it's whatever

It has been many months since a post. here goes...

there has been a LOT of death and gloom and overall garbage that has sort of floated it's way up to the surface lately, at least in my little corner of the universe.

anyways children, things are well besides the fact that we are all, ya know, slowly dying and we can't go back and every new morning puts us one day closer to the end-all be-all dirt nap and there are some of us who have done absolutely nothing with ourselves and our time here (or at least this time around, depending upon what you believe).

I guess in a slowwww roundabout way the point is that we all need to figure out some way to leave some kind of mark. Big or small, something.

How, you may ask? Well, there's lots of ways.

Some of us could become killers or arsonists
Some of us maybe artists - leave that lasting print perpetual
Some of us have families, because some of us think that having a family is enough of a mark.
Some of us write
Some of us go hunting Mongolian death worms or making up fake animals by using misspellings or faulty space bar taps in mid sentence on facebook chat.

anyways...
that's all i've got for now.

Things in trees and stuff and junk

----------start transmission------------

It's been a while since I've been on here. But I'm back. To get you up to date....

itub sales have have tanked, the company has gone under, and the acting president is holed up in well, a hole, in his backyard. But hey, it was fun while it lasted. Broken Spleenotronic Funtime Factories™ will surely be releasing a new line of fantastic products to capitalize on the ever-impending holiday season, just as soon as the aforementioned company president gets his shit together.

Haven't really exercised my literary chops (thats writing know-how or complete and utter lack thereof) since the last post about Maxx and Lerr who, to those of you who are following (thanks lonely stalker friend from Ohio), will be making a second appearance very soon.

Michael Hutchence was STILL a genius.
And I still am actively recruiting for another MDW expedition...

What's been up?
wellllllll....................

ya likey the new blog background? It full of books cuz books are for smart people cuz i'm a smart people cuz... smart.. people.

after much debate within the board of owners and the shareholders, the blog has a new name. we went with "blather and drone". Why? because it sounds only slightly better then "complete waste of time" or "wtf is this guy going on about". Also because blather and drone, when used together, are two of my favorite words.

Most importantly...

I saw three piles of pink vomit on Light street yesterday as I was strolling along (cuz that's what I do, I stroll...) making my way to the Ole Bird. The piles - or maybe smatterings is a better word - each decreased in size at the same proportionate amount to the pile/smatter before it. I began to wonder... is this art?

It was kinda art. For puke. I mean it was very colorful. Pink mostly with the same reocurring pattern of longer yellow bits in each little pile. Like hay mixed with used big league chew and spittle.

also... ya like ghosts? graveyards? rednecks? dead kids in colonial garb? mongolian death worms? how bout a combination of all of these things!!! No death worms tho, i'm afraid.... from my friends over at the phantom kangaroo, watch this spoOOOoooky video...

AAHHHHHHH!!! Dead kids that jump real high and fall out of trees!!!

-------------End Transmission-------------

Lerr and Max 1 ruff ruff ruff

this is the roughest of rough rough ruff ruff drafts, inspired by a boot i saw on the side of 97 this morning...


The alarm starts in way too early. Lerr has been meaning to buy another one. The constant repeating screeching of that damn clock has been driving him crazy every morning for the last ten years or so. It’s funny how the things that seem most important early in the day become nothing more then an afterthought as the day progresses. Regardless, Lerr reaches across Nancy, who is starting to slowly stir to life, and hits the snooze bar. Hard. Another early start. He’ll be working outdoors today, clearing the fields and prepping the chipper. The best thing about today is that Lerr gets to work with Max. Max and Lerr go back a ways. They’ve worked together before and between them they have the most experience on the crew. It’ll be a good day. If he can just get out of bed…

Nancy’s not in bed when Lerr gets out of the shower. He can smell the bacon and the strong scent of coffee brewing. At least she’s good for something he thinks. Lerr and Nancy have been together for a long time. Too long. He’s been looking for a good reason to end the relationship. He would’ve done it long ago had it not been for the twin girls. Max has been in his ear for years now about getting out of the relationship. Max never liked her. And Lerr was starting to come around…

He did love the girls, even though they were a drain on his wallet and his sanity. He enjoyed them a lot right after their births, but lately, just like his wife, Lerr has been growing both bored and frustrated. Max and Lerr have had a lot of little chit chats about his situation lately. That’s probably why Lerr likes Max so much. Max provided Lerr with a sense of escape, of what Lerr’s life could be like if he were more like Max. Alone and independent.

Running late as usual. His shower ran a bit longer since he sort of fell asleep leaning on the wall. It’s so tough to get out, especially when it’s so damn cold outside. Even more so when the hot water washing away the whiskey from last night. Lerr had asked Nancy to pack a lunch for him and Max last night, as he fumbled threw his dirty clothes pile he made himself a mental note to be sure to grab the lunches on the way out the door.

....

How's a homeless guy gonna have a cell phone?
Since when are the Girl Scouts in the wet cement business?
Oil

What's the deal (sounding very Seinfeldian) with the little bumps on my fingers?
What happened to Del Davis? Something about christmas trees?
The Pope

Fedoras are the new "baseball" cap
60 is the new 40
Cancer

glurg blurp bleep ringadingdingdingydoo

Poor Frank...

Let me start by apologizing for my horrendous punctuation below, I'm awful - woeful even - at quotations and comma placement....

3 older people (2 ladies, 1 gentleman) in line at the bagel place, they decide to get a dozen bagels, and it begins....

"well, I dunno, what kind should we get," says lady one, looking at lady 2 and then glancing back at me and the other person in line.

"oh gosh, I don't know either," says lady two, turning to look at the guy, who was reading the little City Paper "BEST OF THE CITY" blurb framed on the wall by the side door.

Feeling eyes on him, burning through his 1980's Members Only windbreaker, he turns to his ladies, "I'm sorry, what now?" says he.

"Bagels Frank, Bagels" says lady 2 with a scowl as she points at the bagel case in front of a seemingly incoherent and lost Frank, "BAGELS."

Frank, looks back at lady 2 (one can only assume that Frank and Lady 2 are married and have been so for some time, "I don't care what kind of bagels you get, I didn't even want a bagel."

Lady 2 gives Frank an evil look, one that he's probably seen a countless number of times before, and turn back to Lady 1, "ok Nanc, you pick 6 and I'll pick 6, (turning to Frank) Frank doesn't want a bagel," she adds with a heavy dose of condescending sarcasm.

Lady 1, looking past her companions and at the growing line of people behind them, and seemingly shaken by the fact that she is now in charge of actually making some sort of decision, glances at Frank, as if to say "thanks a lot Frank", and peers into the bagel case.
A few awkward seconds of silence and indecision ensue, the two ladies bouncing up down, away from and up to, squatting, standing on tippytoes to see everything in the bagel case.

My friend Dorothy, the bagel lady looking at them with growing impatience....

At long last.... "Let's see, I guess I'd like a few jalapeno bagels and ---" "no, no, Nancy, don't get jalapeno, they upset my stomach," says lady 2.

"are you planning on eating all of them, Mare?" says Frank, clearly happy with himself because he was able to get a dig in on his life partner.

Lady 2 (Mary, or Mare, apparently) gives Frank that all too familiar look of death.

"Fine!" she yells, "Nancy, you just pick them all, I'm going outside, (turning to a cowering Frank) Come on Frank" and she storms out.

Poor Nancy is left to decide all on her own. She looks back at the ten-or-twelve-deep- line of customers all glaring at her, and she changes her mind, grabs a banana, drops a dollar on the counter, and heads out the door.....

In Search of the Mongolian Death Worm...

Apparently, deep in the Gobi Desert, somewhere along the border of Mongolia and China, lives this most wonderful, happy little creature known, lovingly, as the Mongolian Death Worm. How does this little bugger share its affections with you? Well by spraying you with either it's skin-eating acid venom or by frying you instantly with it's charming little electrical discharge of course. The following is a second hand (or maybe third or fourth hand) description of this little rascal....

Czech Explorer Ivan Mackerle described the animal from reports as: "Sausage-like worm over half a meter (20 inches) long, and thick as a man's arm, resembling the intestine of cattle. Its tail is short, as [if] it were cut off, but not tapered. It is difficult to tell its head from its tail because it has no visible eyes, nostrils or mouth. Its colour is dark red, like blood or salami..."

Anyway, I'm interested in leading an expedition out that way. My map shows that Mongolia is just west of Ohio, and the internet concurs. So I think we can knock this trip out over just a few days.

Any takers????

merry christmas Morla

is it out of line to wish people a Merry Christmas in the middle of April? I think that that would be funny. Am I wrong?

Not likely my lovelies....

"well, the psychic visions are worsening as we grow closer to Alma. She's already won, she just doesn't know it yet."

I think I could be really good friends with Morla. If I could just find her old ass. Every friggin time I find myself trudging my merry way through the swamps of sadness - every single time - I get distracted by my drowning pack animal and friggin Falcor scoops me up and away we go.

I'm really starting to thing that the two of them are in cahoots.

I have nothing else to report here at faraway global headquarters. Itub sales are down 99.5% but hey, it's all about the time of year and the number of units that we did move. The old people conspiracy is alive and well and growing all the time.

that is all

-------end transmission

btw, i think it would be really neat if my neighbor on one side was Spaceghost, on the other was Brak, and across the street was the Oblongs....

greetings from nowhere

---------Start Transmission


Greetings kiddies,


I think my friend is starting a meth lab in her apartment. It's nice to see her finally getting engaged in some kind of creative and socially productive activity.

Society will be so happy.

In other news... I think there is a covert secret ops force of elderlys (new word I believe) who are following things here at faraway hello global headquarters. Ever since I started my hate-fueled tirades about them, I've noticed what can only be described as an active effort to engage, frustrate, and annoy me by any means necessary. Maybe they're smarter then they appear? Maybe I've been wrong about them all along. Perhaps the slovenly, unkempt, and otherwise clueless behavior and appearance is, in fact, a facade. I can't really go in to too much detail, what with the obvious aforementioned monitoring, but let's just say that they are coming out of the woodwork.

Lastly for today, I've been adding words to my list of favorites. Yes, you heard right, I have a growing list of favorite words.

A brand new addition being - petulance. What a fun word.

For those of you, my lovelies, who are curious, other entries include;

filial, omnipresent, fecal, atrophy, embolism, and discombobulation.

all for now!

-------------End transmission

"things you see in a graveyard, in a graveyard, in a graaaaaaaveyard"

Randomness for today....

Speaking of graveyards, which I really only bring up because it's a topic that is introduced further down in this bloggyblogaroo, when we were younger, we had what I assume one could only describe as the infantile beginnings of a "Band." It was me (guitar, kinda), Theez (on bass), Rev (percussion), and Harry (guitar). We had one song, which I wrote, called "in a cemetery" and we met one time to try and record it and bang out all the details (an event that will live on in infamy as "croftonpalooza I"). Needless to say, the song went on to become a top 40 hit and all four of us are currently wealthy beyond belief.

more randomly, thanks to Perfect Dark, I'm becoming an even bigger fan of aliens (the beings, not the movie) then I was before.

In addition, I like to eat, eat, eat, eat; apples and bananas. I like to ote, ote, ote, ote; ohples and bononos.

We watched Repo: The Genetic Opera. It was amazing. I can't stop listening to the "Things You See in A Graveyard" and the "Zydrate" songs. What a groooovy movie.

Jon, the UPS guy who, most importantly, delivers payroll every Tuesday, is a quick-witted son-of-a-bitch. I really wanted to use more commas in that sentence.

I almost ALMOST got picked to sit on a jury for a murder trial. Well, that could be a lie. I made it past the vior dire and thru to the actual selection, where the defense and the prosecution stand you up individually and vote yea or nay on whether to include you. Which, in its own right, is king of depressing.....

You get up there, after three rounds of cuts, and, at least in my case, (more commas!!!) SIX HOURS of bullshit, and your standing there and "Madam Clerk," as the judge so politely identified her, asks the counsel members and they sort of eye you up and down and then their like, "uuuhhhhh... defense excuses this juror." And your like, "ASSHOLE".

Anyway, I almost made it to that point. My number was 538 and they got to 460-ish before they had selected their jury and their alternates.


bleeep, bleeeppp, buzzz, buzz, buzzzzzzz....................

finger lickin' good times in the relationship graveyard...

Besides the buying and selling of coins, currency, gold and silver, part of my job is to sort through ounces and ounces of jewelry that we've purchased over the counter, and have it melted into pure gold. Since the price of an ounce of gold is right around $1100 an ounce, we offer this service to the public and we buy their broken jewelry, watches, etc. etc. Sort of like the Cash for Gold that you see on the picture-box, but we don't rip you off.

I mean, don't get me wrong, we certainly are only in it to turn a profit, and we certainly do. We shipped out 33 ounces pure of gold at the end of last week, which is worth, on "the street" 34,650 dollars American.

We do this often.

Anyway, the point of my little yarn here is that after it's bought, it's held for 18 days (state law) and then it's sorted out by karat, broken up if need be (stones, gems, etc, are removed so that all that remains is the pure meltable gold), and weighed.

Part of the fun is sorting through rings.

It's like a relationship graveyard.

I just finished sorting out what will likely be about 9-10 ounces and there were some GEMS in there! One 14 karat ring had inscribed all along the inside "my love forever."

Forever huh, apparently not....

another newer looking ring read, "eternally yours, Dan."
Now either Dan died, or Dan fucked up. We will never know. Although it's not that uncommon for the seller of this jewelry to start reminiscing about better days and jibber-jabbering away about this person or that person or where the ring came from, etc. Honestly though, rarely do I listen to them.

Just writing this post has got me thinking about this point further. I wonder what percentage of this jewelry belonged to those who find themselves currently dead. It'd be a curious question.

Perhaps we will make that a mandatory question for those who come in here trying to hawk their goods!

storytellers and fires in the rain....

Some people are fantastic storytellers through song. With a relatively smallish collection of what would normally just be random words or sentences, they can paint the greatest pictures. Mr. Stephen Morrissey is certainly, CERTAINLY one of those. A friend and I were just talking the other day about the track Everyday Feels Like Sunday off of the Viva Hate (appropriate title) album. What an excellent example. I am, by no means, a music critic, but every part of this song, from the slow banging drum intro, to the plodding but perfect (as always) vocals that sort of rise into the chorus, good stuff. Anyway, for those of you, my devoted followers (I kid, of course) who aren't familiar with this song, give 'er a listen-eee-loo, and see what kind of picture it paints for you.

secondly for today - people are stupid creatures. This extends beyond the ones that I know and includes the entire race.

thirdly, I'm getting enthralled once again in the "major" "story" that I've been "working" on for months now. I'm starting to find inspiration in so many things again. This is usually when I can tell that I am on the verge of a creative orgasm, as it were. And we all love them....

Oddly enough, I think water really helps. I find myself contemplating idea after idea when I'm either wandering around in, jogging in, extinguishing flames from myself, (or what have you), in the rain. Also the shower. That's right, the shower and the rain; two places where I can't bring my laptop to quickly right the brilliant ideas that are currently rattling around in my little brain.

fourthly, i really want some tater-tots and mac and cheese. RIGHT NOW.

bluuuuuuurb.....

"she spends countless hours with her statue in the park. She can't go into her situation with a living, breathing being, it must always be with someone who only listens. Never passes judgement. Not that she would care about what anyone would say, more so what they would do. Or could do. That it why she is so happy that she found him those many months ago, standing alone in a seldom traversed section of her park, almost hiding amidst wrangled and knotty trees.

After another soul-cleansing conversation with the iron-clad general who founded her hill in the early 1800's, she falls to staring blankly beyond her highway, beyond the harbor, and directly into the heart of her city. As always Matthew says what she longs to hear. She smirks, eyeing the odd triangularity of the building just across the way, and begins to tell him about the girl from 14th street..."

......

I want a dragon. Like a real, fire-breathing, cave-dwelling, damsel-theiving, treasure-gaurding dragon. Anybody?

Bleeeeep, Bllloooooooppp, Bzzzzzzz....

Earlier this week, while I was making my routine trek from the city to work, I saw a car rolling down the highway that sparked my interest. I pulled the Old Bird up alongside this beautifully painted (you know, the kind of painting that you see on cars in Texas, or Mexico, or at car shows or what have you) El Camino (surprise, surprise, right?) and along the back tailgate and sweeping out and off to both sides were images of angels and chariots and all sort of crazy heavenly-style shit. As I approached the drivers-side door, the image of some long haired, bearded fellow with like thorns or something in his head and he was crying came blaring into view.

Pulling up just about alongside, and mesmerized by the furry-ball carpet zebra-print interior on the inside roof, I could start to see more angels on the hood, all sort of gathering together, all apparently looking up at a word that was painted in an elegant reflective golden paint near where the windshield and the hood converge. I grew excited and anxious. I needed to know what word had entranced these heavenly messengers. What was the vision that these beings were ogling. There it was, as I moved ahead a little, just enough for me to read the entire word. All of these astounding beauties were gazing, no staring, nay, SPELLBOUND by one golden, glorious word.... "ANGLE."

Beautiful.

All these "angles" looking up at their own defining word, carved by the gods into the hood of this rolling chariot of an El Camino.

"Angle."

Wait....

I had to slow down so I could let it catch up again. Sure enough.... "ANGLE???" The paint looked fresh. I'm wondering how long this fella will be cruising around town, pimpin his ride, before someone tells him that "Angel" is spelled "angel," not "angle."

It's not like you can inform him as your both flying down 97. Its not like pointing to a door or a gas cap that's off or loose or whatever. If I pointed to his hood, he'd probably think i was just giving him props, not trying to correct a unfortunate spelling snafu.

Additionally, the same morning I saw an old lady driving this giant tank of a pickup truck.

This amazed me.

This little old turtle-esque grandma, very likely sitting atop a pile of telephone books, moving along 50 East, in a huge Ford F-700, apparently oblivious to the world around her, looking very much like a tick in a shoebox.

In other news, I'm growing more and more fascinated with the idea of adding more lights to the front of the Old Bird (which, for those of you in the unawares, is my Wrangler). I already have normal headlights and an additional set of lights on the front bumper. I can envision another set up by the mirrors, and still another, mounted to each side of roof. Maybe one set of lights could be red. Maybe another green. OOOHHHH!!.... and maybe I could make them blink off and on, and in some king of nonsensical order. One light, maybe the red one on the left side of the front bumper, would blink like 7 times in a row, in the meantime, the green one on the top right would do like a Morse code thing; a long hard dash of a blink for like 6 seconds, and then 3 or 4 quick little flashes. Maybe eventually I could incorporate some sounds!!! Some random "BLEEEEEEPS", or "BZZZZZZZZ, BLIP, BLIP, BLEEEEEEEP, BLOOOP, BLOOOP...." I'd love too see turtle-grandma's face when this noisy white, blue, and green mosh and gob of lights and bleeeps come running up on her on the highway....

attention, blah, blah, blah....

It's March 1st. Already?? WTF? What can we do to make time slow down. I remember being a kid and wanting to get older. Couldn't WAIT to be an adult. Now, I just want shit to slow down. I'd like to look at the calendar and just be content, not wondering what the fuck happened to the year.

It's off to radiology shortly for lifetime MRI number 80 million. There's one place that I go to that has a huge fish tank in the room with the MRI machine and it's lit in like a fluorescent blue. The one dude who I get sometimes has a noise machine in there. He's always got it set to waves or something. Anyway, the whole experience, besides the necessity of it, is quite relaxing, like being at the aquarium! They have these super kool noise eliminating headphones thru which they pump any type of music that you like. Last time it was the middle three tracks off In Utero. Then there's another place that's basically like going to the hospital - everything's all cold and sterile, old people (we know how much I ADORE their company, right?) - and, lucky me, that's where i get to go today!

anyway, not much humor in today's blog. Just cold hard factaroos.

blaaaaaaahhhhh.....

For starters, what the fuck is a "might could?"
What does it mean?

As in, "you might could do that?" I've never heard a more broken, discombobulated, or otherwise corrupted pair of words used together. Ever.

Secondly, it IS, after all, a KILLER Whale.

Lastly for today, where's my green pillow??

More musings from the gym and other miscellaneous debris

The gym. "You will never find a more wretched hive of scum and villany". Of course, if by scum, you mean random clueless old people trying to figure out how best to arrange their sagging bodies onto the big metal contraptions before them without breaking their feeble bones or tearing their paper-thin dermis's. And by villany you are referring to the muscle bound freaks in the back who spend dauntless hours and hours lifting the entire left half of the gym up and down, up and down. If this is what you mean, then you my friend are SPOT ON.

These steroid boys trip me out. I mean, I understand that it is a public gym and you pay a monthly premium to be able to come and lift, or run, or ogle the pretty people, or whatever it is that you feel your $89.00 a month affords you. But these guys. Jesus. Just once I'd love to see one of them; face all red and veiny, eye's bulging from their sockets, in the middle of one of his primative "UUUUUGGGGGHHHHHHH" screams that can be heard from Locust Point, I'd love to see his head just explode. Maybe when he's back there on the bench press and his equally gigantic buddy with the freakishly large upper body and the equally freakish teeny tiny little legs (how is this dude even standing up) is spotting him. I'd love for this guy to just start wailing and suddenly, "POP" there goes his little head, all over his buddies midsection. Tough break guy. At least the rest of us can work out in peace.

Also, I've decided, after having to spend my entire 10 minute set on the lateral pulldown machine listening to these two older British ladies blather on about one thing or another, that I cannot stand the British prenuncuation of the letter A. If I have to hear "can't" or "past" or "pass" or any other word that has the A sound i'm going to lose my shit. Here's an excerpt of the conversation as I remember it: "Seriously, I CAAAAAAAHHHHN'T imagine what she was thinking. I mean, things like this (I can't recall exactly word for word, as I was concentrating on my own workout, but there were a few more hard A sounding words coming up) have a tendency to PAAAAAAAAHHHHHSS." I just wanted to get up and hit her in the eyeball everytime she over extended her A words. As I was fininshing up, and in between ipod selections I heard, "her whole situation is so PAAAAAAHHHHHHSSE anyhow." C'mon. Passe? Who the fuck still even uses that word! Passe. Give me a break.

Lastly for now, and completely random and unrelated to anything, Michael Hutchence was a genius....

have a GROOOOOOVY day!

The Wednesday Varietal!

Camping out on Old Lady Row.

That's what it felt like at the gym this morning. Old lady to the left of me, two more to my right. Each and every one of them confused or overwhelmed in their own special little way. The lady all the way on the end was clearly new. Either at the gym altogether or just at the machine that she selected to try and operate this particular day. No lady, unless your a jedi, you can't just stand there and stare at the elliptical and will it into motion. You'll need to follow the onscreen instructions. You know, the ones that are flashing in green and scrolling across the screen?

Press "Quick Start". Just press it for christsake! It's the big green square button that you've been staring at for the last 3 minutes.

And her equally clueless compatriot; it's not a touch screen, that's a television monitor that you keep poking. And it helps if you're actually ON the machine before you try to begin your "routine". C'mon ladies, get your shit together.

In other news.... Broken Spleenotronic Funtime Factories™ morning-ly (<---made up word alert) reports are showing HUGE sales of the amazing, the wonderful, the groove-a-rific iTub! One girl over in Locust Point ordered 4! Which means, of course, since she took advantage of the 12 second sale window, that she will receive a whopping 16 iTubs (assuming, of course that she fills out her Friendly-Sunshine-Rainbow L.E.C.A.P.A.A.F.T. packet! and returns it registered mail asap!)

In other, other news... I am waiting patiently for the MAXX # 25 (originally issued in 1996) to come in! I can't read beyond #25, although I have #'s 26 thru #31, plus #33 and #34. Just letting you all know the status on that.


nothing else for now!

iTub®

And now....

ladies and gentlemen...

We here at Broken Spleenotronic Funtime Factories™ are proud to introduce our latest, greatest, most wonderful invention to date.... the iTub®!

sick and tired of the whole bathing process?

the actual act of undressing, testing the water, waiting for it to get warm enough, but not to warm?

the unnecessary standing around in the stall, undoubtedly urinating all over your lower half?

the washing of your body?

the soap in your eyes?

the ridiculous time wasted drying your body off when your done?

If any of this sounds like you, then don't wait a second longer. Act now before this limited time offer for the amazing, the exhilarating, the unbelievable iTub® is gone forever.

If you act in the next 12 seconds, not only will we quadruple your order (that's right folks, you get not only 1 incredibly difficult to use, obtrusive, and, quite frankly, painful as all get-out iTub®, we'll send you 4!!) but the team here at BSFF ™ will throw in our newest super-secret undercover invention! So super-secret and wonderful that we can't even name it in this once in a lifetime offer! All that we ask from you is that you sign our Friendly-Sunshine-Rainbow-Dewdrop life eradication contract and property, asset, and family transference packet and all this can be yours!

From you old friends at Broken Spleenotronic Funtime Factories™.

The iTub®!

The worlds greatest internet tub thats a tub on the internet!

NBC is a douche

It's been a while since I've had a good old fashioned mental breakdown. I'm about due. I can sort of see it, forming around the edges and splintering and crackling it's way thru my precious little head. Time will tell, but it won't be long. Can't wait for that!

In other news.... I've found myself freakishly devoted to this installment of the Olympics. No matter what the event, I'm completely spellbound. That being said, I am flabbergasted that they would actually show the fatal accident involving the Georgian Luger that occurred on Friday. We don't need to see that. I'll admit that most times in life I follow my morbid curiosity around wherever it pleases. Alot of the time, I'm actually prodding it ever-onward, but c'mon. The dude died and it's the Olympics, the preeminent international celebration of all things sport. The last thing we as an audience need is to see this poor guy flip off his sled, smack into a steel poll, and eventually lose his life.

Way to go NBC.

Douche bag.