Diary of a Fat Man

Here’s another one of those useless days where I have nothing really to post that is interesting.  Why bother?

 

Because I CAN, damn you.  I think I wasted all the good stuff in comments on other’s blogs.

 

So, like my earlier post, I’m limiting myself to a short period of time (eighteen minutes this time) and see what all shit comes spewing out during that time.  

 

Damn, it took six minutes to just find that post to link to.  Eleven minutes left.

 

I hit 10,000 page views when I was out sick with the stomach problem last month.  I had planned on doing some type of cool 10,000 post bonanza, but since I was laying around in bed, it didn’t seem like a priority.  Ten minutes left.

 

I had a really bad-ass dream last night and when I woke up, I said that I was going to blog it because it was so cool.  But, by the time I rolled my slumbering ass out of bed this morning, I forgot what it was.  I do remember that it was awesome.  Nine minutes left.

 

I have $5.25 in the bank right now and I’m trying to float until tomorrow night, which is when both Laurie and I get paid.  That fucking fence cost me almost $100 to fix and I totally forgot that my insurance premium was going to come out as well.  Being broke sucks.  Eight minutes left.

 

Did anyone watch the Olympics last night?  When Sasha Cohen skated, it sounded like the announcer was pleasuring himself.  I kept making Laurie laugh (and cough since she’s still sick) by imitating him.  “Ooohh, yes.  Look at those lines.  Look how, mmm, straight her back is”.  It was so creepy.  What made it better was his line “Yes, yes.  Don’t stop”.  I was air-whacking at that point and it made my miming movements all the more funny.  Six minutes left.

 

Did anyone watch American Idol last night?  Paula Abdul must be on a ton of shit.  I’m no expert (at least anymore), but the last time I saw eyes that red and glazed, it was when I saw my reflection in the water of my college days bong.  HDTV rocks, because I was able to put her in slow mo with the remote and created the “Paula Abdul Stoner Dance” when she was rolling her arms and hands around like “Wheels on the Bus”.  Four minutes left.

 

The other day, when I was eating a double cheeseburger at Wendy, I realized that for me food is like getting blown by your hot, female cousin.  It’s fucking amazing when it happens, but the second you wipe yourself off, you feel dirty and guilty.  Two minutes left.

 

Anyone else hate the President from 24?  Two minutes left.

 

We have this creepy assistant janitor in my office.  He’s the grandson of the guy that actually cleans the office.  He never talks to the men in the office, just the women.  He has this high-pitched sounding voice and a really bad lisp.  I keep telling the girl that sits next to me (the hot one that I could bang if I were single) that everytime he walks by, I hear that “Jason” (chi chi chi ha ha ha )sound in my head.  

 

I also tell her that he has a hidden cam in the bathroom so he can watch her take a piss.

 

The funny thing is that it’s MY camera--bwahahahahahahahahah.

 

My time’s up, beeyotches.