Need Sleep Need Write

This is a story about LOVE!

Love is a good thing. Love is like a Burger King crown that you wear inside of you. And sometimes the crown chafes your insides, and makes you feel itchy and nauseated but most times, with that crown inside you, you feel like a million golden ponies.

Love isn't an easy thing to hang on to. Just like a Burger King crown lodged in your chest cavity. It might fall back behind your ribs or it might fall out of your butt, even. That's why you should hold love in a safe and special spot.

No, not in your heart. That's a terrible place for love. Your heart does nothing but expel things that go into it. You shouldn't keep love in your brain either. It could get short circuited by the electrical impulses and go robo-cop on your face. No, the best place to keep love is in your craw.

Once something is in your craw, it's not going anywhere. You can climb the tallest mountain. You can sail the deepest forest. You can...you can shave the thickest back hair. But once that love is in your craw, it's not going anywhere, man.

But it's not that easy though. Because you can't find your craw on your own. You can't see it in a mirror. Or catch it in a photo. We're always looking for the craw where the love goes in but looking for it will only make certain that you won't be able to find it.

You need someone else to see your craw in you. You need to see them see your craw. And if you're lucky, you'll see their craw too.

And if you're brave enough or foolish enough or young enough or lonely enough you'll be able to share in that special craw-experience. A crawsperience, if you will. There's an understanding there.

And...and then...and then....you...fill...the craw-space with moments. Moments where you see each other the way you want to be seen.

I don't know if a craw can ever be completely filled. It's a mysterious body part. I know you  can think you're filling it but your body can reject it. Then you get an infected craw and it's all green and swollen and smells like burning dryer lint. But time heals all craws. Time heals all craws.

And if you're lonely, maybe the owner of a forlorn craw, as we all are from time to time. Just remember...honesty is the best...crawlicy. (policy).


...I don't know...I didn't get to perform tonight so I felt obliged to write something to make up for it...

Can I Cheese It?

Look at that shaggy, long-haired Andy. Doesn't he look complacent? Well, all that changes when he gets a haircut...

"No bueno" says recently-got-his-hairs-lopped-off Andy.

I liked the woman who cut it though. She pulled out this magazine of guy's haircuts and was like, "You want this one?" And I was like, "Sure. Just make the back shorter but don't take too much from the front."

So she just kind of went around my head and clipped more from the back than the front. Now, I'm no hair-technician or "expert" but I feel like good hair-cutters take some time to make sure there's a certain shape to the hair or...I don't know--something! They do something with the scissors or use special tools to try to make it look like you didn't just get a haircut.

This lady didn't bother with any of that. It took her all of about five minutes and then she was like, "There you go!"

She just...she just eyeballed it and...and made less hair on my head.

It'd be like if I hired someone to draw a picture of a flower for me because I'm terminally ill and decide that I like flowers all of a sudden. And every Sunday I need someone to draw or paint me a picture of a flower to help me...die slower.

And most days people would come in and really ART the flower up. They'd add shading and blend the colors together and really make it pop off the canvas. They would show you a beautiful side of the flower you've never considered before.

But then this lady comes in and

PHLLBBBT

THERE YOU GO! IS FLOWER NOW!

What? Yeah, I guess that is technically a flower but...but...I COULD'VE DONE THAT! I went to you because I thought you were supposed to be good at this sort of thing! And...and what is...that



UTTERS?! Why did you put UTTERS on the flower leaf?

wait...but...does that mean?...




NOOO! I'VE GOT UTTER HEAD!!!



I HOPE ALMOND MILK COMES OUT!

Orsties

My dad walked in from the garage today and he looks at me and my sister sitting in the kitchen and goes, "What's uuuuup--oh, dang I hurt my neck."

He grabs his neck and says, "I'm too old to say 'what's up!'"

His bodily physically rebelled against his attempt to say "what's up".

That's why I've just started mumbling everything I say. You've got to set yourself up for coolness later. Make things cool now that you'll end up doing anyway when you're old. Like eating three cups of greek yogurt a day, reading an L.L. Bean catalogue, and walking up and down the street with my shirt off.

I'm never gonna wear a shirt when I get old. I'll be too busy getting tattoos of Great White Sharks devouring me. You see, on my front side I'm gonna have all these sharks eating me, dressed in various costumes. So there will be one of me getting eaten by a shark in an old timey diver's suit and I'll be holding a big box of treasure.

And then there will be one where I'm dressed as a cowboy and I'm opening up a grill full of treasure and there will be a shark inside about to eat me.

And there will be one where I'm the president and the shark is disguised as a piece of legislation I'm about to veto.

And there will be one where I'm a game show host on a 70s-style quiz show and the shark will have eaten the other contestants and is now looking hungrily at me and my beautiful southeast asian co-host (a landmark for TV at that time).

And finally there will be one of me jumping over a pit of sharks in a shark-shaped monster truck. And the pit of sharks will actually be inside the mouth of an even greater Great White Shark.

And my little grandchild will see them and ask, "Gran...Grandpa? Why are all those sharks trying to eat you."

And I'll go, "Ohhhh! Look at you! You must be some kind of detective, aren't you?! Well, they did eat me. And do you know what happened?!"

And while I'm doing this I'll be flashing my ear lobes which have tons of fish hooks stabbed in them. When they say 'no' I'll spin around for the big reveal!

BOOM!

It's one giant mural of me bursting out of the stomach layers of seven different Great White Sharks all inside of each other like russian nesting dolls. And I'm emerging from them with lightning bolts for eyebrows and a big pile of chopped wood in one hand and a package of toilet paper in the other.

"That's what happened! Now go outside and start chopping fire wood before you get eaten in your sleep! And don't you ever forget to change the toilet paper!"

____________________________________________________________________

A little bit of love goes a long way. But a bolt of terror to an innocent mind will change them forever!

Last Place at Last

You know what you got to do Andy?!

You gotta explore your imagination!

Now, I know we're past our prime imagination years. But that doesn't mean we can't get up everyday and see the world in a new light! Okay?!

I know years of commercial advertising and adjusting to social norms has put a damper on that raging fountain of thoughts you used to have when you were little. You used to go outside and throw a ball on the roof and watch it roll down then catch that ball and throw it back on the roof. And all the while you were exploring a magical world where you could fly and drop water balloons full of tomato soup on people's heads! BAHAHAHA!

But times have changed. This world is too much with you. That's why you gotta take those little moments, those little things that cause you to stir inside and you gotta tear 'em wide open.

Like the other day, when you were sitting around in the Arboretum, minding your own business. You're on a hill by a parking lot and up comes this big ol' morbidly obese jack russell terrier.


He looked just like that.

And he's got a wide puppy smile, he's enjoying being outside. And for a brief second, I'm transfixed by his stomach which is just barely clear of the ground. I give this dog the same attention I would give any dog because--it's a dog. I'm gonna look at it. They're like the third best thing to look at.

So I look at the fat dog, then I look away, and I hear his owner say, "Don't look at my dog like that!"

And I look back at this woman, who I hadn't paid any attention to before. She's dressed in pajamas with pretty big, frizzy hair and she's got a look on her face like she leaned in way too close to a grapefruit and stabbed a spoon right in to it.

So I say, "What?"

And she says, "Don't look at my dog like that!"

Your dog is a fun-loving pile of dog! How else am I supposed to look at it?! It's not like I cringed at the thing or my jaw dropped. I didn't even snicker. I just looked at it.

So I say pretty softly, "what?...sorry..."

And she goes, "Otis! His name is Otis!"

I look away from her completely and I hear her say, "Come on, Otis. Jump in the truck."

As if she's trying to prove to me that her dog is capable of lifting itself off the ground.

She goes on, "C'mon Otis. Nobody likes you here."

Now, I don't know this woman's life. I don't know the events that preceded her encounter with me. But the only logical thing I can imagine is that it has been a story that follows in the timeless vein of "White-Trash Woman and Morbidly Obese Dog Out to Prove They've Got What it Takes!".

It's a story you've heard a million times. A successful, yet over-weight jack russell terrier is on the top of the world until health problems and a messy divorce cause him to lose everything. He fears he may be doomed to the lower class lifestyle he grow up in and has worked tirelessly all his life to escape! He's driving in his Bentley one day, one of his last possessions of wealth, and finds this scared looking woman on the side of the road. Despite his better judgement, he picks her up and lets her live with him. He does this partly out of pity, partly because he's just so lonely. The relationship is rocky at first. The dog is too strong to admit he needs help even though things are startling to crumble faster and faster. The woman is completely ignorant of social norms and chews up all his fur pillows. Eventually, through their trials they learn how to open up and bring out the best in each other. They don't need the acceptance of other people. They don't want it anymore. They can fight off any glances made in public areas. After their encounter with me, which signifies their newly found strength, they go and win back the dog's company in a high profile lawsuit...or something.

So yeah, I really learned a lot about the compassion of animals and...the rudeness and mistrust of humans.

Frothy

I realized something about myself after visiting some family in Colorado. I realized that, left to my own devices, I'm not very good at having fun. Like, things that are fun don't come naturally to me.

My uncle is planning on going to the Galapagos Islands and then after that my cousin is going to Spain. My uncle has a pilot's license. He has a sauna in his basement. He buys fancy breads simply because they claim to be fancier than other breads. Before his first year of college he and a friend went on a tour of Europe. He climbs to high places and dives down to deep places.

Those are fun things. He makes plans to have fun.

I don't do any of that crap. Here's the best example I can think of. In the beginning of my high school years, I used to sit around all summer and agonize over how bored I was. But, when I really think about it, I wouldn't have done anything if I had had a car.

My idea of a summer adventure was going to the Food Lion and buying various candies and...and whatever else they had at Food Lion. I was grocery shopping. I'm old enough now to see what I was doing and it was a very laborious method of grocery shopping. That was my tour of Europe and trip to the Galapagos. One time my sister and I even hiked all the way to the Wal-Mart so we could buy GARFIELD: THE MOVIE on DVD! The animated travesty of a movie which will haunt Bill Murray to his grave. That was our a trial. That was our walk through the valley of the shadow of death.

My cousin accidentally threw a house party when her parents were away. It was one of those things were she told a couple of friends and then it got out of control and before she knew it guys with full beards were showing up with cases of Keystone Light. That's fun. Like, that's a good story. She ran from her own house after the cops showed up! That's the stuff of coming-of-age teenage movies.

In my movie trailer life it's just shots of me way out in the middle of no-where on a run debating on if I can hold my upset stomach for another 4 miles or if this Subway sandwich is going to end up in someone's backyard. The triumph of the film is the moment I realize that I can and will take a dump in anyone's yard if provided enough tree cover. That's it. Just a naked guy running on dirt roads looking for some trees with good enough leaves for wiping. That's not American Pie. That's not...it's barely Forrest Gump.

But these are the highlights of my free time. Personalized...grocery shopping and mastering discrete outdoor defecation. But you know what? It's all about gaining control.

THE WORLD IS MY TOILET AND MY FOOD TROUGH!...not...it wasn't supposed to sound like that...you know what I mean.

Baked Potato Marmelade

Hey everybody I'm back. In case anyone noticed, I was writing a story about Slim Pickens and his strange adventures.

Well, I finished it on my plane ride over to Colorado and all I have to say about it is this:

You ever write something so bad it makes you afraid to be a parent?! You read over the words and you think, this is what I can create?! If I put this much work into a child it would probably have a misshapen head, habitually try to snort Parmesan cheese, and be in eternal danger of having a cartoonishly large grand piano falling on top of it. But it's even worse than that, because I would be the one to accidentally drop said grand piano on my child's head. But it's even worse than that. Because I would then act like nothing was wrong, invite all my friends over for tea and goose-meat which we had over the smashed piano. The baby parts would still be seeping out from underneath the wreckage, the carpet would stain and start to smell. My soon-to-be-ex-friends would be like, 'what happened in here?' and I would say, 'I was just trying to nurture my child's love of the fine arts! Get off my back you damn dirty apes and finish your goose-meat croissant!'

That's the kind of story I wrote. If you'd like a little summary of it, the rest of the story proceeds as follows:

Slim Pickens and Poodonkis fall up a hole in the ceiling for many hours before they're whisked away to be successful and luxurious pineapple farmers. Slim Pickens realizes that he must stop the Butt that Controls the Weather however, and is able to fly back to the city using the helicopter lessons he receives from a magical pineapple plant that tells him of his "fatestiny."

He reaches the structure on the building, meets the bad guy. The bad guy tells him to give up. He says, "okay." Then he leaves, comes back and says, "No." He learns about...believing in your own perception of the world or something...and then makes a peanut butter and jelly sandwich on the self-destruct button. The whole complex is destroyed, the bad guy is defeated and apparently upset over it and then Slim Pickens jumps down into a parade of cybernetic unicorns and twins named Jennifer from around the world.

The End. That's it.

This is probably the best ending the story could have received.

____________________________________________________

Anyway, enough of that fictional hulabaloo. This is the story of the time I went hiking in Colorado. The thing I love about hiking is that it makes for a terrible story. All of the best things about hiking are pitiful and sad after the experience.

I could be like, "Hey, everybody within earshot! I went hiking today."

And someone could say, "Oh, what did you see?"

"Well, I saw some bear droppings. So, that's exciting."

"You saw some poo. Where you were trying to walk."

"Yeah! Right on the trail. And the thing that made the poo could have torn me limb from limb because she thought I was a threat to her cubs."

"So you saw an ominous fecal death-threat and you came back to society and thought that was okay to tell people about?"

"Well...I mean, I saw other stuff. I saw some cliffs. And I saw the water flowing down the canyon that had been carved out over millions of years. Creating the beautiful landscape which I witnessed."

And then they'd say, "So you saw some rocks. And some water. And some wet rocks that were touching the water?"

"But it helps you think about the power of nature! And the awesome force of time. The hugeness of it all allows you to see a grander scale that has been lost in our modern world. I reconnected with the power of the sublime."

"Oh yeah, I just saw a Youtube video of two guys passing a balloon back and forth with the wind generated from their farts and it's already been seen by thirty three million people! It was posted yesterday! You wanna talk to me about a grander scale?"

"Well, I climbed up 3000 feet. All told I was sitting on a rock at 9000 feet above sea level. That's something."

"On your plane ride over there you were sitting in a chair at 36,000 feet! You know what reaches 36,000 feet in nature? Nothing! Mount Everest was over a mile below you! And you were watching an episode of Parks and Recreation!"


"But..but...but you could hear the rushing sound of the crystal clear water flowing down the canyon. Everything was at peace but alive with energy all at once.

"Have you heard dubstep, my misguided woodsmen?! Who wants to listen to a watery racket when I can listen to an accurate recreation of two or more computers bump n' grind with each other while simultaneously fighting off a horde of cyber-goblins in a hurricane. Try not to be blinded by the brilliance of my future!"


"Well, when I got to the top of the trail I felt so free that I took my clothes off and brushed my teeth."

"Oh, that's what's up. Gimme a high-five man, that's living the dream."

Sorry, Nature. You hang in there. I'll walk around you sometime again when I get the chance.

Until then, SLAY THOSE GOBLINS, COMPUTER WARRIORS!

One Flew

Been in colorado. Didn't bring laptop. Reading One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest.

Anonymous, you were right. Kudos.

Weather Continued...

So...yesterday, this happened:

"Slim, it's Poodonkis! You need to come down to the roller rink. Something incredible is happening!"
And now this part happens.
___________________________________________________________

Slim Pickens arrives at the roller rink via log flume.

"That three-headed goat man who seized power a while back did a lot of terrible things to this city. But log flume public transportation was not one of them. I don't even shower before I go out anymore. Partly, because I don't to--but also because all running water was diverted to the log flume public transportation system."

An impressively funky faux-afro adorns the top of the old roller rink. It's come a long way from its darkest days. Little kids were getting stabbed and staple-gunned at birthday parties. Little kids were being used in "who can jump over the most little kid" contests. Little kids were even harassing bigger little kids just the cred. Finally, a voice of reason stepped in and now they don't let little kids in there anymore. The birthday parties have become a lot more fun and safer.

The building is covered in a smattering of faded psychedelic colors, like Puff the Magic Dragon vomited all over it and said, "I'll clean that up. Don't worry." Then he grabbed his ex-girlfriend and passed out on the sofa.

Inside reeks of the heavy stench of shoe cleaner and smoke. Flashing lights spasm on the galactic-neon-mess of carpet that covers the area outside the rink. Everything gyrates to a nauseating futuristic rhythm like a robot mail-order bride with busted shoulders trying to give CPR to a trash compactor.

"This place's metaphors are creeping me out."

The rink is mostly empty except for a rowdy crowd gathered at the back table. Slim Pickens heads over. Some tables are set up in what looks like a grimy food court area. As he gets close he spies Poodonkis in the back of the crowd. Poodonkis turns around and runs over to him.

"What's going on, Poo?"

"This guy named Fergtan was just kicked out of boot-camp and now he's alternating between eating a slice of pizza and skating a lap until he can't feel anymore!"

"A man abusing his digestive system to take the pain of rejection away? Sweet."

The man called Fergtan rises from his table having just finished his slice. Everything about him is thick cut. He's a solid hunk of meat from his bulging helmet of hair down to his tree-trunk ankles. His girth is only offset by his child-like hands.

"That guy's got little hands," says Slim Pickens. "I don't like little hands."

Poodonkis ignores him. "He's eaten 28 extra large cheese pizzas! He started at 4 in the morning!"

Slim Pickens admits that, despite his tiny-hand prejudice, Fergtan does move with a certain, indescribable grace. He seems as if he's about to burst but his heavy breathing between desperate gasps for air keeps his limbs moving in concert. His nose seems to be completely stuffed. Somehow, through sheer willpower he's stuffed cavities that were never meant to be stuffed.

"I'm gonna go talk to this fellow. He seems like he could be clutch in a jazz ensemble or avant-garde sketch comedy troupe. If I ever get around to starting those..."

Poodonkis interrupts, "You have started both of those things. You left them after one week and they've both gone on to critical and commercial success. Why--"

"Shut up. Stop crapping on my dreams...my hoop dreams..."

"Whatever."

Slim Pickens trots out onto the rink to talk to Fergtan.

"Hey man, I hear you've got nothing to lose."

Fergtan doesn't respond. He turns his head in the direction of Slim Pickens but only a series of burps and wheezes escapes his mouth.

"I like your style. You're not a fan of flattery, huh?"

Fergtan doesn't respond. His arms and legs shake with strain. He's completed half of a lap around the rink. He's not going much faster than a walking pace. Suddenly, he hiccups. His eyes go wide with fear."

Slim Pickens continues talking. "So I wanted to to tell you about some potential projects that I'm thinking" *hiccup* "about starting up. I'd let you in on the" *hiccup* "ground floor. If we" *hiccup* "become successful" *hiccup* " I could" *hiccup* "move" *hiccup*" you down to the basement." *hiccup* "Wait, you got the hiccups? Let me help you with that. A good slap on the back should do the trick."

Now Fergtan looks directly at Slim Pickens. He feverishly waves his hands and shakes his head but it's too late. The slap has begun. The hand hits the back, sending a mild shockwave through Fergtan's body that sets in motion a gastrointestinal chain reaction. The melted cheese reaches critical mass and the excited cheese molecules begin crashing into one another causing more collisions at a faster rate. The massive amount of unleashed dairy-energy surges forth. In the blink of an eye, an explosion of cheese fills the entire building. Slim Pickens is sent flying towards the food court by the initial blast. After that, he only remembers the heat and the dizzying rush of speed, like being caught beneath a tidal wave. He manages to grab hands with Poodonkis. He'll have to remember not to tell anyone about that later.

When he wakes up he's no longer in the roller rink. He's in spacious dark hallway with holes in the ceiling and the floor. He could be in the ceiling or the basement or somewhere else altogether.  Poodonkis is passed out beside him. Amazingly, he has no broken bones.

He says softly, "I guess that nuclear-cheese explosion was high in calcium."

His pinky then breaks out of protest of his simply inexcusable utterance. He looks around and sees a faint green glow from behind a corner. He tip-toes to the corner and as he's about to peek around he hears a voice say, "Soon, gentlemen. Very soon we will be able to control the weather with the butt that controls the weather."

(muffled) *GASP*

more continued...

And the Butt that Controlled the Weather

Slim Pickens and the Butt that Controlled the Weather

"The evening sky is a sickly lemon-yellow. Stray newspapers and garbage fill the streets like  rabid cats and dogs. Stray cats and dogs run wild like rabid newspapers and garbage. If it weren't for this watermelon Jolly Rancher, there'd be nothing to keep away the taste of sewage and up-chuck."

Slim Pickens is walking the streets in the bad part of town. He looks out over the bay and watches barges haul waste out to the edges of nowhere. He thinks back to grade school, learning about those old maps men made when the world believed in sea-monsters and points of no-return. He almost wishes it were true. He yearns for a place where all this filth can go and never come back. The sea monsters give him the willies though. He's not trying to conquer his fears. He's trying to understand them.

"I'm not sure why I'm here. My mom told me to get a job. I told her, 'I'm not a businessman. Business is a hard word to spell' So is entrepren-- entrapuhnoo- entrepenu--you know what I mean. Spelling issues aside, I'm looking for answers. If movies have taught me anything, that means looking for trouble. The questions I have seem to be pointing towards Danger Street. Why do I see faces scowling at me when I close my eyse? Why does my back hurt real bad in the mornings? Why hasn't the sun come out from behind the clouds this week? This month? Why has a giant concrete butt parked itself on top of the tallest building in the city?"

A half-eaten hotdog presents itself to Slim Pickens but before he can have a little afternoon snack he gets a call on his mobile telephone.

"Hello, this is Slim Pickens on a mobile telephone. Slim Pickens speaking."

"Slim, it's Poodonkis! You need to come down to the roller rink. Something incredible is happening!"

"Incredible, huh? If this doesn't shock me like the fork-in-a-toaster game, you owe me a half-eaten hot dog."

"Whatever. Get down here."

Slim Pickens hangs up the phone and goes back to talking to himself.

"Sometimes I feel like life's just a roll of a die. You roll a five, you find a perfectly good half-a-garbage dog. You roll a six and something amazing happens at the skate rink. Hopefully getting a three involves cybernetic unicorns and big-haired ladies covered in cooking oil somehow."

To be continued...

Gret Withers!

Our hero, Gret Withers, is hurtling through solar winds at breakneck speeds to saved his beloved Chebberdina. Sweat glistens in the ridges of his deeply furrow brow as he maneuvers his trusty ship, The McGillicutty, to try to catch up to the gigantic, multi-limbed space-weasel that has stolen his girl!

"Don't you worry, Chebberdina! I've still got one last trick!"

Gret opens up his space-dashboard glove-compartment and produces two plutonium-powered maracas. "Space Mariachi Band! I need FULL-FIESTA POWER!"

A fully-equipped mariachi band assembles around Gret Withers and plays with enough festive fervor for Gret to pull even with the nefarious weasel. Gret deploys his space-megaphone.

"Give up, weasel! The chase is over. It's time to settle this like men. BATTLE AX COMBAT!"

Thousands of years from now, with the help of the most brilliant intergalactic judicial minds, it was determined that the truest form of justice could be achieved through a battle ax deathmatch on a barren asteroid. The Galactic Supreme Court was subsequently replaced with sweaty 20-foot-tall Norsemen with beards like steel wool and one very surly, churlish Giant Squid.

When they reach the asteroid, the space-weasel arms itself with over two-dozen double-edged battle axes, each edge lined with crystal from the claws of the mightiest space lobster presidents over the last millennium.

It took all of Gret Withers's vigor, cunning, bravery, ingenuity, and stick-to-it-iveness to whip out of his space-bazooka and blast the space-weasel to space-mithereens!

Chebberdina runs to the arms of the battle-weary Gret Withers. "Oh Gret! You saved me! I thought I would be doomed to be the Queen of the Space Weasels!"

"Not a chance, Chebberdina. Nobody steals my property."

"Could you buy me a new dishwasher when we get home?"

"Ah, shut-up, you dumb broad."

UNTIL NEXT TIME! GRET WITHERS: HERO OF THE BEST BEAUTIFUL, DARK SPACE OPERA EVER WRITTEN!

I wrote this my junior year of high school

From my Creative Writing Journal
_____________________________________________

Open my eyes. Look at the clock. 6:47. 6+4+7= 17. That's not even. Close my eyes. Open my eyes. 6:49. No, I missed 6:48. I was supposed to be dressed and eating breakfast 10 minutes ago. It's not an even number though. I'll just wait. 6:50. Wait! 6+5+0. That's eleven! Ok, just one more minute. My room is still eerily clean from last night. I went to bed at 11 but got to sleep at 1. Whenever my head hit the pillow I would think of a sock on the floor, or a pencil on the desk carelessly turned instead of perfectly straight. I knew it didn't matter but some force was tugging at the back of my brain and wouldn't let go. So I picked up all my socks and put them in the drawer. I collected all my t-shirts and put them in the closet. I didn't want to sort them by color in the order of ROY.G.BIV but I HAD TO. And now it's 6+5+2= 13.
I'm gonna be late for school again.

_________________________________________________

So, apparently that was happening. At the time I don't think I thought of it as out of the ordinary. I was just following the rules like I assumed everyone else was!...

getting out of bed at times whose digits equal odd numbers...that's preposterous! The whole day will be out of whack! Everything will be lemon-lime when it's supposed to be cherry red!...or something like that.

More Slim Pickens

Slim Pickens Finds a Mother's Day Present

One day, Slim Pickens remembered he was almost three weeks late in getting a Mother's Day present.

"Hot Bees! I only have two more weeks before the Mother's Day season is closed for good!"

So he gave up on his sculpture of a medium-sized mustache growing an extra-large sized mustache and set out to find the perfect Mother's Day present.

On his way to the Mall, he saw a horrific car crash with real-live flames, smoke, and explodilated machine gun action! So he stopped to take some pictures with his cellular mobile phone.

"These are pretty awesome, but they don't capture how I feel about my Mother's Day."

So he went to the Mall. The Mall has everything--a butcher, a baker, a candlestick maker, and a sushi bar in the food court!

"This is overwhelming," said Slim Pickens.

He staggered over to the Mall-Butcher in a daze of hyper-consumerism and asked, "Do you know which part of the cow best represents my Mother's Day love?"

The butcher said, "Only one animal?! Guh-hoo-gully muh-hoo-gully! If I gave my dear mama the severed parts of only one animal, she would floss my teeth with live electrical wiring. I will make for you a heart of meat from twenty-four animals, including the walrus, the salaMANder, and don't tell no-body but I'm gonna cram a whole Toucan sans beak in the center of it. Don't tell no body!"

And the butcher smiled as Slim Pickens walked out with 90 ounces of exotic meat strapped to his neck.

But Slim Pickens still had doubts. "I don't think my Mother's day love can be measured in meat."

So he went to the Baker. Who insisted on creating a scale model recreation of one of Slim Picken's precious childhood memories--in apple turnover form!

"We have a new machine," said the Baker, "that can physically rip out a part of your brain containing your strongest childhood memory and turn it into an apple turnover!"

But Slim Pickens still had doubts. "I don't think my mother wants to relive the time I got my foot and arm stuck in an airplane toilet in apple-turnover form. Even if it was a bonding experience."

So Slim Pickens tried to go to the Candlestick Maker but all of his supplies had been seized by the DEA and he was hiding out in the Netherlands.

And as he ate his sushi in the food court, he lamented, "I guess this will be the ninth year in a row I've ruined the Mother's Day season."

But just then, Slim Pickens had a brain-idea!

"I don't need a perfect Mother's Day present! Because a terrible, three-week-old, Mother's day present made out of love is still better than a No-Mother's-Day present!"

And so that's how Slim Pickens gave his mother a half-finished statue of a medium-sized mustahce growing an extra-large sized mustache.

She was so happy that she hid it in the closet reserved for only the very halfest of thought out holiday presents.

The End

Dragons

Um, I was watching my little sister run a race tonight and I was proud of her. But not just because she enjoys running, or because she works hard and gives her best and isn't afraid to hurt. She impressed me because she ran with such intensity that she got a nose bleed.

Now as far as I knew, until tonight, the things you could do from running too hard are: a) collapse b) throw up c) pee yourself d) get a whole bunch of spittle all over your face or e) all of the above at once

But my little sister ran so hard, and grimaced so tightly, that she ruptured some sort of cranial membrane and crossed the line with blood coming out of her right nostril.

And I didn't realize this until after the race and I walk over to her and go" Great jo- woah! Your nose is bleeding!"

And she goes, "Can I have a hug?!"

So I give her a hug. And offer her my hoodie. But then I realized she was hot from having just run so it was going to be about ten to twenty minutes before she got cold. About thirty minutes later she comes looking for me and my hoodie and I'm like, "eeeehhhh...you had your chance...I need this more now."

Bodily fluids are just funny, you guys. You need to understand this.

Yesterday I peed in a cup and gave it to a stranger

So, I had to get a drug test for my job. Because I'm working for the city. And I went to the drug-test place and what I decided to do was be really really friendly. And nice.

First of all,  I was excited because I had a pee ready. I didn't want to make this any longer than it had to be. I knew I was going to rock this pee-test. So I was already pumped for that. And then I decided I would do that thing that friendly people do, address strangers by their name within minutes of learning their name.

I've never done this before. I don't really understand it. Personally, I think it's weird to call someone by name when you're never going to see them again. I don't see the reason to haul names into this meaningless interaction. But whatever, I was going to pee in a cup. I was excited.

So in the waiting room there was a lady who checked me in and at some point she said, "My name's Vicki." And she put me in the system or whatever and took my information and at the end I was like, "Thanks, Vicki!" And I sat down in the waiting room and thought Look at me being all sociable. I call people by their names. I'm the most dignified person in this room full of people waiting to pee in a cup!

And meanwhile there's a guy next to me talking on his cellphone saying, "No! They said I didn't give 'em enough! So I know I gotta drink water and wait 45 minutes to try again! I didn't have to pee when I was in the bathroom and then I walk out and I had to pee!" And this guy is not happy. He's speaking loud enough so the people working there can hear.

I've seen that they set their standards pretty high.  The pressure is on.

Anyway, then they call me in and I'm introduced to Samantha and she gives me the cup with a sharpie mark on it and says, "Try and get as close to this line as you can."

And I'm thinking Psssh, if it's a challenge pee you're asking for. This is NOT my first rodeo.

So I go in the bathroom and I hit the mark, go a little bit over (for flair) and then I just put the rest in the toilet on my OWN TIME.

I return very promptly, hand the woman my cup and go, "Thank you, Samantha."

And...my brain almost exploded when I handed a fresh cup of pee to a complete stranger and used their name to thank them after just learning it.

And then as I'm walking out the room she's like, "Take a right and then it's your first door on your left."

So I walk out of the room and turn right and I'm looking ahead where I'm going to turn left and she goes, "No! Turn left!"

I think I've messed up the very first turn, so I turn completely around and start walking the other way going, "Oh, right. I'm sorry. I still can't think straight because you've just professionally handled my urine."

And she's like, "No, go right then turn left!"

What happened was I walked past the door where I was supposed to turn. So now I just look like I'm stumbling around and can't understand English.

But I couldn't leave on that note. So as I'm walking out of the main door they have this big, obvious hand sanitizer thing right by the door and I look at it, and then walk right by.

THE OUTSIDE WORLD BETTER GET READY FOR ME!

PEE ON MY HANDS AND BAD AT DIRECTIONS!

Three Exhuastion

Slim Pickens and the House with Chickens and Three Black Female Postal Workers.

Slim Pickens is the number one choice. Of all the guys, he is a good guy.

One time Slim Pickens was running down the sidewalk in the heat.

"Come on, me! Gotta pick it up," said Slim Pickens. "Gotta sweat til' I'm pretty and gotta work til' I'm swimming in bacon grease. Get that man I deserve!"

Slim Pickens was trying to go the distance. He ran past the pancake house, then he ran past the mini golf-course, and the Hooters, and the big empty field, and even the King George Memorial Historical Center and Jacuzzi Area. Finally, just before the Very Tall Trees, he found himself running past a little house. And when Slim Pickens saw what he saw, his back-sweat almost froze solid. No foolin'.

"Oh-my-first-mammogram!" said Slim Pickens. "This is the find of all finds!"

There, in the beat up yard, was about half a baker's dozen chickens and three black female postal workers.

"This is like a magical world tucked away in a sock drawer next to a flaming spear and some baby teeth. I must address them and learn their ways."

But it was not meant to be. For as soon as Slim Pickens tried to step on the lawn, the entire scene vanished before his sweaty eyes.

"I guess now the ephemeral beauty of the sublime can only live on in my memories. And perhaps, in a dream, by the grace of the inner-workings of sub-consc--"

But before he could finish, birthday cakes full of dirty-diapers fell on his head all the way home.

The End.


...what?...I didn't say it'd be any good!

Finals

Slim Pickens Talks About Finals Clothes

"Let me tell all you little children out there about Finals Clothes and their crucial importance in surviving to the summer with your GPA not looking like it went through a flaming-gasoline car-wash.

What I'm talking 'bout when I say Finals Clothes are the the clothes you wear while you go through your finals. More specifically, THE SINGLE SET of clothes you wear while going through finals. That's right, one shirt. One pair of shorts. That's it. That's all you wear while you're in finals mode. This year, I chose my raggedity ol' green cargo shorts that still have chocolate stains on them from my birthday. These shorts have gotten me through some finals, man. During the spring season, there's nothing more reliable than ol' Mean n' Green.

For my shirt, I went with a  soft flannel that stupidly has a hood put on the back of it. But I love unnecessary hoods! Just when the rain clouds think they got me, I deny them like a freshman trying to sneak into the bars.

But anyway, I hear what you're saying, "GROSS!" First of all, shut up. Secondly, let me drop some knowledge on you.

The key to making it through finals is turning yourself into a test-taking, paper-writing missile. You gotta strip away all the distractions and things that make you feel like a person so you can make that final grade. That means wearing the same clothes all the time. That way you're always in test-mode and aren't hampered by things like creativity and individuality.

Furthermore, you don't want to lose that precious precious stress-sweat. All those oils and pheromones you produce while trying to keep your future from crashing down around you get stored in your clothes. If you keep the same clothes on, you'll be able to maintain a constant level of diligent stress that will shut down your procrastination speedy-quick-like.

And another thing, LAUNDRY? You think this is a time to do LAUNDRY? If you're really concerned with the smell of your clothes, all you have to do is get one of those industrial deep-fat fryers, take a big hamper load of dirty shirts and stained jeans and throw 'em in a vat of grease for 15 minutes. Then pull out your beautiful fried pile of cotton and BOOM! look who doesn't have to go to the dining hall anymore. Plus, your room smells like french fries now.

You can have a heart-attack when you've finished that final ten page research paper!

FOREVER YOUNG! I WANT TO BE FOREVER YOUNG! DO YOU REALLY WANT TO LIVE FOREVER? AND EVER? AND EVER?"

Happy May

April was a good month. May might be one too.

I need to sleep.

But I'd like to kick this month off with a thought or two or ten.

No, forget that.

Let's set some goals.

One- Finish out semester awesomely.

Two- Perform at Little Grill EVERY WEEK

Three- Get really really fast.

Four- Do something with writing.

Five- Read a lot.

Six- Make money? (maybe)

Yes. Those are my goals. I will not settle for anything less than 95% completion of those goals.

BRING ON THE SUMMER! I DARE YOU! I will emerge from it more like myself than ever before! I'll be so like me you won't even recognize me! I'll be me but SUPER-CHARGED!

and probably with not very much moneys...but that's okay.