I'M SORRY, I GOT SIDETRACKED. WHO AM I AGAIN?

I just woke up from a dream I was having where I was bragging about being "around" three presidents at various stages of my life ... Bush, Reagan and Clinton.

It was quite possibly the most gawdawful boring dream I've ever had.

I had the absolute WORST writer's block yesterday and had to write a 1,600 word profile about a company.

The company is pretty well known. If you own a dog, cat or horse, you've probably bought one of their products before.

And I could not write it.

I had promised the woman with the company that I'd have it to her by today.

So in order to hold up my end of the bargain, I gave this woman a business profile that says things like "You got pets? You've bought their shit. I guarantee it."

And "Seriously...do you wanna sit and pick dead fleas and ticks off your dog all night or do you wanna go surf for internet porn? Yep. That's what I thought."

But...and I think this is true in most everything I write ... the things that I'm most happy with are regarded as "blah" by everyone else. And the stuff I beat myself up over is usually well received.

I'm a very poor judge of my own writing.

I'm hardly a judge of others' writings.

But I've judged others' writings.

But that's another story for another time.

I know I've mentioned it before, but I think it's time I mentioned it again.

Peanut butter.

I will eat it on ANYTHING.

No further detail necessary after the erotic escapades of last night.

I really don't know why I just typed that.

I think I'm possessed or something.

I think it was on Monday that I whined and bitched about my weekend.

But we actually had some good moments throughout the weekend.

Well.

We saw "Signs" finally.

And with everyone telling me that the movie wasn't all that much, I thought it was a pleasant surprise.

I can't believe that the alien at the end was really Joe Millionaire.

(Sorry ... a lame attempt at capitalizing on the works of the master.)

I made the most awesome shrimp creole last night.

Remind me to tell you all about it when I'm not so busy.

Has anybody got the balls to wear this one?

And you guys thought I was an insensitive bastard.

Seriously...that's one of my favorite websites. But they've never bought any of my ideas. Bastards.

Ugh.

"Fraternity Life" starts tonight on MTV.

You can read my recap of the special that precedes the show here. You know ... if you're bored and thinking "I wonder where I could ready something that Uncle Bob's written where he takes no pity on his subjects."

Well hey. I just gave you that link. What a coincidence.

Anyway...I hated the special.

I'm hoping the actual show is better than the special.

If not, I'm scooping my eyeballs out with a melon baller.

(I submitted that link because I wasn't quite sure if there was such a thing as a melon baller. I knew there was a tool called a melon something, but the actual name escaped me. I pulled "melon baller" out of my ass (not literally) and lo and behold, it's an actual tool. Go me.)

Have you got your Weetamix yet?

I got mine in the mail yesterday.

I have not stopped dancing since I got it.

Which would explain the various holes in the walls of my house, as I'm not the greatest dancer in the world.

Seriously ... it's worth every point and inspired me to make my own damned crazy bar party mix.

I call it "Lou".

Because I always thought that would be a good name for a Mix CD. "Lou".

"Whatcha wanna listen to?"

"I dunno. How about Lou?"

"Cool. I like Lou."

See??

Anyway ... Lou rocks.

Maybe I'll take Weeter's lead, steal her idea, mass market Lou on Swappington's and become a rich millionaire in the process. Lou will eventually make its way over to Iraq, where it will bring much love and happiness and crazy dancing and make everyone feel good, and even cause Hussein to take his finger off the button and say "You know what? LOU has changed my life. I surrender. You can kill me and torture me if you want afterwards, America. Do what you wish with me. But thank you....THANK YOU for giving my people LOU."

...I uhhhhh....I sometimes have loftier expectations than most when I burn a CD.

Not that I've babbled long enough.

I mean...I'm sure some of you are just sinking your ass into that chair for the beginning of yet another four hour session of reading people's diaries and could probably allow and even welcome a few more minutes of my time.

Bah.

Got shit to do, homie.

I don't get paid for this shit.

Damn.

I really need to start talking more like Snoop Dogg.

I think it adds character to my already overwhelming personality.

Heh.

I'm tired.

Peace out.