HALLOWEEN IS NOT MAGIC-THAT"S DAVID COPPERFIELD

Happy Halloween.

One of my worst memories as a child happened on Halloween. I lost a spelling bee, because I couldn't spell H-A-L-L-O-W-E-E-N. I still think about that loss to this day. It stings even 30 years later.

SCARY THOUGHTS.

I've spent the last hour "re"-searching "slutty pre-teen Halloween costumes" at the local library. I am sure that all the library patrons are ready to call the cops on me just because I'm a little creepy. At least I didn't title my article EYE CANDY like Newsweek Magazine did. Newsweek magazine better watch out. I just might zip their article over to Bill O' Reilly. Bill will go ballistic on them. After he's done masturbating to the photos that is.

SCARIER THOUGHTS.

David Copperfield is no CHOMO, but he might be a rapist. According to FBI at least. I find that hard to believe. I mean the guy owns 4 islands. He's an illusionist. A master magician. He can hypnotize small animals. There is no way in hell that any girl would ever remember being raped by him. Anyway, I hear his penis is so small it's real magic if his dick makes it to your vagina. He should get an award for being a real wizard. Not jail time with my boy Micheal Vick.

IF I MADE AN EFFORT WOULD YOU FALL DOWN FROM THE SURPRISE OF IT?

I have to say I am sorry. To all 20 of you. My readership that is. I haven't been posting. It requires me leaving work and taking a trip to the library, or it requires me to get up early and make an effort to write before going to work.

As you can see... that's asking a lot of me. It's been a month now of working and I have hardly posted about that at all. I figured I have been at this for 4 years and all I have got to show for it is a lousy 10 readers or whatever. Nobody cares, and nobody notices.

But then I read over this blog. And after an absence from the immediacy of writing I noticed that I really suck at blogging. And the fact that 5 of you have stuck around for this long speaks well of you. I should be shitting in my pants for you...or... well you get the point. You Rock! That's the point. You should get a blow job for all the hard work you've put in trying to decipher the gibberish that passes for insight on this blog. And if you don't have a dick, you should at least not have to swallow when you perform a blow job tonight. Again for all the hard work you put in. If your spouse (significant other) needs verification on this point-just send them over here. I'll vouch for ya. No need for the spit patoon today.

Oh. And I am gonna try again to write a bit more. I promise. Just like the last time I promised. But you know what they say about the cycle of abuse, I mean you read that flyer about domestic abuse the last time you volunteered with the Breast Cancer Awareness March. You read it cover to cover. So, I think you know the bad times we've been having are now safely in the past, and we are headed towards the UP CYCLE -you know-the good times. When the all those pleasant feelings and super emotions I will soon be giving you make up for all the times I've punched you in the head.

I don't mean to punch you in the head. It's just I've been drinking a lot lately. And you know how I am not myself when I drink. But I still love you. That's why I get angry. If I didn't care so much I wouldn't get so god damn mad at you. And start blaming you for shit that you didn't do. Like not trying to calm me down after my panic attacks. I bet you didn't know I was dying inside my head. How the fuck are you supposed to know that? I guess I just live in a fantasy world. A fantasy world where people can read my mind. Or even if they can't read my mind they take the time to consider things from my point of view. But who am I kidding? That's not how the world acts. I bet you don't even realize how scared of dying I am right at this exact moment. That I'm a bit panicked over it. I'm having a panic attack right now. But I'm going to be OK. And I don't need you to tell me I am OK. So stop looking at me like I'm the crazy one. You wouldn't even care if I died.

I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. I know you'd care if I died. But it probably would take me dying before you'd ever got around to noticing something about me. I'm just saying.

Go pink!

I know how you are bored of hearing about Britney Spears' big ass, so go read this.

I've been at the computer at my local library this week. Today I have a few extra minutes courtesy of some glitch in the Library's software, it keeps extending my time by 10 minutes, so I guess I will take a couple of them away from applying online to present to you a great link.

I like Moral Philosophy debates and this a great one.

I'm still alive

Which I guess is OK. All I know is that since my computer doesn't work you guys have missed out on me defending Micheal Vick. I think most of you know my postition on animal rights and PETA lovers. I can't stand them.

I talk to an ant.

I had a conversation with an Ant
who mistook me for god.

"Whatya doing?" I asked the ant.

The ant replied that he had a plan to walk the entire length of the Universe.

"Did you know that the Universe is big?" I asked the ant. "It's 300 billion light years across. It will take you three days past eternity to walk that far."

The ant thanked me for the information, and excused himself so he could continue on his journey. "Seems like I've got a ways to go." Chirped the ant.

As the ant crawled over my foot, I picked him up, and squeezed his head till it popped like a pimple.

"God doesn't like gumption in little people." I explained to the headless carcass smeared on my sock, "Not one bit at all."

Hey Y'all computer is still down!

That's right
So you have missed
out on me yelling
a lot about
the supermodel
who survived the tsunami.

It made her a "better person."

I'm glad it took nearly getting killed, a few hundred thousands deaths, death of her fiance and the ruined lives of a few million people
to wake up a s skinny, hot, rich, supermodel and
get her to appreciate life.

I think she can now live life one day at a time.

I wonder if the Holocaust was for Paris, but just missed her birth by 40 years or so.

Three Little Words

Those three little words will get you into a lot of trouble in life. First, she will look up at you and say the words like she means it. Her mouth will part. Those sweet little red lips will move. They will tell you to do things. Things you would not do yourself. Those lips of hers move and then you find yourself burying bodies in the desert.

"I love you."

She stares straight into your eyes and you believe. She has on bright red lipstick and perfect white teeth to match. Her blonde spiral perm is blowing in the wind. She kisses at your bottom lip and then your chin. She moves the shovel out from in between you and presses against you.

"I bet you want me to dig this." You think in your mind. It's best to keep thoughts like that to yourself. After all you are burying little dead grey aliens in the Arizona desert. You hardly need anything else dramatic going on.

"After we're done I am going to show you Flagstaff, you'll love it." She tells you. You've been to Flag before and hung out at her old college sports bar and you didn't think it was such a big deal.

Are you going to remind her that that she's taken you there before? No. That would be a bad idea. The last time you were there another girl had tried to get your attention by standing in front of you and the big screen. And Rhonda got pissed. Made a big scene. Rhonda threatened to kick that girls ass. You had to plead with Rhonda to leave. That it was no big deal. That the girl had a big ass and you were in no way interested in her.

Rhonda was a bit nuts. Which is probably the reason you are standing 2 feet deep in a hole that you've been digging in for the last hour. The heat is killing you. The sun is near set, but it's still at least 96 degrees out.

Rhonda must be nervous, because she is chain smoking. Rhonda always chains smokes whenever she gets nervous. She's sitting in the jeep with the door open. Cigarette after cigarette. She's opened the door so you can hear the music playing. Rhonda thinks the radio will may you digg faster. If Metallica wants to hop out of the jeep and pick up a shovel- things might go faster. Otherwise this is going to be slow. You are not prepared for all this physical activity, even after all the fucking you've been doing lately.