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3/29/2004

While coming back from the grocery store on my lunch break today I started thinking about a writing excercise we did in my sophomore-level English comp. class. The purpose of the excercise was to write a few sentences that showed a progression of a thought.
I think mine went something like:
Kirby Puckett is a dedicated baseball player and a good man.
He played until he went blind one day.
He also was nice to kids in the community.

In retrospect (and because of Kirby's "touchy feely" charges) I think I should have instead written the following:
Abraham Lincoln hated doing algebra.
He was sure that Albert Einstein had invented it just to make him look dumb.
So, Abraham focused on writing during his school days.
Because of this we have The Gettysburg Address.

That seems a lot more interesting and creative.

Oh, dorks, I went to the beach. Let me ask you, dorkwaves, have you ever laid on a full-size fold out couch, chugging wine while you stared out a window at the ocean a mere 200 yards away and your red hot girlfriend lounged sedated and bare in a hot tub only a few feet from you admiring the same view while R. Kelly's remix to Ignition played in surround sound throughout your villa including in your master bedroom where a King sized bed awaited you with comforters surely made from the hides of angels and baby rabbits? No? I have, fuckers, I HAVE!
This weekend ruled like no other.
I flew a Ninja Turtle kite on the beach for hours on end.
I bought a bumper sticker that says "I love dinosaurs".
I ate buffalo jerky.
I ate blueberry pancakes.
I ate a pizza that had cashews and feta cheese as toppings.
I slept in a bed for the first time since I was 3 where my feet didn't hangover the edge.
And for two whole days I didn't talk to anyone except my lovely R. Tickles.
You want to know how you know how you've found someone special, dorkles? You don't realize that you've just spent 2 whole days without talking to someone besides them until you have to answer questions of "How was it?" bursting your bubble. Bursting your bubble of waves and R. Kelly.
And, lo, I say onto thee, the dorks of now and forever, remember this day for now and forever. For this is the day that Bachelor Brent lays down in his cave of cigarette butts and Hustler back issues. Yea, tomorrow and forever shall be the day when he known as Brent moves forth into his apartment with she known to all as R. Bunnycurls.
The bachelor is dead.
Long live the king!

He's checking his list,
going to IKEA twice,
tomorrow he moves in with his girl
who is nice.
Bachelor Brent is going away.
He knows he must be tidy.
He knows he can't stay drunk.
He knows he has to wash his feet
And not always be scratching his junk.
Oooohhhhh, he now owns a rug
He now owns plates.
Who the fuck is this guy
for Christ's sake?
He's Future Brent and he's here to stay!

Dorks, I won't give you the sappy shit ("she melted over me like putty"? what the fuck?). Just know I'm smiling 147 % more often these days.

He's Fu-ture Brent and he loves you dooooorrrrrrks!
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