I poop 4 times and I review the Pita Grill where I meet an ethnically ambiguous hottie who serves me feta cheese

I just took my third shit today. My first shit was kinda brown and kinda solid. The second shit was yellow or clay. It was soft and mushy. The third shit was green and runny.

Children do not develop an immune system for the first few years of life so parents are constantly seeing the kind of mess in dirty diapers I am seeing in the toilet these days so they would probably not be alarmed the way I am about the condition of my bowel movements. I worry because I assume the only reason I shit like an infant is because I have AIDS and the AIDS has so fucked my immune system that the fact that I drink a little ice tea with hibiscus makes me shit weak, runny and green. I feel like I am Kermit the frog in his last days, getting high with the King of Rock and Roll and ready to die face down in the commode.

I know every one wants to dissect what I am eating so I will use that as an excuse to give you my review of the Pita Grill.* Also I only eat chocolate gram crackers, herbal and decaf ice tea, and fast food.

*It should be noted that I shat before eating at the Pita Grill. The Pita Grill is in no way to blame for my weak or discolored bowel movements.

I loaned my truck out to a friend of Card Shark's. She needed to move furniture. She was also a good hour late getting the truck back to me at work so I had to stick around work for an additional hour waiting for her to return so I could get home.

I guess she felt guilty about taking so long to pick me up because she palmed me 10 dollars which I would not have accepted, but I was not paying attention to what she gave me, and after I took the money it felt weird to give it back, and there the whole thing about me siting around waiting on her for a good hour, and her good manners would have required her to take me to lunch or dinner, and the 10 dollars would have been about what she would have had to pay, and accepting the money was a lot easier than coming up with an hour of uncomfortable small talk at lunch which would have turned devolved into a one hour gab fest about Card Shark because he is about the only thing we have in common.

Frankly, I couldn't stomach the idea of talking about Card Shark for a full hour as the time I spend with Card Shark we spend talking about him, and if there is anything that you need to know about a guy with 4 blogs and two podcast and a u-tube channel is that this is all about me baby.

P.S.

I think I am going to shit again soon. Also, Yahoo Radio is fucking up again and not playing commercials!

Oh, yeah. I was getting to the part where I talk about the food I ate today and review the Pita Grill. I decided to eat out because I had an extra 10 dollars in my pockets.

The pita grill is in located in a strip mall next to ASU. The decor on the outside is pretty typical. Inside the place is pretty cool. There is ample seating. The furniture is shiny and black. An ethnically ambiguous girl is surfing the web and sipping a diet coke through a straw. The sound system is piping in Middle Eastern music. The "middle eastern" music sounds a lot like Indian music. But not the annoying kind of Indian music you hear in Bollywood movies. Calm, sedate stuff without all the odd vocalizations.



I stepped up to the counter to place my order. I told Ambiguously Ethnic Girl that, "This is my first time here." She pointed to pictures on the wall and told me there are pictures of the food on the wall. Now I know how really stupid foreigners think Americans are.

I tried to impress the girl with me knowledge of food by ordering a gyro pita with feta. When I ordered fries as my side she gave me a look of disgust. I guess foreigners aren't taught to hold in their contempt for the crassness of their patrons.

While my server took my order I played a game where I tried to determine the woman's ethnicity. I thought she might be a Greek, because she had long curly hair.*

*Did I mention I like long dark curly hair?

She also looked middle eastern; or moreover, the possible family members who worked with her looked middle eastern, and by middle eastern I assume Persian for no reason other than I know Persians come from Iran, and I was hoping I could somehow work that knowledge into the conversation without it looking to obvious. I never did. And I never got over the compulsion to blurt out that Persians are from Iran.

The food is quite good. I paid $4.99 for the Gyro Pita and $2.50 to make it a combo with fries and a drink. The fries are the only disappointment which is not surprising as this is not an American Diner, but a middle eastern food joint. The fries are skinny and come with a dusting of seasoning. I hate seasoned fries in general, so maybe if you like seasoned fries you would find the fries acceptable. The ice tea I drank had a hint of peach.

The gyro was good. The lamb and beef was tender and fresh. I added the hot sauce to it and a side of feta. My server smiled at me when she packaged the food to go and then placed it in the to go bag for me even though I ordered the food to eat in.

My food bill came to $8.10. I remember thinking the girl jipped me on change which got me to thinking she might be Jewish after all. But after I got home I saw that I had $1.90 in change, so maybe she is just Persian.

I was slightly irritated by the girl. She did not like to answer any of my questions, but that may have been because English was not her first language. When I first entered the store I heard her and her compatriots conversing in a language I could not determine.

She wore the strange track suit that Europeans think is appropriate for every day wear. Her lime green shoes did not match. I remember I couldn't understand anything she said unless she repeated it to me and was looking right at me so I could read her lips.

She sat down at at a table to eat a snack half way through my meal. She looked skinny behind the counter but I noticed a small pooch around her middle from my new vantage point. Nothing bad. She just wasn't super tight like a swimmer or an athlete. She had some good female fat.

My cell phone was beeping throughout the meal as I was texting the Ex IGF and Leslie. The only other diners where a nice college couple. The guy ordered food and the girl watched him eat. I liked that this guy did not pay for a meal for her.

College girl had short brown hair. She smiled at me. I think she was glad I was there because we were in on the little secret that this place served decent food. Maybe she was imagining that I could be her boyfriend, because her current boyfriend took her to places like this and she had to notice how my cell phone was blowing up, so obviously even though it was a Friday night at 10:30 and I didn't have a date, I was a guy with friends who couldn't stand to be out of touch.

The college girl looked back at me a lot during my meal. Maybe thinking I would buy her some baklava. It would be her first time trying it, and I could talk to her about all the nuts in the dessert and how they firm up her bowel movements. She would probably laugh at the inappropriateness of the conversation and marvel at how at ease I was with her. She would swear off men her age for the maturity to be found in my graying goatee.

The college boy got up and the college girl left with him. I guess all the stuff we shared meant nothing to her. Girls are like that though. I'm cool with it.

I'm at home now and I am eating cookies. I have 4 cookies left. I am going to eat them all. I have to go for a Tux fitting in the morning, and I want to be able to eat a little before the wedding.

One last thing. I just posted a new Fan Letter to Steve Nash's Wife over at Bathos for the Misanthropic. Quit making me tell you that. Add Bathos to your blog reader.

All I want to talk about is Sarah Palin and her under age teen daughter

If you are a lot like me then you spend all your free time on the Internet doing research because you don't want to be accused of not knowing what you are talking about. Also I find that researching my favorite topic of jail bait under cover of some kind of scientific rationale to be the best way to present myself to my ever expanding public.

I just read that the "number of girls marrying before age 18 expected to double in next decade." Which I guess means that once again I am ahead of a trend before it explodes into the world consciousness. 100 million child bride grooms can't be wrong. Long time readers know that I have several "spirit wives" so I can speak from a place of authority in regards to Sarah Palin's unwed pregnant daughter and her shotgun wedding.

My first reaction to the shotgun wedding being imposed by Mommie and Daddy Palin is that I would have been a poor choice as husband for this child bride. According to reports her boyfriend is a "f#cking redneck" and hates babies. I am not a redneck even though I am originally from Texas. And I don't hate children, I marry them is secret religious ceremonies that include being bound in sheer white clothing in a swimming pool. I like to know what I am getting right away.

An unwatchful Mother allows her slutty daughter to paint her toe and fingernails. I am sure this child is on her way to unwed motherville courtesy of Maybelline.

Speaking of child brides, Leslie, my number 1 spirit wife is being promoted to cashier which means that all my authority over is her is gone. It also means that despite not graduating from high school and being in the labor market for 20 years less than me she now earns only 40 cents an hour less than me. So much for me feeling sorry for child brides. They earn money and exhibit the secondary sexual characteristics that nature has deemed necessary for child birth. If they lack some kind of emotional stability or maturity ostensibly present in older females they make up for it by bonding to their spirit husbands like a duckling in a critical learning moment deciding that fluff the poodle is going to be his mamma.

All I know is I found a few awesome photos of Sarah Palin's daughter's mom and she looks likes she loves America!

I am still sick

My throat is scratchy like I am trying to swallow an S.O.S. pad. I can't breathe yet and not breathing is no fun.

I was supposed to go to work at 2 but traded a few hours off so that I could complete my move from the one room with carpeting to the one of the freshly painted rooms. The new bedroom I will occupy still has paint dust everywhere and needs to be swept or vacuumed. All my clothes are belongings are packed into plastic bags. That will make it easy for the real move which will be soon I hope. Assuming the FRO is alive. If he is "he'll have tales of chainlink glory holes,green lunch meat and decorative oranges told to be edible."

The move took me a little over an hour and I am sure I will be breathing tiny particles of paint which I am sure will raise my mercury levels to unsafe proportions. I am considering suing, at the very least I will need to stay away from tuna fish sandwiches.

If you ever wondered why I don't post as often as some other bloggers I think you know why now. I won't be posting on Bathos or the Karl Marx blog for a while as I just don't have the time with the super slow Internet connection that the Tempe Public Library uses. They have a little note on the door at the computer lab blaming Cox, but the Internet is always slow here. I think we are using Commodore 64's on dial up here. It takes 4 minutes to check my e-mail which consists of my mother and step mother's forwarded jokes and racist attacks on Barrack Obama, who I had no idea was a lesbian Muslim who wants to turn America into Cuba.

I am congested. I feel a weight on my lungs. I will be coughing a lot soon.

Yesterday I blew my nose a lot. When I start to blow my nose all I do is blow my nose. I remember as a child i had pneumonia and filled a large brown paper sack from the grocery store full of little snot rags. My mother insisted I was faking it. She thought there was no way possible for a child to have that much snot.

I went through an entire box of Kleenex yesterday at work all by myself. All the while I am touching your vegetables and handling your food. I made a suggestion to go home and my supervisor just laughed. I talked a pal (thanks milly!) to come in early today for me so I could finish packing and get some rest (I still ain't sleeping, i can't sleep knowing the Mexicans are on the way.) The Mexicans did fix the door bell today so we know have a door bell. I still have not got my book by Eric Schaefer in the mail. So far that is like 20 dollars down the drain. And I spending money too much, I am eating out a lot as I don't like eating around fumes. I get depressed easily and seeing the crack house fills me with anxiety. I am very anxious lately. I have too much to worry about. I don't like having to think about stuff so much. I will be glad when the move is over.

I told Leslie about my hanging out with my ex yesterday. I mentioned Leslie because she likes me to talk about her on my blog. I told her she would not need to read the next few posts as I described my sick symptoms and evening out with the Google eX.

Leslie told me that if she was 25 she could be interested in me. I asked her what her friends would say about a 17 year old girl dating a 37 year old man. She said her friends would think she was a bit desperate. I had to agree though I had hoped that it would be cool for a girl in high school to date an older man, but I have a feeling only a 13 or 14 year old will think dating a much older guy like me will make them cool.

I started reading a memoir, A loose Woman. it details how the author used her body to get attention. It is filled with sex and I hope to learn a lot about women by reading it. Maybe I will get laid sometime soon. I can't about sex too much when I am sick. That is what made my last masturbation session during the Olympics so creepy for me.

I have only a few minutes left. I still want to write about my night out, but it was not that interesting to be honest. If I do write it I promise it will be boring, so don't get your hopes up. I just need something to keep you interest while I wait for a computer and access to the Internet. I sure hope Britney has not done something crazy while I have been away from the net. I can't visit the drunken stepfather either as it is banned from public libraries. I was hoping me and Jesus were gonna be best friends.

God damn google has fucked this post by dropping half of the changes and edits I have made. Fucking internet. Fucking google. If this post makes no sense blame the TPL , Cox internet and Blogger. don't blame me. I am sick and I have to go to work and take another poop there. Jeez I hate that.

I wish I was a baller (spirit wife #1 gets her song on.)

You know the song where a short guy dreams about being taller, being a baller, and having a good looking girl, (You know because he'd call her.) I guess I like that song because it finally shows the creative side of being stuck short and girlfriendless.

Leslie (spirit wife#2) is complaining that I don't write enough about her. She also wonders why I wrote a screenplay for a new TV series called "my boyfriend is gayer than Skittles" and dedicated it to her and her new boyfriend. But we hugged for like 6 minutes after work today and I had to promise to write about her if I wanted her to keep hugging me like that.



I am not really surprised that she would barter away her hugs for some male attention as her boyfriend is Mormon and 24. And if you kn0w anything about Mormons you know that the men who still practice their beliefs in their 20's but aren't married are considered a bit suspect and by suspect yes I mean gay.

Leslie is convinced that "skittles" is just bi-sexual and that we (meaning me and skitttles) could have a fun time jerking off to either gay or straight porn. I told Leslie that the only way that wasn't gay was "in a steven king novel," and she told me that I "seem to make that reference a lot," and she wondered what was up with that.

I'd like to change the subject to wife #3 and her obsession with the song "dirty girl." The song is ok, but watching all my spirit wives play like they have a microphone in their hands all the while shouting "you're a dirty girl, you're a dirty girl" is just way too cute of an image to keep to myself.



I've been busy here are the two lastest episodes of the Self Help Center Podcast. Episode 11 is a straight read of the March 15th post so if you have read the post, skip the episode.



Episode 12 I read the post from St. Patty's Day, and March 20th's post which includes tips on winning a free packet of gravy from me. I also read my world famous poem about throwong bottles of whiskey at homeless people.



Leslie here is a podcast I totally forgot about doing on you, because I thought the text messenger was someone else.

The Sun is cooling off like a big douche bag, but the Sun could never be as big a douche bag as Mitt Romney

I just got the chills. I read an article about how the sun is not giving off as much heat as it usually does. And that started to worry me. I don't normally worry about things like the Sun freezing, a giant asteroid hitting the Earth, or the super volcano that can erupt at any time, and end life as we know it. Things like that don't happen very often. So I don't waste time worrying over them.

But what if the sun really stopped working? What if it suddenly quit on us like Mitt Romney did? I mean other than quitting today, Mitt Romney never gave us any indication that he was a flip flopper like that. One minute he's in the next he's gone. He still has all that money to spend too. Millions left he could loan himself. Hillary loaned herself millions, and no one thinks any less of her.

I can't sleep and I can't concentrate. I don't think I can concentrate because I am having a hard time concentrating. It might be the caffeine. I've had six cokes since midnight, so I may not sleep at all tonight. I am not writing even though I come up with a lot of ideas when my head is buzzing from caffeine. I know most of them aren't any good, but that's not the reason I am not blogging. I'm not writing because I can't concentrate for longer than 3 seconds on any one topic. I have Netflix on my brain. I just watched three movies they delivered to me. One of them was Sunshine. A movie about the Sun cooling off. It gets 4 stars out of 5.

D-cup had writers block and still manages to post a great blog. My blog lacks focus and I post sporadically, because I can never think of anything "specific enough" to this blog to write about. Today I have lots of ideas. I want to start a section on the blog for grocery store etiquette. I want to teach you all how to act in a grocery store because your momma never did.

I want to talk to you about a fun anthropological experiment I've been running. I convinced 4 teens to join me in plural marriage, otherwise known as the "principle" in Mormon circles. As I write this post, I have 6 teenaged girls fighting over me. All my new spirit wives are tyring to establish their pecking order within the "family." Spirit Wife number 1 gets my heart. Number two has my babies, and Number 3 gets my body. Four just wants my money. My new nickname is "baby-daddy." #1 wife Leslie introduced me to her Mom as her "spirit husband." I hugged Leslie goodbye in front of her Mom. I don't think that was a good idea. I am pretty sure her Mom is going to have me arrested soon. Why? After I hugged Leslie goodbye she said "no kisses this time, not in front of my Mom."

I've never had girls fight or get jealous over me, so you can imagine how much fun this is for me. Maybe I am an idiot but I've always believed it when my girlfriends told me they didn't get jealous. I guess my behavior doesn't inspire passion from women. I treat women with as much respect as I would like to get treated with some day. I think we know that will never work. Only high status men are attractive to women. You can thank evolution for that. I have no beef with natural selection, it's just that some men are able to confuse women by exhibiting behaviors that mimic high status, when they are really just being jerks. You'd think women would have adapted some kind of mechanism to counter act the mimicry effects of jerkiness, but you'd be surprised to see how few have. I guess that's why it pays, evolutionarily speaking, to be a jerk.

When you examine passion scientifically, you find that passion is just a button you can push. Molesters, charlatans, abusers, and manipulators understand the human psyche better than Freud. Love is a condition and not the transcendent experience we are taught to believe it is.

I'm an atheist so you'd think I could have accepted that emotions are built on circumstances and not attached to some kind of soul, but it's been very difficult for me to let go of that notion. Maybe one day I will let go of it, and maybe one day I will get laid again.

I work on Super Bowl Sunday where I explain RSS feeds, the reification of god, or why Evil Spock is dead, and why Leslie gets her own tag on my blog.

A lot of you who read this blog think it's boring. You won't read my blog unless the post I write is about you. That's why I had to add a tag for Card Shark. And that's why I have to add a tag for Leslie. Leslie thinks I am boring. Before I found that out today I though Leslie loved my blog, but Leslie will say anything in order to get 25 cents from me.

I must have given Leslie at least 10 dollars in quarters by now. And with me not getting my tax rebate this year that hurts. I thought my 25 cents was at least buying a reader. Leslie is 17 and one of my huggers. Like other members of her generation, Leslie gets pissed when I try to hide her true identity online. I tell her it's for her protection. She says she is really only worried about stalkers.

I tell her that she really doesn't have much to worry from guys in Ohio jacking off to her pictures on the Internet. Most people who stalk you know you personally. They are ex-boyfriends or family members. I tell Leslie that she should worry about future employers finding her on this blog and not giving her a job. I tell her she needs to worry about insurance companies reading her MySpace and denying her coverage.

I'm not going to post pictues of Leslie because of the potential stalkers and perverts on this site. Instead enjoy this totally clean picture of teen queen Miley Cyrus.

Leslie tells me she will start reading my blog again if I write a long post about her, but she says she is never sure when I add another post. I tell her it's about time to abandon the ego-centric moral development of juveniles. She gives me a pouty face. So I decide to write a long post dedicated to her where I can explain what an RSS feed is. But I decided to just let you guys look that up on Wiki. By the way I have as RSS feed, and I am pretty sure that I don't have even one subscriber. The feeder link is the orange button next to my stats info. I put the RSS feed up on the suggestion of my brother. I know from my RSS stats that even he hasn't bothered to subscribe.

The staff over at the Daily Brimstone doesn't think I am boring. They just wrote a huge blog post about how great I am. Some people, namely Dr. Monkey Von Monkerstein, think my posts "are like haunting prose poems of the damned or they are a dry joke inflicted on a world that has no sense of humor." But I can't expect the entire world to love me. Only the smart ones I guess. And the ones I write about.

Leslie and I play SAT vocabulary games at work to pass the time. She is smarter than me, but I read 18th century Philosophy, so whenever she stumps me with a word I break out Kant. Antinomy, gets a blank stare from her. Reification? Leslie does not think these are words. But I can use those words in a sentence. In fact I will commence with an entire paragraph, because I am tired of people reifying the concept of God.

"Reification in thought occurs when an abstract concept describing a relationship or context is treated as a concrete "thing", or if something is treated as if it were a separate object when this is inappropriate because it is not an object." [Wiki: Reification-Marxism]

You know the way that some deists and "spiritual but not religious" people think that god "must" exist. When people talk about "god" that way they usually empty the content of the word. But if words are to mean anything they must describe something in particular. And there are plenty of examples of what people think god is, and most of those ideas are sillier than than the idea that God wrote in Egyptian hieroglyphics on golden tablets about his son's trip in to the New World and then buried them someplace in upstate New York.

I have no idea how that was supposed to tie in with Evil Spock being dead. But I wasn't going to lecture you on the meaning of god I was just going to break into my character Medusa-in-a-box and tell you about Evil Spock's return. But I can't remember how the hell I was going to do that. I think it had something to do with the disappearance of Cowboy killer Jessica Simpson's now red headed little sister, Ashlee Simpson.

I mean where the fuck did she go? She go that cute little nose, anorexic figure, and capooee. Blogs don't talk about her anymore. I guess with the Britney and Jamie-Lynn's hogging all the attention and the coloring of Ashlee's hair red, your guess is as good as mine. Though it turns out Scottsdale is the correct answer. And Scottsdale is very close to me, and Ashlee is close to Jessica and Jessica killed the Cowboy's chances for a Super Bowl and My name isn't Romius Texis for no reason y'all, so yeah I'd like to kill me some Ashlee Simpson. I think I'd fuck them before I killed them. Or maybe after I killed them I'd fuck them. I mean can you imagine having to listen to both of those emo-cunts in one night? Below is a picture of Ashlee looking hot, not red-headed.

This post is for the KIDS.

She hugs me from the front. If I suggest that a couple of king sized pillows get in our way is that too subtle? Then L. rests her head on my shoulder. How sweet is she?

I get to describe this hug. But the description has to be edgy. Otherwise L. says she isn't going to read my blog anymore. I tell L. that my blog isn't "edgy" anymore because she has forbidden me to blog about the hugs she gives me at work. I ask L if we can post pics of her on my blog. I figure a pic of her hugging me will prove to all of you out there that I am not gay, or a pedophile. Or at least not gay. But she rebukes me, sighting "possible stalkers" as the reason she won't be featured on the blog. I tell her if we charge guys $1.00 to get a cyber hug from her, she could make enough money to stop asking me for quarters everyday. No dice again.

Now that I'm allowed to blog about the hugs that L. gives me again, I still have to worry that my stepsister will read my blog, now that I looked her up on myspace. I am pretty sure she's gonna have a cow over how I depicted our childhood.

Even if sis never finds the blog, I can't imagine she reads, I still have to worry what Card Sharks's g/f thinks of me. At the Five and Diner I mention that I went to the see a movie on my day off yesterday. He asks which one. I tell him Juno. He vomits ketchup across the table at me. "You really like teen girls, don't you? That's not just an act." He can barely control the laughter. I calmly reply that the movie has made like 65 million dollars, so I am hardly the only person to see the film and that it has gotten rave reviews. "Plus" I add. "It's not like I watch Nickelodeon or TIVO Zoey 101 or something creepy like that. "You watch Hannah Montana." Counters Card Shark "I don't watch entire episodes of Hannah, I just flick it on to see if she is wearing a short skirt."

To my knowlede Miley Cryus has never been accused of molesting strangers.

[An aside}

L. hates Juno and thought it was over-hyped. I agree that it was much too hyped but I still thought it was a good movie. But you can totally tell the female character was written by a dude. A 16 year old girl who loves punk music and knows more about old horror/slasher films that the prospective 36 father is completely ludicrous. Not to mention that Jason Bateman as the adopt a dad turns in a fine performance as the ass grabbing, not-quite-sure-I-am-ready-to-be- a-dad, 30 something that all men my age truly are.

It turns out though that I may have been a bit to tough on the writers of Juno. The drudge report is highlighting the case of a 13 year old girl who was arrested for sexually assaulting a couple of boys on her bus route.

There is not much to the story as one of the 311 commenters on the web points out "My problem with this whole incident, IS, what in the world, ever possessed the Reporter, and then the Editor, of this RAG. to print this story, in the first place. There are FEW FACTS, no names, little Information, and not likely to get more, in the future."

Judging by the fact that this story with no facts, pictures or information can spark 311 comments, it's no wonder that Drudge has it blasted on his front page. Kudos to the girl for her induction into the Jail Bait hall of Fame.

And from Gawker, another Hall of Fame candidate ... Creepy Celebrity stalker website narrates

HS: Taylor Momsen, aka Jenny from (cult show) Gossip Girl, wearing a very short skirt... I noticed her because she kept crossing and uncrossing her legs, showing her underwear to all... on the 1 train, heading uptown. Got off at Lincoln Center, looked lost."

I think this guy is full of shit. First off I don't see any underwear, and I have photoshop technology. And sometimes I think girls just cross their legs because of poor circulation. Poor girl probably has juvenile diabetes. I'm sure her doctors have warned her that wearing underwear causes loss of circulation, and not crossing her legs in public will mean amputation of those legs and toes for sure. Which would seriously lower her hottness factor by a shade or two. Excepting for certain really perverted fetish sites.

Thanksgiving means I have to talk to you

If you come through my line I am required to speak to you, even though my Thanksgiving was uneventful and all you want to do is ask about me how my holiday went. I want to tell you that I only celebrate one religious holiday a year, my birthday. I want to tell you that I had to work this Thanksgiving just so you could buy all the dry ice and beer you need to celebrate, that most of my family is out of state this Thanksgiving, and all my friends had better things to do this year than invite me over for turkey dinner. So maybe I had the worst Thanksgiving ever and I 'd rather not talk about it. But you don't want to hear that. I'd like to stop pretending that my holiday was "pretty good," I want to tell you that I didn't even get the pathetic single friend "left over" plate from my friends who celebrated this Thanksgiving without me. I thought that shit was obligatory. I think my friends expect me to believe that they ate an entire bird, and that not a drop of stuffing was left. Bullshit.

Instead yesterday, a full two days after Thanksgiving and still needing my turkey day fix, I bought a pre-cooked rotisserie chicken from the deli of my grocery store. I made stuffing all by myself, and then I microwaved half a packet of dried mashed potatoes and covered them with store bought gravy. It was quite delicious, thank you. I bet you don't want to hear how I have nothing to be thankful for that I didn't make myself.

I am only talking to you because my boss told me that I have to. She was hovering over me as i was trying to leave today, she took my money drop and watched me listlessly scan the last few customers I had in line. I didn't want to talk to them, so I made no effort to pretend in front of her. I was pissed off, because I was already a good 25 minutes over my scheduled time to go home. And the only reason I got to leave at all was I looked over at my manager and gave her the "If you don't block my line off I will slit the throat of your first born son and drink his blood." She got the message and finally blocked me.

I rode the bike over to the library right after work to blog this story. Not because this is a particularly interesting story, but because I know you need to be on the inside of my inner mental life. I thought you'd like to hear that a second girl gave me a hug, that way you won't have to think I'm such a loser.

I'm on a roll. Lisa is the the second girl to hug me this week at work. She says she loves me, but then she called me old. She told me I looked just like another guy we work with. That dude is like 40, so I got depressed. Then she made fun of my pimple. I've had a pimple stuck on my nose for the last 6 weeks. It simply won't go away. It's so big the Astronomical Society has decided to rename my pimple, Pluto. They believe my pimple has a larger gravity constant than any object in the near Kupier belt. It's kinda cool that my pimple was named a 9th planet though. Kids look up me to me and want my autograph. People who come through my line feel obliged to ask about it. They wonder what how it's going and what my pimple is up to. "Does it mean you have 2 brains?" Lisa the hugging courtesy clerk asks. "Is that why you are so smart?" Yeah, that's right, Lisa. Which I guess is two more brains than you'll ever have."Why don't you just come over here and give me another hug?"