One Reporter's Opinion

10:47am: Think About the Future!
One of my earliest memories is seeing Batman, the first film I ever saw in the theater. I was so captivated by so many moments in that film, but the one that stands out the most is the scene in which Joker, played by Jack Nicholson, traps Kim Basinger's character in the museum, and proceeds to deface it. Although I was three years old, I distinctly remember how well everything gelled in that scene; the music, the dancing, the bright color of the paint. I remember feeling complete elation, sitting next to my father and seeing this great scene. Unfortunately, right after that, when Joker brings in that girl with the mask whose face is all fucked up, I got scared, and we had to leave. I watched it last night, and realized that there were many other, more grotesque things in the movie for a little kid to get scared of, but that was what really got me. I've always had trouble looking at fucked up faces. I remember feeling nauseous when they used to show those Operation Smile videos in Elementary School. Kids with goiters the size of tennis balls hanging off their neck like some Picasso gobble didn't sit well with me right before eating a plum at lunch.

A few days ago, Steve had a party, and I made a mix cd for the occasion. For the first time, I had the intent to completely forsake good music, and put on crap that I knew people knew all the words to and would treat ironically. Present were tracks like Ace of Base's I Saw the Sign, which I actually do like, and MMMbop which is trite garbage, but has found a fan in Steve. When I was downloading music for this occasion, I stumbled on the Prince song Partyman, which I soon found was the very song Joker plays in the museum. From that moment that I heard it again, after all these years, it latched itself in my head, and laid eggs in my brain. All throughout the party, I could be found telling people how great the song was. I could be heard singing the lyrics. "Black and White, Red and Green" were the only tidbits of wisdom I had to offer, "The funkiest thing you've ever seen!" my only battle cry. I'm sure I was pretty annoying, but I couldn't help it, it just sunk in. All that weekend, I was dying to see the film again.

In a rare stroke of good luck, the film came on last night on AMC. It's just so quotable! I was giggling even more now than I probably did as a child, hardly able to watch the film due to my excitement. I love that fucking movie, and I probably always will.

8:54pm: don't know what you saw but you know its against the law
Ever since I saw 24 Hour Party People a couple weeks ago, I've been giving an awful lot of lip service to Kentucky Fried Chicken. It has, in the time passed, been very common to hear me shout, "Let's go get some Kentucky" or "This is rabbit food, where's the Kentuck?", all in my best manchester accent. Well, tomorrow is my 21st birthday, so I really think the best way to spend it is at a good ole Kentuck, eatin' some potatoes and some legs and thighs and breasts and all the other chicken parts named after lady parts. I got a bike recently, and I assume that there is a Kentucky somewhere on Broad St. It's gonna be a loose fit.

The whole Kentucky thing is sort of inspired by the Happy Mondays, who are shown getting this delicious substance in the film. For the past few weeks, my mind has been blaring songs like Loose Fit, God's Cop, WFL, Rave On, etc etc. I think I may never be cured. It's twistin' my melon...man.

12:31pm: Mr. Do! News
Today is a wonderful day in Mr Do! News! Brian, the game's former record-holder(stage 18) was bestest today by the young upstart, Kevin Franklin, as soared to level 20! Kevin Franklin is no longer second best at Mr Do! All Hail Kevin Franklin!!

11:14am: Well, I went to the beach yesterday and it was fun, but that was mostly based on the company I had, because the beach itself was nothing but a cranky old man. The water was too cold, and though I tried many times to venture into it, it wasn't long before the painfully low temperature of the water forced my testicles inside my upper thigh. I still can't find one of them, and i fear that the subzero climate it was forced to exist in may have burst it. I imagine marine life knawing on the shards in the ocean, and once an animal gets a taste for human testicle, it craves it, so watch out. At first, I thought it was pretty odd that all the children present didn't seem to mind the water, but then realized that the testicles of a child reside somewhere in their chest or stomach, a much warmer place than the exposed pod of the male adult. Not only was the water a freezing temperature, but, when I tried to take in some rays(that's the sun's rays, not manta rays), gusts of wind would blow sand into my face and mouth, making sunbathing a disgusting and often unbearable task. The most infuriating part, though, was that, surveying the beach, neither Katie nor I could find anyone else who was even remotely bothered by the Dust Bowl that was taking place! It was as if we were existing in our own private hell. Uh, but it was still fun somehow. I ate some crackers.

Last night I had a dream that I was in a van with Charles Manson, and the driver kept slowing down to allow him to shoot people. In the car with me and Charles was Katie, driving, Bob Odenkirk, in the passenger seat(probably because he plays manson on The Ben Stiller Show), Manson and I in the middle, and my brother and an assortment of guns in the back. Manson was waving a loaded gun around, and screaming at people on the street, but no one in the van seemed to care what he was doing except me. The last thing before I awoke was me saying, "Please Charles, I'm just asking you not to point the gun at me" and him asking me why I'm afraid of a loaded gun. Why am I afraid of death, he asked, Is it because I'm dead already? Stupid Manson.

10:02am: THE BEACH
I am in Chesapeake right now, and being in Chesapeake makes me feel like a highschool senior, so this morning, while waiting to go to THE BEACH, I queued up some choice trax to play at high volume whilst cooking breakfast. Jammalamma hardy to 96 tears, ? and the mysterians, which sounds pretty great but would sound even better if Albert Ayler was on the track, honkin' squeelin' away, then Marquee Moon by Television which I hadn't heard since I sold the record all the way back in 2005, when I needed money for a security deposit on my first apartment. Ah, I remember that day as if I was yesterday, the juxtapo of my visiting friends driving to carytown and going to the french film festival while I had to walk in the rain to sell dvds and cds and the like for rent money. Ah, how much pride I took in feeling like the working class, a john fogerty wet dream, a flannel fantasy! reality set in months later an' dawn broke poverty to be no game, stress no asset. Followed that up with Seventh Son by Johnny Rivers which doesn't have a deep history with me, but is something I'd certainly heard on the radio in the past and found on what passes for a computer in my richmond abode. piece of shit that my computer is, loyal has it been, and twee, despite several crashes odd files survive on it to be uncovered and found to my great thrill. Makes lousy tracks seem fantastic it does, and though Seventh Son is no slouch, it was not my first pick for my breakfast making, as I'd meant to choose an obscure Donovan tune. Donovan's someone I've been able to stomach on-again-off-again for the last few years, my tastes veering from hatred to disgust to acceptance to fandom(still love Dont Look Back when Dylan chews up his ballsack- never thought I'd love so much to see someone almost cry) but who can blame me for likin' a little bass'n'harpsicord before a day at the beach?

Two years ago, I think, I was at the beach with Brian and Tim when I saw these two little kids getting lotioned up by their mother, struggling and fidgety as they wanted to get in the water as soon as possible. When the mother was done appyling lotion to their backs, she let them go, and so they ran, toward the water, screaming, "THE BEEEEEAAAACHHHH!!!"

12:43pm: The Art of Kevin Franklin
There's really no need for me to be modest: I am one of the greatest cartoonists of the Modern Era, hereafter noted by an ME. Though my works of art are not framed, nor do they hang in famous galleries, nor can one find them anywhere but in the margins of my notes, they are the purest drawings produced in a long time. Here is a short list of my artistic triumphs. This is by no means a comprehensive study.

1. "Allegory of Narcissism"(2006). Allegory of Narcissism is a beautiful rendering of the god Cupid, about to shoot a me with his arrow of love, however he is unaware that it is not another that I am thinking of, but myself. Indicated by a thought bubble, I am shown thinking about my own likeness, and my thought has a second thought bubble, indicating that it, too, is thinking about my likeness. Beautiful.

2. "BeelzeBuddy"(2007). BeelzeBuddy is an artistic triumph to the degree that the subject himself possessed me to draw it. Depicted is Satan, the prince of Darkness, with his arm around an anonymous Fraternity brother, both smiling and waving a flagon of mead. So blissful are the two together that one can see why it has been named Steve's Favorite Drawing in the 2007 Steve's Favorite Drawing Awards.

3. "Punch and Judy" (2006). More a series than a standalone piece, the Punch and Judy group depicts those medieval crackups, Punch and Judy, exchanging mock medieval dialogue. In one sketch, Punch is shown with a likeness of Satan tied to a string, crying to his wife, "Huzzah! Huzzah! I have killed the Devil!", while Judy cries, "Anon, Punch! The field lays fallow!"

4. "Snowman Heaven"(2006). Snowman Heaven depicts the ascension of deceased Snowmen. Heaven is rendered with all the beauty and majesty appropriate for the paradise in the clouds.

5. "Dylan's Inferno"(2007). Stark and barren, this harrowing sketch shows Bob Dylan, the poet laurate of the Rock Era, being directed to the gates of Hell by Virgil. Dylan is apathetic and aloof as Virgil ominously points toward that famous sign, "Abandon Hope, All Ye Who Enter Here." Kevin Franklin plans to extend this series, showing all three parts of La Comedie Dylan, and this single sketch shows tremendous promise.

6. "Snowmen Chasing the Beatles"(2006). An idea borrowed from the opening of the film "A Hard Day's Night", this drawing shows the four Beatles, Ringo, Paul, John, and Scott, running from a crowd of screaming, frenzied, pre-teen snowmen. The Snowmen love the Beatles because they are cute, and new. Frightfully new. Yeah, yeah, yeah, OOOOOO!

5:35pm: Today, I was riding the elevator in the library when a bout of insanity struck me. Three girls filed in, and it was apparent that they did not know each other, nor did I know them. We all were destined for the third floor, so, as the elevator started moving, I shouted, "Third floor, Ladies apparel and sportswear...Goinnnng Up!", you know, like an elevator operator and all. None of them moved, nor smiled, nor made any noise. It was as if I had gone into the woods, said what I said into a paper bag, and left it there. But not to worry, I'm sure there are hipper venues for my comic stylings than the library elevator. amen.

11:30am: ventures in the slipstream
I had three distinct dreams last night that I remember very clearly:

1. Orson Welles, circa Touch of Evil, was hanging out in a small town where everyone liked him, but he was fundamentally wrong on some moral issue I can't remember. I just remember him saying something, and this girl giggling and him going "that's the French spelling"...

2. I was chasing this mouse around the house with a broom, because it was huge and kept going into my closet. In the dining room, it stood up on its hind legs, and bit me in the calf. I screamed, "that's my most muscular part!" and that dream was over.

3. This is the one I remember most clearly. I was at work, hanging around near the bar, when File Under Blooze, minus me, took the stage(which my work doesn't have) and played a scathing set. Looking around, I realized that all the bar's patrons were people I know or used to know. Even though File Under Blooze is strictly blooze and r&b, they dove into a rendition of that Fugazi song where you can't be what you were. So, right at the part where it says "the No Movement" etc, Shane, of File Under Blooze, called me up to sing that part, but for some reason I declined to get onstage unless the band was playing dylan's The Man In Me. Well, they did, and it resulted in the most dreamlike dream I've ever had. All these faces from my past and present were beeboppin' and scattin' all over that wretched place. It's hard not to take this dream as cryptic, but I'm less afraid of the vibes in that dream than I am afraid of a mouse biting me in the calves.

See, if I'd just drank myself to sleep, all this would have never happened.

This lyric always makes me giggle:

Standin' there with a look of avarice
Talkin' to Hudie Ledbetter

12:39pm: Me Play Joke

12:35pm: Kevin'x Trax Pix
why don't you all do yourselves a favor and download Gene Clark's Tried So Hard. It's Kevin'x Trax Pix of 2006, not because it was released then but because i heard it then and it fucking rules. I burned the whole album to a cd, but I can't usually get past this song because I have to keep replaying it. If anything, you've heard Yo La Tengo's cover of this song on Fakebook, which I'd known about for years, but it was not until last year that I discovered the majesty of the original.

For your information, Gene Clark was in the Byrds from '65 to mid '66, when he quit because he was afraid to fly in a plane. Apparently the split was friendly enough, because he drafted most of the group, in addition to the Gosdin Brothers, to record his first solo album, which is better a million than anything that either the Gosdins or the Byrds recorded. Do it.


Tried so hard to please her
There must be something more to know
Ooooo ooooo ooooo

4:46pm: James Brown is Dead. Long Live James Brown.
I mean, I know its Christmas and all, but Kevin Loonam just told me something that ruins the whole thing: James Brown is dead. I don't really know how I'm going to function now. I imagine Bobby Byrd just going "Yeah!" and "Get on Down!" to himself. So, I guess we'll never really know what he's saying on Sex Machine...but my money is still on "TASTE of VIENNA!"

Though this is a horribly depressing event, and ruins Christmas, there are two positive things to come out of this.
1) The James Brown records that I have will be worth lots of money, and I can profit off his death
2) The James Brown movie is probably gonna come out soon, a la Ray.

I remember when last year, much to the chagrin of Truly, I'd go into the James Brown persona for HOURS and just stay in it. I turned into James Brown at a party, and led a band in a rousing version of Sex Machine that was sort of half Talkin' Loud and Sayin' Nothin.

Goodbye James Brown, and thanks for ruining my fucking Christmas.

4:24pm: if you fear
i'll lose my spirit, like a drunkard's wasted wine
don't you think about it
i'm feelin' fine

4:46pm: Here's another Fart Joke from Chaucer
"Now thanne, put in thyn hand doun by my bak,"
Seyde this man, "and grope wel bihynde.
Bynethe my buttok there shaltow fynde
A thyng that I have hyd in pryvetee."
480 "A!" thoghte this frere, "That shal go with me!"
And doun his hand he launcheth to the clifte,
In hope for to fynde there a yifte.
And whan this sike man felte this frere
Aboute his tuwel grope there and heere,
485 Amydde his hand he leet the frere a fart,
Ther nys no capul, drawynge in a cart,
That myghte have lete a fart of swich a soun.
The frere up stirte as dooth a wood leoun, -
"A! false cherl," quod he, "for Goddes bones!
490 This hastow for despit doon for the nones.
Thou shalt abye this fart, if that I may!"

8:22pm: lungfish rebuttal
well jack i gotta tell ya its slim pickens tryin ride the atomic bomb
and raincoats of several numbers that everyone forgot
i lied. there were your mittens, and i shouldnt have chased after the cook with them.
it wasnt his fault someone spilled Carlisle's drink in the Tilapia.
somebody told me a better day is coming, which I cant imagine because im on the greatest winning streak of my boxing career. two kangroos, and a door mouse, and a loud mouthed Sophist
All hail the champeen!
Blues pagents, terrorfests, and nitrus! the heroes of the pot-pellied night swimers, the ones you always see climbing out of the halls, with that bewildered look of enthusiasm, which you always confuse with piousness, on their faces.
i want to talk some more with you, you'll be the drums, and i'll be the bass, and i'll be surly to interviewers
especially the ones that ol' charlie foster kane sends down, usually by cuckoo bird
peg and awl, hand in shawl, a caliban christ, a wrong descision, and two weeping willows.
baby, you must do something about those awful shudders.
Paint them green or turn up the heat or something, I'm starving.

Meanwhile, cross-tie walkin' like a cab calloway screen door dodger
somebody discovered science. fall is here, long live king harvest
already i find louis xiv staring me down,
hoping i'll slip, hoping i'll swat a fly
not even sure if he has a reason to be there, carrying all those bags
draw your brakes! and due to a sharp drop in pressure
fisher price role models soured on the fourth lap
and don't you think that is so evocative of the fields we live in?
Somebody told me it was all just shapes on a plane,
albatross visions of little diddy
But really,
I'm sorry,
what were you saying?

4:22pm: Chaucerian Fart Jokes
This Nicholas anon leet fle a fart
As greet as it had been a thonder-dent,
That with the strook he was almoost yblent;
And he was redy with his iren hoot,
And Nicholas amydde the ers he smoot.

if that isnt comedy, i dont know what is

1:06am: one from me and one from somebody else
isn't it a sad state of affairs
when you got the dulcimer blues
and that cuckoo clock with his
Extra extra read all about it
and it hit everybody suddenly
even mister caruthers with his
pistols poppin and his
little pajamas and your
onion smoking and your camel flipping
just flopping around,
wishin' that wasn't you
carrying around
pictures of your father
who drew your bath
when you were too nervous
to get into the water
why'd you set the table for four
But only two guests been invited
killing the mood, which was set for two
when three showed up
you must tell me, dear,
after you finish taping my advice
who i should ask to leave
you know it isn't polite
to start coughing in your sleeve
and tell your mother
all about my blacklist papers
and the manilla folder with all her pictures
i'm not looking to compromise anybody(especially grandpa)
but it isn't beneath me











she said you can't repeat the past and i said,
you can't? what do you mean you cant?
of COURSE you can!

4:52pm: There he goes, off to write that hit song, Alone in My Principles
i am a very clever guy. i use my powers for evil, instead of good. i mean, good is soooooooooooo boring.

really, everyone is starting to look the same. before they looked the same, but in a bad way. now it might be a good way.

a few nights ago I wrote a short story, then, recently, exactly what happened in the story happened in my real life.
"who's nervous? everbody's nervous?"
"nobody's nervous."
"well, god, I am!"

when i got home last night, I read this Raymond Carver short story that was exactly like one I had written. Goddamn Raymond Carver stealing my ideas twenty years prior.

I got Caldecott fever! I don't know who is going to win it, but it really is a competition between Miss Figgeltys Fantastical Fudge Shoppe Adventure by E.B. Stowe and My Friend Carmicheal, the Dog by Bonnie Rudebegar. All my money is going on Carmicheal. I can't wait till its Newberry season!

ah, the simple joys of the secret affair! how light my heart is! how frivolous my thoughts! how pretentious my prose! Has Leonard Cohen, in his bleakness, forgotten the pleasures of a good feeling? Has the great Bob Dylan, in his cynicism, obscured the simplicity of feeling like two naughty children? Is Woody Allen the only one who can really nail the essence of this thing? No. It will be my life's work to do the same, even if that means hashing things out like a medicore drunken Socrates. Women and their daughters will pass by my step, hearing my loud musings on topics of Love and Justice and whisper "Don't mind him, dear. He think's he knows something." Would I really be any worse off than anyone?

I have begun to Feel again. I embrace cab drivers, and have a good attitude toward cigarette nightgown stalkers, but the judge and I differ on that opinion. He adjucts his monocle, and says only, Post No Bills. And I, I am quite prepared to bring you my darts and whisper in the monasteries where I'll write the hit song Along in My Principles(feat. Dion Sanders)

12:38pm: joined a bloooooze band. should be playing in two weeks. expect stones covers and my pelvis. i may be drunk.

Shiny heads, I prefer,
because the only refection I see is my own.

snow
flakes falling
on the international dateline
girls, girls, girls, Zephirius
and me, sometimes
and just what do you do anyway?

10:19am: awesome color


Often, the trouble I have with new bands is that they just aren't good enoug to really rally behind them. There is too much risk in throwing in with their lot when they could run dry of creativity, like belle and sebastian, or become simply worthless, like the white stripes. Finally, I may have found a band that is good enough for none of that to matter. If they fuck up later, here this stands.
I'm not sure if its an album or an ep or whatever. It's pretty short, but that sort of works for it. The lyrics are pretty much the worst I've heard since Royal Trux. In fact, the song Hat Energy really is the new Juicy, Juicy, Juice. "I've got Hat Energy, not Bad Energy." Whatever. It's all sort of Stoogesy loud shit but they produced it right so theres lots of dirt. Also, the name is really great. Too bad they took it first.

11:52am: Today is Code Orange, and if you guys think I mean the terror alert, you're nuts! Apparently, the air is rated on some sort of scale, and on NPR yesterday, everyone was talking about how it's going to be a code orange day today and you probably shouldn't go outside because the air isn't safe the breathe. I didn't really believe it, so I went outside, and to my suprise, the air actually LOOKED like it wasn't safe the breathe. Sandworms were tearing holes through the pavement, strange rock formations had appeared on the landscape, and I wasn't braving that.
There'll be no class today, my friends.

12:51pm: First day of work went well. At one point everybody in the kitchen was dancing to that soul song "it's alright"(the one that sounds like huey lewis and the news to me, but i still dig it because of that guitar riff). It was a little like being roommates with alex germanotta, mixed with calvin and hobbes, that part. Speaking of being roommates with somebody, I'm moving in like two weeks. I've lived it up being total slob, but now i can emerge from my own squalor. I think a furniture party is in oder. Not the kind where you bring us furniture(but feel free), but the kind where you put a motown song on and pretend the leave the room, and then the furniture starts dancing.

I was a little nervous, being the new guy, so I didn't really dance so much at work. I danced to captain beefheart when i played that later, though. On my application, they asked me what my favorite mexican food was. I thought the question was really stupid, so I wrote "tequila". Some of the waitresses saw that I'd written that, so they gave me a few shots of tequila. I think its actually far from my favorite mexican dish.

When I was a solicitor for Campaign Virginia, there was this wisecracking older black man that worked there too, that would describe the songs on the radio, and make commentary on the band. I think his doppelganger works with me now.

"Preeeesenting, LED ZEPPEPLIN! The world's greatest guitar player in the world, playing on WHOL E LOTTA LOVE! JIMMY! MOTHERFUCKING! PAGE!" I told them my favorite led zep album was in through the out door, obviously.

shoney bear

10:17am: Farmer John went out to feed the turkeys early one morning. His sack full of swinging seeds at his side, he gaily whistled a country tune. The farm was doing well this morning. Everything was in its place, order maintained. The cows were busily munching grass out on the hillside, the chickens were doing their number in the coop. The barn loomed large in the distance. The farmer’s barn was so large that local myth held that only those in the village with the worst aim couldn’t hit its broad side. A few bees fluttered by Farmer John’s ear, tickling his lobe.
“Garsh, you’re sure ticklin’ me!” the farmer chuckled. He remember how the bees used to be in black and white. They looked really nice now, in color. Farmer John put down his pail, stopping in front of the turkey pen gate. Something smelled a little different. He sniffed his armpits, and concluded that he was not the culprit. He spotted, in the corner of the pen, a rotten piece of grapefruit, the source of the smell! He who smelt it dealt it a heave into the wheat fields, eliminating the malefactor. Farmer John continued toward the turkeys, who were huddled in the corner of the coop.
Two turkeys were playing dice.
“I’ve brought your food, boys” Farmer John hollered jollily. A few of the turkeys poked their ups up out of the huddle, but then returned them back in. The circle grew tighter, and the turkeys grew quieter.
“dig papa ain’t all reet pick up the pager jack I ain’t slammin’” All the turkeys were whispering all at once, gobbling up a storm.
“All right boys, here’s lunch!” Farmer John had approached the turkeys. He chuckled. “It’s good to see you boys again. Everybody ok?”
The turkeys were silent, motionless
“Eat up, fellas!”
Still, no response from the turkeys.
“Say, you boys are actin’ kinda funny. What’s wrong with all you fellers?”
The biggest turkey lifted his head.
“Slip the slide on the quarter pound jack measles gotta hep an’ I ain’t all bad”
Farmer John gasped in horror. These were no longer turkeys.
“Oh God,” he murmured. “These are jive turkeys”

3:22pm: jamma jamma jamma. got a new job. shits right across the street from my old job. i wrote a short story. im sort of proud of it.

11:08am: This has been a summer full of jam nights. To have a proper Jam Night, two out of three things must be the case. In order of importance, the first is that alcohol must be involved, the second is that music must be playing(not that it has to be good music. I've made a cd and a sequel for these occaisions, and though they contained choice selections such as "In a Jar" by Dinosaur Jr., "No Fun" by the Stooges, "Three Girl Rhumba" by Wire, which actually did get everybody dancing for its brief duration, and "Walk On" by Neil Young, they garner little support from the peanut gallery. ah, you kids n' yer popylar music.)
the third, least important element, is that my schedule must be clear for the morning. This usually limits things to Thursday and Saturdays, though smaller, less predictable jam nights occur sporadically. We have a saying in these parts that if the night is lookin' rowdy, ol' man jam is peeking around the corner.

Last night was a jam night. It all began basically the same, but then somehow Jeff showed up and started dispensing southern wisdom all over the place and eventually Taylor came too. There were some nice people to talk to, and everyone was having a good time. Then, testosterone reared its ugly head. A few guys took of their shirts (it wasn't really that hot outside) and started marching around, showing off. Someone from the other side of the room made a passing joke about their lack of shirts, and one of the no-shirters went beserk. He asked the quipping fello if he wanted to fight, and the response was simply laughter at the ludicrous propostion. Shirtless went around petitioning support against this guy, and got a few people rallied behind him. The other guy was just apathetic about the whole thing. I pointed out to Shirtless that he was only drunk, and that he'd be much more rational about this at a later date. He then explained to everyone present that the man who insulted him did two things with his jibe: "He disrespected my pride, and he disrespected my reputation". The party broke up, and jam night was effectively killed. Long live jam night.

6:26am: I really want to hear Bob Dylan's radio show.

Scratch that. I really want to hear Bob Dylan's radio show and eat an ultimate chalupa. Too bad Alex goes there every day but won't help a brother out. Maybe it's because I say things like help a brother out.

My apartment looks like I'm squatting right now. I'm soaking up every moment of television that I can before it is Grinched away from me. Although it is kinda nice not having to watch all those court shows all the time. You know that the judge is going to side with whomever is in the same gender/race as the judge. That one lady judge who isn't bad looking is always jumping down some guy's throat for like owing money to an ex girlfriend. The ex-girlfriend gets to tell her entire side of the story, and then the judge just turns to the guy and is like "you are a filthy, disgusting pig. You should be ashamed of yourself. NEXT!" I would think one stands a better chance in real court.

I have to work in exactly twenty minutes. I think I'd rather skip it.