Well, that's it.

I tried to get sexy today, because my girlfriend is (probably) coming, but instead of looking sexy I just look like a lounge singer. I put together a shirt and a jacket that, alone, look normal, but when combined turn me into the kind of guy who will karaoke at the bar and swig a gin & tonic while pulling the tabs off those 25 cent lotto cards.

I just almost told my coworker that she spreads her lies around this office like manure on a pig farm.

Here are some certifications and diplomas I bet you didn't know you could pick up at DMACC:

Certified Airbrush Artist

Retailing Diploma

Thank you, Goathead, for the bed last night. I can't decide who I should thank more, though, so Ryan ended up sleeping on the floor (like the filthy, filthy hamster he is). But since he can't read this, I guess it doesn't matter.

If I was a serial killer, I'd be the kind who knocks you out then sews someone else's skin onto you, like a suit.

Probably not. But I was thinking about doing that with Amish's skin, to Wes, a couple days ago.

I almost forgot why I was posting: the old lady in the cubicle next to mine dialed her phone, then, in a very angry and vindictive voice, said, "I just want you to know that I'm STILL SINGING 'JESUS LOVES ME.'"