leap day.

i.

have made it.

a habit.

of improperly buttoning.

this cardigan.

and i. will stop.

hitting enter. or return. or whatever it is your keyboard says. if your enter/return key says, 'fuck you.' get a new keyboard. if no new keyboard is available invest in some stickers. ones you can write on. like the top 8th of a post-it note. and write your own key names. my enter key will now be.. 'put that shit in'. backspace will now be. 'don't hit me bitch.' tab will be. 'you don't need to hit the space 5 times. just hit me once. space don't even like being hit.' and the nameless spacebar will have 'i got me a name now.' the b key will say. 'use me when typing bitch.' and the asdfjkl; keys will have 'you touch me way too much.' i have a thing of jello with fruit on my desk. mandarin oranges.. or tangerines.. either way. it's pretty awesome. orange is probably the tastiest color. have you ever thought maybe we'd be calling apples reds. or bananas yellows. and oranges would be called something like.. fabpiles. why do we even call them oranges? get your own name right? who cares what the dictionary says. i need to pee. in some episode of beavis and butthead they ask something like.. 'what's the greatest nation in the world? urination.' so i'll be doing some of that. to honor the nation of urination. if i could really use the backspace key less.. it would be more happy. and that's all i want. you know. lifeless objects to be happy. like... that rock at school that i thought was a sheep. if that rock is happy. then everything is great. except i've managed to lose track of the rock.. it's hiding or something. or i haven't been looking in its direction. all i know is.. i have a bunch of projects that need to be done. and today is friday.. even though i thought it was saturday.. and i wished it was still thursday. but oh well. nothing a robot can't fix. just wait and see. remember that scene in the matrix where he pulls out that tube from himself? it'll be like that.. but with less tubes and more projects. the leap year and leap day or whatever they call this bastard child of time can kiss my ass. so fuck you leap year. fuck you indeed. and if i watched that show quantum leap or something.. i might have something clever to say about that.. but i didn't.. and i don't even know if i got the title right. but fuck you leap day. fuck you.

sleep.

i need to wake up so i can go to sleep.

professor layton

i'm probably going to end up saying something like.. 'professor layton.. you mother fucker..' but before that i have other stuff to say. and do. mostly do. doing is more important than saying. unless the 'do' involves the action of saying. rocks are stupid. and there is no professor layton at cal poly. or any other school i've been in for that matter. but i'm almost certain that i'll end up calling him a 'mother fucker' whoever he is.

leap year.

i've come to realize that leap years an i don't get along. we don't get along in a way that apples don't get along with oranges.. unless they're both in a fruit salad. or maybe even some little mixed fruit cup with the sugary syrup. in the back of my mind.. apples really hate oranges. apples having the large amounts of shades and the oranges just having.. orange. if apples were always red would we be saying that fire trucks are apple? but then there's the ordeal with oranges when they're green. i've never seen a green orange. but i've seen these freak oranges with spots of green. or that's what my head says right now. long story short. i don't get along with leap years. they extra 24 hours causes my mind to take a dive. a non-olympic gold medal in beijing 2008 dive. in 2004 i went down the drain at uci. in 2000... i don't remember anything bad happening. but more importantly i don't remember anything that good about 2000. yeah. remember y2k? what a son of a bitch to deal with. i never really understood it. how missiles could start launching because the date read janurary 1, 1900. i mean. in the 1900's.. chinese people were still those yeller-bellied folk. or that's where i think they go the term. but the year 1900 wasn't a leap year. so it couldn't be that bad. you know what.. all we have to do to get rid of the leap year is to adjust our timing slightly.

if i can do the math in my head right now.. every year we're off by exactly 5 hours, 48 minutes, and 47 seconds. rather than having this extra day every 4 years... but not every 100 or 400 years.. is to fix up the time a bit. all we need to do is throw in that extra 5 hours and change into a year. then rather than having a whole extra day in this year where i tend to do poorly in.. we can spend what's close to 6 hours eating lots of steak. or beating your 3 year old cousin at video games. or maybe you want to sleep. or ask potatoes why they're such a damn good thing to eat. hey. if we can lose an hour and gain an hour because of daylight savings.. i don't see why we can't gain about 6 hours every year to avoid a these awful leap years.

i'm warm but cold. i don't understand how somebody could make so many spelling errors if they're drunk. either i don't drink enough. or they're stupid. i really hope it's because i don't drink enough. because.. come on.. stuff is easy with certain substances in your system.. just look at what's going on in baseball.

you know.. god could've really stream-lined this whole thing.. i mean.. two ears. two eyes. two arms. two legs. two nostrils. two testicles. and in my case a deformed pinky toe which consists of two pinky toes.. i'm thinking we should be just straight down the middle. one leg one arm. one eye. one ear.. uhhhh.. one testicle.. a large one.

my eyes are watery for some reason.. but that's a good thing. i mean if my eyes were.. i don't know.. rocky or something.. they'd be going after clubber lang.. i've never seen a rocky movie. maybe this just means i should.. all the way up to rocky vii, adrians' revenge!

i can feel my hearbeat in my gums.

spiders.

i had a dream about spiders.

that means.. it's time to give them hell.

cardigans for cannibals.

i'm wearing a cardigan.. the buttons are on the wrong side. which means.. it's awkward to button and other things. it's cold. and my coffee is also getting cold. but there are no cardigans for coffee. but... there are also no microwaves for humans. well. maybe there's a couple. i'm sure cannibals enjoy quick meals too. hummmmmmmmmmman livvvvvvvvvvvvvver! ooooooooone minuuuuuute.... yyyyyyyyyyeah! that's how cannibals talk. all that stuff where they eat other people and maybe wear their skins has to affect the way they talk.

Too slow!

ok. the alarm clock radio has a problem.


dear hydraulics,

tell pipe flow to fuck off.

love,
nelson

tired.

so. i think i'm tired.

sleep?

i get really bored. and i don't feel like sleeping.

all that's going through my head:

ice blue metallic or olympic white

now i'm going to sleep. because my eyes are stabbing the inside of my face.

smells.

"aaaaaaaahhh! my neck is broken!"

cal poly really smells like shit these days. with all the livestock doing their stuff in the fields or the bathrooms with the cow/sheep/chicken on the door it already smelled a bit. but now that they dumped a bunch of manure in areas where they want stuff to grow.. it really really smells. just really not pleasant. but since it was valentines day.. inside the buildings it smelled like strawberries and raspberries. that was much more enjoyable.

three knees.

they're really shoveling shit into my face. and they're not using your standard sized shovel either. so it's a lot of shit. i have two options. grow a larger face to evenly distribute the shit. or grab the shovel and start hacking away at their kneecaps with the sharper part of the shovel.. let's see them shovel without their knees.

i'm pretty sure i took out one knee today. tomorrow's knee will be slightly tougher. and what the hell.. they have a third knee that needs to be taken care of next thursday. nobody likes monsters. so i'm doing the world a favor. three kneed shit shovelers don't have any place anywhere.. except maybe that cantina in star wars.

my metaphors are very strange.

oysters

they want me to say something stupid. like. 'the world is my oyster.. but i don't like oysters.'

"dream dreams a dreamer"

when you have dreams where you're challenging pro wrestlers to a curling match.. that's when you know you've done way too much (or too little) studying. seeing as how numbers and equations have been replaced by the ultimate warrior and this weird version of the undertaker.. who was wearing a mask of himself. and he had a mohawk.. yeah. that just shows that i'm either way too stressed or too relaxed about the upcoming midterms. and when hulk hogan pushes an entire box of the curling stones only to have it flip over and spill out all over the bulls eye causing me to burst out laughing uncontrollably. i'd like to think that i'm part of the more relaxed situation than the stressed one. i don't think i've ever laughed so hard in a dream. but a curling match minus the brooms with pro wrestlers.. what the hell? again.. i really think i watch too much tv.

here we go again with the electronics. after i blow my money on some of this stuff i'll be electrocuting myself or burning myself with a soldering iron. it wouldn't be the first time.

paper.

large stacks of paper don't make me happy. this particular one is no longer a stack. it is sprawled all over my desk.. i always lose stuff.

don't ask.

i passed by a sign for roma tomatoes. why can't they just call them romatoes?

brain pop.

my brain would like to explode. it is very similar to the way bombs like to explode.. except there won't be a 'BOOM!' it'll be like a sharp 'POP!' and then i'll start bleeding numbers from my ears and i'll vomit out all those equations my professor told me to tattoo on my ass. the zombies will enjoy this gross body temperature smoothie that was once my brain because the small numbers keep increasing to very very large numbers. and because i can't turn a 4 into a 3. yeah. if my brain were smaller i'd think less... and i'd be a t-rex.

the real super bowl.

tomorrow is the super bowl. two teams will battle through the lack of drugs and steroids in their systems with the hopes of putting on those hats and shirts which would otherwise be sent off to a third world country.