Another day goes by, I wonder if I will run out of days before we run out of oil, artic ice, weathermen?

“We should drink less, we should eat more, we should get outside. We should drink less, we should eat more, we should be living better lives”-Psapp



I had a decent day in the land of pencils and hormones. The damn Yankee children said they were not cognizant of the skills, they complained and I explained. How do you do that, when they should already know. A spoft spot, their brains rot, I hate the wail, despite my efforts they all fail. Fucking brats learn to factor, or at least factor in to shutting the hell up.

All things considered it wasn’t all cunts and fuckwads, it is redeeming to find the few kids that you could see having a beer with in like 10 years. These are the youngings I can laugh with and talk shit to. I know why I love my dad. He hooks me up with an easy sub day, where I spend my time either helping kids factor or reading the best blog ever during one of the many breaks in the day, though I nearly got in trouble when I was scrolling by and there was a picture of someone on the toilet, NSFW is needed on your blog JJ, you are perverting young minds. My father made the day all the better when relieves me off the mound for the final hour. Fathers used to be considered good by virtue of the backyard toss, now it is how they can defraud his employers for one hour of free pay for his son to buy gas.

70 more dollars will find their way into my pocket, though I spent a good ten percent of that on my meal post mordem. This was a good choice by me, while it wasn’t the most filling, it filled my tastebuds with wonder, did they die and go to heaven? Maybe I am overdoing it, but that grilled chicken sammy on a parmasean bagel was so damned delicious, I had to make sure I was not sans one soul in some unwilling deal with the devil.

The back got cracked by a trained professional and I had a laugh at the fact I was walking vertically large.

The weathermen would take my fun away, as they broke into my place and raped me. My cries went unheard and my innocence lost to the fact that I am unable to play hockey since nearly a week before. I will testify against the weather channel and their schizophrenic cavelcade of “forecasters.” Just give me a doll to illustrate to a jury and I will give you tears.

Thusly I settled into a quiet evening in which I would forget the pain in my ass, by focusing on the soon to be pain in my ass, Sidney Crosby (who coincidentally also knows about crying and being bent over) So I watched game six of last years romp in the a city built on steel, but without the resolve to back it. This made me go through the gammet of emotions, I laughed, I cried, I learned. I know that it isn’t going to be easy to win especially with a script in place curteous of Gary Betman entitled The Golden One, starring Sid the Kid. However, I remembered that Osgood and company are way classier, and the movies always have them winning in the end. Four wins and I will be happy until next October, and if Sidney wins I am going to get the weather channel on his ass. Jim Cantore can start storm on him, we will call it Hurricane Trashstash.

I sit here, and wonder….


How the hell did he change his clothes so fast?

I always said give a man a match, he can start a bonfire. Teach a man to match, and he can become an arsonist.

A new friend recently said, in paraphrase, that her heart has been ripped out and set on fire.
“Hearts on fire you’ll learn, end up with heartburn”.-BNL


I know the feeling but I tend to go about it differently. I like to get a nice friction going; much like a scout uses two sticks to create a spark. I go to it the only way I know how and usually see some sparks and sometimes I get ignition. My heart burns a bit, but I never rip it out. No one ever does, so it goes out and smolders ad infinitum. I need a cool drink of water, but really, I need someone who knows about fire prevention. Or perhaps I need a fire breather to show me how to get that fire out. Either way I enjoy the feeling of heat as it lasts.

I found a match again. Strike it up, I hope to. How long will it last before I can put it to kindle, what warmth could be found if shared to hearth. I hope this match is an easy start. I hope this match has a long life. I hope this match knows its worth, and mostly I hope “hope” isn’t combustive.

A short story.

Transit across the near frozen blue, salt stimulates three senses while the sea dulls the other two. Ivory and various other trinkets needed to get to the unnatural location where they will find their new shelter. In the closet of those who forget such treasure once existed intrinsically in these items, but are now lost forever. What greater fate then to join the company of the miserable symbols of wealthy conquests? They said that he had a solid head on his shoulders and a thick neck connected it to a stout body, which had no doubt the upper body strength to pull hard on his bootstraps. His fortunes brought him the ship and business was his white whale. He counted his coins in the form of boxes in the hold, locking the door to keep the slaves of wage out. The man had hired his navigators and captains, and trusted in his system as he focused on improving every angle of the acquisition process. When the fire broke out in the engine, the captains quelled screams, promises were created that things were fine as they began sending good men into the blaze in hopes of suffocating the fire. The man and his square head took his inventory and dreamed of the ledgers growing, his growing estate followed in mind, and a new horseless carriage to impress. The commotion grew until it could not be ignored, the tails fled towards the holes in the vessel. Fluids in extremes, or hell in flame. Either way the ship was going down. Ring around the porthole, brass, alienates the square-headed man now trying to follow the rats to safety. Shiny, yet soon to be tarnished. Square thoughts were pouring out as water poured in. The dollars he had were meaningless. The crates began to float in the cold water but would never float higher then the ceiling; they would find new depths along with this man and his worthless bootstraps. The sky was not falling, his ground was sinking. Forty minutes stuck in the hold, bleeding from the negotiations with the stubborn hole. Swears and prayers, God obviously prefers rodents. Above the life rafts floated away with the navigators and captains, set adrift by the ship workers who fought the blaze, whose work ran the ship, who were not to blame for the sparks, the ship they maintained collapsed into the abyss. The pragmatic square thoughts drowned with in the square head of the man who owned the vessel known as the American Dream. The rats swam to the Caymans.

I hate how things come around to hurt me in whimsical fashion because I know this comment has nothing to do with me, but wishes it did. It is like serendipty but inversed, mean spirited barbed wire wrapping around like a tattoo, but not to impress white trash but instead to sever ones arm to make the heart pump blood out making you the human teapot. Surely it wasn't in response to what I said. Even if the timing seems to be more then coincidental. It seems like what I said in ones and zeroes, bouncing off the internet hoping to be noticed, was picked up and decoded. The only response that could possibly make my all senses blur comes across, and I have no faith that it was meant for me. It would be too perfect. It would be far too perfect to believe.

Reading is Fundemental.

We need to read some of the greats again.... Sun also rises... or Sex, Drugs, and Cocco Puffs? Or I could finsh the Beatles Philosophy book. Decisions.

Sunday has a meaning.

I always wondered why they list Sunday as the start of the week.

It is the end of the week for me because after the hockey there is not much to do but wait for Monday. The interaction period is over, all the people who like to endure themselves to you with insults and light ribbing are done. It is unlikely Sunday night will bring any epic notes in the memoirs of your friends i.e. nor your own when living vicariously through others.

Sunday is for rest apparently. Only no one knows how to rest anymore, I think this is why the week starts on calanders with Sunday, because we want to start with rest. However we only really rest when we can right before diving back in......

Weddings are also pretty common on Sundays. Is this because the start of the rest of your life needs to coincide with the start of a week? Or is it because you are laying to rest your independent and youthful life, as no doubt the cynic would agree with. Perhaps it is that we love the day of rest as we do a well trusted lover? Most likely we hope that we can rest assured that life will finally begin properly, in a partnership that will endure the work of the week until weekend can begin. Maybe it is just that airfare on mondays is cheaper?


We know the hardest worker in the house is the mother, and this is apprently mothers day, I know because I have been guilted three times the normal amount today. Hallmark aside she deserves a rest, I just do not see the value in flowers or cardboard.

As my friend once said, "work is the only four letter word you don't know..." I consider it a good thing, as well as true. It is also quite the coincidence as when I have to work I often let fly with every other four letter word I can think of, I learned that from my mother btw. Sunday is the day that people tend to agree with me, with the excpetion of the followers of the cult of "the Home Depot."

If I threw this all down on paper on a Sunday, that means I am working, perhaps it means I am getting a jump on the next week? Or I might be giving my brain a rest by taking the weight of these random thoughts out. I think I am ending my week on a good note.

Or maybe I am resting thoughts of falling in love at first sight, by redefining that as the end of a relationship as Sunday is redefined as the end of the week. Or at least it should be, I want to find anyone besides a calender worker who thinks Sunday is the start of the week, and has an IQ high enough to suggest the capacity of independent thought.

I would be lucky to have a love at first sight that continued on like the week continues on, but I think that Monday is the start of the week and I fall on a Sunday.

"If I promise to go to church on sunday, will you go with me on Friday night?" -Green Day