Wheeling Around

Slim Pickens is the Number One Choice. Of all the guys, he is a good guy.

One day, Slim Pickens was sitting around trying to figure how to become a winner.

"If I can just become a winner, then I'll be able to crank my chin to the sky."

So he called up Fergtan on his telephonic cereal box.

"Hello, Fergtan?"

"Hello? Who is this? Slim Pickens? Why does your voice sound so weird--are you calling me through a cereal box again?"

"Yes. No. In a week. Anyway, can you tell me how to be a winner?"

"That's easy, dunderhead. To be a winner, all you have to do is be famous. That's why I've started an advertising company dedicated to promoting my brand. The brand of Fergtan...why am I still talking to you?"

"Because you're my best friend."

"No. Bye."

Slim Pickens pondered on what Fergtan had said. "I guess I have to be famous now."

But Slim Pickens didn't know how to be famous. Nor did he know any famous people. So he went to talk to Mr. Mangklace from down the street. Mr . Mangklace was sitting on his front porch, drinking prune juice and watching his grass grow.

"Mr. Mangklace, how do I become famous?"

"Well, I suppose I'm famous for my wonderful yard. The people come from far and wide to see my luscious green grass. And if I don't like them, I spit on 'em. Hehehe, yes, fame has been good to me." And then Mr. Mangklace laughed and laughed as he stirred his heaping pitcher of prune juice that grew darker and darker until it become almost completely black.

Slim Pickens pondered on what Mr. Mangklace had said. "I guess I have to get a yard now."

But Slim Pickens didn't have a yard. Or a house. Only a mailbox full of three thousand screaming chickens telling him to get a job. "But I don't know how to job."

Slim Pickens decided to go to the Cliffs of Bologna and make some origami swans.

Later on, the Poodonkis joined him. "What are you doing there, Slim?"

"I was going to make swans. But I'm not very good at it so I'm making triangles instead. Then I'm trying to get them to fly away but the triangles just fall down to the waves of the Mustard Sea."

"Oh..."

"The Poodonkis, do you know what kind of job I can get that will get me a yard that lets me spit on people so I can become a famous brand?"

"Why would you want to do any of that stuff? That sounds like something Fergtan or Mr. Mangklace would do after he drank eighteen pitchers of prune juice."

"I just want to be a winner so I can walk around with my head high and my chin cranked to the sky."

"Well, none of that stuff will make you a winner, Slim Pickens. And you don't need to be a winner to feel good about yourself. If you do what you like, and listen to your heart, you'll feel good about yourself."

"Sometimes, I like to eat ladel-fulls of sugar and roll around on the grass."

"Does that make you feel good about yourself?"

"Not really, but it makes me all itchy and gives me lots of places to scratch! I just thought we were sharing with the group. What I really like to do is make sculptures and rollerblade when the sun is coming up."

"Then you should do those things."

"And I also really like it when I go to your window and watch you get really excited about doing the crossword puzzles when you think no one is watching. You dress up like a superhero and play victory music whenever you solve a clue and sometimes it takes you like thirty minutes to even get one--"

"Okay Slim Pickens. I think you've figured your life out enough. No need to be talking about...not reality...bye!"

And so Slim Pickens stood up and took some of the bologna from the Cliffs of Bologna and he took some grass from the fields of Dunch, and he took some grass from Mr. Mangklace's yard, and Mr. Mangklace gave him some spit to take with him, and he took some promotional posters from Fergtan's ad campaign, and he took some orange peels from the Enormous Pile of Orange Peels, and he assembled them all into a beautiful statue of some man shopping for a new pair of slacks.

"This is my greatest work ever. I call it, My Journey Through The Tunnel of Time or...Super Cheese Belize Tuesday!"

And everyone saw Slim Pickens's statue because he put it right in front of the entrance to the Bingo Hall. And they couldn't play Bingo until an angry mob tore down the wall right beside the old entrance.

The End.

Buying a Muffler

Slim Pickens had a paper to write. Of all the numbers, he was the number one.

As Slim Pickens sat down to write his paper, he was distracted by his pet muffler, "Clnkly".

Pictured: Clnkly (not pictured: vowels)

"Oh hey Clnkly," said Slim Pickens. "I was just about to sit down to write this paper but now that you're here I hope you don't mind if I wax bro-etic. So the other night, I was in the club. I saw this girl wiggling and shaking like her bathtub had a toaster oven in it. And I was like, "oh yeah. Moving moving moving moving moving moving moving moving." Because ladies love the repetitious dance lyrics. And then I covered myself in balsamic vinaigrette and slithered on over to her. The ladies like salads, right?"

"What's that, Clnkly? You wanna know how to write a paper? Yeah, I can show you how it's done. Let me give you some QUICK SHWICK TIPS.

Tip #1: Sound like a smart person. If a character is going around killing people's heads off. Don't describe him in your critical analysis of the story as, "Wacko McDirkenbrau." Instead, say: "The principle antagonist exhibits a kaleidoscope of neurosis that culminate in the ritualistic massacre of the townsfolk and their mini-english muffin pizzas.

Tip #2: Structure. You want your paper to be easy to follow. It helps if you go inside your head and imagine your paper as one of those never-ending staircase illusions. Every time you make a point, it should ultimately lead back to your original point in the first paragraph. Then proceed to a new point, but tie that back in to the original point as well. By the end of the paper, your reader will be so dizzy, they'll think you're cognitive...Hindenburg.

Tip #3: Adverbs. You really really want to use as many adverbs as forcefully, promptly, intelligently, diligently, courteously, rembungously, turtootloously, and hair-ily as you can. 

Well there you go, Clnkly, pick an idea and run with it like the dickens. Maybe you should also talk about the Dickens. And how they were such great runners. They were pretty much good at everything. I'm always trying to run like the Dickens. Eat like the Dickens. Turn a pipe wrench like the Dickens. Whack a villain with a pipe wrench like the Dickens. Pass a kidney stone like the Dickens. Pipe wrench a pipe wrench in the pipe wrench like the Dickens.

...buy a pipe wrench."

And Clnkly slowly clnkl'd away into the sunset.
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On another note, I may not have gotten my job. Does anyone have a job for me?! That pays cash dollars?

Slim Pickens Eats the Big-Huge Hoagie

Slim Pickens is the Number One Choice. Of all the Guys, he is a good guy.

It was the first day of Spring, so everything was rainy and miserable. Slim Pickens was inside building a house of cards on the unsuspecting face of Mr. Mangklace.

Then Slim Pickens was bored, "This tower of cards isn't like the movies at all."

When Mr. Mangklace awoke, he accidentally inhaled all of the cards in one fell swoop!

"SWOOP!" said Mr. Mangklace. "This is the eighth time this week, Slim Pickens!"

"I just want to do something exciting. Like get ejected from a professional sporting event."

"Why don't you go lie face down in the mud until someone ejects you from somewhere?"

So Slim Pickens went out to the ball field in the rain and laid down face-first in the mud. The Poodonkis was walking by thinking about sunflower seeds when he almost tripped over Slim Pickens.

"What're you doing, Slim Pickens?"

"I'm trying to be exciting so Mr. Mangklace said I should lie down. face first. in the mud. Until a referee or sporting official has me removed from the field of play. Could you transform into a sports team for me?" said Slim Pickens.

"Oh gosh, the only thing I can transform into is deep dark of pit of smoldering rage from which nothing can escape and one time a poor German child accidentally got too close and--"

"You could've just said no."

"--and they never found his body again. Just the torn tatters of his favorite lederhosen."

"This is some kind of boring grandma-fun," said Slim Pickens.

"You could also go to the new diner and try their Big-Huge Hoagie. If you finish it, or your small intestine ruptures into any of your other intestines, you get the sandwich for free."

Slim Pickens lept up immediately. "Bursting my insides, eh? That wouldn't be my first rodeo. Let's go to that diner!"

"Oh...I don't know. I should probably go be by myself for a while..."

"Quit your sass-boating! We're going."

And so they got to the diner. And all the people of Dunch were there, including Fergtan.

"Are you guys here to try eat the Big-Huge Hoagie? Your dreams are like the rocket I built in the fourth grade. They'll never get off the ground. And when they do, they'll hit a raccoon in the eye and he'll stalk your backyard for weeks. Hahahaha!" said Fergtan.

"I don't feel so good," said the Poodonkis. "I really think I should go."

"Thanks for believing in me, the Poodonkis " said Slim Pickens. "If something goes wrong, I want you tell everyone that I never liked Mayonnaise. I only did those commercials for the money."

So they brought out three Big-Huge Hoagies. One was for Slim Pickens. One was for Fergtan. And one was for the four-armed sales associate, Looming Dooming. Whoever finished the sandwich would win a free sandwich. If they failed...they'd get...burned...somehow. GREASE FIRE!

They were off to a fast start. Condiments were flying everywhere and there wasn't a dry earlobe in the house. Looming Dooming was mashing the hoagie into his forehead and slowly...absorbing its power somehow. Fergtan was making sure to take extra big bites so all the ladies could gawk at his powerful jaw and neck muscles. The ladies were doing everything they could to avoid looking at this bulging neck and jaw. And Slim Pickens was battling a sudden onset of self-consciousness in regards to his body image!

"Oh..." said Slim Pickens, "I had a big lunch. If I eat this now...I guess I can skip breakfast tomorrow."

Two hours into the contest, Looming Dooming had grown more powerful than ever and flew off, bursting through the ceiling and looking for thunderstorms to hijack on the west coast. Fergtan had dislocated his jaw and was face down in a pile of of his own failure. And Slim Pickens was half way through his sandwich and considering buying a more flattering pair of jeans. Suddenly, the Poodonkis who had been whimpering weakly in the corner all afternoon finally turned into a swirling vortex of hate and destruction.

"The Poodonkis!" said Slim Pickens. "You've saved my precious thighs!" And he chucked the sandwich into the void. It was a 30 yard completion!

The Big-Huge hoagie caused the pit of evil to become unstable and there were almost no survivors. Afterwards, the Poodonkis and Slim Pickens bought a pinata and had a lovely picnic in the park.

The End.

OH YEAH! IT'S MY BIRTHDAY! GOOD THING THAT!

Slim Pickens and the Goat Who Cried Too Little

This is the first story of Slim Pickens and tells how he got his flannel shirt.

Slim Pickens was the Number One choice. Of all the guys, he was a good guy. One day in the Land of Dunch, Slim Pickens was working on his jump-shot with his way-too-left-over leftovers.

"Gotta make sure I keep those elbows out and my toes about," said Slim Pickens.

Just then, a brick came falling out the sky via cloud-mail.

"Ow, my concussion!" said Slim Pickens. He picked up the brick and read the note.

Dear Slim,

  I am a Farmer and lately my goats have not been crying more than two gallons a day. If I can't meet my monthly quota of goat tears, my land will be repossessed by British pet groomers and I'll have to disguise myself to sneak into the orphanage again.

Please help,

a Farmer.

P.S. I'll throw in a less-than-hefty reward.

Slim Pickens was fired-up. "I'll be in this bunch like second dunch!"

He called up his friend the Poodonkis and together they walked over to Goat-Tear farm.


a Farmer met them at the entrance. "I'm so glad you're here, Slim Pickens."


"What's the problem, a Farmer?"

"It's my leader-goat. He won't get up and go to the crying fields. None of the other goats know what to do."

"Point me in the direction of that goat."

"Me too!" said the Poodonkis.

Slim Pickens and the Poodonkis found the leader goat in the goat-shed sleeping on his goaty goat-bed. The leader goat looked outrageously happy and welcomed the two into his shed.

"What's the deal Mr. Goat?" said Slim Pickens. "Don't you have some crying to do? Aren't you sad that your just a mangy old goat with no friends and you can't open soda bottles even?"

"Me too!" said the Poodonkis.

"I'm not sad at all," said the goat. "I'm happy when the sun rises, and when the wind blows and tickles my nose, and when the crickets chirp at night."

Just then, Fergtan showed up in the tent and did three hundred push-ups. "Oh man," said Fergtan, "my delts are off the charts today. Why's this freakin' goat grinning like a chump?"

"He's a happy goat! He doesn't feel like crying so a Farmer is going to lose his land," said Poodonkis.

"I know!" said Slim Pickens. "He said he likes the sun, the wind, and cricket chirps. So what we need to do is take off his nose so the wind can't tickle it."

So they got some powertools from a local street vendor and removed the goat's nose. But the goat was still happy.

"Now I can live in my filth without worrying about the smell!"

Fergtan was upset. "I'm upset!" said Fergtan. "Why don't we just blow up the sun?"

"No, no," said Slim Pickens. "What we need to do is teach the crickets how to play trumpets so they'll keep the goat awake at night."

So Slim Pickens and the Poodonkis signed all the crickets in the field up for three months of trumpet lessons and practiced with the crickets every night. But the goat was still happy.

"What we need to do is teach some of the crickets how to play the tambourine and some of the crickets how to play the xylophone," said Slim Pickens.

But before they could do that, Fergtan built a rocket full of chainsaw gloves and cigarette butts and blew up the Sun.

Then the goat was very sad. "Oh man," said the goat. "It'll take weeks for the Sun to grow back."

And all the goats cried into double double overtime and everyone else and a farmer were happy.

"Hooray!" said everyone else and a farmer.

Then, Slim Pickens noticed the corner of something in the goat's bed. It was a flannel shirt.

"This my new jam," said Slim Pickens.

"You should find a thrift store and burn that thing out back by the donation bin," said Fergtan.

And then a gang of hooligans showed up and played all the hits.

The End and more to come.

PALOMIDES!

Recorded here: LINK

Let's do another Think of Something Interesting.

If I looked out my window right now and there was a cloud there and it vomited up a cardboard box and a thick rope made out of cinnamon flavored dental floss and then told me to climb on it, that'd be interesting.

And if I opened my window and stepped on to the cloud but didn't fall through it because the cloud contained some sort of pillowy innards, I'd be like "no ways!"

But before we could take off into the sky the cloud would have to knit me an awesome sweater out of otter fur to keep me warm during our voyage and while it's knitting the sweater I'd be like, "Cloud! This is so illegal!"

So I'd put the sweater on and he'd take me to this island full of giant ants that are constantly decomposing and their limbs fall into the sand and are eaten by the sand but then the limbs reemerge from the sand in some other spot except they disintegrate into thousands of tinier ants that are then eaten by the giant ants and there are coconut trees but instead of coconuts they have speakers on them that are playing the Beach Boy's "Good Vibrations" in Swedish!

The interesting part though is that the Swedish version of Good Vibrations sounds exactly the same as the English version except in Swedish it's talking about a man who wants to get a sleeping bag and live in a vending machine full of pretzels and spiders.

And then the cloud pulled out its own ghettoblaster and started playing all the hits in 8 BIT REMIX form! And my pixelated-self was jump-moving with joy! There were coins raining down everywhere. At the end of the night I was so 1-UP'd I thought I was going to live forever.

And I did live forever. But when we got to the last level the whole thing restarted again!

And the cloud got bored so he lured me into his cabbage patch with some old flaming Christmas ornaments. I fell asleep in his cabbage patch and when I woke up I was writing this.

That'd be kind of interesting.

Getting new running shoes for my birthday!

Has anyone looked at banner adds lately?

I feel like I stopped noticing them completely until last night when I saw this on a dictionary website:

Guys, I'm worried about banner ads. I think they've given up.

Do they even know what they're trying to do anymore? Are they trying to scam me? Or give me viruses? Or just make me feel uncomfortable and scared.

It's such a powerful image of our times! Don't we all have giant red sirens on our heads and feel like aging suburban moms wearing super-villain costumes in mismatched bodies?!



Then there was this on Youtube.

I just like their attitude. I didn't actually watch the video but I think the picture says enough.

"Dude, I just peed SO fast! You were recording it, right?!"

"Yeah! It was probably a WORLD RECORD!"

"WORLD RECORD?!"

"WORLD RECORD!"

"The people have to know!"

Anyway, the internet is still amazing. I can't tell if these pictures are actually funny. Maybe it was just the context I saw them in but they made me laugh really hard. Probably harder than I should have.

YOU GOT IT!

Requests! I fulfill them.

In other news, I got A STOMACH VIRUS! HOORAY!

Those things are nasty.

I threw up THREE TIMES ON FRIDAY!

Also this happened!

As I'm attempting to walk back to my dorm I lie down next a field where 600 something people are setting the world record for longest spooning train. I'm not actually part of the spoon train, I'm just next to it enjoying the warmth of the sun and lightly spooning my backpack. After about thirty minutes of that I get up and throw up all the Gatorade I've consumed in the last two hours into a trash can. I really savor that last dry heave where I feel my whole stomach clench and it's completely empty.

Trudging off in the direction of my dorm, this guy, who has just seen me get up and vomit, asks if I want to go to his for some water.

So I do!

He's insistent that he get me some filtered water (since that tap water is the devil), but his Brita pitcher is empty so I have to stand there for a couple minutes while all these people are walking in and out of this kitchen of this house I've never been in (turns out it's a fraternity house). So I just start telling them, "Hi! I have a stomach virus!" or "Hi! I threw up in a trashcan!"

and then...believe it or not...

...that night I didn't get a date to the big college dance...

booest of hoos.

Couldnificient

One more week until I'm 21.
____________________________________________

okayokayokayokayokay OKAY!

I give in.

For too long I've been writing all these obscure, strange, and esoteric metaphors. And it's been fun but while I was on  my run today I realized that...it's not fair to the reader. It's indulgent and boring and it's never going to get me anywhere unless I give the people something they can grab on to.

IT'S GOT TO HAVE SOME MEANING THAT MAKES YOU WANT TO STAND UP AND SAY "YES!"

So, I've decided that I'm going to explain every metaphor in all of my 541 previous posts. I'm going to reveal everything and tell you what it's all about. BUT. I'm not just going to go through every metaphor and tell you what it means. I'm not going to give you some big catalog or index that you have to wade through. No. That'd be boring. What I'm going to do is give you a special insight into my creative process. And once you understand that, everything will fall into place. And you'll be like, "ohhhh, that's what he meant! I should buy him a pizza!"

Ready?!

Okay.

So the first thing you're going to want to do in the Andy Creative-Process system is start by imagining ALL THE DUCKS. Just fill your head with images of ducks. They can be photo-realistic ducks, cartoon ducks, abstract post-modern ducks, whatever kind of ducks you want. And leave no space in your brain-screen/brain-canvas that isn't ducks. Totally fill your head with ducks, have them be upside-down, overlapping, every which way. Anywhere you turn your brain-eye should be nothing but ducks-a-palooza.

So this is like the base coat of imagination. Or, it's like the ocean of consciousness from which I pull out all of my creations.

And what you're going to do with this miasma of ducks is remove, add, reorient, and rearrange these ducks to create meaning. Get it? It's like you make an arrangement of ducks in your head, and then you look at that, and then you just write down what you see.

It's terribly simple. I'll give you an example.

Let's clear away all these ducks and just focus on one duck. We'll call him Alberto. He's kinda like a stout...chumbly looking duck.

(that's another thing you're going to want to do: make up words to describe the ducks. As vast and sundry as the English language is, it still can't possibly generate enough words to describe the various kinds of ducks you can create. I like my work to reflect this.)

Anyway, now that we have Alberto, just kinda standing there, doing his thing. Let's take another big ol' pile of ducks and put them beside him (I like to use big ol' piles whenever possible). Then we'll arrange those ducks into the shape of a cookie jar. You know, like one of those big blue vase things that cookies come in, except it's made out of ducks. Blue ducks to be exact. And the cookie-jar of ducks is about three times as tall as Alberto and let's say it contains a whole bunch of duck-o-grahams. Duck-o-grahams are like Teddygrahams except they're shaped like ducks and aren't regulated by the FDA! So we got these duck-o-grahams, in this duck-jar, next to Alberto and...Alberto is mad because he needs to return this VHS tape he rented like five years ago.

Alberto is a 90s duck. (In your mind, you can make the time period whatever you want without actually telling anyone about it. Sometimes it's helpful to give clues though by referencing outdated technology like VCR's and being scared of cholera.) Let's imagine that Alberto is into grunge and he's wearing ripped jeans and lots of flannel.

So...Alberto goes to the Blickblooster and returns the VHS tape and then they fine him like...I don't know...thirty eight dollars. And then he goes home and eats some duck-o-grahams. Which are duck-shaped and duck-flavored graham crackers that are eaten by ducks. Kind of like how Sour-Patch Kids taste like sour children. And then later he makes some Hamburger Helper.
----------------------------------------

Okay, now time for the big reveal that's gonna make everything make sense. That was all a METAPHOR for how much I love teddygrahams AND how I wish we still used VHS tapes. AND how when I was little I used to rent VHS tapes from Kroger because Kroger used to have those. AND KROGER ALSO SOLD TEDDYGRAHAMS!

HUH?! HUH?! Get it now?! It all makes sense.

Here's a little review guide for you.

1. Ducks
2. The 90s.
3....meaning probably based from some mundane part of my life.
4. FULFILLMENT!

Step one is probably the only one that's really a hard and fast rule. The other three I get pretty loose with, especially number 4.

But there you go, I've made it as clear as I possibly can. If you can't figure out my metaphors now then you should probably just...shave off your eyebrows and send them to me in the mail.

Also, if any universities or well-paying private high schools are reading this and would like to offer me a job as a creative writing teacher, I would be more than happy to be paid to teach our adderal-riddled youths about my wonderful creative process.

The Struggle

Nothing's ever gonna stop me, man. Hardship's only gonna make me stronger.

You know, you can't ever lose sight of your goals. Sometimes, late at night, you're sitting in the lounge all by yourself, strain in your eyeballs, working hard, and you start getting those yogurt farts real bad. But you can't let that get you down. And you can't stop eating whole bowls of yogurt. That's dairy. That's the second most important food group behind PB&J. If it bothers other people that's their problem, not yours. You keep that gas inside of you and your nipples will turn blue.

It's like that Rihanna song, "Don't Stop the Music". Whenever I hear that song, and I think of the lyrics, I remind myself that I'm the "don't" in that song. As in, I'm don't not gonna stop. Whether it be the music, or some card game, or finding stamps after the post office is closed, I'm don't not EVER gonna stop. Just like Rihanna told me.

And you can't let anyone tell you your dreams are stupid either. No one knows but you. Like, Alexander Graham Bell, he had a dream to make an annoying box that rings and rings and then when you make it stop ringing you get someone's annoying voice that doesn't even really sound like them blathering about whatever and telling you got to go to the park for some chili cook-off even though you just had chili last night and if you go to the park you know you're gonna see that guy at the bench by the tree and he's gonna be wearing the same clothes he always does and he's just gonna be looking at you. He's just gonna keep looking at you like he's gonna say something but he's not...

Yeah, Alexander Graham Bell had a stupid idea. The telephone was a stupid idea. But then we got cellphones from that, and cellphones have calculators on them, and now when you try to figure out what you need to tip when you go out to eat, it doesn't have to turn into a big math-a-thon. And Alexander Graham Bell probably knew that.

No one's gonna stop me. I got dreams. I got plans. Sometimes I'll be looking out the window at nothing at all and I'll imagine someone looking at me looking out the window and I'll think, yeahhh, they probably think I'm thinking awesome thoughts right now. I'm really just listening for the bus (WHICH I JUST MISSED) but they don't know that. It's not gonna stop them from hiring a biographer for me in ten years.

I know struggle. Every day I'm trying to stay hydrated and a lot of the times I still pee bright yellow and it even stings a little bit. And then I gotta go to class and learn about what poems mean but it still stings a little bit. I've lost water bottles. I've lost dozens of water bottles. And everyone of them meant something. But you can't define yourself by your losses. You gotta use water fountains, you gotta use plastic water bottles, you gotta use nasty mugs way back in the corner of your desk, or empty Febreeze bottles, or just fill up your cheeks with water and sit there in class with your face all bloaty.

But I'm gonna stay hydrated. Nothing's gonna stop me, man.

Disparbeled

Things Holding Things

That's my dad holding some sort of smushed version of me wearing the skin of a pumpkin.
He looks really cool.

This is probably my favorite picture. 

That's some freshman holding a tiny banana. Or his head is gigantic...it's hard to tell

That's my creepy skeletal-looking fingers holding a bag of pretzels that Michael Ian Black requested in his rider and then didn't eat. I hope some day I can request pretzels and not eat them.

The slurpee on the left is mine. The slurpee on the right is my friends. It was free slurpee day.

That's an apple core holding what appears to be...five forks...one spoon, and one very disgruntled knife.

Chebber cheez. 

Day 7- 100 miles

so that happened. Not running tomorrow.

When you run a lot you learn a lot about yourself. Sometimes, you learn too much about yourself.

Um...I think when I was probably somewhere around mile 98 I had a bit of a runner's high all of a sudden and I got chills and I just felt really good and in my head I was thinking, LOVE! YES! Love is good! Everything is beautiful! 

And then about a quarter of a mile later this huge pain in my side crept up, like a stitch or whatever, and I almost slowed to a hobble and was like, No! Not good. Be good again! Be good again!

But uh...then I was just running. And that was good too.

Sooooo what did we learn today Andy?

Did we learn about the transcendent powers of running or friendship or nature or something?

Maybe a little.

But mostly I was just running because I really really really really really like running. Inherent good and whatnot.

But...probably the most remarkable thing happened after the run when I was in the shower. And I was cleaning myself, and I felt something weird...and then I pulled a hair out of my butt.

Like, a human head hair, pretty long, that was not mine, but was in my butt. I don't even...what?

If you're any sort of decent human being, you have to provide sound effects, even if only in your head, as you're pulling.

Something like, wooooOOOOoooooOOOOOOoooOOOOOP!

When you pull someone else's hair out of your butt, your first thought is, do I recognize this? Then your very next thought is, I don't want to know anything about this hair. This is not real life.

Yeah, go run a hundred miles in seven days and maybe you too can pull someone else's hair out of your butt. It's kinda like a miracle...cept gross. Not like, stigmata gross, but still pretty gross.?

I'm gonna go order new running shoes...

Day 6- 86 Miles

Now some of you little children at home or locked in your sleep cages might be wondering, "Gosh'em golly, Andy! What does 86 miles in 6 days do to your FEET?!"

Well, you curious little sack of SPACKLEKROUT! I'm glad you asked.

The following picture is highly endorsed by me and does indeed reflect my views and opinions of my network:

This doesn't even really do it justice. But I'll try to describe as much as I can. My third toe on the left foot is infected. Just about all of them are bruised. The calluses are very white, flakey, and thick. There's bruises on the nail of two toes on my right foot.  The color is a kind of splotchy collage of hair, pink, purple and red bruises, and everything else is just extremely pale

So there you go kids! There you go...

(and of course, I can take more feet pictures by request.)

Day 4 - 58 miles

I'm trying to run 100 miles in 7 days. It's very similar to running 70-something miles in 6 days except you say, "Gosh, I sure am running a lot" a lot more.

Going home for less than 24 hours tomorrow for a job interview. I hope I gets it!

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Running Hecklers!

In the past several days I've received some interesting hecklings from strangers while running.

Over the weekend I was running in some trails and like 5 or 6 kids just chilling by the side of the trail. They were probably looking for fauna or getting high or some such nature things.

This one girl goes, "Yeah...I mean, I could totally vouch for you guys-"

And as I'm running by one of this kids yells, "You can't outrun death!"

And his friends laugh and I go, "I CAN TRY!"

They all laugh and are like, "Haha, yeah, you can try."

First of all, good job me for being quick on the draw with that one. Secondly, my friend was running behind me and just for a second I thought, were they talking about him? Has he transmogrified into death incarnate?!

But that was stupid and dumb and dumb and stupid...still, I might ask him about that moment if we're ever trapped on a sinking ship some day.

HECKLING #2

This morning I was running by the parking garage and this big-huge SUV comes tearing out of the garage and gets real close to me and the guy in the driver's seat yells, "I run for a REASON!"

And, I would've flicked him off but it took me too long to register what he was saying and if it counted as an insult or not. I'm usually pretty good about flicking people off but this one I had to ponder about.

First I thought about what he must have said to his friend in the passenger seat afterwards. Probably like, "Hey, did you see how burned that runner guy? I was all 'I run for a reason!' and he was all, oh no! Existential quandary! My life amounts to nothing now!"

Because, wait...what? Am I not running for a reason? What's his reason? Does he run when he's scared? Does he run to the bathroom when he has to poop real bad? How did he know I didn't have to poop real bad? I guess he assumed I pooped before I ran because that happens now that I run in the morning and I'm not sure how I feel about it...

but anyway, is he saying he is a more righteous runner than me? I've never had someone try take the moral high ground while trying to heckle me. Usually they just say, "put a shirt on!" or "you're a girl!"

He looked like a football player so maybe he was saying that when HE runs it's too...help...a ball...get to a side of a field...and then it gets kicked through a thing...for points....until...it stops happening. And there's giant foam animals running around the sidelines.

oh! I get it. He was saying that he uses running in a context that makes sense! To get the ball to the side of the field for points so it can be kicked through the thing and also they all dress like space warriors. I get it now. Rational, reasonable things.

Well, if I may be so bold as to challenge his proclamation. I TOO run for a reason. I was thinking about this the other day. The whole point of long distance running...is transporting your genitals a far distance as fast as possible. That's really the underlying purpose of the whole thing. It's like a fertility ritual. I'm just trying to transport my genitals as far and wide as my body will allow. That's why the shorts are so short. Duh!

Think about it next to you run or see a runner. Remember that line in Juno where she says that when she sees them run all she can think about is pork swords? She pretty much hit the nail on the head. That's really all there is too it. Having fast and well-traversed genitals.

I'm either running too much or not nearly enough...

I'M SETTING A CHALLENGE

I think my problem is that I haven't put myself in any severe discomfort for a while. Like, agonizing discomfort. Senseless, sharp, discomfort.

I think I'm going to start a Team Blitz Tradition. It's a milk chug. Run from the corner to matrix to Food Lion, buy a gallon of milk. Drink it between the people there and then run down to DOG Street and to the end of it and hopefully throw up along the way.

MILK CHUG RUN CHALLENGE IS HAPPENING BEFORE THE END OF THE SEMESTER!

BEAUTIFUL THINGS!

go to sleep

words for now and words for later too
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It's important to make beautiful things.

It's important to make beautiful things and work very hard.

It's important to make beautiful things and work very hard because if you wanted to make a giant bird and you built it in the center of campus and every day and every night you worked on this flame colored bird and you built and designed the frame yourself and lovingly crafted the feathers and kept it dry from the rain and kept it safe from rabid raccoons and butt-slappers and made sure the wings were sturdy and set and devised some sort of booster system that would send it soaring into the sky past the clouds and if you built this bird people would say, "You're crazy! That will never fly! You're just gonna crash into a building and burn it down!" and you say, "Just wait" and you pick the perfect sunny day and wait until the wind is just right and you launch the bird and the booster system malfunctions and it shoots straight up in the air and gets lost in the sun for an instant before it comes plummeting down to earth, a flaming skeleton, a burning drop from a cloud of ruination and it crashes into a building and burns it down and everyone says, "Look! It crashed into a building and burned it down." but it doesn't matter. You made it. And it only belongs to you. It doesn't belong to them at all. It's your beautiful thing. It's your beautiful failure. You did it for you and you will keep doing it for you.

It's important to make beautiful things and work very hard.

It's important to make beautiful things.

PRAL!

So I was sitting here trying to think of something to write and then I thought of a think on which to write.
So here goes:

This is how I learned I love language.

When I was a young boy, my mom and I would go to the supermarket or the Wal-Mart or the Costco or the Kroger, or the whatever, and she'd be shopping and I'd just go around and be in my own little world for an hour and a half.

One time she was at the check-out and she sees the cashier staring at something on the floor and my mom looks over and sees that it's me, flat on my side just spinning around and around. You know like when you're on your side on the ground and you try to walk and you just spin around and around? That was me.

Incidentally, I almost repeated that same feat about 15 years later when I found myself heavily intoxicated in a Wawa. I don't know what to say, except that little kids and drunk people know how to have fun.

But anyway, if I wasn't sweeping the floor with my entire body--lost in my own tragic space epic fantasy, I'd be walking around and eventually I'd see something that I HAD TO HAVE.

My mom explains the difference between me and my sister like this: if my sister ever saw something that she wanted and asked for it, and my mom said no, she'd say okay and put it back. If I wanted something, I would argue, and argue, and argue, and plead, and deal, and haggle, and plot until she gave in.

And up until now I thought I was just being a bratty little kid but I think I'm proud of it now.

Because, what you teach a  small children when you show him that he can argue his way into getting stuff is that language is powerful. Talk is powerful.

Talk can make things happen. And I remember thinking of arguments and thinking of ways I could convince her to let me have whatever crappy thing I wanted.

I mean, first of all, there's the relentlessness. You can't give up if you really want it so you have to keep talking until something sticks. And this is a weekly thing that could last from thirty minutes to well over an hour. It's a long set to fill!

Secondly, inventiveness. You can just rehash old tricks every week. You have to come up with new stuff, or build on the old material, twist and distory and create to get that reaction. If you aren't ready to top yourself, you aren't ready for that Nerf gun.

Finally, and this isn't hard for kids, but you have to commit. When this is THE THING YOU WANT MOST IN THE WORLD EVER you have to show it. Maybe cry a little. Say it like you mean it, little me.

But, whether it's good or not, I think all of that can be applied to comedy.

If memory is the most powerful thing then language is second.

Or in other words, this is all my mom's fault.

Ouagadougou Gold

I was out running by Target and there was this homeless guy sitting by the edge of the parking lot and as I was stopped to wait for the road to clear so I could cross to the other side he started talking to me.

He was wearing white shorts and a striped tank-top with a cardboard sign that said homeless.

He spoke with a rich, calm voice as he looked up at me. He said, "Have you ever stared back at a man whose eyes are shaded from the Mexican sun by the brim of a ragged straw hat? Have you ever stood on the blinding white sands of a deserted beach with only a towel wrapped around your waist and a rusty machete in your hand?"

I was jogging in place, "Um...no."

"He was a little under five feet tall. He had spindly legs and fingers that never stopped moving. We'd been out of food for two days. We were just standing there, breathing heavily. That's all we could do, stand and breathe. He was filthy, unshaven, had sand and grease in every pore of his mottled face and I'm sure I looked exactly the same. Depravity is when you feel the twitches of your eyeballs set deep in their sockets and realize the muscles are running on hate. Hate and fear. The body tears the sinews until it's all a writhing pile of jelly eating itself to death. He had a gleam in his eye. That's when I realized he was having fun. He was enjoying this. Long before we even met he'd been striving for hell. His own complete hell and madness. And it was right there. That's when I knew I'd win. He was having fun but I was hungry. I was ready to stand there until I had the chance to bury that machete in the side of his neck. And that's what would've happened if the world made sense. But as it stands, we're all part of a giant explosion that crams everything together and let's us figure it out. That was the moment I stopped trying.

Have you ever seen a Belgian Blue Cow? They're the most muscular animals on the planet. Just as the sun reached its peak a great beast came charging out from the waves. It stood before us with imperial grace. I never even looked back once. I jumped on its back and we journeyed up to the clouds and he let me off at an air-conditioned gas station outside of Corpus Christi.

Here's a piece of advice: if a Belgian Blue says it'll call you back. Don't believe it."

"...okay."

"Got any food?"

"I'll buy you a sandwich."

"I'd like that."