Yellow Nellow

My stomach is not happy with me right now. I think I write with my stomach. I sat down at my desk about an hour and a half ago and I had just got out of class where we were talking about religion and philosophy and I was all fired up to talk about my ideas and write something important...

But I just like talking about food. I have drawer-cookies. They're delicious. Nothing better than drawer-cookies.

 I think after five hundred posts I've exhausted all my memories. And it's not like life-changing experiences are lining up outside my door every morning so instead of looking to the past, or trying to turn the mundane present into something exciting, I'll start reflecting on stuff I have yet to do. In the future-times.

There was this one time in the future where I came up with a really great Halloween costume. It's called 'Two Lighters Joe'. And what I did was take the two lighters I have sitting on my desk, put on a t-shirt that has the name 'Joe' scrawled on it, and eat half a frozen pizza in a half a dozen frozen-pizza seconds.

(haha, when you put dozen and frozen next to each other it looks like DOH-ZEN FROH-ZEN! or duhzen fruhzen)

Then I just spent the rest of the night running around yelling, "I only have TWO lighters!" I found my way out to the dock by the lake where a group of druids and anthropology majors made me King of the night. I'm taken to the bowels of one of the dining halls where I met their Queen, also known as the lady that makes sandwiches at the deli bar during Lunch time. Everything was rainbow colored and there was lots of puppets hanging from the ceiling. Like, creepy puppets that German children would receive to make them not understand happiness. It was great. There was a mirrorball and everything!
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 I just remembered this weekend how awesome mirrorballs are. They're amazing.

Remember that time my eyes will get pecked out by angry seagulls down in New Orleans? I'll drive myself to the hospital using my keen sense of action and even though I've plucked out the eyes of the seagulls so that they can be attached into my own head, the doctors say that bird eyes can not be put into people eye holes. Leave it to the stuffed shirts in New Orleans to not allow radical medical cross-species transplantation. That place isn't good for anything.

Then later, I was/will be walking down the streets, a blind beggar who can't get back home, I'll come across a man with a voice like worn-leather and Thin Mints and he'll hook me up with some awesome mirror-ball eyes for the low low price of several corpses.

Once I have the mirrorball eyes I can start up my own car rental service and use the funds to buy everyone in Wyomklahama an alpaca!

I'll be the folk/funk hero supreme!
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The future is looking good.