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Timed Ramblings by Ray Printer Friendly

Hereís how weíre rolliní tonight, kids: I have four beers, half an hour, and I got nothiní to say. Itís gonna be a pretty tense thirty minutes, but when weíre done, weíre done, and if I have nothing written, so be it.

Iím on another smoothie bender. I think itís because itís so damn hot that the idea of eating real food is a bit appalling. ďWhat? Thereís no crushed ice in this dish? Forget it, thenóI wonít eat it!Ē I canít remember the last time that I was constantly fiending for smoothies, but I think it might have been last fall, because Iím pretty sure thatís when I got my blender. I donít know for sure, but I am pretty sure that it isnít all that important.

Iím pretty fond of smoothies, and I discovered that they make really great chasers. Oh, shitóyou know what I just noticed? My ďdeleteĒ isnít working like it should. I try to erase some stuff Iíve just written, and itís like the cursor is moving in solidifying concrete. I have a lazy delete function. Go figure.


I have something Iíve been wanting to tell you about, and this seems like the perfect time for it: I was driving my delivery route the other day, and I saw a truck full of brand-new Port-O-Potties. They were flawless, and strangely beautiful as they passed by me on the trailer of an 18-wheeler. I stared at them as they passed, watching the sun reflect off each plastic roof in turn. I was hypnotized.

Letís get something straight right here and now: Iím no poop fanatic. I donít have a crap fetish or anything. In fact, Iím very opposed to the whole situation. Iíve used entirely too many public restrooms to think that thereís anything natural about this process, and Iíve cleaned enough public restrooms to formulate a theory that thereís something actually unholy about the whole business.

Other theories formulated:

A) When itís time to clean the menís restroom, you will arrive at the door just as some guy walks out, rubbing his stomach and grunting something about how much better he feels. Thatís if he doesnít realize youíre on your way to clean the restroom. If he actually figures out that you have to go in and clean up after him, heíll also mumble something like, ďI feel sorry for you, bub.Ē

B) When itís time to clean the womenís restroom, you will approach the door just as you see the biggest, fattest nastiest-looking woman in your life. She will be running to the restroomÖto shitÖand she will not be civilized about it. By the time she is finished, the restroom will look like it just went through a failed exorcism, and it will smell like a burning junkyard full of incontinent hobos.

I was raised to believe that if you killed yourself, you went to Hell. But when this is the kind of thing that makes you want to commit suicide, whereís the threat?

But I digressÖ

I saw the portable potties as I rolled down the highway, and I was in awe. It was so surreal, I almost expected to look to the passengerís seat and see a dragon or a gnome.

I think it was because Iím used to seeing them all befouled and violated. To see them so pristine, so spotlessÖit must be what the souls of criminals look like before all the rectal abuse begins. Because thatís what criminals are made of, is butt violation. Yes, even Catwoman.


I tried to buy a piece of exercise equipment tonight. It didnít pan out, so I did the next best thing to exercising, which is to sit in front of a computer and drink beer. Oh, and before that, I played video games. Over the weekend, I was reading this webcomic, and because I have such a low tolerance to peer pressure, it made me want to play some video games.

SoÖmy timeís running out rather quickly (in all fairness, that delete malfunction bothered me so much that I had to restart my computer), which is actually okay, as I still donít have anything remarkable to tell you.


Iím having a pretty intense craving for peanuts at the moment. Not peanuts in a can, but peanuts in a shell. It seems like every time I see a movie with a circus in it, thereís some little kid eating peanuts. Those are the kinds of peanuts Iím cravingóthe kind that I can swipe from a little kid at a circus. Because nothing breaks the concentration of the trapeze guys like the shrill brain-scratch of a childís shrieking.

Beer threeís making me run late, so Iíve extended the deadline from thirty to forty-five minutes. I need one of those hats, one of those beerhats. Then I could get some serious work done. Not just as far as speedwriting goes, either. Imagine how much more efficient I would be at my job if I had both hands free to run the forklift and drive the delivery truck full of deadly chemicals.


When I was fourteen, I dated this girl when I was visiting my dad over the summer vacation. I held hands with her at the movies, and I kissed her twice. I went back the next summer, and she had a kid with another guy. No matter how much in love I am, no matter how good my life is, and no matter how long I live, I think Iíll always feel like I got the short end of that particular stick.


Another story about a girl I dated when I was visiting my dad: I met her during Christmas break, and I liked her a lot because she called girls ďchicks,Ē and I had never heard a girl/chick do that before. Also, she was pretty much the only person in town that understood my sense of humor (it was a small Kansas town, in case you were wondering). We would hang out together, go to the movies, and then stay up late talking to each other on the phone.

I went back to my real home. We talked on the phone a couple of times, but not nearly as often, as neither her parents nor my mother were willing to pay long-distance charges, but we wrote each other pretty much every week or so.

I went back the following summer, ready to meet up with her. We were supposed to meet at the movie theater, which was pretty much the only thing to do in the small town, but when I called her (about ten minutes after arriving in town), she told me that she was sick.

I found out the next day that she had actually been out with another guy, and although my feelings were kind of hurt, I understoodóitís not like we were dating exclusively or anything, plus we were all of sixteen years old or some shit.

I also decided that I didnít want to see her anymore. I figured my odds were much better in Texas, so I spent a few days in Kansas and then returned home.

I found out later that the guy she was with already had a girlfriend. And the girlfriend had a yeast infection. Iíve never checked to see if this is even possible, mostly because Iím afraid itís not, and I would rather live the illusion, but hereís what I heard happened:

The guy was with his girlfriend, and then he went out with the girl I was supposed to go out with. He had sex with his girlfriend, but apparently didnít have enough time with my date, so he only got a bit of fellatio.

Instead of watching a movie with me, the girl got a yeast infection on her mouth, and had to carry around Monistat-7 in a Carmex jar.

Like I said, I donít even know if thatís possible, but I choose to believe that it is.

Anyways, my timeís up. ĎNight, liíl homies.


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