You Know, Obese People Have Really Great Calves

They're walking around like little planets with their own moons and gravitational pull, and everywhere they go, people are turning their heads away in disgust. Looking at them for very long may make you feel a little sick to your stomach, but if you look a bit harder, you'll notice that they really do have fantastic calves. People who are morbidly obese, especially, have calves that are to die for.

(Giggle.)

Get it?

This day has actually been a decent one. This is my last week of school, so I'm totally pumped. Like a bike. (That's just been pumped up.) They even had ice cream at the ampitheater for any student who was willing to give the Dean of Students a kiss on the cheek in return for a Klondike bar. What would I do for a Klondike bar?

...I don't want to talk about it.

Somehow I also managed to get straight A's this semester, which I'm pretty happy about it. I thought I had a B or a C in English, so I don't know how in the mad mad mad mad mad mad world I scraped an A. I think my English teacher thought I was going to kill myself, so she was doing her part to save me from doing myself in. I don't know what gave her that idea. Maybe the fact that I write "I want to kill myself" on the backs of all my tests and doodle pictures of people with screwdrivers in their heads on my desk.

I've also been reading and re-reading and memorising this poem by William Hughes Mearns which opened for the movie Identity with John Cusack:

Yesterday upon the stair
I met a man who wasn’t there
He wasn’t there again today
Oh, how I wish he’d go away

When I came home last night at three
The man was waiting there for me
But when I looked around the hall
I couldn’t see him there at all!
Go away, go away, don’t you come back any more!
Go away, go away, and please don’t slam the door

Last night I saw upon the stair
A little man who wasn’t there
He wasn’t there again today
Oh, how I wish he’d go away

Isn't that the creepiest thing you've ever read? Even creepier, I think, than Christopher Walken doing a dramatic reading of Lady Gaga's Poker Face.

It freaks my brother out of his mind. When it's dark and late at night, I go into his room and start whispering the poem in a barely audible, childlike British accent. He gets really worked up and says, "What's that? Who's there? Is that Christopher?" And I answer, "No, this is a cow. I'm a cow. And I'm going to eat you." Don't ask me why, but it really freaks him out. I guess he doesn't like cows.

They're also passing out issues of our school's literary magazine, and I have one poem and one short story in there. They also completely disregarded the drawings and page layouts I submitted, but it's okay, because I've banished them to the corn fields and they won't be bothering me no more. I also turned one of them into a giant Jack in the Box, but that sort of came back to haunt me, because those things scare the fuck out of me.

She said hello to me today. Which is, I think, a first. Usually, I'm the first to say hello. Even though I sort of whisper it. From my hidden spot in the bushes.

My friends have sensed that I've been seeming a bit depressed lately, so they suggested that I start reading FML, because they know how much pleasure I take out of witnessing other people's pain. But you know what? They're just too depressing. I'm used to My Life is Average, which is a branch off from FML that's far less obscene and disturbing, so I was totally shocked when I read FML.

1 out of 10 stories are genuinely hilarious, like this one:

"Today, my 5 year old nephew showed me green martians he'd made with his new Play Doh set. I smiled and said, "Wow! Now, how about some blue martians!" He looked at me and replied, 'How about some blue shut the fuck up!' FML"

But the rest are so depressing and shocking that even I have trouble reading them. They're like, "Today my dog died, I found out that my twin sister is pregnant with my husband's baby, and I got AIDs. FML."

And then all of the comments are just like, "HA!" or "that sucks." How do people take pleasure out of reading those? Ironically, though, I did feel much better by the end of it. I think it was because, by that time, I was pretty drunk. I even taped myself shaving my head and posted the video on YouTube. It's a bit embarrassing, but I'm getting tons of hits, I never have to worry about head lice, and I sold my hair for, like, almost $90!!!

I can't believe that almost a year and a half has passed since I started this blog. Sometimes I think back to my old self and wonder, Where did he go?

Then I remember that I'm an ogre, and I ate him.

Cheers,
That Blond Guy