Regrets.

The Last Banana
I regret that I cannot figure out how to edit my profile. When I wrote it I was kind of depressed, by which I mean drunk. It would be a lot funnier if I wasn't stoned on beer and Nyquil when I sat down sideways typing it in. Oh well. They say it's the things you didn't do that you regret the most, but as I have never done very much in the first place, I cannot confirm that. One thing I didn't do that I DO regret having not done; become a clown. I did dabble in balloon animals when I was younger, and used a little face paint around Halloween, but I never brought it all together into the full clown experience. Oh, the loss, not for myself, but for the children. And sometimes, when the night is long and cold, and the morning seems impossibly distant, I lie in my loveless bed and wish with all my heart that I could reach up and touch my nose, and gently squeezing... HONK!

Kids, why do you think they call it "Beer"?

The Last Banana Well, just when I figured out why everything gets underlined, I notice my profile says "who's" instead of "whose". Good god, the decay of my brain surprises even me. And strangely, I want more beer. My silhouette resembles an aged Orson Welles, and still, I desire more beer. My name is Dumbass, and I'm an alcoholic. It could be worse. I could be hooked on something more expensive. I could like to eat money. That would be hard on the plumbing, too. Especially that roll of quarters I had for lunch. But thankfully, I have never been driven to eat non-food type stuff. Except for that time in kindergarten, when my fellow sophisticates and I sat around impressing each other by eating little wadded up pieces of paper. When I sneezed in the process of swallowing, and the wad of paper flew out of my nose, I was a star! It has always been my deepest regret in life that I could not duplicate that trimuph. How it would amuse my peers when I reside in the old folks home. Perhaps I will be able to work up something where I substitute some dentures. Or a suppository. Hold on to your dreams.

The sun mother, give me the sun!

The Last Banana
Well it is March in Oregon. That means sunshine for a whole week! At least while I am safely inside my concrete box at "work". In Oregon, March comes in like a lamb and leaves like a bitch, clouds and rain and cold. Even when the weather is nice, weekends will still be crappy, but that is the law of the jungle. Then it will alternate between depressing cold and dark, and crippling hot and sunny until fall, if you aren't set on fire in the meantime. This is why Oregon NEEDS its assisted suicide law, so back the hell off Bush!

I am retarded

Why can't I figure out how to get the underlining out of my entry? Why am I so retarded? God, how I hate technology. On the bright side, I no longer fear death (applause). I stole that from Fight Club. Now that is one fine book/movie. Actually, I might still fear death. I am afraid of boredom. Do they have gameboys in the after-life? I will surely miss Tetris.

Jesus Christ, I am so depressed

The Last Banana I don't know. What the hell is left? They shot John. Dr. Sagan wasted away. And the good Doctor. What the hell is up with that? No note. I just can't accept that. I can accept that he might have wanted to end it, well, who doesn't? But no note? He planned it, they say. Spent time getting close to his family. Wrote about how wonderful to be pain free after his surgery. Then blam. No note. Get close so they can hurt more? Do it all alone and leave no letters of explaination or apology? That is just plain rude, not to mention somewhat out of the ordinary. People who plan to kill themselves, people who care about the people they leave behind, leave notes. They do. Even people who don't have doctorates in journalism. Even people who don't touch the lives of people they have never even met. I cannot accept this.