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Rats by Ray Printer Friendly

So I’m sitting here, trying to work up an enthusiasm for this gigantic bottle of whiskey, trying to write something worth writing. The thing is, I’ve got my laptop right now, and I’ve been using my desktop for the past two months or so, so what I’m sitting here with is a computer with a bunch of un-updated files.

Man, I should learn to network or something…also, I should learn to make my sentences more coherent.

As it is, I’ve ingested just enough booze to keep me from doing anything productive, but not enough to make it unproductive enough to be interesting. As I usually do when I’m in this state, what I ended up doing tonight is stumbling around The Strangelands for a bit, hoping to find something that I hadn’t found before. No good—I monitor The Strangelands like a pervert monitors porn clubs, so nothing gets by me…except maybe real life.

But I found Jesse’s last post, which I have found before, and wondered about. On purpose? I don’t know. We’ll make some shirts, man. Why not? The world is ours for the taking, and once we take it, we’ll definitely want to sell some souvenirs, right?

What you need to do is, you need to write, you need to draw, and I assume you would be better off if you were making t-shirts…because who wouldn’t be?

But whatever. Like that song goes, “It’s your thing…do what you wanna do, do.” They seem very excited about it.

If you want to get grody about things, you should definitely get in on this 2 Heartbeats thing—open to anyone with an imagination and the ability to use a keyboard. Or, if you can’t use a keyboard, hire a homeless person to do it for you, and then instead of paying up, just bury him in the desert after he's done your bidding…but, you know—kill ‘im first. Because to bury a homeless guy alive in the desert is just inhumane. But that’s not my business—back to 2 Heartbeats. You can go anywhere you want with this story, anywhere from village of the Smurfs to Village of the Damned.

So did you do the crazy post on purpose, with the link just chillin’ over there on the right, and the last part first? Or did you just step out to get a carton of eggnog and forget what you were doing because while you were stepping out for eggnog you encountered a rowdy bunch of street thugs that were trying to rape a blind girl, and then you called down the thunder and kicked a ton of ass, and after all the calling down thunder and kicking ass, and telling the blind girl that it’s okay, you’re safe now, you forgot what you were doing when you got back in front of your computer? Because that sometimes happens to me. You know, with spellcheck.

I don’t know, I’m just bored. I’m going out to sniff the fresh sea air. What if there was no sea air, and I’m just lying about all of it? What a dick I would be. Just like Jesse would be a dick if he/she didn’t really save that blind girl. What’s wrong with you? Why do you hate blind people? I don’t know if we can still be friends.

Meh, I guess we can still be friends. Just between you and I? Blind people aren’t that great.

And then there’s Dave Riley. I think Dave Riley is a robot. I don’t know why I think this, exactly, but I do. Like maybe Dave Riley fell into the present, but with pre-recorded tapes. Dave Riley reminds me of a twisted Oreo commercial that they might have accidentally made back in the ’50s. I know that that doesn’t make sense…it’s just how I feel. “Dave Riley, it is your job to go back to the past and infiltrate websites using this data that will make you more human.” “A cookie commercial from the time before the internet even existed?” “Shut up, Dave Riley, and get back to destroy the humans—start with the drunks.”

And Trey? Trey’s like what the drunk homeless guy on the corner aspires to be. “One day, man. One day I’ma have a good job, where I make lotsa money. I’ma work, work, work, and then…HATE it! Eat my soul! I’ma quit, then. I wanna be drunk, right? And not have a job. I jus wanna sit arown in my unnerwear, drunk and stinkin’, and…did I tell you I don’t wanna job? And then I’ll go back to work, makin’ money. Stinkin’. One day.”

Just for the record, Trey is a very responsible human being (he’s one of the only Strangelands writers that I actually know), but he’s still like a bum’s wet dream. And for any of the bums out there: he moisturizes like you wouldn’t believe. Seriously, bums: smack dat ass! You won’t regret it.

And that about covers the people that have posted this month…except for me. And me? Just some freakin’ weirdo. I kinda wish I was a drunk robot, and sometimes I do have naughty dreams about homeless people.

Either that or I’m a preacher from the Midwest, who is fighting my addiction to “thoroughly” counseling the members of my flock. You know what I mean. Baptist, of course, because we all know how they are (I would say Catholic, but to me, that barely even counts as a real religion--maybe a cult of some sort. Plus, those priests fondle children so much that at this point I think it's actually part of their vows, so claiming to be one of those guys is even too creepy for me). Which is more difficult to believe? At this point, my identities are at a draw. Vote now, and decide the future!

I’m goin’ to bed. 'Night, Li’l Homies.


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