First, if you’re in line at the deli during lunch and you (like most people) have a 30-minute lunch, you should not spend 45 minutes deciding which sandwich you want to eat. Who cares how thin you want your slices of black forest ham to be? You’re anorexic! You’re going to throw it up anyway. On the other hand, the weight of the your sandwich should not equal your body weight. Quit being so picky and quit being so greedy. Just get a damn sandwich. Turn around and look. There is an angry, hungry mob of blue-collar and white-collar workers that will be happy to eat you if you don’t hurry up.

On a street corner near downtown, a husband and wife were manning their fruit stand. Anything wrong with this picture? Nope. Not until you hear their baby crying. Where is she? She’s over there. In that milk crate. Yes, they put the kid in a milk crate. An extra fat kid in a fat free milk crate. Sad and funny.

For the second time in four months, I’ve seen the man that rides a bike covered in gold tin foil. Spokes, handle bars, seat, everything.

To the fellas: don’t dress like your boys. Groups of guys dressing alike has got to stop. You look rather girlish doing that, but even a woman hates to see another woman wearing an identical outfit. Why do you do it, guys? I don’t know. Unless you’re going on the Ed Sullivan Show, American Bandstand, or Soul Train; you are part of a sports team; you’re with your platoon in battle; or you’re in a barbershop quartet, you should not be dressed exactly like your male counterparts. If you’re going somewhere with your boy and he has on the same white T-shirt and jeans that you’re wearing, roll around in the dirt. Now you have a brown shirt. See, that’s better. By saving yourself, you’re saving him, too. You’re a good friend to have.

Is your mullet, shag, or Jheri curl’s backpack long or big enough to rest on your shoulders and support your neck while you’re driving? If you answered yes, cut that $%!+ off. If I see one more person who looks like a squirrel is hugging the back of your head, I’m gonna lure it away from you with some acorns, kill it, and then have it stuffed. Squirrels belong in trees, on the ground, or on the dining room wall of a serial killer, not on your head.

If your child is big enough to grab the oatmeal off the top shelf at the grocery store for you, then you shouldn’t have his/her big ass in a stroller. Parents, you’re killin’ me with that. Please stop. If your snot-slurper is old enough to run away from you when you try to spank him, then he’s old enough to NOT have a Cosco chariot. Take the stroller away from Yao Ming and let him go out and earn something that can hold both of you. A car.

An old lady in the post office yesterday tried to get in front of me in line. She said that she was the next one in line. Funny, I didn’t see her in line, and I have four eyes. In fact, when the clerk called “Next!”, this lady was nowhere to be found. She was making a big scene so I told her brittle ass to go ahead. I wanted to push her down and kick her in the ribcage. So I did. Nah, just playing. I didn’t push her down.

Recently, I saw the aftermath of a hit and run accident. Being the only one on the bus besides the driver, it was an eerie and sad sight. A pedestrian died. As the cops taped off the perimeter, we passed the scene. Not being able to believe that he was actually witnessing what he was seeing, the driver burst out into sadistic laughter. Not cool. At this point, I was extremely anxious to get off the bus. Seconds later, I got off at my stop. Good thing I did. The driver drove for about 100 feet before the ground opened up and sucked him into hell. Wonder if he’s still laughing.

One night, I got to my apartment building and I saw a flyer on the wall. It’s a wanted poster for a man that’s been assaulting people and breaking into apartments in the area. This guy’s description: black male, 6 feet tall, 200+ pounds, shaved head, glasses, last seen wearing black jeans, a black shirt, and black shoes. I stare at the poster. I happen to be wearing all black at that precise moment. The other features sounds just like me, too. Just then two security officers come up behind me…

I saw a Greyhound bus that was moving so slow that the greyhound on the side of the bus was actually rolled over on its back, dead.

Due to some crazy circumstances, the other day I was on a charter bus with about 55 Filipino octogenarians. That’s it. No punchline here. It was what it was.

When I was about 6 or 7, my family and I went to see Santa Claus at the local town shopping center. Sitting on Santa’s lap, I remember him slurring his words and smelling like three fellas that I didn’t know at the time, the Three J’s: Jim (Beam), Johnny (Walker) and Jack (Daniels). Unbeknownst to me, from that point on, I would subconsciously associate the smell of alcohol with sitting on people’s laps. Later in life when I thought about it, I laughed at myself. It was funny…until I realized the power that I now possessed. Power of persuasion. To make a long story less long, I thought that I’d give it a try….you know…(wiggling eyebrows) see if I could use the influence of liquor to “persuade” certain members of the opposing gender to think of me as their friendly, neighborhood Santa Claus guyfellacatdudebrothaman. Well….it doesn’t work. Got scars to prove it.

Back in the 6th grade, I had a funny teacher. He had gall bladder surgery; brought his gall stones to class, floating in formaldehyde in a big Mason jar; and put the jar on his desk so we all could see them. He would have the class rollin’ with his jokes after recess. He was our grandfather figure of the 6th grade. He was nice. He was kind. He was also a Vietnam Vet suffering from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. So one Thursday, this kid in class wouldn’t shut up. The teacher told him to simmer down. The kid was defiant…and stupid. The teacher freaked out, let out a yelp like a dog does when you step on its tail, grabbed his key ring (which had nearly 20 keys on it), and hurled it at the boy. Hit him dead in the chest. The impact was enough to knock the boy (who was already leaning in his chair) out of his seat and onto the floor. Another kid across the room started laughing hysterically. The teacher didn’t like that either. That student ended up with a mouthful of chalky eraser. I’ve never met anybody with aim like that since.

The time: 2:01 p.m.

The place: Burbank, CA

The setting: A Greek joint down the street.

I have just had the biggest plate of food that I’ve had in a long time. Just come back from my lunch break. Sitting in the office right now. Fighting. Fighting for my life. Fighting the Sandman. That food was good, but it had entirely too much starch in it. Now I’m struggling. Losing focus. I’m sliding. Sliding downhill….down…down….down into the pits of slumber. Trying not to sleep at work. Trying not to drool all over this keybbbboard. I’m–I’m try—tryin—not to–fall aslee…….try……nnnnnn……notttt…….t……..t…t……eeeepppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppp

A few years ago, a friend of mine started doing time…I mean, he got married. At the wedding, I happened to look up and saw that the ceiling was in the shape of an octagon. Yeah, as in a stop sign. So I leaned over to my other friend, pointed to the ceiling, and asked, “You think that’s a sign from God? You know? Is God saying stop this wedding?” May sound stupid, but they’re divorced now. Just a thought. Signs are everywhere…lol. Alright, stop reading this and go do something constructive.

Be well.

If you’re driving an Excursion, Expedition, Explorer, Exterminator, Executioner, Hummer, H2, H22, or a Mercedes BenzMW Maybach Testarosa Model T and/or your parent or legal guardian is the emperor/ruler/president/prime minister of a mid to large sized wealthy country, corporation, or conglomerate, do not ask me for $5 to get a ham and cheese sandwich on pumpernickel from the 7-11. I will headbutt you in the heart. You are rich. Act like it.

The other day, I stopped this kid from running out in the middle of the street and getting hit by an Altima. The little bastard turned around and jabbed me in my crotch. His mom thought I was trying to abduct him. That’s fine, ya lil’ bastard! That’s the last time someone’ll save your life. I hope a lot of steamrollers frequent your street.

My cell phone has begun to ooze out the adhesive that’s inside the screen. It’s brown and has the consistency of Vaseline. Until I get a new one, I have to wipe it down with Purell, sanitary wipes, and alcohol so that the side of my face doesn’t become infected. All my phone calls are dirty talk now.

Speaking of dirty talk, I have a T-shirt that has a picture of North Carolina and South Carolina on it. The caption reads “North Carolina: We like being on top.” Funny shirt, I thought. Until I wore it to work one day…the same day we had a surprise “sexual harassment at the workplace” seminar. That lady covered everything from inappropriate comments to lewd emails to offensive clothing. Looking at me the whole time. I’ve never slid down so low in a chair before.

I moved one weekend. Both elevators decided to break. The whole weekend. Rented a U-Haul truck. The signals didn’t work and the mirrors kept swinging while I was driving. Had to guess if someone was behind me or not. At least, it was the good truck.

Haven’t been home in so long, my mom told me to visit soon because she forgot what I looked like.

Two Halloweens ago, my roomy and I decided to be nice for a change and offer the neighborhood kids some candy. As soon as we got back from the grocery store, we heard a herd of kids running down the hall. Pretty much frightened by the sheer magnitude of noise, I fumbled with the keys and finally opened the door. As soon as we shut the door, at least 387 offspring from hell came crashing into the door. It sounded like fighting in Fallujah. I thought I was going to die. We finally opened the door and the maggots came INTO the house. One kid said he didn’t want candy; he wanted liquor. I karate chopped him in the esophagus and told him to go back to hell. He did. Lil’ bastard.

(to be continued)

Guess I’m the only writer on MySpace that hasn’t blogged a word yet. Maybe I should start soon, huh? I will. Just not today.