I'd rather fall myself than have you drag me on down...
- Ben Harper, "Another Lonely Day"
"No Noggin"
It's my last night home. Tomorrow, it's back to the world of desk shifts and Sociology papers. And no Noggin.
Ah, it's about time. I've watched my tape of Ed so many times, it's shut down my emotional nerve cluster. I can hardly function, here. I've got to get some outside stimulus.
Seriously. I've lost the ability to tell fantasy (or say, "situation comedy") from reality. We disbanded that club for a reason, right, Dubs?
I need my therapist.
"Sniffle and Ollie"
Back in high school, when my little sister Chelsey was even less cognizant than she is now, people would always assume she was my kid when we were out in public.
You know us young black guys. We's just can't avoid causing us some unwanted teenage pregnancy.
Hanging out with Miss Four-Year-Old-Sniffler-Don't-Need-A-Tissue 2003 has been an enlightening experience, however. I definitely don't want to have kids any time soon. I mean, kids just don't seem to care that you've got comics to read. They want to play Hide-and-Seek now. And all the questions when you're watching Buffy: Is that monster going to get them? Is that monster going to get me? Why'd that thing go into his eye? Can I sleep with the lights on? (Yes. Yes. Because he's got a post-hypnotic suggestion that turns him into a homicidal madman that needs to be dealt with, and that thing that crawled into his eye is going to fix his brain. and No.) Quite frankly, it's more than this little black duck can take.
Better not knock up any ladies any time soon. Which is a real concern for me these days.
On the other hand, however, the new cat Oliver has taught me that I'm ready for a cat. (Please. Congratulate me for not making any obvious pussy jokes.) You know what's nice about cats? They don't really care if you live or die. They just want food and to be left alone. No commitment with a cat. None at all.
Ah. Beautiful, beautiful tryptophan.
- Ben Harper, "Another Lonely Day"
"No Noggin"
It's my last night home. Tomorrow, it's back to the world of desk shifts and Sociology papers. And no Noggin.
Ah, it's about time. I've watched my tape of Ed so many times, it's shut down my emotional nerve cluster. I can hardly function, here. I've got to get some outside stimulus.
Seriously. I've lost the ability to tell fantasy (or say, "situation comedy") from reality. We disbanded that club for a reason, right, Dubs?
I need my therapist.
"Sniffle and Ollie"
Back in high school, when my little sister Chelsey was even less cognizant than she is now, people would always assume she was my kid when we were out in public.
You know us young black guys. We's just can't avoid causing us some unwanted teenage pregnancy.
Hanging out with Miss Four-Year-Old-Sniffler-Don't-Need-A-Tissue 2003 has been an enlightening experience, however. I definitely don't want to have kids any time soon. I mean, kids just don't seem to care that you've got comics to read. They want to play Hide-and-Seek now. And all the questions when you're watching Buffy: Is that monster going to get them? Is that monster going to get me? Why'd that thing go into his eye? Can I sleep with the lights on? (Yes. Yes. Because he's got a post-hypnotic suggestion that turns him into a homicidal madman that needs to be dealt with, and that thing that crawled into his eye is going to fix his brain. and No.) Quite frankly, it's more than this little black duck can take.
Better not knock up any ladies any time soon. Which is a real concern for me these days.
On the other hand, however, the new cat Oliver has taught me that I'm ready for a cat. (Please. Congratulate me for not making any obvious pussy jokes.) You know what's nice about cats? They don't really care if you live or die. They just want food and to be left alone. No commitment with a cat. None at all.
Ah. Beautiful, beautiful tryptophan.
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