DaveMcBrayer

so i'm just gonna leave the blog page open and type random shit for the three hours i'm in the sensory deprivation chamber today. maybe that will be funny.

got my breakfast at a deli today. the new york deli is one of the few places i can think of where you can order unprepared food, and, no matter how massive of a cockbag you are, have almost no worries that the cook is going to hock a loogie (among other things) in your burger (or whatever). i guess that sort of retribution constriction just sort of comes with being at the bottom of the culinary world. that poor deli cook deals with fucktards on a minute by minute basis and never does he get to claim his just revenge, because he has to work out in the open. with the fucktards watching his every move. while world renowned chef's like todd english can sit in their fancy kichens far away from the customers and use all the boogers they want to garnish my steak when i complain about the food being too bland. i guess that's what getting money and power is all about though, the right to fuck with as many people as possible and get off scot-free.

do you ever imagine that, when you're writing some random stupid bullshit like a love letter, or your novel, or your 10 volume history of the mongolian empire, that you're really a famous writer like rudyard kipling or ayn rand, penning the metaphysical captions to our actual realities? i like to pretend i'm john irving. Now that i really think about it, though, there's really only one reason to want to be john irving: if art imitates life, that dude has had some seriously fantastic sex, and starting at age 10, or something. i'm totally jealous and want to be him...whoa, that didn't really follow the path i laid down in my head, this is what happens when you wake and bake;)

fucking jesus with a plunger handle i can't believe i still have two hours here. really, i can't complain. i basically get paid to smoke, drink, and fuck around on the internet for 20 hours a week.it's the best second job ever. if everyone who needed two jobs had one like this, more people would have two jobs. plus my other job is in a recording studio doing music, which is what i love, so that never feels like work. it's not a bad way to be. really i can't complain. but i will.

so, as i sit here in my chamber, i can here echoey conversations happening outside in the halls of grand central terminal. most of the time it's nothing interesting, but i guarantee that not a single person speaking would imagine that i could ever possibly hear them. but anyone standing within 20 feet of my door i can hear plain as day (with a big reverb). i've heard some intersting half-cellphone-conversations (hearing one side of a break-up call is tongue bitingly funny), some really intense business argument (those mostly depress me, people get so upset over money...oh, wait, i forgot, money makes the world go 'round). but my personal favorites are parental arguments, whether it be between the parents or an adult arguing with their child, the things adults say to or regarding their children is both astonishing and hysterical. once, a woman in her late forties, with two VERY young children (boy/girl, twins) and a VERY unlimited credit line stops just outside my door (which is always open) to soothe her sobbing little girl, "oh, jasmine honey, don't be sad, you got to drink most of the juice before tucker (her twin brother) stole it. you know he'll just scream if i try and take it back for you, so let's just let him have it. i'll call melinda and have her make you a smoothie when we get home, okay?" i have no hope for my future. i'm just gonna kill myself when/if i make it to 70. and who names their kid 'tucker'? if there's a better way to guarantee that your child will be a douchebag i'd like to hear about it, and duly avoid that as well...'tucker', what does that even mean...it's a name that basically describes somersault preparation or something you do to bedsheets and undershirts, yeah, i wanna think of my white, v-neck tees every time i call my boy. stupid fucking name.

uhh, no offense to any tuckers reading this. it's not your fault your parents sniffed glue and couldn't come up with a real name... or that you're a douchebag.

i don't understand why people have such a problem with public farting. my friends tell me it's "so disrespectful". disrespectful to whom? the fartee is the one who has proven incapable of completely controlling his bowel functions, and basically given everyone around free reign to mock and berate them at will. and a little bit of stench has never offended me. also, while we're on the subject of farting, if you are one of those people who can clear a room. do NOT be ashamed of this. you have been given a gift. the only way i can get people out of my way is pretending to have lost my baby in the crowd, searching frantically near the ground, zig-zagging towards my destination (usually the front row at a concert) breathlessly calling out to my imaginary child until i reach my goal. you "trailblazers" have other options. i envy you. take pride in your work.

monkeys give poor handjobs

that is all

twonicus