Being Alone...

Do you ever take a day for some you time? Take some time to spend with nobody but yourself? Does it excite you to think of time away from anyone and anything other than your own thoughts? To think of being totally alone?

I do, and it does.

Hot and Cold

I lay here in bed, naked and squeaky clean, having just had one of the niftiest experiences in the world. It took place in my shower.

Stop being gross. I can hear your thoughts, you nasty.

White Pants and Bastard Bugs

I own a pair of stark white slacks, and until now they have served me quite well.

Since the day of their purchase, their brilliant, blinding whiteness has remained untarnished. They have come out with me to the seedy stank nasty clubs of Tallahassee, to several big ceremonies, to plays both big and small, and even to a friendly get together or two. In these white ninja pants, I’ve managed to dodge smear happy dirt bombs and pointed alcoholic beverage attacks. Italian restaurants haven’t even been able to so much as leave a funny odor in the fabric, let alone leave a mark.

Winds of Change...

I remember a time when I, a young boy with little else to do on a weekend afternoon, would walk out to the end of my driveway, take several deep breaths, raise my hands into the air, and proceed to conduct the wind. And unlike my bouts with Poseidon (see Games with the God of the Sea), this was no competition with a God. Once my hands were up, I was in control. No games this time. I was determined, and this was my practice, to change the course of the wind.

So you got her a bouquet?

When I was little, I used to think that flowers were the magickal houses where fairies were born. What else could make such a beautiful home? Fairies had their tiny fairy families, grew up until they were old enough to fly off and inhabit another plant, and then built a new flower palace somewhere else. There was no other explanation. It made absolute sense to me then.

Does he look like a bitch?!

This, dear readers, is Samuel L. Jackson in Pulp Fiction. If you’ve never seen this movie, go buy it now. Don’t rent it, don’t download it…buy it and own it. Payment is your punishment for having gone this long without experiencing a masterpiece.

Now in this movie, Mr. Jackson would have you believe that neither he, nor his boss, is a bitch.

As much as I respect this man (I mean…look at him), I think I have to disagree. He is one of the biggest bitches I’ve ever seen.

Hear me out, I have a theory...

A theory about shit.

“But Brogan!” you protest. “We already read your shit story. Revelations in a stall was hilarious and wonderful, but how full of shit can you really be?”

Plenty full. Sometimes my naturally blue eyes turn brown. Truth fact.