Well, what can I tell you.

I don't really read the news. Hell, I just barely wake up in the morning. So, I guess if you're looking for some kind of biting commentary about the state of the world, you're a little lost. That is unless I accidentally see some news somewhere, either the remote control's batteries die on CNN or I get tricked into reading a newspaper or something, and something catches my eye. Usually I'll just write about whatever's on my mind at the time.

So, I have a great e-friend that "blogs" also. Her blog is over there in the "linkies" somewhere. So, if you want to check it out, by all means, it's over there.

If you have, in fact, read the blog of shiny-ness already, then you probably know that today's entry is about yours truly. So, I don't know, I guess I should respond somehow.First of all, before you go getting down on anyone, I asked her to write it up and I respect her opinion. Before you read any further here, go read that. Hell, read it daily, you'll be glad you did. Anyway, here goes the other side of this dialectic.

Before I go any further, I'm going to make this one aspect perfectly clear, as if it wasn't already, I don't understand the opposite sex...at all. They confuse me. Apparently the part of my brain that was devoted to the understanding of the "fairer sex" has been pushed to the back by knowledge of how the Germans utilized and justified unrestricted u-boat warfare during World War I. Panzers are sexy. I do understand this though, girls and guys are so different, they're exactly the same.

You may be asking yourself, "What the fudge does that mean?" Well, I'm not 100% sure and I said it. Basically, what it means is this, and it's true for a lot of things in life with many different groups of people, or at least, that's how I see it, or how I like to see it anyway: We've all have goals. I have goals, you have goals, we all have goals. However, how we achieve these goals are different. When it comes right down to it, we all want the same thing; we just disagree about how to get it. Guys and girls have a different pool of resources, and they use these resources to the best of their ability. It's all you can do, after all. So, what's the difference between guys and girls? When you get right down to it, not much at all. If we were all that different, would anyone get together at all? Probably not. Sometimes, however, it gets frustrating.

Frustration is what I've experienced in the past couple of weeks. So, by now, you should have already went and read Cyn's blog. If you haven't, shame on you. Do it now. I'll wait........................ok. Alright, so, yeah, I picked "Jane." Not as much on the advice of "random people from the internet" mind you, this was a choice I thought about long and hard, and it helped to fuel my already raging insomnia. Besides, I found out "Sylvia" was seeing someone already, which made the choice a little easier.

I decide to summon up my confidence and ask "Jane" out. Why not, right? It won't hurt anything. Turns out she's not as much of a "Jane" as I once thought. Yes, she likes to play head games, and yes, she turned me down the first time I asked her out. The fact that I've never had a girlfriend before or played "the game" makes this even more difficult. Oh well, that just cemented the fact that I *am* a nerd.

"Why then", you may ask, "why then, are you still persuing this?" The short answer? Hope. Perhaps she was just having a bad day. Maybe she was just as confused and scared as I was. She's the only one who *really* knows. For added angst, I'll say here that, perhaps she just doesn't like me like I thought she did. (NOTE: Ladies, if you're not interested in a guy, DON'T FLIRT WITH HIM, plzkthx)

Well, it's a longer and more complicated story that this one blog, or even two blogs, can contain. So, I'll just leave it at that. Until next time.

Happy Valentine's Day

Welcome to the internet, it is indeed a strange place.

So, right, over the past couple of weeks, I've been without a television. Not that I really minded, but, being socially inept, my main source of enjoyment was taken away from me.

This past weekend, there was a little event in the sporting world called the "super bowl." Perhaps you've heard of it. Without a television, I didn't get to witness this event first hand, but I hear there was some sort of mammary mishap that happened during halftime. Yes, ladies and gentleman, there was a boobie on television. Not just any ordinary boobie mind you; this boobie belonged to one Miss Janet Jackson. Apparently, this incident was on the news or something, maybe you saw it, that is, if it wasn't obscured by poison being sent to congress or some kind of fighting going on in some desert country.

Now, I didn't get to see this "teat offensive" take place in real time, however, I thank the internet for wiping its hands off on its pants, screen capturing it, and making it available for me, in jpeg form. So, as I sat behind my computer, slowly getting a tumor from its radiant glow, I looked at this picture and thought to myself, "You know, this remind me a lot of otter pie."

"Otter pie?" You may be saying to yourself. Yes, otter pie. For one, I've never seen an otter pie in person either, but that doesn't mean that it doesn't exist, nor does it mean that it isn't disgusting. Now, I'm not necessarily saying that Janet's "fun bags" are disgusting, but it's hard not to imagine (or fantasize) her kiddie diddler brother's head on top of her body.

Otter pie isn't really the zenith of what I would consider a proper meal either. When I think food, my thoughts don't immediantly turn to otter pie. Just like when I think football, oh yeah, I think Janet Jackson. (what?) No. I would just assume take a spoon and shove it up my ass.

Also, otter pie is typically accompanied by some sort of other, horrid side dish, like eel stew or something. In the case of this half time show, it was Justin Timberlake. However, he's another thing completely.

I'm having trouble coming up with more euphemisms for Janet's boobies. So I will now make a new one up and continue using that one from here on in. From now on, Janet Jackson's boobie will be called "jiggly fruit."

So after three days and four keyboards, I finally closed the window containing Janet Jackson's jiggly fruit. I was glad I did. Which is another way her jiggly fruit is like otter pie. When it's gone, you're happy. Boy was I ever happy. It was at this point, I got a phone call. My new television had arrived. So I leaned my towel up against the wall, went out and got my new TV. I plugged it in, turned on CNN, and the first thing I saw was Janet's jiggly fruit. I began to weep. The last time I cried that hard was when they cancelled M*A*S*H. Then I promptly smashed my new television with a mustard jar and took a nap. What a week.