Only the phoenix arises and does not descend. And everything changes. And nothing is truly lost.
- Neil Gaiman, "Exiles"
"Dash Wednesday"
I live for Wednesdays. Seriously. The only reason I don't eat a gun every Tuesday night is because the next day will be Wednesday, and the only reason I don't drown myself in a puddle Thursday morning is because Wednesday was so friggin' unbelievable.
There are two reasons for this: Comic books and Ed.
Today, I did not make it to the comic book store. I spent too much time killing cops over at Brent's place.
And Ed's not coming on until two in the morning. And they're moving it to Fridays at the end of the month.
Man. Is it just me, or do blogs make you start bitching about the pettiest little shit?
"Ten Reasons Why I Hate Kate Jeffries"
1) Makes too much damn sense.
2) Cares way too damn much.
3) Cries at my stories... even the violent ones.
4) Laughs at my jokes... even the stupid ones.
5) Always corrects me when I say "Barnes and Nobles" or "Midsummer's Night Dream"
6) Let me go to her house when my mom cancelled Thanksgiving, and had her family and friends force feed me pie every five minutes.
7) What's with all the curly hair? Get a haircut! Jesus!!!
8) Adam should be with me
9) The way she says "I'm from Texas, ya'll!" all the freaking time.
10) Can't imagine my life without her... because she won't let me.
"What's the Klingon Word for Loneliness?"
If the weight machine near the mensroom of Columbia Mall can be trusted -- and at two-bits a pop, it damn well better be -- I am 211 pounds and my lucky lotto numbers are 3 27 37.
Does this make me fat?
I'm not asking because I believe in an ideal figure or anything like that.
I just try to live down negative stereotypes.
I'm not in a gang. I'm not good at basketball. I don't call women ho's. Me and grits are so-so. Same with Popeyes.
I can't be a fat guy and comic book collector.
Especially with my knowledge of Starfleet Protocol.
Besides. On that blessed day, or perhaps lazy afternoon in which I finally trick, brainwash, medicate, or bribe some woman into sleeping with me, I'd really rather not send her screaming out of that seedy back alley just because of ab flab.
(Paradoxically, I'm pretty sure that this imaginary woman will be rather shallow... despite the fact that some part of her is interested in a poor guy who reads comics, watches cartoons, and wears Faded Glory & No Boundaries brand clothing.)
Crap. I totally forgot my point.
- Neil Gaiman, "Exiles"
"Dash Wednesday"
I live for Wednesdays. Seriously. The only reason I don't eat a gun every Tuesday night is because the next day will be Wednesday, and the only reason I don't drown myself in a puddle Thursday morning is because Wednesday was so friggin' unbelievable.
There are two reasons for this: Comic books and Ed.
Today, I did not make it to the comic book store. I spent too much time killing cops over at Brent's place.
And Ed's not coming on until two in the morning. And they're moving it to Fridays at the end of the month.
Man. Is it just me, or do blogs make you start bitching about the pettiest little shit?
"Ten Reasons Why I Hate Kate Jeffries"
1) Makes too much damn sense.
2) Cares way too damn much.
3) Cries at my stories... even the violent ones.
4) Laughs at my jokes... even the stupid ones.
5) Always corrects me when I say "Barnes and Nobles" or "Midsummer's Night Dream"
6) Let me go to her house when my mom cancelled Thanksgiving, and had her family and friends force feed me pie every five minutes.
7) What's with all the curly hair? Get a haircut! Jesus!!!
8) Adam should be with me
9) The way she says "I'm from Texas, ya'll!" all the freaking time.
10) Can't imagine my life without her... because she won't let me.
"What's the Klingon Word for Loneliness?"
If the weight machine near the mensroom of Columbia Mall can be trusted -- and at two-bits a pop, it damn well better be -- I am 211 pounds and my lucky lotto numbers are 3 27 37.
Does this make me fat?
I'm not asking because I believe in an ideal figure or anything like that.
I just try to live down negative stereotypes.
I'm not in a gang. I'm not good at basketball. I don't call women ho's. Me and grits are so-so. Same with Popeyes.
I can't be a fat guy and comic book collector.
Especially with my knowledge of Starfleet Protocol.
Besides. On that blessed day, or perhaps lazy afternoon in which I finally trick, brainwash, medicate, or bribe some woman into sleeping with me, I'd really rather not send her screaming out of that seedy back alley just because of ab flab.
(Paradoxically, I'm pretty sure that this imaginary woman will be rather shallow... despite the fact that some part of her is interested in a poor guy who reads comics, watches cartoons, and wears Faded Glory & No Boundaries brand clothing.)
Crap. I totally forgot my point.
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