I have a great fucking idea, my cute dorktits. We will take down the internet.
Or at least part of it.
For this to succeed you each need two things.
1.) Consciousnes
and ...
2.) At least one friend
And some of the dorks start crying ....
When you see a pop-up when visiting the website, remember what the advertisement was for and don't buy any of that product that day.
For example, I just saw a pop-up for Orbitz, which I think is a fun hip-time drink that kids put vodka in. Well, I'm not going to buy some on purpose today. I wouldn't have bought any anyways, but imagine if this thing catches on and all of a sudden Orbitz has a zero profit day. And then they ask why. And then Chet tells them "Dorksdontrock.com told people to do something to fuck with the man that wouldn't be obnoxious or require any effort and goddammit it worked!". And then I get to be on the Today Show. Fuck yeah, let's do it!
The B-Man motto: The easiest thing in the world to do is to not do something.
It's reverse advertising and I really want this to work. Please, please tell a friend about my idea. We would be going against years of brainwashing from Mad Ave. and show those corporate advertising fucks (who I would like to work for one day if the pirate or forest ranger things don't pan out) who's the thinking man. Rage against the Orbitz, dorks. Don't not go gently into that convenience store. Rage, rage against the lying and the hype.
Dorkus Thomas, suck it.
Did anyone else besides the better half of the Lovely Couple notice that my archives have disapeared? Part of me has died and that's why I kind of have been taking a break from doing this silly typing with my fingers.
B:Are you going to see James Taylor?
N.I.D. Girl: Maybe, I don't have anyone to go with me. Me is in reference to the person right in front of you. You is in reference to the body you are living in and the soul that floats in your heart. Angels put your soul there when you are a babity wabity scoobity doo!
B: I'll go with you if you can't find anyone.
So, I might be going on a little pseudo-date with the N.I.D.
There will be no tongues and I declare it! I get enough sugar from R. Girl. And the good kind of sugar, not that brown cane shit that hippies and yuppies with no tongues put in their ass coffee.
Speaking of which, my new favorite thing to do is waking up early when R. Girl spends the night and getting my showering and dressing done quickly and then jumping back into bed for about 5 minutes. Sweet red-hair-in-my-face bliss, it is nice.
Today I play frisbee golf and then pornography.
Tickle me pink, dorks, and do my bidding.


So, like I was telling you dorks yesterday.
Last week was testing. Testing in the way where you fight with swords, not in the way where you write your name in the top right-hand corner and make an A.
First off, GreatTits/NoBrain and Uncomfortable Silence Boy were fired. You see, as interest rates remain marginally high then the influx of new loans remains relatively low to last fiscal quarter, which allows for more space commander playtime but less purpose then before. This made me fear that the Roy job would soon end so I volunteered to do extra work. I decided to be come more valuable than gold to save my precious job. So far it worked, but I was very tired all day last week. While each and every one of my precious dorks were on my mind I was just a little preoccupied with visions of hobos and a disapointed Roy to do any more than cry and sleep.
Not really.
So, let's just skip over last week. Last week is dead to me.
I have snored my entire life. I think I have at least. I always hear people say things like "Did you fight a walrus in your sleep last night?".
And for 23 years it has been funny. I snore, other people don't sleep, I snore, and then Easter comes in the spring. Well, I decided recently to buy some of that snore spray such and such and such. It works. I even tried the strip things and then ...
anyways I sleep better now.
That was an all time low for the blog I think.
Friday night:
Me, R. Girl and the Lovely Couple all went to a high school football game. It was a freaking blowout, dorks. Some school kicked another schools ass by a large quantity of points. I don't really know. I was too busy checking out the hot 16-year-old in front of me and her sexy, sexy jailbait thongs.
Oh, and I'm not hip anymore. These kids these days don't tear up their hats or bend the brims. They wear white jackets and Skechers. I was fratted out, and I thought damned sexy. But, no, I was the dork who a group of 10-year-olds threw popcorn at. That really happened.
Me and The R. went camping out by Mt. Rainier (I accidently typed "Mr. Rainier" there, that would be whacky).
B: Gee, Mr. Rainier, we just wanted to do a little camping next to you.
Mr. Rainier: You kids are all right.
Nature fucking rocks. There were trees and I lost a frisbee and we drank beer and R. Girl wouldn't let me keep a big stick I found and poked at a fire with and there was a river and these rocks and the toilets didn't flush and we had pancakes for DINNER!
And I really like R. Girl. She's like the female me.
B: You know what I really like?
R. Girl: Clouds that look like boobs.
B: Yes, but Nirvana ....
R. Girl: ... couldn't have lasted creatively if Cobain hadn't sucked on a lead slug. Yes, I know. Now, shut up and pass the vodka.
So, there was that.
Today at work was this.
N.I.D. Girl: My throat hurts and I can't really talk. I said my throat hurts and I can't really talk. Clyde, my throat hurts and I can't really talk. My throat, which is where I breath and magic makes the letters into sounds, is hurty like hurtsville so I can't talky walky mcsquawky fawky. I want ice cream because my throat is soar and those words I just spoke hurt more to speak but these are hurting and then I saw a cat.
Thank god for the snore spray, dorksluts, because todays hangover would have been packed with stabbings if I hadn't gotten my deep R.E.M. cycle goodness.

Two trailer park dorks go 'round the outside, round the outside, 'round the outside.
Guess who's back ... back again ... dorks suck face ... tell a friend.
Guess who's back .... guess who's back ... guess who's back ... guess who's back ... guess who's back ... nanana
I created a monster because everybody wants to read about dorks and more, nobody cares about B ... I'm chopped liver. Well, if you want dorks than this is what I'll give you a little Nintendo mixed with hard liqour.

I'll never leave you behind again for so long, dork baby slut fucks.



Good morning, dork babies. I had a great and not very restful weekend. There were diabetes walks and birthdays. There was R. Girl, broken toys and great fucking sandwiches. Today I am sleepy and need just one more fix of a weekend before I can really get this week started.
Like I've said before, I'm not saying it's because it's Monday, so back off you fucks.
No Inner Dialogue Girl had a good weekend. She saw Tim's band play at the park. (I have no idea who Tim is, people always do this to me. They start talking about people I don't know and I don't care about) There was nobody at the park. It was a nice park. She went to Vegas for her 21st birthday. She was supposed to work. She didn't go to work. She went to Vegas. Her coffee is hot. She needs a bagel.
I'll write a more all encompasing blog later.


And Jimmy Buffet's "Margaritaville" plays from No Inner Dialogue Girl's desk. Sometimes life lacks couth.


I love my fucking life, sweet dorks.
A few minutes ago, at work, I mention that I wanted to go see "Laser Led Zeppelin" at the Science Center downtown. The lady at the desk nearby pipes up, "My friend is the manager there" and after a phone call "O.K. I have 4 tickets for you to go tomorrow night". Sweet.
So, I decide to get a cup of coffee to celebrate. I pass by Cool Guy's desk and stop to tell him about the game last night. After a little sports swap I say "Yeah, I'd like to go see a Huskies game this year; I sure miss college football. Maybe I'll call up my frat and see if I can score some tickets." Turns out that Cool Guy's good friend is the Alumni Chair for my fraternity. I'm alum, and now I have an in for student tickets at UW.
And this is how my life has gone always.
"I think this thing is cool," I'll say.
Ring, goes the phone.
"Hey, B, it's someone you know. You know that new cool thing you like? Well, a semi truck flipped over in front of my house and now we have a bunch of them all over our yard. Want one?"
"Yes," I'll reply.
"Oh, and we have too much beer in our fridge; can you drink it? Also, our just-turned 18 years old slutty daughter needs a prom date."
Sometimes I wonder if it's a joke played by Fate that I suffer from low-level depression.
So, it was Texas and Seattle, not Anaheim.
And I didn't actually use the centerfield tickets last night like I wrote about.
I used the box seat tickets that we got when some dude pulled up at the bus stop in an IROC or a Z and handed them over.
He had adult braces, which always makes me a little uncomfortable.
The seats were between 3rd base and home plate and about 30 rows back. It was awesome. We showed up around the 3rd inning because we wanted to go grab some bourbon from this little bar downtown that boasts "The world's largest selection of bourbon". It was a lot of fucking bourbon to choose from. And good too.
The electricity went out at Safeco Field when someone drove a truck into a power line near the stadium. I felt like I was back in the South again for a minute. http://seattlepi.nwsource.com/baseball/139038_lightsout10ww.html
I need to work ... or play space genocide. I'll decide over some coffee.


Take B out to the ball game.
Take B out to the crowd.
Buy B some beer and a hat
watch him run on the field and steal a bat.
So, let's loot loot loot the souvenier stands
God, I love this fucking game.
Cause it's 4, 15, 34 beers and you're drunk
At the ol' ball game!

Just got a call from the better part (ha) of the Lovely Couple and he has an extra ticket to go see tonight's Seattle/Anaheim game.
"Want to go?"
"Fuck yeah, I do."
Today has been such a good day. I woke up so fucking hungover and an hour late for work. But that was o.k. because of 2 things. The first is I had an awesome night getting ripped with R. Girl, her friends and King Dork/Batman last night.
"Listen up, girls, I'll give one of you 5 dollars if you steal that guy's shirt. I like it." "Muthafuckin' STYX, baby!"
The second is that I got to take an amazing hour long nap today during my half hour lunch break. So smooth.
When I got back to work I was instructed to join in with a class about how to do things with computers and files and skulls. So, I went ... like I was actually going to work after a nap. Hmph.
The class was full of Obvious Staters/News-Fueled Single Moms. You college kids know these people well. They are that chick in the class who is older than everyone and who obviously has been through some stuff so she decides to go back to school to show her father/ex-husband/boss that they are empowered and strong. But instead of being a typical college drunk they sit and class and talk and point out things and talk about their kids.
"When I'm watching television I don't let my child see the gore or the sex. It makes him hit the dog and use foul language. I've heard about these movies where people actually lose their ..."
"Shut the fuck up."
My office is where these women come after they give up on college b/c none of the hot frat boys (booyea) won't bang them and the alimony tuition ran out. So, when you put them all together it becomes this nonstop babble fest. A lesson that would have lasted 30 minutes in college took 2 and a half hours.
"I see what your saying, but sometimes when I look at my computer I will see that I have a phone next to it. I call someone and we talk about files. September 11th."
"I agree, but generally when I use a phone there is another person on the other end. I will say "Hello" and they will say "Hi" or "Hello" also. And roughly 2-156 minutes later I hang up. It's a process that works for me. SARS."
"I find that it's best to say 'Hello'. Yeah, baby, very shagadelic. And when I hang up, I put the receiver back on the cradle. 9/11"
"I already said that."
But it was fun b/c I got to sit across from this younger woman in my office who has to be from South Africa or Uganda or something. The way she talks is melodic. "I watch-ed the mo-vie Rush-MORE". I sat through the entire meeting imagining her reading me "Huck Finn" or The Playboy Advisor.
"Gener-ally, the male cli-max lasts on-ly a few secONDS. We should take the raft SOUTH to eventu-ALLY head NORTH."
Well, I need to go grab some McFuckingDonalds before I head to the game, you nosy fuckers.
Yippee, dorks, baseball.


Folks, we have a winner. Mz. Eva Moore, that's THE Mz. Eva Moore from Perfect Sleeper, has won the first Win Stuff From Brent's Whacky Life Contest. Mz. Moore (why am I using the Mz. title?) will receive the original Roy nameplate as well as detailed instructions on how to use the space commander chair. And for getting all of today's 5 songs at 5 correct (answers: The Monkees, P.M. Dawn, Gladys Night sans Les Pips, R.E.M. and R.E.M.) Mz. Moore has won the grand prize of No Inner Dialogue Girl's Sharpie marker! Stay tuned for more chances to win with the Win Stuff From Brent's Whacky Life Contest!
"Where's my Sharpie? It makes black ink go on white paper. Sometimes the paper is blue! Red cars pay more for insurance. The Titanic was a boat! A water boat!"
Moving on to Frame Stage in a relationship is harder than it sounds. First you have to say goodbye to pre-frame stage. You've made a commitment now, buddy. With frame stage comes the no more having Hustler issues laying around the room responsibility and the knowledge that flower buying is coming up very soon. Next is toothbrush stage (which I've already accomplished at R. Girl's apartment thanks to some desperate emergancy brushing after camping) then the dreaded tampon stage and then you die.
But, the hardest part so far has been actually picking out the frame.
I bought one yesterday at the Northwest version of Wal-Mart, Fred Meyer (who's slogan is "We charge a dollar more for a 2 liter of Coke b/c we are hipper than Wal-Mart"). I was half asleep and bought a frame much too big and I had to return it. Actually, that wasn't too hard. I guess I'm just used to only having to remember to return my Soprano's D.V.D.'s to the video store and eat McDonalds once a day.
Last night was sleepy night. Laundry was forgone like a pretty young Brazilian boy's hopes of soccer greatness. Instead I played "Tiger Woods 2003" with Kyle.
I got him this for his 21st birthday, which is Saturday, by the way. I played this game a lot in college and it always leads to beer drinking so I figured if he wanted to be a responsible young drunk male he should have this game. It's fun. Enough.
We're switiching from UPS to FedEx at work! Roy would be so jealous, dorks.
I require pysical activity today. I don't think I've told, y'all, but this damned cold has stayed with me for near 2 weeks now. It's been phlegm and sniffles for 13 days now. I've been sleepy and rundown and I need some sun and to watch little kids hit each other at football practice. So, I'm going to head over to the park across the street from me and try out my new frisbee that I got at the Adidas store on Sunday.
Now, it is time to sneak out the back door at work. Say a prayer and hum the James Bond theme, dorks, the B's about to get crafty.
Later, sweetdorks.


Have I got something for you fans of the dorks out there.
Today, while cleaning out my desk at work, I found an authentic "Roy" nameplate. I was going to throw it away, but thought I'd put it up on Dorkbay first.
So, if you would like an authentic piece of Dorks Don't Rock history, contact me. There will be no charge for this one-of-a-kind piece. Shipping and handling fees will be waved if the buyer promises to put it on their fridge.
Hurry, supplies are limited (to one piece) and time is running out for this amazing deal!


Hey, hey, babydorks. This has been a great weekend.
Were any of you ever in junior high? Did you ever have that Friday night were your mom dropped you and a girl off at the movies and tossed you a couple extra bucks to get some popcorn. The movie was "Tommy Boy" or some Sandler/Farley/Segal epic. You had your popcorn you laughed and you stole a few kisses. After all of that you dropped the girl off (just a few precious but compromising feet away from your mom's Aerostar) and stole one last kiss.
That was my weekend, you sweet and lovely dorks.
Me and R. Girl had that one defining moment in a relationship. That one moment isn't a second, that one moment isn't even a minute. Nobody has ever defined how long a moment can last. And, if Webster is reading, a moment can last a few days.
We had pictures devolped today from our past few weeks together. I really liked the one of us on top of the troll statue (read back for more info) and asked for doubles.
This is a defining moment in a relationship, because....
"I want to put this picture in a frame ... is that O.K."
"Yes it is, why wouldn't it be?"
"Because it's the "Frame Stage" are we ready to go to that stage yet?"
"Yes, let's go to that stage."
On Friday I score some very potent and very west coast weed. I haven't done drugs in months. But when someone hands you a shitface fuckload of potent, grown in grandpa's back yard weed, you don't say "No thanks". You say "Who's got brownie mix?"
So, upon advice, I poured a quoted "5 months worth" of very potent grass into a batter of brownies.
Let bake for 25 minutes.
Become so shitfaced that ....
"Where do you hide it all" "How about in your neck, shit look at that fucker"
"Did I have legs"
"Are there hills? Help me with the hills."
"Did you want the chair? A chair? Did you want to find the chair?" "What the hell are you talking about"
You wake up at 6 in the fucking afternoon the next day! 6:00 p.m.? What the hell do you do then? Drink beer and rent movies, that's what.
So, today I was more productive. Me and my sweet, sweet baby went and spent our weekly day downtown. We had a great day of window shopping and gyros.
An old woman with a camera set up this situation for me.
Old woman: Do you want your picture taken?
Me: Yes. What?
Old woman: Do you want your picture taken? Do you want the camera, you can have it.
Me: Yes, I want the camera.
Old woman: Five dollars.
Me: No way, I thought you were giving it away because you are high.
(Walk on for a moment)
British guy: Are you guys not from around here? (This guy is acutally sipping from a STARBUCKS cup ... only 400 yards from where Starbucks first opened. Very Seattle.)
Me and R. Girl: Yes, we are.
British guy: Well, you aught to be careful. That's one of the oldest Seattle scams in the book.
(This guy walked near us for 5 minutes without talking. I know he wanted us to ask him more questions about how to avoid Seattle's downfalls, but I didn't care ... he made me feel like a tourist asshole enough anyways).
What scam?
Oh here's a camera for 5 dollars! Fooled you, it's only worth 4.50!
A scam! Like I'm dumb enough to let some old crack sucking camera whore run off with my money?
"Oh, it's a Sony? Well, here's my debit card, go shopping with this. What? My social security number? Sure, you DO have a camera."
So, it was a good day except for British asshole ruining my good natured ribbing of the local crack heads.
Oh and there is the haircut I got on Friday at misogynist barbers.
Short and sweet.
"You know what I do with a first date? I tie them up and beat them. No, wait, how did that comic say it? I tie them up and drag them by the hair and then I beat them unconcious. No, it wasn't "unconcious" ... I think it was "senseless"."
So, needless to say, I came out of that place with a MOTHER FUCKING G.I. JOE, MARINE, HAIL TO THE CHIEF, HAND ME A GUN AND WATCH ME SHOOT UP A SCHOOL haircut that is so fucking short that I feel naked without a hat.
Ahhhh, at least I have a sweety. She jokes and tells me she likes it while others go "Goddamn, did you fuck a weedwhacker?"
I need a new hat, dorks.


On those nights where you are all alone because sweethearts are tired and brothers are out watching gang members fight with his new found Justice Dorks of America, you sit alone and watch movies. Then you make sandwiches. Then you look up porn.
And as a straight male all alone on those nights you ask yourself this question.
"Am I attracted to transsexuals?"
"I am attracted to pretty girls. I am not attracted to pretty boys. But what if a pretty boy became a pretty girl? Would that be passable prom date material for me?"
Then you take to the internet. How these questions were answered pre-internet explosion I do not know.
Come to find out, a lot of transsexuals are Brazillian. Or so they say. If they are telling the truth someone should really look up why so many pretty boys in Brazil have forgone soccer for transsexual porn.
"Welcome to Brazil. If you have a penis you can stuff it into soccer shorts or a thong."
But all transsexuals have gone for that skanky "I just got back from Myrtle Beach and got hair braids" look. I don't like that look and so I decided that I wasn't attracted to transsexuals.
I don't know if they have any Catholic school girl transsexuals (I'm sure some preist would know) or Lauren Ambrose or Kirstie Alley chicks with dicks. Those might do it. Well, at least until they took their thongs off. Not so sure I could swing that bat.
Sweet dreams about that, dorks.


I forgot to mention in the "10 Things You Should Know About B" thing at the begining of this silly thing that I'm highly political. If you want to talk a little jive, e-mail me at capt_zeppelin@hotmail.com
I just finished watching "Bowling for Columbine". The cover of the DVD has a review that says "Funny". Yeah, I laughed; but, the they should have had a review that said "Honest" instead.
I don't want to talk about the specifics of the movie or how I'm kicking my ass for not going to see it in the ONE Columbia theater that showed it. I knew all of the facts that were said in the movie. I have studied poli sci, media literacy and race relations. What I want to talk about is the one truth that was said in the movie.
We are mad at nothing.
I just gave Kyle my theroy that the U.S. is a high roller strung out from a 20 year poker game. We won the cold war (purposely left in lower caps, fuckers) when Ronald Reagan played history's biggest bluff known as "Star Wars". We were not going to put lasers in space. We had no intention on building this silly project. (In fact if you ever see some old coverage of that silly speech, note the reaction on half the people's faces ... I've never seen more "yeah, right"s in my life). It was a bluff.
Russia had built up a nuclear arsenal larger than ours. But, really, how many times can you blow up the world?
So, we bluff that we're getting ready to build this defense system that would make nuclear weapons obsolete. Imagine you're a Russian.
"What? Really? We put all of our fucking money into this goddamned arms race and they are going to make it obsolete? Can they do that? Yes? Oh, shit, we're fucked."
That was it, the worlds greatest bluff ended the cold war.
But, if you are America you can't just say, "Just fucking with you." (P.S. I'm not a Republican, but it's O.K. to admit that the other guys came up with some good ideas)
Everything since that point has been a super inflated hyper active arms race to beat nobody. Which brings me back to the poker game.
We have noone to play but we are so excited that we won the "big match" that we have been on a 20 year(ish) bender. "Who's going to play me next? You? You? You?" No one has ever wanted to play.
"Fuck that. Panama, you play him."
But, we Shanghaied us a couple of apponents. Now the rest of the spectators get nervous. "Maybe we should punch the fucking hyper Maverick before he gets us next." I would.
Which brings me to my big point that I wanted to say after watching this movie. I have seen the pointless anger that is incorporated in us by a chase for goods and a lifestyle we can't ever reach. Even those skinny blonde fucks in the ads go home to cocaine and bitchy girlfriends, people.
Wrap this up, Brent. I wanted to share with you 2 typical Americans who are (or were) scared of the world outside.
Case study #1: When I was working at the great supermarket in high school this dude came in one day. I was bagging his groceries and noticed he had F.T.W. tattoed on his arm. Unlearned in the was of the angry world as I was, I asked what it meant.
"Fuck the world."
I didn't say another word. But I kept thinking, "Why is he so mad?"
"Fuck the world? Fuck you! Carry your own goddamned groceries that I just bagged for you so I can make enough money not to ask my single mother for gas money to go to school and take my fat girlfriend to a movie where I won't make out. Fuck the world? Buddy, I am the world."
The second was this guy from just the other day. It was when me and R. Girl were heading out to camp. We were driving down the interstate when all of a sudden this fucker pulls into my lane. He ran me off the road, which, naturally, upset me. But the guy has the nerve to look in his rearview mirror and start telling me to "Fuck off" while giving ME the finger. He cut ME off! It was ME that almost died! After a few seconds of me screaming "I'll fuck your world" and R. Girl giving him the doulbe bird (you know, both hands at once) did the guy calm down and realize his mistake. He gave the "I"m sorry" wave and as a citizen of this world I had no choice but to accept it and give the all encompasing "It's ok, you're a good guy" tilt of the hat.
Good stories. But within them are what's wrong with this country. Daddy hated us or we got arrested for crank possesion and all of a sudden we say "Fuck the World" every time we reach for something? Are we so caught up on fucking others over that we don't look at our OBVIOUS mistakes and realize we were wrong.
We can't even say we're wrong. We have to tattoo ourselves to protect our silly lifestyles that are fake and based on GAP ads anyways.
You're mad at someone for something. Don't fuck the world.
You cut me off. Calm down. We lived. I flip you off, you shake your head like an idiot and we drive on.
There's no need for any of this anger. Who are we mad at? I think ourselves.
We watch 9/11, we watch Columbine, we watch all of these things and we KNOW that it's not the kids or the Middle Easterners. It's us.
That's why we are mad. We cut off the world and don't want to admit we aren't as cool as we thought. So let's all run out and tattoo our arms, right?
Think about that, dorks.
I left work early today. I was done playing Roy. Before I left I did the "Look At Brent" round. I don't know if this is a common office practice; it'd be cool to say I invented the move. On days where I want to leave early I go on a little jaunt around the office and talk to as many people as I can. "Say, fella with that box, how's the U.P.S. situation?" "Oh, hey, female superior, did you get that e-mail about that thing that involves something in Houston?" "Say, person at the coffee machine, did you hear the one about the Jew, the penguin and the abortionist?"
"Well, that's unappropriate, Brent."
"That's right. And remember I said it at roughly 4-4:30 p.m. on Wednesday."
The idea is that if anyone asks for me in the half hour to hour that I'm supposed to be there, plenty of people will say "I just saw him" and lead whoever is looking for me to assume I'm somewhere else. And when 4:30 rolls around, "I guess he just left" will be in their head.
The more I work this office job the truer my earlier theory about office work becomes. People in offices don't really do anything. Collectively, sure, they might spit something out. But, as a single human, no one person is needed, ever.
Over the past couple of days I have started to reach out to N.I.D. Girl. After the Labor Day weekend I was sure she'd be full of stories. "And then there were hamburgers and I ate one. And then we saw clouds. And then we drove to buy Listerine at the store. And then I payed for the Listerine. I like the blue kind. The yellow kind hurts. Hurts my mouth. My mouth is on my head. My head is connected to my body by my neck. I once saw a man with a big neck. Where are my fingers? Oh, on my hand."
Instead she only had one story, which, granted she did tell everyone that came by her desk. "I watched my sister's kid and she was late. She said she was sorry. I didn't have anywhere to go, but I was still upset. The kid is a wild one."
This made me sad. The extent of her 3 day weekend was a little kid. The extent of my 3 day weekend was balloons, making out, statues, getting ripped and Seinfeld. Comparitively I win the weekend contest.
I realized that this woman doesn't have a boyfriend, or partner I guess I should say in the progressive and heavy sexual alternative lifestyle city of Seattle. Is being gay still considered "alternative"? Are the "Spin Doctors" still considered the same? Alternative, not gay.
Back to N.I.D. Girl. I couldn't help but feel sorry that this woman only has this job to come to and talk to C. from Washington Mutual about what is happening to her at that exact moment. Because, that exact moment is all this woman has. She doesn't have a dorky brother to make fun of and try to get drunk, she doesn't have someone to kiss and tell they are sexy, she doesn't have a Lovely Couple to play alternative (not gay or Spin Doctors) sports with.
So, I've started talking to her. And I've learned that if I speak to her I can stear the course of our conversations. It might be harsh to hear her voice but at least I hear "McDonalds is good" compared to "Boys are not the same as girls".
One thing she did say today that made me look up to see if it was actually true, because this is N.I.D. Girl we are talking about. "My ears are on fire". I was half expecting to see her ears fucking blazing when I looked up. Oh well, it's still funny to think about.
I am gross. I spent the night with R. Girl last night, dorkbabies. And that's all you get out of that. She's cute. There, there's a little tidbit of smut for your sick minds. Go read porn!
Anyways, I didn't want to leave this morning and calculated the Shower/Sleep ratio. You know, it's a highly mathematical formula where you figure out the number of hours since your last shower, factor in number of physically exerting things done and relative ratio of closeness to stinky stuff and then come out with a number (x) which is then compared to the ammount of time it takes to shower (y). If x is less than y there is no need to shower and sleep can continue.
However, now I feel gross and nervous about skipping out on work. I will shower and then watch Seinfeld or go play frisbee golf (which I've fallen out of rotation of the past couple of weeks).
I hope all of the dorks out there are good and healthy little dorks. I'm sorry I haven't written much in the past couple of days. I have been busy being caught up in the fun parts of a new relationship. You know, "Do you like Led Zeppelin" and "Is that a freckle?"
Later, dorks.


I did nothing today.
I could bore you and talk about how I cleaned my truck or downloaded 20 Seinfeld episodes. But, you don't care and I don't want to bore you with that.
Instead, in honor of Labor Day, which I told R. Girl should be renamed Non-Labor Day, I think I'll play James Brown's "I Feel Good" and tell you all a bad joke.
How do you spot an elephant on the moon?
He's the one with a giant "E" on his space suit.
Happy Labor Day, dorks.


I am sad.
Charles Bronson died on Saturday.
This was a man who said his face looked "like a rock quarry that someone has dynamited". He was the Tunnel King in the movie that bonded me and my father. He was the man who put nails through a board that sprung up and killed trespassers in "Death Wish".
He was the man who I shared a birthday with.
Every November 3rd I would say to myself "Happy Birthday, Charles Bronson".
I need to watch "The Great Escape" and cry.
Live life, dorks.
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