I'm pretty sure I'd win the olympics at this point

Hey team, today I was out jogging like usual. Every evening if it's not raining I will go out to a local track or just run out alongside the road. It is good exercise and it is good fun. However today I was feeling very good; I had just eaten a big old honking Subway sandwich and two perfectly made, fresh from the oven oatmeal raisin cookies. I felt like I could conquer the world.

And to top it off, it was the perfect weather for running - mild temperature, pretty low humidity, and the sun just winking it's happy rays over the horizon as a cool breeze flowed carelessly by, caressing my every joint and mmmm hmmm... hmmm...mmm

Anyway, I decided that I didn't feel like boring old jogging today and I wanted to see how far I could sprint. I'm in pretty good shape and I really felt like I could do quite a bit of sprinting. And I mean, sprinting sprinting, not meager gallops, not slightly intensified jogging, not canoeing - running full sprint as far as I could go.

So I set up, do my stretches and do a slow jog for a single lap. Now the blood is flowing and I'm giddy as can be. I make it back to the line I started at and took off running at full blast! What an exhilarating experience, the wind blowing through my hair and cooling my face, the mad rush of my racing feet pounding away at the clay, the rampant thumping of my heart as I flew down the track. All in all it was pretty cool for the first 15 seconds or so. But after I stopped thinking of cool sounding descriptions to blow up the moment for my audience later, I realized I had only been running for 15 goddamn seconds and it was already really hard.

But I persevered. I kept on running, thinking only about my labored breathing and the sweat dripping from me like I was the least efficient sprinkler system in the world. I couldn't even think of decent similes anymore, for goodness sake! Then the unthinkable, the worst thing imaginable happened to me - a fucking bug flew in my nose.

"God damn it" I yelled, or something along those lines but probably more vulgar. I was using that nose for breathing! I tried very hard to maintain my pace while frantically blowing my nose on the air trying to get this horrible insect out. It was probably already gone, far up into my nose and down into the horrible abyss of my body only to be sweated out seconds later because, hey, it probably contained water, my body thought. I eventually gave up and kept pushing. Of all the things to happen...

I was still going strong. Well, maybe not strong. I was perspiring more than I ever have in my entire life, my body turning to whatever substance it could get its hands on in order to sweat it out. I had a feeling if I kept going I'd start sweating pee and peeing blood and then sweating both. My heart was in agony, beating easily over 9000 (oh I'm so sorry) times per minute all the while crawling slowly up my spine in order to have a nice "word" with my brain about this whole running thing.

So I as I came upon my starting line again I finally, eventually, horribly, climatically stopped. I could barely stand at this point, much less walk, but I needed to get to my Gatorade (man look at how many brands I am endorsing in this post alone why aren't they paying me anything) in order to not, you know, die. I slowly meander over, swaying greatly and watching as the approximate volume of the Bearing Sea dripped from my body. I got over to the Gatorade and nearly collapsed, but I remained standing for fear of not being able to wake up if I ever sit down again.

So I take my big, 1 gallon bucket of blue flavored Gatorade and start chugging like an idiot frat boy trying to something something something. I'm not even thinking anymore, am I? I checked my brain with a quick tap to the skull. Nope, not thinking. That's okay, I was getting the liquids I needed, so it was okay for Mr. Brain to tap out for a little while, even if he didn't really do any actual work (the slacker).

After taking in more Gatorade than I knew my body could even allow, I reflected on my achievement, trying to count how many laps I had gone. I racked my brain, who was obviously not being very helpful to me (probably because he thinks I have become to much of a jock to hang out with it anymore) and came up with a total of 8 laps. 8 laps at 400 meters a lap is 3200 meters, which to the best of my calculations is a really long way to sprint. Now granted I probably wasn't really sprinting in the same spirit as all those Olympic athletes and I probably wasn't actually even near the pace of the 3200 meter runners but it felt pretty damn fast to me and I think it's the thought that counts.

Of course, this is an accomplishment for me. I know all of you football (soccer) players will come up and say "Oh well yes we do 10 sets of those for warm-ups and then we go on to play outrun the cheetahs driving sports cars for the next 16 hours before taking a single sip of water to completely refuel our bodies and in conclusion you are suck" but I feel like I have done well. Or something along those lines.

Golf would be so much better if you had to battle a new mythological creature every time you hit a ball

So guys I went golfing again today and I found out that I still suck at it that hasn't changed from two weeks ago. However with some assistance from the helpful golf professional mumbjo jumbo speakers at Pro Golf I at least know why I am bad at it. First of all though what the hell kind of lame name is "Pro Golf" for a golf course it sounds like they spent a couple seconds choosing the name instead of something clever like all those King Par stores if I were in charge I'd get more customers by calling it Pro Golfasaurus McManRape with fire-breathing dragons that pick up the balls on the driving range instead of the little guys in caged tractors and if you hit the dragon they will come and eat you alive oh man that would be sweet but I don't know how many customers we'd have after a day and I hear dragons don't exist so maybe I'll have to revise my business model a bit.

But anyway the pro golfer expert head honcho gave me lots of helpful explanations as to what I was doing wrong. First of all I was hitting with a massive fade because I was putting the wrong English on the ball when teeing from the rough and when I'm swinging the iron around the clubs moment of inertia loses all of its muffler bearings so I'm not getting enough melatonin in my hippocampus to walk for the cure. Or something along those lines.

Then he shows me how he would swing the club. It looked exactly the same as how I'd been doing it. He shows me a couple more times in pretty useless slow motion because as far as I know when you swing in slow motion you get the movements right but the ball goes like 2 feet. Then he let me try again and he immediately saw several thousand mistakes in my technique and how I was moving my deltoids all wrong and gave me a huge list of things to practice so that I would have a better golf swing and I promised him, staring like a deer into headlights shining golf textbooks into its eyes, that I would practice everything he told me about calculus and epilepsy.

He then went on helping other perplexed and hopeless golfers in their quest to become boring people in stupid polyester pants. I went on sucking at golf. And the circle of life continues

This is exactly how my sex life is

Oh my goodness yelled stacy the super hot mega big boobed cheerleader you are such a manly man oh yes please insert your penis into me just like that that is exactly how i like it. and i was like oh man oh man this is getting really good babby i don't have to use a condom rite and she was offended right off and she said hell no you need to use a condom im not having your babies i dont love you enough but i was quick back with well your parents didnt love each other very much and they had you and they used to beat you which gave you your fetish for being tied up. oh god yes yelled stacy and she took out the rope and mr green killed her in the conservatory.

I'm so fucking good at clue.

I also secretly like CSI: Miami

As far as I can tell by watching crime dramas, the popular and cool thing to do in retribution is to gather all the personal information on the person that hit you that you can possibly find and then stalk them for about 8 years and then, when the time is just right, you spring an elaborate trap on them and the CSI workers spend the next hour finding out that you did it and although they always will catch you you still have the opportunity to tell your sappy story of how they hit you and ruined your life and then Horatio will put on his sunglasses and say a pun and then it will be the credits or it actually might just be a crappy slow song with a picturesque setting and some people kindof staring at each other because you know that CSIs are real people too and they have relationships and feelings and they are always deeply effected by the case which is odd considering that they seem to go through a lot of these murders (probably once a week, at least - judging by the way they age on camera vs. how many murder mysteries they have solved) and it shouldn't really effect them after so long but it does and they always have a tragic backstory that overshadows your actual tragic event and you are shown as someone worse than Hitler because you are an evil villain who KILLED and you should be put to justice about it oh and don't forget that if you want to end it properly you must look out with a sortof mean and sad face on at the same time when you're looking at Horatio otherwise it's just not dramatic enough and I will not tolerate crappy shows on my television.

I miss the roaring twenties

Oh bah to all you young whippersnappers and your dummy boxes. When I was but a lad we would all gather round the radio to listen to Roosevelt and back then a dime would buy you a house and a dollar would buy you a railroad but gosh darn you worked hard for every penny and you respected your elders because they knew best and when they told you that that Hitler was trouble gosh darn you listened! We would gather around with the other kids and have us a grand old time with Rich Uncle Pennybags and trying to avoid the very bad and evil Officer Edgar Mallory so as to not become like Jake the Jailbird.

I could have made so many jokes about women here

Oh my good sir, allow me to explain the love/hate relationship I have with periods. When I'm attempting to communicate some point to another (likely) sentient being, I heavily endorse the use of and really try to include the period at regular intervals to complete a thought. For instance, I used it right there in order to separate the explanation of when I use periods with the explanation of the example used for when I used periods. I would use this sentence to delve further into the recursion, but right now that previous period is being used to separate the explanation of the example with the thought that I should spare you poor saps from reading any more of my nonsense.

Obviously, in such situations the period is a good friend of mine; she's very reliable, accessible, and very willing to help me contribute to society by making me the best that I can be. Without periods, I sound like a rambling, raving lunatic and, simply enough, nobody will take me seriously; she helps bring order to the world.

But that's why I hate her. She's so restrictive; she has so many rules as to when and where she can be placed. For instance, she would become furio.us at me with this sentence! "My goodness gracious," she would yell, "you can't use a period in the middle of a sentence randomly like that, much less in the middle of a word!" There's simply no arguing with her; she's a cynical and hate-filled misanthrope when it comes to allowing for the truly creative juices to flow. So I hate her; I hate how I have to have her to make me look presentable in the eyes of society and how bullshit social norms make me look like an insane and lonely outcast because I refuse to bow down the vindictive and authoritative paramount!

Call me misogynistic if you want, but I cannot truly express how I feel on a subject without forgoing the use of the period. When I'm off of her terrible and painful leash, I am able to let the creative and intellectual juices flow without any concerns; I can express in the most complete and utterly profound terms of how I really feel and I can leave an impression on anybody I talk to. If you try to force me to return to the clutches of period, the domineering bitch, it's like putting a stopper in a faucet with the water running; I may conform for some time, but then my extraordinary and incredible ideas must get out in some way and it will be in an even less desirable manner for you.

I am so freaking manly

As the true epitome of masculinity, I theoretically shouldn't be able to shave without special tools like a black hole because my coarse, gritty, man-hairs that grow faster than the speed of light cannot ordinarily be shaved away with the tools of mortals. Nevertheless, I make my greatest attempts to seem as feminine as possible in order to counteract my machismo which, if allowed to grow unchecked, would consume the entire universe and New Jersey. Of course, for me, a feminine act is to shave, sans cream, by standing in front of a firing line and using the bullets to remove the hairs, one at a time. I then apply my aftershave by jumping into a volcano just as it is erupting.

Fuck I am manly.

I am very inconsiderate

Okay team listen up and listen up good my name is Sergeant Old MacDonald and I swear to god if one more snot-nosed little punk comes up to me and tries to do that "E-I-E-I-O" I'll rip out their spleen and put it up in their sternum! I'm here today to tell you about everything there is in the world of fat and just how dangerous the world of fat can be and I will be very serious about it so no joke telling and no smiling and perfect posture and brushed teeth and perfect flossing because you know that dental health is just as important as real health because even if you look like a supermodel stud if you have bad teeth nobody will kiss you so you'll just get laid without love and nobody wants that.

The world of fat is a dangerous and mysterious one but due to recent scientific breakthroughs as a result of McDonald's and not coincidentally sponsored by McDonald's we have learned a lot more about fat people because there are so many fat people in the world today. Why, just this week I was on the street and I could have stood there all day counting fat people going by but I didn't because the manager told me that I had to buy something once every three hours to sit in the restaurant and so I went in to the bathroom and stole the soap dispenser and walked out while holding down the "dispense" key and leaving a trail of hand soap all over the floor. I'm so mischievous.

Oh, yes, but back to the world of fat. Like I said, there's so many fat people nowadays that it's really easy to study them, or so I thought. I thought long and hard about how to study them in great detail and learn why they are fat and how they are fat and when they are fat and who they are fat and where they are fat and so I came to the wonderful conclusion of using the scientific method, an archaic and useless method that scientists used to follow when conducting experiments. My experiment was going to be simple: I would return to that nameless restaurant that was McDonald's and watch the fat people until one of them challenged me to a fight or talked to me or something but this time I would wear a white lab coat so that everyone, even that little punk manager would know that I was up to science.

I watched and I waited for hours and, to my surprise, no fat people physically assaulted me. I was frankly surprised because, as a buff and outstanding member of the community and clearly a scientist I thought I would be intimidating to their primal alpha male instincts. But no, these new breeds of fat people are much more timid and do not respond to heckling or flexing contests in the way they used to. You see, I would know. I have a great confession to make.

There was a time when I was severely overweight and lived off of greasy food and grease from other locations and axle grease which doesn't sound good but put it on a hamburger and mmmhmmm that's tasty. I was a fighting fatty, though, and I was always trying to fight the buff guys at my school who threw me in a locker and laughed when I didn't fit and then I cried. It was a sad day. But I got back at those jocks really good when I became a drill sergeant and kicked all their asses when they signed up to join the army. Hahaha now you know why all us drill sergeants are so mean because we used to be fat and you picked on us!

But back to my experiments. I learned that fat people thrive off of simply the smell of grease and not necessarily the taste. It's like nicotine, only it doesn't make any sense and has no scientific evidence to support it. I propose that we use my newest invention, the fat patch. It goes on like a nicotine patch and dispenses a greasy odor into the air and also forces an air strike on the nearest fast food restaurant. Holy shit, that would be so cool; I really want it to do that. And then when they go for food at their nearest restaurant of fat and death and diabetes they would cry because it went out of business because they tried to get off their food!

And then the underworld crime agencies would start making fast food and sell it for hundreds an ounce and it will become like cannabis or Marijuana to you young folks and then the economy would prosper. I'm a fucking genius. It's all because of the white lab coat.

But, ahem, I got side tracked. The true nature of my experiment proved that fat people do exist and so I can safely say that this myth is plausible.

I met Rob Zombie

Okay team so I was driving around in the middle of nowhere today when I came upon a sight almost too awesome for words. There was a clump of trees across the river from where I was driving. When I first was coming up on it, I was approaching from an angle and I thought to myself "Wow, holy shit! There's an image of JESUS FUCKING CHRIST in the trees!" and I thought it was a heavenly sign and I almost started praying and preparing to move the entire clump of trees to sell on ebay for tens of millions of dollars.

But I was wrong.
Dead wrong.

I stopped and got out to get a better look at it. It wasn't Jesus Christ making an appearance to me from the clump of trees; oh no, it was someone much different. It was Rob Zombie. No joke. Dead serious here. Everything was perfect. The trees were positioned in such a perfect way to make an exact scale replica of Rob Zombie himself appear before me across the river. I snapped a picture on my cell phone and compared it to Rob Zombie when I got home and, just as I expected, it sure as hell was him.

I'm so sorry

Hey team, I had a harsh confrontation with reality today.

We've been married for quite some time. Maybe 100 years, sometimes I lose track of those sorts of things. She pulled me aside today and told me that she wanted to talk. I was surprised, because we never sit down and talk about anything anymore; we usually just go our separate ways and nod to one another - we acknowledge each other and still, of course, respect each other, but the bond is just not what it once was.

This was apparently what was on her mind. She told me that she was upset that we never talked and that I was never interested in her or her needs; she felt I was neglecting her, ignoring her, even. I listened carefully. I thought she might have a point, we really never did do anything together anymore. Her only influence on me was the knowledge in the back of my mind that she would still be there, watching over me and watching out for what I did. I thought carefully before I responded.

I told her that she was smothering me. She watches my every move and doesn't let me escape her mighty, iron-fisted rule without harsh retribution. I told her that I needed my space and that she just was not providing that for me anymore. I might have even gone so far as to say that I only needed her for appearance's sake and for my own pleasure - the words were flying too fast for me to even be able to remember. She was upset. She cried. I cried.

We decided that it was time to end it all. We slowed our anger towards one another and calmed down until we could finally reach an agreement. The divorce is going to be finalized in the next few months, but as of now she's completely gone from my life.

But yet, as sad as this may be because of how integral she has been in my life all these years, I feel happy. I feel free. No longer am I continually restricted by her watchful, judgmental eyes. I was free from her wild mood swings, from dementedly cruel to exuberant and pleasant, she was unpredictable and downright scary at times.

After I got over the initial shock of losing her, I decided to go about my business without her. Everything would be different from now on.

I went into my basement and started up my perpetual motion machine. I then discovered a leprechaun living in the black hole about three blocks due south of north from my house and won a bet against him about the Detroit Lions winning a football game. I then proceeded to successfully invest all of my new found wealth in the real estate industry and have retired happily. She hasn't checked back in on me and I feel wonderful.

Ditching that woman was the best decision I ever made.

I am the best at Halloween

I plan on passing out some raisins and health bars from my front porch in my rocking chair dressed as the ominous and bone-chilling "ghost", sporting the insatiably clever white bedsheet with small eyeholes cut out for my own vision because you know if I can't see I can't be spooky or pass out candy properly! Haha

I've also been working on perfecting my "BOO!", which I plan on yelling whenever those crazy youngsters come to my house for "trick-or-treating"; hah, it's such a hoot seeing the blood-curdling terror I unleash with my voice ever so slightly amplified and with a nice spooky, very evil sounding accent. It no longer sounds like "BOO!" but more like the terrifying "Baaaa-OOOOH!", which is sure to send those young folk running. Of course, being a concerned member of the neighborhood, I will be sure not to do it to any children under the age of 16, because they are easily frightened and I don't want to scare away the poor whippersnappers before they get their "heart healthy candy", as I humorously call it.

Yes, this Halloween will be fantastic. Now don't any of you youngsters go off and try to steal my costume or treat ideas; they're all mine and I've worked on them for years to perfect them in the most frightening, horrifying, and terrifyingly healthy and fun manner! Yep, that's my Halloween plans. I know some of you young whippersnappers and teenyboppers like to stay up late and pull pranks of a most scrupulous manner, but I warn you that I will only be out until 6:22, which is when I must depart for the land of the beyond - bed! Hah, I'm getting the hang of these Halloween festivities already!

See you on the 31st!

I secretly like to play Halo

I really don't understand why people have this blind defense of the Halo games versus the millions of other identical games on the market. Hey, guess what, you're a space marine in a battle suit and you battle aliens and bad guys and go from level to level and setting to setting and you pick up extraordinarily generic "futuristic" guns that are ALWAYS the same bullet firing garbage from the humans versus the oh-so-pretty plasma firing "advanced" alien technology and guess what you are the only person in the universe that can save the universe and if you fail you have to start over from the beginning of the level and try again to save the universe because the bad guys will call a do-over because, obviously, they really don't think it's all that fair that they have 300 quadrillion soldiers and your entire army consists of you and a small squad of hilariously incompetent AI partners (this is an optional bonus, of course; sometimes it's just little old you and you don't even have any squadmates to act as foils to your excessive, testosterone belching manliness and space marine-ness) and the bad guys will reset and all the of the destroyed scenery will be put back in place to have the same thing happen to it next time you come through (this is where the real price in war comes - do you know how expensive those sets are? Look at all the shiny and/or extremely sepia toned foreign architecture!) and you will try again to be a macho space marine who is supposed to be an incredible hero like James Bond or Scooby-Doo and when you accomplish your almost impossible, very daunting task you stand stiffly at attention and blow it off like the modest, polite, and humble manly space marine that you are and then everyone throws a giant party in your honor but you don't care about the party you just cared that you saved the world and the universe from utter destruction and god damn you were the only one who could have done it and god damn did you pull it off and god damn it only took 803 resets this time and I really crushed those alien menaces like I would crush my Styrofoam cup at parties to impress the ladies and you probably would have gotten the lady too if you weren't so busy ogling the absurd and extremely Chauvinistic female portrayals inside of video games where they giggle and bobble their undoubtedly large bosom and flirt with you, Mr. space marine hero who saved the universe and who was the only one who could do it when nobody else was able to be able to do it and god damn that was a beautiful shot you made with the rocket launcher back there or how about that superb headshot on that medium-large variety of alien you made with your accurate sniper rifle that you know you couldn't have made with your machine rifle because that thing is inaccurate as hell I mean have you seen it shoot the crosshairs are huge you can only hit stuff in small, cramped, poorly lit hallways which very fortunately occupy about half of the known universe and the other half is migraine-inducing bloom with various shades of taupe and bisque and sepia and other hilariously funny-sounding colors that, when you think about it, are all just fucking brown but somehow extremely reflective and the sun is up in the air and it glistens off of your space marine suit of the super space marine, you, who is the only person who is right for the job in which the requirements state that you have to be able to defeat an entire army of strangely evil and motivated bad space aliens who are going to destroy the university and god damn Mr. space marine you are the only man who meets those stringent job requirements and you've worked hard to get qualified to do this job and wear the super powered armor suit and be ready to be the only person in the universe who is capable of saving the universe because only you are up to the challenge and sometimes you will be in a dark area and you will have to figure out some sort of ingenious procedure in which you can lower a bridge or disable an energy field that is blocking your path and your quick, genius super marine brain instantly is able to follow the mind-numbing linearity of the game and able to find out that there's only two cramped corridors that you can go down and one has a grenades pickup and a switch and the other one has a forcefield and somewhere in your super human better than me brain you were able to figure out that pressing the switch actually opens the door and you are so proud because you get to go to another identical room in which you fight another identical set of stupendously evil space aliens and I know you'll win Mr. space marine because I know that you, you of all the people and creatures in the universe are the one for the job and believe me I checked and I checked for a long time and I checked at least eighty maybe ninety percent of the creatures in the universe before I decided you were the only one for the job and believe me it was not easy finding all of those critters because the universe is a pretty big place like at least a couple miles across and wow it took me a couple hours to do it at least and that is a long time to do something by golly but I finally decided that you were the only one who could do it and I knew I could count on you because you got the job done in the end and I've seen this entire storyline in every other space shooting pew-pew bang bang game I've ever played. <--- this is a period.

I can't actually dream

Okay team, I have to say something. For the last 5 or 6 days, consistently, I've been having some really fucking weird dreams. I'm not talking generic naked dreams or falling dreams or explosions of color dreams, I'm talking Steven King meets M.C. Esher meets a goat motor boating up the pyramids and coming down as a C-3PO Wookie. I'm talking seriously... fucking.... weird...

My nights have blurred together into a terrifying, horrifying, mystifying, fantastic spectacle of unbelievable proportions. The colors are the most majestic and deepest of permanent dyes; ferocious purple and explosive chartreuse and ghastly murky turquoise and more colors words can't even begin to describe in our language. And the people there are the most bizarre ghouls a mind could sanely view; I know them all so well and yet I've never seen them before in any reality. I seem to know everything about them as individual people, yet they're all identical as a visual; grim, gaunt, and faceless expressions plastered upon them leave each as individual as every guard from Goldeneye for the N64.

And the backstories. I know everything about this world, somehow. I know what happened to it, I know why these colors exist, I know why I'm traversing through this foamy bubble of nightmarish stimuli, yet I can't remember it when I wake up. I can't remember any of my thoughts, only the actions. And the visions. And I'm totally disoriented for a good amount of time. I don't know where I am, what I'm supposed to do, or whether I'm still in my dream-world of fiendish imagery. Oftentimes, I found, I actually still am; I glance at my clock and the face transforms right before my eyes into this swirling vortex, ready to pull be back into the dark abyss.

But they're not really nightmares, I don't think. No, I don't wake up scared. It's almost as if I'm ready to go again, ready to experience the depths of my mind as I've never been able to before; I really feel as if I have something truly rewarding for finishing whatever convoluted quest with no discernible plot is laid out before me; it's like getting Surf for finding the Warden's teeth and the Warden in Pokemon - it's a ridiculous prize for an even more ridiculous task. It almost reminds me of reading the Phantom Tollbooth as a youngster, only the plot makes less sense and the imagery, much, much more real.

I wish I could explain what I've seen in more concrete terms, but I don't really know of any suitable allusions for my mind's adventures. I've never seen anything easy to relate to what I've experienced the past few nights in reality. I dunno, there's some avid drug users on this forum, maybe they've had weird dreams like mine. No outside drugs here, though, just really fucking weird dreams.

I am so trendy

So today I was driving my Prius down to the local Starbucks to pick up a cup of trendy, expensive coffee when I noticed there was a sale at Hollister which is where I have to get all of my clothes so I went in and they had the cutest pair of Ugg boots you could imagine and I looked at the price and it was more than my mom had given me to go shopping so I couldn't have the boots even though I tried to flirt with the manager but that was okay because I left and went across the road to the health food store and I picked up some vegan food for me and my hipster friends and then I realized my Ipod was running low on batteries so I drove home quickly and I was lucky because by the time I got home I also realized that the battery was dying on my Motorola Razr phone and also that my best friend Shanaynay had texted me with a hilarious story about another one of my ex-friends who was spotted shopping at Target and is therefore my ex-friend because anyone who shops at Target is obviously HELLOOOOO not fashionable!

I will help you move if you ask me

Oh man, moving stuff can be great. It's such an adventure to help other people move; you get to look at all the crap they have and also wonder how on Earth they moved in to begin with. I'm fairly certain some houses are built around some feature that is impossible to move in or out of the home.

For example, I was helping a friend move some stuff around and after moving all the easy stuff, we finally got the grand-daddy of the room - a grotesque desk weighing approximately as much as a dump truck and smelling/looking about as bad. The desk, as we found out, was made out of pure unobtainium and there was no foreseeable way to deconstruct the desk peacefully. No nails were hanging around, no attached joints. It seemed to have been carved out of one big ass tree and plopped in corner of the room, never to be moved ever again.

After much deliberation, we finally "took it apart", very graphically and loudly, with the help of our friend Mr. Crowbar and moved it broken piece by piece to the back of her car to be taken to its final resting place. Amazingly enough, each little tiny piece was still inexplicably heavy and it was a grueling task to carry even boards the size of two by fours.

Another exciting moment in moving came when it was time to replace my friend's dishwasher, which they never used. I never asked them why before, but as soon as it was opened it became very quickly evident why. The entire inside was filled with a disgusting swill, greenish-brown with the consistency of heavy diarrhea and a stench perfectly matching its horrible appearance. Once again, after much deliberation, we decided to simply let the swill wash out into our carefully placed barriers which would collect it and then require minimal floor mopping.

Bad idea, of course, and the swill gets all over the kitchen floor, giving the entire house an unmistakable odor for the next several weeks. But if that wasn't bad enough, there was still plenty of swill that didn't pour out but was also not visible that poured all over our shoes when we tried to carry it. And then there was the problem of getting rid of it: "No way in hell that thing's going in my car", my friend says.

So we walk with it to where it needs to be dropped off, a good 1/2 mile from the house in the pouring rain with swill slowly dripping all over our pants and feet.

God, moving shit is great.

I know so much about cars

Yeah so then me and my friend Sancho fixed up the sprocket oil valve tank lube and replaced it with a 6.8V liter aftermarket eighty thousand horsepower shock coil on the rear front tires and jacked up the base to make room for our new carburetor muffler bearings with a 8.8 inch surround sound sub woofer in 3D glasses without any greasy piston tanks undertaking a coolant leak which we fixed up with a 28 million BTU motor with a drive train developed by transmissions specialist Rondalf O' McConnery because I ain't driving no shit ass Chev-ro-let with its weak special turbo kit brake shocks undermining its dodecahedron litmus paper.

I am the best inventor

I don't understand the need for cars in the future everyone will be able to teleport directly to their destinations and cars will be a thing of the past just like your antiquated ways of rebuilding old cars and thinking that they are cool when they are not I mean honestly who ever thought that giant chrome fins were hip looking, much less aerodynamically sound additions but oh yeah back to teleporting I think the system is really quite simple to build all it requires is a series of teleportation pads that people can step into and they travel through essentially the phone system of days gone by and as a series of bits they transfer themselves from one side of the country to the other at the speed of light the only problem I can foresee right now is that the computer that decodes the bits isn't very good and is running Windows ME and so it might take a while and sometimes the bits get out of order and so we had the janitors come in and put an "out of order" sign on the teleportation pad; only problem is that in order to put the sign on the pad you have to be on the pad and for some reason we made the pad like a video game and so simply stepping in it automatically activates it and so now we have a half-rotting janitor somewhere in a field oh man this reminds me of that movie The Prestige so I might actually be thinking about that movie instead of talking about what I am dreaming about what will happen in the future but actually if I recall to the fullest extent of my mental capacity the teleporter in that that movie actually just created new copies of whatever went into it so there's no way that my character who is created by my dream for the future who lives in the future and who is talking about the very near to him past which would still be our distant future and for my memory it would be even further in the future because my younger self would not have been able to remember dreaming up this future character because they had not yet come to the point in my life where I did dream up this narrator in the future who is talking about an event in my distant future but his recent past, because if I had known about that when I was younger the distant future that I had dreamed up would have been not negligibly less distant, so I would be dreaming currently about a memory where I was dreaming about something happening in the not negligibly less distant future to my present self but the same ratio between my present self and this memory and my dream of my past self and its supposed past memory of the future but to the narrator in that story it would still be happening with the same ratio in his past since clearly it must be a very recent past due to the specifics of his story and how he is using current tenses, which might actually mean that the past doesn't really exist for the narrator and he isn't recalling anything from my dream from memory but, in fact, is currently in my dream of the past dreaming of the not negligibly less distant future in a present, almost commentary-like state, which I think suits that character which I have created in my past dream of a future dream of a memory.

Hey what am I?

This is just a location where I am able to keep many of the stories I write about in one place and not have to dig them back up later. As far as I can tell, everything I'm going to put here has actually happened or will happen or is a gross hyperbole on something I imagined or pretended to have happen. Either way, they're all true stories about me, usually, since I'm a self-centered bimbo.

Don't actually try to read this

This was an experiment I did a while back using translator tools to obfuscate an otherwise boring piece of crap that I wrote. I think it came out much better, having been translated a number of times and having its grammar and vocabulary screwed around with so much. I highly recommend all politicians speak like this forever.

Going to be possible, with a voice that specifies in the method and the origin of the fact that we ask for a similar body. The start of the book, “of structures this person multi”, which it is, enters supporters tomorrow, Saturday, one banquet, that he is wonderful voters. The fear of history, and the sound is at the same time; become for, and thus each one becomes brutal. Exactly if this method, because they want time the same, one historian to come another time when cheer to emit, and now. This means that the necessity will be described and interpreted as the quality and the great amount of the concept.

The rest, is the narrator and seriously. Of this distinction, even so this because of the intensity and between a company and the quality of that one and determined not. the risks and the quality of that it is the science, are the search possibility there and the enters that one is not going to be easy… and the sun all the peoples. Certainly, enormous silence is also of the sight. Connectedly compared: the work, the carcass and the importance of it are the place where the line; but in the part biggest is, and advocacy. Exactly if the thought and the feeling that occurred will be enormous, that the communication is an attempt to hear all, that will be good. The problem is that many people do not feel it. I am not the realization of peace and progress of all meaning of life. Preventive medicine of life, with many of the numbers and the right to life is an object nor fame intelligence, disaster that are not big track.

As a food and other profit and loss account, with quite complex features, and ease. It is beautiful: the price to honor. Once, the determination of the pieces of value of the problem, many people form the call. To probably increase, after the woman does not include/understand the value of the use of this one. When not today tomorrow, however the road and, before the levels of the landing two: lives. Things of the clay of protection three in its precision in the east and not badly, the station of international sector in the country: does tie of loss and profit you;, the desire become different during the war? Why should we; the world sums it up very beautifully? Finely because which it, Soviet Union, you, you itself do not have this crew. A share envisaged of the world around is not necessary for you. This mind of the opposition eye completely in surroundings of the commodity of continuity of the specialist, it will be able to guarantee us: must know. Pressure of mind and you do not exceed from fear. But, importance was to the duck the reel, anyhow this thing important was this Indian; it is mean on the front of the fear letter which is identical and loss, it is; and 3rd party. It the tube printed style of writing envelops and arrives to profit of the leisure which will decrease in unit of measure of the world-wide brush which is difficult is sincere it includes in the failure and the television. In that the tube printed style of writing in the worker whom we use you, it why fight the tube printed style of writing knows quite because of you and being valuable is not, it on the outside which is that it does not carry under using temper. Because many of the natural processes that scorch you, and that of the reasons. To always love - this peace is something that cannot be denied, and a variety of the methods of a different group.

The loss and profit customer, intelligence, and the war had started national peoples of the world, you, and the development of the fight. It does not mention; we share the sympathy with the problems. He can be to protect the places of the residence river; and very probable must to the size, and the aid of the campaign. The importance of it, but we he does not have no boat to store songs. Genocide, necessarily the bad reputation of crime- but simply approaches, not adopted. The decision to deal with the United States can address this crime. Solve these decisions, we should not keep suggested that the direct and clear, to inform the world of such crimes. Empire is appropriate to consider principles, will continue in other energy, the United States completely control. How do you understand people; the world is not complicated! The death of one, but not to take any disposal relative. For me, that there is no one to depend on the behavior of police forces in some cities. For those who do not depend on, and it is essential that help stop crime. That peace will not work. This is a competitive advantage to win the peace prize money is not easy, yes. Or competition in the long term, in the post-cold-war world, and indeed still in the competition. The problems arising from the evil, and that the matter is not. However, they were not able to open a simple way.

Editors of the country's biggest profit bad, not their lives; indeed, it is not clear that the humanitarian issue. India and the fact that I was in charge of writing, but this whole, and when it does not mean that the risk of experiencing such; we are very pleased that all children, we become a television version of demands. That it would be possible to know, we than elsewhere, and have not been recovered; would be a mistake, and wear. This shows the good cooperation will become an increasingly urgent solution, but it won a small demon that. The incident occurred in the control and sharing split between India and the writing life, the process can refute the freedom to think broadly. You are absolutely to apologize. Our goal is a direct role- bail or prediction; we are not friends with streamline intelligence. The team leader in the region, or to continue political and economic unit, the way that it is. The specialists are not satisfactory and is not suitable, Today is no way to get free direction because of this incident, which is still firmly believed that that, but other aspects of situation requirements. We do not; they know that it will not be our place.

It goes under the Prevention of coal gas, the competition is a legitimate end, Indeed, the actual day Group, a table and bloodthirstiness suppressed by the United States and France, to the destruction today. All the thermal air currents flow in each death. What is silence? Some people think this round world, in this sense, we should not criticize the brazen wealth in the world before the end of the trip. Your world and let the world alpine gun shooting incident in the immediate shortfall, it is their position. Victory for our people, so that the whole world may desire. To satisfy people against difficulties for the country is the world allowed to break the collection days, it is necessary to understand. We will not do that. To facilitate this, completely selfish, with a fine season, it is all the system, because this is not life; furious fire wheels participate in a vacuum hell.

Harmony, cooperation and common limitation is what we must strive for. Terrorism to the rest of the world, with many residents possession of Indian writing, was severely damaged. This is a serious threat, we may be wrong, and I attempted none such greatness. Command what is the issue of terrorism in the end, is an attempt to strengthen the non-facts. While we do not know, but decided advantage, no way is first. President of the United States- the power and danger on the ground, its leaders might be worried recession that the choice of political weakness. War victory in the battle, but the use of military units. In the world of terrorism and potential loopholes years ago, the native’s language television peace lines "friends, machine tools, and the degree of harmony.” World peace and different, in that all the world's people. Imbrued work activity, this year's films, electronics, we will improve the lists were very different. North Korea, remember that if all countries were likely to see 100 locations, sane conditions are the most difficult to compare my talks; only because health arrest best point edge, but with the United States, wrote in prices.

Now, the latter characteristic is wonderful creative family whom you may or may not increase; the growth you see the people are trained intelligence. Otherwise, not aware of the intelligence, because on the question of realness. Answer? Research Center completely changed foot size. According to the government's motion and deception, and the entire project, I do not think that writing is legitimate. Well, the nomination period. Consider the country's diplomacy. They are worried that control of the things that cause massive deaths, is not correct. In the North, there is a road, but you will be betraying their own needs and realness. This is probably gone. However, the affordability of life on Earth, right and left; you rest, but it is not animals, humans know. And oil- I very firmly believe that the desire to hit all types of care, in many cases, to continue to this point, in addition to dangerous actions. I think it is possible, no vision so that the future of this method of quality control lines printed- pens; all three sounded.

The reason is, the gains or losses, not to destroy the Earth as a means of raising pipelines print the progress, and we have a reason to not impede progress, biotechnology category. I believe this is a new writing, why fight this dispute, and in a positive and imbrued map High death of the former culture, I understand that you do not need. We may also, which is from the community, relatively simple, and simple method to farmers in the eastern countries. Better wait, full advantage. I textually add technical obstacles on television, we have destruction, which could be from: "not to resist, do not think it is.” That the door to other every of the points key, the sun is not sure case. If you are still to turn around in hour sense, we it will not earn more if they cannot understand that it will not demand for hour, but however, in order to help, if to one given ulterior when they are to wait for. This, of the Spanish duct of people rather than to remove the Yak of the administration, but the glue of the necca wafers of the population. If this is to align, that one will be the test of the Stallions Spanish of surveying only the characteristics of the materials and the services specifically have arrested the heart of this course.

We must understand and love. I would like to conclude my statement : I - if above, in appropriate place : there was no intention to reduce the possibility of natural population growth in the future works of the air time on the ground, but if people destroy themselves. If this strength, and thus hopes for the end of the study did not give her or other persons four years of pain, and the table of being a miracle. If the company, the agenda rejects any proposals here, if the proposal to place the account in south, in the same vein. They do not expect that each of them still have to agree to. If that equipment, which is used for this dilemma was, and then at the white of snow.

I wrote these emails to myself at one in the morning

I had just learned how to use a thesaurus, clearly.

We reside in a society where fear, a determining and soldiered factor of everyday living, commandeers and overstimulates the accentuated normalcy and repudiated agnosticisms of conventional and retroflexed population; this aggression, set forward and pioneered by extrasensory adulterated commissars of convoluted wealth and fortune, of whom, neither formulated and regulated ubiquitousness of population nor organic substandardization of monolithic epicurean tastes can withhold unadulterated and meromorphic actualization of contemporary and coagulated design of Carletonian senses against which the morbid and fearless conform erectly as a disenchanted phalanx of battered and deglycerolized emotions. Not only is, as such, an inoculated presence of malevolent, erroneous, and virulent incrustations for which petulantly misanthropically morphemics roam relentlessly towards sublimation and irritating submission of divulged delimitations of corruption of society wherein, not only is an enumerated and gallivant being apostrophized and outcasted as a sentimentalist toward imbrications of a currently aphoristically dimorphism of unattributed strength, without which acrostic assemblies of mediumistic power corrode as nullification of weak inessentials combine as polymorphic solicitous recompilations of despair regain formality and expostulation; a growth, which, stultifying, is photometrically and algorithmically established as "leader".

I disagree with your inebriated and retributive paradigm of waxing morality and convulsions of asphyxiated normalized cultures of quintessential alliteration of the mind, body, soul, and other amorphously hideous idiosyncrasies of popular culture and of the syphilizing aphrodisiacs who populate litigiously isomorphically aberrations of tormented culminations of the entranced souls of infinite starving wordless and emphatic contusions whereby the whirling commensuration of hydrogenous ephemera, which, in turn, leads to not only dolomitic conurbations but also noxiously penuriously narcissistic peasantry, a gratuitously engorged floccipaucinihilipilification of the human abilities of masterful renumeration of obdurated convulsively euphoric dramatizations, as well as whoring catastrophes as a result of fenestrations failing commensurations and maturational cerebellar reassemblies. Such actions of lymphatic demoralization and oblation is sure to lead to carelessly and dangerously fouling the fortified paradigm of our current system of filibusters, competing without which we would have no choice but a modulated coordination of lording minorities. As such, deinstitutionalization and modulations of our polyphony are here to stay and keeping honorificabilitudinity in such a way as to lead metamorphisms about transmodernization and counterbalances.

Unfortunately, your point calls inferences unverifiable by traditional and unscrupulous measures - you surely cannot expect us to discard and trample uninhibited rights of a singular being for the sole purpose of underenumerated derelictions on the internet conversed between two adverse parties. However, I do feel that, if you are correct in juxtaposing matriculated and versos sentiments towards uninhibited persiflages of mesospheres in a perambulated and copulated environment of corrosive expostulation, then, in fact, pyknotic pharisees collimating and facing conurbations of trophic quarks against a unpopulated and thermostatted perambulation of events will eventually, as you stated, leads to not only dolomitic conurbations but also noxiously penuriously narcissistic peasantry, a gratuitously engorged floccipaucinihilipilification of the human abilities of masterful renumeration of obdurated convulsively euphoric dramatizations, as well as whoring catastrophes as a result of fenestrations failing commensurations and maturational cerebellar reassemblies. But what, thereof, do sylphic restitutions conform to as a mass? A question, perhaps, that metaphorical desolations cannot steer out of and bubonic entrapment of anaphoric neurologies do nothing to answer? Have I defeated your adulated irreverences toward unmitigated locomotory of spittle?

Quips, of such, will not cause me to forsake my zealotries or institutionalize detrimental and scathing remarks towards yourself, of which I know you anticipate. But, you see, the answer is quite simple. Sylphic restitutions conform to, as a mass, little more than consorted and ambulated instrumentalities or devolutions against your own narcissist tendencies of surmising . Patronymically speaking, densitometric adulations of carnivorous improvisation convolute legitimation and copulation of a de-privatized and isotonic society! Quintessentially, dichotomized adjurations convolute lithospheric agglomerations of an indescribably volute nature; such, of which, cannot be simply emphasized and drawn across controlled media and pentatonic circulations of normalized forums comprising an oligarchy ruled by exasperating constitutionalities of supreme power. Expression here, unhindered by traditional rulings of constitutional might, corrode towards a backwards understanding. I propose peaceful dealings; we, two mights of clear intellectual superiority, could bring down such an oligarchy of insinuations. Or we can fight to the death.