You just made my list!

Hey everyone, sorry but I’ll be back tomorrow. Does that mean “sorry that I’m not back today” or “sorry that you will have to start reading my poorly written, useless thoughts again.” You decide.

I’m sorry to say that I need to take a break from the list. I honestly feel very bad about it but I have some personal issues to deal with first. I’m just not able to complain about American Idol and poop right now. I don’t know what else to say. I’m sorry.

I hope to be back soon so don’t totally give up on me.

If you know me personally, there is a good chance you know that I hate to poop. You may also know that I can go several days without pooping. Those poop-free days feel like a gift from God. I would imagine it feels not unlike getting a call from the Governor that spares you from the electric chair.

I am not trying to be funny or outrageous with these claims, I honestly hate everything about pooping. People often try to convince me that “pooping feels soooo good” but I will never understand how forcing a tube of warm, smelly feces out of my butthole is supposed to feel good. I feel sad and humiliated while taking a dump. You know the way most dogs look embarrassed when pooping in public? I’m sure I look exactly the same every time I poop.

Pooping at home is bad enough but the panic I feel when I realize I am going to have to shit in a public bathroom is unrivaled. Taking a shit in an airport might be the worst thing to ever happen in my life. NO, pooping on the plane is even worse.

I need to go lie down.

p.s. I love farting! I just wanted to clear that up.

I try to avoid the mall. Not because of some great protest against consumerism or because I think I’m better than mall shoppers, it’s really just that I don’t shop very often.

The last time I visited the mall I made the mistake of walking into a Hollister store, or maybe it was an Abercrombie & Fitch, and thought that I had accidentally walked into a haunted house or possibly that I had a stroke which rendered me blind. Have you been in these stupid pieces of shit? They should hand out fucking night vision goggles at the door because you can’t see a god damn thing! Apparently the easiest way to show that your store is cool(?) is to turn the lights off and watch your confused customers bump into each other like blind mice in a maze. Maybe this is a sign of being “old” but I can’t spend more than zero seconds in one of these dungeons without feeling like I am part of a sadistic experiment.

What’s the appeal of their clothing anyway? Why is everyone so happy to wear a shirt that simply says “Hollister” across the chest? I don’t fucking need to know where you purchased your shitty shirt, I can already guess. Oh, and another thing, not only can you not SEE in these stores, you also can’t BREATHE! I’m not sure if it’s the Axe Effect oozing from every douchebag in the store or if they pump in some mind controlling chemical that turns you into a dcouchebag, but either way you will find yourself crawling in the dark desperately trying to find the door.

SORRY! I didn’t have a chance to write anything today, but this pretty much writes itself.

You know what I’m talking about right? You go to 7-11 to buy some beef jerky, a 2-liter of Extreme Mountain Dew and the latest issue of Juggs and when the grumpy clerk hands you your change he also hands you 15 receipts, rendering your hands useless. You’ve got the bag of porn in one hand, your open wallet in the other, and now you have to figure out how to hold dollar bills, a bunch of dimes and 40 feet of receipts. The stress builds, because after all this is a convenience store and the fact that you are paralyzed by your inability to handle all this shit at the same time is becoming very inconvenient to the growing line behind you. You panic and your brow begins to sweat. Holy shit, why is this happening to you, WHY? You fall to the floor and cry in the fetal position. Right? At least that’s what I do.

Is it too much to ask for them to hand me my bills first, followed by my coins after the bills are tucked in the wallet and THEN my receipt? Actually, just put the receipt in the bag. Am I alone in my thinking here?

FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK OFF!

I have always hated American Idol but this season has taken me over the edge. For some reason I keep seeing it every week. Specifically I keep catching this season’s “rocker” Adam Lambert perform, and each time I want to dig my eyes out of my skull and shove them down my ears while smashing my face through the TV. I fucking hate the fuck out of this prancing turd and his eye makeup. I would spend every penny I own (which is like 207 pennies) just to have the chance to kick him in the smooth area where his balls should be.

Music is dead. No, the music industry is dead. Everyone, including supposed indie bands, are so fucking into their look and their image now. Even a band like the Strokes, who pretend to be dirty and disheveled, spend just as much time picking out their outfits as the American Idol douchewads. Fuck everyone, what happened to awesome, ugly, dirty, sweaty bands like the Minutemen or the Replacements?

If this clip of Adam Lambert taking a shit all over Johnny Cash doesn’t make you want to go on a killing spree then you need to kindly punch yourself in your penis and/or vagina.

After working a 16 hour day yesterday (and not writing for this website) I finally let my head hit the pillow for a good night’s sleep. As usual I woke up feeling less-rested than I felt when going to bed. I hate my dreams.

My dreams consistently include 3 major themes: frustration, fear and celebrities. My dreams will often last for what seems like hours and usually end with me waking up feeling terrified, stressed or both. I might spend the night shooting raisins at Corey Haim or maybe I’m driving Miley Cyrus and a vacuum cleaner around the city while she sings “Don’t Go Breaking My Heart.” Both of these nightmares are real. I also recently had a dream that included a magazine on a table called “Manhole Weekly.”

Last night was a typical dream where I try to accomplish a relatively simple task that ends up becoming complicated and stressful. The short version of last night’s dream is… I went to buy a 12 pack of beer for an engagement party of a girl I worked with 12 years ago. When I arrived I thought it would be funny to call in to the talk radio show they were listening to and make some joke specific to them. I finally got through to the station and was put on hold. In the meantime they had switched the station. I walked into the room they were hanging out in, spilling and trying to gather beer cans the entire time, and tried to find the correct radio station for my ruined joke. In my dream, this was like a 15 minute process. Finally I said fuck it and sat on the couch with Philip Seymour Hoffman who was dressed as a priest. I excitedly told him my band had been chosen to do the soundtrack for a new blockbuster movie called “The Reconstructionist.” Upon hearing this news he became intense and pulled my head onto his lap. He stared at me and said “is that right?” and then his eyes became totally white for about 2 seconds. This might sound dumb but in the dream this was terrifying. I sat up and said “I guess I will just sit up now and shit my pants.” Then I woke up from fear. It took me a good 15 minutes to get over how scared I was.

Just another typical bullshit night!