If you're not bothered by blood or gore, the Fortean Times article on the Vegetarian Festival piercings is interesting.

Most of the pics aren't too bad, but there's one of this guy ramming table legs through his cheeks...

NEW!: Some great variations to chess games (scroll down a few inches)

Exploring the bowels of the bowling alley

Ryan forgot to mention that our bowling experience ended with me crawling around inside the ball return, poking a big stick at some bowling balls that had fallen off the track. I managed to get one of them close enough to grab but I didn't feel like messing with the other two. I was covered in dust and I realized..."Oh yeah, they probably PAY people to do this sort of thing." So I gave up.

CLARIFICATION: By "inside the ball return" I mean literally inside the damn thing. The thing that pops the balls out was pulled away, revealing a hole in the floor and a track on which the balls should normally return. I was inside this hole, underneath the floor, poking a stick at bowling balls.

The only reason I was so enthusiastically trying to get the balls out in the first place was because I had one frame left to bowl on the best game I'd had all night. I had broke triple digits, man! And damnit, I wanted to finish it out. We'll just pretend I bowled a 156. Humor me.

Couple of interesting links here...

Cancer eating virus. That's some good news. Finally a virus that eats something besides my throat.

Casimir force. I thought this was interesting. This force is something like gravity that effects very small objects. It will be important in the development of nanotechnology.

Beer Frame!

Ryan, since you mentioned bowling, all I can picture are the old days, both undergrad and earlier. It's like so many good memories have been had in bowling alleys. Not sure if that's a good thing or not, but can you argue about throwing a heavy wrecking ball at a group of pins for sport? I sure can't!

I can still remember halloween in CF, bowling in costume. (Watching Darth Maul bowl is quite the sight to see.) Or the random changing of names on the electronic scorecard.

Bowling: Sport of Kings. Screw chess.

Delicious Stockings

I just saw a killer hamburger. Like: of the KHOA. The Killer Hamburgers of America.

As long as I’ve been working here, rumors have circulated about a mysterious hospital cafeteria within walking distance. This legendary City of Food is reported to be cheap, quick, and delicious. The delicious part was the most suspect, considering the place was a hospital café. But today, due to time constraints born of having to heat and then slowly eat an empinada (see: Mexican or Argentinian food) given me by a coworker, I couldn’t leave for lunch. Also I still don’t have a car.

“Where’s the nearest gas station?” I said.

“That way,” the Argentinian said. “You’d better run.”

And run I did! Actually, I did not. Because upon walking out the door I saw this gay fellow I work with walking out of a building…THAT WAS A HOSPITAL! And he was holding a paper cup.

In hushed tones, the Secret of the Hospital Cafeteria was related to me.

And in I went. And there was that fat guy from the help desk! And the child molester-looking guy I see sometimes outside, dressed in scrubs that showed his chest hair! I puked! And then I walked into the cafeteria.

And this is where I saw the killer hamburger. He was on a menu, this anthropomorphic hamburger, just like the ones Wells and I used to interview for those documentary comics we made about them. The resemblance was uncanny! What really put it over the edge—what made it a genuine killer hambuger and not just some burger with legs and arms and eyes—is that he lookd superpissed. His eyes were slanted forward in a look that can only be called devious. And he brandished a spatuala. He looked ready to beat hell out of any cook that came too close.

So I ordered the black bean burger. And let me tell you, if you order the black bean burger with pepperjack cheese, you will think they have accidentally dropped the bean patty and cheese and put a 22 year-old redheaded goth in fishnets between the buns. Because it’s that damn good.

What the hell...

I had a dream last night.

I drempt the world looked a lot different, land where oceans were, oceans where land was. You know the story. Anyway, there was a great upheavel in the world government. Provinces were ceeding and while spread apart, were all under the same banner. And their capital? The great costal metropolis of DM!

I was hanging around the new Prime Minister who was trying to protect the borders at the time. He was arguing with a general about filling in positions since they just broke away from the world gov. There are battles going on all over the world as the world gov. tries to retake it's lost provinces and the rebel gov. tries to survive.

Then I followed the rebel PM onto this massive passenger airship heading out of DM. Oh, and in the future, basketball will be played on a small oval track with moving baskets. The kids love it.

At any rate there was this supernaturally powerful kid trying to take out the PM. He's struck down by other psi-powered people protecting the PM, but the kid doesn't die though, but buggers off as enegry, he starts absorbing what he can to return and try again.

I woke up before I could see what happened.

Barfin in the pool

So. Who wants a body massage?

I will be in Des Moines this week. Who wants to know? Probably your mamma.

Novo: I have some idears for the blog title. Might need you to add ink emphasis to em. My idea is to have a caricature of each of us w/ Attic Apartment written next to it. Each character of us would have be a seperate title, etc. Peach is sexy, yes, but backwards her name spells CHEAP. Sorta.

Anywho....My phone still doesnt work.

Customer Service -OR- People Who are Too Dumb to Dine Out

I just got back from Quizno’s. Had to walk. This is because I no longer have a rental. The car rental place, operated by the auto body shop, could only secure enough insurance dollars to get me a car for three days. This was supposed to be enough time.

And those three days were terrible anyway. In line at the rental car portion of the body shop, I was told that if I didn’t buy insurance, any damages to the car would be my responsibility. So did I want to pay the $13 a day with cash or debit card? I wanted to do neither. I told the bastard behind the counter that I would try to resist the urge to ramp the vehicle off of curbs, moving trucks, old ladies. He said okay, but if it hails I’d better get the car in a garage. The car had 263 miles.

It hailed that night. Alyssa and I were traveling across Des Moines, were on the interstate 20 miles from home, and the golfballs started smashing into the roof, into the windshield. They changed from golfballs to hamster skulls. Thwock thwock, son of a bitch. It lasted five minutes and finally stopped, and when I get out of the car there was no damage. Praise Allah.

The rental car people won’t give you a car unless they authorize your credit card for payment in case of accidents. They had to use my debit card, and there was this $100 authorization which would just begin to pay for any accidents. And my balance was somewhere in the 80s. As in less than a hundred dollars. This was pre-pay day, and I’d just thrown a bunch of money at the credit card sharks.

So I made sure to have the fucking godforsaken car back on time. The next day Alyssa would pick me up and drive me to pick up my car. But I got this voicemail from the body shop telling me that good thing I had that car back on time. And sorry, but whoop, they’d forgot to order one of the parts, so my car wouldn’t be done till Tuesday.

This was last Thursday.

So I’ve been riding with Alyssa. Tomorrow I have no idea how I will get home, because Alyssa works till nine. I’m thinking of offering dinner to Gote if he collects me (I think we get off around the same time..? in the same area) and transfers me to ankeny, or to anyone. But I’m still scouting for any Ankenites in my office.

Whoa! The purpose of this post was to do bitching of a completely different variety:

Walked to Quizno’s. Right. That’s where this started. Soon as I walked in I noticed the two skuzzy hip hoppin girls at the end of the line. They were ordering in a manner like:

“Two double steak and cheeses. Regular. No, both regular. Wait. What do you want? Regular? Regular. No, small. Make that a small. No, one regular and one small. Actually, I’ll eat the rest of yours. Make them both regular.”

And then they turned and took the order of the woman who was too large to stand in line by herself. She sat in the back, sat around the table, flowing around it. They finally got their order in. A few minutes later at the register controversy erupted because the clerk thought they only had two sandwiches, not realizing that the large woman’s was also on their ticket.


ONE OF THE HIP HOPPING WOMEN: (pointing) That’s my sandwich.

CLERK: I just gave you the two sandwiches. (She’s this short asian girl who never ever stops smiling. She was born to run a cash register. Actually, that’s terrible. She’s too good for this)

OOTHHW: (upset) That’s my sandwich. This is my damn sandwich.

CLERK: Wait, you had three sandwiches?

OOTHHW: I just told you, that’s my SANDWICH.

CLERK: Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t ring it in.

OOTHHW: Well, give me the sandwich.

CLERK: I’ll need to ring it in. I’m sorry.

OOTHHW: You’re telling me it costs $21.46 for two sandwiches?

CLERK: Yeah. I only rang in the two.

OOTHHW: And it costs $21.46? $21.46 for two sandwiches?

CLERK: Well, that’s two double steak and cheeses. Those are $6.99 a piece.

OOTHHW: So how does it cost $21.46 for two sandwiches?!

CUSTOMERS START BACKING AWAY. AUTHOR ROCKS BACK AND FORTH, FINDING THE MENU QUITE INTERESTING AT THE MOMENT.

OOTHHW: For two sandwiches!

CLERK: (not smiling for the first time ever, reading from receipt): $21.46 for the two sandwiches, with a large lemonade, a frappuccino, the bag of chips, the two cookies, and the bowl of soup.

OOTHHW: …Oh. Well, just a second.

GOES TO THE LARGE WOMAN AND RETURNS WITH A $100 BILL. PAYS AND RECEIVES ABSURD AMOUNT OF CHANGE. IS KICKED IN THE HEAD BY THE AUTHOR, CRASHES THROUGH PLATE GLASS WINDOW.

Attachement x2 (bonus points)

Andy's post got my memory working:

I once had this painting teacher who started explaining some of her methods to us one day in studio. She once did a series of drawings. One after the other till there was a nice pile of paper. Each a mark of her abilities, talent, and creativity.

And then she burned each and every one of them.

She took the ashes of each drawing and put them in a glass jar, and put them in the faculty show. All we ever got to see were ashes, as well, that's all she had of them physically. Her mind was the only place the drawings actually exist. Her memories (as time goes on) will fade of those till no one remembers what was on those sheets.

While it doesn't sound hopeful, it's freeing.

On Attachment

Buddha's doctrine: Man suffers because of his craving to possess and keep forever things which are essentially impermanent. Chief among these things is his own person, for this is his means of isolating himself from the rest of life, his castle into which he can retreat and from which he can assert himself against external forces. He believes that his fortified and isolated position is the best fight against change, to strive to keep pleasing things for himself, to shut out suffering and shape circumstances as he wills. In short, it is his means of resisting life. The Buddha taught that all things, including his castle, are essentially impermanent and as soon as man tries to possess them they slip away; this frustration of the desire to possess is the immediate cause of suffering. --Alan Watts

Ch'ung ju jo ching
Favor and disgrace are like fear.
Honor and distress are like the self.

What does this mean?

Favor debases us.
Afaid when we get it,
Afraid when we lose it.

The self embodies distress.
No self,
No distress.

Respect the world as your self:
The world can be your lodging.
Love the world as your self;
The world can be your trust.
-- Lao-Tzu




Life is suffering. --The Buddha

Good times, good times...

Well, ok. In case you didn't notice...

THE BLOG LOOKS A LITTLE DIFFERENT NOW.

Of course, like usual I started out with a full head of steam. I tore the old blog down to the component parts that worked and that I wanted to keep, began putting them back together in the form in my head... then about an hour (which would be around 15% of the way through the process, but well past the point of no return) later everything sort of slowed to a crawl and I went 'god this is really fucking boring.'

3 agonizing hours later, I'm done with everything except for the section for replies.

Maybe I should just take those fucking things off again.

But I digress.

There's a few notes on the new design:

I need feedback on if it's broken on your computer. If the main posts are way the hell down the screen under the tagboard/archives I'd need to know. If you think it's ugly, I don't need to know that, but feel free to tell me anyways. If it hurts your eyes or it's hard to read, let me know.

I have a few things I know I need to work on, but most of that deals with the juicy innards of the blog and it isn't things you people would be noticing.

I took away all the stuff that depends on our post-signage name, including all the colored boxes and things that differentiated us as posters (except for our actual names there at the bottom). This serves three purposes: 1) trimmed quite a bit of very blocky, ugly code for it. 2) Can just add people now without haveing to redo half the template to fit them into the tables, find a color for them, etc. Finally, you can now change your post signage name to "Chicken Fucker" or whatever if you so desire. Knock yourselves out.

I'm assuming Cricket is using his poorlydrawn email account, so I sent the blog invitation there. If not, leave a comment or something.

Choices...

Im torn between my love of driving home or drinking rum. So hard to decide!

I will be home by the time you fuckers decide to update.

Did you know: In Iowa schools, the librarian is a 'media specialist'?

Update:Well, Goathead solved the puzzle. Fast:

"I found this in under 30 seconds...you bumbling fool. ;o)
Here: http://www.state.ia.us/boee/addition.html"

Which makes me feel like committing suicide by stapler. Damn. I was looking for the specific 'Media Specialist' under the Endorsements section. Curse you, Goathead. Curse you.

I leave this post up only in shame. Shame, shame.


Tim: I’m calling to find out the licensure requirements for media specialists in public schools. Here in Iowa.

Iowa Board of Educators Lady on Phone: Oh, you just called.

Tim: Right. I’m completely unabe to find that link.

Lady (sighing): It’s right at the bottom, under ‘Endorsements.’

Tim: Right. I’m unable to find it there.

Lady: Are you at our page?

Tim: Slash boee, right?

Lady: Right. Go to the bottom. Endorsements.

Tim: Okay. I see … ‘Requirements for Special Ed—

Lady: You need to go back. You’re too far.

Tim: Oh, I’m just reading what I see. I’m not actually in the Special Ed sec—

Lady: You need to be on the main slash boee page. Push the back button.

Tim: See, I am on the main boee page—

Lady: The address is double u double u double u dot s t a t e dot—

Tim: Well, I really don’t see it there. I even did a word search on the page—

Lady: It’s there. Down in ‘Endorsements.’

Tim: Um. (scanning furiously) Yeah. I still…

Lady (exasperated): Near the bottom of the page.

Tim: Uh. I’ll just…look around…(hangs the fuck up)

This transcript is part of a fun game you can play too! Visit http://www.state.ia.us/boee/ and try to find the state certification requirements for ‘Media Specialist’! … and if you find it, email the link to me at firstname.lastname at iowa dot gov.

The Man with the Phallic Surname

If you’ve read the message board you’ll already know that I am pathetically close to collecting all of the Burger King Star Wars toys. I’m thinking of stopping here though, because I already have all of the characters that I wanted to get and a few that I didn’t. And I’m not sure if I can choke down another wilted salad and greasy grilled chicken sandwich. I have learned a valuable lesson about Burger King’s breakfast food, though. If you absolutely have to eat your breakfast at some fast food joint...like if Ronald McDonald and the Burger King show up on your doorstep some morning holding revolvers and threatening to blow your brains out if you don’t choose one of their namesakes as the place where you eat your breakfast dinner...Burger King is far and away the better choice. The key factor in this is their biscuits and gravy. It is the shit.

I wouldn’t eat it very often, though, if I were you. I ate it one morning and wasn’t hungry for the rest of the day. It probably has enough calories to keep you going for a full week.

Well, it appears that Tim is bailing on the Fab Four trip...or is it Fab Five now? Either way it isn’t going to happen.

If Tim doesn’t mind, I’d really love to go to Boston with him, and maybe if anyone else wants to blow the time and money we could turn it into a small group trip—maybe three of us?

I think I speak for everyone when I say, “Way to put your career before our drunken escapades! Selfish bastard.”

Since today is Bayou day I suppose it would be appropriate to dine at (so far as I’m aware) the only Bayou themed restaurant in Des Moines: Buzzard Billy’s.

But, no, forget that, if I’m not going to eat Steak and Guinness pie I don’t even want to go down to Court Ave. It would just tease me the more.

I think Tim should henceforth be known as Tim: The DREAMKILLER. Or simply Tim “Dreamkiller” Dicks.

That’s right, man with the phallic surname, you think about what you’ve done to our dreams. You think about it and you cry big phallic tears!

Bayohobonics

I (likely) will not be coming along for this summer’s drunken trip to Chicago, or Minneapolis, or other chosen city. Why? Simply because I am far too good to be trapped in a vehicle with you people.

Also, I need to investigate some grad schools. What does he mean by investigate, you ask? By investigate, I mean make love to various beauteous grad students, wander around campuses, and bribe various selection committees and MFA faculty. Very probably someone’s publisher will offer me a 26-figure book contract as soon as I step into town. This is the sort of thing that happens, right? Right? Please…

It is quite windy in the bayou.

Damn it. I forgot to put this post in Bayounese.

Shit.

Oh, and the reason my trips to Bowling Green OH and Amherst MA cancel my ability to go on the trip is because I’m almost out of both time off and financial resources. And I’m guessing flying to Mass and driving to Ohio will leave me destitute on the doorsteps of the Royal Mile and Java Joe’s, babbling in incoherent Hobonics. Or perhaps Bayohobonics.

OOOH OOOH!I'll also be visiting Iowa City's campus, so if anyone wants to come we could get a hotel--the whole damn hotel--and do a post-trip trip there.

Next week: Haiti Week

I'm kicking off Bayou Day with this informative and celebrative article.

Perhaps Bayou Day will be extended to Bayou Weekend.

...

Oops. What I mean is:

Kickin off this here Bayou Day with a piecea writin bout my cousin Billy.

Mebbe the Bayou Day'll be extended to Bayou Weekend. Yep.

...

I don't actually know how Bayou people talk... *bursts into tears*

Boy, git my stabbin knife. -OR- Today is Bayou Day

I would really love to work in a swamp. Yesterday after I posted that thing about the corpse of Wells and the swampfolk, I read the bungie profile of the new swamp level. And I got all euphoric and giddy, as if soon I’d be stumbling around the mud while Bayou Billy chased me around with his stabbin knife. (Boy, git ma stabbin knife!) Just now I was scooting around on my chair between cubicals, looking down the aisle, and realized how excellent it would be to flood this place. Like, if the lighting was darker, the floor less carpet-y and more muddy and soggy, and the people were replaced by crocodiles. Yeahhhh.

Darker lighting in general would be nice. At a party in northsomething Iowa—Wells was there—the house owning guy whipped out a fog machine late in the night. Holy crap, it was great. I’m drunk! People are playing music! There is a guitar on the wall. THERE’S SMOK EVERYWHERE!

That was Sarah’s brother’s house.

Today I’m supposed to find a job for a lady who can’t type more than about 15-20 wpm. She wants to be a transcriptionist. Why?!

Did I mention me and my friends are the biggest goddamn retards youll ever meet?

So all my finals are done. I have a cell phone (Seven 2 Zero, Too 99, Eighteen six E8t) and its fucking sexy. FUCKING SEXY!

What shall I do. Oh. Im comin home this weekend. Ill give a ring-a-ding to some of you all when I return to the Iowa. Will we be doing something? I hope so.

Someone offered me HoneyBeez today. Those taffy nut sugar abominations. I couldnt help but grab a handful of em JUST so I could proclaim that I had eaten a handful of honeybees. Suckers!

Has anyone heard of Hostess Choc-O-Diles? It sounds pornoriffic, but its seriously a Twinkie with Ding-dong chocolate coating every inch of its 3". ...yeah.

As always, Ill be bringing a wealth of stuff home with me to parade around. But this time, itll be more motion stuff. Like a video or 3. And you will all eat them, as such Ive ruined the grammer in this sentence by.

Your daily dose of Zen

For those of you who don't know what Pixy Sticks are, it's a "candy" which is more or less sugar flavored sugar. I'd rather see my kids snorting pure, unprocessed crack than eating Pixy Sticks. I went to an amusement park once and bought a HUGE Pixy Stick...it was about as wide as a soda can and maybe two feet tall. I'd only gotten through half of it and I was completely out of my mind. At one point I was on a roller coaster, and in my Pixy Stick-tripped out self, the ride was rolling way too slowly, and if I hadn't been strapped in I would have gotten out and pushed.

This Day in History!...even if it wasn't actually this day

On this day in history: Nick left the copy of “Oh my Goddess” in the car of our intensely fundamental Baptist preacher. Because it actually belonged to the Wells clan, Dave was immediately hanged from the gnarled willow at the edge of the old swamp. His body remains there to this day: green flesh now as taut and hard as a drum skin, eyes long since pecked out, toes eaten by swampfolk. Some of the innocent swampfolk have made a religious figure out of his corpse, and if you approach the swamp on misty nights you can hear their quaint music rattling on the breeze:

Toomaroo lo lo toomaroo lo lo

He’s our hangin’ boy

Toomara la la toomara la la

If he ever rises from the dead to consume the flesh of the livin’, we’re all fucked.

The swampfolk, as always, were unavailable for interview, but I was able to speak to some of the city residents living nearby. This is where I heard of the prom night tradition of “riding the hanging body.” Some people refer to the tradition as “the morbid pendulum” or the “carnal pendulum.” Most of the old men just call it “fucking the corpse.”

...

Every morning I feel like I’m going to die. I crawl, hand over hand, out of bed then drive to work then avoid auto accidents then dodge blind canes and seeing eye dogs and wheelchairs and crutches to get to my cubicle, and then I sit here and write blog entries and read the news because I have no real work to do! Which is great, I know—not complaining about that. I just wish I could work when there was work to do, instead of putting in 8 hours regardless of the need.

That’s sort of a crappy model for a workplace, isn’t it? I can see how in industry that’d be advantageous, but with something like my job, if there’s no work to do for eight hours, it’s almost sinister to keep me sitting here, staring at this computer, until 4:30.

Some fat old guy is doing the zombie shuffle down here and it’s freakin me out. Dragging his feet, moaning every few seconds, bumping into things. Go for the brains, you bastard. Go for the brains.

...

Also:Abby, of class reunion fame, somehow has my email. And she is asking for the addresses of Mel, Kevin, Goathizzle, R-MacDonut 3000, and Wauson. Oh, and Wells. If you want me to give her your address, send an email to pharaoh at gmail. If you want me to tell her you're dead, or pregnant, or too busy with your sex change operation to be bothered with your dear old high school buddies, send me an email as well. If you'd like to license me to make up my own circumstances for you, send me an email. Likely you will have last been seen wandering around the Orlando area in a bee costume, with what looked like Spam oozing out of the seams. When I asked you if you were okay, or if you were coming to the reunion, you slapped me with a tree branch and told me to get that damn dog back into the freezer. Then you pummeled my kidneys with swift roundhouse kicks. When I was bloodied and helpless on the sidewalk, you climbed into a shopping cart and rolled down the nearest hill, into the darkness.

fuck

I just signed a manuscript cover letter:

Desperately Yours,

Tim Dicks

har

It's colonex or the garden hose, your choice.

I work with a woman (we’ll call her Karen, because that’s her name) from New Zealand and I’m going to hazard a guess and say this woman is the stupidest person who works here. At first I thought it was just a communication problem. She speaks with a thick accent and I can’t understand half of the shit that she says and she also wears a hearing aid and can’t understand half of the shit that I say, so our conversations usually don’t get very far. For the last few months, in fact, I usually just stare at her blankly until she stops talking.

It isn’t our inability to understand one another, though, it’s that she’s fucking stupid.

I learned this when I wrote, in plain English (which is a language commonly used in our department), that she had neglected to include an entire fucking section of manual pages in a job she gave me, and would she kindly find out where the hell they were spirited off to before the writer finds out that we’ve lost them and has us both impaled.

She brought me a photocopy of the section that I already had.

So, with full intention to use Nazi interrogation methods to divulge the location of the lost section, I stomped down to her cube. She wasn’t there, but I saw the section I was looking for sitting on her desk, so I took it, cursing her the entire time.

Ten minutes later, she comes down babbling her kangaroo jargon. Finally, after I decoded what she was saying with my koala ring, I realized that she was accusing me of stealing the section and blaming her for losing it.

I would like to see this woman torn apart by a herd of rabid Tasmanian devils.

And if she isn’t losing entire sections of work, she’s fucking them up so badly that I end up just giving them back to her with the words “entire section needs redone” written in angry red letters on the front.

What’s really sad is that she is almost neck in neck with three other people to get the “stupidest person in the department” award. I swear one of the writers has to be related to Nick. He can talk for twenty minutes without actually saying anything. It’s AMAZING! This guy would be a great politician. I’ve never heard him actually make a point. Whenever I ask him a question he somehow manages to circle around and cause me to answer my own question. I’m not sure if he’s brilliant and eccentric or just plain fucked in the head.

But, enough complaints about the people I work with.

Sorry about your grandma, Ryan. My condolences to you and your family.

Saturday, Saturday, Saturday

Josh isn’t coming. I don’t care who told you he was or how sure they seemed that their info was accurate, I don’t believe it. I’ve been told too many times that he was coming up here and been disappointed. I’ll believe it when I see it.

And I just have one thing to say about this weekend: Steak and Guiness Pie. I want it, I need it, and I will have it!!! Nothing will stop me! Let China send its undead hordes into battle against me; I will not be stopped!

And we need to get some of that colon cleaning stuff for Amish. I’ve never known someone in worse need of a colon cleaning. Just don’t get too close to him for a few days. You’ll be lucky to survive the fallout.

Who would win in Superman vs. 5 Vampires?

You know, Ren got his colon cleansed. In the episode Nurse Stimpy: Stimpy comes in wearing, not surprisingly, a nurse’s costume. Ren is ill with some disease and treatments have been getting more like Inquisition-era torture as Ren’s illness becomes more morbidly terrible. And it sort of climaxes in the colon cleansing.

Or maybe it’s a spleen cleansing. Whatever it is, there is usage of a machine that can only be described as Quite a Machine.

Ren and Stimpy—when I watch an old episode or even think back to it, I wonder what the dear Fuck I was thinking watching that show. Every episode squeams me out to the point of near vomit/pants soiling/suicide/moving to a hermit lodge in Finland. Some moments that come to mind:

# Stimpy letting down his nose hair so Ren can climb up to the Rapunzel tower.

# An old man riding a flayed, hoofless headless horse.

# Stimpy licking a hairy man clean in service to the furball factory.

There’s an episode of Invader Zim that freaks me out almost to the same degree. Zim sends plastic piggies back in time to replace key objects in the past of his arch-nemesis Dib, and as a result Dib becomes more and more screwed up—first he gets liver spots, loses an arm, and then he loses teeth and gets skinnier and shudder, it’s freaky. It’s weird to see a character you’re familiar with get all morbidly screwed up by the creators.

Anyway.

…

I should let Goathead write about this, but yesterday in Java Joe’s he informed me that we should take an alternate route back to his car. Because on his way to the coffee shop, someone (presumably one of those damn hobos) yelled something like “Hey you! YOU AIN’T SHIT! YOU! AIN’T! SHIT!” (is that about right?)

Yeah, fucker! You ain’t shit!

I ran that hobo over with a stolen BMX. Just kept running and running, over and over, driving over limbs and organs and a tongue.

Here’s a story: Alyssa and I went to Java Joe’s one Sunday afternoon, and this kid on a bike rolled up out of nowhere, stopped next to and old man:

“Wanna buy a bike?”

And the old guy was like “…hmm. How much?”

…

Mr. Christopher is jockeying my pizza hut cup right now. My pizza hut cup makes my employers nervous. People just joke like—embezzling from your last company, huh? And then the boss sort of looks at it for a while whenever she’s in here, wondering—what the hell happened to that wheelchair last week? And that filing cabinet? HOW MUCH HAS THIS CLEPTOMANIAC SMUGGLED OUT INSIDE HIS CAVERNOUS HEAD?!

Sometimes I want to put the phone to my head, wait for a superior to walk by, and then say things like:

“…I don’t think he’s ever gonna get that hot dog out of there…”

“…last I saw him he was in Ricky’s trunk. Well, no. He couldn’t really talk, is the thing.”

“…Good god, man! Do you have any idea what’s in your colon? Where do you think I got this little plastic lemur toy?…”

…

Last night I got a flashback:

ANDY (drunk): What did the five fingers say to the face? SLAP! *slaps self*

This happened over and over. It was the most excellent night of slapping I’ve ever witnessed.

…

Currently I have a blog on my writing-related website. I’ve tried a couple times to have a private blog, but I keep running into the same problem: I have nothing to say in a blog. The thing about journals or diaries is that they’re supposed to be of interest to the writer and not necessariliy to anyone else. For a blog to be at all interesting to people outside the writer’s social group, it needs to be full of links and information and junk outside the writer’s life. Stuff that matters to everyone.

…

My boss’s name is Janeen. I’m trying to condition everyone here to refer to her visits as “The Janeenings.” As in, what did you find out? When? In the Janeening. Oh.

We also have a white lady who is a spot-on Colin Powell look-alike. Damn, it’s creepy. And then we have a guy who sounds like the managing editor of the North American Review. Which just makes me nostalgic. Actually, it gives me a sense memory of vodka and cranberry juice. I never drank at the job, so I have no idea where this comes from. The NAR should remind me of Alyssa or fresh magazine pages or proofreading pens but instead I get vodka. And the remembered excitement/dread of trying to hit on Alyssa.

…

Last night John alerted me to lowbright.com, a page of excellent fucking HOT EXCELLENT GOOD comics. A couple of them were the caliber of funny that makes me wake up dazed in a cornfield, naked. This is how I woke up this morning. ‘The Shaft’ and elements of ‘The 10 Commandments of Simon’ will cause you to lose consciousness until waking up in the backseat of a Moroccan taxi. You will discover that you were life-flighted to the hospital but the helicopter turned out to be a disguised human-trafficking vehicle, and now you are on your way to a local politician’s hotel room to turn your first trick.

Some of the comics are serious…as in, not funny. Mostly you can tell by the drawing style. The funny ones are more cartoony, and the artsy serious ones are more realistic. For the most part.

…

I’m reading this SF novel called “Towing Jehovah.” The premise: God dies and falls into the ocean. Angels, dying of grief, charge the Catholic Church with towing the corpse into the arctic circle so it will be preserved. The Church commissions an oil tanker to do the towing, because the corpse is two miles long.

The story is pretty good. A lot of it is about: if God is dead, is there morality? What about his body? Does God even have a body? If we get hungry, can we use it to make a quarter pounder?

One problem with it that is common to a lot of SF—and this is something I’ve noticed and read other people’s assertions about—is that whereas 95% of “literary” authors mix great writing and craft with a boring story, SF authors tend to mix incredible stories with sub-par writing and craft. Exceptions would be writers like Michael Chabon, who writes great, funny, interesting literary mainstream stories, and Neal Stephenson, who writes impressively-formed SF.

Anyway. This madness has gone on long enough.

Amish and Josh and some others will be here Saturday. Is Wes involved? Wes, are you involved? Wes? WES!!!!!

Journal Entry 4/23

Final project not finished. No fun. Sleep deprived. No fun. Payday. Fun.

Too tired to think, let alone write paper. Itchy. Glenn came. Ugly face so killed him. Tasty.

Itchy. Hungry.

Nerds playing Ninja Burger. In Lobby. Me work. No sleep for wicked. Nerds congregate at late hours to do stuff. Me not happy . Ninja burger like Munchkin, cept more complicated and with pennies and candy. Tasty.

Paper. Ugh. No write!!! Make go again away. Not today. No one ends sentences with an infinitive. No one.

I just wrote this into a report, and am trying to convince myself to save it

With the exception of the metro area, the client can likely get a job selling sharks. There’s currently a large market for sharks in the suburbs. Specifically sharks that have already eaten people. I’m not sure how to explain this but . . . you have people—more people than you’d expect—in the suburbs who want to eat other people. They want to be cannibals. But they can’t just eat a person, so if they can eat a shark that’s eaten a person, that’s the best possible thing.

"When I was five years old I saw an insect that had been eaten by ants and of which nothing remained except the shell. Through the holes in its anatomy one could see the sky. Every time I wish to attain purity I look at the sky through flesh." --Salvador Dali

Cricket, I must concede, you were right about the cows. Maybe. I still think you were being a little TOO cautious.

Ryan, if you get REALLY bored at work I found an electronic version of a book that really helped me when I was feeling down and depressed.

After reading the first entry of this blog/editorial page, I was laughing so hard that the lady two cubes over wanted to know if I was okay. (I think she was afraid I had finally snapped.) It's written by an American working as an assistant English teacher in Japan. He makes light of some of the more...interesting...cultural gaps.

Yesterday, as I was researching Pop-Tart flavor varieties, I heard someone on the other side of my wall whisper "I haven't done anything all day." I breathed a sigh of relief knowing that I wasn't the only one.

wield bloodlust; offwield cutlass; kill whitedawn

My days masquerading as Jeff Wheeler, master of the web, are over. Curses.

Wheeler just designed the blog, while I built the rest of the media empire that is that website. Who is this wheeler? I have no idea. A twinkle in the eye of some blog design company. There, Andy. THERE.

One of the worst things, in a way, is when you have some book or album or movie that you ascribe a lot of meaning to, and think about a lot, and sort of have as inspiration. And then you read an interview with the author/musician/director where he or she is like "yeah, I was thinkin of waffles. That's basically all about waffles." And you're like--what about the human condition? The human condition has nothing to do with maple syrup!

High point of the weekend: Amish in my passenger seat, Wes in the backseat. Some Meagan's sister looking SUV is behind us. Wes is sort of humping the backseat/digging through the trunk through the seat and finally notices that it's jimmy in the SUV, staring with standard jimmy confusion. which isn't surprising, since he saw wes for the first time in months, humping the backseat of an unfamiliar car. Wonderfully, we left things at that.

After the hookah bar, while Cricket and I wander back to his car in the drunk district of Ames:

CRICKET: How was the hookah?

TIM: Lovvvely.

PASSING JOCKISH DRUNKS: LOVELY! *chortle chortle*

TIM (louder!) LOVELY!

...
And me just now with a co-worker:

TIM: *explains car accident*

WORKER: Oh my god! Is everyone okay?

TIM: Yes.

WORKER: Were you wearing a seatbelt? Who was with you?

TIM: Alyssa. And my mother and neice.

WORKER: Were they all wearing seatbelts?

TIM: Well, I don't know. Probably not the people in the backseat.

WORKER: (look of disgust)You put people in the backseat?

TIM: ...? Yeah.

WORKER: (still morally appalled)You put your mom and neice in the backseat?

TIM: ...it is a four door car. And there were...four of us.

WORKER: There wasn't any room in the front?

TIM: ...

WORKER: Well, how's your grandma? She wasn't there, was she? Was she wearing a seatbelt.

TIM: ...(mentally shaking head)...No, she's flatout dead now.

WORKER: YOUR GRANDMA IS DEAD?!

TIM: Actually, no.

WORKER: ...

Are you Buzz Lightyear? I love your movie!

Uuuuuuuuuuuuggggggggggggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh...

I will be back later now. June 19th. In the night I will drive like a bat out of Michigan. Mainly because the forcast that weekend is Damn Hot in Colorado, Damn Hot in Nebraska, and Damn Hotter in Iowa. But mostly Damn Fucking Hot in Nebraska. So June 19th/20th I will be around in the Daytime. I will be in Des Moines that week.

SPEAKING OF WHICH: I need to confess. I think for some fucked up beyond the control of the Mighty God of Whiffle Ball himself that that I am mocked upon. Why? Well for starters: I am scheduled to go to Cedar Falls to hang out with Sarah and Christine. Badass? Yes. But they are exes of Cricket. I dont care cuz they feed me rum and take pictures and touch me in places Im not supposed to tell about cuz I took a promise upon Baby Jesus not to tell any adults, not even my parents. Im not complaining. HOWEVER: I am supposed to go hang out with Heather and Alyssa: new members of the Exes club. Which is pretty cool, dont get me wrong, but when i do the math of all this I am being demasculated by going shoe shopping and then watching Princess Diaries II. (Ryan if you claim this is a good movie reguardless I will BITCH SLAP you!)Do I just SCREAM friend?! I must give off this awful musk that makes womenfolks who just became single to want to hang out with, eat ice cream, and talk about guys. What. The. Fuck. I am hoping this next quarter brings good news here at the dorms. Mostly goth / punk/ pirate girls. HOPEFULLY all three in one entity. I will still hang out with Heather/Alyssa and Sarah/Christine because I am a bitch and apparently I get some sort of glee from the Wailings of the FaNoodle of Fuckin Retardedness.

Not to mention, I will be seeing Jaime for 2 days. And Casey (andy: THAT FUCKING CUNT WHORE!!! *hits accelorator* I DONT KNOW HOW FAST IM GOING CUZ THE NEEDLE STOPS AT 125!!! FUCK THAT BITCH ASS WHORE!!!) as well. Whoop de damn doo.

Ive moved in completely into my new room. Its badass. I have a balcony and a bigger room. Plus I have an Xbox at my control. When I return, can I get someone to direct me in getting XBox Live? I am unsure of the witchkraft that is involved with this process.

I am working on updating the Dinosaurs/Aliens picture for my portfolio. It will rock ass hard core.

-Willum: You still want to ink the comic pages I did? You mentioned doing it, making sure you were still up to it.
-Wes: Any news on the Zombie game? Still interested.
-Tim: SUV stands for Shitty Unrealistic Vehicles

My car's ass.

I just had my first car accident that wasn't my fault! Awesome!

So I might be stuck in Ankeny this weekend.

How Hangovers Work

howstuffworks.com is my new favorite website! Thank you sooooo much Wes! I just read an amzing article about how a hangover works and what remedies and prevention methods are most effective. I just wish I would have read it about two weeks ago.

This morning I was sitting quietly at my desk, working dilligently, when I suddenly got the urge to turn around. And just as I'm turning around Stefanie is standing up to leave for break.

I notice that her headphones are still on her head, and the other end of the cord is plugged into the stereo sitting on her desk. Before I can say anything to her she is thrown back, head first, into the chair like a dog reaching the end of it's leash. It was awesome! The look on her face was priceless.

Telephone conversation between me and Alyssa last weekend

Me: "Blah blah blah blah--"

Alyssa: "Oh. Oh my gosh."

"What?"

"The neighbors are having sex again."

(In my bathroom, you can hear the neighbors having sex as if they're in the bathtub)

"Wow, it's really loud."

"Really?" I say. "Weird--"

"Oh."

"What?"

"He just came."

Put that in your corn cobbed pipe!

Ever want to get a fully automatic assault rifle and go into a large, crowded public place and start mowing people down randomly and without judgement? I sure do. I especially want to go ballistical on people who are moving out of the dorms. They just suck at life and they think because they are moving they can be assfucks. Fuck. That.

Bizzle my nizzle. June 19th will be the damn time I return to Albia for sure. I want to work a lil more before I head back.

Team Discovery Channel

This post is being written on assignment, in Goathead's apartment. Some people know this place as Andy's house; others know it as the Andy pad. Those in the know refer to it simply as the Goat Paddock. And by "those in the know," I mean "me."

Ryan is playing music on his psp. Goathead is playing Halo. John is listening to an ipod and intellectually masturbating to a graphic design book, which is apparently porn for artists. And Ryan just turned to us very solemnly and told us we were all to dance to the next song. Then, when no one rose, he slowly did, and performed a mournful twist. Really it wasn't terribly mournful. And the song was Gay Bar. So it's not all that strange to imagine that we might dance to it. If we were far, far more acquainted with a bottle of Morgan, or something.

As some of you know, there has been a zeppelin moored outside Ankeny for the past few days. Did I write about this already? Anyway, the zeppelin is emblazoned with 'Sanyo.' A few days after I noticed it, and a few days after Alyssa and I broke up, we met for lunch. It was a hot day so we sat on this little grass/tree island in the state parking lot, and I ate a quizno's veggie sammich. Let me tell you here what a quizno's veggie sandwich is. A quizno's veggie sammich is salty, greasy, sloppy shit. Delicious shit. Here's the way it seems to be made:

1) Take your bread.

2) Toss some wet mushrooms onto this bread, as well as a handful of red onions. Don't bother spreading them out. As in other fast foods, clumps are fine.

3) Add an absurd amount of cheese. If necessary, roll a back-up wheel of munster out of the back room and toss that on the sandwich. Don't forget to strap on your weightbelt.

4) Don’t forget the tomatoes.

5) Cook this mire of vegetables, then upend a bucket of viniagrette onto it. Add lettuce and more tomatoes, but don't actually put them in the sandwich. Instead, put them on the outside of the sandwich. Also slather on a few ladles of guacamole. Make sure not to integrate the ingredients, so that the customer is forced to take a bite of pure guac and lettuce, then another bite of wet mushrooms and onions.

Despite this procedure, the sammich can be good. In moderation.

Severe moderation.

Where was I? Um. … So Alyssa and I were sitting on this grassy island, me trying to eat the bog of a sandwich, guacamole running down my knuckles and vinaigrette dripping onto my shoes. Alyssa was eating something far easier, a veggie burger from BK. There were ants everywhere. Everywhere At one point an ant disappeared into our shared fries.

And overhead the zeppelin soared.

For reference: you will probably find it difficult to live with your girlfriend after you break up, especially if you are still attracted to her.

My apartment is like a little microwave. I probably don't have to cook food anymore, I could just take it out of the fridge and wait for the atmosphere to boil the water out. I've been stubbornly resisting the siren song of air conditioning, but today, after changing for the fourth time, I came up with the following equation:

--Let X indicate the cost of four loads of laundry in one day, including time to wash them and emotional anguish at having to do laundry every other day.

--Let Y indicate the cost of air conditioning for the afternoon.

--If X is more than Y, then run the damn air conditioner.

Cricket is going crazy on the air drums over here.

I was an apprentice vegetarian for a while. I suppose I still am. This is how this came about:

Alyssa's and my first date: we are at Fazoli's. I have been brooding over this girl for months, have been actively torturing myself about her for weeks, and now, amazingly, after a drunkenly brave midnight meeting in the computer lab, I am on a date with her. We are at Fazoli's, which has amazing breadsticks. Amazing. Never mind that they will grease our hands and faces; they are too delicious for this to be a concern.

I order chicken and sundried tomatoes over alfredo; she orders cheese ravioli. Would she like a bite of this chicken? It's incredible. But no, she's a veg.

Which is cool. She doesn't mind that I'm eating an animal. But I decide then to not eat meat around her.

Anyway, I sort of got involved in that more in-depth because there are really a lot of fantastic veggie options. Peppers, onions, shrooms, guac, mushrooms, carrots. And if you're in the metro option you can get

1) Sicilian veggie, at Noodle Zoo. This is the best veggie option in town. Buttery vegetables on toasted bread.

2) Eggplant parmesan, at Spaghetti Works. This is breaded parmesan with red sauce and noodles. Holy, holiest of shits, this is good.

3) Veggie special at Raul's Mexican, which is less good because it's about 40% guac and sour cream.

But if you work for the state and only have a 30-minute lunch break, you can only make it to Burger King or Quizno's. Or you can get cheese stix at Arby's. Unless you're a dirty fallen apprentice vegetarian.

The best meat dish I've had in the past fourteen months is easily—easily, easily—the steak and guiness pie at the Royal Mile. This is a potpie with steak and other delicious elements. This is also mashed potatoes and peas. Peas shouldn't be this good. It makes no sense.

This dish costs $10.95.

Since Ryan and Heather broke up I never see Heather. I miss Heather. Heather is fun. Alyssa still goes out with her, but as Alyssa and I are not currently connected, I am not there.

Today I was asked to remove my feet from the desk during break, as I appeared to be "a little too cozy."

I TOLD YOU TO GET THAT DAMNED PENCIL OUT OF YOUR EAR.

Had some choco milk on the way to work today, and was wondering: what is whole milk? If there’s 1% and 2%, is whole milk 100%? No, that’s impossible. So is it just milk that’s…not altered? As in, not de-fatted?

Back in high school, one of the drama/pops choir/speech girls—Stacy or Sarah or Kari—was obsessively disgusted with any non-skim milk. Sometimes we’d have donuts and milk at rehearsals, because eating these sorts of foods is proven to help you perform back flips, spins, and the other elements of dance that Pete tried to develop in us. Anyway, Stacy or Sarah or Kari would say something like “Oh my god, 2% milk, I’m going to puke.”

And then we’d say “well, what if it was 14 percent milk?” And she’d say “Ugh.” And then “what if it was 30%!” “That’s disgusting.” “Tim, did you memorize that bass line yet?” “BUT WHAT IF IT WAS 50 PERCENT?! WHAT IF HALF THE MILK WERE FAT?” “I’m feeling sick…” “Tim?” “60! 60 PERCENT!” “Can he hear me?” (Andy, charging in from offstage, leaps into my arms) “Hey, beyatch!” “75 PERCENT! THREE QUARTERS MILK! IMAGINE WHAT THAT WOULD FEEL LIKE GOING DOWN!” “ugh…” “Tim, let’s hear measure 7.” “90 PERCENT!” “I’ll be…*gurgle* right back…” “100 PERCENT! 100 PERCENT MILKFAT!”

Have you ever listened to NPR? It’s alternately boring and entertaining. It’s like a deck of cards where the spades are all holographic images of dancing goth girls and the other cards are math equations. This morning I listened to a report on how some scientists now think that exposure to the sun may fight cancers in a way that outweighs the risk of cancer from simply being exposed to the sun. But then there was some crap about the…Tony’s? Some Broadway awards. And something about children. You all know how I feel about children.

…

Those Fuckdamned children.

Anyway, why is it that the sun gives us cancer? What the hell kind of logic does that make? I mean, why, The Sun? Why do you do this? Just stop with the freakin cancer! Until recently, people spent most of their time outdoors. Were they all festering with pus, overcrowded with discolored and shape-shifting moles? Did you enjoy this, The Sun? I’ll bet you did. Not good enough for you that your rays make us tanned and more likely to be picked up at bars. No, you must kill us as well.

I now have a cubicle. Everyone in my office is temporarily in cubicles. If you also have a cubicle, have you ever noticed how everyone walking by your door just has to look in? As if to say “whoop, there you are. Just checking.” Because they certainly wouldn’t want you to have any privacy. Like hey, janitor boy, why must you glance in every time? And worst of all are the people who make eye contact with you. Because then you know it’s not accidental, or reflexive. They know they’re looking in on you. There’s this guy down here who walks by several times a day, always smiling like a molestor.

I'm something special. That explains my 5 nipples.

Hot dog. Its my birthday. Fricking 24.

Theres an episode of Batman: The Animated Series with Marie Dahl, the kid criminal. If you watch this episode on the dvds, pay attention to all the 2ndary characters. Notice something? Theyre all references to comic books and tv stars of olden days. For a hint: Dahl's body guard is Lil Orphan Annie...OF PAIN!!!

Send the goths to my new room. Same addy, new room: 216.

Top Activities For This Summer's Fab Four Trip

After a lot of in-depth study, I've narrowed my choices down to five per city. Like I've been saying since last night: Chicago seems like the standout choice. Chicago had around twenty activities that caught my eye, Minneapolis might have had ten, but I think I'm being generous.

Right now, the only advantage I can see with going to Minneapolis that it's probably safer. I remember getting lost in Kansas City and I'm afraid I might wet myself if we got lost in Chicago. Our group probably runs a much higher risk of getting shot at than most tourists. "Look at that crazy fool, he just dropped his pants and started singing." "That other dude just grabbed his nut sack!" "Let's smoke those freaks!"

The bar scene in Chicago might be a little rougher as well. I'd hate to see Tim get as drunk as he was in KC.

I've found a few bars in both cities that sound like they'd fit our taste, but I don't really know much about them beyond a brief description online. And bars rarely advertise how many gang shootings they've had occur on their property.

Well, enough of my jibber-jabber, here's the list.

Minneapolis Activities

The Night Karaoke Died
Oops Dinner Theatre -- Show about
a karaoke contest gone awry.
$45.00 (Which probably includes dinner.)

ComedySportz -- Competitive Improv
8:00 and 10:30pm
$10 entry fee (Not sure what the prize is.)

Sonshine Festival
Outdoor music festival featuring Swtitchfoot,
Audio Adrenaline and various other bands.
I think this is an all-day event.

Trippin' Billies
Dave Matthews Tribute Band
$7 (Hey, at least it's cheap.)
And they're playing at a place called Cabooze,
which I found amusing.

Green Man Festival
Live music, art, sports activities
This looks like another outdoor, all-day kinda
thing. The prices vary depending on whether or not
you are camping at the site. We could forget the hotel and just
camp.


Chicago Activities

From Fear to Eternity
Humorous but very politically charged show
at Second City. It's about the difficulty
of truth telling in a world inundated w/
communication devices.
8 and 11pm showings.

Game On: The History, Culture and Future of Video Games
Museum of Science and Industry
Gentlemen...Need I say more?

The Wet, Wild and Wicked barbecue wine tasting
at Binny's in Naperville
Not sure where naperville is, but I like the title of this one.

Old St. Patrick's World's Largest Block Party
Old St. Patricks's Catholic Church
This is a church sponsored block party. Since it's a Catholic
Church sponsored block party, there will be booze.

Supernatural Cruise
11pm This looks like it's a cruise
around Lake Michigan with a ghost story
theme. My only concern with this is the
time of night it occurs. I will want to be
drinking by 11pm.

Flanagan's Wake
6 and 9:30pm
Funny play about an Irish wake.

The Shocker -- Improv Kitchen
11pm $10
This Improv Kitchen seems to have shows going all weekend.

FOR RYAN: Naked Boys Singing!
9pm Ballwick Arts Center
Eight naked men sing.

FOR AMISH: Flirt
10:30pm
Cabaret style burlesque thingy. Fishnets and the like.

FOR TIM: Tales of King Arthur
2 and 6:30pm
Play about the King, baby.

Bars and Restaurants: Minneapolis

The Oceanaire Seafood Room
I love seafood and this place is supposed
to be bomb-diggity.

Liquer depot.
A liquer store the likes of which we have
never seen.

The Liffey
Irish pub. It's actually in St. Paul.

Town Hall Brewery
A wide and (relatively) cheap beer selection.

Bars and...well no, just Bars: Chicago

The Kerryman
This place looks like it might be the Irish pub
by which all other Irish publs are defined.

Tsuki
Sushi bar. If Wes comes, he'll like it.

Ta'Too
Public ale house.

Mickey's
Reported by the Chicago Tribune to be the best bar to hit this summer.

Guess Hookah
The real appeal of this hookah bar is that it's BYOB.

Okay, that's pretty much all I've got. That's what looked good to me, anyway.
If you want to check it out yourself I suggest www.metromix.com for Chicago and www.citypages.com for Minneapolis.

Let the voting commence!!!

Sometimes I fill the bathtub with mascara. And I soak.

Today I had to conduct research for a client who wants to be an artist in Des Moines. One of his goals was to have an art school in his home, for kids. Why is he in Vocational Rehab, you ask? Partially because of a conviction for committing lascivious acts with a child.

Know how some people get drunk and look up porn? I get drunk and look up pictures of Agent Smith. What the hell does that mean...?

Legal advice:

7 months ago I went to pearle vision after my glasses got crushed. my new specs were all jacked up...they let me see better but still blurry. So I had this suspicion that my $250 pair of glasses was jacked up. Anyway, today I went to a different glasses shop and the optometrist was like "Damn, Willis! These glasses are way overpowered for you, beyatch! What fat fool prescribed this wacky shiznit to your ass?" Which was no surprise at all, so I bought new glasses. But I feel like...I completely wasted 2 1/2 hundred on the first pair. Actually, I don't feel like I wasted it...I did waste it. Should I do something?

I would say maybe my prescrip changed in the past 7 months, but it got better instead of worse. From 1.75 and 1.25 to 1.25 and 1.

Anyway.

Another fun story is that the guy at the glasses shop rang me up and said "That's two hundred forty-eight."

So I handed him three big fat bills. And he returned with $99.52.

"I thought they were $250," I said.

"By two hundred forty-eight," he said, "I meant $200.48." He really said that.

So I gave him a dollar and took back my hundred.