01 March 2007

it's a mexican standoff. and i don't have a gun.

slowly but surely i'm losing my fucking mind, folks. i mean it. if this is a sign of things to come, i'm going to be one of those blue hairs in the home, not knowing my own name and calling every one bobby with my sleeves full of kleenex and food hanging off my chin laughing at my own jokes and they're going to be tying me back into my wheelchair because i'm going to keep setting off the alarm when i keep running outside to show off my shuffleboard skills in the courtyard in my velcro s.a.s. shoes to all the other bitches in the cafeteria, tryin' to pick up a sugar daddy to pay off my student loans that are still prolly past due 'cuz that's how i roll.

sadly, some days i can't remember my own name and i'm already laughing at my own jokes. it's not looking good for the home team. like today, today i threw away my debit card and i had to dig through the trash to find it. it was at the bottom, mixed in with the swedish meatballs the gran massa champ made for dinner. that was awesome. combine that with the fact that he recorded the entire episode and plans to put it on youtube, i felt like a goddamn genius, gump.

while i was looking for my debit card, i found that i'd thrown away the gas bill and the insurance bill. and i swear, that wasn't on purpose. that just sort of happened. not that i threw away my debit card on purpose, that was a complete accident too. i'm a retard. but it sort of explains maybe why i don't pay my bills? maybe...?

and then tonight i went to plug in my phone so it would stop beeping at me and i couldn't find my phone charger. which was weird because i spent a good 20 minutes looking for it yesterday and finally found it in a perfectly logical spot, which is always the last spot to look. so tonight i ripped apart my room and the sofa, again, for the third time today, and still couldn't find it. and as it turns out, it was in the roommate's room. why? i don't know. because i'm retarded. i just walk around and set stuff down and leave it.

thank god i don't have children. can you imagine? i'd get all sidetracked at target or best buy or something and just set the little fucker down and leave him there, get home and be like, 'oh hell, i left tommy at target... again. but look at this new food processor i bought!'

new fish today. i got an algae eater for the goldfish tank. i think i'll call him hoover. he's not very cute but hopefully he's effective. i also got two gourami to go in the ugly tank but after i put them in there i just want to apologize to them; what an awful place to live. boring and ugly; they'll prolly commit little fish suicide by morning, hold their breath or drown or something.

speaking of fish, i think i may have another sickie. i think roger is ill. he's either taken a liking to playing dead or he's dying. he's starting sleeping upside down, like belly up. i don't think this is normal fish behavior. and to the non-believers, to those who say fish don't have feelings, i say meh! fish have feelings; as roger lies belly up, dying or proving a point in peaceful protest or whatever it is he's doing, the other fish try to console him. or maybe they're paying their last respects, i'm not sure. maybe they're like, 'yeah man, i remember how this went down with bernie, so when the pasta spoon comes for you, i want to be prepared. you were my best friend, man. remember that night, when we got all crunked up with that sheila chick and took my mom's car out to the lake and drove it off the pier? that was totally out of that risky business movie except sheila totally didn't look like rebecca demornay and i can't dance like tom cruise, cuz i have sponge bob hips. but you were there for me man, god, roger, i'm going to miss you...'

fish totally have feelings.

what am i going to do if roger kicks it? and i don't mean like old school, beastie boy style, so-whatcha-whatcha-whatcha-want. roger is the reason i bought the fish tank in the first place. i had to have a fish i could name roger. omg. i think i'm going to cry.


big kitty is sick. i had to find a kitty doctor today and we got kitty medicine. he's such a trooper. his new doctor is dr. riley, she has great hair. she was all, 'has he suffered any trauma lately?' and i was all, 'well, his father abandoned him and we moved to this god forsaken city and he's living with a homo who makes him do tricks and tries to make him wear a collar.' no really, i didn't say that. i thought about it though. that would have been hilarious.

but my poor kitty! he comes from a broken home! he's a product of divorce. he'll never have a normal relationship. hehehe...

i need to go to bed. i'm dumb.

peas out.



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