Magazines

They finally got a new chair at work. I,ve been sitting in the same one for at least three years. I guess everybody got tired of the stink. I ruined that thing. I have pushed so many terrible, dark, sour odors out of my butt and deep into the fibers of that old chair. I,m surprised it lasted so long. I gave it everything I had. I would release gasses so foul and potent into that jester,s throne that it would sometimes stink for days. Now it,s in the trash. That once proud monument to perseverance and tolerance is now rotting in a landfill like some common sanitary napkin. Rest in peace, baby girl.

This new chair brings new possibilities, new challenges, and a new canvas on which to paint my unique, powerful masterpieces. It will not be easy. I will be forced to approach this from new, creative angles. The old chair was a soft, cottony mess. Its fibers were loose and forgiving. This new chair, however, is cut from a different cloth. It is a synthetic, plastic, leather-like material. It will not be as easy to penetrate its walls and imbue it with the stench of my innards. It will be difficult, but I am up for the adventure.

Storm & Stress - Under Thunder And Fluorescent Lights My first step will be to change my diet to consist only of raisins, garbanzo beans, and milk that is teetering on the brink of spoiling. I will put these three ingredients together in a filthy saucepan and I will slow cook them for several hours. My home will be filled with the stink of victory. My bowels, overwhelmed by this perfect storm of rancid, inedible slop, will rebel with gasses so horrendous, so lasting, so magnificent, that this new chair will not stand a chance. There will be but one victor in this fight, and the victor will be me.

Sleeping In

My friend is staying at my house with me for a few days and now I,m scared to poop. That,s totally untrue. I,m still going to rip some gnarly ones, but I guess I,m kind of scared of him hearing. It,s not the act. It,s the sound created by the act. My place is so small and the bathroom is pointed right at the living room. There,s not way out of it unless I wait until he,s asleep and my weak, tender bowels will have nothing to do with that. They run on their own schedule. I am just the humble vessel which they control.

Speaking of bowels, I was going to meet up with my ex-roommate today and have a tasty, nutritious lunch, but when I called him to see what was up, he said that he was in a hospital bed because he started dumping blood out of his pooper and became so weak that he couldn,t stand. I talked to him a day and a half ago and he was totally fine so I don,t know what happened. I hope he feels better soon, though. Blood does not belong in the toilet. It belongs in your veins.

Calculator - This Will Come To Pass Tomorrow I have to go to Napa and play a weird, probably empty show with my Death Cab For Cutie cover band. I don,t know anything about it. I don,t know where it,s going to be or who we,re playing with or when exactly it is. That,s good. That way I get to hope that it,s in a winery. I want to play to a bunch of bewildered, rich, old, white people who pay eighty dollars for a bottle of wine. That,s all I,ve ever wanted. I would also like to get free crackers and cheese.

Stand Up Straight

I never had a crush on a cartoon character when I was younger, but I think that is a pretty normal thing to do. I,m sure in elementary and middle school, kids were getting their hearts broken when characters in their favorite cartoon liked other cartoon characters. I,m sure there is a cutoff point when having feelings for fictional animated characters becomes too much. I would say that being older than fifteen and feeling that way is probably pretty weird.

People my age still do it, though. There is an entire nation dedicated to profiting from the idea that cartoons are worthy of sexual and emotional feelings. It,s called Japan. They make cartoons with boobs all the time and people eat that up. I don,t get it. All of the boobs are always wet and perfectly spherical. That,s not how boobs are. Maybe that,s the point. They are weird looking and the people that like that are into it so much because they have no idea that those boobs look weird. They,ve never seen a real boob. They were raised on the fake stuff. Their mothers fed them animated milk when they were babies.

Zapp - II I remember I once asked this guy that I knew if he had ever masturbated while looking at the tattoo on his arm of a topless lady and he told me that he had. I think that takes guts. It takes guts to do it and it takes guts to proudly admit it to somebody. I respect anybody who can look down at their own forearm and reach orgasm. I wonder if his tattoo was on the arm he used to help himself. It would probably be better if it was. It would look like she was sensually wiggling. I bet that would help.

Right And Wrong

The other day I sat on a huge bus for four and a half hours. It wasn,t all at once, but it was all in one day. I had never been in one of those tall buses before. It wasn,t as cool as England wants you to think it is. I sat on the top for the first half and I sat on the bottom during the second half. Each section had their own pros and cons. Overall it was stupid, though.

On the first leg of the trip, I sat on top in almost the very back. I used to sit in the back of the bus in middle school because that,s what the cool kids did and I was cool. I thought it was be the same now, but I was wrong. There was a girl who was sitting near me who sounded as though she had just regained consciousness after having extremely invasive brain surgery. I had never heard anybody talk like her. She slowly and sloppily puked ,,words,, into her cell phone throughout the voyage. I never looked at her, but I would bet the million that she was slowly blinking one eye at a time on accident.

Nico Muhly - A Good Understanding The second leg of the trip was spent downstairs. It smelled like a urinal cake. I think that,s because I was sitting much closer to the urinal cakes. There were trash/puke bags tied to every seat down there. Some of them were full. The people downstairs were much quieter with the exception of a very entitled, boring looking girl who barged her way onto the bus at the last second. I don,t even think she paid. She charged her phone the entire time and yelped rather than spoke. She complained on the phone to a relative. Her attitude matched her stupid face so perfectly that I was awestruck for quite some time. She was a miserable beast and if I never see her again, it will still be too soon.

What I learned that day is that buses are stupid even when they are terribly cheap. They are slow and the drivers are almost as incompetent as the passengers. Everybody cusses as loud as the can the whole time and even the quiet old guy holding flowers figures out some way to be annoying without ever actually interacting with you.