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1:23 p.m. - 2001-11-06

I'm sitting here at work...headphones on...listening to the Pink Floyd disc that came out today and dredging up distant memories of great times fueled by copious amounts of beer and several spirited rounds of passing the purple bong with the bottomless bowl.


And I've been writing all morning in a flurry of inspiration that I have yet to figure out from whence it manifested.

I'm currently taking a break from the third business profile written today...possibly a new record for me. Awww...who's foolin' who? It IS the record for me, breaking my previous record of two profiles written in one day.

...And I'm planning on possibly tackling a fourth profile today.

Ahhhh...the healing powers of the Floyd.

It's nice to know their music still helps me expand my mind's horizons even without the illicit drugging that I always thought went hand in hand with the band.

You don't necessarily need drugs to enjoy Pink Floyd.

...But it sure as hell enhances the music.

Not that I'm advocating drug use. It just always worked for me, that's all.

What I amadvocating is that we all pack our bags and move to England where smoking pot is practically legal now. At least you can't get arrested for just smoking it. Traffic it and you'll wind up in the big house. But smoke it and they just scoff at you.

Hey. I've been scoffed at before. I'll be scoffed at again. Ain't no skin off my scoffing back.

Anyway...good tunes here. I could do without any Pink Floyd released before 1971. Other than that, no complaints from me.

I had some Sugar Free Peanut Butter Cups for my dessert at lunch today.

They're made by Russell Stover. And maybe it's because I haven't had any chocolate in six weeks ... but these were some pretty damned good peanut butter cups, brotha.

I persuaded Edweird to try one. He wasn't all that enthusiastic about it, but did his big buddy a favor and ate one.

He said it was pretty good. And since they had to remove the sugar from it, they must have increased the level of rat turd in it.

That Edweird.

Sometimes he can say the most mind-numbing things.


I went to the Coke machine at lunch, put my 55 cents in and pushed the Diet Dr. Pepper button.

My DDP came out. And at some point as it traversed down the chute, it received a small hole punctured in its side.

I'm not sure if you've ever experienced a can of soda coming down the chute of a machine with a hole punched in its side.

But it's pretty alarming.

First...there's brown liquid spewing everywhere. All over the floor, the machine and the person standing in front of the machine.

In this instance, it was me standing in front of the machine.


The guy saying "SHIT! SHIT! SHIT!" really loud, trying to reach threw the spewing stream of sugar-free soda and rescue his can before it all ended up on my pants or the floor.

A prim and proper woman walked past as New Boy cursed his can of soda.

I managed the same fake smile that I've been flashing for the last four months and muttered "This darned machine!"

She looked at me as if I were a leper and had just asked her to pick my scabs.

New Boy can't win when it comes to dealing with the dreaded Coke Machine.

From here on out, I dare not even try.

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