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1:29 p.m. - 2001-12-18


That goofy couple that sits outside my window every day during their breaks are giving each other massages in the back of his truck. They’re sitting on the tailgate, arms wrapped around each other and squeezing each other hard. They’re really starting to freak me out. The guy looks like that Powder kid if Powder weighed about 240 lbs. Now they’re wrestling again. They go from massaging to beating the crap out of each other in less than ten seconds. Next stop … the Jerry Springer Show.

I’ve decided that I have no life. I have no reason to exist on this planet. I am worthless, I am expendable and if I died tomorrow, nobody would miss me or realize that I was gone. I am a worthless loser and the world would be a better place if I was no longer around. This is why I’m going to go see “The Lord of the Rings” this weekend. So that I can be surrounded by people who are exactly like me.

I just made up a joke.

Q: How many Anger Management Enrollees does it take to screw in a light bulb?

A: Why the fuck do you care, you sorry sonofawhore?

Wait. I think I have another.

Q: How many gang members does it take to screw in a light bulb?

A: None. They keep shooting it before it can be screwed in.

Man. I’m really wasting my talents on these coffee table books.

Plans are in the works for a sequel to “The Fast and the Furious”. My suggestion for a title? “The Faster and the Furiouser”.

I’m not doubting our military strengths. But how hard can it be to find Osama bin Laden? I heard a guy on the “Today” show say that it was like finding fleas on a dog.

I can find a flea on my dog. I’ve done it several times. Therefore, I don’t think that was a good analogy and have come up with some better analogies for this guy who I don’t even remember said it. For all I know, it may not have even been on the “Today” show. But I came up with analogies anyway for you to use whenever anyone in real life may bring up the fact that we still haven’t found him.

He’s harder to find than a cat at a dog show.

He’s harder to find than a theater showing “Glitter”.

He’s harder to find than an unsoiled Kleenex in Uncle Bob’s porn-surfing nephew’s room.

He’s harder to find than a diet approved by Rosie O’Donnell.

He’s harder to find than a crack rock in church.

He’s harder to find than a person with impeccable hygiene at a Hank Williams Jr. concert.

He’s harder to find than a live cat hanging around a Korean restaurant’s dumpster.

He’s harder to find than a porn star with no stretch marks around her mouth.

I didn’t grow up rich, but I didn’t grow up hurting for anything. My wife, on the other hand, grew up in a poor family.

I need new socks. For the last 12 years, my dog has made a habit of chewing my socks whenever she can, oftentimes ripping huge holes in the heels of my socks. Today, I’m wearing one of those socks, my entire heel is hanging out of my sock.

When I tell my wife I need some new socks, her immediate reaction is “Maybe for Christmas”.

Like I said, I come from a family where if you need socks, you go buy socks. Her family would have to wait for Christmas to get new socks because socks were apparently a luxury in her household.

I could take some initiative and go to Walmart and buy some socks.

But then I wouldn’t have anything to write about here.

I finally bit the bullet and bought a Diaryland Gold Membership this morning. Mainly because UNC has found out that Jaki hasn’t attended their school in several years and have removed my banner from their server that shows up on some of Diaryland’s better diaries.

Well, that and I owe Andrew. He’s been such a great guy to give Diaryland to the masses, that it’s only fair I give him thirty bucks at Christmas time.

What does this mean to you, the reader?

I dunno. Why the hell should I care? I’m a gold member now. My life has changed for the better. I don't need your non-gold ass harping on me over little things about how my gold membership affects you. Get with the program, Jerky.

My nose itches. And to be honest with you, I don't feel like doing anything about it. I've rubbed it. I scratched it. Still itches.

I'm taking a "Devil May Care" attitude with it. I just don't care.

I don't.

Alright's killing me. Is that what you wanted to hear? I want to scratch my nose off my own f'n face, it itches so bad. And naturally I'm freaking out over it because I keep thinking it means I have sinus cancer or something.


Now I'm REALLY freaked out because sinus cancer was the furthest thing from my mind but as soon as I typed it out I thought, "I wonder if I have that?"

Dammit all to hell.

Edweird (too lazy to link him) and I went to the mall for our daily mall walk at lunch.

I wanted to look in the bookstore for a cookbook for my Dad. Dad's getting into cooking in his old age and it just seemed like the thing to get him.

So I find him this "Cowboy Cookbook" with all these manly cowboy recipes like steak and pork chops and stews and eggs and stuff.

I get in line, and Edweird walks up behind me and starts rhythmically punching me in the arm like a little kid.

I'm all like "What?"

And he motions with his head towards the front of the line.

I look at the cashier. The guy's wearing a pretty gaudy sweater. Still, neither Edweird or I are so catty that we make fun of people's apparrel. We are both straight and could give two craps about what people wear.

Then, out of frustration, Edweird said "Bradley!"

I'm all like "He knows this cashier?"

No. He knew the guy at the front of the line...a guy we both used to work with.

Now Edweird has been adamant about it ... if he ever saw this guy face to face after the guy left the newspaper, Edweird was going to beat the crap out of him. This guy was a real thorn in Edweird's side for several months.

I would get angry with the guy, but I'm not the type to hold onto festering wounds like Edweird. It's amazing Edweird hasn't died of a heart attack yet because his blood pressure must soar due to his harboring of grudges for several years on end.

Anyway, Brad shakes both our hands and makes small talk with us. I was kinda uncomfortable, because I expected Edweird to haul off and punch the guy in the nuts or something.

It never happened.

So we walked through the mall with him for a little bit. He was out shopping for his fiancee that he's marrying in April. Which is kinda funny because we were all convinced he was gay when we worked with him. Mainly because he had never had a girlfriend, had an unusual attachment to a childhood buddy and liked showtunes just a tad too much for your normal male.

Your normal male knows the theme song to "Oklahoma" and only the line "Ooooooooooklahoma where the wind comes sweeping down the plain!"

Brad had seen Les Mis several hundred times, going as far as Europe to see certain casts.

So you hear he's getting just wanna ask "Who's the lucky fella?"

Anyway, it was good seeing him. Mainly because for years, every time I saw him he had a baseball cap on. He wore that cap everywhere. He was a newspaper reporter, and would wear the cap to press conferences. It's one thing for a journalist to wear a snazzy hat with a big "PRESS" card sticking out of the brim. It's quite another to show up with a battered and faded Cubs cap on that hadn't been washed in years.

So he didn't have the cap on. And I discovered...he really did have hair. The cap was covering a receding hairline which was nothing to be ashamed of. I have a bald spot the size of Tokyo and you never see me wearing a ball cap at City Council meetings.


That's my day so far.

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