i don't think it is pudding

on odd days i get up. even days i send my robot me out to do my day things. so on odd days my me robot stays in bed all day. often on these odd days while i'm out doing my day things i wonder about what my me robot is thinking aboooooooooooot. I imagine it's thinking about my inability to use capital letters properly, or perhaps it's counting the atoms in the fluffballs that float to the ceiling. Maybe it's not thinking and it's just off. Maybe its got my laptop and has cleverly deduced my clever password, and is secretly updating my blog. My favorite kind of toast is not burned toast. Too burned is gross. Frying pans. Radio knobs. Analog listening devices. Sometimes give it my all, sometimes I fall short of "the mark". Mark is a penis. And his penis left a mark on the toll collectors underwear. see? see what i'm talking about? i didn't write any of this, but yet and somehow it appears here. robot me must be partial to omelets. I keep making omelets and turning to get the salt and finding the omelet gone. What omelet? you know what omelet. the one i was just about to salt and you took. i didn't take any omelet. you did too. i did NOT. whatever. you know what? you can totally type stuff in this box. Just log in, click the button, and fuckin' type stuff. It's like magic! penis magic.

Did you know that there is magic all around you? It's the truth. I went around the corner the other day, and I saw magic collected in the corner, as if magic wind had blown it into a drift there. But who cares about that. The point is, if you wanted to just snap your fingers and say "ABRA CADABRA A LA PEANUT BUTTER AND JELLY SANDWICHES!" in hopes that a sandwich would appear in front of you which you could consume with a big peanut buttery smile on your face, you totally couldn't. Why? Because you suck at magic. It's not that it doesn't exist, it's just that you can't do it. If you wanted to learn you'd have to fly into space. Not outer space ether. Don't think so narrowly. I'm talking about the space where dreams are made. You'll never get it, so I feel bad for you. You really need to thing about when the children cry. You need to think about why you miss the toilet when you pee in the dark. You need to look further under the couch when you sweep. It's dusty under there.

Once when it was Tuesday I fucking stubbed my toe. I thought I was going to loose control and punch children it hurt so bad. Fuck! Which is funny because that TOTALLY happened to you too this weekend. What the fuck?! Weirder still is that I thought that I wrote "I fucking stabbed my toe" and the mental image that evoked was hilarious. Ok, I need me to focus more on writing something about things that are not pudding. Call the doctor!

My plate is full and I wear a lot of hats too. I also like to keep a lot of balls in the air; if you know what I mean. It's stupid, but I do it all the time. Tell me it's not big deal. Tell me and I'll try to incorporate a little more in to it. I tried it and it was too promotional. Hold on, hold on, hold on. why isn't this fucking opening... here it is. What do you want me to do? Get rid of the call to action? Ok. Except you keep forgetting to show me how the young ones learn slowly and are effectively stupid so they try to eat plastic bags and shit. Seriously? What are you like a baby or something?

I actually did have pudding after dinner last night. It made a huge mess all over the TV screen when Ray came in and threw it against the chandalier, which dispersed it elegantly across the room. Thanks a lot, Ray.

Theory of pork chops and condensation.

The issues began with the robot. It ended with some guy getting punched in the spleen after having some painful corns on his feet removed... but thats another story. The robot however, was tasked with having to find a word that rhymes with orange. Because its brain is a difference engine rather than a comparator or a hot dog boiler, the result it ended up giving was: "hand job". Occasionally people will get hurt doing simple tasks. This time was no different from usual, but don't you think for a second that boiling hot dogs is a simple task. Which reminds me, ,my mom always said, "lick me I'm Salty". I kinda thought she was talking about the hot dogs she was boiling, but one day I found out what she really meant. What she meant was to tell me how annoying it was when I persisted in sticking pieces of cake in tupperware and not refrigerating them so they got moldy and then offering them to her unaware that they were past their prime. I thought I was doing a good thing! Cake and mold are fucking dumb.

So, now that the robot had a word that rhymes with Orange it's next directive was to take this information and share it with the world. However, things didn't go as planned. Having eaten the orange it was given as an example at the beginning of the task, its mouth was all rusted shut. Not to mention that it was full of rind and boiled hot dogs. and moldy cake your mom would try and hide after you gave her the old cake in the tupper ware with the cracked lid that nobody could crack no matter how hard they tried, until one day they approached truckasaurus, and truckasaurus cracked that shit. Right in two. Cleaved. stupid truckasaurus. always cracking my shit. don't do it, truckasaurus, that is my shit i and it doesn't need cracking. so just stop it and sit down. gonna deflate your fucking tires. truckasaurus. jerk. in fact, if you want to help why don't you crack the robot's jaw so you can eat like a snake. God I love truckasaurus. If I was a giant robot dinosaur chick I would ask truckasaurus out on a date to sip a giant robot milkshake from two dinosaur straws. We'd rollerskate there because our tires are runflats in case some stupid jerk tried to deflate them. Speaking of rollerskatess, have you ever noticed how when you buy a bag of those baby carrots, that aren't really baby carrots, they are really just carrots that somebody chopped up and carved to look like baby carrots, yeah, those baby carrots, so have you ever noticed that there is always like a half cup of baby carrot liquid that you need to drain out of the bag or the baby carrots will be all slimy? well, i think you do know what i'm talking about, but what i don't think you realize is how putting that baby carrot liquid on your corns before rollerskating can make you write retarded run-on sentences.

My favorite fish is blue and fits in my hat. I brought it to make love to hamburger helper. Right in his glove! Not his long slinky red satin glove that he wears with evening gowns and pearls to fancy fund raisers. But the white one he wears on TV. Like when he's in commercials and stuff that usually air during soap operas because typically, women watch soap operas, and as any high school trigonometry teacher can tell you, women love gloves. They love gloves almost as much as prison guards do. It's pretty serious glove love.

Have you ever banged a glove??? Right on the noggin with a shovel or a trowel or something? They have stout hearts and sometimes grippy bits or knuckle protectors. It feels like your growing potatoes out of your nostril, but it's nice too. Bono does it all the time. To his walrus friend, Steve. Oh god, Steve - he is quite a character! I remember this one time when Bono was banging a fireman's rubber boot, Steve came over to ask if he wanted a piece of Twinkie he was eating at the time. Bono got all pissed off and shoved that Twinkie right in Steve's walrus ear. All of a sudden Steve took the boot Bono was banging and shoved it up the ass of an older woman who happened to be walking by. Then Steve turned to Bono and asked "Hey, does this Twinkie make my brain realize that the woman I just violated is actually one of my time travelling ancestors?" Obviously the answer is NO because there's no Guarana in that Twinkie. But, as we all know, Twinkies don't need guarana to fuck you up. especially if they are inserted into your ear where the twinkie magic is absorbed through your inner ear membrane lining. which is why ray didn't realize that he was fantasizing he was not just bono, but the unholy trinity of bono, the old woman with the boot in her ass, and steve, bono's friend, the walrus with said twinkie stuck in his walrus ear. and it was right about the time that ray was not realizing this that he had eaten a piece of moldy cake that truckasorus gave him the day before. What a trip!

When Ray finally came too his senses, it was too late. The only thing that could make him feel better was a trip to the san andreas fault, where the wild frigonometry wizard makes noodle pies which are said to cure any ail. Which is bullcrap because I had one once when I had herpes, and it cured my herpes and gave me whooping cough. I was pissed! But anyway, maybe if ray went and found him he'd be okay. It's very hard to find this guy though, you need to relax. just calm the fuck down. ok? ok, that's better. and that bit about herpes and whooping cough, well that was a mistake. what i meant to say was "hey, what's up?"