It happens in half-moments, I guess. A trip to the bathroom. Catching your own reflection in a car window. Thinking about forging signatures. A realization that your things are not what they used to be. Hate for everyone may be winning its long tussle with good manners. Beer. Beers. Cough drops, cheeseburgers. Transition. If you skip ahead about 270 words, you get to the point where the dark cloud lifted from my eyes. This happened after I found out that Bryan Joiner met Kenny Mayne at the US Open ballboy try-outs. Today has been a mixture of alternately denying and embracing the realities of life.
Badass Gourmet Cats
Scottish fold (BITCH BETTER HAVE MY EARS! MEE-YEYEYEYARAR!)
Maine Coon Cat (I think my cat is one of these. We did get her from a little kid riding around on a bike with the basket full of kittens, so she might not be a registered cat or whatever. And she does not have a Maine accent. And she is not a skinhead from Maine.)
Talking and music that comes out of small boxes in my car
The "It's Greek to Me" show on Thursdays from 4:00 to 5:00 p.m. on WHPK. Only heard it for 20 minutes and I can tell you exactly what I will be doing from 4:00 to 5:00 every Thursday for the rest of my life. Harris is mint.
Kinds of Whales
Most all of the ones with teeth
People I Know
Meeting Kenny Mayne
Pretty People Loving Life
Plain-Looking Ones Tolerating It
None to be had cheaply
It's about a baseball player in 1884
Joe Kennedy (The first one)
Snakes. Badass snakes.
Good-looking police officers
Absolutely Killing Me, They Are
You cannot fuck
With this band
Dumb arrogant nerdy possibly even drunk bike riders
My eyes out
I do not want to run you over
But you are tempting me
Please stop it
It ain't me
I ain't no Local News Personality's son
One last chance to make it real
Waddling away, running now, quickly
Fortune: Nobody can give you wiser advice than yourself.
(Courtesy the gum I am chewing)
Backlash against positivism of last item
Sometimes I feel like I don't have a partner. Then I realize that I have many partners. Sometimes I get down on myself because I haven't eaten at home in a while. Sometimes I think I shouldn't have done that, and that I shouldn't do it anymore. Sometimes I worry about what happens if you eat nothing but peanut butter and bread. I am occasionally concerned about the gas mileage of cars. I fear penury and the penurious, sometimes without being fair about it. I enjoy music, but fear I will listen to the music I enjoy so much that I no longer enjoy it, and then I will be without music. Earlier today I poured a cup of water on myself, and got mad at myself. I considered the repercussions of tearing someone's head off and punting it into the Lab School courtyard. I muttered curse words. Walgreen's robot cashier shorted me a dollar today. I had already waited for ten minutes for the damn thing to work, so I left my dollar behind. Furking sheet damn god crap. Other people's hatred of Oasis makes me self-conscious for not hating Oasis.
Return volley from anthropomorphic mopey tree-man on my shoulder
Let's see how he reacts. I don't have to defend Oasis to you or anyone else. My theory is that if God didn't want Liam and Noel Gallagher to be rock stars, he wouldn't have made them such crazy assholes. Make sense, dünnit? Don't look back, then.
A nice stretch job, with a TV and a bar.
An actual idea
I am the eye in the sky, the maker of rules. Tonight there's gonna be a jailbreak.