-a quote from a little play called Isaac and Ishmael, the extended version of which is scrawled across the pages of notes I’m looking over in a concentrated effort to turn them into readable and potentially entertaining paragraphs.

It turned out that Shabbos wasn't quite as restful as it could have been. I suppose that's what I get for celebrating a tiny part of the sabbath of a religion I'm not actually a practitioner of.

I managed to fuck up pretty bad, and the hardest part to deal with is that the person I hurt worst I wasn’t expecting to at all.

I have to be patient, try and do things to keep my mind off of the bad stuff, and try to fix things when I can.

Now I guess I should move on to lighter things. This is gonna be pretty spastic and unintelligible.

g d f e d c d c
riku is frigging badass.
And the StarCon ringtone is the gift that keeps on giving.

Gary settled before going to trial. The cue card guy proposed that I cease this ridiculous talk show farce, because it’s never gonna play in Topeka, and he was shot down. It’s people like him who are running the industry, man. Smoke and mirrors! Do you know who owns and controls the station you’re watching?

So I says to him, “Why not do another Gambler movie? I mean, they are successful, and everyone likes them, and it’s not like they cost a fortune to make or anything.” And then I realize, this entire time I’ve just been talking to a look alike. Kenny Rogers never would have been that patient, and besides which, last I heard, wasn’t in a wheelchair. Man, was my face red.

This is the dawning of the age of aquariums. Now go buy one, and some turtles and some koi and some of that fruity-pebble-looking gravel shit before the Fifth Dimension has to come over to your house and beat your ass in. This message brought to you by Fred's Pet Shop, a subsidiary of Fred International, winner of three JD Power and associates awards for outstanding local merchantry in a row. No endorsement by the surviving members of the Fifth Dimension is implied.

I just had to ask my friend Michelle if the men in Australia were sized like pygmys. Never in my life could I have predicted that.

This is how the writing has been going. It’s like I’ve got this pitching muscle, and I’ve been building it back up, but I can’t get it anywhere near the damn strike zone, or even to stay in the right sport for more than 3 seconds. See, I can’t even properly piece together one of my patented ridiculously obtuse metaphors to explain it. The pitching muscle would be my writing acumen, see, which atrophied horribly, and I’ve been trying to build back up. And the strike zone would represent “focused creative output,” namely the story I’m trying to revive. This would honestly make the world’s worst editorial cartoon. Every single aspect of it would have to have some text superimposed on it explaining what the hell it’s supposed to represent, until the whole thing merely was a meta-editorial cartoon on the newspaper of life, which represented “crappy editorial cartoons.”

Jesus, I haven’t even had coffee.

One of these days I’m simply going to wake up as a duck with a messy desk, and realize that I have become Shoe.

1.

[help me josh lyman]