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.