Spelling

It's bad if you misspell donuts as "dognuts". I learned this today, ordering things on the internet. I have a dozen dognuts coming to me from dognutsunlimited.com. I don't know if that's pairs of nuts or just 12 individuals. If it's not pairs, I want my money back. If it's individuals, I will grudgingly keep them. I don't look forward to eating them for breakfast.

Farming

Farming is hard. And I picked a bad time to start - right now. I mean, sheesh, you'd think I'd get some result after watering seeds for a week. It's been a whole week! But no such luck. Still waiting on my boston baked beans to sprout.

I admit I'm a novice, but I should get at least get an A for effort. Am I not owed that? I am! Give me whatever I think I deserve! Also that A should come in the form of a candy tree. That would be justice. Goddammit Earth, you owe me at least that.

And to be fair, a whole lot of other things too. You owe me a kitchen with a real stove in it, not this gas-blowing, make-you-pass-out-from-gas-inhalation machine I have now. Also my landlord owes me that. That's the law.

You owe me a really great song about me. I've been at this for a week! I want the lyrics to be, "Ron Ron Ron, you're so great. Everybody else can suck an egg. Dadada, leg." Or something. I don't know. I'm no Nelly Furtardo. Just make it inspire people to commit world peace or something. It's important I'm remembered as inspiring and a hero. "Ron Ron Ron, what have you done. Being so peaceful and dadada gun." Maybe find something that rhymes better than gun. Like I said - your job. My job is to farm nutritious and sweet beans.

And last but not finally, you owe me a mountain of spaghetti, because I would say a lifetime of spaghetti, but I don't want it to be all spaced out in little small parts over a lifetime. I want it all now, dammit.

But back to farming. Let me get on point: you all owe me. At least a vacation to Maui or something. Or at least a waterpark in Wisconsin with a Maui theme - you know, Mauiconsin, or Mauiconsinland - the more affordable but still adequate Mauiconsin. I've put in my time. You owe me at least a Wiscation.

Did you know salted peanuts do not grow more salted peanuts when planted? Turns out they just salt the earth, which apparently is not a good thing. I thought, "Mmm, salted earth! Sounds tasty like Ruffles!" Boy was I wrong. Tastes more like Pringles.

Anyway, my point with farming is this: horse poop may be a good fertilizer and often free, so don't overpay for it. And you don't need to "see how it feels" to know if it's good. Don't be stupid, just taste it. That's "seeing how it feels" with your tongue. More productive.

And let me warn you: it tastes god-awful. Just terrible. It's the taste equivalent of having your wang slammed in a minivan door.

So that's farming.

Thinking

Got into a bit of trouble today. Turns out when they say, "It has to be a seeing eye dog, not a seeing eye horse," they mean it. And I'm supposed to be blind. So I had a hard time getting into my job interview at the Heritage Foundation.

By the way, did you know that think tanks don't have to be shaped like tanks? It's just a regular building. I thought one of two things: either an aquarium, like a fish tank, or a giant military tank with a big cannon. I thought a military tank would make a lot of sense, because what good are ideas if you can't back them up? That Heritage Foundation is all talk.

So their security guard escorted me and my trusty horse out. Although, I think "escorted" is the wrong word. "Kicked" is too. There was no kicking. There was a lot of billy-clubbing and defensive grapples against my many blows. I landed a few good ones though.

I like to rise early in the morning, when the birds have just begun to sing their good morning songs, the sun has just begun to cast the faintest pale-orange specter of daylight across the night sky, and there are still plenty of double chocolate donuts at Dunkin Donuts.

New Romance

Gay men like me a lot more than straight women. Way more than gay women. So I'm trying to turn myself gay.

It seems like it'd be pretty easy - go to an antique shop, meet a fancy gay man with good taste, and engage in coitus - not so. For some reason there's a part of this human brain that rejects the rational part. I don't know what to call it - probably "the straight part". That's the part of the brain that rejects rationality. Straightness is responsible for everything that doesn't make sense. I think it's safe and fair to blame straightness for everything irrational in the world.

I can make it to the antique shop, even buy an ottoman that I have no actual use for. I already have way too many ottomans. Good luck getting around my house with out bumping into one. Especially in the dark. Those things are shins' worst enemy.

I have to wear shin guards at night now, like a night-time soccer player. Other night-time soccer players always think I'm on the way to a game, then I say no, and they're like, "Oh - ottomans," and we nod. They're pretty good people.

I can even meet a gay man with good taste. There's an aluminum knight that's painted lime green with pink polka-dots. It's the perfect object of good taste. Any time a guy looks interested in that, I try hitting on him. I have a few pick up lines that tend to work:
"Hey, you and me are gay. Let's do the nasty."
"Howdy, partner, let's do the nasty."
"Hey guy, I'm looking to do the nasty. You?"
"Nasty? Wanna do it?"
"Ola, muchacho. El nasty?" (my Spanish is not great)
"LET'S DO THE NASTAAAY"(said like Cookie Monster)
"Nasty nasty nasty, let's all do the nasty. You and me." (that's sort of to a conga beat)

Nine out of ten times, it never works. But one out of ten times - it sometimes works. I'd say one out of twenty of the one out of ten, give or take. More take.

It only worked once.

But when it came time to actually do it, I chickened out, like a not-gay chicken. I'm so ashamed of myself. I am working on a gay-maker machine though, based on listening to the anti-gay deprogramming tapes Christians offer and replacing all the "don't"s with "do - a lot"s. I'll let you know how that goes. My wife, Chevrolet, she cannot know about this.

New Flame

There's this lady in my building who I can't get to say hi to me. Her name's Dora Fleckinger. It's not my wife, Chevrolet. She and I are solid as a rock, but a little harmless flirting never hurt.

I like to be friendly. I do all the normal things people do to greet each other. I leave hand-written notes in her mailbox telling her I can hear when she comes home at night. I wait for her on the front porch and glare intensely, trying force eye contact, barking, "Dora! I know you see me and I know your name!" I break into her house. The normal things. She just won't go for it.

It hurts to be rejected. Am I so bad? Is it my fault her husband left? I chased him away threatening to kill him if he ever came back, but he's the one who never came back. So I think we should share the blame, because I'd like to avoid responsibility on this this one.

Why did I chase him away? I'm pretty sure he was keeping bees in their house. I saw a bee once. It was probably his fault.

Listen, I don't like the guy.

So now she won't say hi. Won't even drop the restraining order. Hell, she won't even not mace me. Jokes on her - I got some nearly air-tight ski goggles that I wear all the time now. It only makes my glaring worse on her end. Plus, now I'm more ready than ever to ski.

But I think I'm slowly winner her over. She's dropped from two lawyers to one to prosecute me. I think it was a switch from quantity to quality, because this guy is really good. Like, when I called his office to threaten him he had me in jail in no time. But, overall, it turns out to be a good thing. We get a lot of good face time in court when she answers the question, "And is this man in this courtroom," and she answers, pointing to me, "Yes - he's right there." I wave and giggle like a little school girl with a crush, the bailiffs restrain me, my lawyer advises me to just shut up for once. It's a thing we do. It's our thing, me and Dora.

Maybe that's my problem. I'm too shy.

Sleep Tips

A few tricks I've learned to combat insomnia:

1. Drugs. Drugs are your friend. If a stranger offered me some, I would take them. I don't care what parents say. If you want to sleep and there are drugs around, chances are they will help. The chances are about 50% - you don't know if it'll be an upper or a downer. If it's an upper, not necessarily bad. Those can be a lot of fun if you like cleaning your house like your life depended on it.

2. Breathing exercises. Try doing a sleeper hold on yourself. It stops you from breathing. You'll wake up refreshed, alert, and probably bruised because you hit your face on the night stand on the way down - the night stand, or the floor. I've done both. Also woken up in the fridge. Don't get bored and then see what there is to eat while you're putting yourself in a sleeper hold.

3. Teas. Don't drink them. You'll have to pee. Peeing is the enemy of sleep. Sleep has many enemies. Among them, peeing is number one. Others are loudness, brightness, things that bite/fear, and work. Work is the easiest one to get around.

4. Exercise. This one I don't know. Everybody keeps telling me I should exercise, but I don't know where my sleep muscles are or how to work them. Must be some place I can't see. If you wanna buy a gym membership, go ahead.It's your money. Gym memberships are for suckers. That's my point.

Take any of my tips and you'll be sleeping in no time. And you won't be wasting money on a useless gym membership. Just run and do push ups at home!

Thus concludes my first entry on workouts.