Å·±¦ÓéÀÖ

I am a bit of a Mansonphile.

That is: someone obsessed with Charles Manson.

I do not think he is Christ. But maybe he is.

If anyone has to be, why can't it be him? Or you?

Or even me?

Doesn't matter.

I am a member of Å·±¦ÓéÀÖ.

Å·±¦ÓéÀÖ is like facebook for nerds.

On Å·±¦ÓéÀÖ, you type in the name of the book you are reading or the authors you like and then tell other people on Å·±¦ÓéÀÖ you are reading them or like them.

I am about to read a book about Charles Manson.

The book is called "The Manson File".

I am excited to read it.

When I was writing that I was about to read it on Å·±¦ÓéÀÖ, I saw a secondary portal for Susan Atkins.

She wrote a few books so she is an author you can "like" on Å·±¦ÓéÀÖ.

I tried to "become a fan" of her, but Å·±¦ÓéÀÖ wouldn't let me.

She is dead now, I think.

I worry that people will think I am some kind of idiot.

Like, if I don't do something really smart, or stand in some way that makes me seem intelligent they might think I am retarded or something.

So I walk around with a magnifying glass, looking at stuff.

I like how the magnifying glass makes everything small look like it is really close to my face.

I imagine the little stuff feels woozy when I look at it and it is big.

Like: I imagine the ants feel like they are suffering from motion sickness.

When I am done looking at the ants, and I no longer am worried about looking foolish, I spit on them.

To them, my saliva is a tidal wave.

started coming and couldn't stop.

My head deflated.

well, I mean, it STARTED deflating.

It was gradual.

I almost didnt notice.

Then, I did.

By the time I was done, I couldn't remember what I had been looking at but I knew I felt gross.

Well, GOOD because I came, but GROSS because of whatever disgusting thing I was probably looking at.

The computer hummed.

I couldn't see the screen because, as I said, my head had deflated.

So had my erection.

I clicked the computer off and ran away from home.

I didn't know how to clear my browsing history and I was afraid my girlfriend would find out what I had been looking at and make me leave.

I was too scared to leave.

So, I ran away.

Now, I only look at non-nude stuff.

It is safer.

This way, if someone sees my browsing history, I can just say, "I thought I might know those girls. Turns out I don't. Just go ahead and delete those."

Like I said.

Safer.

UPS MAN knocked once on my door this morning. Then he left before I could answer. I saw a little piece of paper on the door that said I had just missed him.

Dang.

woke up and my other-half was hung over. She asked me to walk to the store and get her some ginger ale. I reminded her that, since we were the same person, if I went to the store she would have to come too.

She said, "that's fine."

So, foolishly, I believed her and we set out for ginger ale and corn dogs. Halfway to the AM/PM, she barfs. It comes out like creamed corn with bits of pre-chewed bubblegum floating about in the mix. The smell hits me and I remember I too just puked. I need that corn dog now more than ever.

At the store, something happens to her memory and she can't remember what she wants.

"Ginger ale," I tell her. She winces at my voice and tell me, "Don't yell!" People around us don't know she is hungover so they assume I am a spouse-abuser. Just to ease their minds, I say, "Hey, calm down! It's not like I ever HIT YOU, right?"

She doesn't realize I am trying to deflate the situation like a powerful balloon that could send me to jail, so she says, "Knock it off, damnit! Can't you see I am hungover? I'm in no fucking mood for your strangeness!"

"Alright, dear," I say, conscious of all the eyes on me, gauging my reaction, expecting me to strike her upside the head with the two-liter of ginger ale in my hands. I then say, "I love you."

"Fuck off," she tells me.

We pay for the stuff and leave the store, but I won't ever leave the minds of those people waiting behind us in line. No doubt they will forever tell the story of the spouse-abuser they saw almost strike his poor, sick wife in the line at the AM/PM.

We lie down on the couch and take it easy for the rest of the day. At one point, she rolls over and farts gently under the blankets. It smells like lil' smokies.

I want to hit her.

read this great thing. no better thing like this is around. you have to touch yourself to believe it is real. then, once touched, you still cannot believe it. It is so great.

i sat in the bath today and thought about sticking my head under the water and taking a deep breath.

I don't want to kill myself.

I am not suicidal.

I enjoy life. See I just started watching "Cheers" on netflix instant streaming. Were I to die now, I would miss too much.

But still, I thought about it.

Sometimes I think about stuff like that. Things I don't really want to do I imagine being done by me. 

Sometimes these thoughts freak me out a bit. I worry the time will come when I am pulling a burrito out of the microwave and I just jam the fork into the outlet and there i go in a puff of smoke and refried beans.

i wonder, in that situation, what would happen to the burrito? Would the coroner eat it? I bet it is hard for coroners to eat after they first become coroners.

I worry that someone i know might be turning into a coroner right now and i am missing it.

i hope, when i die, my coroner friend does not see me naked.

that would be embarassing.

The aliens were unsure what to make of their first plate of human food�

be positive, he says.

My entrails pendulum back and forth in his hands. He holds them up to his nose and sniffs. A long drop of bloody goo slips from one of the coils.

It's all in your outlook, he says.

I slump down, spilling more entrails onto the linoleum. He casually tosses my guts aside and they land beside the fridge with a wet plop. I am reminded of dropping a pile of wet towels.

Always look on the bright side, he says.

I try. But I must confess: it is not always easy.