this doesn't count

I'm known for rambling, so I thought this would be fun...

....aaaaaandmaybealittleawkwardGO!!

There is nothing. Not for ten minutes.

Once, when I was a kid, I had a Bunny. I didn't name him at the time, but his name became Bunny Colevas. He was a kid bunny. He never crapped on the floor and he had the courtesy to never die on me. Lots of people have touched my heart during my as-of-yet-short life, but none of them have had the common courtesy not to die on me. Nana, Jordan, Papoo, Granny, Aunt Hazel, Grandma Doan? All spectacular specimens of humanity. But did any of them NOT DIE?

Nope. A-holes.

Bunny never died. And I'd thank him, 'cept he can't talk. Cuz he's a stuffed animal. So stop crying, ya faggot! He's just a stuffed animal. When I was 13 I was on a good baseball team.

After that, my life was pretty much shit. I met this girl named Amie back in August, and my life has been spectacular I'm not going to go ahead and say Amie was completely responsible for my fantastic life, as I'm (reasonably) sure my mom and dad have something to do with that. However, Amie does kiss me on the lips - dad never did that, and I am grateful.

I was once asked to describe the place of my dream vacation and to write two pages about what that place would be like....I wrote about a place that had ties to the civil war - ties to the revolutionary war. I think I was writing about Boston, but I would be lying if I said I KNEW I was writing about Boston. I knew one thing: I was writing about a place where I could hope I could be digging a swimming pool and find a skeleton in a red coat. Then I would dance around the yard telling, "The Redcoats are coming! the Redcoats are coming!" That still hasn't happened, but I'm not giving up hope.

One time my mom asked me to pick up a sock my brother had soiled with his adolescent juices. I'm only bring ing this up because it happened at the same time I had to write about that "dream vacation" That was the year I created THE NIGHTMARE. If you've read that story, it's changed a lot in the lest few years. I had a crush on a girl in that Writing Fiction class. When was the last time you had the right to BEAR ARMS?

I swear if I had the right to have bear arms for arms I would probably shit my pants. And honestly, it would be bear shit because if I could have Bear arms I would also have a Bear ass. And Probably a Bear cock. Are Bear Cocks furry? And are "bear cocks" capitalized?

Speaking of capitalism, how 'bout that economy, hm? Boy, I wish I was a rich white guy right about now. I'm 2 for three, but the important part is the part about being rich. There was a kid I knew in high school who was rich. I forget his name but Im pretty sure it was Dickie Dick. People called him Richie Rich. I thought that was pretty cruel. So I called him Leprechaun Cock.

My mom called me her "little leprechaun" once. Of all the times kids make fun of me because I was short...or because I walked or ran funny...or because I was hairy. Or because I had a mustache in sixth grade.....my mother! Sweet heavenly shitballs!! Of all the blows to self-esteem - that was the worst.

I was 26.

The first time I went to a strip club was never. For real. And here's what I have to say to guys who say "dood u never been 2  a strip club!?!?! ur gay"....here's what I have to say: first of all, any male who has ever questioned another male's sexuality past the age  of 18, has probably has a set of testes on his forehead. And second, who's the real man: The guy who drops 250 bucks trying to get laid...or the guy who drops zippy on not getting laid? Do the math genius. I spent less and haven't had a pair of nuts on my forehead.

I was talking to someone in particular in the last paragraph. He doesn't know how to read.

When I didn't know how to read I probably played with my dick a lot. I know how to read know, and yet I still play with my dick a lot. I hope a feminist doesn't find that bit of text in the interweb and use it was the basis for a missive aimed at getting The Real World canceled. That would be sad.

When I last came to the realization that The Real World wasn't real, I was about 15. I mean, you don't have to be a genius to figure out the the Real World doesn't hand you a job and a loft in

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BUZZER!! Ten minutes is up!

And, Fin (that's snotty French for "I'm fucking done!")

Wow! It's been a few years since I've done the ol' stream-of-consciousness exercise. I gotta say, it's fun. I'd like to do that more often. I probably won't do it in the blog, as it doesn't quite lend itself to FUN reading but...I'm thinking I might try a 30 minute SoC exercise in the near future....

This doesn't count as a real blog.