A Bundle of Bigotry

I enjoyed sitting outside. I walked in circles. I walked to my car, opened the door, looked around for something that wasn't there. The wind was blowing. There was debris getting in my eyes. I went back inside. I grabbed a banana. I grabbed a knife. I grabbed a jar of peanut butter. I sat on the cement in front of my house. I proceeded to consume the banana, slabbing chunks of peanut butter on it. I went back inside. I grabbed chocolate almond milk. I laid on the grass. I tried to drink the almond milk, but it is difficult to drink when you are lying face up on the ground. So I lifted my head. This proved to be an excellent solution. The sky looks bigger upside down. The moon was full. It perched behind thin wispy clouds, like some great perching thing. The almond milk was excellent, and it was on sale. This is the reason that I purchased it. I may also be lactose intolerant. Maybe. Who knows. So I drained the last sweet dregs, returned to my house, and then came outside with Frankie the Dog. Frankie enjoys peeing on things. He prefers to go from one bush/tree/other ground protuberance, to the next, peeing on each one, rather than emptying out his bladder all at once. He peed on a tree. Then a bush, then a sign, then a rock, then probably another bush. During this time, we walked around the parking lot. The wind blew harder. Something got in my eyes. I clutched at them in agony. Lightning flashed in the distance. The street, bathed in moonlight, looked dusty. What's going on here? What is going on here? "Frankie, get back here," I yelled to Frankie, who had taken off. He returned quickly. He enjoys returning. Then we returned to the house. Thus ended our adventures for a season.

Torpedoed Limousine

I'm tired. That doesn't sound much different from my last post. I learned about "end feel" in my kinesiology class today. You don't even know what that is. Wait, do you? Because I actually have a feeling you might. If I break into your house, throw you down on the ground, and start pulling your hip around, just understand that I'm not trying to rape you or anything. I'M TRYING TO HELP YOU. And determine the "end feel" of your hip joint. If this program does nothing else for me, it will, hopefully, teach me how to speak to people. I realize that that is not something that I currently know how to do, and I suppose I have never known how to do that. Is that an odd statement? I think it is. I'm done for now.

Porous like Grandma

I'm really really tired right now, and for some reason, that means I need to write a blog. I would write this in my journal, but I don't like the feel of my wrist against the paper. I started my physical therapist assistant class last week. Fun. All the kids in there know a million times more stuffs than I do, and I had a hard time today figuring out how to take blood pressure. You think it's simple, but it's not. Don't argue with me. Oh, and Junior's arriving in February sometime. That's kind of a big deal. And I'm tired right now. And today I ate a salad at Wendy's. It was a lot of money. But I felt good about myself, fore-going burgers, chicken nuggets, and fries. Emily's sick a lot. I don't know how to help her. She throws up every thing that she eats. I don't even know how she's still living. Anybody want a puppy? Too bad, they're all sold. Anybody been in the Holland Building? It smells nice. Today, some people and I were having a study session in a classroom on the third floor with big windows that look out over the campus to the north. To our excitement, there was a crane demolishing the old student services building, smashing it with a THING THAT LOOKED LIKE A GIANT MARSHMALLOW. We sat and watched it for several minutes, smacking the building over and over again, and then we all cheered triumphantly as the "tower" of the building finally collapsed. SO LONG STUDENT SERVICES CENTER.

THE END.

Margaret's Neighbor

If Margaret has a neighbor, is it appropriate to refer to her as "Margaret's Neighbor?" Because that apostrophe would indicate that Margaret was in possession of her neighbor. Does Margaret really own her neighbor? Do you have a neighbor named Margaret? Do you only think you have a neighbor named Margaret? I would advise you to go knock on the door, and ask the person who answers the door if you can speak to Margaret. Because...I'm just telling you right now...

There is no Margaret.

Up yours. Your face, that is.

I was eathing a taco bell chicken burrito. It fell out of the wrapper and onto the asphalt of the parking lot. I WAS SO MAD. SO THEN I PICKED IT UP. AND I ATE IT.

Biff McJohnson: Coach of the Year

Is it normal to say "bye" to people on the phone who have called you as a wrong number, or you have called them? Because I have noticed, across my quarter-century lifespan, that it has been EXTREMELY rare that people say "bye" to me after I say "bye" to them (in this situation). Am I just a weirdo? Is there a rule written somewhere that you are not supposed to say bye to a wrong number?

Quality Assurance Purposes

I would like to give a shout out to all those who may have been some sort of "sportsball" coach to me over my lifetime, and didn't rebuke me or yell at me when I committed gross errors in the ways of sports. For example...Stephen Belmont, you rock. Bruce Belmont (a.k.a. Ned Flanders), you rock. Taylor Clemons's dad, you rock. Some random mean guy who yelled at me during a particular Saturday morning baseball game when I was 10 because I commited an unpardonable sin of hitting a pop-up fly and then watching it fly instead of actually running to first base? Booo. Booo to you. You're a terrible man, making 10 year olds cry because they can't perform to major league perfection in machine-pitch baseball. How dare you.

Nice Interchange

Hey there, St. George. That's a nice looking new interchange you've got there.

Oh, that? Ah, it's nothing. Just a little...interchange.

No, really. It's nice. Saves me some time.

Really? That's great. Well, have you seen the rocks?

Rocks?

Yeah, rocks, they're all over. I have a lot of them.

Oh yeah, rocks. Sure. Sometimes, I sit on them. Mostly I stand.

I have a lot of different rocks. Different colors, shapes.

I've noticed. Good job at having those rocks.

Thanks. So what's your name?

I'm Holden. You can call me that.

Thanks...Holman?

No, Holden.

Oh, sorry, I thought you said Holman.

A simple mistake really. Many others have called me Holman.

Well, it won't happen again.

Don't worry about it.

I won't.

Good.

So you like my interchange?

I do. It's nice. I mean, you have a lot of nice things, like rocks, buildings, plants, lizards, people.

Well, there's places with a lot nicer rocks, buildings, plants, lizards, and people, than me.

Oh, don't be so modest.

All right then, I won't.

Good.

Good...so Holman, what do you do?

I make everybody mad.

Geez, that's no fun. Do you get paid well?

No, it's a free service.

How nice of you.

I know.

If you're good at it, you should get paid for it.

You would think so.

Any other hobbies?

I enjoy laying face down on carpet with my arms spread out.

That seems odd.

Seems that way.

You know, you're unusual.

Well, I think you're a jerk.

I hate you. Get out of me.

Fine. I'm gone.

The End