Posted 1:36 PM by Alfred

not feeling particularly inspired today, but the boss is heading out for a little while, so i'm gonna take this opportunity to babble for a little while.

what is it about the late hours that everything seems so frikken meaningful and deep, and then you wake up in the morning eat breakfast drink coffee go to work and it all seems like a fukn chore again with little or no tangible substance or essence beyond x,y,z. you know, algebra, x=y+z. waking up=breakfast+coffee. work=call people+type crap. lunch break= drive+eat. writing blog=go to blogger + type crap.

cool. someone called and ordered some crap. little crap. but commission for me. every little bit counts. word.

was listening to Body Count this morning, that old Ice-T with his heavy metal band album that had tipper gore in such a fukn uproar ten years ago. probably the main reason that i didn't vote for gore, besides the fact that he annoyed the hell out of me, was that i could not abide by that self-righteous censoring hobag being first lady. i'd rather have fukn martha stewart as the first lady than that dumb bitch. anyway, i've got the OG body count album WITH the cop killer song on it. I still can't believe that Ice-T pussed out and pulled that song off that album. anyway, whatever. some of the other songs on that thing are way more hardcore than that, i mean there's one where he chops up his mom for being a racist bitch and hating his white girlfriend and scatters her body pieces all over the country. oh well that's ok, but just don't talk about killing cops. bullshit.

the weird thing is i'm not really in a bad mood right now. seriously. it's just that, i don't know, sitting here looking at this frikken computer i just don't feel the super neato meaning of life jumping out of the refrigerator with a fukn glittery cane and singing "always look on the bright side of life"

i know i've used that line before somewhere in here. it's from monty python's meaning of life, which if you haven't seen, go rent it.

i just don't have the energy right now. i don't feel like being clever, funny, amusing, i just feel like typing enough crap to the point where this looks like a decent sized blog entry. then i'll head over to google and type in the first phrase or word that comes into my head, hit image search, and whatever picture looks good, even if it has nothing to do with what i'm writing, ya know, especially if it has nothing to do with what i'm writing, i'm gonna slap it on here. i'm not gonna spell-check this, i'm not even gonna read it over. this is my new art for the day. fukked up crap. it's so artistic that the artist wanted you to feel the angst and issues he was having, so he couldn't sell out as far as checking it for errors, that would be like throwing a wad of donkey shit at the mona lisa. no links either, not for this blog entry, that would involve going back and reading this for words to link. i just couldn't sell out like that. not this morning.

that's it, i'm out of words. i was gonna add a paragraph about my sam snead og golf clubs, but i don't know, it just seems so cliched. i mean, everyone blogs about their rusted out ready for the trash but you hold on to them cuz you never know when you'll throw that old ratty golf bag full of rusty clubs over a fence and sneak onto a golf course with a 40 ounce of Schlitz and play a few holes with the big boys. i mean, god, i just can't be that typical can i? i won't. i refuse. and i would go back and edit out this paragraph if it didn't go against my current beliefs about editing and reading crap and giving half a fuck about who or where or how my words are interpreted.

do you speak chinese? i don't.

exit: stage left. lights dim, curtains close. audience looks at each other in stunned silence and horror. sound of birds chirping. end scene.

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