Whatever happened to the ____________ that we thought of as ___________ but forgot them because we were doing ___________?

Posted: September 19, 2012 in Random stuff--read at your own risk!
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I’m sitting here wondering “What the hell?”

I feel bad, sad, happy, indifferent and whatever else is there in my mind.

The world has been messed up for awhile, at least as long as I’ve been on the dirt ball called Earth, so I doubt that’s what the problem is.

Though, always remember kids, wars and stuff are bad.

I know a big part of what’s ailing me at this moment in my life and hopefully, it’ll get straightened out for the good soon, but if October 2nd, 10 am, passes without resolution, still, that part of my life will be over too.

It’ll suck but the road will continue on.

And I’ve already found a really nice spot to put my card board box, right behind the Meijer store.

Wifey is not allowed within 100 yards of the store so she’ll have to find some other place to put her box, possibly in the forest by the driving range.

My spot has a really nice view of the drainage ditch, and there’s an air vent, keeps the air around 75 degrees, year around!

My current house doesn’t have that, though, I’ll miss my neighbors who sun bathe nude.

Maybe they can come over to my new pad, the Kenmore refrigerator box I found.

It’ll have a sky light when I’m done.

There’s other stuff in the mind, chances for jobs, did they like my chaps, the ones that exposed my butt cheeks?

Does the check out girl at the adult video store really “in love” with me like she says, or is she like my wife, and is just trying to get my choice spot behind the Meijer store?

Her name is Angie, she likes to write erotic fiction about hamsters doing it with elephants and might be a Cancer, but not sure, she doesn’t remember her birthday.

Angie likes to drink down cough medicine late at night and then call me, asking me if it’s hot outside or is it just me?

I usually answer with a “It’s me!” and we both giggle like dead school children looking for a swing set to haunt.

I’m sitting here watching Roseanne, writing a blog about my life, about as personal as I will get in my career as a non-paid blogger.

I have at least three fans in Iran, they’ve been following me for years, my treatise on the magical world of nude Twister with a guy named Bob, my tales of snorting cocaine off the belly of half naked Texaco gas station owner as Vanna White spins the letter.

I wonder what they think about all that stuff that is the American Dream.

Once, I received an email from one, he was wondering where he could buy a can of processed cheese.  He knew where to find a transexual named Steve for the rest.

I told him Walmart.

Walmart is the best place to find the American Dream.

Elvis shops there as does Richard Nixon.

“Aren’t they dead?” someone asks from the back of room.

“No, they just hide really good!”

Anyways, I’m still not sure what the American Dream is.

I use to think I knew, a fast car, a faster lady and a big bowl of ice cream.

Then I thought, well, a semi-fast lady would be nice, the car could be a tricycle with a monkey on it and well, a big bowl of ice cream.

Then I thought, well, a monkey on a unicycle would be awesome.

Course, the ice cream was still there.

Chocolate ice cream.

Then, as I hit a point in my life called, “You fucked!”, it was all about chocolate ice cream.

And rum.

And your mom.

Anyways, my thoughts gave up on governmental issues back before the dinosaurs died off with disco.

Though, till 1996, I use to make topical references to current politicians and entertainment stars.

Nowadays, I just use Richard Nixon and Ringo Starr.

And Tony Danza.

I love you Tony Danza!

And Rachael Ray.

I’ve been her stalker since the early days on the Food Network.

Though, unlike Candi Wilson, I do not have a tattoo of her on my left breast.

It’s on my right, the same side Rachael sleeps on in bed.

So it’s 3:25 in the morning, I’m still writing, because, when I fall asleep, I dream I’m working in Washington DC as a politician’s advisor.

Fashion advisor.

I tell Mitt to wear bell bottom pants as they’re all the rage.

And he does!


Why does Mitt?

“I trust you!”

He trusts me?


And in one single moment, in my dream, I bring back bell bottom pants.

And the Edsel.

And the guillotine!

I wake up with a smile on my face and then reality hits me.

Reality sucks.

I’ve tried going back to sleep but now, when I do, I dream of Antonio Banderas, Johnny Depp and we’re making love on the beach, sand goes everywhere, where sand should not go.

I still wake up with a smile on my face and then reality hits me.

Still, reality sucks!

But for some odd reason, there’s sad everywhere.

Where sand should not be.

I’m still sitting here, thinking about stuff.

I think I either have ghost mice or a brain tumor because over the last few weeks, I see glimpses of mice running by, but they don’t seem to distrub anything, and magically disappear into the walls where the only holes were made by my fist.

The one I spotted was as big as a raccoon!

“You’re dying!” my doctor told me the other day when I told him the above.

“How long do I have Doc?”

“Possibly another fifty years…you still messing with the widow Shanna?”

I nod.

“Make that five months….if your wife catches ya, possibly a few hours!!!”

I’m still sitting here trying to figure out this thing life.

“What do YOU want to be when you grow up?” the TV asks.


I remember back in my school days being asked that by the school pyschologist.

And replying “Alive!”.

That answer got me six weeks of ‘after school counseling’ sessions with Mr. Randell.

“Are you depressed?” he asked.


By the way, this is the wrong answer to give to a school pyschologist.

I received another six weeks of sessions.

I discovered myself back then though, I was a peacock trapped in an elk’s body.

I still to this day have no idea what the hell that meant, but, well….I AM A PEACOCK TRAPPED IN AN ELK’S BODY!

Who wants a tuna fish sandwich?

“What the hell!”

Good night and have a better tomorrow!




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