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12.21.2005

 
The closer I get to the holiday break the louder the Nightrider Theme plays in my head. Someone had better be waiting with a beer and a bongrip outside the Library's main entrance on Friday. Laws be damned I'm kicking up my heels.

You'll notice the sparse decoration round these parts, and it's probably gonna stay that way for a while. I'll do something fabulous whenever I decide to sit down and futz in Photoshop. I'll need to clean my bathroom before I do that. Judging from the state of my bathroom and the likelihood that I will touch anything that gross with anything less that a flamethrower (which I don't have. Wink Wink, Hanukkah present, Wink.), you might as well settle into this look. Just you me and a dog named Tim. You don't like it, then I'd be glad to accept a free, full version of Flash from anyone, as well as the newest Photoshop. Nothing inspires me more than the opportunity to dick around with something new and exciting.

My toilet is broken. When I flushed it and it just filled up with water my exact words were "ah, shit." Sometimes language is so apt. APT!

Just so you know, I really hate it when people put dried fruits or candied fruits in cookies or cakes. If no one eats them by themselves, wrapping them in sweet dough is just going to piss people off. They'll bite into something that looks and smells delicious only to find that it is filled with malicious and vile tidbits of evil. How dare you, madam.

Everyone around me is getting married, and all I can think about is going to Bhutan with The Flaming Lips and DJ Shadow. And Samuel L. Jackson can come along too. Goddamn that would be sweet.

I actually had a dream about DJ Shadow the other night.

It was nowhere near as great as my other dream though. I give you my greatest dream ever:

In this dream I am mildly retarded. And I live at an institution for the mentally/physically handicapped. I overhear one of the men in charge of the facility talking about something terrible that he did, embezzling lots of money or some other high-end, white collar crime. He notices me and I run away. Now I, and my bumbling but lovable bunch of misfit retards must solve the mystery, and protect ourselves against an evil bunch of retards working for the man in charge. The evil retards are led by none other than retarded Scott Bakula in a wheelchair. Of course the ending is a formulaic one. We triumph but with the loss of the cute, lovable, youngest retard in our gang. I hold his hand and we all sort are sad but don't really understand what's happening or what to do, and everyone in the audience would be bawling their eyes out. It was a fucking amazing dream. When I picture it in my head I see my gang and Scott Bakula's gang facing each other down on a playground, looking tough, while a giant gryphon towers over us, watching the whole thing. Yeah, that's just how I roll.

Fucking Nightrider. I am so out of here.

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