June 7th, 2005


Goings on

Because I love future generations more than I love myself I decided to make the ultimate sacrifice and plunk down $150 to preserve my genius in perpetuity via what is known as a permanent account. Yes, yes, I know what you are thinking. How benevolent of you, Mr. Ben, preserving your greatly under appreciated genius for the children. You truly are a prince among men. And it's true. I am. I am a prince among men. I am the greatest human being ever to lay pen to paper, or hand to keyboard, or whatever.

Could I afford the $150 it cost to buy the account? Not really. Not really at all. I'm spending way too much money recently and starting to drown in growing debt. But that's...okay. Because when it comes to the children I couldn't afford NOT to bless them with my brilliance for ever and ever and ever. I couldn't afford not to do it. And I am going to go to sleep tonight...in like 15 hours, knowing that until freedom of speech is redacted, which should be at least like a few months, the children will have access to my greatness. That's not a..a term for my penis. I want the authorities to know that.

Preserving my early writings as a gift to mankind may mean that I cannot afford to eat or even go to the bathroom in a couple months when the credit card bill comes, but that a small price to pay for the knowledge that I will forever be known as the man who invented calling airplane bathroom masturbation pulling a Lindbergh. A small price to pay indeed. Small, yet heavy.

I'm so screwed.

So I have a permanent account now, and my ankle is feeling better and everything is turning up socratic. I have my resume ready for my meeting with my boss tomorrow, though I will probably polish it further, and he might have some people to send it too. Otherwise I'm just going to discuss it with him so I know what kind of reference he'll be, and then it's off to the races trying desperately to find employment that will pay for my new permanent status.
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Short hair suspicion

Razor Ruddock

This is for the DUDES who read this journal ONLY. Also it should probably be mostly for the straight dudes, since it's about hygiene, and many homosexuals are OVERLY HYGIENIC. Gay dude feedback will be noted, but with less weight because it has HIGH STANDARDS.

So, dudes, how often do you change your razor blade? This is something that has puzzled me for some time. Is it supposed to be weekly? Monthly? More? Is it like a toothbrush or more like a roll of toilet paper.

This is assuming you do not have an overly heavy beard and shave about once a day, give or take.

P.S. Women, I don't want to hear about you shaving your legs or lady parts. I'm still pissed that you won't go to your BIBLE PRESCRIBED HUT OF SHAME when you menstruate. Bitches.

P.P.S. For those who plan to mock me for not knowing the ins and outs of shaving yet at my age, well, maybe it's because MY FATHER COMMITTED SUICIDE WHEN I WAS 12 YEARS OLD. I had to learn to shave at summer camp because there was nobody around to teach me what it means to be a MAN. I had to go through all that teenage stuff without a father and with the knowledge that mine KILLED HIMSELF. What? Oh. The mocking's not so funny now is it? NOT SO FUNNY NOW.

HELL YEAH I played the dad suicide card. I'd do it again in a SECOND!
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glaring glavine


Very few of you are old enough to remember this (I measure a person's age from the date they began reading my journal. Before that they were "Alive" but, let's face it, it wasn't really "Living.") but back in January of '04 I was the foreman on a jury in a case involving a woman who broke her leg on some stairs. I initially pushed for her to get a money award, and eventually we ended up finding the building negligent but not responsible because of a mistake that her lawyer made.

I am also a fat man.

Due to these two facts I am apparently now public enemy #1 in the eyes of stairs everywhere. Stairs have never liked me, they are not fond of the obese, but what was once just a normal dislike has bloomed into a vicious hatred. A vicious violent hatred. Of me.

You may remember that I recently tripped on a loose piece of asphalt on some stairs and sprained my ankle. Well with the power of Christ on my side that sprain healed, and today I went out for a vigorous jaunt in the park. Naturally I returned to the site of the crime and tried to reconcile with the stairs that had wronged me. I decided that this time I would walk up rather than down them, thus testing the terms of our truce without putting myself in danger of tumbling down me. It seemed a safe and just plan.

The stairs attacked me. As I went to take my first step up the bottom stair it LURCHED UPWARDS and caught my foot, sending me tumbling face first. I skinned both my palms and my left knee. Motherfucker. I lay there for a few moments in shock, all sorts of emotions running through my mind. I had expected that the stairs and I would find some sort of peace, but it appeared they wanted to up the ante. Well up it they did. I mounted the rest of the stairs to the top and continued on my way, but events had set in motions. Events that the stairs can no longer control.

You see, one incident I can tolerate. One incident I can let pass. I am a diplomatic person, I am a kind person. I do not fly off the handle.

But you want to sprain my ankle AND skin my knee? Oh, it's on. It's ON. And by "it" I mean FULL SCALE WAR. I'm going to hit these stairs with everything I have. Just go crazy. It's like Vietnam, I'll be shooting them, using claymores, spraying them with Agent Orange. Okay, Agent Orange is a defoliant so it may not work against...stairs...but if they were made of...foliage...they'd be SO fucked right now.

Beyond just taking out this set of stairs, though, I'm going to play hardball with stairs as a CONCEPT. I'm going to be taking elevators and escalators and even handicap ramps. And if there's a place with only a staircase? I'll use the fire escape, whatever. Stairs are DEAD to me. DEAD.

And let me say this for any set of stairs reading this journal. If you try to come after me or my family again, try any funny business, I can't be held responsible for my actions. I may just DESTROY ALL MULTI-STORY BUILDINGS to get back at you. If everything is one story they don't need stairs, now do they? Think about that. You're expendable. Don't fuck with me, stairs. The telegraph fucked with me, and where is it now? Nowhere. The Zeppelin fucked with me. You see a lot of zeppelins around? So stairs, you're on the list. You don't mess with me, I don't mess with you, it's all good. You cross me again though...and...well...I'll climb you so hard you'll be flat for a week.
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