My Wandering Thoughts

1. I am a huge Tupac fan, or is it 2Pac; whatever, I love the guy. I love Pac so much that I hate The Notorious B.I.G. since Tupac hated him. So from now on I am going to judge the worth of my new friends by asking them who their allegiance lies with: Pac or Biggy. If they choose Biggy I am going to shoot em up.


2. Whenever I am in an elevator with a big group of people I yell as loud as I can inside my own head. If anyone looks at me as if they know what’s going on then I know that they’re crazy and I can make fun of them for it.
   
   Me: Hey lunatic, stop listening to me yell inside my own head
   
   Crazy: What
   
   Me: I saw you look at me, don’t think I’m not onto you
   
   Crazy: You’re crazy man
   
   Me: NO, You are.
   
   You see how that works kids.


3. The other night when Leggy Blonde slept over for the first time I found out a strange fact about her. Not the bleeding, but that she sleeps with her eyes open. Now I can never tell if she is awake and looking at me or asleep and looking at me. I have only spent one night with her but it has already thrown me for a loop.
   
4. I think this woman should be the new Bachelerotte on ABC next season.
   
   
   
5. If I ever ran for president, and don’t think I haven’t considered it; my platform would be to lower the cost of energy. Red Bull costs way too fucking much. I drink 2 to 3 cans a day in lieu of actual meals to keep my taut physique, but paying $3.50 is not easy on the wallet. And I would lower the cost of gas; the guys I buy my pot from are Arabic so I’m sure they could hook it up somehow.
   
   
6. I am going back to Lollapalooza this summer. I just thought I would throw that in. I am going for the music, the drugs, and the hope that I can finally bag a dirty hippy chick. Sleeping with a dirty hippy chick is right below sleeping with an Asian chick for me.
   
7. Speaking of Asian chicks; do you think if you eat one out at say 3:00, you are hungry for more a half hour later.
   
8. My Benz died the other day and my cell phone was also dead. I have Triple A and needed to make a phone call so I began walking to this big white house about 20 yards away to ask to use their phone. But I was high, so I was paranoid. I begin to think crazy thoughts; like what if Chris Hansen from Dateline was at this house and my attempt to use the phone led me to be placed on the sexual predator list. Or what if the home belonged to a bunch of Mormons and they tried to kill me for making fun of Mitt Romney. So I just sat in my car and cried.
   
9. The Pope was in the states a couple of weeks back. I dig the pope, he’s an alright cat, but I love comedians way more.

True Story Alert: Back in 2005 when Pope John Paul passed away I did not feel any sadness, I felt that I should, but I didn’t and I felt guilty. The about a month later my favorite comedian of all time passed away- Mitch Hedberg, and I was sad as fuck. I am not Catholic; frankly I am not religious at all, but feeling more remorse for a comedian I had never met that died of a drug overdose than for the leader of the Catholic faith made me feel a little “funny” about my priorities. This story has no real point but I figured it would give all 8 people who read this crap some insight into my soul.

1. So this stupid girl that has a stupid blog made a stupid comment on one of my posts. She calls herself Brooke, but since I loathe the use of actual names on my corner of the interweb, we will call her Pap Smear, since that is her favorite thing to receive. The only reason I am mentioning her here is because I think she is a sexual deviant and a hater of Nascar. In all seriousness, I laughed out loud a couple of times reading some of her writing, I was high, but she was funny none the less. SO GO READ PAP SMEAR'S BLOG.
   
2. A couple of my friends were over here watching a basketball game a couple of days ago. While the game was on I typed a column for my company’s website, real creative stuff. After completion of said article I churned out some crap for the book I am working on. Then I typed some drivel into my online journal. My Cool Ass Black Friend asked me why I write so much. I wanted to tell him that with more practice and refinement this weak skill I have may get stronger over time. I wanted to tell him that when I write a sentence that wastes zero words the feeling of satisfaction is unparalleled. I wanted to tell him that forcing emotions out of another human being through words alone is a magical feeling. But alas, I could say none of these things because my friends are morons. So I got my point across with an anecdote from my childhood.
   When I was a kid my friends and I would play from 9 in the morning until 9 or 10 at night. During the summer we would have the greatest adventures and exceed the fun quotient by a long shot. We had a group of 7 kids in our regular clique, but once you included other neighborhoods we would have 20 or 30 kids frolicking around. My friend Zach Long hated leaving the fun so much that he would forgo using the bathroom just so he could continue playing. On occasion he would crap his pants just to keep playing. We knew that he shit himself because he smelled like shit and because his mom would whip him in front of the neighborhood every time he did it. But you have to commend someone that loves something so much he would defecate himself just to continue doing what he loved. This is how I feel about writing, I love writing to much that I would shit myself just to keep writing.