Oh God, uh, tater salad.

From Moodock:

Sometimes I tell people that I am excited about the ability to be crazy in old age. Reading what I write makes me think that I am perhaps at that age. I'm not sure I make sense, at least not to others. But that's the enjoyment of it. It's cold today, and if I could get every thought that runs through my brain down I would. Well, what about the thoughts you don't want people to know? Like what? Oh I think X girl is pretty, or X2 girl is pretty, or so on and forth such and on. Or hey, what if I ran X3 girl over like I do on the game video machine? Naw man, she's pretty. It doesn't really matter. Who am I? A student in the Honors program with the HOPE Scholarship? You bet I am. And you lost that bet.

Sometimes when I talk to myself I say things like “Shit yeah.” Then I remember I’m under Mama’s roof. Mama hurt her hand punching me in the ribs and got mad at me for not being fat. I do my best to embrace my America, but apparently I’m a failure.

Have you ever played poker as a misery remedy? Or drank whiskey and hawaiian punch alone while watching professional wrasslin? This tower’s leaning over.

What’s the cure for heartburn? Thanksgiving doesn’t get me excited.