Wednesday, October 27, 2010

Set 2.

- I was waiting to catch the subway and I saw an ad that said “Being positive keeps you healthy” and I thought “Not if you’re HIV positive.”

-I don’t care how smart parrots are supposed to be. I can’t respect anything that thinks nighttime and having a blanket draped over you are the same thing.

-I really hate hearing the phrase “What’s the worst that could happen?” It makes me think of all the awful things that could happen. Taking your dad’s speedboat out for a midnight joy ride? Your girlfriend’s face could get caught in the motor and then you’d have to spend the rest of your life feeding her apple sauce from a tiny spoon and trying not to stare at her. Your un-ending guilt would keep you in that personal hell, where your own misery is only topped by the misery of the mangled shell of the woman you once loved. That is the worst that could happen.

-My roommate’s cat obsessively licks the hair off its belly. Sometimes I can hear her making supping sounds in the hall. At times it is disgusting, and at times I envy it. I can’t even come close to licking my own belly. It hurts my neck to even look down too fast.

-I hate the idea of those Camelback water sack things. I hate them because it’s gross seeing grown men in sandals and Oakley’s sucking on a tube coming out of their running shirt. I also hate them because it’s only a matter of time until I buy one and fill it with pudding and get really fat, on the go.

-We have a big box of Milkbones at my work that we give to doggies that come in with their owners. Yesterday, a man was staring at the box for about 2 minutes and then asked “What are those for?” I said “They’re dog treats……..for dogs” but what I really wanted to say was “You are so dumb.”

-I really want to drink whatever’s in the tiny barrels around the necks of St. Bernard dogs in cartoons about the Alps. I bet it is fucking awesome.

-I would not be a good serial killer. I am too small to move bodies or overpower people. I am clumsy and would leave clues everywhere. I would freak out and dispose of people in really sloppy ways, like just leaving their dead body in their own driveway and then having a panic attack and writing a little “sorrysorrysorrysorry” note and pinning it to the body. The second someone asked me what I’d done the night before I would say “Serial murdered someone.” I would keep trophies of my kills all over my house and if the police ever came over to question me, I’d just let them in and say “Sure, what have I got to hide hahahahahaha” and laugh awkwardly and shift my eyes back and forth rapidly. Oh, and I also couldn’t do it on a moral level.

-I am getting to the point where I am beginning to feel like maybe I’m an adult. And then as soon as I think that I realize I am standing in my kitchen licking the butter from the inside of a microwave popcorn bag.

Tuesday, October 26, 2010

Set 1.

-I like taking shits at work for a number of reasons. One reason is that I am getting paid to shit. It is nice to make money to do something that is easy and necessary, and that I spend a lot of time doing for free. Another reason is because I get to stop working for anywhere from 3 – 6 minutes. I can spend this time doing anything I like, so long as I can also take a dump at the same time. I can read a magazine. I can reply to text messages I’ve been neglecting. I can sit in thought. These are all things I would rather do than work. Another reason I like it, and this is some weird psychological thing, is that I find it satisfying to crap food back onto my job that said job has afforded me. It’s like “Yeah, fuck you, the man.”

-All of Chinatown smells like the inside of a drawer.

-I don’t want to own plants. I own one plant. It plagues me. I have no idea how to take care of it. I might be killing it. I water it when the soil feels dry. I hope that’s right. There are instructions on how to care for it on the little plastic pot it sleeps in, but I already set it in a larger planter and I’m afraid if I pick it up and take it out to re-read the instructions I will drop it and then it’ll be really fucked. A cat can let you know when you’re starving it. A dog gets sad if you leave it in the sun too long. They make sounds and sad eyes that let you know you are a bad owner. A plant says nothing. They don’t even have the will to give up a clue that can save them. By the time their stupid leaves are falling off, it’s too late, and I’m just annoyed about something else to do with my plant (sweeping up dead leaves.)

-Sometimes I wonder if my life would be easier if I was satisfied with boring shit, like Boston Pizza and Michael Bay movies. But then I realize that I would have to worry about accidentally marrying a murderer, because that only seems to happen to boring people.

-I wonder if I have a weird thing with my eyes. I am good at picking up on when someone has a walleye or a lazy eye or a glass eye, and I wonder if it’s because my eyes are weird. Maybe when I look in the mirror they can focus normally. Maybe when I look at a camera they can focus normally. But what if the rest of the time they are goofy as fuck? These are the sorts of problem I worry about.

-I work at a video store. We rent porn films to people. I recently came across two similar titles. One is called ‘100% Blow Jobs’ and one is called ‘100% All-Star Blow Jobs.” I want to know who would be stupid enough to rent the first one, when the second one exists? We should just get rid of ‘100% Blow Jobs’ altogether. I feel bad for it.