Rhymes, Writers and Ribs.

Inky, pinky, ponky, daddy bought a donkey;

Donkey died, daddy cried,

Inky, pinky, ponky.

Inky, pinky, panky, daddy used his hanky,

Snot went flying, he stopped crying,

Inky, pinky, panky.

I am in an odd little mood right now, sort of drifting into stream of consciousness mode�

Is there any point to this?

Nope.

I'm having a hard time getting things cooking right now. The little writer who lives in my body has had it pretty easy for the last 12 years, since I finished high school, and he is not happy with the new hours. He's a lazy little bastard. I'd punch him, but I'm not sure exactly where in my body he lives. He could be anywhere. He's a crafty little prick though, he's probably hanging around in my balls, daring me to punch him. But I won't cave in. DO YOU HEAR ME?

What an asshole that guy is.

The writer guy, not me.

Well, ok, me too, but don't spread it around. Mum's the word.

You know, I should try smoking a joint before writing an entry here, maybe that's really kickstart the whole process.

Actually, on second thought, scratch that. I'd probably end up rambling incoherently about microwave popcorn, and the nutritional benefit to eating an entire bag of Fudgee-o's. Which I can sum up for you right now, with the words: There are none. Trust me on this kiddies, if it could be done, I'd exist solely by the grace of vast quantities of sugar and fat, the kind found only in McDonald's food, Doritos, and Mr. Christies cookies. Seriously. It's a good thing I have this metabolism of mine, or I'd weigh 300 pounds.

As it is, I'm a sexy 165.

Yeah, I said sexy. Nothing like a few ribs to really turn someone's crank, you know? You all wish you could be like me. Admit it. Go ahead, I won't hold it over your head. I'm much too nice for that.

Not the ribs you eat though, I am talking about my ribs. I don't eat ribs, I find them relatively unappetizing. Maybe it's because it hits too close to home. I see my ribs everyday, maybe my subconscious just can't deal with the images...

It's like self-cannibalism.

Now THAT'S an odd little idea. On the plus side, if you were into that sort of thing, as long as you could keep a secret for a couple of weeks, you'd be fine. By the time word got out what a freak you were, you'd have eaten all the evidence.

Mmmmmmm.....ribs....