"sometimes i YES when i should KNOW"

the quoted lyrics above aren't even the intention of the artist. i checked their (Drive-By Truckers) site. i have lied to you all. but i will stick with my interpretation of the lyrics. i really like it a lot. the thought behind it is this... THINK-ACT-THINK-ACT. in the past i have followed either the THINK-THINK-THINK-THINK method or the ACT-ACT-ACT method. both are equally destructive. i have destroyed much by using them. now i am exploring the realm of THINK-ACT. it is a very difficult process to learn. you have to do them simultaneously. not only that, but you also have to go clean up the destruction caused by earlier faulty processes. it's like a recall on thoughts, words, and actions. each consumer that has bought any of your products has a right to return to the manufacturer for a repair or a refund. so i'm here to say I'M OPEN FOR BUSINESS. both repairs and refunds will be supplied.

please note: a later recall may be issued when this process is also deemed unable to compete with new technology

I feel a blog coming on... "Not in my kitchen, you don't!"

I am a terribly clever person. I am quite frankly one of the funniest people to ever walk the face of this earth. I swear to you that as I get older my level of hilarity continues to grow. Regardless of these facts and a resume chock full of humorous milestones, there is one person that will never get me. A person very near and dear to me. My very own mother. In recent days I have observed her behavior as I deal card after comical card from my stacked deck. TO NO AVAIL! I always get one of two responses, both of which I find undesirable.
1. The Silent Treatment- She completely ignores that I have split the sides of every human within earshot. She goes on with conversation and whatever else she is doing. This EVEN happens when it is just the two of us talking. I will be in the process of making the funniest and most sarcastic comments that even I have ever heard and she just skips right over them. It's as if she has some sort of chip in her mind that allows her to skip over hilarious content.
2. Bewilderment- You're not going to believe this response. She actually has the nerve to ask me if I'm serious. Part of my humor lies in the extreme nature thereof. Completely false and off the wall statement. THAT IS PURE COMIC GENIUS! And my dear sweet mother asks me questions such as, "When did that happen?" or "Is she ok?" or "Why did you hurt that poor girl with an inkpen AGAIN?" She just doesn't get it.

I am funny, I really am.

Strings of Bling

Everybody these days is flossing their ice and bling blinging. I have come up with a brilliant plan to capitalize on this new market.
I've been drinking a lot of water lately. I'm talking about more than a gallon a day. That's a lot of water, but here's the kicker: I PEE BLING! That's right I'm pissing valuable threads of shiny material. So here's the plan. Continue to drink these absurd amounts of water and as I urninate, I grab these strings of bling (that sounds like a good name for the product, Strings of Bling), somehow make them into a long strand of beauty, and then sell them. Really the only part I haven't worked out yet is how to make them solid. But I imagine turnging a liquid to a solid can't be that difficult. People will totally go for a shiny necklace like these. I can see a lot of people trying to compete with me... but I'll be the O.S.B. Anybody want to preorder?

Two Things

One: Three days, Three Showers.

Two: Why do people send thankyou emails? I hooked you up. End of story. Don't litter my inbox with false apreciation, or real appreciation for that matter. Tell me thanks when you see me. Never tell me anything at all. When you have something useful to tell me you can attach a thankyou to that.

The End

I've got the remedy (no Jason Mraz not you, this is the Prodigy)

continued... The elevator rose at a steady pace for three floors and then jolted up two more floors before coming to a crushing halt which knocked me to my knees. As the elevator settled, I felt the cables strain to support the weight of the freight elevator. "What did you bring me daddy?" were the haunting words that echoed through the small opening between the elevator doors. I stood up to peer through the small crack. A room that looked like a warehouse, lots of windows, filthy with time and neglect, and a dust carpet two or three inches thick. "Daddy come play!" This time I swore the voice was in my head. I bent down to inspect the damage of the fall on my body. Out of the corner of my eye I caught a disturbance in the dirty light coming through the windows. You know that game you play when you stare at someone till they look at you? Remember how you feel when they do that to you? Yeah... that's it... somewhat uncomfortable and uneasy. Someone watching you, possibly the creepiest feeling available to human senses. Who ever was creating these voices and calling me daddy was piercing into my soul with their stare, yet I couldn't see him. The sweat always starts on my lower back and on my forehead. Panic scurried across my body. Pushing all the buttons at once and thrashing around in the elevator only caused the fear to increase. The elevator bounced much too easily and made horrific squeaking sounds. There was only one way out. I pried my fingers between the doors and pushed outward as hard as my weakened dream-like strength would allow me. The doors slid open with a startling ease. My feet sunk into the dust as I emerged from the elevator. To be continued...

I've got the poison

There I laid, for what seemed like the 37th day of my never-ending bedridden existence. I thought and thought and thought. The great thing about being sick is that it forces thought. Voluntary movement is limited because it just hurts too much and daytime television definitely can't be watched. In between feverish and uncomfortable naps are these inevitable silent moments of thought, staring at the ceiling and wondering, "Who really likes the color white anyway?" For three days I wondered whether I was dreaming, living, or wishful thinking. My little baby niece (that cannot speak yet) talked to me, I hung out with a friend of mine that lives 2,000 miles away, and I went spelunking. Nothing like a fever to alter your mind. At an earlier point in my poison, I was trapped in an abandoned apartment building. If I actually knew what the projects were like I could say that's where I was. There was an elevator in this building that was locked with big chains and padlocks. As I aimlessly wandered around the building, I stumbled upon a pair of heavy duty bolt cutters. You know the kind that look like shears. Being guided by the poison, the logical next step was to take the bolt cutters and cut the locks off the elevator. Beyond the clanking of heavy chains on the floor I faintly heard the delicate footsteps of a small child. It's never a good sign when you can see yourself making "horror movie" mistakes. Curiosity DID kill the cat and I'm completely comfortable in saying that the cat deserved whatever horrible death it had to endure. Even so, as curious as that same cat, I boarded the elevator to investigate the echoing noises. To be continued...