Well, here I am, back in Marion. Yay! I don't mind being in Marion, really. It's the same as living anywhere else as long as you don't leave the house much. And I don't. Ha! Screw you, Marion! I got you licked.

I was delighted, simply delighted, to find my copy of A Sun that Never Sets had arrived in perfect working condition. I'm still waiting for my copy of the first Black Sabbath album to get here and I'm getting a bit antsy about it. I sit around all damn day, my fingers a-rap-tap-tapping on my desk, waiting for the mail to arrive. "Maybe today," I say, "Maybe today my beautiful Sabbath will come to me." But, alas, it has yet to bless me with its presence.

I'm getting frustrated with writing the greatest science fiction novel of all time. I'm just not a skilled enough writer. I'm gonna put that sucker on the back-burner for a bit and work on some other things. You know, work on my chops a bit. I'm writing some articles for a email-zine my friend, Ian, is starting. It should be all kinds of stupid. That's just how I roll, dog--stupidly.

I really don't want to put all my clothes away and make my bed but I'm going to anyway.

Later.

Hello. How are things? That's good to hear....

I went beer shopping today. I bought 13 new beers and for once I didn't accidentally buy any that I've already tried. I got a stouts from Australia, Michigan, and California; some spiced lagers from Wisconsin; Belgian-style beers from Belgium, New York, and Wisconsin; and a couple doppelbocks from all over the damn place. It should be a good time.

I just remembered a shitty beer from another country: Fosters Lager from Australia. The Special Bitter is OK though.

I'm reading a book by Lester Bangs. He's very interesting if two conditions hold true: A) The article is no more than 6 pages and B) The subject matter of the article is only vaguely related to music. Otherwise, you get something like this:

Blah, blah, blah.... I'm Lester Bangs... Blah, blah, drugs... Blah, Blah, Blah... Led Zeppelin sucks... Blah.... I like Count Five.... blah, blah, I hang out with Richard Hell... Blah, blah... I write about music because I'm not talented enough to make it.... Blah, blah, blah, hangover... blah, Velvet Undgerground... Blah... Misogeny... blah, blah, I hang out with the Ramones... blah, drugs, blah, MC5.

And so on...

Has anyone noticed that my blogs are way less entertaining than they used to be? I have.

Does anyone even read this thing? I don't. Well, actually I do. I continually impress myself with how insightful I am.

Did you know that I'm hiding out in my parents' basement lest I get suckered into having a telephone conversation with my evil grandma? I am.

I only have one evil grandma. My other grandma is sweet as cotton candy. Seriously. She bakes a mean lasagna too. My lasagna's meaner though. Seriously. I can out bake my grandma at a lasagna cook-off provided that I got to judge the contest. Nobody appreciates my lasagna on a higher level. Most people just think it's food. But to me, it represents perseverance and triumph over hardship and all kinds of literary crap.

I saw the movie Elf today. Not so bad but not so good either. The ending is too long, cheesy, and boring.

Elves have a good way of living. Being so short would save you a lot of money on food, clothes, and shelter. Plus, probably a lot on alcohol too, I would imagine.

Another sandwich:

2 frozen hash-browns patties
1 large frozen chicken tenderloin (Buffalo style)
Ketchup
Melinda's XXX hot sauce

Deep fry the hash-browns and the chicken tenderloin. Use the hash-browns patties instead of bread. Garnish with ketchup and the hot sauce.

This is a trick sandwich. It's not hard to make and requires very few ingredients. However, people will be impressed as hell one they see you eating one of these bad boys. "How do you stay so trim eating like that?" they'll ask as long as you don't weigh over 300 pounds. "Easy," you'll say without explaining any further. Never explain any further. The whole art of eating a sandwich of this caliber is not making a fuss over it.

I have a name for this sandwich. It's called, "A chicken finger sandwich with hash-browns instead of bread."

I Haven't tried any beer today so I really don't have anything else to talk about.

The whole world is against me. I can't put a picture on the server for my topcities account and post it here. I don't know why. I just can't. Screw you topcities!

I wanted to post a picture of the illustrious banana-cream-meringue pie but now I can't and I'm sad. Screw you being sad that I can't upload a picture of the illustrius banana-cream-meringue pie!

I was eating sausage bread. Now, I'm out. I'm gonna go get more sausage bread.

I was reading some other peoples' blogs and it made me feel really pathetic that I have one too. However, the feeling was fleeting and soon I was drunk. It felt like home.

Well, I'm at home now. It can be annoying here but the food is free and good. Today, I've eaten scrambled eggs, pizza, about seven tiny Reece's Peanut Butter Cups, two pickles, a steak, a potato, a large salad with a pepperochini, a slice of banana-cream-meringue pie, and a bunch of Jello. I've also resolved to have at least another large sandwich before bed.

The banana-cream-meringue pie is device my own and my sister's creation. It's simply a banana-cream pie covered in meringue. And it's as excellent as it is unusual to spell. We made it a banana-cream-meringue pie because upon the completion of an ordinary banana-cream pie we found we had four extra egg-whites left from the eggs that we needed the yolks from. We said, "Hey, why don't we make meringue?" We thought about it for a while and finally decided it was a good idea. Then we said, "Hey, what are we gonna do with this meringue?" We decided to put it on a pie. So then we said, "Hey, what pie should we put it on?" We had only one pie, a banana-cream pie. So we said, "Hey, how 'bout that banana-cream pie?" It seemed like a good enough plan so we went for it and didn't look back.

A good sandwich recipe:

One 12-inch sandwich bun
1/4 lb. hard salami (all weights approx..)
1/4 lb. corned beef.
1/4 lb. Colby jack cheese
1 whole Roma tomato, sliced
1/2 onion, thinly sliced
banana pepper rings
Lettuce
Italian dressing
butter
hot sauce

Cut the bun in half lengthwise on the horizontal plane. Butter the top half. Spread Italian dressing on the bottom half. Layer in this order starting from the bottom half and working up: onion, salami, beef, hot sauce, tomato, pepper rings, lettuce, cheese. Put the top-half on the sandwich and press in a George Foreman Grill for about five minutes or until cheese is melted and the onions are soft.

This sandwich is not named. It's not mind-blowing but it is a solid sandwich. Sort of a starter sandwich. If you stick in there, I will one day teach you the wonders of the deadly but beautiful Masterpiece of Disasterpiece. When you're ready, of course. When you're ready.

By the way the onions are on the bottom of the sandwich so that they cook before the tomatoes get all warm and gross. Strong contrast between tomato temperature and the temperature of the rest of the sandwich is necessary for the proper mouthfeel of a sandwich. Trust me. I know.

Hey, check it out, I'm in Pittsburgh! Yep. Tomorrow, I'll be in Toledo. Modern transportation is amazing when you think about it.

I reorganized my CD's yesterday--alphabetical by artist or composer name then random after that. It's a lot easier to find stuff with my current system than my last one which was completely random. Eventually, I'll rearange each artist's discs to be in chronological order by release date. Eventually.

Do you want to read anymore? I don't want to write anymore.

The heater in my car's problem cannot be explained by modern science. It does act as if the heater core is broken to an extent. However, generally if your heater core goes out, you know it. Your car will reek of antifreeze and there'll be all kinds of condensation on your windshield. This is not happening in my car. It just blows cold air. I wish it did reek of antifreeze. That way, I'd know what was wrong and I could fix it.

I finished Bluebeard already. Pretty damn good. I was disappointed by what he had locked in the potato barn though. It should have been something sweet like a tank or a steamroller or the white GMC truck I use to haul trash around in at work.

I noticed another tear in vinyl in the interior of my car. I'm gonna have to fix it one of theses days. It just looks shabby. Screw you shabby looking interior!

I've found yet another country with it's very own shitty beer: Kenya. The beer is Tusker Lager. It's kind of light, kind of sour, kind of strange.

All beers with elephants on the label suck. There's actually only two I tried, Elephant and Tusker. There's also an Elephant Amber, which I've never tried and don't intend to try it. It will probably suck. It has an Elephant on the label.

I think I'm going to start homebrewing. I just need to buy the gear to get started. I'm not sure how much it will cost so I'm going to have to do some Google searches.

Google knows a lot but not everything. It can't tell me the meaning of life or who I'm going to fall in love with or any of that crap. I wish it could. That sort of knowledge could come in handy.

I'm reading Bluebeard by Kurt Vonnegut. It's excellent so far.

How to pretend you're an indy-rocker:

Mention Sonic Youth. Ask people if they've heard their collaboration with John Cage. Say you thought is was excellent. If they disagree, say they need to listen to it a few more times because the music is so freakin' far out it takes a while to shake the preconceived notions you have of what music is and what music can be. Talk about how vinyl is super rad and CD's suck. If someone asks you about a band you've never heard of say you heard some of their early demos and thought they were OK but never bothered with the official release. It's way cooler not to like stuff than it is to like it. Shop at thrift stores. Wear ironic t-shirts.

How to pretend you're a hippy:

Wear tie-dye. Buy hemp necklaces and say your friend made them for you. Get stoned. Wear ridiculously large pants and say your friend made them for you. Complain that you can't find any acid. Talk about the Dead. Say you followed Phish on tour. You paid for it by selling hemp jewelry your friend made. Bitch about current affairs. Say you're growing your hair out.

How to pretend you're goth:

Wear black. Say you hate Marilyn Manson. Talk about body piercing. Say you hate people, all people. Own a copy of the Satanic Bible. Really, really like Joy Division but not really New Order. If you're a girl you have to be either really hot or really fat. Regardless of gender, wear lipstick and black eye-liner. Talk about the time you tried to commit suicide.

How to pretend you're punk:

Get a silly hair-cut and a Crass T-shirt. Get boots and stomp around in them when you're not wearing Chuck Taylors. Talk about anarchy. Bitch about posers. Bitch about hippies. Bitch about cops. Go straight-edge or be religiously drunk. Bitch about drunk people or straight-edgers depending on which rout you chose. Bitch about George W. Bush. Put patches on a jean jacket and tear the sleeves off. Wear tight pants that looks stupid. Talk about seeing shows in peoples basements. Mosh!

How to pretend you're a blues-fan:

Don't mention BB King, it's a dead give away that you're a poser. Make up a name like Blind Fishwater Johnson and say he played for Muddy Waters in Chicago and say he's the best blues guitarist ever but he doesn't get any credit. Wonder if a white man can play the blues. Determine the answer to this question is yes because, like they say, everyone gets the blues. Every now and again say something as if you're a 75 year-old Creole Man from Louisiana even if you're a thirteen year-old and from Des Moines. Call harmonicas harps.

How to pretend you like Jazz:

Look down on all kinds of music that aren't jazz. Tell people you'd play them some Miles, but, like, they wouldn't understand, man. When watching a jazz band, comment on the rhythm section. Dress sharp. Remember, when people say an musician can really blow, it's not a comment on their ability to preform oral sex.

How to pretend you're a metal-head:

Don't bother.

Throughout the entire world there is one constant that is universal for every race and every culture: the love of shitty beer. You can get a shitty beer from anywhere in the world. There's Budweiser, Bush, Coors, etc. in the US, Molson Ice in Canada, Heineken in Holland, Beck's in Germany, Boddington's in England, Athenian in Greece, Corona in Mexico, Boom in the Czech Republic, and so on. I've tried shitty beer from all over the world and I now know better than anyone that shitty beer sucks.

Now you ask, how can I like Stroh's and PBR and still not like shitty beer? Easy. Stroh's and PBR aren't shitty. They're the crisp, flavorful alternatives to Bud Light. As a general rule, if you're going to be drinking cheap beer make sure its really, really cheap. Once that's taken care of make sure it's not Natural or Milwaukee's Best. Then, make sure it doesn't say light, lite, dry or low-carbohydrates. Now, you probably have Stroh's, Rolling Rock, PBR, Schlitz, Schafer, Gennessee or something of that nature. All of those are respectable beers. Drink them proudly.

If you mix PBR and Carling Black Label, you can call it a Black and Blue.

I'm allergic to cats. I like cats but I can't stand to be around them. I want one of those mutant cats that have no hair. I'll name it Frank.

My heater in my car doesn't work. The fan works but it blows cold air. I think it's the heater core which is this little tiny radiator that produces the heat for your car. To replace the heater core one must remove every single piece of the vehicle from the engine to the taillights. This is because the first part of a car that's designed is the heater core. It forms a nucleus around which the vehicle is built.

Ok, that was all a bunch of crap. Well, mostly. My heater core is busted and it's a pain in the ass to change. Screw you pain-in-the-ass-to-change heater core!

Cars are a pain in the ass in general. My preferred mode of transport is Reeboks.

Generally, I try not to eat insects. I used to though. I've eaten a few ants in my life. Some are good. They taste like lemon. The other ones taste really bad--sort of a cross between dirt and a jar full of lightning bugs. If I found a nest of ill-tasting ants, I killed them. Every last one of them. No foul ant was safe.

I had a friend once who ate a worm. He said it tasted like ketchup in an attempt to get me to eat one too. I liked ketchup but even at that young age I wasn't so desperate for its processed tomato flavor that I would eat a vile, wriggling creature of the earth in order to experience it. In that sense, I was a very intelligent for my age. In the sense of me eating ants to determine if they deserved to live, I was pretty stupid.

I had ostrich jerky once. Actually, I had it twice but both times were on the same day. It's OK but not worth killing an ostrich over.

What strange things have you eaten? I've always wondered what pets taste like. Some of them have to be good. I've heard mouse is considered a delicacy in places where mice are the only things people can afford to eat. Maybe when you're poor your taste-buds become more open-minded. My taste-buds are very closed-closed minded. Mostly, they like beef, beans, and beer. They're prejudiced in favor of words that start with B.

It's crazy that I just realized that now. I'm gonna go mill over it for a bit.

Abercrombie and Fitch blows. Seriously. I had an interview with them today but they're not hiring until july. What!? July? Yep. July. I'm glad I wasted half a day and drove down to Columbus for that. Screw you Abercrombie and Fitch!

While in Columbus, I did get a chance to stop and pick up a few beers. So now I have three more beers just itchin' to be tasted by yours truly. I'll break 500 beers sampled in no time flat. Then, I'll break 600 and that will be sweeter, followed by 700 which will be even sweeter, by 800 which will be yet sweeter still, and so on...

I ordered Black Sabbath's self-titled last night along with The Sun that Never Sets by Neurosis. The heaviosity of my collection is increasing exponentially. I have only one more important Black Sabbath album to go, (Vol. IV). I do need to buy a shit-ton of other stuff though. There'll be a lot of painted boat bottoms before I'm done.

Things I find annoying:
Green beer bottles
Job interviews
People imitating Austin Powers

There's other things too. I just don't want to talk about it. It annoys me.

--Logical Frank

I got a CD burner. Whee! I just tested it by burning a bunch of techno songs I wrote for a project called Boring-Ass Techno that I'm doing with my friends Bob and Ant. My techno name was originally going to be Logical Deathtronics but I later changed it to Screaming Butt-tron. What larks!

I suck at bowling. You might not believe it but it's true. Yes, true. I can't bowl to save my damn life. The way I see it, though, bowling is not the worst thing to be bad at. Imagine if I were bad at, say, breathing. That would really blow. I have a friend who has cystic fibrosis and is really bad at breathing. He coughs every time he laughs. I almost killed him with my astonishing wit on a drive to Cleveland to see Unsane.

Can you remember wearing diapers? I can't and I'm glad. I bet it's really embarrassing having to have someone else take care of your feces. I take care of my own feces now, thank you very much.

I thought I had an interview today with Abercrombie and Fitch but I didn't. I have it tomorrow. I get to skip some work to go so that's cool in a way but uncool too since I don't get paid for working if I don't go. It would a lot better for me if I got paid 24/7 regardless of what I was doing or where I was. I'd make a lot more money that way. I talked to my boss about it but no dice. It's not happening.

I think I'm gonna write some sci-fi for a few minutes. See you later, alligator.

Ahhh.... Saturday morning. It's not yet noon and I'm sitting here drinking a Samichlaus Bier that clocks in at 14% alcohol by volume. Lovely. It almost makes me want to go back to sleep.

My friend, Ian, brought it down for me from chicago. It's illegal to sell in Ohio because of the alcohol content. Screw you Ohio!

It's quite a lovely morning. A fine haze of rain and not to cold. It's the kind of day where you want to snuggle up with your computer and write blogs while drinking extraordinarily strong beer. I might even break open my last 2002 Brooklyn Black Chocolate Stout. I've been aging it for almost a year now. I was gonna wait for the first snow of the year to drink it but who knows what I might do now.

I actually probably won't drink it. I'm finally gonna crack my Double Bastard. I'm feeling extra arrogant today. I also have some Great Lakes Anniversary, a 10.5% ABV tripel that I plan to drink. Combined with a bottle of Old Overholt rye whiskey, I think that'll about do me.

Yep.

I lied about drinking the Double Bastard yesterday. Well, I didn't lie; I changed my mind. It was just to arrogant for an ordinary night. I had a Two Brother's Heavy Handed IPA instead--pretty tasty but nothing special. Tonight, I'm drinking a Kalamazoo Bells Third Coast Beer. It's mediocre at best. If you're want to drink Bells and want to drink pale ale, of for the regular pale ale or even the Two Hearted Ale if your in the mood for some hops, wimp.

I had a job interview today with MPC Products who make little bits and pieces of airplanes and such. I got on well with my interviewers but I think I may well be grossly under-qualified for the positions they're offering. Or, rather mis-qualified--they wanted more hardware oriented people and I'm more of a software man.

Yep, that's pretty much all I want to talk about. I added some more to my story: http://superhuge.topcities.com.

It is humanly impossible to iron a dress shirt. It just can't be done. I don't know why anyone would want to anyway.

Low fat and fat free food is a waste of time. The whole reason you eat is sustenance. Calories sustain you. Fat is high in calories. Don't skip the fat. You'll only be hurting yourself in the end.

Snickers bars are the best candy followed by caramel Twix. This is not my opinion. This is reality. If refuse to accept reality, that's fine. Just don't come crying to me when you get don't get into heaven because you told St. Peter your favorite candy is Mounds at the pearly gates. Mounds bars are clearly disgusting. Any fool can see that.

I'm in the mood for a really good beer tonight. I'm not sure what I'm going to try though. I'm thinking Stone's Double Bastard Ale. It should prove to be a beast--a 22 oz bottle of 10% alcohol beer, hoppy as hell with a heavy dose of Arrogance. It might make it hard for me to wake up for work though.

Do you know what's stupid? Those safety seals on consumer products. They don't make me feel any safer. If I was going to tamper with a product, I'd make damn sure to put the safety seal back on the sucker. I don't think it'd be all that hard. I mean, if you're crazy enough to put strychnine in baby aspirin, you're crazy enough to buy the equipment required to put a safety seal. Anyway, they're hard for me to get off and that's reason enough to get rid of them. Write your congressmen. I'm sorry, congressperson. Ahem...

Well, I'm of to go make a futile attempt at realizing the impossible dream of wrinkle free shirts.

Here's a rap:

I wear Levis and I rock the Reeboks
I got more rhymes than Lucas got Ewoks

It's short which is a good thing since it's so very, very bad. It has a Star Wars reference for chrissakes. And not even one from A New Hope or Empire. It's from Return of the Jedi.

I fixed my squirty-squirts on my car today. That's right, squirty-squirts. They're the little things that spray cleaner on your windshield. Mine were broke. Now, they're fixed. Screw you, squirty-squirts. You know where to stick it!

90% of what I've eaten today has been beans. I ate two bowls of barbecue beans and a bowl of bean soup. I am not pleasant to be around.

You know what? Neither do I.

Does anyone remember those little wax bottles that were filled with a nondescript sweet liquid? I do. Whatever happened to those? They taste terrible but they were so lovable. So are wax lips. Wax lips rule all!

Ok, so what? So they suck? Who cares? You can be wax lips, rock, and still suck. It's the dichotomy of wax lips. You'll understand when you're older, dear.

I have a cellular phone. It's the worst thing that has ever happened to me. I hate my cell phone and you should too. You buy a cell phone and next thing you know you're addicted to the internet and you spend a good deal of free time writing blogs that nobody will ever read.

Speaking of reading, I just started reading Dune Messiah. It kicks ass so far. By this, I mean that it does not challenge my preconceived notions of what a Dune novel should be. The plot is intense and complicated and the spice flows freely.

If I could get Melange, I'd eat the hell out of it. The ladies would go mad for my blue within blue eyes. And then you have spice beer--beer with the amazing psychoactive properties of the spice--how can you go wrong with that? You can't. I'd drink so much, I'd be a Guild Navigator in no time flat.

Things I like:
Beer
Science Fiction
Metal
Reeboks
Hooded Sweatshirts

Things I don't like:
People
Celine Dion
That Stupid Strip of Adhesive Plastic that Makes it Entirely Too Hard to Open CD's

When I go to Columbus this weekend, I'm going to buy a tweed jacket. Hopefully, I can find one with patches on the elbows. It is my feeling that if you have a such a jacket, science fiction novels practically write themselves. I might be wrong but, the way I see it, there's only one way to find out so a tweed-jacket-shopping we will go.

I had braces when I was a kid. My teeth are straight as hell, dude.

Every dog has it's day but I'm not a dog. Where does that leave me? On a computer in a body shop in Marion, OH. The other side of the building is where I paint boat bottoms.

Had enough yet?

Wimps,

I am in metal nirvana right now. I bought the new Ass Chapel record this weekend along with two seven inches--Devoid of Faith and Heroin. To top that off, I got my copies of Blues for the Red Sun and Sabbath, Bloody Sabbath in the mail. Yeah, there's some killer tunes goin' on up in my shit, bro.

I'm going to make bean soup tomorrow. I was gonna put ham in it but instead I elected to use salt pork. I'm not entirely sure exactly what salt pork is but it looks like a giant slab of bacon and I figure that can't be all bad. Appearances can be deceiving though. I should know.

I don't feel like writing anymore now. I just don't. Leave me alone.

I watched part of a movie this afternoon about this girl who dresses up like a boy and infiltrates some high-school. The girl was really good looking but when I first tuned in she was dressed as a boy and I hadn't figured it out yet. It made me feel kind of funny, kind of weird, kind of gay. Thank god she turned out to be a girl. Otherwise, I'd have a lot of awkward conversations on the horizon.

High school isn't as much fun as college even if you are a girl pretending to be a boy. People who call high school the best years of your life haven't been to college. If you don't want to go to college you can get the same experience just by living around one. I have some friends that do this. I have to say that their lifestyle is one that is very appealing to me. They don't do much really but they have a whiskey drinkin' good time which is one of the best kinds of good times there is.

I have a blue hooded sweatshirt with an MC5 patch on the back. It's the sweetest thing ever. But, to quote LaVar Burton from TV's Reading Rainbow, you don't have to take my word on it.

I went to Columbus yesterday and I'm going back today. One might wonder why I bothered to come home at all. One would do best to mind their own damn business.

I'm going to go buff the scratches out of my car now. I have a hot ride. Hot!

Holy shit! I got a job interview with Abercrombie and Fitch! For some people, working for a company that makes overpriced T-shirts marketed toward idiots would be a dream come true. For me, it's just damn funny. My hair is stylin' so I think I'll get the job.

Also, my wardrobe consists of four things: tattered t-shirts, tattered jeans, white socks, and black socks. All of these products are made by Abercrombie and Fitch. You can get them at your local mall if you're willing to pay the price for pre-ruined clothes. I'm not. I buy my shit new and just wear the hell out of it. But don't tell that to Mr. Abercrombie or Dr. Fitch. Just let them think I wear their crap and that I think it's bitchen.

Remember when you were a kid in preschool and they'd give you pipe-cleaners to twist up into shapes? That was sweet. We finger-painted too. My pictures were always just brownish green smears. My teachers would tell me to be careful and try to paint something like a bear or a house. They didn't understand my art. Discouraged by their disapproval, I fell into heavy drug use.

The Romans made their plumbing out of lead. In fact, our word plumbing came from their word for lead, plumbum (sorry if that's misspelled). Over time, they'd get lead poisoning and die. Tough luck, Romans! Next time, make your plumbing out of something less poisonous.

Brewers should not distribute their beer in green or clear bottles. Only brown glass or metal cans prevent beer from being damaged by light. Green bottles are one of two reasons Heineken tastes like crap. The other reason being that Heineken tastes like crap anyway.

I hate fish. I don't hate them on a personal level. I just don't like the way fish tastes. People keep telling me to try various different kinds of fish because they taste less "fishy." I ignore this advice. I am certain that all fish taste exactly one-hundred percent fishy.

I'm going to Columbus now. Later days.

I went out to dinner with my dad today. We ate peppered steaks. They were good but the buffet sucked. Screw you, buffet!

I need to touch up the paint on the driver's side rear door of my maroon 1997 Ford Taurus. It's got a chip taken out of it. Screw you, driver's side rear door of my maroon 1997 Ford Taurus!

I cleaned the inside of my Taurus just this last weekend. It's hot as hell. The ladies are all going crazy-go-nuts over it. They toss their panties at me when I drive by. I just smile and wave. I don't stop to talk. I've got no time for crazy-ass, panty-tossin' women. Screw you, crazy-ass, panty-tossin' women!

I've been listening to Jimi Hendrix Band of Gypsies like it's my damn religion. I always try to sing along to "Who Knows" but I can't hit the high notes. Screw you, high notes!

I forgot to do my laundry today. Now I'm gonna have to wear the same filthy clothes to work tomorrow. Work is how they get dirty so there's no reason to clean them since they'll just get filthy again tomorrow. Screw you, lack of reason!

I'm hungry and I'm out of french-fries. If I had french-fries, I'd eat them but I don't. My life sucks. All I want is some damn french-fries and I'm fresh out. I could go buy some but I just drank this French beer, Belzebuth, that's 13% alcohol by volume so I probably shouldn't drive.

I'd like to drive, though. I really would. I could go get some fries and maybe a soda or something. It'd be a good time. A good time I can't have because of the French and their strong beers that taste surprisingly similar to Old Spice aftershave. It's all an insidious plot on the part of the French to keep all their fries to themselves. The French never went to preschool. They never learned to share.

I've often remarked on my plans to fly over France and drop NASCARs and White Castle burgers on their lame, beret-wearing ass. While, I was there I'd steal all their fries, which are their only lasting contribution to world culture. What would they have then? A whole lot of jack and even more shit.

Why is it that everyone bashes the French now? It used to be just me and that was cool but ever since they had an intelligent idea regarding how we should deal with the Iraq situation, everyone and their bestest-friend's brother have been tearing into the French like the French tear into frog legs and Jerry Lewis.

You know what? I'm gonna stop bashing the damn French. Those antisemitic bastards have had enough. I'll let them hang out in discos under the Eiffel Tower in peace.

Once, I drank wine and ate baguettes under the Eiffel Tower with my friend, Jake. We broke into a nearby Best Western motel to use the john. I liked infiltrating the Best Western better than the Eiffel Tower.

I always wondered why they didn't finish the Eiffel Tower. They just built the frame and left it. They said, "You know, this things still gonna be ugly if we put walls and stuff on it. Why not leave bad enough alone?" They said it in French, though. They say everything in French. They should know better. Seriously. The French created the philosophy on which the great nation of the United States was built and nearly conquered all of Europe yet they still haven't learned that they should be speaking English like sane people.

Since I like the French now, I'm offering my expertise to them in this regard. If you're French, drop me a line and I'll tell you what language to speak.

If I was a dog, I'd still be named Frank. I just want you to know that. I'd be named Frank no matter what species I was, be that toad, lizard, mammoth, camel, or badger. Frank is the only name that can work for any species. You couldn't name a three-toed sloth James, Jack, Johnnie, or Paul but you could name it Frank. You can't name a jellyfish Susan but you could name it Frank. I think you see what I'm saying. Frank is universal. Frank is the be-all end-all, the alpha and the omega, of trans-species nomenclature. You heard it here first.

Well, enough about me. Let's talk about you.

Ladies, I'm sorry. It's true. The Logical One has fallen in love. Her name is Maria Bramford and I saw her on last nights episode of Tough Crowd. Her beautiful eyes and neurotic sense of humor get me all in a tizzy. I'm sitting here now plucking petals from a daisy. "She loves me, she loves me not, she loves me, she loves me not, she loves me." I'm getting nervous....

"She loves me not." Bitch! I only dated her because I felt sorry for her anyway. She was really getting on my nerves toward the end of our relationship and I just knew it couldn't last. I broke it off and haven't looked back.

I've been getting a lot of email lately regarding how I organize my sock drawer. I must say that I don't. I have two kinds of socks--white and black. I just make sure they're the same color and it's cool. Some people worry about making sure their socks match exactly. To these people I have one thing to say:

Nobody cares about your socks!

They're covered by your shoes and pants. You can't see them. I could get a pair of socks that say "I hate fat people, hair stylists, and retards," and no fat person, hair stylist, or retard would ever know. Unless, of course, I wore shorts. But I don't wear shorts. I have knobby knees and bowed legs. It's embarrassing.

In other clothing related news, I have a pair of pants that I really like with one big problem--the fly keeps falling down. Don't worry. I've gotten over it. I just let it all hang out. When people tell me my fly's down, I just start talking about Frank Zappa as if that's what the conversation was about in the first place. "You know," I'll say, "Freak Out was the album that inspired Paul McCartney to write Sgt. Pepper and allow Michael Jackson to purchase the rights to all the old Beatles songs." In the moment of confusion that follows, I kick them in the shins and steal their wallets.

Have you ever worn your favorite hooded sweatshirt to work and not noticed it until several minutes after you started painting the bottom of a boat? Well, let me tell you, those stains are not easy to get out. Just make sure to wash it on cold so that the they don't set. Whatever you do, don't put that sucker in the dryer. If you do, you'll be SOL on ever getting that paint off.

I'd say you all had enough of me for now. Good bye.

Ah, yes, I'm drinking what I expected to be a fine Czech pilsner. It's not though. It's a sickly sweet mess. I should have known better than to buy a beer called "Boom;" BOOM! there's a giant turd in my glass.

Regardless of the quality of the beer I'm drinking you should know that I had a wonderful day today. I spent a good deal of time dolloping a thick, napalm-like solvent on the bottom of a 23 foot boat. I have the chemical burns to prove it.

For those who may be interested in what will become the new bible of science fiction, you can check it out here: http://superhuge.topcities.com.

Have you ever seriously thought about shooting someone? Neither have I. Really. I'm not a violent person. I would, however, shoot a raccoon if I felt threatened by it. I'd have to get a gun, though and I hear they're expensive. Ho hum...

People of Earth,

I am here to amaze you with my wit, insight, and other boring-ass crap. With any hope, this will be ignored by all and loved by none. It's a good time for the whole family.

I live in scenic Marion, Ohio, home of the Warren G. Harding memorial and several dozen drive-through convenience stores. I earn a living scraping scum off the bottom of boats. Yes, you read that right, I'm the guy who cleans the muck off your boat. Buy me a drink the next time you see me at the bar or I'll make sure your boat is less clean than it would be otherwise. I have that power.

At the moment, I'm looking for a job as a software engineer. If you're looking for a software engineer, drop me a line and I'll send you out a resume so you can file it away without even looking at it like everyone else does. My career prospects are out of this world.

I recently had my application for Teach for America denied. It appears that the poor children of this world have all the help they can possibly use. Who cares if I'm an intelligent and enthusiastic young male that can teach the hell out of math, writing, and science? The kids don't need me; they have apathetic parents, pimps, and drug-dealers as role models.

But, hey, I'm not bitter just because I spent countless hours writing brilliant, insightful essays just to see my dreams washed down the tubes. I'm pleased as punch to tell you the truth. I have so much more free time this way.

On the upside, I have been working on what I think is going to be a pretty decent science fiction novel. Actually, it'll be more of a short story or novella--maybe about halfway in between--sort of a long story short.

My goal here is to cram the most ridiculous, convoluted plot into the smallest space possible. If all goes as planned, it'll read like a cross between Dune and Naked Lunch. You can't go wrong with a crackpot idea like that as long as it's a good crackpot idea. And I think it is. So there.

In other news, I neglected to cut my hair yet again today. It's better the way it is. That way, I know people are staring at me because of my freakish hair (I live in a very small town; hair like mine blows peoples minds) not because I'm such a handsome son of a bitch.

Well, I guess it's time for Logical Franks to brush their teeth, work on their sci-fi, and go to bed. I'll rap with you later.