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Archive 23
(For more Dailies, check out the Archive Here)

Note to self 270: 09/14/2005

I just finished watching the first season of Lost on DVD last Friday, and the MegaPlayboy and I decided that it would be "wicked fuckin' awesome cool" to become lost ourselves. We then began recruiting for the rest of our cast. I, of course, was to be the kick-ass mo'-fo' Locke, because I can kick your ass, and I like knives. The MegaPlayboy was Sawyer because they're both players. Then we got Dr. Dave to play Dr. Jack's part, Tammi With an "I" was both Kate and Boone's sister ('cause they're both kind of slutty), Kuni played Jin and Mehve played Sun ('cause they're both Asian, but Mehve speaks English [Jamaican English if we're lucky!]), Jimmy Jammer played Boone (because he wants to sleep with his sister too, and we figured it'd be okay to invite him since Boone's the first to die), and then we just found a pregnant chick, a black guy (Malcolm Z refused to join the fun while keeping us all at gunpoint till he was able to drive away) and a terrorist-looking dude to fill out the rest of our cast. We got a couple of red-shirts in order to kill early on to make the adventure more thrilling, but the black guy got a little too excited about "capping some muthafuckas" and ended up bustin' some lead up they asses before we even reached the island (actually, it was just a peninsula on Lake Lanier, but we had to make due).

Things started out well enough. Jin and Sun apparently got over any marital difficulties they were having and started making out heavily before the first day was over. Kate and Sawyer started bumpin' bodies before the first bonfire was lit, and the island terrorist and the token black guy ended up knifing each other while the preggers chick and I made s'mores. Dr. Jack did a shitty job trying to stitch them up and save their lives, but I honestly think he was just trying to harvest their organs (I personally don't think it's really necessary to remove the kidneys and lungs of a guy who got stabbed in the face, but hey, what do I know).

It was about 1AM on the first night when I gave the signal for Robot Pedro to start stomping through the forest to scare the remaining Losters, but he didn't listen to my programming and broke out of the trees and started stepping on people's heads indiscriminately. Only Kate, Dr. Jack, Preggers and me (Locke) remained after I shot the island, robotic, security system in the chest with a gun made out of a coconut. It was a mess. The only thing I could do before the lake cops arrived was screw the pregnant lady doggy style a few time on the beach. Next time I'm just gonna either put everybody but me and a hot (pregnant) chick on a crappy raft and set it on fire as soon as they're far enough away from the shore that they can't get back, or just fill the rest of the cast around me with hot chicks. Hot and horny chicks. It will be awesome.

Note to self 269: 08/31/2005

Well, I'm another year older, but thankfully less in debt. Normally, I truly hate celebrating birthdays. Yeah, some freaks get happier each year older they get, thinking that they're one year closer to partying with Jebus and the Saints up in Nirvana or something, but if there is an afterlife, I'm pretty sure I know where I'm going, and despite all its publicity for whores and debauchery, I don't know of anybody down there who's enjoyed their time in it at all.

Anyway, this year I had a pretty decent birthday weekend. Tammi With an "I", Jake the Snake, Whorey Lori, Sushi, Kylie Wylie and Mrs. Kylie Wylie all took me out boozin' and strippin' on Friday night (they took me to a strip club.... but I did personally start to take stuff off at about 3AM on Jackson Street. The mug shots are awesome!). The drinking and eating beforehand was fun, and the initial high of checking out co-ed boobies was pretty good too, but the inside of a college town strip club is really kind of scary/depressing. First of all, it's filled with tons of 18 year-old frat boys (with giant, markered Xs on their hands so they couldn't buy any alky)... and they're all the freaky frat guys (redundant, I know) who don't even seem to enjoy their time there. They all just sit still and stare at the strippers. STARE. No smiles or anything. Christ almighty! Somebody's gotta educate these fucks on nudie bar etiquette! You have to wave the money around, smile, get the chicks to talk, dance with them... And most importantly GET DRUNK! Nothing's worse than a sober freak in a nudie bar staring at jiggling hooters like he wants to stab them. And the morons who give the pole-dancers cash during the first song of her act and demand that she show them boobies PRONTO are bigger dicks than Hitler and Toujo combined. Just wait... The boobies will come.

Besides those freaks, Tammi With an "I" had a job to do at the nudie bar that she failed miserably at. It was her duty to get me some booty. I kept pointing out strippers that I wanted her to get for me, but she kept mumbling shit like, "Yeah, she's hot. Hoooo-boy! I'magetcher hotmommajamma ferlil derka shhhmak.... Uh, I gotta smoke." Then she'd run off outside to smoke a few cancer sticks. By the time she came back the stripper was already being forced to dance on the laps of the rest of the chauvinist bastards in the place against their wishes (oh yeah, they didn't want to dance for those assholes. I could tell). She did come through in the end though, and got that lithe hottie, Adele... Adiele... Adelei... whoever, to bump and rub her ass all over me. Holy shit... That chick was the greatest lap dancer I have ever had the privilege to be pinned against. She put pros that I've been bounced against in Vegas to shame! She was... Magical. I tried thanking Tammi With an "I" for getting Adeilieia for me after our 3 songs were done, but she was so far gone by that point we just left her there, all curled up on the couch in the VIP room in the back. I had Jake the Snake grab the bunch of 20s sticking out of her pants before we took off. God I hope she took a shower as soon as she got home.

After that, the rest of my weekend was spent avoiding Jimmy Jammer, movie hopping with Matt^3 and Karen, climbing Mt. Muldoon and pondering some questions at the top about life, the universe and everything, and going to Six Flags with Marksy. The park was empty (except for some pert and pinky, sorority chicks on a field trip), which was good in that it allowed us to ride everything without waiting in any kind of line, but bad because it allowed Robot Pedro to hunt me down easier with so few life-readings for him to wade through. We did convince him that the Superman ride was the real Superman (his lifelong dream has been to become the new Metallo by kicking the shit out of the real Supes), and watching his robotic torso get creamed by a 65mph coaster-cart is the thing that dreams are made of.

Marksy and I planned to jump out of a plane as the last, final, end to my birthday weekend, but unfortunately, thanks to Hurricane Tamiqua all of the jump schools were closed. Fuck you, Mother Nature. Fucking weather bitch! So instead we just watched all 26 hours of the extended Lord of the Rings Trilogy on Marksy's 64" tv in DTS. I then dreamed of chasing little Hobbits around town while naked girls kept stuffing money down my shorts and evil robots kept exploding all around me. Needless to say, that was the best dream ever! Only problem with the weekend is I still have stripper glitter on me. Shit won't come off.

Note to self 268: 08/17/2005

Monday was another day of Jury Duty... It's been years since I was last called, but at least this time I didn't have to travel all the way the hell down to Atlanta for it. The judge was kind of cool this time, though not nearly half as crazy as the judge who presided over the first court I appeared as a juror in. Though the coolest person in the courtroom was the court clerk. I never got his name, but he looked almost exactly like Billy Quizboy - Boy Genius from the Venture Brothers cartoon (right down to the eyepatch). Awesome.

Anyway, so out of like 50 people called to duty that day, of course I was one chosen for the DUI and underage possession trial. We, the jury, declared the punk-ass-bitch guilty just because he looked like the slimey, daddy's boy, frat fucker that he was. He kept sneering at us while his attorney grilled us during the jury pick... Seriously, his fat, bald lawyer spent 45 FUCKING MINUTES asking us personal details about our life that had absolutely NOTHING to do with if we'd be prejudiced against his client beforehand. One lady was almost brought to tears by the big ape because he kept asking her about family members and their jobs, and she had to keep telling him that most of her family died about 2 months ago in a horrible traffic accident. "But there was no alcohol involved in their deaths? Right?" was all he'd say. "Good. So you wouldn't have any bias against my client going into this trial, right?... Good. So, tell me about your dog. Is he frisky? I like rainbows. Do you like the color mauve? Does your cat like pudding? I like pudding. Well, chocolate pudding. Do you like chocolate pudding? ANSWER ME, DAMMIT!.... No? Well then... Juror number 11, same question..." It just kept going on like that. I was pissed when he asked me why I broke up with my last girlfriend, Jessica, but I did use that line of questioning to ask him, "Who does your hair. Tell me, where do they do it, and when are they bringing it back?" The judge (who was seriously rubbing his hand over his face in a manner that suggested he was either trying to hold in a monster piss, or hold in the rage to begin shooting annoying defense attorneys) thought that my comment was funny, and his laughing then caused the DUI kid's lawyer to hasten his examination of the jury. Because of my comment though, the assistant DA made sure I was the final draft pick... Bastard.

The trial was quick. The punk kid only had one witness for his side, a frat brother who was half drunk/half asleep in the car with him at the time of arrest. Then the prosecutor brought in the arresting officer. He told us (and showed us on a map) how the dick had driven through a trashcan and two chairs while taking a right on Broad. He narrowly missed 6 pedestrians. The kid claimed that his bloodshot eyes and stench of alcohol (despite his underagedness) was caused by some "mean senior" who dumped a full pitcher of PBR on his head. From what the officer described, the only liquid on the boy when he arrested him was on the front of his pants.

Seriously, how the holy fuck did this kid think he'd win this case? Did he just hope the cop wouldn't show up? Did he think daddy would hire a better lawyer for him? Did he really piss his pants? The world may never know? What I do know is that the judge allowed us to make an example of the puke, and let us give him the death penalty. Twice. God bless our court system!

Note to self 267: 08/03/2005

The Wolfman and I went to see the movie Wedding Crashers on Friday night, and then stayed awake until Saturday morning figuring out and planning how we could pull off some of the shit that Vince Vauhn (sp?... Who gives a shit) and Owen Wilson got away with in the film. I mean, they scored with like 20 chicks in the opening five minutes of the movie alone! Sweet! So the Wolfman and I came up with a plan: We'd invade Tammi With an "I"'s cousin's nuptuals that afternoon, slip whoever'd allow us to hold their drinks a roofy, and then do her on the wedding cake in front of Grandma Toodles.

Things started out well as we snuck into the redneck wedding by pretending to deliver the keg (we just found an empty one behind a frat house on the way over), and then we sat in the back of the church shack and pretend-cried when the bride in grey (there was no way anybody in Tammi's family could wear "white" on their wedding day) said "I sure 'nuff do!" Things took a nosedive though when Tammi beat us to the punch and slipped her sister, her aunt and the Wolfman a roofy, and then proceded to get them all naked and spread eagle on the gifts table while she fucked them each with a ribbed, pink strap-on. I saved a piece of the cake for the Wolfman for later, but unfortunately Tammi With an "I" must have given the big lug an overdose and he died. Damn that cake was good.

Note to self 266: 07/27/2005

Ooooh God, whatta weekend. It was Tammi With an "I"'s birthday on Sunday, so all last week was apparently her "Birth Week, dammit!" The two catchphrases that we heard all week were "I can do whatevah I want," and "You're ruining Birth Week!" They both got old... Really fast. Anyway, so we all gathered at Apathy's house for the celebration on Saturday night, drank a lot, ate deer brats and deer burgers, drank some more, told stories that bathed eachother in the most embarrassing light possible, played "toss the chihuahua," had a beer-fight, and then toasted the fire department after they got the house blaze under control. Christ, if I had lost my girly playing cards in that fire I would have gone bat shit loco. Sunday, I'm told, Tammi With an "I", Sushi and Whorey Lori all went to a water park to (I guess) bake away and sweat out all the toxins in their systems under the 102 degree Georgia summer sun... I heard that eight little kids who swallowed too much water in the wave pool had to be treated for alcohol poisoning.

Note to self 265: 07/20/2005

Dammit! Karen talked me into doing another midnight Harry Potthead release party... Joy. We met Tammi With an "I" and Tawny over at the red-neck Wal-Mart just outside of town at around 11:30PM, told all the little kids that it's Harry, Hermititty and Ron who all die in this book, made them all run away crying, and then got their spaces near the front of the line and got to eat all the Harry Potter cake and drink all of the green punch that the staffers had out for the fans. I also stole some kid's Potter glasses, but only found out as I tried them on that they were in fact his real prescription spectacles. Eh, they were really dorky looking, so I think I did the little fucker a favor by then stepping on them and calling him a "Pansy, faggy, witch-school ghost" or something similar. Fuck 'em all.

So we waited; the girls played Potter trivia, some hot milf gave me a vial of yellow juice and told me it was some kind of "luck potion" (it didn't help me even get to first base with Karen, so I tried to return it to the lying whore only to find out that she was the glasses-kid's mom, and he was asking her why she wanted him to pee into some more small containers for her), and we finally made it to midnight. The chunky monkeys behind the counter handed us however many books we wanted. I asked for "All the fucking rest you got, tubby," and they piled 243 copies on a large, rolling cart for me. That's when I put my plan into action. As I approached the front check-out line (with an army of bratty wizard and witch wannabees tailing me, calling me a "big meanie," and trying to curse me with cruciatiseses, and kicks-to-the-nuts [well, that one was courtesy of Tammi With an "I"]) I called Robot Pedro (who I got to wait in the parking lot with promises of kitten brutality) and told him that there were tons of evil little hu-mans in the store that he was allowed to eat, but ONLY if he caused a huge commotion while doing it. So Robot Pedro busted in, started the squashing and the crushing, and I took my chance to sneak all the books out to my car and sell them all for $100 each to all the disappointed and wounded families that came crawling out of the store in bloody tatters. I made a fucking fortune! Oh, and thanks to Bob From the Future I already knew what happens up through the end of Book 7: Harry Potter and the Boner of Gryffindor, so I spoiled the shit out of it to all the people who bought a copy of Book 6 from me that night.

Note to self 264: 07/06/2005

Action Packed Roadtrip! Well, at least it was a packed roadtrip. Luggage packed. Jaime and I caravanned up to Jersey for a huge family reunion (extended family just twice removed brought the body count to about 1300 individuals... My relatives apparently like to spawn). We laughed, we drank, we partied, we kayaked out to sea, we drank some more while lost at sea waiting for the Coast Guard to rescue us... Good times. What I am totally amazed with though is just how rich some of my cousins are. We stayed in one relative's summer home on Monmouth Beach (one block from sand); 11 bedrooms, 7 1/2 bathrooms and three stories tall. That was just where a few of us stayed. Some more crashed at my cuz's actual full time house, which has tennis courts, pool, boat dock and some Guatemalans working off a couple of lifetimes of indentured servitude. Those guys can make a frozen margarita!

Anyway, after the reunion, we drove down to Mt. Vernon to chill with George Washington's dead bones and mock the poor schmucks who had to stand around in the 90 degree heat all summer spouting the same two pieces of information per room of the mansion to stupid, fat tourists like us. Wait, what? And for the record, unlike them I CHOSE to wear that powdered wig. Though in hindsight using powdered sugar in the wig was a bad mistake. Bees, man, bees.

While at Mt. Vernon I did get a bit historical, and I felt a bit sad that I had chosen to sleep through most of my history classes in grade school, middle school, high school and college. I found that I actually WANTED to learn about George, Martha and their fight against the Russians in The American Revolution II. So I called up Bob From the Future (left a message on his machine a couple hundred years before he was/is to be born, and he popped up next to me before I actually left the message -- time paradoxes being what they are and all). I asked if he could bring me back to see the birth of the nation, and after that small mix up on that D.W. Griffith movie set, he brought me face to face with General Washington and his army of Red Coats... I KNOW! I was shocked too! Apparently General George Washington was really a British Nazi who killed thousands of revolutionists by viciously biting their jugulars out with his sharpened, fanged wooden chompers, and he liked to suck on the teets of hearty colonial women while their husbands watched, tied to chairs in the corner. He was apparently also known as "Cock Stomping" Washington because of his unnerving tendency to stomp people's cocks.

After witnessing the bastard punt a baby into the Potomac, I confronted him and asked him what the fuck he was doing. I informed him that in my time he was known as the Father of America, the greatest country on the planet, and that he was all time adored for his heroic acts against evil fascist Red Coats and the crown. George seemed to like that. He then began asking me if I thought that he could get more big, breasted, American tail if he switched sides and started fighting for truth, justice and the American way. I told him "Does the Pope defecate in the woods with twenty prostitutes who whack him off while he makes them eat his steaming feces?" (Everyone knows the answer to that one is "yes") Then ol' "Cock Stomper" turned and stabbed King George III in the face (the King was visiting his good buddy Washington at the time, and then the whole murder thing was covered up by the Holy Roman Empire and the Illuminati... It's all hush-hush). That's when I had Bob From the Future take me back to my time (well, I first had him take me back to that Spring Break in Cancun when I walked in on that lesbian orgy two doors down from my room, but then I had him take me back to my time), just in time for the Fourth of July and a big old party at Mehve's place. I tried to show everybody the Polaroid I took of Washington and myself where I was fondling Martha's full bosom, but apparently it'll take a bit over 229 years for the picture to develop. Sometimes time travel really pisses me off.

Note to self 263: 06/15/2005

The Colonel was in town this past week, so we went out partying while he regaled me of tales of his exploits in Europe and Asia, and I told him all about the cultists in town who want to kill me then rape me in order to appease their Lord, the many penised Drakkor the Insatiable, because I accidentally urinated on Carl during a party on Thursday, and thusly defiled their original sacrifice. But whatever, I'm talking about the Colonel here -- and I already have Robot Pedro working on the cult-case after telling the metal fucker that the cultists like to sodomize laptops in an attempt to create a half-breed man/Macintosh... Seriously, I have never seen that android more ticked off!

So the Colonel was telling me about his girlfriend and having to shoot his way out of a Thai drug deal gone bad while the Interpol agent who's been after his ass for the past 5 years tried to get the drop on him after he made it to his waiting hydrofoil in international waters, when I brought up the fact that I thought we should do something fun and illegal together, just like old times. So we went over to the old Athens movie house and theater-hopped the day away. First we saw Mr. and Mrs. Smith, then The Longest Yard, and we ended our film-filled escapades with The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants... Thank you MegaPlayboy for the suggestion of that one. No... I really mean it. Thank you.... IN HELL.

Mr. and Mrs. was pretty good (holy hot fuckness is Angelina Jolie so fuckingly goddamn hot!), but just didn't have that *Umph* that I was hoping for. I dunno, I guess with all the buzz about Brad Pitt screwing around with Angelina behind his wife's back while shooting the movie I half expected a 30 minute, full-blown, hot as hell sex scene or something. The Colonel even brought some Kleenex just in case. We were both disappointed. Anyway, The Longest Yard was fun, but I was expecting more The Waterboy, and less Shawshank Redemption. Seriously, it's got its laughs, but it also has its hardcore, anal, prison probing.... No, I'm just shitting you. No h.c. rape scenes or nothing (nasty thought, but maybe THAT'S why the Colonel brought the tissues... Oh, ick!), but still lots of brutality and drama. Entertaining nonetheless (Not that I'm saying that I thought it would be more entertaining with some prison paddycake scenes... I just meant... Oh, fuck off). The we snuck into The Sisterhood of the Pantsless Titties... Or whatever. Yeah, Rori Gilmore was in it, but I didn't pay much attention to the movie as a whole (the Colonel seemed totally enraptured with the whole thing though. Scary). Instead, and instead of clawing my eyes out, I just watched the couple three rows ahead of us who were busy sucking tonsils/makin' bacon/pettin' porpoises/lickin' labia/strokin' scrotum/stickin' penis into vagina... Know what I mean? Know what I mean? Say no more... But about halfway through the movie (I think the fat chick was trying the pants on at the time), the dude doing the face sucking must have blown his load cause he stopped and then started looking around the dark theater. He caught me staring at the two of them, and then he got pissed the fuck off. He pointed at me and mouthed something like "I will rip your balls off and stick them up my anus and then shit them out down your throat, cock tugger!" and then he disappeared beneath the back of his seat to presumably pull his pants back on (his female acquaintance was just sitting there with a grin on her face). During the time he took his eyes off me, I told the Colonel that since he was so into the film he should see it from my seat -- The pants were just that much hotter from my position. He agreed to give it a try and took his place in my old seat just as movie-fuck-bunny appeared at his side. The Colonel looked up at him but I made sure I never lost eye contact with Rori. I don't think that Mr. Suck Face even gave fair warning before he started swinging. The Colonel though, with his years of training with the Shaolin monks and the Ninjas of the Ukraine, kicked his bulky ass and threw him into the silver screen in less time than it takes to bellow "You have my nuts in a vice-like grip in your hand." He tore a hole large enough to block out the one fat chick in the flick, and we then decided that our fun was probably over as the cops were more than likely on their way. We then just headed on over to Dr. Dave's place to reattach my left pinky finger that came off two days earlier due to sticking it in something that I shouldn't have. Something that belonged to Angry Amy... A part of Angry Amy... Let's just leave it at that.

Note to self 262: 05/25/2005

A pretty full weekend just happened. Tawny, Tammi With an "I" and my friend, just got married on Saturday, and we had a good time at the ceremony and reception. It was a country weddin', so there was plenty of chili, beer, whiskey, grits, fried green termatoes, brunswick stew, guns, and ammo to go around. The UGA mascot even made a cameo (which by itself made this the coolest fucking wedding I'd EVER been to -- You rock, Hairy Dog!) and he posed for pics after he tackled the groom into the 6 layered wedding cake. I have a shot of me getting a cleat to the jimmy that is priceless! My face is perfect in that picture.

After the ceremony and reception, Tammi With and "I" and I held back a bit and helped clean up the place in order to give Tawny and her new man enough time to drive back to their house, get changed, and then head over to her parents' house where the real party was gonna take place. We gave them an hour, and then took the back country roads over to Tawny's home so that they wouldn't pass us along the way. We planned to "spice up" their bedroom with some flowers, candles, rose petals, a big black rubber dildo, condoms, blow-up Wendy, and a couple of tubes of motion-lotion, but we had to make sure it was a surprise in order to ensure that Tawny flipped out completely (first of all at the home intrusion, and second of all about all the "dirty dirty toys"). We cruised into their neighborhood feeling positive that we had given them enough time to, um, physically put the body-slappin' freak-on their vows, but as we turned onto their street we saw that their car was still in their open garage. We slammed on the brakes and did a nice U-turn in their quiet neighborhood, and then we tore into a little coldesac around the bend from which we would be able to see when they drove by on their way to her parents' place. From there we waited... And waited... And waited. We were staring through somebody's back yard during all this, and soon the whole family came out and started swimming in their pool (a mother, a son, a skinny daughter and a larger daughter). And still we waited.

After about a half a fucking hour, the father of the family in the pool we were staring at came walking out to our idling car veeeery slowly. Wearing a cowboy hat, a belt buckle the size of Denmark, and boots (I was positive he was packing heat under that ten gallon mellon warmer). I rolled down my window but I made sure that Tammi was the one to talk to the dude. "We ain't watchin' your family, if that's what y'all are thinkin'," she said matter of factly. "We're just watchin' to see when our friends come on by so that we can bust into their place and decorate it for their honeymoon." The cowboy was very confused but he eventually expressed himself by stating, "Oh, well that's alright then, sugar. We've just been havin' a problem with some Mex-ee-cans parkin' back here an' gettin' high off of the weed. Y'all are all right. But just watch out for them Mex-ee-cans. They like to get high." We assured him we'd keep an eye out for them, and he left us alone to go assure his wife that we weren't no Mex-ee-cans. We wasn't gettin' high neither. Well, I wasn't.

After waiting ANOTHER 20 minutes, we got tired of it and decided to take a chance to see if we had missed the couple thanks to the cowboy. We sped around to the entrance of the street we were hiding on and almost crashed headfirst into Tawny and her new hubby as they tore off down the road. I seriously don't know how they didn't see us, but they didn't. We ducked fast too. Anyway, we successfully broke into their house, decorated their bed with rose petals, condoms and big black rubber dicks, put some candles on the nightstand and some flowers (from the reception) on the dresser (I kept Wendy because I wasn't sure if she would inflate properly what with all the....something or other, and I didn't want Tawny's new hubby to get angry if he only found out she was broken when Tawny had a headache one night). Then I drew a picture of the bride and groom hugging and taped it to the bedroom door, and Tammi wrote a quick poem on the picture about having sex and making babies. If that didn't put the couple in the mood I didn't know what would! Then we left some champagne in the fridge and booked it over to Tawny's parent's house where we were then put under the Spanish Inquisition by Tawny as she demanded time and time again what we had been doing all this time when she was missing her shoes (or some shit. I usually just block it out). It turns out that the newlyweds weren't even getting busy in the two hour window that we gave them to clear out of their house! They just drank some liquor and watched a Harry Potter movie or something. What's even sadder is that our efforts to sluttify their bedroom up were moot as Tawny was apparently "too tired" that night when they got back home after the party. That poor poor groom. When you can't even get laid on your own wedding day, in a room full of rose petals, condoms and big black rubber dicks... What is the world coming to?

NEW TOPIC: Dream Analysis
I had two dreams last night, both very vivid and strange. The first involved me being in a Japanese high school. I found myself talking to a really cute girl who for some reason I knew was Ayukawa Madoka. We were flirting like gang-busters when I finally asked her if she was serious with Ishida-san in the home room next door. She blushed and told me, "No. Nothing like that at all. He spreads rumors like that, but I hardly even know him. But now it's your turn. I think that it's time for you to finally pick between me and Hika-" I cut her off with "I fucking pick you. Seriously. How gay do you think I am?" Just as we were about to start getting hot and heavy I woke up.

I tried to get that dream back, but instead I got a dream where I was Spider-Man and I had to fight the giant basilisk while Tom Riddle laughed at me from the corner of my living room. I had the sorting hat and that sword with me, but that snake was still kicking my ass. Luckily I woke up before it ate me. Whatever I ate before bed I am gonna make sure I get tons of it next time I go grocery shopping.

Note to self 261: 05/18/2005

After a boring weekend, the MegaPlayboy and I watched the cool time traveling movie Primer late Sunday night. Moved by its real use of temporal shifts and quantum fluctuations, the MegaPlayboy and I talked Bob From the Future into taking us back to Friday night again so that we could have a Primer experience all our own... But then we remembered that we forgot to get the winning numbers to the lottery and that our weekend was already boring as fuck the first time through. So I spent my re-weekend reading 134 chapters of the Ichigo 100% manga and fell in love with the three main females of the story at first sight. I'm not talking figuratively "falling in love" here, I mean it -- I fell hopelessly, madly, and deeply in love with Toujou Aya, Nishino Tsukasa, and of course Kitaouji Satsuki by the end of the 15th volume. By Second Sunday night I could think only of those three Gorgeous Ladies of Manga (from now on know as "GLoM"), and so I decided to have Bob From the Future return me yet again to Friday night so that I could actually do something about my lus-, I mean love.

So the MegaPlayboy and I arrived back on our Third Friday and immediately began recruiting my own Strawberry Harem ("ichigo" meaning strawberry in German). Well, eventually when the MegaPlayboy started bitching that HE should get to play the part of the main character Manaka Junpei (aka the harem herder of Ichigo), I had to have Bob From the Future send him back to Pompei to chill him out a little. Anyway, I got Angry Amy to play shy and adorable Toujou in my personal Strawberry Play, Tammi With an "I" to play the part of sexy and cullinarily skilled Nishino, and Karen got the hot role of sultry me-lovin' Kitaouji. I don't know how I talked them all into wearing strawberry panties, but in the end Kare-, er, I mean Kitaouji was the only one willing to show them to me. Things got all kinds of fucked up though when the film club showed up for a party (by "film club" I mean Matt^3, Carl and Chi-Chi, and by "party" I mean "porn showing") that for some reason didn't happen the first two Saturday nights I lived through. Weird. Anyway, after Carl was raped by Angry Toujou (who used a fork to do the deed) and my house blew up, I had Bob From the Future return me to Friday again and I spent the fourth.. Or was it Fifth?.. weekend watching the Ichigo 100% TV show... Which totally sucked (the characters were horrible shadows of their manga selves [more so than the Love Hina anime versions of their manga originals], the storytelling was COMPLETELY out of alignment in order to get all the girls in the picture as soon as possible, and the animation was so goddamn cheap it looked to be one frame per two seconds of screentime... I've made flipbooks with higher production values!). So then I had Bob From the Future send me back to one more Friday in which my only goal was to get myself to NOT watch the Ichigo TV show... Weird how I still remember it though. Must be some kind of cosmic mix-up thing like Dr. Brown tried to explain to Marty McFly in Back to the Future Part II. Weird. In hindsight I should have just watched the Back to the Future trilogy during my final time-traversing weekend instead of looking up all of the Bluebird pictures ever scanned in on the internet... Wait, no. No, I think I spent the final weekend right.

Note to self 260: 04/27/2005

Now that was the best kind of weekend one can have. The kind where you don't expect to do anything at all, and then fall into a fun time all your own. I sat around the house all day Saturday, reading old comic books and watching horror movies, then had a lunch date in Atlanta on Sunday with a hot chick (she likes Mormons, but hey, nobody's perfect... Actually, in hindsight that is a pretty big mark against her). Halfway through lunch though I got a call from somebody. Didn't check the call out till after I dropped the girl off, and found that Team Greenwood was planning to see the new Stephen Chow's chop socky flick Kung Fu Hustle later on, but were first just hanging around Mehve's place watching some continental car race taking place in the Sahara. I got over there just as some dude died in the race in the middle of the desert. I was then told that at least 2-3 people die each year in this race. I mean fuck! That's some hard core 4X4ing there! Fuck you, NASCAR! Driving around in a pussy-little circle like that. Try crossing a dessert with only a compass and limited gas. and dead people everywhere!

After we got bored of watching people die in sandstorms, we played strip poker and then strip Life, and then made fun of Jimmy Jammer for a good 2 hours (whatta tool). Then we did the Hustle. Thank God it was a GOOD Chow film (and not another $60million Man.... Of which, if another like that ever gets made, I will be forced to kill again... Probably Jimmy Jammer, so it's all good). After the film, we all practiced our Buddhist Palm and Toad Fu on eachother in the parking lot until the cops came, then we sprayed them with kung fu pepper spray and flew over to the Barrel of Cracker for a late dinner. Apparently the waitress knew we were being bad as every one of us (all 7) were forced to sit at a table facing the wall. It was the most retarded table setting ever. No bar, no TV to look at... Just wall. That was fucked up. We stole some country made candy as retribution, and we ran as I then started laughing at the Barrel crew like I was a crazy Chinese martial artist who just stole ice-cream from a mute woman (i.e. I laughed lots). Then I headed back to Athens, blew up Carl's house, and crashed hard.

Seriously, I don't think that Team Greenwood appreciates days like that as much as they should. They get to do poker nights and spur-of-the-moment shit any day they want to. They don't understand what a godsend it is to be free of the worry of being killed by an evil robot, or driven into a brick wall by a drunk MegaPlayboy for a full day. They don't understand now, but I will MAKE them know that pain someday!... And can you believe that Jimmy Jammer? Whatta pud.

Note to self 259: 04/13/2005

Angry Amy had a "social gathering" at her new house this past weekend, and everybody at Wire Tapp Inc. was invited... Unfortunately for her (and me), only Robot Pedro and I showed up. From what I gathered, Carl sold his invitation to Robot Pedro for ten calculators and a laser mouse (stolen from my cubicle coincidentally). I got there first, and I tried to keep Robot Pedro out of Angry Amy's new pad when he rang the doorbell by explaining that "kicking in office doors and compressing cars in the parking lot into one foot cubes of scrap does not make one an 'employee of Wire Tapp Inc.'" But Robot Pedro just shoved me aside, kicked me in the head, and began to chase Angry Amy's rottweiler around the house with a steak knife while screaming, "I am programmed to eat choo, choo fucking little hairy chihuahua! I will CRUSH your bones and drink your blood with a straw made from one of your non-crushed bones, which I will have not crushed just to drink your blood!" By that point I had lightened up to Robot Pedro's presence since up till he arrived that dog had my left calf in its evil little jaws and was crapping on my Nikes (and since its Angry Amy's pooch I probably need a rabies shot now).

Anyway, Angry Amy seemed kind of pissed that we were the only two to come (Carl tricked me in to going too by switching out Angry Amy's original invitation [it was just a bland flyer advertising "a magnificent afternoon filled with fresh fruit, and carrots along with fun word games!"] with a full color, brilliantly designed one filled with hot, naked Playboy models and words like "Girls! Drink! Ass! Titties!".... Hook line and sinker. That rat bastard), but then she started to try and make us feel at home by breaking out the carrots, sliced apples and some sort of yellow-piss tea. Robot Pedro then broke out the PBR and pizza when she returned to the kitchen, and by the time Angry Amy came back to the living room with an unopened box of Scrabble, we had already gotten drunk, used all her potted plants as toilets, set her dog on fire (according to Robot Pedro it was a "Brazilian delicacy on legs") and punched 27 holes in her walls (mostly with Robot Pedro's head as a battering ram). I have an appointment with Dr. Dave tonight to remove the letters S, A, S, U, F, C, K, R, and E from my rectum. I swear I've never heard of Angry Amy's "Ultimate Scrabble" rules before. That was apparently a quintuple word score.

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