Hey Hey In the HayLoft!!!

Ever increasing is my hatred for the question "so how are you." All it really is is just someone wanting to keep up appearances they care. You could pretty much say anything and they'll either say "well that's good," or "oh Im sorry to hear that." Fuck off. If you're crying do you really want someone around going "oh that's not good." To me, that's like someone standing around in a happy moment and going "oh, that's not bad." No shit. Besides, its my experience that most people who ask that are just trying to make themselves feel better. Happy people can't stand people that aren't happy. Sad people can't stand people that aren't sad. That's probably one of the reasons everyone always picks on me. I manage to do both at once. For example:

Sad: So I don't know what to do about everything. On the one hand, but then on the other. I just don't know. I feel so wrong in wanting this because I feel like ultimately its asking him to do something he doesnt want to do, but I don't want him to change. Its just like I feel like hes not going to and thats fine, but i dont want to lose him either.

Sad: I mean, Ive really been racking my brain in terms of what to do. It's like, I've never felt a passion like this for anyone else ever, but was that all there is to it? Then I think, of course there is, we have so much in common. So that robs me of wanting to just say, "well it was fun while it lasted" because aside from this, and those concerns way down the road (which could change) I don't see a problem. But then I think, as I often tell other people, maybe I'm just in love with this mythic figure that he represents, because the fact that he's going to be so far away is a part of it. But then I think, yeah, but just because the physical distance exists, there doesnt have to be emotional distance.

Sad: I don't know any more. I want it to work out and i just dont know how. I feel like this relationship went from like invincible and full of passion one week, to well, this. It's unfair for me to say the passions not there because it is, I just dont know how to get around this blockade. I wonder, is there something I'm doing too? There must be. Am i missing something? I don't know. I mean ive tried to find out. I'm not one to run from blame. I always take responsibility for my actions so long as I know what they are. I just dont know what to think. I'm not even sure what to do now. If I call him up and end it, I feel like I'm being rash, and if I don't, I feel like I'm just going to make things worse in talking to him about this yet again. I havent talked to him in a whole day--that may not seem like much, and maybe it isnt. But its the first day we havent talked, and on top of that, minus the one hour we did talked the other day, really, its been more like two or almost three.......................

I dont know any more. I think I'm just going to curl up in a ball and die. Well, maybe not die. Maybe just think of death. I dont mean like death is in my life ending. I mean Death in terms of that sexy bastard in a cloak. I bet he's hung like a sceptor. Yum.

I have the sudden craving for something grape. That feels rather odd consideirng, but okay. I have been drinking a lot of white grape fruit juice. Hmm.. But that's not it. I want regular grape grape flavor.

Speaking of which, I for some reason just remembered this guy in my first grade class who used to chew on crayons and eat them. I asked him once what purple tasted like and he said grape. Poor crayons. And here I feel bad everytime I grind on of my colored pencils inside the slot of the sharpener.

I mean think about it. What if there was some sort of toy story esque world behind arts and crafts in which pencils of any sort had minds and souls. And what do we do but slide them into a series of knives and cut them up, torturing them, and proving them with a life of slow agonizing death as we then procede to drag their heads along the ground cementing the serious hell they'll be until they become but just a stub? It's shameful! It's dispicable! It's murder.

Poor bastards. My god. Look at them all. *slowly pans across my room. a faint but heavy music fills the room with sorrow as across the wasteland that is my floor, my eyes scan across the bodies of one slain pencil after another, after another.

Why am I suddenly in the mood for a scotch and a man slave named Bokechuck? I don't even want to know. Honestly, the things that come and out of my head. If only I knew someone who would teach me how to make those flash movies, think of the great shit I could do. But alas noone i know knows, and since noone ever reads these long winded entries all the way through I'm sure noone will be able to see this, which is a moot point because they probably dont know either.

Fuck. I've got to go. As if I wasn't seriously depressed enough, tomorrow i have to go to the most boring class in the world. It's just one of those classes. Let's say it was a class on rainbows. You'd go and she'd be like "well.. today were going to learn about the red in the rainbow." She'd get through all of them in seven weeks even though we could have just bought the book and known all that without wasting the tuition, and she then gives us a test. Except the test will be all like "if the altitude of the troposphere where the zenith of the light rests, at what angle will a viewer have to be if she is traveling seventy miles an hour east from St. Louis and the train stops for fifteen minutes so the conducter can get a grilled cheese sandwich." I'm so not even exaggerating.

FUck! Is that a cockroach? Grrr.... It's not that I hate them. I mean I won't touch the fuckers because I can't stand that creepy crawlyness, but I'll approach them and everything. I'm pretty guy like when it comes to that. I'm usually the one my friends will send and they'll be all like "ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh its a spider! omg! you so totally have to save me from it," and I'll be like, okay, easy Brad, easy. Its that I can't kill them. I'm a pacifist. So I've got to somehow figure out a way to trap them and bring them outside and I hate doing it because usually its such a chore. You know how fast a fucking cockroach can run? Not to mention it can reduce its thickness by like a hundred percent or something. I just can't bring myself to squash it. I mean, most people look at it and go, oh god its so disgusting. Well, while admitadly I wouldn't want to touch it, or wind up in that Temple of Doom pit like Indiana--yeah buddy--I'm not going to kill something just because i twas doing what it needs to do to survive. Well, unless its a squirrel. Fucking nutsuckers. I just wanna rip their little beady eyes out of their communist heads and use them against themselves when the war comes. Oh it'll happen. It's a conspiracy. I've told you. Why do you think they're so jumpy and race up into the trees. S-Day will come.

Oh wait... that's not a cockroach. That's not a cockroach at all! That's an olive. *spits it out. Ew god. I hate olives.

Oh what an awful taste. I need something to wash my mouth out. No more coke? Crackers? Chips? Ooh.. how bout some Pistachios?

You know what I hate? Hate. I hardly ever use the word and mean it, but I do hate hate. So if I say I hate something, I usually don't hate it. But I do hate hate. That said, you know what I hate? People who say brb and then come back twenty minutes later. No not thirteen--twenty. And even so. Just say BBS or something. But if you say BRB it's like you are entering into an informal contract to--get this, as absurd as it may be--Be RIGHT back. I mean I have things to do, you know. I can't afford to just sit around throwing a ball against a wall.

( ) *throws ball against wall
( ) *catches it
( ) *throws ball against wall
( ) *catches it
( ) *throws ball against wall
( ) The ball hits the wall
( ) which is tall
( ) and does sprawl
( ) as the ball
( ) hitting the wall
( ) which is tall
( ) does fall
( ) down the hall
( ) from the wall
( ) which does sprawl
( ) and is tall
( ) off which the ball
( ) did fall
( ) down the hall
( ) to a wall
( ) by the wall
( ) that the ball
( ) did first fall
( ) and does sprawl
( ) but not so tall
( ) as the wall
( ) that had the ball
( ) fall
( ) from its tall
( ) wall
( ) and the ball
( ) on this wall
( ) does fall
( ) as the ball
( ) did fall
( ) from the wall
( ) across the hall
( ) off the wall
( ) that was more tall
( ) than the wall
( ) of which the fall
( ) now did the ball
( ) in the hall.
( ) That is all.

Yes, this witty massacre of a classic theaterical great is just but one of many songs to be found on the three disc set

Act now, and we'll throw in this never before seen footage of Les Miserables bloopers. See the real opening night they didn't want you to see, and the light on stage hand catastrophe that the federal government deemed too obscene for media coverage.

What's the deal with things that start with X when they really should start with ex? I mean that really bubbles my beef barley soup, if you know what I'm saying.

Did you ever see that episode of P.P.G. where they were paid in candy and they start making up crimes themselves just to get some? Bubbles takes a piece and she's like:

It's the cutest, funniest, oh so awwwwwwwwwiest episode ever...or not. I dunno. But that gives me an idea which I'm going to send to rolling stone, mtv, and Vh1.

You ever wonder if way back when when they were developing the game known as cards the guy who was supposed to model for the game, Penisopian, was sick, and so instead of a giant P all over the cards, they have a J because the King's gardener Jack was a stand in? Imagine that. If you had gotten four of a kind with them you could have said, "uh oh Bobby, looks like he got P all over."

Okay so I didnt update the journal last week coz i have been fuckin busy with the assigment for the course i am doing at School. Anyways here is something again. Yesterday I had this dream where I was following around a bunch of celebrities who were researching future roles by actually doing the job their character was doing. It was kind of odd because there were a lot of them, and they were all really random and obscure. The funniest one was Carrie Ann Moss playing a subway conducter and learning how to hook and unhook the cars. For some reason I decided that her movie accent is fake and she actually speaks norwegian. What all that means, I just can't say.

Well then you need Ex-Off, the world's number one spray in bitch removal and pesticide.

I would have taken that further, but you know what? I just don't have it me right now. One of my closer friends is sick, I'm mad at Peaches, and the only other person that I really wouldn't mind talking to right now has kicked me out of her life.

It's not my business to tell you the details, even with coding the names, but I will say this, for a whole year I have watched that guy suffer for this girl who treated him--and treats him still like crap. I tried get him to see he deserves better, not because I wanted him--I mean I'd love to be with him, he is straight and I'm smart enough to know it would never work and value him more as a friend--but because he deserves better. He wouldn't listen, and so for months he ignored me. Then one day Marion comes back--not so long ago, and tells me I'm right. I was thrilled for him. Finally he had become free, at I least I wanted to be thrilled for him. He had such a sadness and anger about him. He was still doing that thing we all do after a break up, you know, trying to make the other person mad enough to change themselves for us? He couldn't do it, so he changed himself again. He went back to her.

I told him a long time ago, I could support him, but not this relationship. Back and forth he'd come crying to me, and go running. I never will understand why the guy comes to me--come to me--for answers, and run when away from the truth when I give him. The sad thing is, he already knows the truth. Marion is no fool. He is simply hiding behind this, and I don't know why.

That much I will tell you because it's important you understand how ridiculous something like that is. Look, I'm a hopeless romantic. I don't discount the possibility that a person can fall in love with another person over the internet or phone, I did once. But what I do discount is that you don't go a year and a half of being in supposidly THE relationship without seeing each other. Something there is wrong, and I'm sorry, but I dare you to prove me otherwise. I dare you to tell me my Mr. Black is right about this.

Then again, I too fear for him. One day I saw something in him that truly scared me. I never told him. And so, I was sort of glad he backed away. What did I see? I saw the end of that relationship, and what he might become. Maybe this is simply another case like Orange or Indigo where he's just afraid of what he'll become. It terrifies me something so handsome as my angel Marion could turn into a horror like they've become.

Who knows? It's early yet. I wonder how the others are. Star I can only hope is still as happy as the day we stopped talking. That was my fault, but that's another story. Lestat, is well, Lestat. Little did I know that love--that horrible delusion of something I couldn't help turn sacred--would be the purest of all I've ever known.

Now you see, here's my fear better put: take poor Marion as he is--this handsome beautiful angel of a thing,a dream for any guy/girl to call his own--but then take Lady Mantis. That is my fear right there. He could become just like her if only for that anger I know he keeps so close. Mantis was once like Marion, too. I was fool enough then to think the same I do of Black. I thought that what I saw could be avoided as I always do. Only with Marion have ever felt that risk worth taking, but it is a great risk nonetheless.

Or, he could wind up exactly like poor Lady Soap. She didn't want to listen to me either, and so look what happened--she thankfully didn't keep hoping to be with that guy she idolized who led her on, but instead, went with some poor guy who trapped her in a relationship she felt she didnt deserve to be out of, and now with his child, is forever doomed to that life of lovelessness.

Godiva is the only one of them that from the moment I first met him, through the moment I fell for him, and all throughout the time I've known him, as remained the most beautiful and forgiving person I have yet to know. His beauty has never faded, and in fact for all he's been through and all he's done, he has only become a brighter soul. He too has found himself in a relationship he needs to find a way from me, and like them all, I too can see him becoming something truly unworthy of all he could otherwise be. But there isn't a soul on Earth right now, more worthy and more deserving of my love and trust than he is, and if there's one person I would wish to find the truest happiness of all of us, it would be without a doubt my beautiful Godiva.

But as it stands, right now I am alone, as I think I needed to be for a while. Today, I am going back to that store, and I can only pray that I find some good to come of it. Perhaps I am putting too much faith into something so full of the chance of fear and pain--but that's the road to love. Love is the most sacred thing in the world, and no person has ever become holy without knowing first how to be wicked and sinful.

Somewhere out there I have to believe that fates of conspired for all that has happened to happen for all of our benefit. If we a miss a train, or get sick and skip a day, or feel the sudden whim to go out for a walk, as if for no reason, I must believe that in fact there was greater reason than we ever could appreciate.

I truly believe there is reason in all things, but I also believe that's its not our reason. That is the most important point we all seem to forget, is that life and the way it leads us does not on the merits of what's best for us, but what's best for it. We are just a part of life--but it goes on forever. There is reason for all things, just one we have to learn to accept, even if we don't approve.

I don't know what the dreams meant I had last night, about celerbities taking odd jobs to prepare for roles. It's interesting to think about it though: celebrities who take the job of being actors, pretending to be other people in movies, must first train to pretend before they can actually pretend. I don't know what that means yet, but I'm really going to think about it. Maybe it means I'm not ready for a role. Maybe it means I'm pretending to be something i'm not. Or maybe it means that I know what I'm doing? I don't pretend to know, but I will go on in spite.

When I go in that store today, I put my faith into fates hands and trust that life has a plan for me. If it is that I never know happiness and forever am doomed to misery, and to rot in hell, as they say, so be it. But I will not lie down for it. I will not just let it happen. I am a romantic damn it, and if I die for love, I'm going to live for it first.

This is going to be a long night, I can tell you. I think what I'm going to do is lie backwards on my chair and stare up through the ceiling until I can actually see through time.

I figure, if I can only see through time, I can figure out how to go back through time. Impossible you say?

Israeli scientists have developed a theory which now may prove through the manipulation of gravity's forces, it possible to build a craft, and from the point of it's construction in time, to any point there after, have created a time line which may be travelled. This is fantastic. So, if I build such a machine now, in twenty years I can travel back in time to that point, because I can't go further back evidently, and hurt myself for wasting all that effort in building a machine just to go back in time to the point when it was built. What a fucking moron.

But this is really great, I mean think about it. They build one of these things now and in fifty years, some Neo-Hitler goes back in time a la Back to the Future 2, and with a history book from 2050, manipulates events so that by the new 2050 he's become a god. That's really what we need.

Still, there are benefits. We could build one and put it with a family to guard it, locked away safely in some secret military bunker that's absolutely safe. So, when nuclear war comes, that family, or its descendents can go back in time and try to stop it.

Of course, I would think that if someone went back in time, the universe itself would explode--pop like a bubble wouldn't it? I mean have they ever considered that? I mean the universe is finite, we just don't know how big it was. If it was infinite, as I think I said, the sky would be white for all the starlight that's accumulated. So, based on that, we can also assume that energy, and therefore matter (based on einstein's energy equals mass times the speed of light squared theorem) is also finite. If this is true, the world as we know it is like a water ballon filled to the brim, or an egg if you will. If we injected more liquid into it, the ballon would pop and the egg would break. So, it's only natural to assume that if someone from the future comes back in time into the past, that extra matter, upon being injected into the fabric of space time, would undo existence as we know it by destroying us all in a fantastic explosion of unbelievable horror and inconceivable pain.

The good news is, I've just discovered the secret to the rapture. I mean hello--israeli scientists--jerusalem--holy land--time travel--rapture? Oh I think it's pretty damn clear. Well, all I can say is it'll make those fundamentalists happy, and even Tom Cruise. Why? Because they can all now rest happily and say without a doubt that science is killing God.

Hell should be nice. I mean, what can I do? I've evidently done so many things to deserve no better. I take responsiblity, I don't deserve better. But honestly, who deserves hell? That seems a little harsh. I mean say what you want about those who torture people and perform the worst and most unthinkable crimes against humanity, but hell seems a little harsh. I'm a humanitarian, I suppose. I just don't see the point of it. I know you could argue, well, it's not my place to. Divine command, and all that crap. Whatever. I'm not saying I know better. I'm not saying I could do better. All I'm saying is, if you created man, and he's supposed to be in your image, and your image is perfect because you are perfect, there shouldnt be these things happening. And if these things arent happening there shouldnt be hell. Oh and that original sin crap. I thought we were made after Him. Has he original sin too or did it just get mixed in thier when God was going through the ingrediants and spilled a bit too much oil in the mixing bowl?

Note to self: Do not open water bottle cap with teeth when bottled water is frozen. Will break jaw when air pops cap at ninety miles an hour.

I just spilled freezing fucking water all over the one area a guy most definatly should not spill water, and just when I was getting sleepy. Well howdy doo, I'm WIDE the fuck awake now. But honestly, I guess I asked for it, huh? I'm thinking of making a tiny model ship and playing titanic with it and the glacier in my water bottle. But first.... the hunt for dry boxers begins.

in the Tom Clancy sequel that critics are calling "nuclear" and "a movie worth starting a war for"

Okay, so I'm not quite there yet, what with seeing through the ceiling into the past and stuff, but I'm definatly starting to see something resembling colors and a mushroom which is now turning into a penguin--no, a bus stop, and a horse is riding by with General Patton naked eating a taco--no, a bundt cake. I don't know what that means? Maybe I'm looking into an alternate universe? Oh god. Is that Roseanne? Is she wearing a tiarra? Oh, no. Phew. It's okay. A giant buff Woody Allen just smushed her with his twelve foot penis.

*Sits on the ledge and looks out the window--the reds and purples, the orange sherbert sky, and pink cotton candy clouds, and yes, feels it coming all back. For not since being back out north have I felt like this. These are the words. These are the notes. These are the sounds of a music that got me through the day, and filled my dreams with nightly soul.

*strums guitar....................................................................

...................*sighs and strums.... ....... ..... .... ..... ..... ........

*strums to fade.. and loses self out the window as the music stops to fill me once more....

A sip won't do me justice, and these strings can't give me love. But a vision of beauty can give me heart, and a second of song can give me soul.

I can't sleep. I can't breathe. My head hurts. My heart hurts. I just want to fall asleep. I just want to dream the pain away.

If I just said that's that, I might get used to the nothing. I might learn to be happy being unhappy. But when you keep shooting for the stars, you're bound to fall with one. When you keep trying to have something, you risk losing it again.

M.J. turned her back on me. Lei, like Free, baits but never takes. Peaches sees me in the distance and brings me in when its closer her own good. Mirage is an illusion. Godiva is a memory. My so called friend Jules is but a wall I cannot hope to climb. Whoever I'm forgetting is not giving me a chance. And my Handsome Boo? I cannot say.

I have such a headache. I think that means we're the winter has started, or that Sandy Roberts is on her period. For some reason that makes me want to write a song about menstrating timberwolves. Don't worry. I'll restrain myself.

I'm just not in a good mood. You ever feel like you're spine is all twisty and as hard as you try to stand up you feel like you are slouching? Well, my soul feels like that. And for some reason, that made me think of Coming to America, yea the movie starring Eddie.

So let's see. I started this entry thinking I will not make this one depressing and all I'm doing is bitching and moaning in the same way I did the last, so even though I'm feeling increasingly miserable, I think I need to do something different. Maybe a haiku about creamsicles:

Yeah.. that really didn't do me any good and my back is really starting to hurt almost as much as my head.

But yeah.. my head and back are really hurting. i feel on the outside like I feel on the inside.

I actually wanted to use a different actress than Patricia Arquette, who as we all know, will always remain that trippy little nut job from Nightmare on Elmstreet III: Larry Fishborne's big break..er.. I mean Dream Warriors. The one I wanted to use, I can't remember her name, and so obviously I can't look her up. Whenever I'm flippin through, i always see a commercial for a lifetime movie with her in it--because evidently, all they do is show commercials? I didn't know this. All I can tell you is she was in this tv show I loved, that was really short lived, about this spoiled high priced executive who gets fired and so moves in with her secretary and I want to say they live above a bar, or something? All I remember as the bartender would always flirt with her and the secretary had a brother who's that guy that does the thing. That's all I know. Good luck with that one.

Point being that I'm just not happy right now. See, it's deceitful because I'm trying to be all funny and perky like a blonde girl on prom night, well, before the seemingly sweet senior guy forces sex upon her and she realizes he was just using her and nothing meant anything, and the next day he goes out with her best friend, and it's like, Tammy, how the fuck could you do that? And so she starts to cut, you know, and its like, omg.. this is all because I am so fat. I mean look at me. And you just stand in front of the mirror and go, alright Megan.. it's time to just take a deep breath and binge like there's no tomorrow. So first you just like, you know gorge yourself on chocolates--the chocolates Mike gave you right before he started sleeping with your now ex best friend, and like you know it's just I don't know. And then Bobby came around, and he's really nice and all and is really actually the perfect guy for me even though I wont realize it till im 49 and its too late by then cuz right now im just interested in superficiality even though it always winds up hurting me and im too inept to realize it because I just watch way to much WE, but he's gonna come over and I don't know cuz my friend Jessica sort of likes him but you know maybe it would make Mike jealous. I don't know, but you know I gotta throw up anyway, so yeah. Byez.

Damn.. maybe I should have written a song about menstrating timberwolves after all...

(A gazjillion points if you can tell me where that's from and your head on a platter if you don't.)

I think the good thing, though, is at least I'm calling attention to the fact that all this randomness is a coping mechanism in dealing with the overwhelmingly stressful and depressing. You know.. sort of the way you start to see things, and taste color every time you're ripping your hair out because someone decided to play that Barbara Striesand song except you thought it was Gloria Estefan and you had gotten out your clogs for nothing.

I suddenly am feeling really depressed for no appearant reason. Don't you hate when that happens? You are feeling, if not happy, content, until suddenly it hits you. You just sink deep down into it. You can't help it. I can't help it.

I'm tempted to just go to sleep, but I'd really like to be more productive. I've been studying on and off and I think I've got it down. I'm just bored. If it wasn't so late, so cold outside, and I wasn't undressed, I'd probably go out and just drift. There's nothing like good driftage when you are depressed.

I'm playing Red Hot Chili Peppers which if you ask me, is pretty anti-the mood I'm in which is making me a bit edgy. But what are you going to do? I'm too lazy to change it. Besides, what would I change it to? I've got thousands of cds on my computer, and I never seem to know what to play. I don't watch tv any more, but I can't help feel like that couch potato who just keeps flipping through all the channels no matter what's on. I don't know. What's it matter?

I've only got two pretzel sticks left. Study fuel is far and few between here. I think I've got two cokes left too. That won't buy me much time. I don't know. Still, I wish I had something better to do. There are plenty of things I could do, I just want to do something with substance.

I think that's a big part of why I'm so down. With me on a break frm school, I am for the first time in a year, without any real purpose. I'm not a boyfriend. I'm not a student. I just am. That's a terrifying thing, I think. I just want to be something and someone. I won't even go into needing someone as well.

Ah who am I kidding? I don't need to go into it because I'm always into it. I hate being alone. What's worse is, I keep reading these entries about how these others are just as alone and just as miserable. Most all of them seem really decent and beautiful guys. I don't understand it. Why is it we all exist, but exist apart? Are we so tragically destined? It's so depressing.

I moved my picture of rapture man to my desk. I like looking at it. It's a shot I took with my professional camera, manual 35 mm, black and white, of a man at night, in the city ranting. He's wearing black trousers and a white shirt like a preacher might, and he has a beard. He has a name tag pin--like waiters wear sometimes--which reads "where will you spend eternity." He is also holding up a bible with a sign attacthed to the top reading "the winds of the end are blowing. Be wise and repent. The time is fulfilled. The end is at hand." I shot it purposely blurry so the lights of the city would seem sort of etherial and since its night time, they shine like stars. The creepy thing is, he's looking off to the side, but his right eye is looking at me anyway, and it almost looks demonic.

*phone rings*

brb.

Twas my cuz from Orlando. He's all into agriculture and science, but he's such a stoner, it's funny. Our conversation bascially involved the magical powers of soil and guys named Aaron and Justin.[BTW he likes grlz but he spkz to me abt a lotta guys] Don't ask. But now I'm not depressed any more. I feel home sick, like that's where I should be. [Oh! ya i consider my aunts place my home]. I don't know.

It's kind of cool because he and I are the last of our namesake. That means I've got to procreate baby! Eh. I'll do it later. Right now I just want some soup. I got so pissed off today. One of the Grlz's at School looked like she was eating split pea soup, but the cafe didnt have any. I was tempted to bring back into use my paper mache axe, but then I remembered I threw it into the lake with the remainder of my DT teacher. Oh well.

I need something more to drink. I'm really wanting some alcohol right now. I'm not a big drinker and I can't think of anything in particular. I just want to be tipsy mc fuckin sloshedhead, if you know what I'm saying.

Random thought: wouldn't it be great if they built a room completely built out of pillows? That's where I'd want to live. That's it! That's what I'm going to do for my organization. It's perfect. Now, I just need some money.

Okay, now I'm depressed again.

You know what I'd like? Some runts. I love runts. I mean, whoever invented that candy must be a genius. We take fruit.. and canditize them. It's just pure brilliance. I like the bananas best. Mmm.. banana-ee.

I'm losing my mind, aren't I?

*goes out looking for it.

I give up.

[UPDATE] PPL if you are gettin' bugged of my long posts, lemme know i will use LJ CUTS [/UPDATE]

Crockman comes to you live via the Crocksatielite to bring you this urgent Crockmessage.

Last we heard, he had stolen her majesty's collection of Andy Warhol paintings piece by piece.

Please turn in to the local authorities or send it to the Crockcave if you know where it is which of course you dont because Crockman keeps it a crock secret.

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