I get asked for my number

It's not every day that I get asked out by a black girl.  From what I have read black women have a hard time of it in the dating world, because black men are all in prison or in the NFL, and if they run touchdowns for a living you can bet they are dating white woman, because white women are tired of waiting for white men to have enhancement surgery (if you know what I mean.)



The woman that asked me out is the daughter of 2 elderly customers that come in to my store to buy rum once or twice a day.

I guess I should feel lucky that anyone would feel the desire to ask me out.  The same way you should feel lucky that I decided to post this blog, because it had been almost a week and you had no heard from me.

I know that gets you worried, but the truth is that I was just sitting at home drinking Full Tilt Malt Liquor and wondering how that made me any different from the ghetto black woman I turned down the drink with.

Is it that I don't go to the grocery store drunk and shout at my mother and grandma to buy me shots and then drunkenly ask out random fat white dudes?



Leif said I should have gone out with her, and maybe I should have.  But I am still waiting for Miley Cyrus to turn 18 so that all the stuff I want to do to her will be legal.

Now for a second bit of good news.  I've uploaded another podcast.  Go check it out at the webpage I created for it.  You can subscribe to i-tunes and various other RSS feeds and the like there.  You can also check out new episodes via the widget on this blog.  It's the green monstrosity that you can't miss blinking to the left at you.

The podcast only allows me to upload about 100 megs a month.  So I have reached the max that free subscribers are allowed.  We will have to get this podcast so popular that I get enough donations that I can buy the pro service they offer.  Or you can just wait till next month for you podcast getting pleasure. I'm sure I know what will happen.

I feel better, but I don't feel good yet

I think it is funny how I post every day now that I don't have access to a computer at home. You all probably hope I never get a computer because then I won't feel the same desire to get online like I do now. And since I am online I feel like I should go ahead and post something.


I was talking to a few of the new folks at work and was bragging to them about how I am Internet famous. They were not impressed. It turns out they have blogs too and even though they don't have half the talent I have they appear to have as many readers as I do.


Personally, I don't think blogs on MySpace should count as a blog. I guess I am old fashioned like that. And I don't count friends, co-workers, and family members as readers. I only count my fangirls. And at last count I had a good dozen or so chubby gal pals on my counter. I think that is one hell of an accomplishment since I always assumed the only people who could be interested in this blog would be men and by men I mean convicted sex criminals.


Some bad news. I think I forgot my password or user name to my podcast. That means I might have to start a brand new podcast feed just when some of you are getting the hang of digging me.

Wow. good news, I just remembered the password as I was writing this. I have 49 downloads this month, and that is with no new podcasts. My rating is 2.97 which is close if not in the top 50.

I know if you have not taken the opportunity to download or subscribe to the podcast you will soon!

I have begun the coughing stage of sickness, but it has not been as bad as I expected. I feel 56% better than yesterday. The sun woke me up at 8am today, I got the idea an hour ago to place foil paper on the outside of my window to sheild the sun. We have no drapes in the house. Everything is getting replaced. I am getting uses to the paint fumes. I am becoming one with the paint fumes! I am no longer horny. I have no desire to masturbate (ok d-cup?) today or yesterday.

Is it that I only blog on my days off now?

I wished I could tell you about all the drama that is going down at work. But I can't. There are things that even I feel warrant discretion about. So I am not going to blog about any of that. If I did you would so love the gossip, I promise.

I've worked the past 9 days in row. Even still I will only get half an hour of overtime this week. I picked time for 6 straight days on one pay period and 3 days straight on the next pay period. I will never do that again. I am just a little burned out on work right now. I did find out today that as of August 1st I am officially entitled to health care. Awesome! I can't wait to meet my doctor. I need a prostate exam.

I washed the truck today and it rained like an hour later. I was a little pissed about that, but I guess that is just god's way of showing he is still in charge and when you think about it that way it's kinda sad, so I hope he got his thrill on.

I am giving up soda again. I plan on having a gallon of decaf tea and a gallon of caffeinated tea in the fridge at all times so I won't be tempted to drink coke at home. The loophole is that I can drink a soda when I eat out or go to the movies.

It has been three days since I masturbated. I plan on not masturbating for at least two weeks. I hope to get some of the feeling back in my penis by then. It is time to stop masturbating when porn becomes boring. If you don't you can end up (deleted).**

I don't really have anything exciting to talk about on this blog today. I miss writing so I am just going to type and post and try and remember that nobody reads me anyway, so it doesn't matter that I am boring today because this blog is getting like 30 hits a day now and most of those are not even people looking to read anything I have written, so I think I will just stop writing like this is a destination for readers and more like a place for me to vent and collect my thoughts. If you enjoy it keep coming back.

Recently I've been talking to my ex girlfriend a lot for some strange reason. Thanks to the miracle of Google I was able to relive the last three years of our relationship. The past few years it has been all e-mail and phone calls. I think I saw her last in person 3 years ago. We had a discussion about how the last time we saw each other it was my birthday and we had a lot of fun that night.

I had a party at a local karaoke bar. We were all over each other that night. We made out in front of all my friends and we did not seem to care. She wondered aloud why after such a good time we did not see each other again. She blames some rather cold and mean e-mails that I sent to her. So I looked back at those e-mails (through the magic we call g-mail) and it turns out that for like 4 months I begged her to come see me and she promised she would and then she would flake on me.

My ex is not what you call monogamous. I knew that about her when we met. A few months after the birthday thing I finally got the e-mail that said she was seeing someone else and it had become "serious." I then sent her a few cold e-mails. I do kinda have a gift for them. I looked them over and man. I must say they were pretty awesomely detached and vicious without at all being accusing or directly insulting. I must say I have a gift there. I am pretty good at getting to understand a person emotionally. I can then really go after a persons weaknesses like a razor cutting into bar soap.

Her flailing responses I dodged effortlessly. She even mentioned in one e-mail that she thought that I was talking down to her. I was. I can't wait to talk to her so I can outline the timeline of events that let up to our break up. In our conversations we were mentioning the people we slept with after we broke up. She let it slip that she had sex with some guy from her work while she was going to math class. I did a little Google email search for school and discovered that was right around my birthday.

I will let the readers of this blog draw their own conclusions. I just know that for some reason it got me a little sad to read out old history and I am now drinking one of the the three beers I have in the fridge. Ice cold.

My Google ex girl friend is all wrong for me. But she fits the profile of women I fall for. The cool calculated distance of trashy white girls who never learned about emotions. They are abused by most of the men in their lives but sometimes find the nice guy to be a respite from the chaos and chain smoking in their lives. I am a sucker for women who don't want to give me what I need to feel secure because I guess I need to feel abandoned to feel loved and I guess I can blame my parents for that.

That a was a bit melodramatic and let me be the first to apologize. I hardly need to blame my parents for everything that goes wrong in my life. I don't like those bloggers or those people for that matter. I was just attempting a bit of self analysis in the classical Freudian tradition. I won't bother to edit any of this out.

I am not too sure why I get jealous anyway. I have all these cuckolding and pregnancy fetishes she could probably help me out with. She has two kids and she likes to have sex with men as long as they are not me.

FROM METAFILTER A RECENT POST

Cuckhold Pregnancy: the ultimate expression of a lifestyle. Being deceived into raising another man's child would be a nightmare for most men. For other's, it's the ultimate hot fantasy. Taking it to the extreme of having your wife bear another man's child is a suprising (to me) twist on the Cuckhold fantasy. Interestingly, it seems to dovetail with another sexual fetish previously discussed on Metafilter. Oh yeah, NSFW !!!!

I've been talking to my ex for about an hour a night for the last few nights which is kinda weird. We have not talked this much in a while. She used to like calling me on the way to work because she can't figure out how to install an ipod in her car and she doesn't have the patience to discover the funniness that is this the self help podcast.

The podcast has finally been digged by another person. I just want to thank her. YOU Rock! I hope one day to get you some gravy for all your efforts. I know you don't want the gravy, but trust me once you get a little gravy you will love it.

Like I said I was reading through the old g-mail I write the ex and I wrote her a lot of funny ass shit. I wrote her a deleted scene from A Few Good Men after she asked me to go to a movie.

"I don't have any plans as of yet for the weekend, so a movie sounds nice. But it does suspiciously sound like a date, I have not been on one in years but..."

Deleted Scene from a A FEW GOOD MEN DVD

TOM CRUISE:

"I have been asked out on a date before and it sounds a lot like that..."

Demi Moore:

"You like seafood...I know a good seafood shop...Wait a minute, your a 5 foot 3 freaky, gay, Scientologist and your telling me you've been asked on a date before?"

TOM:

Don't tell me about the History of Psychiatry, you don't know the history...I have done the research..."



Wow. I should really be writing for the onion or something. Maybe I could at least find a way to not make 10 dollars an hour less than a woman with the IQ of a small squirrel. I must be intentionally doing this to myself. I can see no logical reason why the entire world is able to earn more money than me. If I at all subscribed to theories of self sabotage I would have to label my behavior as exactly that rather than simply slackerdom or underachievement. I mean I love the girl but she really is as close to a retarded person as I feel comfortable talking to.

We should really only talk for like half an hour. I run out of things to talk about pretty quickly with her. Then she repeats stories about her kids or her life. We have known each other for 5 years so I have heard most of the good stories by now.

Ok, I am running out of thing to say and I am done with my beer.

I should mention that I find Sydney Pollack to be one of the most underrated directors of our time. I am watching the Yakuza on the Netflix. A good flick.

** His royal highness King George the Third has deleted this section from this journal. If you require access to this material and hold a stage 7 pass please press ctrl alt del ...now....

1:21 am

I am drinking the second beer. I have had three solid bowel movements in a row. I attribute this to eating Rasin Bran for breakfast.

Watch the trailer for a few good men and you will never want to watch the movie. The trailer is cut straight out of 1953.

p.s.
If anyone knows where I can find the scene I am spoofing please email it to me.

You can now Digg the Self Help Podcast

No thanks to any of you, but you can finally digg my podcast over at Digg.com.

I submitted the podcast months ago. But for some reason digg would not approve my podcast. I finally contacted customer service and asked why. I got an e-mail response 30 seconds later. I guess the folks over at digg are bored. I convinced them to approve the podcast after exchanging 5 e-mails with digg support team.

I expect at least 10 diggs by the end of the week or something terrible will happen to you. I will rape your sister. I will rape your girl friend. If you are male I will rape your pee hole. I am not kidding.

Self Help Podcast # 21

I was recording this podcast when I got interrupted by a phone call from work. They wanted me to pick my schedule for the upcoming week. I have to work 6 days next week. Not a big deal as I typically work 6 days a week so I can at least get near 35 hours.

When the phone call came I was watching Netflix online. I was watching a documentary, Stripped. The documentary is about a woman who goes undercover to work as a stripper and records her observations and those of her co-workers.

My co-worker wanted to know if I was jacking off while I was watching the movie. I told her that while the movie had a lot of nudity it was no an exploitation movie. The movie was directed by a woman, so it was not sexual it was informative.



What did I learn? Women who strip like money. Women who strip like the attention from men at first, it reminds them of daddy. They say so explicitly. But eventually women see the biological side of men. That we are erect penises. That we we are being sexual we don't need them emotionally. But then they get resentful of the men who want to connect emotionally with them. Because they have already given so much when they dance for men they are too tired to give anything more.

By the end of the movie most of the women are dead, or they are in comas. I assume that is why every time you go a strip club you see different women. They have a high mortality rate.

Go read Grace Undressed if you want to get into the mind of stripper. I suggest it even when she deleted my comment on her blog that indicated that if she publishes a book before me I would slit my wrists and it would be her fault. I guess ex-strippers don't have a sense of humor. Netflix thought I would rate this movie 2 stars out of 5. But I give it 3.75 stars.

And now here is a list of drinks in my fridge:

1. coke
2. dr. pepper
3. milk
4. bottled water
5. red bull
6. fresca
7. barq's root beer
8. big k cola
9. big k lime-lemon
10. bud select
11. miller lite
12. mich ultra
13. minute maid orange aid
14. mm fruit punch
15. mm lemanade
16. o'douls
17. diet dr pepper
18. light apple jiuce
19. power aid
20. fanta orange
21. diet orange
22. margarita mix
23. protien shakes
24. diet lemonade

Self Help Center Podcast #19

Here is another podcast for you to ignore. I guess it's a good thing I waste so much of my valuable time on creating this podcast, because I know you all love to hear me read things to you that you have already read. The Internet g/f thinks my voice is "creepy" so she refuses to listen to the podcast, I can't think what your excuse could be. Are you too poor to afford an i-pod? How can you afford a computer and internet service then?

Speaking of poverty, in addition to my time as a correspondent over at the Needs of the Few, I am interning over at Hell's Leading newspaper the Daily Brimstone where I am the official Arizona economy reporter giving you updates about how John McCain will ruin the American economy, or at least turn all of America in to the dry desert I call home. Today's temperature is 109 degrees, so I guess I should ask the boys over in Hell to 'dial it down a bit' as I don't think I need to actually feel the fires of hell to intern with you.

I think I will just have to say fuck mother earth today and drive the 2 miles to work. Either that or I will need to by new underwear every week. I am not sure which is worse for the Earth, but smelly underwear is not how I got myself 6 spirit wives.

Self Help Center Podcast # 17

First I want you to stop worrying about me so much. It turns out my brother has the same problem with black squiggly lines in his vision, and since he has health care he can answer questions about my sickness. He said the eye doctor told him is was just a natural part of aging like forgetfulness, and if the lines get bad enough they can go into your eyeball and scrape out all the mucus, and replace it with saline and then you can see again.

Though if you watch the video below you may just want to rip your eye balls out of their sockets and throw them away. That is unless you are into man-boy love like the host of this variety show in Holland. I guess what he does is legal there because he is doing it on national tv. Thanks to the Drunken Stepfather for pointing this out.

http://view.break.com/492378 - Watch more free videos

Here is Podcast # 17.

Also my brother has a podcast. It is haha funny, he has drunken observations as an aMErican abroad. He records his drunk driving observations on the go. And sometimes it is funny just to make fun of him because he is an ignorant red neck.

Http://www.switchpod.com/users/shadetree/feed.xml

I like cake because it is nicer to me than you

I can tell that none of you are interested in hearing my podcast. I get statistics mailed to me every day. Either way here is volume 16. It features a blog post reading from Bathos for the Misanthropic. My Sweet Pea refuses to listen to my podcast because she thinks I sound like a rapist. I have no idea what your excuse is. If you don't want to listen to it you could at least submit the podcast to Digg.com. That way you won't hinder all my new fans from joining the fun you are having by keeping this blog all to yourself.



I don't think it is very nice of you to be so selfish. Lots of listeners means lots of money for me and lots of money for me means I will devote myself full time to this blog. I would write everyday and start my book about the angel who has to face a giant headed baby he created by having sex with a red headed human. I know you can't wait for me to finish my novel, so get busy making me famous. Or you will regret it. I will find you when you are alone on some staircase and I will push you down the stairs. I will stand over you after you fall, and I will mock your new found paralysis by speaking to you from then on only in the computer generated voice of Doctor Steven Hawking. I don't think you want that.

Self Help Center Podcast #15

I have a time machine and I have gone back in time to April 7th. All I did there was post Volume 15 of the Self Help Center Podcast. Also I fixed volume 14, and now it plays on the blog as well, just scroll down to find it!

In the future I see Jamie Lynn Spears' baby bump.

The Self Help Guide to Suicide is you pretending this blog post is not a cry for help

Life is like a box of chocolates. If the chocolates are the sad left over boxes of chocolate on sale for half price the day after Easter. I've already run out of material to post to my self help podcast, so I am thinking about starting to post new episodes to my old podcast The Surveillance Society. A podcast I think I will rename Big Brother Watch. That way I could just read you the headlines of all the privacy breaches and technology stories that are dooming our nation to become like a real life version of that George Orwell movie.

I am only writing because I read this post on copyblogger that gave me permission to write "less than perfect or crap blog posts." Of course copyblogger told me not to post them, but I did it anyway, because I like to break the rules. I was supposed to rewrite this, but I've edited a lot of the early content on this blog, and that got me nowhere with you. Just like when I called you Tara Reid.

I know comparing you to Tara Reid is going to piss you off because you only think of Tara Reid as the party girl slut who drank her way to a size 6, and you want me to imagine you as the fresh faced Tara that was a size 2 when she first became famous by making the movie American Pie. Frankly, I still think that Tara is hotter than you, and you should just take that as a compliment, because you don't get complimented that much.



I'm having a mid-life crisis. I woke up depressed today. I could tell you why I am depressed. It had something to do with a particular thing that could have happened that would have made me happy, but that thing didn't happen, but that's not really why I am not happy right now. I'm not happy right now because the moment I start to feel bad I begin to think about my life. When I think about my life I really get depressed, because I've got a lot of things to be depressed about, like I am 37.

At 37 you really only have about 20 good years left, and that's being optimistic. I spent the best part of my life drunk and slacking, so I don't even remember not doing all the stuff that must have been so important to me at the time that I was doing nothing.

My ex wife used to warn me that someday I would get old. My friend Card Shark loves to tell me that "time happens even if you don't make plans for it, so maybe you should make some plans." I suppose retirement would be better if I lived in a condo with a one of those old people scooters, but I just can't get excited about planning for my death. I don't see much difference in what I am not doing now, and what I won't be doing years from now with less hair and a bigger waist line.

Instead of thinking so much about myself, I I should be thinking of my poor readers who had hoped to find something funny here, or at least not a post this depressing. My problem is I can't make decisions. I don't know what I want from this blog. This blogs lack of focus, it's failure to grab a niche, to find a topic and ruthlessly exploit it, means it suffers from identity crisis the same way I do. Only identity crises are supposed to be over with by now, unless you want to extend your adolescence so that you never see death approaching, it just shows up at the doorstep one day while your taking a green shit.

I rode my bike to subway for lunch today. I awoke hungry and thirsty, but it took me two hours to decide to go and get lunch rather than reheat the burrito filling I ate last night. I rode the bike around in circles for a good 15 minutes trying to decide where to eat. The only thing I knew for sure was that I wanted to read the paper and get free refills on my soda, because I was running out of soda at home, and biking to Circle K always brings with it some degree of risk.

I was reviewing some of the older blog posts, and it is funny how often I write the same joke about how fat chicks read this blog. It's also funny how after 500 posts I have covered basically every topic one can write about. I found a post where I mentioned I would prefer eating the placenta of Suri Cruise, to working. All that after I gave such shit to my good friend and blogger extraordinaire Freida Bee about eating her placenta, even though eating her placenta brought her tummy back into shape 8 years ago, and maybe somebody could pass that info to

Mila Jovovich.

Mila's pregnancy has so busted her that I'd pass up sex with the bitch, and I haven't been laid in three years. If you don't count the prostitutes, and I don't think you count prostitutes. Mila was a hot pregnant chick. The bad thing about having a pregnancy fetish is that a knocked up girl can't stay pregnant forever. The nine month breeding cycle is a fetish lovers countdown to end the relationship, because eventually they give birth, and then you have child support payments, and a busted body to look at, all the while telling her you still find her sexy even though the hood of her vagina is down at her knees.


I know the problem you have with this blog is you are never sure what you are going to get with it. Is it my blog or is Romius T's? Is he a character? Am I breaking character now? And is that ok? Is this blog some kind of cheesy celebrity gossip blog without much in terms of gossip and pictures? I can't decide either, the same way I can't decide what's for lunch. (So I decided to post the gossip and the pictures.) Don't even get me started on Netflix and how all those movie choices are preventing me from watching a movie till the end.

I'm supposed to be writing a book and this blog was supposed to help me hone my craft.
I was just hoping to improve my writing ability. I don't think I have much, because I don't use the blog to practice my writing. On occasion I remember not to use the passive voice, or remember to use spell check. But more often that naught I forget basic grammar and make no systematic attempt at correcting my writing.

I know I like to think of myself as creative. The people who feel sorry for me hand me over that label like some kind of atta boy merit badge, and I should be grateful that at least there are people out there that consider my feelings important enough to throw me a life jacket, because they notice I am drowning. But nobody likes watching a person drown, or at least most people don't, and that even applies to you sick fucks.

But I will make a distinction that I think I have made before, and that is between imaginative thinking and creative thinking. One needs imagination in order to write or do anything creative, but creativity is a kind of productive activity at least according to Eric Fromm.

Eric Fromm is a nice guy, but he convinced me that productivity of any other kind means selling out to the capitalist man. I am sure he would have been astounded by my corruption of his theories, but I read philosophical stuff to make me feel better, not to learn anything.

I know you'll have some advice to give me like "you could just start writing everyday." You could rewrite your stuff and practice and try to get better. Or you could keep a job like your mom and work there for 20 years with no benefits and not complain because you think you deserve it. You could finally get off your lazy ass and do something for a change, but we both know that advice isn't going to work, because I ain't doing any of that.

Maybe you were lucky enough to get volume 13 before I erased it and added volume 14. If not you could win this secret less cool version of volume 14 and a packet of country gravy if you get me famous. I forgot to change the title of the last post to the current "self help guide," but I wasn't going to record another version.

I celebrate St. Patty's Day by confirming that alcohol makes me shit yellow

I am hoping that my shit being all yellow today has something to do with all the green beer I drank last night. Me and the FrO went out bar hopping because the only holiday we celebrate all year is a drinking holiday.

The FrO has gout which you would think would make him stop drinking. But this is one tuff motherfucka. Either that or he is really just one dumb muthafucka. He took a week off from work because gout said "sit the fuck down." The good news that came out of this is he was able to devote that time to reading every single post ever made on this site, including reading all the comments.

I think the rest of you should call of work and do the same. If you can provide me some kind of proof I will send you an autographed copy of the podcast on CD and a packet of gravy. Actually you have to choose, either the packet of gravy, or the signed CD. If you want I will even sign the gravy for you. You can choose brown gravy or country gravy. I recommend country gravy as it goes good with biscuits.



First we checked out R.T. O'Sullivans. O'Sullivans had a 10 dollar cover to get in and that is more money than I make in an hour. We bought 6 dollar Irish Killian Red beers, by that I mean I bought a Killian's red. I won't lie for my friend, he bought a bud light because he is one prissy bitch, for a guy who prefers to limp around with gout rather than take medicine or stop drinking.
I had to pee as soon as we got there and that's not just because I don't want to pay for the first round. I'll have you know I bought the first round. So I went around checking for porta potties and finally found one that wasn't locked. But it was occupied by a girl with her pants around her ankle and big wad of toilet paper around her arm who screamed at me "it's doesn't lock" or something like that. I was too flustered to make any much sense out of anything, and just ran off to quickly use the toilet inside the bar.

FrO actually talked to a girl tonight. That's a first I believe. I am sure she walked up to him. He said he talked for about 2 minutes and then ran out of things to say and so went inside to look for me. There were plenty of hotties to look at, and the new thing this Patty's Day was for girls to wear short skirts with green stockings or garter belts. I hope that tradition keeps going.

Next, we went to a bar that is owned by a famous ex basketball player in Phoenix. Dan wasn't there but I did tell the bartender that I was gay for Dan Marjele, but I don't think that makes me any gayer than any other dude as Dan Marjele is pretty cool. I also told the guy I need to get a cell phone that I can use to upskirt with, and if you want to send me one of those, I promise I will send you two packets of gravy. One brown and the other country, and then you can get your gravy on!

We left because only three people were in the bar and I wanted to make sure that my driver had no more than 1 beer at any bar we went to. We took off for the rest of the night to the FrO's favorite neighborhood bar where I kicked his ass in trivia and came in third place in the entire nation. I can't believe there really are two people out there smarter than me, but robot computers don't lie, they just plot your death.

We got picked up by the Fro's sister so no need for the Po-lice to get involved and I bought insurance today, so I am just a bus ride to the DMV away from getting my license back, and then buying a bottle of wild turkey, and then watch out you fucking homeless people I have the right-away.

SELF HELP CENTER PODCAST Volume 9

I am sitting here in my "lounge pants" responding to all the e-mail I get from my readers. I say lounge pants, but what I really mean is my pajama bottoms and the 99 cent t-shirt I bought for 99 cents at the 99 cent store. I'm sorry I was too lazy yesterday to write a post to go along with this podcast. And I know this blog post has nothing to do with this podcast, but you've come to expect that kind of thing from me.

I bet you are wondering what I am doing up at 10:24 am. I fell asleep at 3 am yesterday, so my body thought to wake me up early today. I have no idea what I am supposed to do with myself all day, as prime time tv watching is hours away.

Today is my Sunday which means I have to go to work tomorrow. I am out of toilet paper and paper towels and I forgot to brush my teeth last night, but on the up side last night I did the dishes and made brownies. And not those kind of brownies you little pot heads. I don't pander to pot heads. I know if I just acted high and talked about Ron Paul this website would be bombarded by 20 something skanks and skater dudes driving my numbers to the point that I could paid advertising . But I can't stand skaters, and I hate Ron Paul because he's a scary motherfucker.

I'm thinking of heading up to work to buy some granola bars and to get some toilet paper. I don't really need toilet paper, I buy it for company. I use wet naps and I pray every time I flush that the water goes down. So far it has. I'd go right now but I think most of my spirit wives are still at school or hung over and I am hoping to run into them at work and have them ask me to buy them alcohol. I figure them getting drunk at my place is the fastest way to get them to like me.

Self Help Center Podcast Volume 8

It's 5:00. In less than a half hour I will need to be on my bike to work. I am really trying hard at this point to forget that fact. I still need to brush my teeth and put on my shoes. I am not quite ready for work and I am not sure how long it will take me to get ready, but I wanted to get something in blog form for you. I know you wait breathlessly by your computer with google reader in hand, refreshing constantly, hoping I can make your life all right.

My number 2 spirit wife has my blog address and my myspace profile so she is going to be checking out this blog. I thought I would give her a double dose of me by posting the podcast as well. I mean lets face it she can't get enuff of me. We work together and now she is going to be cyberstalking me and pretty soon we will be doing what the kids are calling a "kicking back" which I think is pretty much just me and her at my house getting drunk on kool aid and vodka.

I told her we really needed to invite someone else so she couldn't later throw out an "allegedly Romius T. was found drinking with a 17 year old in his.." well you get the picture. I did tell her that we should try buying alcohol together and when the clerk asks for her identification that I would get all indignant and reply that she "was my daughter." I thought it would be a nice touch if we made out right afterwards to creep the guy out.