Come over here, I'll show you how to fake it.

I had a great idea for a blog. Now: it's escaped me. I think it was about the books I've been reading.

**

A few goals for tonight

• Mad shower. Not mad, like Sweedish Chef chasing the hen. But mad as in, "No dirt will survive." My body feels like sewage plant.
• Bark at the moon, Ozzy-style.
• Play Super Nintendo.
• No Chinese food.
• More water (at least three more glasses, my insides are sandy)
• Sleeping in a semi-circle

**

Alright, so I'm broke. Not shocked. My salary is river breeze: through your hair and off in ten different directions by the end of the day. No good. I mean, part of it is my fault, which is fine. Live and learn. Part of it is the economy. Part of it is the economy not letting me get a better job or take risks. Shittttt.

I want to go back and watch me spend money that was never there. I want to be standing behind myself whenever I blew 2 grand on carburetors, a throttle linkeage and a transmission. I mean, who does that? Seriously, a husband cringes when he does that for his wife's Camry, minus the carburetors. You add the carburetors, and that's bad math, sir. Maybe if I was able to be six inches from myself, it'd make a lot more sense now. Because, as I stand here at my work computer and type this, I'm making this really wry face. Probably photo-worthy, but no.

**

Wait a minute....

Alright, I don't judge people on their sexual activity, but umm, isn't auto-erotic asphyxiation supposed to simulate being choked? So like, my man David Carradine was pretending to die, then he actually did? Shoot, I'd say mission accomplished.

**

I'm really, really sick of seeing Jack-In-The-Box commercials when there isn't one within like 500 miles. Quit it. Your food doesn't even look good, suckers.