This is All But Certain:
Tuesday, October 9, 2007
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Friday, June 29, 2007
26
I sit before you officially 26 years of age. I sit before you eating popcorn (cooked in olive oil, lightly spiced with cumin and curry powder) and drinking wine (cheap, red).
With these notes:
*If 13-year-old me were to meet me now, I think he'd be pretty impressed and excited and hopeful for the future. My new goal is for 52-year-old me to be impressive and exciting for the current version of me.
*Modafinil is awfully tempting.
*My favorite song of the moment is Myriad Harbour, from the upcoming New Pornographers album, Challengers. The frustrating part about this is that I want to share it with everyone I know, but cannot. You must find your own way. Isn't that always the way?
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
Hamburgers and Intestines
How often do you eat hamburgers? It seems many people eat hamburgers only once or twice a year. They, like, keep track.
Why is that? Is it because the hamburgers get stuck in their intestines? And cause discomfort? And the discomfort in turn causes nightmares? Nightmares about huge, faceless, humanoid, communist potato bugs and the impending apocalypse?
I'm sure there are plenty of truckers out there who eat nothing but hamburgers and beef jerky and drink energy drinks and take speed and I bet many of them live well into their thirties, right?
Right?!?
Why is that? Is it because the hamburgers get stuck in their intestines? And cause discomfort? And the discomfort in turn causes nightmares? Nightmares about huge, faceless, humanoid, communist potato bugs and the impending apocalypse?
I'm sure there are plenty of truckers out there who eat nothing but hamburgers and beef jerky and drink energy drinks and take speed and I bet many of them live well into their thirties, right?
Right?!?
Labels:
apocalypse,
death,
discomfort,
hamburgers,
intestines,
potato bugs,
truckers
Monday, June 11, 2007
Spiders in the Vacuum Cleaner
When the webs in my house get out of control, I have to vacuum up the spiders. Once I suck them up, they sit in the canister and talk about how to get back at me while I sleep. They plan to make bigger, more elaborate webs, gradually closer and closer to my head. And one day I will wake up and my face will be stuck in a huge spider web and I will try to scream, but when I breathe in, I'll just breathe in an especially thick, intricate web and I will slowly choke and cry myself to death.
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