GET ME A HAMMA

That's what I would say if someone offered me a job as a dental hygienist. Just saying. Yep folks, still unemployed. Getting desperate. I just might dress as a taco and dance outside the Mexican restaurant.

No shirt no shoes no service is such a friggin lie. If a woman walks in a convenience store topless and no shoes, SHE IS GETTIN WHATEVER THE HELL SHE WANTS.

"Here are the keys. Will you marry me?" Because you know those fools behind the counter aren't getting any.

Sat in a car for hours today. It sucked. Not because I was in a sweaty seat for hours, but because of the reason for the trip. I miss that dog, I just couldn't say anything around my girlfriend. She's probably going to read this at some point, but by then, her pain might have been lessened and my promise would be fulfilled. I wasn't negative at all today for her, and it was semi refreshing, but I felt like crying with her. I feel awful, because I know my guilt. I hope she knows it too.

Bit of a change of pace, eh? Changing it up again, yknow, I have grown to hate car trips. Because I feel like I ain't had a rash that bad since I was two in diapers. Sweating in the same seat for hours!! It was gross AND painful. Got to thinking about that. No wonder toddlers hate those things, watertight whitey tighteys! Freak, I'd run around the place starkers too if I knew what was coming to me!
"Bobby, here's how life goes, you're going to sit in a plastic bag and when someone notices you've been sitting in your own excrement for an hour or two, then someone will switch it out."

Those hippies might have something about those cloth diapers...

What is thy bidding my master

I'm about to kneel and owe my allegiance to this burger joint wearing a hooded cloak. Had one of the best burgers ever. The Boston. Pastrami, swiss, carmelized onions and mushrooms in a arterial sclerosis bliss. It was like entering a pastrami lined heaven of no vegetable goodness.

Titleless, why do I need a title?

Working at the pizza parlor, this lady walks out with her kids. Names have been changed to protect the fact that I can't remember them.
"Bobby, that's why you go to college" lady pointing right at me.
I wanted to throw my towel at her.
"LISTEN LADY! I am GOING to college and you know where that's going to get me? THE SAME PLACE!"

Also, i was thinking, isn't Clue by Parker Brothers up for a revamp. I had an idea. I call it
APOCALYPSE CLUE
see colonel mustard is this Terry Hogan beast of a dude with a giant mustache, rippling muscles and a gatling gun, Ms Scarlet will be this red ninja, Mr Green will be this lizard zombie man thing, Mrs white will be a white cloaked witch with a flail and a human skull, prof. plum in a lab coat splotched with purple blood stains and his purple hair slicked back straight up in the air, and mrs peacock will be this woman bird, TALONS LOTS OF TALONS.

Haunted house, wild cards thrown in at each turn that are represented by ghosts or zombies or mutants or ghost zombie mutants. IT WOULD BE GREAT!!

I'm gonna write an email to PB right now :)

As I sit

I'm conjuring what to compose about, because as you know, I'm not writing, I'M COMPOSING. Music, as much as I love it, I don't think it carries over much, unless you count the hard rock I'm listening to. I've also got Bioshock 2 paused for a moment, the endless fish swimming by becoming annoying. It's too late to keep going on this game, but I've ended up so close I almost have to. I've been applying at all sorts of places, and even considered doing a freelance bit for Game Informer. That should be interesting, if I'm even considered for the deal.

I'm writing to consider the implications of my last blog. I offended folk, I cussed a great deal, I signed on for ads to be on my blog so I can see a slight trickle of cash in my pocket. and yet. I'm rather indifferent about the ordeal. I stand by what I said about everything and everyone. I don't seem to really care if I offended anyone. All the same, it's not like I didn't think things through.

Writers block. Is it the same as lack of motivation? I feel like it is. That seems to be the only thing between me and commercialism paying for my spa trips to Hawaii. If only I was on the streets and had a better way of organizing my ideas on paper. Or rather written format. I just feel like I have nothing good to write. Regardless of various friends and do-gooders around me assuring me otherwise, I haven't found anyone that has experience in the matter, willing to read something that isn't refined from a student with paper saying they're qualified to write. Can you qualify something like that? Is it quantifiable? The artistic muse, the desire to create, even if it is something as garish as my written prose. Should I not be allowed to express myself, regardless of how poorly, if I don't have something signed by some faceless entity, assuring anyone that reads it that I am qualified to do so?

Doesn't kill my desire to learn the craft, rest assured, I still need an education. But it's almost like identification anymore, not so much education. At least that's how it feels. I'll write about it once I reach the other side.

Don't feel cynical today, so don't expect to laugh. Though I am dreading the moment I set foot in that pizza parlor. Sure is going to be a joy to start up working there again. For crying out loud, I'm a trained banker, not a dough flinger. But there is humility to be had, I'm sure.

Droll. That's what this is. Does anyone care this is written? There's no real value to this, you're not getting a laugh. You might at some of my earlier ones, to be sure.

I weep for my species. Especially if I'm the sample. Good heavens, leave it be.