Senseful ramblings of an incoherent nature from a delusional schizophrenic (or my views on current events)

Wednesday, August 31, 2005


Those eyes
That hair
That look
That smile
That hidden fat tongue

Is it me or does my squeezy stress ball look special?

This is what I am working with

The following photo is what I am working with right now. That stack of post-it notes are all of the ideas that I have had over the past few months that I have meant to post here, but for whatever reason just havent.

I think I am uninspired.

At least the music I added to this wonderful bit of online waste of space makes me smile:)

Monday, August 22, 2005

Cop Math

Is it possible that there a mathematical equation that could help me calculate the possibility of not passing a police officer while driving too and from work? If so, I would like to have that equation, and I am sure that you would too!

I know, it is a random thing for me to think about, but let me explain. The way I figure, passing a cop on the street is dependent on many different independent factors, traffic lights, traffic, time of day and weather to name a few, but mainly you have to figure in your starting point, all the stops you make, and the speed at which you travel. Of course this equation would have to be computed continuously to account for the probability of you running into a cop at every point from where you started to where you finish. Knowing all of the police coverage routes in a specific community would be necessary, and factoring in the possibility of an emergency would also be required.

Unfortunately I ceased my math studies after my first year of college, so I cant figure out the equation. However, it has everything to do with probability, so maybe it wouldnt be as hard as I initially thought to figure this thing out...

Well, once I do figure this thing out I will be able to reroute my traveling patterns and the roads I take so that I can speed all I want and never have to worry about getting my car inspected;)

Thursday, August 18, 2005

The Tou Kuzi

The other night, as I was washing off my ass in the shower I pulled a thick, black hair out of my ass crack. After recovering from the initial tingle that the hair produced when rubbing between my cheeks, I started to think about how a thick, black hair could become lodged in my ass.

Obviously, the hair wasnt mine because my hair is short and brownish, with a hint of red, blonde and sometimes white. I hadnt been blown in a while, so it wasnt as if the hair could have been a byproduct of a good time. I set the thick, black hair aside so I could further study it later on, after my shower.

Once I was done cleaning myself thoroughly, paying extra attention to my ass crack because of the foreign intrusion, I dried myself off and got dressed. I then sat down at my office desk and pulled out my trusty microscope to investigate the thick black hair. It didnt take me long to realize that the hair was from a person of Asian descent. And while this new finding answered one question, a whole new question arose: why was an Asian, thick, black hair in my ass?

I thought back to my recent contact with anyone who might be the slightest bit Asian, and really couldnt think of anything. It's not that I dont like Asians, quite the contrary actually. In fact, I am smitten with Asian females, but that is beside the point. It just happens that I dont really come into contact with many. The sad fact is that I really dont come into contact with many people at all, regardless of their race.

Then I remembered that a couple weeks ago I picked up my dry cleaning from my Asian dry cleaners. The pants I wore the day that I found the Asian, thick, black hair in my ass were worn for the first time since their cleaning. But how did this hair get into my pants, after all, they were pressed, folded, and bagged. SO I went onto the internet to do some research.

I did a thorough google search of all things involving Asians, hair, and pants, and as many derivatives of all of the above. I searched for hours with no real results. Then I put in Asian Head Pants and stunningly, after about twenty pages of meaningless results I found something relevant.

There is an indigenous tribe of Chinese people living in north eastern China called the Tou Kuzi. There isnt much known about these people since their tribe is deep in the forest and they arent friendly with westerners.

However, one westerner, a German fellow named Efinure van Hausen, managed to not only find this tribe, but he was allowed to spend a week imbedded in their tribe. What he saw was one of the oddest, yet remarkable sites that anyone had ever seen.

While van Hausen wasnt permitted to take pictures, since cameras steal souls, he did describe the one tribal ritual that peeked my interest. The Tou Kuzi, after defeating a neighboring hostile tribe, put the pants of their defeated enemies on their heads and celebrated while chanting and dancing around the tribal central area.

Not much else is known about the Tou Kuzi. Efinure van Hausen has been missing for some time. The last he was seen was when he was on his way to the Congo to study the tribes there. He hasnt published his Tou Kuzi findings yet, but was expected to when he got back from the Congo. His return was expected three years ago.

With my leads squandering, I went back to my dry cleaner and said nothing but "Tou Kuzi." The lady squinted her eyes, pursed her lips, grabbed my hand and led me to the back of her store. Once there she turned to her right and stood before a small, dirty door. She quickly undid two deadbolt locks and the door opened with a slow creaking. She led me into the room and turned on the lights.

I looked around the room and saw that the walls were covered with drawing of small Asian people with pants on their heads. There was a pair of pants laying across the floor.

It turns out that my dry cleaner is a member of the Tou Kuzi who left China 5 years ago to earn enough money so that her tribe could remain secluded in the forest. She told me that most of the women leave the tribe for at least a little while to make money for the tribe while the men stay behind to fend off foes and raise the children. The women eventually come back, usually in their early 30s, so that they can procreate.

She also told me that she does sometimes use customer pants to honor her gods and remember her family and the tribes customs. She apologized and thanked me for the use of my pants. She then asked that I not tell anyone of her secret and of her tribes customs, while letting me know that my dry cleaning will be free for as long as she is running the store.

I left, happy with myself upon discovering why there was a thick, black hair in my ass crack, and newly informed on some strange people and their strange customs that I never knew existed. The free dry cleaning was just an added bonus.

So revel in these people and their customs, but dont dare share this info with other people, because if you do, they will find you, kill you, and dance around with your pants on their head.

Thursday, August 11, 2005

Elementary Bliss

Elementary school was my high school. Not literally of course, because however smart I think I am, I was not nearly that smart then. No, in elementary school I was often teased and made fun of for really no reason at all. Ok, it might have had to do with the fact that my mommy still dressed me (horribly I might add - I didnt start scrunching my socks down until fifth grade!), I had a huge fuzzy afro, and I was the most unathletic thing that existed. The next most unathletic kid, a fair skinned boy named Andrew, who grew freckles when just thinking about the sun, even made fun of me - he called me Squash, just because it rhymed with Josh.

Thankfully I was able to change. I somehow became athletic in 4th grade, started dressing myself eventually, and cut my hair short, yet this is not where our story leads us, no, not even close. Because for however bad my elementary school days were, there were those kids who had it worse then me: The special ed kids.

Most of the special ed kids really werent that special (where special equals gifted). Most of them just had the misfortune of being born before the Ritalin craze that began in the late 80s. Sure a couple of them had fat tongues and shorter limbs, but that is to be expected everywhere, and that isnt were this story is going. One kid started going bald real early, another was from Africa and couldnt speak without clicking. Yet another just liked beating the shit out of people, including the special ed teacher (he ended up at an Ivy League University, just so you know, and I am not talking about myself). One kid used to go to the bathroom in a stall, which is normal, however he would leave the door open so that everyone could see that his pants were around his ankles. While those kids all have stories of their own, this story's focus is on my favorite hyperactive kid ever, Bobby Chicks (name changed to protect the innocent - me).

Bobby was a lanky kid. Not tall and lanky, just lanky. He was the type of guy who could bend just about anyway he wanted to, or at least I imagined that he could just because his limbs were so long and thin. He had darkish skin and short cropped hair with half-way down his forehead bangs. He had a big mouth and was always saying something stupid that would get him in trouble. His eyes were tiny slits that just added to his distinction, but he wasnt asian. He always wore black jeans and a grey t-shirt, even in the dead of winter, but he always had his puffy, dark jacket on as well. He didnt go anywhere without his cheap, black, plastic backpack either.

Naturally, Bobby was constantly picked on, either because he looked different or because he was saying something outlandish. He was also to first kid I ever heard tell a teacher to go fuck themselves, something awfully ballsy for a 3rd grader.

Although I never had a class with Bobby, I would often look out of my classroom and see him either running or walking around, although I am fairly certain that he wasnt allowed to be roaming.

The best thing about Bobby was his absolute fascination with/love for this little bow-legged lass named Gabby Miller (again, name changed). Gabby was fairly popular, so for Bobby to have this crush on her just didnt make sense for him. Every time he saw her he would declare his love for her, loudly. And often he would get pounded because of this, but that did not distract him from his ultimate goal in life, to marry Gabby Miller.

One story that went around was that Bobby got caught fucking a hole in the bathroom wall while yelling out Gabby's name. Unfortunately I didnt get to see Bobby fuck the wall, but I wouldnt put it past him, and why would anyone lie about such a thing? In fact, later on I did ask Bobby about the incident and he actually fessed up to it.

Im not really certain what happened to Bobby Chicks. After elementary school he was in and out of school for as long as I can remember and no one really knew why - probably because they didnt care. But I care! I want to know what happened to my favorite wall fucker. I can only imagine that Bobby is either dead or in jail, but then again, maybe they found the proper dosage for him and he is now successful. Maybe he even married Gabby. Or maybe he is now the janitor just so he can continue to fuck the wall.

Tuesday, August 09, 2005


How many citizens of this fine country dont speak English I wonder? It almost seems that there are more people in this country who dont speak our language than there are in other countries that you can go visit. It's easier to go to Spain and order a sangria than it is to go to East Harlem to order a Mad Dog.

See, people want to come to this country because it offers them a better chance at life. While they may come here and become a janitor, it is still a better life than staying in a run down country where you are making little toy trinkets that are exported to the good ol' US of A, getting paid pennies an hour. When they export themselves they cut out the middle man; instead they get the opportunity to earn that extra dough.

Yet when they come here they dont learn English. They are so attached to their culture that they claim, in their own language no less, that they wont learn English because they dont want to forget their past.

Honestly, I am fine with that, because if they did learn english, then who is going to be our janitors? If you will notice, their offspring, who usually learn English by default, dont want those same jobs, probably because the first English phrase they learn is, "I aint doin' dat."

Which leads me to my point, we need to keep bringing in foreigners so that someone will clean up our shit, because once foreigners learn English they forget how to do the jobs that us naturally speaking English folks forgot to do long ago.

By the way, how do you like your shirt's done?

Monday, August 01, 2005


I realize that the only joyful moments I get in my life is when I squish grape jelly between my fingers while pretending I am a god who is killing all the bacteria and other microbiotic organisms that call this grape jelly home. I do understand that my squishing does more distruction to their home rather than the organisms themselves, but I dont care. I get off on the pain and suffering that I am causing them, not the death that is intended.

I used to dip my white bread in white grape juice. No shit.

Grapes become raisins if you let them dry out in the sun. Im not a fan of raisins

Rice pudding isnt very good either. I actually prefer vanilla. Tappioca makes me want to vomit, but not in a bad way. I just dont want to eat something like that.

I have pretended to squish people's heads, as if they were grapes. Who hasnt?

White grape juice is better than purple grape juice. Apple juice tastes bad.

Grapefruit just might be my favorite fruit, especially ruby red, although when I was a lil chap I found grapefruit to be too sour.

Micro-organisms live everywhere. Maybe Mr. Hughes was onto something. Arent the extremely intelligent often mistaken for the mentally disturbed? I havent decided which category I fall into yet, although I am leaning towards extremely intelligent.

I have a very big head, I dont think it would be possible to squish it like a grape.

That first thing I wrote was an outright lie. Everything else doesnt matter, except to me.