In the world of the bloggers, the man with no life is king.

Kill Smarter, Not Harder:

Improved combat AI for friends and foes alike. Most of the people in your own group won't take that burst shot with the Flechette-gun, but a couple are probably just achi

I can't tell what the hell it's doing. Near as I can tell, connection is fine, ports I normally use are fine, but that shit is flashing. Occasionally it even makes a grinding noise. I hope that means there are gnomes inside. Because if the gnomes are so lazy that they're letting the modem grind, that's a good explanation. Maybe I should put a cookie in there or something.

My toenail clipper broke today. I gave it a proper burial in a big pile of cardboard boxes. I'll probably never see it again, because that pile of cardboard boxes has sat in the middle of a room for bout 16 years now. Sometimes, I take off a cardboard box that looks sleek and I'll wrap a gift in it. That way I save on gift wrap.

Seriously, man. No redeeming value to that rot. Absolutely gash. Not like Andy Welti. He's righteous.

It's delicious AND it keeps off the pounds. If only telephones were the same way.

Today, i saw two kids fighting in the hall, and one was like, "Thirteen? You couldn't be more than FIVE." and then the other was like "You're so fat they have to jack you up to take off your shoes." and then the first one retorted "Well you're so skinny your eyes are in single file." to which the second child mused, and responded "Well you're so ugly your ears stick out to get away from your face." That's when I knew he was a pro. Then the first child, devoid of ideas, said "Well you're mamma's so-" but that's when shit went down. With the same air as the Kool-Aid man, Mr. T CRASHED through the wall by them and said "Hold it, hold it, hold it. Don't bring nobody's mother into this, she ain't here. and if it weren't for yo' momma, you wouldn't be here, so remember, when you put down one momma, you puttin down mommas all over the world."

While I was happy that Mr. T had busted the intellectual knockout on the first, feebler insulter, I had to speak with him.

"Pardon me, Mr. T (rhyme) might I have a word?" I asked, slightly nervous, yet headstrong.

"Well, dat be okay." he replied, with a warm smile and welcoming fist-pound.

"Well, I've been thinking for a bit, ever since I heard 'Treat Your Mother Right' on your hit album 'Mr. T's Commandments,' and I was wondering, how is it putting down all the mommas over the world?"

That's when shit went down. Mr. T pressed a button on his most bad-ass ugly gold chain and scantily clad women swung SWAT-style into the room and formed a human pyramid.

That's when they started to sing. "one, two, three, look at Mr. T! three, four, five, he's so fine!"

"FIVE AND FINE don't RHYME!" I yelled, and the girls disappeared in a poof of inability.

"Now where were we, Mr. T?"

"Oh, yes, see, well, I was, fool, just saying that well, stay in school, well, when a momma gets put down, eat your greens, that it's not, no drugs, cool."

"Oh, well why didn't you say so in the first place? That'd be much easier."

So Mr. T and I went and got crullers and glazed chocolate cake donuts at Krispy Kreme and then saw Kung-Fu Hustle together. His treat.

I long for a world

Far away

Far behind my troubles

And sad days

A world of happiness

A world of peace

A world of happy days

to repair my life piece by piece

Of course I'll never find this world

because it's all in my head