Twas the night before the rhyme

Twas the night before Christmas
And all through the house
Not a creature was stirring
Except a guy acting scouse
He was playing Ringo, the lovable brit
And generally acting as if being high of his tits
He wasn't really, he was just bored
"Locked in my house", he angrily snored
The blond neighbour babe said "Your own damn fault"
"And don't call be babe, or your eyes will get salt".
The tall guy in the corner said "I am not gonna rhyme"
While the readhead brought the shorter guy a lager and lime.
"But you hate lager and lime" said the redheaded spoilsport
"And I bet that you can't rhyme that" she said with a...



"Dang, you were right", he said, and found a thesaurus.
For he had lent his rhyming-dictionary to his neighbour Morris.
"Another word for spoilsport", he said out loud.
"There is no such thing", said the tall, non-rhyming, jerk.
"You can make me rhyme!", said the redheaded girl.
"You can make me rhyme, for exampel, words like Luggage and Twirl".
"Why are we doing this?", said the girl from next door
While the short guy was looking for a word that wasn't "floor".
"I throught you had written down the true story about us saving Chris Mess"
"Yes, I did, but I found it listless".
"Maybe next year we can do that, but for now
Chris Mess is safe from Denbys cow*".
"Wait", said the redhead "Chris Mess from down the road?"
"For a second I throught it was the holiday (Perhaps this is a forebode!)
So, see you all next year, my no doubt millions of fans and friends.
End of year one, but we will be back again!


*Long story, and to short a rhyme.
And I am rapidly running out of lager and lime.

Anniversary?

Young: "Jules, how long have I been blogging? A few weeks now?"
Julia: "No, it must have been at least five years now."
Young: "What, no. I was locked up, like, last month. I was blogging for a few days before that".
Julia: "No no, I started working here about five years ago, and you were already blogicating by then".
Young: "Is blogicating a real word? No matter, I will not hear it in my house ever again".
Ashley: "Hey, whattup?"
Young: "Ashley, how long have I been blogging?"
Ashley: "You moved in here, what, in March or so? You had already been blogging for several months then."
Julia: "No, he was blogging before I started working here, years ago".
Ashley: "No, you started blogging a few months before you moved in, earlier this year, and you were hired a couple of weeks later. End of story".
Young: "No, I think it was a few weeks ago since I started".
Julia: "No, several years ago".
Ashley: "Let us just check your to see when you started".
Young: "You're on! Lessee, *mumble mumble*"
Julia: "Why are you saying mumble mumble?"
Young: "Silence. Lessee, last page... One year ago... today?"
Ashley: "Told ya!"
Young: ..."Someone must have hacked my account and changed all the dates!"
Julia: "Yeah, they are all way behind what they are supposed to be!"
Young: "You mean way ahead"
Julia: "Behind!"
Young: "Ahead!"
Ashley: "Hey, whatever happened to Denby? He was a lot around in the early days".
Young: "Good question. I should give him a call. Just to remind him what I did to his daughter!"
Ashley: "Or, what he thinks that you did to his daughter that you were actually to germophobic to do and which she played along with because of an obsessive need to anger her father".
Young: ..."Are you still in my house?"
Ashley: "Yes I am. Wanna play Mario Kart?"
Young: "Sure".
Julia: "Yay, Mario Kart!"

I read a man on the run was able to update his blog

So how come I never seem to get around to it until the last moment or several days late?

A little bit Country

Julia: I got that CD that you wanted.
Mark: Great!
Young: Hey, what are you two crazy kids up to?
Mark: You are five days older than me.
Young: Thank you, but my question wasn't "How much older than you am I?".
Julia: Mark asked me to pick of a Greatest Hits of Country CD.
Young: You like country?
Mark: It is for my cousin... Bob...be...rick... Jackson.
Young: Bobberick Jackson?
Julia: Why didn't he buy the CD?
Mark: It is my christmas gift for cousin... Bobberick. That guy loves country.
Young: Why didn't you buy it?
Mark: I am an icon of sexiness in this town. My attractiveness would severely drop if it was re... rumoured that I love country. I simply cannot be seen near such a CD.
Julia: Wait, were you about to say revealed?
Young: Nice catch, Jule. Were you?
Mark: Alright, I confess. I got two ears and a heart, so sue me!
Young: I didn't think that you cared for 30 Rock.
Mark: Tina Fey is hot, so sue me!
Young: I can't disagree, but, I swear if you tell me to sue you one more time..
Mark: I like that phrase, so sue me!
Young: That is it. Julia, get my lawyer on the phone!

Speedy Delivery

*Doorbell*
Young: "Now, who could that be?"
Deliveryguy: "I got a package. It got this adress, and then just "Julia".
Young: "Yes, she lives here."
Deliveryguy: "Could you tell her to tell whoever sent this that you need to write the full name of the recipient?"
Young: "I am not sure that she has last name. She is like Cher that way. I should find out if she got one".
Deliveryguy: "Riiiight. Sir, if you could just sign here".
Young: "Alright. I'll just write my Button Gwynnett".
Deliveryguy: "Whatever."
Young: "Here you go".
Deliveryguy: "That's your name?"
Young: "What of it?"
Deliveryguy: "Nothing. Nothing..."
*Door slams*
Young: "No good, rotten, stinkin'... JULIA!"
Julia: "Yo!"
Young: "Stop saying that. I got a package that needs attending."
Julia: "I told your father when I was hired..."
Young: "What, no! Mind of my stuff! A guy just dropped this off".
Julia: "What is it?"
Young: "I always forget to ask".
Julia: "Lets see..."
Young: "Hey, do you have a last name?"
Julia: "No. I'm like Cher, that way."
Young: "Alright, what have you got...?"
*Beat*
Julia: "Is that...?"
Young: "It most certainly looks that way".
Julia: "It is from my sister".
Young: "Your sister gives you stuff like that?"
Julia: "Apparently."
Young: "Is it something that you wished for?"
Julia: "Who would want something like that, especially when living in a tectonic relationship with your employer".
Young: "You mean platonic. Platonic means "without romance"."
Julia: "What does Tectonic mean?"
Young: "Moving of the continents".
Julia: "Well, there will be none of that in this house, mister".
Young: "I know. I wrote that rule".

I wonder what I would look like wearing a hat...

I was gonna order a hat online, but Ashley reprogrammed and installed a nanny-filter, that prevents me from surfing online hat-stores. Last time I call Scrooge McDuck a stylish fella.







Who am I kidding, I say that every time I watch Duck Tales.

Adressing the Issues

Julia: Hey, I was looking through your adressbook, and you always say that you have nearly no friends, but there are hundreds of names, adresses and phonenumbers in here.
Young: Yeah?
Julia: Should I repeat?
Ashley: Young...
Young: Stop calling me that.
Ashley: Young, there are lots of friends listed in your adressbook.
Young: Those aren't friends.
Ashley: Then, who are they?
Young: Just people I know.
Julia: For example, who is Big Fred Butt-Stare?
Young: Big Fred? He is a male stripper. He dances at my sisters partys. Nice guy.
Ashley: Why is he in your adressbook?
Young: We hang out before he goes onstage. Hm. Note to self: Find out when Denbys birthday is and send Big Fred over.
Ashley: You got a taperecorder AND a dictaphone now?
Julia: Don't ask. What about Lilli Leggers?
Young: Lilli Leggers, the stripper who is preggers.
Julia: How can she be permanently pregnant?
Young: She is not. She is just front-heavy. I hired her for Marks bachelor-party.
Ashley: Mark was going to get married?
Young: No, He just had the bachelor-party.
Julia: What about... The Olsen Tw... YOU KNOW THE OLSEN TWINS?!?!
Young: Yes. Don and Dan Olsen.
Julia: Oh...
Young: They are bakers. They make the best Keylime pie this side of the Limpopo.
Ashley: I am gonna look up if Limpopo is a real word.
Julia: One more. This one is crossed out. S. Hussein, and so is U. and Q. Hussein... Actually, I think I might prefer to not be certain who they are.
Young: As you should be.
Julia: G.W. Bush?
Young: Yeah, my mother asked me to call him about some sort of job, but I never got around to it.
Julia: What kind of job?
Young: Nothing fancy. Secretary of the Interior, or something. But I didn't want to go all the way to Seattle to take phonecalls and take memos all day and not be allowed outside.
Julia: Seattle?
Young: I was told that the job was in Washington, so...
Julia: Now you are just making fun of me, aren't you?
Young: Yeah. Why were you looking in my adressbook anyway?
Julia: Somebody named Gretchen called, but I can't find the piece of paper where I wrote her number, and she isn't in your adressbook.
Young: ...
Julia: Sorry.
Young: Meh. S'allright. Hey, the West Wing is on!

Clarification

Young just said that Marks non-existing Teddy's name was Lady Hugsalot. That is so cute!!!

-Julia

Mark doesn't know how to blog

But he just wants to let everyone know that he never had a teddy bear and that he certainly hasn't kept it under his bed when ladies come over.

-Ashley

Clarification

Not as much "cute" as it is insanely creepy seeing a, technically, grown man enjoy a 22 year old teddy. It is alright when women does it. That is why my old teddy, called Gloria, sits right next to my bed.

-Ashley

Explanation

My boss, who we have all decided to just call Young, like Ashley suggested, recieved a box from his mother. In there was a teddy-bear. Apparently, it is Youngs old teddy, from when he was a child, named Mr. Teddington. It is really cute, to see a grown man be so happy about a teddy bear. Almost as happy as I am with Princess Cuteybear!

-Julia

No time for Blog, Doctor Jones!

I found Mr. Teddington!

A Quick Update!

1Julia: Hey, did you update your blog today.
Young: Today is Sunday, Jules. Freeze Frame updates mondays.
Julia: Why mondays?
Young: It started randomly, then I just decided to make that the official update-day.
Julia: Oh, Okay.
Young: Ayep. Monday is Blog-day in this house.
Julia: Today is monday.
Young:... Jesus christ, I haven't written anything yet!
Julia: I throught you wrote weeks in advance.
Young: I haven't for several weeks! Find a tape!
Julia: Where are the tapes?
Young: In the filecabinet!
Julia: Where are the keys?
Young:...Where are the keys?
Julia: I spend hours on writing some of them down. Where are the transcripts?
Young: I moved them to the external harddisk and put them in... the... filecabinet... for safekeeping...
Julia: Do you need to update today?
Young: I can't let down my no doubt millions of adoring fans!
Julia: Millions?
Young: I need a tape!
Julia: Where is the key?
Young: Where is the key?
Julia: Where did you have it last?
Young: Where did I have it last?
Julia: You don't where it is?
Young: I don't know where it is.
Julia: Stop repeating me!
Young: Where the heck do we find a tape?
Julia: The only tape not locked in is...
Young:...
Julia:...
Young:...
Julia:... Yes!
Young: No! I need that for recording the rest of the day!
Julie: Then you need to write something.
Young...

Hair today...

I had my hair cut just the other day.It is the exact same hairdue that I have had for nearly 7 years now. Well, technically, it is not a hairdue. It is what happened by being bald for a brief time and then letting it grow long and then asking my haircuttingperson to cut of about yay much.

Anyway, when you start getting hair in your mouth when you eat, that is how you know that it is time to get a haircut. So, I called upon Delilah, of Delilahs Haircutting and Violinrestringing Boutique. I get my violin restringed and my hair cut at the same time. Brilliant. But, apparently she doesn't do housecalls anymore. There was an... Incident. Apparently, violinrestringing is some sort of euphemism over in New Ginsburgh. That is the next town over. Those people are weird. Her latest add reads "Delilahs haircutting and violinrestringing boutique: I do not have sex with people for money!". So, I had to call upon the new guy. Now, Delilah has cut my hair since I was about five years old, so finding a new haircutter is tough. When my uncle Sammy needs a haircut, he just sends a guy over with his hair, but that is not an option for me.

I accept no less than 10 years of experience with haircutting and a graduation with honors from the International Institute of Haircutting. Apparently, the first one is no problem, since I.I.H. shut down in 1985. The problem is actually finding one, since people, for some reason, tend to leave the Institute of their resumes. I guess that it being placed in the Soviet-Union tends to scare customers away. That pretty much left me with two options: Harold Saxe-Coburg-Gotha and Floyd, whose last name I didn't quite catch. So, I just call him Floyd, the Guy Who Cuts My Hair.

A secret sees the light of day.

Hi. Ashley here. You might remember me from the occasional part in the continued story of the laziest man on earth. Julia was typing up old tapes, as [Name Deleted as per subprogram A113] tends to have her do when he is watching TV and wants her out of the way. I swear, that guy has tapes for everything. I mean, I have seen transcripts of conversations where I had no idea that he was taping. I think that he might have recorded everything he said or did from the last decade. Even if he didn't bother to log out of blogspot. So, anyway, I heard portions of a tape, that I think should be shared with you. He already prepared todays post, so I have exchanged it with this one.

Apparently, he has written a program to prevent his real name from being known, for some reason, even if he has no problem using mine, Marks and Julias names. So, I am just gonna call him... Young. As to make the transcript readable.

Mark: 'Sup, man.
[Beat]
Young: I have no respons for that. Julia?
Julia: "'Sup."
Young: 'Sup.
Mark: Hey, do you remember that girl that sat in front of us in class, next to that other girl.
Young: Left or right?
Mark: Left.
Young: Can't say that I do.
Mark: No wait, right.
Young: Oh yeah, the cute one with the glasses.
Mark: Yeah, I ran into her in town. She asked about you.
Young: Me?
Mark: Yeah, what you are up to, these days.
Young: What did you say?
Mark: I told her that you were arrested for a crime so weird that the judge had to option but to give you permanent house-arrest.
Young: How did she react?
Mark: About how anyone would react to finding out that guy they might ask out is not legally allowed to leave his house.
[Beat]
Young: Julia?
Julia: She said "Oh... Tell him I said hi, or, don't, or... Nevermind" and left before Mark could ask if he should give you her number.
Mark: Word for word.
Young: Orw!
Julia: Who is she?
Mark: Gretchen? A cute girl from school. Wore glasses. He had a crush on her. And I think that he could have had her, if he had not been shy.
Julia: Hey, mind if I ask you something personal.
Young: Yeah, but you are gonna ask anyway.
Julia: You can't stand germs, right?
Young: Right?
Julia: You wash hands twice an hour.
Young: Correct.
Julia: You bath a minimum of once a day, more if you think you need it.
Young: Yep.
Julia: You hate sweat.
Young: Where are you going with this.
Julia: Still, you have had sex...
Mark: Hey, yeah. Something is wrong, here.
Young: I am not sure what you are implying.
Mark: How are you able to have sex when you are afraid of just about everything that it involves.
Young: ...
Mark: Hey, get away from that taperecorder! This should be saved for posterity.
Young: I'll save it for your posterity! Gimme that!
Mark: If you can reach it, short stuff.
Julia: Hey, if you haven't had sex, what does Denby think that you did with his daughter.
Mark: Why does he think that you had sex with her?
Young: ...
Mark: You told him that you did, didn't you?
Young: No I... Hey, The Daily Show is on.
Julia: Why would you do that?
Mark: Wait, so those conquest stories that you told me...
Julia: Oooooh...
Mark: Oh what?
Julia: Nothing...

Then Young starts blabbering about the Daily Show, which, basically, should have been todays post. Afterwards, Mark starts singing "Like a virgin", or, he sings the title again and again, apparently because he doesn't know more than that bit. And Julia keeps reassuring that Young that there is nothing wrong with it while Young is explaining the ickyness of sex ("too many fluids and germs and sweat and yuck"). And I decides to be here Monday at 11.59 AM, to see his reaction when this post goes up.

A Marked Man part 2

Some of you might have read about the explosion at the poster factory. Mark says "sorry" and that he didn't mean to. He is saying something about domino, but his head is currently deep inside my couch, so I can't hear it quite clearly.

However, he claims to have no knowledge of the fire in the self defence class.

A marked man

Ashley and Julia went to a selfdefence class, and, as it turns out, a poster of Mark is used as the image of sex offenders. He did some investigation, and it turns out that not only does a former girlfriend work at the posterfactory, another former girlfriend is the teacher in their class. It has really cut into his dating-life and various sorts of lady-pick-upping... Up picking of ladies... What ever the correct grammatic tense is, he aint gettin' any. Which somehow becomes my problem, because he gets stressed and when he gets stressed, he gets annoying. He gets all this pent-up energy, which manifests itself in being like he was when we were 16 years old. And if you spend any time around 16 year olds, you will know that they are jerks. So he has been spending much of his time at my place, playing gamecube and prankcalling people. And he is getting Julia to bring cookies and lemonade, and saying "Thank you, Mrs. S", which is odd as Julia is neither a Mrs. or has a surname beginning with S. So, tonight, Mark is gonna break into both the self defence class and the poster factory and destroy all images of himself.

Don't worry, I already called my lawyer, Ron, to go down and bail out Mark first thing in the morning.

From my taperecorder

Julia - No, you can't.
Me -  Yes I can.
Julia - But you are not from the american south.
Me -  Being a southern gentleman is a state of mind.
Julia - That is the most northern state.
Me -  Hm? No, I said "mind". State of Mind.
Julia - Can't you just be a gentleman.
Me - Haven't I always been a gentleman?
Julia - You spent all day yesterday shooting spitballs at Denby.
Me - He had it coming.
Julia - What about...
Me - He pitched a dang tent on the curb. Look at him, looking at me, the creep.
Julia - You are not from the south and you are no gentleman.
Me - Alright, tell you what. If I can be a southern gentleman, you can be a southern belle.
Julia - ...Really?
Me - Sure.
Julia - Like Vivian Leigh?
Me - Yeah, only, you know, not mentally ill.
Julia - Yeah. I'm going to dance and dance!
Me - You do that.
Julia - Tonight I wouldn't mind dancing with Abe Lincoln himself!
Me - Girl, I said, girl, dat boy is a yankee, and y'all best stay aways from him.

And we continued like that for a couple of hours.

So long, Newman

I had several pages written about this great man, but then this little redheaded spoilsport jumps in an informs me that Paul Newman did not, in fact, bring chocolate eggs on easter. She claims that it is done by some sort of lagomorph. I dunno, I am reasonably sure that I was always told that it was Paul Newman who hid eggs, out of some sort of charitable effort. And gave out little chocolate statues of himself for us to idolize, for some reason. But I digress. Goodbye, Mr. Newman, and thanks for all the chocolate.

I am not being told that he did, in fact, make saladdressing. Well, thanks for that too, I guess. Now, drive your very fast car into the afterlife, and say hi to Richard Nixon for me. I am number 721 on his enemies list. But that is another story.

On a lighter note, this is my 100th post. Yay. And it only took me... ten months? I gotta update this thing more often.

A new occupant of my humble home.

So, I recently learned that Julia has been living here for a while, now. To be frank, I was under the impression that she lived in an apartment in The City and commuted. But, apparently, she has been secretly living here for the last couple of months. I throught that she just came early and stayed late, but no. She has been sleeping on my couch. So, I assigned her a proper room and we got her stuff, which had been stored at her parents, in. Or, someone else got her stuff in. I just said "That is your room. You live there, now. Get of my couch. Gotta watch Gummi Bears". It is lucky that my house has several bedrooms. Anyway, It takes a bit of getting used to. I haven't had a roommate since that time when Mark was in hiding from an angry husband. Not his own, mind*. The husband of his then girlfriend. Or, since they were not actual "friends", in the strictest sense of the word, his girl. Or, since she wasn't actually "his", the female with whom Mark was having a physical relationship with, without the specific permission of her husband. He lived in my old apartment for several months, mooching of my stuff and sleeping on my couch. And watching Tour de France all the time.

I seem to have lost my train of throught. But, welcome Julia.


*That reminds me of another story, that I really ought to tell you, sometime.

This is not my week

Wednesday - The fosset broke and we had to turn of the main water supply. Now I am without water for toilet and handwashing. And my hands are filthy. Or, they feel that way. I better not touch something gross until tomorrow, when the plumber gets here. Like, anything. So, I wrapped my hands in plastic bags, since I haven't got any rubber gloves at the moment. But I really need a bath. So, I have been scrubbing myself with moist towelettes. I haven't figured out what to do if I need to go to the bathroom. I just pray to God, or since I am not a religious man, I just hope a lot, which is probably just as effective as praying, that it won't come to that. Julia, the snarky little thing, has been over at Ashleys all day "because of the superior restroom facilities". See if I give her the key to the toilet the next time she asks to borrow it.

My week is getting slightly worse by the day

Monday - The powersupply to my external harddisk breaks down and I need to send it back to get a new one from the place I got it from. That could take weeks.
Thursday - I learn that the guy who wrote Artemis Fowl is going to write a new book in the Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy series.
Wednesday - I predict that a comet will hit my house, knocking off my bathroom wall.

From my notebook 2

The bible says to not worship Idols. Any religion that says no to Billy is no religion for me.

Status symbols in my world

I have noticed, whenever I imagine living like the rich does, it involves a german butler and a bucket of cocain. In my mind, the german is named Schültz. I don't know why a bucket of cocain. I don't even do drugs, and I am reasonably sure that cocaine is not a status-symbol in most groups. Though it would be cool to offer it to guests. "Can I get you anything? Coffee, cola, cocain? I don't even know where you could buy a bucket of the stuff? Do they give discounts if you buy in bulk? Do I have to buy a few grams at a time? What if the cops find my cocain? I have no intention of selling it, or doing whatever you do in order to take cocain. Sniff it, smoke it, inject it, throw it up in the air and yell "SNOW", whatever. So can they charge me just for possesion? If they do, I will just jump on my tiny pony and ride of. Yes, if I was that rich, I would have a tiny, tiny pony, just for emergencys. Then ride it into a limo. Then ask schültz to drive the limo into my helicopter. Then get him to fly the helicopter into my private airplane and fly to Monaco. Then gamble my fortune, until all I had left was a bucket of cocain, which I could sell to movieactors for more gambling money. Not good actors. Just former SNL stars who think that they are oh-so-pretty that they could laugh over sketches and almost ruin the genius that is more cowbell.

Throughts on South Park

From my notebook:

South Park has sucked a great deal since season 3. After that, it went really far up its own ass and got stuck there. And if you are real quiet, you can hear the muffled yells of "Quick, reference something current to give the impression of being relevant. And be sure to insult all sides of the issue, so that we actually don't say anything and offer no solutions. Ooooh, and jokes involving butts, sex and lots of poop, in order to give the illusion of being edgy, despite being adolescent nonsense".

Happy Birthday to me!

Yes, I survived yet another year. A year of ups and downs and starting a blog that is, on average, read by between 14 to 18 people a week, so it is mainly for my own amusement. But anywho, this is a day for celebration. Of me! I need presents and I need them to be forked over pretty soon. Perhaps some chocolate. Or some sort of entertainment. Gimme!

The most annoying phrase in the world

"All you had to do was follow the damn train, CJ".

Yes, and all you had to do was shoot the bloody Vargos, you fat git! How hard can it be. I am on a motorcycle, trying to keep up with a train. You just have to point the gun in a way as to hit the intended goal, in this case four latino criminals on top of a train, not hiding behind anything.

Actually, I am reasonably sure that Marks least favorite phrase is "I am a lesbian", but only after the sixth or so time he heard it. We decided that either he is some sort of magnet for lesbians, who will seek his friendship and lead him on for a few weeks, until they decide to come out, or, he is a magnet for women who are insecure in their sexuality, and he will lead them on their intended path, or, he actually creates lesbians, in some sort of weird way that makes women actually change their sexuality, AKA, the "There gotta be something better than this for me" theory, OR, finally, women lie to get a quick way out of the relationship. That is Ashleys theory. Mark leans to the magnet-theory, while I prefer the creation-theory. Julia has never met a lesbian, so she don't know if they exist.

Mark claims that it all began down at Club Sinnah, where a crazy girl with red hair, who wouldn't say her name, but just quoted Popeye (I yam what I yam an' dats all dat I yam), told him that he was destined to lead girls to their true destiny. He once attempted to form a threesome, and got a couple of girls, but had to leave them alone for a few minutes, while he was finishing some paperwork, and when he came back, they were dancing chin to chin, around a picture of Ellen Degeneres.

Julia just said that her least favorite phrase is "Call heaven, cuz they must be missin' an angel". Apparently, she has heard it every single time that she has every been out on the town. Yes, I live in a one-pick-up-line town. Mark says that he has a much easier time picking up lady-folks here, because they are facinated by his fancy big-city jib-cuttery and novel pick-up-lines, like "you must be a broom, cause you just swept me off my feet" and "Is it hot in here or is it just you?".

My new answeringmachine

"Hi, there. You have called my house and recieved the answeringmachine. Chances are, I am at home. I have not yet picked up the phone. That probably means that I am either doing something more important than picking up the phone or I have checked the caller-ID and found that I didn't want to speak to you. You can try to yell for a few minutes that I ought to pick up the phone, see what fat load of good that'll do you, but I will most likely stay here, right next to the phone, timing your call. The recordholder is still my mom, with 19 minutes and 26 seconds of yelling at me on the machine. Mr. Denby is currently last, with a single "Jerk" afterwhich he hung up. And Mark, it doesn't count as yelling at me to pick up if you are just reciting dirty limerics. Your call may be recorded for trainingpurposes. Now, how do I turn this thing off? Darn it. Julia, did you see the manual for the answeringmachine?" "Here you go." Thank you, but this is for the microwave." "Sorry. You got all this talk all over it. Are you going to rerecord it?" "That whole spell? Hecks no." "Here it is. It was still in the box". "Thank you, Jules. "Press the OK button when done". Well, ofcourse".

50 ways to get your but outta my sight!

So, Mark has got a new girlfriend, but he doesn't really want to. So, Mark needs to break up with her. Trouble is, neither of us has ever actually broken up with a girl. We are the ones being broken up with. So, we need some sort of tip. We tried listening to that Paul Simon song "50 ways to leave your lover", but none of those apply to us. Sure, there is Jack, Stan, Roy, Gus and Lee, but no "Tell her that you are a narc, Mark", "Be a little snark, Mark" or "Say she was a lark, Mark", and I can't even come up with a word that rhymes with my name. Well, there is a word in the obscure african language Abumgang, which means something like "A man who takes great pleasure in itching his left knee while humming to theme to his favorite TV-panelshow", but that is not really appropriate. Mark tried to be a huge jerk, to make her break up with him, but she didn't notice any difference. So, eventually, we wrote down a bunch of reasons for why we have been broken up with in the past. So, Mark called her up and called her a womanising jerk. As it turns out, he couldn't come up with any other reason for being dumped. When I get dumped, it is for specific actions, like spraying them with anti-bacteria spray or trying to remove a tattoo with rubbing alcohol. Or responding to hands being cupped over the eyes and "guess who" with "Judging by the roughness of the hands, I would guess uncle Paulie "Fat Pig" Salvatore".

Doing something positive with my day

I have been following Something Positive for a while now. And I have noticed a pattern. Even if a reasonable conversation is taking place, the final panel will always say something horrible.

Panel 1:
X: "So what about that new TV-show with Jay Mohr?"
Y: "I hate it".
Panel 2:
X: "Me too. The producers must think us idiots".
Y: "Yeah".
Panel 3:
X: "Oralsex from small babies".
Y: "Rape of elderly male cancerpatients with syphilis".

The whole strip is pretty much the story of lives going gradually worse. Like Johnny Cash's autobiography, just a long list of things that went wrong. "So, Davan was just a-sittin' there, when, suddenly, a freakstorm hit town and ruined everything that he held dear and then he fell into a pit of inconveniently placed acid and he got horribly scarred and then PeeJee drank some methanol and went blind and Aubrey developed a taste for butterskotch and killed a guy to get some candymoney and Jason knobbed a boysenberrybush and he got a divorce and then he was playing with a gun and accidentally shot up a mall and got charged with horseplay with homicidal intent and then that cat ran away and was run over by Davans car and everyone insulted each other". It is almost worthy of a countrysong.

Alright, I admit, most of this post was just a ploy to get to write that long list of things going bad. And while, I am here, say hello to the newest member of my family, Tom Servo, my new robotic vacuum cleaner. It is like the pet I never bothered to get.

The original american idol

Theodore Roosevelt was the manliest leader of state, ever. He, and I am not kidding here, got shot in the stomach, decided that he was not shot in the lungs, since he was not coughing, and he went up and did a 90 minute speak with blood seeping out of him. And was he not about to hold a speech, I bet that he would have shown Schrank what's for. Bully!

So, I have been alone for a week

And already I got an overwhelming desire to play Second Life. I say "Play", but it is really only a very advanced chatengine and, as such, insanely boring and filled with people that goes "Any hot woman who wants to send me emails with pictures of themselves in the nude" and "Any hot woman who wants to have sex". But there never is, you fools. If a woman is hot, she doesn't have to have sex with random men from chatrooms. She can get all the men that she damn well feels like just by sticking her head out of her apartmentwindow and say "Oy, you with the big willy and the great arse. Get the hell up here and satisfy my wildest urges". So why do they need you to offer yourself? Use your brain, you idiot.

I think that I lost my train of throught, there. So, I am getting bored. I spend yesterday singing introes from songs from myself, but I always knew what they were. The day before I played Minesweeper. My record for easy was 35 minutes. I am not very good at it.

So, you are leaving me behind, eh?

Everybody is. Mark is going to Chicago to watch an american football game, and is going to stay there for a while. Julia is going with her family to Cutesy Land, an amusementpart for Cutesy the Bear, you know, the one from TV. With the catchphrase "I vuw evewyone, and so should you". Dang bear. They have seasonpasses, so who knows when they want to go home. Ashley is going on an angermanegement course. Not courtordered, surprisingly. She beat up a platoon of sailors in a bar, last week, and, as it turned out, that one guy did really just say that she ought to put some of his PEAnuts in her mouth. It was a sexual innuendo gone horribly wrong. So, I am going to be alone for quite some time. I am not quite sure what to do. Perhaps just mope around the house for as long as they are gone. I could be alone for an entire month. Julia arranged for a grocery service to deliver to my house, so I am not gonna starve. I wish that the friend-audition had went well, so that I would have had some friends outside this circle. Hey, wait a second. Didn't I have more friends before I was locked up. I am pretty sure I did. My adressbook says I did. Aaron A. Aaronson to Zachary Z. Zeddemore to Frank Turnip. It is not alphabetical. Why haven't I talked to any of these people since I was arrested. I should try to call a few people. Later. Knightrider is on right now.

RIP Carlin

Rest in peace, George. Rest in peace. My desire, right now, is to yell out several of the dirty words, but that is not my style. And, I believe that the only way to honor him is to write something that will, hopefully, entertain you.

I haven't mentioned Denby in a while, have I? Well, a few weeks back, he decided that his new course of action was to smoke me out with monotomy. So, every day, from 2 to 5 PM, he has been playing the Tuba on my yard. In response, we have also chosen a new course of action: Ignoring him. So, we haven't even looked at him for weeks, much less thrown stuff at him. But, he is ignoring our ignoring him, so we are really getting nowhere. It is, pretty much a battle of wills, at this point. And, I am a master of ignoring. On IMDB, hundreds of people on my ignorelist. But, Denby is sort of like a really persistant troll. And, Oompah is sort of like the real-life version of trolling. They are just trying to make other people angry, for no real reason. You know why? Because they are jerks. Damn bavarians.

The band of neighbours, friends and hired geeks

Me, Ashley, Mark and Julia decided that we should start a band. Or, we were talking about what instruments we played and Julia insisted. And why not? We can't really go out on tour, but it might help distract me from boredom. I play the violin, Ashley plays the banjo, Mark plays the bongo and Julia, for reasons that I sensed that I probably would regret knowing, plays the jug. We started out with deciding on a name, which is, ofcourse, the most important part of any band. We each had our own idea of the ideal name, like "Ashley and the Ashbury Angels", "Mark the Days", "Julia and the Headliners", and so on. We finally settled on Adamant, but someone pointed out that that was the name of a great singer of the eighties, minus a space between the first and last name. So, we were back where we started. I wrote down a list of the names as we throught of them, and why they were not chosen.

Various Black Men - Non of us are black and only two are men, claims Ashley. Mark made suggestive remark, Ashley threatened that if he continued, the number of men would fall and the number of women rise by one each.
The Castro Collective - Apparently, Fidel Castro is not a well loved, jolly old man, which was certainly my understanding. Julia claims that it is someone referred to as the Santa Claus that brings presents at christmas. I am still reasonably certain that Fidel Castro was the one who brought presents in my home.
Nightshade - Sounds emo, ew.
Nightshave - Sounds infinently more cool. Ashleys calls it the stupideds name she has ever heard.
Intercourse - Mark found it funny. Ashley suggested the next name.
Mark is an Idiot - We all liked it, but Mark voted it down.
PoopDog - Mark suggested this one.
Booger - Ashleys suggestion. We think it might be sarcasm in response to Marks suggestions.
Kitty and the Cats - Sounds to cute.
Psychotic Mailmen out for Blood of Random Children- Not cute enough. Julia is scaring me.
Friends of Sweetums - Julia is feeling better, but this suggestion was voted down.
Hug-Patroll - Julia is on a roll.
JazzMan - No jazz. No suggestion of jazz in my house.

Eventually we settled on Wolfram. I think that it is some sort of chemical element. I saw it on TV once, and wrote it down, because it is a really cool name. So, we had to decide on a sound. I voted rock, Mark voted electro, Ashley voted metal and Julia voted bubblegum pop. Then we decided to just play and see what happened. As it turned out, our individual instruments sounds terrible when together. So, none of us are fans of our band, at the moment. But we are gonna give it a few more days. I mean, now we went through all the trouble of finding a name, so we might as well try to find a sound. Now, excuse me, but I need to get Julia away from my violin. Either that, or someone is torturing a dog in my livingroom. Either way, I will not have it!

9 out of ten doctors agree:

They all hate the tenth doctor. Who does that jerk think he is? I mean, do you like anything, or are you just being difficult? Grow up, you big baby.

My top ten things ever!

1: Hunky Dory. Besides being one of the worlds greatest albums, alongside a couple of other Bowie albums, it is a fine word. "Everything is hunky dory".
2: Soap. It keeps me clean. It kills germs.
3: The previous decade. It sucks while you are in it, but it always looks better in contrast to the current decade. For example, the nineties, brought a lot of sucky music, but right now it looks pretty good in comparison to the music we have now.
4: Black, grey, white and beige. Because all of my clothes are in those colours. Yes, sir, no pink shirts in my closet. And no poloshirts either. If I had had to wear a poloshirt as part of a schooluniform, someone would have been in for a surprise. Yeah, I would probably have gotten detention every day, from principal Mitler. I never liked that guy. Mitler was a jerk, always followed by that slimy guy, Wobbels. Math, with Mr. Van Trasigk, I hated. We used to call him Mr. Tragic. Even lunch sucked. Mr. Sacke was not the lunchlady that you would have hoped for. He always served gruel. I remember once that, for a joke, Barney went over to Sacke and said "Please sir, can I have some more". And we laughed, especially Mr. Sacke, but only afterwards, when he had thrown Barney in a sack and beaten him to within an inch of his life, afterwhich the rest of the staff would get a chance to smack the sack around. Mr. Mitler would refer to this practice as "Machen Spass". I know that I was going somewhere with this post, but I can't remember what. Probably, stay in school. Cut, print, publish!

Life in tapes

Hi, Julia here. The boss is busy watching TV. Its weird, but it is the show with that really old phonebooth, only, now the guy travelling in it is Moe, but I can't see Larry, Shemp or any of the Curlies anywhere. Instead there is this cute guy who is wearing a skirt, but the boss claims that he is "straight as an arrow", whatever that means. They are fighting, like, robotmen with handles on their head. Anyway, I reminded him that he should remember to update his blog, but he just threw me a tape that he had lying around and said "Transcribe this". So I did. I am writing my bosses name as "boss", since he doesn't really want me to tell you his real name. I dunno why. His real name is not Boss. That is a silly name. Anywho, as he always says:


Mark: Whatcha got there, dude?
Boss: Found me dictaphone. I'm just sitting here, playing with it.
Mark: I am so gonna steal that thing and edit the first sentence out.
Boss: Hehe.
Mark: How is this whole secretary thing working out for you.
Boss: Assistant, Mark. She is my assistant. And it is working out pretty good.
Mark: She seems a bit... vapid, doesn't she?
Boss: Yes, but I get the sneaking suspicion that a lot more is going on inside of that pretty head.
Mark: Yeah, the word "shiny" is chanted repeatedly.
Boss: No, no, I think that she might be smarter than we give her credit for.
Mark: Nah, probably just "shiny", and what about that hot little thing across the street, huh? Huh? You tappin' that? Huh? A bit of the old in'n'out? Huh? The Horisontal Hula? Huh? Putting the caddle out to graze? Huh? Playing The Yakkety Sax? Huh? Painting the garage? Huh? Surfing the Pacific? Nudging the Saynomore? Huh? Grabbing the bus to...
Ashley: Oi! I am right here.
Mark: Well, so you are.
Ashley: Yeah. I have been here for fifteen minutes.
Mark: Oh. So before I started euphemising.
Boss: She was sitting five feet away, you git!
Ashley: I gave you that Cornetto.
Mark: You did not. That redheaded one...
Boss: Julia.
Mark: Yeah, she gave it to me.
Boss: She's not here. She went to visit her parents, out in the country.
Mark: Since when?
Boss: Since yesterday.
Mark: But where did I get this Cornetto?
Ashley: Are you high?
Boss: Shiny.
Ashley: Hey, have you guys ever done drugs?
Boss: Why?
Ashley: Come on, I wanna know. I love gossip. I feed on gossip. I am woman, hear me digest on tabloids and juicy anecdotes. Come on, have you done drugs.
Mark: Define "drugs".
Ashley: You know, like, extacy.
Mark: I have given quite a lot of it.
Boss: I am more of a downer kind of guy.
Ashley: Really? You have done drugs?
Boss: No?
Ashley: Come one, tell me.
Boss: No, tell me about your drug use.
Ashley: Okay. Back when I was 16, I used to smoke pot with with my friend Kerri.
Mark: Dopefiend in the house.
Ashley: Come on, I want to know stuff about you. Mark shares everything about himself, wheter you want to or not, but you never talk about your past. Come on. Tell me something seedy and weird that you have done.
Boss: I have done nothing wrong. Ever.
Ashley: There has to be something unusual and dark in your past.
Boss: No. I'm normal. I'm human. A normal young human male.
Mark: He is right. Except for, like, one one-night stand, he has done nothing weird, ever.
Ashley: Oh, that creepy guys slutty girl?
Mark: That's the one.
Ashley: How did he ever get clean?
Mark: He filled a tub with rubbing alcohol and he burned his bedsheets.
Ashley: So you have done nothing wrong, ever? No juniors running around?
Boss: Nope.
Ashley: No addictions?
Boss: No. Well, I do love to watch the Smurfs, but I can quit anytime.
Ashley: No physical defects?
Boss: I can't grow a beard.
Ashley: No weird obsessions?
Boss: Oh, tons of those
Ashley: Oh, right. But, if you ran for leader of this country, what would they find.
Boss: Nothing. That is my ludicrous claim, and I stand by it.

Then the tape ran out. And my boss thinks that I am pretty and smart, so, all in all, this was a good day.

An apology for the delay in updates.

I was working on a really funny post, or so I throught. About the man who drives the icecreamtruck. But, when I had written about half a page, it turned out to be not as funny as previously anticipated. Well, it sucked, so I have to come up with a new idea. I know that it shouldn't be so hard to come up with ideas, but things have been quite slow recently.

But that is the nature of blogging, right? Sites have to go through more times of updatelessness than of updating. It am pretty sure that weeks of not updating blogs are part of the rules of owning one. In fact, I think that it is one of the first rules of nettiquette. So, eh, no update untill I come up with a better idea.

It is like Grandpa Windsong says, "Things take the time they take, and you need to wait for them to take their time". Ofcourse, Sergeant Grandpa always says "What is your major malfunction?!? Get of your lazy butt and do some damn work, you maggot! Now, gimme ten jokes and a visual gag!". Well, that's granddads for you.

Ofcourse, there is Grandma Felicitys boyfriend Bubba, who has begun insisting that I refer to him as Grandpa Paris, whose advice is for me to get laid. I have tried to explain to him that my choices are my neighbour, whose special talent for violence combined with her femine touch are something that I need, and that she is therefore not one-night-stand material, also, is not interested in me, romantically, and my assistant, who is, by the way, spending an unusual amount of time here lately, who is way to chipper for me to have sex with and who I cannot afford to lose, right now. He has offered to send a prostitute to my house, but, frankly, there is not enough detergent and rubbing alcohol to clean me and my house after having had a hooker here. Still, it is better than her ex, Mr. Nekrowski, who offered to import a wife from eastern europe, and even throw in the cattleprod for free.

It appears that my apology for not updating has gotten out of hand. So, I should probably stop before this turns into a proper post. So, sorry for the lack of updates. I am sure that I will write a new post any day now.

I need a catchphrase

Because if there is anything that I have learned after watching a lot of TV-sitcoms, you gotta have a catchphrase. I looked through the archives in order to find something, but it appears that the only thing repeated are a varietion on "Then Ashley beat them up", which is not very T-shirt friendly. I need to write less stories that ends with Ashley storming out of her house and punching everything that moves. Something like "Dy-no-mite!", "Eeeeey" or "Did I do that?". But not those, because those have not only been used, but they are also quite stupid.

"Home is where the ankle monitor is". No, that is a bad catchphrase, though I might make it the site tagline.
"My pants are burning". I don't know what that means, but I can imagine thousands of people chanting it at random times. That is sounds stupid, that is another thing.
"Don't blame the shut-in!". Well, I am stuck in my house. And I don't want to be blamed.
"Gotta go wash my hands". I already says this phrase about 12 times a day. Downside, it sounds insane.
"Gotta get my groove on". Well, I have never actually said this phrase. And I really don't want to. Upside, if I was on TV, that is when the audience would go "WHOOOOO!"
"I know I should do something about this, but I'm not gonna". To long. A catchphrase has got to be short and precise, so even the biggest idiot can repeat it. And the biggest idiot probably will repeat catchphrases. And no way that could fit on a T-shirt. How ever much I like the phrase. I might just use it, every once in a while.
"I dare you". Okay, short and simple. Downside, to ordinary a phrase to copyright. Ofcourse, that is what I throught about "You're Fired".
"Waddami, jinxed?". Sucks.
"Jus' doin' mah time, Boss". Well, I am not in real jail, so it is kind of meaningless.
"Well, thats just stupid". Can't disagree there.

Keepin' a low profile

There are people from my past out to get me. People that I have not seen for years, but who has tracked me down, people who has wronged me, and will again. That's right, school reunion. I am stuck in my house, so I can neither run, nor hide. Someone even had the gall the send a letter, asking if they could hold it in my house, since I cannot leave. Apparently, as it turns out now, I was quite popular, in school, despite me hating my classmates and everything they stood for. Well, actually they didn't stand for anything. Well, actually I once saw Janet Ravenburgh and Hank Obermeyer stand for nearly two minutes straight. They were having sex up a wall. Weirdest dang prom I ever saw. They made king and queen too.

We threw a burning chair out on the porch. It appears to keep the reunioners at a distance. All the doors and windows have been barricaded, but they are still outside. We have been communicating with Ashley using large cards, from the roof, but according to her, she looked out the window, and 17 guys immediately came over to hit on her. I hid Julia, who, by the way, has been forced to wear a T-shirt saying "I will never again write in someone elses blog, however good my intentions might have been", in the basement. For her own good. She didn't really understand why, but that is because she doesn't know these people like I know them. Or, knew them. Whatever.

I tried the classic method, of yelling "Hey, you kids get of my lawn", but, alas, years of old men screaming this has desensitized them to the point of them hardly reacting, beyond a call for beer. I tried rapping, since the most pathetic thing ever is white people rapping, but it must have become popular sometime after I stopped paying attention to the modern music scene, in the mid-nineties. Have they forgotten the lesson of Vanilla Ice? Well, yeah, who remembers Vanilla Ice?

Anyway, I remember from my school days, that if you do not stop your classmates from waiting to party, they could be waiting for months. Vince Skankbone and Terry Gollyhop had to repeat the ninth grade after waiting three months for a party, outside a random house. Turned out that the owner was 83 years old. Boy, did Vince and Terry get drunk at that wake. Anyway, I needed to cut them off at the root. Luckily, Denby came by, and he is an instant party killer. Really quite facinating. It is like Moses parting the sea. Only, if Moses was a short, weaselly guy and the sea was a bunch of twenty-something slackers running for their cars, since no one cool most be seen in the same place as Denby unless they are A: Physically hurting him or B: Making fun of him. Those are the rules and so shall it be.

Hi, everybody!

My name is Julia. I am 21 years old, which is actually just a little younger than my boss. I think that he has removed most references to his age, on the blog, but he is actually only in his early twenties. I think that my boss has mentioned me a few times. I am his assistent. My mother knows his mother and his mother knew from my mother that I was looking for a job. It is cool being a personal assistant, and all, but some day I would like to work with animals. I told my boss that, and he said "Oh, allow me to introduce you to Mark". I don't know entirely what he meant by that. Today, I will be writing the blog, because the Master, or Doctor, he was not entirely clear on what he wanted to be called the other day, when he suddenly decided to give himself a new nickname. Oops, forgot what I was writing. Anyway, he always complains that he doesn't update the blog as much as he should update the blog. Between fighting that nasty ol' man out on the lawn, washing his hands and just being lazy, he don't have as much time as you think. Right now, I think that he is watching really old episodes of something called Doctor Who. It is kind of weird, a really old man and his granddaughter and her teachers, and they are travelling in some grey box. Ofcourse, everything is grey in those old TV-shows. My boss likes to go straight to those features that he use, so he has most of his things on that thing where the computer remembers the name and the password, so you just have to press "OK".

So, wauw, I guess that I should tell you what he did, right? Yesterday, that mean old Mr. Denby, did my boss tell you that Mr. Denby yelled at me and ruined that nice sandwich I had made for him, but then my boss made me feel better by shooting stuff at Mr. Denby? Anyway, Mr. Denby was dancing on the lawn, with no pants. It was really gross, with those old man legs. I was glad that he was wearing underwear, but I wish that it was not those tighty-whitys. I would have shot at him, but I forgot to pick the tennis balls up, a couple of weeks ago, and now they are all gone. I told my boss, but he just said "Maybe he didn't deserve to become pan-pan-pantsman!". I don't know what that meant. He said that he would tell me later, after someone had beaten the Dar-legs, or something. But then he had fallen asleep, so I haven't found out yet what he meant. I don't want to go near Mr. Denby, because he is mean, so I called Ashley. She lives right across the street. I like her. She sometimes like to hit people, I once saw her kick a date, after he grabbed her and kissed her on the mouth, but she is fun to hang around with. I am here, most of the time, so I don't get to spend much time with other girls. My boss has said that it is alright for me to take days off, sometime, and that I should just ask, and he would not tell his parents so I would still get paid. It is actually his grandmother that pays my salary, because she is really rich, I don't really understand why, but... Wauw, I have written a lot. My boss always tells me "skip to the end", when I lose concentration while talking, but he is in the other room, and you can't talk to me, since you are all really far away. I guess that it is much harder to write a blog than I throught. Anyway, Ashley ran to Mr. Denby with a baseball bat, and Mr. Denby ran really fast, for a guy with pants around his ancles.

Oh, I can hear my boss asking for a cup of tea, so I better be going.

Hugs and Kisses, Julia.

So apparently my list of potential friends suddenly took a steep dive

Apparently, me and my little gang is not the hot property that we had previously assumed our selves to be. A lot of the potential friends have turned us down, after the interview. What comes as complete surprises to us and our selfesteems is that a violent chick, a tall, sexcrazed, perpetual partier, a constantly chipper girl and a prisoner with OCD are not the material looked for in friends.

So, we are down to one on our list. And frankly, he failed the interview. He kept asking about what kind of underwear we wore, and what colour. He claimed that it would bring us closer together. And if there is one thing that you do not want to hear from your male friends in that context, it is the word "Commando". So I had to get everything that Mark ever sat on, in my house, disinfected. And that is why I currently has almost no furniture.

I read that Paris Hilton is looking for new friends too

85.000 wants to be her friend. Bah, I got 85 applicants, quality friend material, all of them. Except for Gangbang Bob, against whom, it turns out, the courthouse will automatically give out restrainingorders if you ask. They always print out an extra batch, so you can give some to other people as gifts. Through strategic handling out of these, he is technically not allowed within ten miles of me.

So much for that. Anyway, we have had some auditions. We have narrowed it down, a bit. Or, we weeded out the worst ones, like Hank Petkiller and Trishia Hitler. She claims that it is short for Hitlerstein, but she still called me ugly. We had some sort of goth, I guess, Bloodsport Q. Ravengood Darkness-McHorrorshow. She annoyed me. On the upside, we had some lesbians in. As it turns out, butch girls are good company. Gotta have at least one of those. Mark wanted us to hire the lesbian photo-model. We tried telling him that he was not gonna score, but he just kept saying "Oh, ye of little faith". Coincidently the exact same words said by Ashley a day later, when auditioning gay men, about Tall Ted Johnson. I am still arguing for the philippine girl.

Have I ever told you about my uncle Brian?

My uncle was the 1974 world champion in hide-and-seek. They seached everywhere for two days, before they found him, in a cupboard. He competed again in '75, and they searched six months, before they found him, hiding in the same cupboard. No one had throught to look for him, there. It was not until my grandmothers maid Consuella was springcleaning the house, that she opened the cupboard. In '76, being the champion two years in a row, he decided to compete yet again. They searched everywhere, for him, for five years, without as much as a clue to where he was hiding. He was finally declared legally dead in '83, but the seeker never gave up. He frequently searched through my grandmothers mansion. It was not until 1987 that he looked in the cupboard, but no trace of my uncle. The seeker eventually died in 1995, having spend 19 years and millions of dollars on a manhunt spanning the globe. And last week, after 32 years, my uncle was found my a newly married couple in New Zealand, who was moving into their first house together, in a cupboard in the kitchen. They have no idea how he survived, but he seems pretty fit, and excited about the 2008 hide-and-seek championship. The hide-and-seek society has had to have a whole new kind of medal made. It was argued that he cheated, by travelling halfway across the globe, but they were unable to find anything against it in the rulebook, so he has been deemed the champion of the 1976 hide-and-seek championship, and the previous winner, having been found after an hour, hiding behind the curtains, have been stripped of the title. The toughest for my uncle has been how much society has changed. He loved disco. And he was really looking forward to the remake of King Kong. And we can't talk about Happy Days, because he claims that he taped it.

Something weird going on

Denby is out on my lawn, with a microphone, a loudspeaker, a small screen of some sort and what appears to be eight japanese businessmen. What the heck is he up to... Wait a minute, microphone, japanese businessmen, God help me, it is karaoke!

Dammit, I am out of Tennisballs. I told Julia to pick them up after each use. Oh, they are singing "Feelings". The one day that Ashley is out shopping with her sister, across town. Denby, you sly bastard. Mark is in Dear Town, on work. My only hope is Julia, who appears to be singing "Mandy", with the businessmen.

Well, two of us can play this game. I have one trick left.

Well, it appears that TV has lied to me. Japanese people are not afraid of Godzilla. Or, at least not my Godzilla figure. I am all out of ideas...

Awww, and now the neighbours are joining in. They are singing "We are the champions".

Ah, Ashley got my message. She is returned home, in order to kick ass all over the street. And, she is singing "Final Countdown". What is this strange power that Karaoke has over people?

I need a man who hates people to much to join into karaoke, and who is violent enough to stop them all. One whose very nature demands that he must stop other people from having fun. I need someone like Mr. Tarkanian, Denbys boss. I once saw him eat a dog. In his defence, it was a small dog. A chihuahua that belonged to Janice in accounting. The dog was afraid of Mr. Tarkanian, and to calm it down she said "Oh, that nice man is not going to bite", so Mr. Tarkanian had no choice but to prove her wrong. Either that, or a woman was going to be correct, and that ain't happening around Mr. Tarkanian.

How I have to do this is, I have to call his secretary, leave an anonomous message about people having fun on this adress, and I have to stay away from the windows, so he won't see me. I managed to wave Julia and Ashley inside, but they just want to go back out. If only I was the kinky type, so I would have had some handcuffs, but I have to make due with duct tape. I don't know how long it will take Mr. Tarkanian to asskick everyone not in their house right now, but I pity all those outside.

Going to the movies. Or, staying for the movies.

So, according to my motley crew... I am now being informed by the Blonde sitting in my couch, that if I refer to my friends as being my motley crew ever again, there will be blood. So, according to my friends, I spend much of my time whining about the things I miss on the outside, so they will, occasionally, attempt to recreate the feeling of those things. For example, I was recently complaining about not being able to go to the cinema. So, they decided to give me a home theater.

By home theater, I mean, ofcourse, that they replaced my chairs with more uncomfortable ones and put them in three rows. I sat in the middle row, and Mark, wearing a tophat, sat right in front of me, chewing the noisiest food available. Behind me sat Ashleys nephew, who was screaming and kicking my seat. Next to me sat Julia, who was laughing inappropriatly and never shut up. Y'know, talking to the screen. "Don't go in there", "Tell her you love her" and "Eat a sandwich, girlfriend", while she swung her arms in a halfcircle and snapped her fingers. I am not sure what brought the last one up. And I have no idea where Ashley got that pizza she was eating. Or why. Who the hell brings food to the cinema?

Anyway, Mark is insistint that we turn this place into a nightclub next time, but clubbing is not one of the thing that I miss. I am not sure what happened, but the last time I went clubbing, I woke up in a tank heading for Berlin. I am not sure what I was doing there, but I found a note in my pocket that said "Milk, sugar, eggs, revenge for WWII", so I have to assume that I was going shopping.

How to make things funnier

Being stuck indoors, I have to find ways to entertain myself. My blog is one of those things, movies is another. Stuff like that. But, when you have seen everything before, sometimes they need a little boost. For example, the first Indiana Jones movie, a good movie on its own, but try this, imagine that Marion is stinking drunk in all of her scenes. It makes it a whole lot funnier. Make little comments as to her drunkeness.

Indiana Jones II: Imagine that the blonde is a raging slut. Or, ragier slut.

Imagine that Herb and Jamaal, a lame comic if there ever was any, was a meta-comic, pondering over the state of the comic industri through bad art, unlikable characters, clumsy sentences and forced punchlines. It suddenly become an intelligent satire on everything that is wrong with comics today, through amplified imitation.

Oh, the possibilities are endless.

Lookin' for friends in all the right folders

We have nearly gone through all the applications. We have picked most of the people that we wish to have in for the audition. Black people, gay people, muslim people, and a whole heap of asian girls. We have a guy who might be spanish, we're not entirely sure. The big scoop is a black, gay muslim, which would be a timesaver.

The toughest part turned out to be to explain to Julia why they could not all be my friends. She could sort of understand why the guy with the swastika tattooed on his forehead was not in the running, even if she liked his Charlie Chaplin moustache.

But, if you don't get a callback, rest assured, Julia has declared you all to be her friends. Except for Gangbang Bob, who she decided should probably be left alone, after she read his file. Ashley has declared you all her mortal enemies, and if she ever meets you, she will poke your eyes out with a spoon that she carries in her pockets, for reasons we decided would better be left unanswered. Especially Gangbang Bob. Mark has spend the last 6 hours repeatedly calling hot women from the cast-out pile. Especially Miss Petulia Rinta-Runsala, for some reason. Presumably because she listed her nickname as being "Easy", and her motto as "Easy come, Easy go". I actually knew her back in school. Back then her nickname was "slut" and her motto was "I will have sex with anyone who cares to ask, but are you on the soccer team, you won't even have to ask, just drop your pants and I will be right there". I am happy to see that she refined it a bit. To bad that the monestary didn't work out for her, though.

Anyway, we will be calling around, and remember, no matter what, you will always have a friend in Julia. Except you, Gangbang Bob. You stay away from my home, y'hear?

awakening viciously early

No, I did not go to bed early. I was awoken, 8 o'clock sharp, by the very feeling of chipperness in my house. Now, I am not a chipper person, and neither is anyone that I know, so this feeling disturbed me. I decided to just jump right into it, and opened my eyes. In front of me stood a late teen/early twenties, , short, redhaired, girl, with the biggest smile I have ever encountered.

"Hi!"
"Hi?"
"I'm Julia".
"Hello Julia".
"Hello!"
"Can I ask you a question, Julia?"
"Sure thing!".
"What are you doing in my house?"
"Oh, I am your new assistant, silly. Your momma hired me".
"Already?"
"Yeah, your momma and my momma are both in the Womens Welfare society, and she knew that I was looking for a job and that you needed an assistant".
"Okay, then".
"Oh, and I talked to your dad, and to answer his question, no, sexual favours are not part of my job".
"That's quite alright".
"Though I'm sure that people who do perform sexual favours for money are nice people".
"I'm sure they are".
A short beat.
"Well".
"Well what?"
"Well, aren't you gonna get up, Mr. Sleepyhead?"
"I might as well".

So, I got up. The newspaper was already in, which was good. What I usually do is that I stick a foot outside the door, and wait for the police to arrive, then ask for them to bring the newspaper. Breakfast has been made. A bowl of cornflakes, a peeled orange, and a cool glass of orange juice. So, I could get used to this assistant stuff. Then Denby showed up, and started dancing on my lawn. I am not entirely sure where he was going with this, but I know that I was slightly annoyed. Julia seemed to enjoy it.

"What a happy, happy man, you got on your front lawn".
"Yep. That's Denby... I think that he might be insane".
"No one that happy can be insane".
I let that comment slide. Denby continued dancing for a couple of more hours, before Julia took pity on him.
"I should bring him something to eat. All that dancing can really make you hungry".
So she made him a sandwhich. A nice one too. And she brought it to Denby. I was watching TV at the time, but from the frontyard I heard.

"Do you think I'm stupid? This is some kind of gag, right? Did your friend spit in it? Did he fill it with chili, so he could laugh at me? Is the filling made of plastic?"
Then he threw the sandwhich to the ground, and Julia came running in crying. Then I had to spend the next couple of hours comforting her, after she ran into my bathroom and locked the door.

"That nasty ol', mean ol' Mr. Denby. I made him a sandwhich, and he just yells at me".
"Yeah, you know, some people are just rotten".
"Why did he do that?"
"That man is not quite right in the head".
"He is just mean".
"That was kind of mean, yeah".
"Do you like me?"
"I guess..."
"Really?"
"Yeah, I think I do".
Then she ran out of the bathroom and gave me a hug. Her smudged make-up made a near perfect smileyhead on my T-shirt. Then I learned her to operate the tennis-ball shooter against Denby, who was still on the lawn.

A word of advice: Never get on the wrong side of a chipper person, because, boy, can they shoot.

So my parents came over

I got around to tell them about my little... deed. My mother spent the entire day talking about her son, the criminal. "When the ladies down in the Womens Wellfare Society talks about their children, what am I supposed to say? So both your son and daughter are Doctors, Mrs. Aquino? What about your son, Mrs. Smart? A lawyer, really. Mine, oh, he is a criminal who gads about the house all day. Can my son come to the mother-son race? No, he is a vicious felon, who has been locked up for life. NOT THAT HE WOULD HAVE COME ANYWAY!", "Mother, I still have two sisters, don't I? Bring them to the WWS". "Well, we hardly see Amelia, anymore, out partying all night with that homosexual and those weird girls. And Malou, she still lives at home with us, and spends the day eating our food and watching our TV. But at least she is not a disgusting criminal, much less one who commits crimes as an excuse to be lazy. Next you will be smoking pot". "No, I quit that last year. Too hard to find an honest dealer, these days". "Don't say that. No son of mine has ever smoked pot. Say something, Harold!". "Yes, boy, how are you ever going to get a girlfriend, or a squeeze?". "A what? Nevermind. Mother, father..." "Dammit, boy, call us mom and dad". "Mom and dad, it happened, I can chose this or jail". "If you were in a cell with a big guy named Bubba, at least I would be sure that you were getting something". "Hush, harold...". "And I hear that the women dig prisoners. You will recieve proposals and letters from women wanting casual sex by the dozen". "Harold, shut up!". "Yes, dad, please".

So went the day. They insisted that they hire an assistant, for me. Or, mother did. Father wanted to hire me a prostitute, but that notion was vetoed. So, not only do I have to audition for friends, of which we have recieved dozens of applications, but I have to cope with an assistant too.

I should get a themesong

Something grand, to show how great I am. How about...

[To the tune of "Minnies Yoohoo"]
There's a guy just sittin' in his house
Had some candy stolen by a mouse
Neither fat nor skinny
He heard a horses whinny
Mr. Denby on his lawn.
He rode around on the animal
And claimed to be a cannibal
Ashley will turn her heal
and his horsey steal
And you will hear me sing this song
Oh, the ol' Denby yells OW-OW-OW
Ashley hits with a pow-pow-pow
I laugh Haw-Haw
And then my gawd
There would have been less blood with an old hacksaw.
I have seen Mike Tyson bite an ear off.
And Tyson hit someone in the balls
If horses can smell fear
Denby stinks like a rotten deer
And then Ashley calls out
"BooYaaah".


Alright, maybe not like that. That is more like an ode to Ashleys low patience for Denby and her love of horses. She keeps it in her backyard, now, by the way. Sold her car.


Maybe I should just do what all the newer TV-shows are doing: Steal an already popular song, and use that. Like, Dire Strait's "Heavy Fuel", or, "Stuck in the Middle with You". Or "Boredom", by the Buzzcocks. Maybe "Too Bad" by Doug and the Slugs. Oh, there are tons of songs I could use. "Coconut", by Harry Nilson, "Oh, you pretty things" by David Bowie or "Stuck inside of Mobile with the Memphis Blues Again" by Bob Dylan. I throught about House of Fun, but what does a song about buying condoms have to do with being stuck in a house?

Happy Birthday Grandpa'

86 years old today. Here is to many more.

I got a special program for my computer...

Yes, uhm, I got this... microphone, that records everything I say. Well, I didn't get it, Ashley got it, and it, eh, it writes what I say, into the, uh, computer. Awfully nifty. No that sounds bad, nifty, no. Uuhm, erase? no, thats not right. There is some sort of code for this here sort... of... thing. In the... Manual, here we are, the manual. Christ, [word unrecognised] Lord, look at this bastard. 250 pages. Wha', it can't spell [word unrecognised]? What the [word unrecognised]? One of the worlds most recognised swears, and it don't know it. Idiots. Now, lets see here. Word commands, I guess. Huh? Yes, and page down isDamn, where did I put the phone? I can hear it, but from where? Ah. Hello? Hello mother. Fine, fine. No, still single. He's fine too. No, he died. Visit you? Mother, you know that I'm... Cripes, I knew that there was something I had forgotten to tell you. Uhm, can I call you later? No, don't put dad on, nonononoHello father. Yes, "dad". Fine. Single. Fine too. Dead. If I am doing what? No, I did not know that phrase. And that's personal. That is not a no. Not a yes either. Still not a no, it is private, is what it is. Dad, I have to go, I am in the middle of something, here. No, not a girl. A work thing. No, don't put mom on, no, hello mother. Yes, I have to go. Give father my regards. Love you too. I will call you later, when I am done here. Bye. "Ride the skinbus to tunatown", crazy old man. Now, where was I, oh yes, the erase command iAlright, now we are cooking. Change line is
Here we go. hehe.
Fun word.
Yes, page up isalrighty, and publish is

I need more minority friends

I have no openly gay friends, no black friends, no asian friends, no muslim friends. I mean, I know some, but it is not like we hang out. I have a couple of minority friends over the internet, ofcourse, but none in "real life", as it were. It is not as if I go out of my way to not meet any, but it never evolves into friendship.

So, I have decided to hold auditions. Are you in a minority group and want a white friend, come on by. Your age is between 18 and 30. Send a headshot, and a resumé with recommendations from current and former friends, a list of hobbies and interests, and, ofcourse, name, adress, phone-number and your minority.

All auditions will be conducted by myself, Ashley and Mark. To prevent overflow of young, asian, women, Ashley has been asked to audition them alone, as I has a soft spot for asians, and Mark has a soft spot for anything with breasts.

All applications are welcome, including white men and women. Now, this is equal opportunity, but I already have white male friends, so your application may be prioritized lower than other applicants. I know no openly gay people, so your application may be prioritized higher. Otherwise, the applicants will be selected based on the resumé and an interview. It is currently not decided how many minority friends is needed, but it is expected that it would be anywhere between 5 and 20, possibly more. Hope to see you there.

Today is what?

I was just told that today is the first of aprils, a day to make fun of fools and their jibba-jabba. I then realize that my previous post sounds like an aprils fool. I apologize for that.

So a pipe broke this morning

I immediatle called Dicks Heating and Plumbing. Imagine my surprise when Dick turned out to be Richard Nixon. I know, it sounds like a joke. He was a little older, sure, but it was him. No mistaking those jowels, but he insisted that his name was Dick Krock. "I am a Krock", he kept saying. I was going to call someone, but he was cheaper than most plumbers, so I let it slide. Just to be sure, I got my bugchecker out and looked around, and sure enough, a small transmitter, with the initials RMD, hidden in a potted plant.


That's the last time I use that guy. No, I am calling Elvis' Plumbingservice, next time.

My long weekend

I had Mark get me a trailerload of sand, and I filled it into an empty room. Meanwhile, Ashley got me an inflatable pool, that we filled in the room. A noisemaker was installed. IE, Ashleys nephew, and it was just like being at the beach. In a small room, filled with sand and a kiddie pool...

Alright, so it was not really like being at the beach, but we had fun. Sitting in a room full of sand. And to complete the vacation feeling, Ashley made my bed way to tight and my bedroom TV was reprogrammed to only have the bad channels. And they took my duvets and replaced them with coarse blankets.

A vacation was nice, but it is sure nice to be home again.

Now, back to the ol' threadmill. Ashley chased Denby away yesterday. I think that he is up to something.

Speaking of Denby, why wasn't he at work all last week? I mean, it must really dig into his vacationdays, that he spends his days harrasing me. Does he hate me that much? All I did was annoying him every day for three years, finally culminating in me humping his daughter. Maybe he had a breakdown.

And he had so much going for him. He was the manager of a local branch of the marketing department of the countries fourth largest in-flight magasine, he was famous in the stampcollection community for owning a rare mirrored, upside down, misspelled Gorge Wasinton 3 dollar stamp from 1946, made in Bolivia, worth more than Bolivia itself. Now his goal seems to be to destroy me. When Mr. Tarkanian down at the headoffice finds out that he is missing work, he is going to be so mad.

My tummy hurts...

I have been eating to many donuts. Damn you, Percival Maximus Denby!

Playin' tennis with Denby

Denby attempted to call me outside with promises of, like, thirty crates of donuts, knowing how I love them. I chased him off with the Tennisball gun that I got yesterday (Thank you, Mark), and Ashley brought the donuts in. Set, game, match, Denby.

No more Jazz for me, please.

I was about to grab a chair to go out and smack Denby over the head, when a neighbour beat me to it. This blonde, pretty, little twenty-something girl. After the savage beating and the short chase of Denby around the neighbourhood, she turned her attention to me, and demanded to know why she had been hearing jazz for nearly 3 hours. I explained why I could not leave my home to stop him.

I am not sure if she took pity on me, poor shut-in, or if she too got a thing for bad guys. The last in unlikely by the way, as, when I described my crime, she smacked me over the head and called me an idiot. Anyway, she brought me some cake. We talked. Her name is Ashley. She works from home, as a webdesigner. So, if I need help against Denby, she is ready to help.

Ew, Jazz!

Denby decided to wake me up at six AM by blasting very loud polka on my lawn. I could live with that. Then he gave up, and tried to relax with some jazz, and he thereby crossed the line. I will not have jazz playing on my lawn. He has now spent nearly one and a half hour experimenting with what jazz musician will send me over the edge. A little Dizzy Gillespie, some Miles Davis, more Thelonious Monk than any man should have to hear. He played Toots Thielemans, I swear, I nearly ran out there and punched him.


God help me, he is playing jazz-fusion. Mark is at work down at Cut-Of-Yo-Thumbs Collection Agency, and he won't get home until 4 o'clock. Dammit, I need that tennis ball gun!

Just chillin', being called names.

I just spend my day, trying to fathom that I cannot leave this house. Played some Zelda, drank a little rum. Oh, and Mr. Denby spend most of his day standing on my lawn and yelling "What's a matter? Chicken? Bwok, Bwok, Bwok! Come out here and fight, you sissie". That was how Ness caught Capone, by the way. They say it was tax fraud, but no, Ness kept calling Capone a wiener, and insinuated that his momma was quite obese, to the extend of a comparison of the size of her waist to that of the equator would not be unfair. Capone had no choice but to leave his mansion and engage in fisticuffs with Ness, resulting in a speedy arrest.


I asked Mark if he could get me one of those tennis training things, that shoots tennisballs. That might come in handy, if Denby keeps camping on my lawn.

Stuck in my cottage with you

Yes, the jury is in. Or, the Judge came back, and he sent me home. So I am in. They gave me this nifty thing around my angle, and they placed four poles around my house, so I can't leave it, now. I am locked up, forever and ever and oh my God, what have I done??? I got myself housearrested for life. I can't leave this stinking little house. Dear Jesus, why would I do a thing like that? Oh, no, you useless bastard, you didn't think this through, did you? Oh, God, no, tell me that this last week was a horrible nightmare. I can't leave my house?

Well, it appears that I have been slightly non-functioning the last week. I am locked up in a cottage. I need to get a drink. But, guess what, the pub is not in my house! I, I need to think. There must be a way to get out of this. I know that my lawbook is around he, somewhere. I need to go looking.

How I am spendin' the last days of freedom

Just playing Gamecube and watching James Bond. I know, that is what I am probably going to spend the rest of my life on, but, honestly, all this about the last days of freedom, it is a bit overhyped. Sure, from the day after tomorrow, I might never leave this cottage again, but, meh, I can live without the outside.

So Denby fired me

Angela picked him up for lunch again, then went over and kissed me, much to my surprize. Denby fired me and swore revenge, no matter how long it would take him. So, it would probably be a bad time to mention that I was about to go into house arrest. Bloody big-mouthed Janice from accounting. Like time I tell her something that Denby don't need to hear.

So, Denby is going to make me go to proper jail, the bastard. As revenge for corrupting his innocent little girl. I politely mentioned that she was not exactly innocent, and that she might even have taught me a new move or two, and he tried to punch me. I should probably not have used a pelvic thrust, but here we are.

Mr. Denby is going to kill me.

I mean, if he tries to get me busted for additional crimes, I could be going to real jail. So I am torn between my need to not be in real jail and my need to make Denby angry.

But all in all, it was worth it.

The house is warming up

I don't have much time to post. I have a few friends over for the housewarming. The owner let me move in today. Spend most of the afternoon moving my stuff.

Mark just said that I should tell you how I could afford to just buy a house on a whim. You see, my grandmother is loaded. Legend has it that she was the mistress of John Rockefeller and at least three Vanderbilts. I don't want to call my grandma a whore, because she is a sweet old lady. I am just sayin', she likes men. A lot. Right now she is seeing a big bloke called Bubba. He can't drive motercycles anymore, but he drives that mobility scooter quite agressively.

Angela came by. Her father thinks that she is at a friends house. Well, technically I guess she is, but not the friend he thinks.

Is it wrong for me to want to have sex with my bosses daughter just to piss him off? Mark just said no and called me an idiot, and he is more experienced in these matters, so I have to take his word for it. To the scoring.

Notes on a night on the town and manhood

A handsome man walks into a bar. Very handsome. A even more handsome version of Johnny Depp, who, I am told, is very handsome. Every woman in that bar becomes mortal enemies. None of those girls is willing to let anyone else run of with him. Every woman in that bar, hate each other. I am talking about wishing that all the other women were dead. They want him for themself.

The worlds most beautiful woman walks into a bar. Seriously hot. If no one has claimed her as his, and no one expresses true love for her, all the straight males in the bar turns into the worlds most organised team. They all know that only one can take her home, but they know that someone has to.

There is a special bond between men. I would not call it a psychic connection, but an ancient common conciousness, that steps in. Women, wrongly, interprets it has men not growing up, but, when men are together, we grow beyond adulthood. Put two completely random men in the same room, and within ten minutes, they might as well have known each other for a hundred years. An ancient friendship that began with the first two men and has been inherited through the ages.
When men fight, it is
A: They are assholes who don't understand the bond, and is misinterpreting it as homosexuality (not that there is anything wrong with homosexuals, who are, most I have met, anyway, good people), which scares them. The fear is channeled into rage. When that happens, they feel a desperate need to prove how manly they are, using their twisted image of masculinity. These people are violent and stupid, and has misunderstood everything about being a man. Perhaps they even hit women.
B: They both love the same woman. Now, as I said, men knows that only one of them can take the girl (Unless she specifically says otherwise), but if they love her, they will fight to the death over her.
C: Pride. Now, male pride can make men do stupid things. That's no secret. If they hype each other up to a fight, they have to go through with it. They don't want to be a chicken.

Perhaps I should write something about latent homosexuality. Personally, I don't believe in that. And as I said, I don't mind homosexuals, but saying that men are latent homosexuals are somewhat like saying that gay men just haven't found the right girl yet. I don't mind Freud, I just think that he was a perverted cocain-wreck who dealt in pseudo-science. I have nothing against psychiatry, just Sigmund.

Anyway, the beautiful woman enters the room, none of the men knows her. They could fight over her, but these men are friends. If one sees it from the outside, they might have throught that these men wrote down a masterplan before they got here, but no, the organisation in wooing a girl is spontanious. The ancient bond.

Movin' on down.

If I am going to spend the rest of my life locked up in my home, I am going to do it with style. I found a little house, out in the countryside, near where I did my crime, and the owner was desperate to sell, so I bought it right away. Just got of the phone with him. The papers are being sent to my office. Heck, I can move in tomorrow.

I talked to Angela today, when Denby went to the cantina to pick her up a soda. Yesterday, after she had picked him up, she asked about his underlings, and I was apparently directly warned against. As it turns out, she likes dangerous men, and I am a man about to be locked up for life. So I might invite her to my housewarming. By the way, if you are coming to my housewarming, and is planning on bringing something, please ask what you should bring, so I am not left with 15 tupperwares of potatosalad... again. Not that I don't like potatosalad, I just can't eat 40 portions of it.

What I did yesterday

I decided to take a long lunch and went to see "No country for old men", intending to return to work as if nothing had happened. Then I decided to also watch "There will be blood". So I guess that I technically left work early. If my boss asks, I was around. Then my friend Mark and me went drinking, and came home late, so I never got around to posting.

My boss left for lunch right before me. His 19 year old daughter came and picked him up. I have no idea where those good genes come from, as Mr. Denby is... I am trying to find a nice way to say "quite ugly", but this will have to do. Anyway, he most have married some sort of supermodel to have fostered a child like that. No, that would still not explain it. He must have married a supermodel, then the supermodel must have had an affair with another supermodel. I am talking hot here. Lava. No, the surface of the sun. No, what the sun eats when it has hot dinners.

I have a new goal for this week: Angela Denby. I got til Monday.

How I spend my day:

Actually, I didn't really do much today. I spend most of the day listening to The Proclaimers. Which did make Mr. Denby mad, mainly because I played it on a boombox.

The greatest joy in the world is to pretend that you have no idea what people are talking about when they ask you to turn down the music. Especially if the boombox is right next to you.

My coworkers has been informed of my intentions, and they are playing along. In fact, Proclaimers was an agreement we reached after a longer discussion, after my inital idea of playing Prince was, understandably, nixed.

I think that he thinks that I am about to quit. In a way I am, but I would prefer to be fired. I would like a severance package. Mr. Denby is just looking for an excuse to fire me, and I am a man with nothing to lose, so the way I see it, we both win.

You can't go home again! Wait, as it turns out, go home and stay there.

The Judge was not sure about the law. He had a law book, and he appeared to find a page that supported my claim, but he decided that he needed more books, so I was sent home, and has to stay here for a week. I am not formally in house arrest, but I was deemed a low escape risk. Judge P. Sherman Reinhold threatened that if I as much as throught of trying to escape, he would personally hunt me down and handcuff me to Ron. Ron objected, but only because he didn't get why he was used as a threat.

I was asked to return to court in a week, when the judge has reviewed my case. Until then, I have to continue my life as usual. That includes going to work. I have to explain to mr. Denby, my Boss, why I am not coming in to work for quite a while, because no matter what, I ain't about to be released. I will have to be locked up for my crime, hopefully at home. Mr. Denby is going to be pissed off, because he hated me enough as it is.

I am determined to make this the greatest work week ever. Even if he fires me monday, I got three weeks notice, so what so I care?

G'night.

Alan and Tony allowed me to drag a matress out of my cell and sleep in the office, just so I could get away from Ron. After a couple of hours locked into the same room, we started fighting. I mean, Theodore Roosevelt was clearly the manliest president of America. Ulysses S. Grant? Bah!


I don't know how they decided that I was a lesser escaperisk than Ron. Probably because I am not a lawyer.

Going good so far.

The guards are allowing me to write this on a station computer called an Acorn A4000 with a browser that I have never even heard of it, ViolaWWW. I would have throught that they would be using older equipment, but no, top of the line here. So new that word of it has never even hit the Internet yet. Tought me not to underestimate these rural policestations. Yeah, I had to go out of town to commit my crime.

My plan went smoothly, and they will have me put before a judge as soon as possible. I heard them talk about perhaps as early as tomorrow, sunday, that's how extraordinary this is. My lawyer, Ron R. Smart, assures me that I will be home tomorrow. The cops called in what they referred to as being "One of them fancy big city judges", who should be on his way as we speak.

Ron is sitting next to me. He keeps referring to the officers Alan and Tony as being "morons", "half-wits", "dolts", "dunces", "dumbbells", "chowder-head yokels" and "blithering hayseeds". I am not sure what the last one means.

And, they just threw Ron is a cell for insulting a policeofficer. Great, that means that I will be recieving legal advice all night. And he will probably bill it.

The perfect crime...

I have found a way so that I can be under house arrest indefinently. A loophole in the law so, that a very specific crime is bad enough to cause me to be locked up for life, but not bad enough to send me to jail. I cannot reveal what it is, because then everyone would be doing it. But I need to be careful. Even a small mistake could cause me to be locked up for life.

House arrest would be sweet. I already stay inside my house when I am not at work, and my lifes quest is to not work, so it would work out nicely.

Blast, look at the time. I only have a short timespan to commit the crime. At any other point, I would just go to jail. But not on Saturdays at 3.02. I got less than 30 minutes.

Wish me luck.

Guess who I met today!

I met the Grim Reaper! I was down by the beach, and this pale guy came up to me, with a fold up chair under his arm.

"Are you planning to go swimming?", he said.
"No", I said, "I am not much of a swimmer.
"Good, because I am taking the day off. I don't want to work today".
"Everybody needs a day of, every now and then".
"Yup", he said, and he sat down on his chair. "Hoping to catch some sun".
"Yeah, you are looking a bit pale".
Actually, calling him a bit pale was to call lava lukewarm. He was white.
"Yeah", he said, "I so rarely gets to just relax in the sun".
"You don't get to relax in the sun. You make time for it".
"Amen, brother".

Then we ate Cornettos. Oh, and I won over him in a game of beach volleyball, so now he can't claim my soul. So I got that going for me.

Free Tibet!

I am trying be become banned by the chinese goverment. I don't know if all the blogs on Blogger.com is automatically, but if so, then I want to be banned from entering China. Not that I would want to go there, what, with the butchering of monks and what not. The occupation of tibet is one of the great tragedies on our times, and the country should be free, and the Dalai Lama allowed to return home.

I saw Chinas latest idea, that they got to decide Lamas. So, when the Dalai Lama dies, China will appoint a puppet Lama. So, there will be a real Lama and a fake chinese Lama.

I hope that the Olympic Games will be boycot by most, if not all, participants.

Now, to wait for the ban...

Whoa, I have a blog?

*Blows off the dust*.


I should probably update this, sometime. But the comic thing started to bore me, having to look at comics for specific flaws to fix. I might still do it, every once in a while, but not every day. So, I have to find a new theme for the blog. I should probably get on that.

Ah, Ziggy, will you ever win?

Ziggy is one of these strips that are not only lame, but seem to revel in the fact. The maincharacter, Ziggy, is a guy who, supposedly, is a born loser, a guy who can never win in the game of life. I dunno, most strips that I have seen with him is about him looking on in quiet sadness while others around him are being jerks or coming with unreasonable demands. Or, occasionally, reasonable demands, while Ziggy looks on in quite sadness. Anyway, this is simple, a bad joke. Or perhaps I am missing some sort of layer. Ziggy is giving Polly a cracker, Polly would like it to be softer, because it had some, I guess, stale pizza last night. So, I have to come up with some sort of improved punchline.

Here we go. Ziggy is being mugged by a parrot. What a born loser he is. Will he ever win? Not while I am on watch, buster.

A little something about copyright.

First, a little thing. I was thinking, technically I suppose that I am breaking copyright, but I found the fair use law:

the fair use of a copyrighted work, including such use by reproduction in copies or phonorecords or by any other means specified by that section, for purposes such as criticism, comment, news reporting, teaching (including multiple copies for classroom use), scholarship, or research, is not an infringement of copyright

So there. What I am doing here is criticism. Nobody has called me on it yet, saying "Hey, mister, this is violation of the copyrightlaw", but I throught it best to get it out of the way. I guess that it could go for satire too, but I should be protected.

Wassat I hear about no updates?

I want to update this blog more. I am not sure what is happening. I guess that I either got bored of fixing comics or if comics were pretty sensible these few days. Marvin continues with its "Pregnant people are fat" joke-substitutes. But, fear not, if I find bad comics, I will fix them. Or I will write something else.

Summing up a week of Marvin

Marvin has apparently decided to spend the entire week on a joke that was not funny the first time. Allow me to sum the entire week of Marvin into a single line:

"You know that you are pregnant when you are really fat".

That's it. Not much to do about that. I suppose that I could come up with a few alternate lines.

You know that you are pregnant when your favorite food is tuna in chocolate.

You know that you are pregnant when you are convinced that your neighbours plan to use your child as a sacrifice to satin.

You know that you are pregnant when... uhm, Danny Devito are giving your physicals.

Alright, I admit, my knowledge of pregnancies are slim, but "Pregnant people are fat" is still not a joke, no matter how you word it.