Sunday, October 23, 2005

At the end of today's journey, I spoke with a graduate student outside of Shafer Street Playhouse, while his adorable puppy licked my hands. It was an aggressive little thing. But what of the journey? Well, it began as a search for a place. A place where I could sit, relax, think, and learn. I envisioned some high hilltop, warm and breezy. Thick green grass cushions my bottom. I meditate, and become nothing.

Well, that doesn't exist. As I retraced my usual steps uptown, I began to think, and think, and think some more. And I realized that I had no place, that there was no silent sunlit dojo where I could contemplate the nature of existence. But the walk, the rhythm of the day, the synchronization of color and sound created a "place" that could not be recreated in "dojo" form.
I have been told recently to text message "LUV" to cell #66969. I'm assuming that expensive erotic adventures are afoot. I will not partake in them. I have also been asked if i have ever dreamed of owning an island full of hot, young girls battling it out for my pleasure, to which I can only say "no." I have no desire to watch hot young girls battle each other. I'd be more than satisfied simply owning an island full of them. Dave Chappelle just told me that he wants his scrotum to be injected with Botox, so that his balls can be "smooth as eggs."
I was watching television, as I do, and I saw this commercial for Dexatoe or Footcure or something like that, something that cleans up your disgusting yellow toenails. If you have them. I'm not accusing you of having repugnant, filthy phalanges, but you know, if you do, you ought to get this product. I think it's Lamisil. Not tough-actin' Tinactin; that is for athlete's foot. Anyway, this freakish anthropomorphic germ-person appeared on the screen, introduced himself as Digger the dermatophyte, and proceeded to infect a beatifully-rendered computer-generated toe with his filth. And he "invited a few of his friends," which put me off, because all of his friends looked exactly like him, thousands of them. Disturbing, really; the only dermatophytes he deems worthy of being his friends are those that look and act exactly like him. I think that's a greater motivation for purchasing this Lamisil than wanting to rid yourself of brittle yellow toenails for good. After all, would you really want something that egotistical living under your toenails? I wouldn't. This is rather stupid, but I'm tired, and I'm in a time paradox right now (It is daylight savings time, and I'm not sure if I should set back the hour yet or not), so my idiocy is excusable.