Not to worry faithful audience, the well of insanity has not dried up. I had my computer disconnected a week ago and am currently moving into my new home; the reason for the lack of posts of late. Once school starts I am sure there will be plenty of daily insanity, enough to satiate your thirst for yours truly.
I remember when we first met. If I can remember that far back I was a child of about 6 years of age. My dad introduced us. Do you remember? He sat me on his lap and sat you on his desk. We stared at each other unblinking, not knowing what the other was thinking or what to expect from one another. It was a magical moment for the both of us as our friendship took off right from the start.
Remember our first day of the first grade? Remember how we sat next to one another in class? At any moment, I never could tell when, you would jump up at me and give me hugs and kisses right there in front of the entire classroom. You always were the affectionate one. The other kids would make fun of us but we didn't care. And even when our teacher voiced his concerns about us at the next parent-teacher conference meeting, we did not let it deter our ever-blossoming friendship.
I remember that fateful day when our friendship was forever changed. Our teacher asked us to stay after class as all the other kids went to recess. He then told me to take off your clothing, and I reluctantly did, exposing your snow-white chest. The teacher told me to take you into my hands, and I did. Then he told me to take out my crayons, and I did. Then he told me to draw on you, and I did. I forever regret it Mr. Paper. I am so sorry I drew a picture of a monkey on you. The teacher made me do it. He wanted to show me that you were just an ordinary piece of paper; that I should take you out of your pretty cellophane wrapping and use you like any other.
Packing my things and rummaging thru old keepsakes, I found you Mr. Paper, a bit sallow around the edges, the monkey still smiling. Careless, I accidentally ripped you in half. You may never understand my motives Mr. Paper but I threw you away as if you were some ordinary piece of rubbish, having lost your worth long, long ago.
Farewell ...
Death has given me preview to what he has to offer, everything but his sweet release.
I could not call in sick to work, not for the second week in a row during only my second week of tenure. Besides too many people are depending on me. I can actually feel myself dying. I have been forced to ride my bike everywhere in the 100+ degree heat. In the morning I arrive at work all sweaty, work eight merciless hours, ride my bike to my other job, work 2 more hours, and then ride my bike home. The worst of it was today the computer support office had me travel to satellite facilities on campus that fall under our support to inventory all of their computers. Yeah, travel … on my bike in the heat while I am insanely sick. I can’t stop coughing and sniffling and sneezing. My eyes are bloodshot red. I don’t even have the strength to tell what happened at my other job at the rec center. Only Ryan would understand.
I have been losing a lot of weight. I am down to 200 pounds. I am losing so much muscle mass. This is really frustrating. I can’t wait to work out once I am well again … if I am well again.
Please, someone put me out of my misery. Death may ride a mountain bike, but a little monkey shall lead him, and tomorrow is another day.
I am a lucky guy. Women love me. I am damn sexy. A girl on a bus loves me too.
I am also "insanely wonderfully wonderful."
After reading my last post I feel I need to retract my vehement statement of hatred towards the checkout girl. I am not normally so impatient or easily annoyed. I am feeling ill and just had to vent my frustration of not feeling any better after an entire week has gone by. I know that the girl is just trying to make a mundane job more entertaining by being social. There is nothing wrong with that at all. I will make it a point to say hello the next time I find myself in her line again, but to be honest I will probably pick another cashier the next time just because I am not at the grocery store to wait in line or be social … unless she’s hot.
[cough] [cough] [sniffle] [sneeze] [sigh] [please kill me]
The monkeys are at it again. Last week I fell ill, no doubt infected by a virulent strain concocted by a monkey alien scientist. It lingered in my body the entire week as I was thinking that I was getting healthier and stronger with each passing day. Now I have taken a turn for the worse and feel awful once again. Those monkeys have built a strong and crafty contagion that is not done with me. Feigning defeat, the sickness was lying dormant all the while building its forces to strike once again. I am having trouble breathing. I wish the girl with brown hair curls would take care of me. She said that people that are sick deserve to be pampered. I never knew that. I have grown up knowing only that the strong survive, that if I were too sick to crawl out of my bed for food and water I would die.
Being sick and waiting in line at the supermarket sucks. A few minutes seem like an eternity as I desperately want to get home and die. I have got to be the biggest loser when it comes to picking the appropriate line to wait in. I will pick a cashier that is taking her sweet ass time, or cashier’s that are shift changing and counting their money, or everyone in front of me wanting cigarettes so the cashier has to keep going back and forth to where they are being held in their glass cage, or everyone wanting to write a check, or the cashier calling for a price check on squash, or an old senile lady not understanding the rules that govern a checkout line, or the girl who wants to pay with exact change and is fishing for that last nickel at the bottom of her purse and not finding it there and having her friend try and find one on her person, or did I mention the cashier that takes her sweet ass time?
Before stepping into a checkout line I try to do the math in my head. How many people are in the line? How many items does each person have? What is the gender and age of the people already waiting in line (single twenty-something males are ready to pay and get out of the store as if it were a race). After crunching the numbers in my head I then proceed to pick a line without looking up to see whom the actual cashier is. I always, always, always find a way to pick the wrong cashier.
There is this cashier at my local supermarket that takes forever to ring up a customer. She tries to chat it up with every person that comes to her line and every store employee that is around. She marvels at each and every item that passes thru her chubby little fingers. There is a reason why her lines are the shortest. Everyone knows to steer clear of her aisle and those that don’t finally give up and pick another line. I keep telling myself that there is no way I am going to switch lines. No way. All she has to do is perform at a reasonable level of mediocrity and I will soon be out the door. I wait and wait and watch and watch as every other line pushes their customers out the door. I think to myself as other people waiting in this line fall to the wayside and try their luck with other cashiers that there is no way after waiting this long am I going to give up now. No way. I can see people waiting in line with me getting frustrated at the ineptness of this clerk and actually voicing their frustrations onto the deaf ears of the cashier to no effect and heaven help me if there is an old lady ahead of me in line who actually wants attention and they stop the whole checkout process. When I finally get up to pay I will always ignore the girl as she tries to chat it up. I am fed up and want out the door for I hate you, you four-eyed clerk with no awareness of the concept of time. I hate you so much. I hope I make you sick as I cough in your direction. [cough]
