You've acquired abs. I won't mention Dan Bailey in this blog, despite his fantastic everythings.

I want to reacquire abs like they're some kind of special skill you get from killing a dark wizard in a role playing game. I want to slay the ab monster and take his lumps and place them in two rows on my stomach. I'll invited people over for a taco dinner and they can grate the cheese on my abs.

Actually, right now I'm talking to a few people online. My body must have terrible circulation because my hands are cold in different spots. Like a chain of islands who's getting pelted with rain on its side the always faces the sun.

I'm living in one of those moments where I have 10 things I want or need to be writing about, but none of them are going from the back of my face out my fingers and onto the screen that you're reading. I'm also living in another moment where this dirty cup hasn't moved from my room in a while. It should just go away, for real.

Right now, I feel like both of those people. The man, because he's turning a knob hard, trying to show that nun what's up. And that nun because she knows in about 10 more years, some dude will invent Pong, and she'll dominate her monastery until God decides to give her cancer or touch her with an AIDS dick.

That last line was so tasteless.

I wonder what Tony Blair does now that he's no longer Prime Minister in England.

I've been thinking about how great it'll be when I live in a house with two other people. We'll be making music all the time and raising our voices to scare off the things that haunt us when sound in the room disappears. We will stare right between each other's eyes and know that everything will be alright, even if it's only some of the time.

You should go listen to some sweet R&B, nod your head, lay it back on a pillow, and stare at the ceiling until it's morning. Do it, please. I don't want to be the only one doing that.