I blame the Fall Guy.

I have the Kinks - "The Village Green Preservation Society" on a mix i made in my car's stereo for a couple of days now and 3 times now it has been playing at the exact same part of the song, the "God save Donald Duck" Davies solo, when I pull onto my street.

When it happened the second time I was like "interesting" but when it just happened again for the 3rd time I shit my pants and dove out of my car while it was still moving.

I sure hope the Saturn didn't hit anything too important on it's collision course towards the top of the block.

Found Fitness

In an effort to curtail spending in the latter quarter of 2010, I have cancelled my gym membership. However, staying in shape is still one of my top 28 priorities. Therefore, I have designed a rigorous new workout regimen in order to ensure my lack of membership does not cause (further) atrophy, weight gain, and stoopage of my approachingly zaftig-esque form. And I use the word "zaftig" fully aware of it's manboob connotations.

I have attempted to craft this regimen from found fitness opportunities. We generally don't recognize these opportunities in our everyday lives, but they are there, just waiting to be seized. Through the use of objects, people & situations I come into contact with during my normal daily routine, I will mold myself into a specimen worthy of ogling.

Sunday:

Morning- Sneak up behind neighbor's untethered dog. Poke dog's anus with novelty "Charizard" motorized lollipop holder. Elude.

Evening- 50 situps & 50 pushups!


Monday:

Morning- Walk to Art Museum and back. Kick everything along the way.

Evening - Dash from apartment into PSC without showing (expired) I.D. Hop onto nearest exercise machine and immediately start busting reps until forcibly removed from premises.

For HARD MODE workout: Forcibly resist being removed from premises.

For EXPERT MODE workout: Yell lots of homophobic and racist things while being removed from premises.

Tuesday:

Morning- Upon waking up, stand in middle of living room with one eye closed. Shadow box eye-floaties for 30 minutes. Get dressed. Chase eye floaters to art museum area.

Evening- 50 push-ups & 50 sit-ups!


Wednesday:

Morning- Make a businessman cry.

Evening: Watch Mad Men. Whenever someone says something condemning, lift dresser. Don't put it down until Don Draper says something omniscient, or until I see someone start smoking. Bonus-whenever Christina Hendricks appears onscreen, pleasure myself. EXPERT MODE - pleasure self whenever old lady secretary appears.

Thursday:

Morning- Place coffee table on curb. Watch from window. Whenever someone tries to take it run outside and tackle them. Once table is safely back in apartment walk to Art Museum and back kicking everything.

Evening- 50 Pushups & 50 situps & karaoke!

Friday:

Morning- Chase eye floaters.

Evening- Drink until violent. Wrestle nearest barstool. Drink until weeping. Undress. While nude & weeping, lift nearest jukebox/cigarette machine. Resist being forcibly removed. Kick everything along the way home.

Saturday:

REST DAY!


(Note: granted, many of these found fitness opportunities are not so much discovered than created)

thoughtdump

i want to run through a screen door or press my face against a chain link fence so hard that it comes out on the other side like facial Play Doh from a meat grinder.

it was so nice out today that I felt obliged to fuck a hole into a Thomas Kinkade landscape this morning. all those bright colors felt cool and soothing against my cheek as we cuddled in post-coital bliss.

i thought of a brilliant idea for the food network. "Iron Chef: 3rd World". they could go from ethiopia to haiti to pakistan and the robe wearing guy would be all, "the secret ingredient today is.... NEWSPAPER" and the chefs would scurry off to concoct bouillabaisses out of childrens tears while they swat the flies away from their eyes and hold a crust of bread just out Ndugu's reach.

food and sadness should continue to fit together as well as they do when you see someone binging and purging or a commercial for that device that will instantly de-shell a hardboiled egg.

the winning dish might feature a disemboweled infidel's ears as garnishments or perhaps as the meal itself. cannibalism has a bum rap and i've been considering marketing my scabs as an "Atkins Friendly" alternative to potato chips.

EAT MY SCABS, motherfuckers!