It Was Nice Knowing You

I fear, gentile reader, that I am not long for this Earth. Is it a terrible disease, gambling debts to shady thugs, lactose intolerance? No, rather my delightful company has seen fit to upgrade our vending machines. That's right, my mortal undoing is going to be triggered by an apparent act of kindness by my employer.

For those of you lucky enough to not know me, let me be very clear about something. I am not a healthy man. Almost everything I do to my body, and put in my body is bad for me. I smoke, I drink, and I eat the kind of food that would make any reputable person in the health care industry beat themselves unconscious with a reflex hammer in a desperate attempt to forget the horrors of what they would see. I react to exercise like mole-people react to sunlight. A friend of mine recently ran the NYC marathon, which made me recall the time I spent six months in college training for a local run before somebody pointed out that sitting on the couch drinking beer, eating pizza, and watching reruns of Fantasy Island wasn't exactly the standard training procedure that one does when preparing for such an event. I was recently encouraged to start taking vitamins, and it took me twenty minutes searching the internet to find out what the hell vitamins even are.

As much as I get a giddy sort of joy from finding new ways to defile my precious bodily temple, I have a line I thought I wouldn't cross. That line is the kind of food that is now contained achingly close to my desk in an elegantly temperature controlled vending machine. Which is to say, absolute and utter crap. You know what I'm talking about. The burrito that doesn't even look good in the slickly produced packaging photo. A Jimmy Dean mini-sausage and cheese breakfastwich that looks more like Gertrude Stein than a human consumable. White Castle hamburgers that look like, well, White Castle hamburgers. Only produced and packaged in 1921 at the original Wichita location.

Vile gustatory items to a one. And you know what?

It's only a matter of time until that line is obliterated and I eat each and every one of those hell spawned "food" items. While at it, I shall I wash all those edifying edibles down with any one of the numerous energy drinks we now have. As somebody who drinks about two pots of coffee a day, let me assure you that adding energy drinks to my current course of liquid Satan is nothing but a bad idea. A very bad idea.

I have looked into a brightly lit, rotating, horror dispensing oracle and seen the way in which I shall pass from this world. I imagine that sometime in mid-January I'll be found, bloated and frozen in place, at my computer like some sort of 21st century mummy. My heart will still be beating in vain from the excessive amount of stimuli still working it way through my system. A heady mixture of cholesterol and industrially created chemicals being pushed through my withering veins with each pump.

Is it possible to live a rich, full life in two months?

Public Service

I've recently been seeing folks coming to my site via some rather odd search terms. In order to fulfill certain "obligations" to the state I will now attempt to provide pertinent information to those individuals.

"how to make an omelet" -- If you need to scour the internet including sites named "Aimless Monkey" for information on how to make an omelet, you probably shouldn't be cooking. Please put down the pots and pans, back away slowly, and head to your nearest International House of Pancakes.

"31-year old virgin" -- Sorry. You're on your own.

"chewing nipples" -- I don't know if you're looking for pictures of people chewing on nipples, or instructions on how to chew nipples here. If you're looking for pictures, how many pages did you have to go through making explicit offers of hundreds of images of nipple chewing before you got to my site, and why did you think this page was going to be the one with the hottest nipple chewing action? If you're looking for instructions -- Well, go find a nipple and chew on it. I guess.

"clown-on-clown action" -- I'm not one of those 'afraid of clown' types, but I haven't slept in days.

"man whore" -- Send me a self addressed stamped envelope with your address, a picture, and a bucket of chicken and I'll be right over.

"monkey masturbation" -- Drop by my place tonight around 8ish. Please bring a bucket of chicken.

Other Places

Last night I dreamt I was bleeding. It was a small cut on my chin that I only noticed as I was looking in my rear view mirror, changing lanes across the Jefferson Street bridge. I was on my way to the mall to pick up a shellacked wooden slug, and an Orange Julius. I'm not sure why I would, even in a dream, purchase something as garish as a carved slug, but I sure was looking forward to that Orange Julius.

Last night I dreamt I was a baseball player. Short stop for the single A Kansas City Mountaineers. I was an unremarkable player on an unremarkable team. We were sponsored by the Lou Thomas Ford dealership, and had that name emblazoned across the backs of our jersey's with, "we provide service, not excuses" right below. Our pitcher was the only guy on the team with any talent -- Some folks said he had enough to make it to the show. Unfortunately, he also had a heroin habit so most people didn't think he'd make it to the end of the season.

Last night I dreamt I could fly. I never actually flew, I was simply aware that at any time, were I so inclined, I could lift effortlessly off the ground and race with the birds that wheeled high above me. Yet I was content to walk down the street as would any other person not gifted with the wondrous ability of flight. I didn't exactly have any emotions one way or another about my gift. I simply didn't feel like flying.