I have mentioned in the past how I feel about astrology. Everything I know about the art can be summed up like this: I am a Gemini, and I am supposed to hook up with a Libra. And that's pretty much it.

I'm not a believer. I am pretty sure that every horoscope can be related to by just about anyone. We see what we want to see. I would not be saying that if made the amount of money some astrologists pull down. Instead, I would be on here trying to qualify it as a legitimate science. In an effort to see if it really is, I'm going to reach out into the ether and scribble down what the planetary gods give me. Hopefully you will find it more specific than the usual predictions found online. I hope it helps you with your week.

Libra - First off, happy birthday. You're supposed to say that when making predictions. That's the only good news I have for you. Everything else is really bad. The horrible kind of bad. I don't even want to tell you. I can't. It's awful. What? Fine. If you insist. You will go to a Jonas Brothers concert before the end of the year. See? I told you.

Scorpio - No good news for you either I'm afraid. I guy named Jim will drop an apple on your toe. Not that apples are normally the kind of thing that could hurt your foot, but in this case, be careful. You never know. Some apples are heavier than others. You should wear steel toed boots for the remainder of the week. Unless you're a ballerina. Then they will probably clash with your thong, because everyone knows "ballerina" means "stripper".

Sagittarius - It's taken you up until this very moment to realize that your life is going absolutely nowhere. That's a hard pill to swallow. Swallow it anyway. Trust me. Once you've accepted it you will find it much easier to bludgeon your significant other to death with an aluminum bat. Take the kids, cross state lines. If you don't have kids take someone else's. The point is, this will make a phenomenal Lifetime movie and you will look great played by Judith Light or John Stamos.

Capricorn - As a Christmas baby, don't get your hopes up this year when it comes to gifts. You are used to only getting one gift that celebrates both the holiday and your birthday. You are so unimportant this year, however, that it will make people forget not only your birthday, but Christmas entirely. How bad do you have to suck to make people forget Christmas? You should buy yourself a Vespa. People like you belong on Vespas.

Aquarius - Bob hates you. Don't confront him, just be aware. Those Sun Chips you like? Yeah, he licks them when you walk away from your cubicle. He's weird like that. Sometimes when Bob is alone in his mom's basement he lights candles and prays to the Dark Lord that you will be eaten by mice. Bob's a strange guy. What would really be strange is if Bob was an Aquarius, too. Then the Dark Lord would be confused as to which Bob he should side with. That makes sense if you think about it. Oh, and your lucky numbers are 2 and 6,834.

Pisces - This is a good week for you, Pisces. While your parents normally hate you, today your dad will call you with some good news. He's not really your father. All the love he never showed you as a child? Well, he wasn't supposed to. He's not your father. You are pretty much a stranger to him. Take comfort in the fact that he loved you exactly as much as he should have, which is none at all. Isn't that great news?

Aries - You were a shitty station wagon made by Dodge in the 90's. My mom used to have one. I wrecked it my junior year of high school. Take care this week, Aries. You will be bitten by a mongoose three days from whenever you read this. With this advice in mind, maybe this isn't the best week for you participate in "Dress Up Like a Cobra Week" at your job.

Taurus - This could be a strange week for you. Good things will seem to happen, but turn out to be bad after all. For instance, you will give a homeless guy a dollar, and then find out that he only used it to feed his alcoholism. Or you will move a turtle out of the center of the road, only to run it over yourself as you pull off the shoulder. Or you will adopt a baby, only to raise it in a way that it not only hates you, but other people as well. That child will grow up to be responsible for one of the largest genocides of the 21^st century. Good job.

Gemini - You are the most awesome person in the world. You're next CD will go platinum, and Libra supermodels will throw themselves at you. You have a long trip planned in the near future. Try not to get shot.

Cancer - Rocks seem to be following you. No matter where you go, there will be rocks. Lots and lots of rocks. It's unexplainable. Every rock from around the world will suddenly be drawn toward you. Scientists will be perplexed. The world will be devoid of any kind of rock, with the exception of wherever you happen to be. People attempting to kill two birds will find themselves unable to do so. This is also a bad week to live in a glass house.

Leo - Woodburn is 27 miles from Salem. Whether you live in Oregon or not, hang on to that information. It will come in handy when you finally make it on Jeopardy. Not really. You are way to stupid to get on Jeopardy. You didn't really buy that did you? Ha! Seriously… You on Jeopardy? Maybe if they have Retard Week. My advice? Get a dog. Dogs love people unconditionally, whether they're stupid or not. Only one person out of all the Leos in the world is an exception to this rule. Keep telling yourself that it's you. Yeah. Sure it is.

Virgo - A business meeting will introduce you to Mr. or Ms. Right. Before you get your hopes up, understand that Right is nothing more than their last name. They will become your new boss and turn out to be one of the bigger assholes you've ever met. You will quit your job because of them and come very close to starving to death. A Taurus will give you a dollar, but you will foolishly spend it on beer.

-S

What I remember the most about that day though, was that it was the end of the world. Me, trapped in that room, a POW. Things were never going to get better, I was sure. Why shouldn't it be the end of the world? After all, at seven, that pretty much is your world. Your room, your parents, and your childish concept of freedom. It might as well have been Armageddon.

As I got older, I started to realize that there was always a pending apocalypse. The only thing that changed was the size of my world. The bigger my world, the more it took to bring it crashing down. A bad run in with bigger kids in middle school PE, a wrecked car in high school, a lost job my senior year… all of them seemed insurmountable when they happened. Obviously, they were trivial and minor, but when that is what your "world" revolves around it might as well be the end. An ant doesn't give a shit if nuclear war erupts in the Middle East. But if you kick his pile of dirt? You've brought his entire existence to a screeching halt.

Now I'm older, and my circle is much, much bigger. I've been enough places now that I have learned to stop looking at my "world" as simply rent and a car note and where I have to be at 6:00 on a Tuesday (which is never anywhere by the way). I want it to be as big as it can possibly be so that when some little piece of it snaps and falls to the floor, it doesn't seem quite as catastrophic in the big picture. The problem is this…

Shit is fucked up. Most of it anyway.

My little sphere of existence has been permeated by a few frustrations lately, so I look outward. But you can't turn on the television without having a political cream pie crammed in your face. The radio is more of a recycle bin than anything. Traffic and crime and loud neighbors and long lines and a gas crisis and presidential mudslinging and missing children and civil wars and hurricanes and tidal surges and genocides and diseases and financial bail outs and stock market uncertainty and defaulted mortgages and airline troubles and homeless people and fat kids and inflation and Clay Aiken is gay. Obama and McCain have both lost their silly little minds if they think they can fix this. They try to step in like parents who somehow know better than we do. "Step back, son. Grown folks working here."

Well, bravo. You've done a brilliant job so far, Mr. Government.

I've admitted repeatedly that I don't know anything about anything. That's the main reason I have refrained from too much political debate in my writing this time around. Four years ago I was a lot more arrogant than I am today, and quite vocal during the election cycle. I will politely point out the fact that the first half of that last sentence will probably be debated by some. The point is, I just don't know enough to shove my opinion into the mix. There is plenty of that coming from a host of uninformed idiots on any number of networks. Or ask a celebrity. They'll tell you. Both sides have their solutions, and both sides are probably wrong. What is totally obvious, and completely nonpartisan however, is the fact that, and I don't know any other way to put it other than how I have already… shit is fucked up.

I'm sitting behind my door again, stacking blocks on that truck. Anything to interrupt the pattern. Why didn't I hit on the door with my little seven year old fists? Why did I spend my time building new ways to make noise? Because the world was ending, and I just got ignored all the other times I banged with my hands. Of course the people on the other side of the door always know better. They're grown ups. They are in charge. Plus, what do I know? I'm just a kid.

-S

What's funny, is that around the tenth time I was rewriting that first sentence, I got a text message from a really good friend of mine that basically said that , in regard to creative thought, when you can't think of anything it's because you are censoring what you're thinking. It was an unsolicited text message. He had no idea that I was staring at a blank Word document&183;  I haven't even talked to him in a while. How weird.

I had a similar conversation yesterday with another friend of mine that I hardly ever seem to talk to anymore. Somehow it came up in while we were talking that I have somewhat smashed into this creative wall, and can't seem to get anything out. She made the point that I actually have tons to write about, I just choose not to write about them. It's me and my avoidance of anything that makes me seem vulnerable. Fuck. I hate getting called on my own bullshit.

I think I'm going to work out again today. I have a short, steroidal, hyper intelligent, sort of Nazi friend of mine that wants to kill me with these kettle bell weight things. I don't know which is scarier… him, or the fact that I already forgot what the second thing was going to be in this sentence. Definitely him. As a matter of fact, when the world ends, I will be laughing at all of you from his bunker.

I am really surprised that I like the new Offspring CD. And the new Kings of Leon. I'm not surprised about that second one. I've always liked them. I am sort of pissed that everyone knows who they are now. It's really selfish of me to want to keep the bands I like to myself because then they will have to break up and get real jobs because they couldn't make a living. Unless I buy half a million copies of each album myself. I guess they have to get famous so that they can keep making records, sell out artistically, and make me hate them later. Unless they do it like Metallica. Then they can redeem themselves after they suck for a while. I like the new Metallica album. I don't know when it offically comes out, but it came out illegally a month or so ago ago. I stole it because Lars Ulrich is a dick.

I really want to reread that last paragraph and see if it made sense, but I promised myself that I wouldn't do that until I was finished writing this, and even then I wouldn't let myself change anything. I should have taken my Chantix already today, but you're not supposed to take that on an empty stomach, and I'm not hungry. Supposedly it makes you nauseous. And suicidal. I don't think a pill can make you suicidal. I think that if it does, you were probably crazy to begin with. Unless I end up going crazy, and then someone should sue them and use this blog as evidence.

I need a new book to read.

I'm going to Iraq in two weeks. I just thought about that because I looked up and saw this wooden camel I got the last time I was in Bahrain. This trip I get to fly on a Blackhawk, which sounds like a lot of fun. Yes, I saw Blackhawk Down. No, that doesn't concern me. Anything could crash. Cars could crash, and we drive them every day. Of course, no one shoots at cars. They do in certain neighborhoods, but not in mine. I wish they would though. Some of the people that live around me should be shot. Not lethally, but like in the kneecap.

I need to get up and turn my coffeemaker back on. I don't want to get up though. I need to get my guitar restrung too. One of the strings is broken. I wonder how many songs you can play without using the G string. Hahaha, I have a broken G string. I soooo did not type that on purpose. I bet you can't play many though, not that I could really play anything even if I had all six strings. I would be the worst guitarist possible for a band. All I can play is the intro to about ten songs. Just as the verse started, we would have to change songs. Our lead singer would hate me. I'm not sure why we would have a lead singer at all actually. He would be more of a lead stander. Sometimes the drummer doesn't kick in until after the intro either, now that I'm thinking about it. We could get rid of him, too. All we would need is a bassist and me. That way we wouldn't have to split the money so many different ways. We would suck, but we would each get a bigger cut. I don't know how the Dave Matthews Band ever made it past the bar gig days. I bet everyone made a dollar a show. Dave probably took two dollars. They probably all shared an apartment.

Speaking of a lot of people in one apartment, if ten Mexican guys turn up dead next door to me, I didn't do it.

I need to learn to play the didgeridoo. Spell check didn't tag that word. Wow, I'm smarter than I thought I was. I have one in my apartment but I have no idea what to do with it. I also have a Rubik's Cube sitting next to it. That's apparently the part of my apartment where I keep the stuff I can't figure out. The guitar, the didgeridoo, the Rubik's Cube. They're all in the same little corner. I need to put season 2 of Lost over there as well, because I can't figure that out either. I can solve the cube all the way down to the last side, and then it gets all complicated. I really miss the person that gave me the Rubik's Cube.

That coffee has probably gotten cold by now. I should go. I need to exercise. I always misspell "exercise" the first time I type it. I spell it "excersise" even though I know it's incorrect. Now I want Hot Pockets. I'll write something intelligent later.

-S

I still believe all that. I just can't smoke them anymore. In response to all the emails asking how, it's a combination of Chantix, Alan Carr's book, and a fuzzy memory of me running a 4:54 mile. I miss that. I'm now on a mission to do that again. And I am not even close to being able to. That's not speculation, that is fact.

I know this because my body still hurts from the attempt. I spent this past weekend at the Improv in Dallas with my friends Chris and Rachel, still in the "two or three cigarettes a day phase". The two of them know my competitive streak well, and waited until I started drinking to push me just a little. When the conversation turned to what else I was going to do to get healthy, I quickly made it clear that my body was in the exact same state it was in before I started smoking. I knew it was bullshit when I said it, and I'm pretty sure the sarcastic grin on my face reinforced that. Still, we were drinking, and Chris and I have head-butted each other metaphorically on more than one occasion in the past because of vodka and whiskey. Naturally, I got called on it.

"You are NOT in the same shape you were before."

"Yes I am."

"So you can still run?"

"Yup."

"A mile?"

"Yup."

"How fast?"

"Pick a time. I don't care."

"Can you do it in under ten minutes?"

"Ha! I can do it in nine."

"Cool. I'll pick you up at noon then."

Fuck. That was not how this was supposed to go. By the time we got to the park, I was painfully aware that this might not have been the wisest of decisions. Chris had already been more than clear that I could back out if I wanted to… that if something went wrong, like my arm going numb while I was running, that I could bow out gracefully. He knew when he said it that I would rather die in a park in Dallas than be wrong. I can be quite stubborn.

The problem was, this was beginning to worry me a little, and my typical stress response was to light up a cigarette. In hindsight, that might not have been the best idea five minutes before running a mile. Still, I had to do it.

Chris and Rachel took up a comfortable spot in the shade halfway down the lap, and watched. My pace was very natural, falling back in the rhythm from years ago. "This is a cakewalk", I thought to myself, and then laughed a little on the inside. I even extended a friendly middle finger to the two of them as I passed them. I tossed out the same finger on the second lap, though a little less quickly. By the third lap, there may or may not have been a middle finger. I don't know. I couldn't feel my arms. And it obviously doesn't get better the longer you run. Sweat and spit and drool were streaming down my face, like a bull that's been run too hard. It might have been foam, I don't know. I was dying. Still a lap and a half to go.

Now they're flipping me off as I run by. Wait. Is that them? Where am I? Am I dead? No… I'm still running. Why is everything blurry? Just. Keep. Running. Last lap. I hear a voice. 7:20! What? Seriously? Holy shit… I can do it in eight minutes instead of nine. Keep. Running. The smoothness is long gone from my steps… I can hear it. CLUMP! CLUMP! And I speed up. Fuck both of them.

And I hit the finish line. 8:00 on the dot.

But there was no Rocky music, no Eye of the Tiger, no victorious fist pump in the air. I fell face first into the grass, making seal noises. I sounded like a Sand Person (not the racial epithet, the Star Wars character). My heart has never, ever, in the history of hearts, worked that hard before. All I could do was loft out a "W" sound in the hopes that one of them would grasp that I needed water. Eventually Chris drug me to one of the parks fountains where I buried my face in the pool.

Apparently there are pictures, but I haven't seen them yet. I don't know that I want to. I'm pretty sure it's just my two "friends" laughing and pointing at my passed out body. Now, I have to get myself back to a point where I can run again.

I am way cooler than Guy-Passed-Out-In-A-Park.

Okay. Maybe I'm not cooler, but I'm definitely faster than him.

-S

It's one of the brilliant realizations that we've come to as people. The awareness that from nothing, anything can be created. While an artist may be responsible for the quote, the actual meaning reaches much farther. The block of marble… the present day… the metaphor is the same. Seldom do we look at our lives as untouched blocks.

Some people hang onto the myths from their pasts and think that somehow that dictates their future. Some people let their imaginations run wild, and instead of creating new ideas and positive directions, they look at the block and see the flaws that sit at the surface, forgetting that all that gets chiseled away as you work through the sculpture.

Maybe it was growing up poor, and never accepting the possibility of clearing the poverty hurdle. Maybe it was an abusive parent or the loss of a loved one or the missed promotion or the failed business. Maybe it's a distaste for your current line of work, or the realization that the person you married is not who you thought they were. Maybe it's a vice, a drug, a personality flaw, a habit. Maybe it's something, anything, that's failed in your life. The point is, it happens. To all of us.

Too many times I think we hang onto those, we reinforce them by acknowledging them, and we give them strength to the point where they become our identities. I didn't just fall down, I am clumsy. I didn't screw up a few relationships, I am unlovable. I don't just smoke, I am a smoker. That last one is the one that's probably the motivation for my writing this in the first place.

Personally, I had to come to the realization that I had assumed "smoker" as an identity. I don't mean publicly, but in my own mind. The insecurity in me that occurs when I don't have one in my hand… my inability to have a phone conversation or take a drive without one… the virtual slavery that I had to take a step back and let myself catch a glimpse of. My adopted identity.

I haven't quit, but it's coming. I even have a book that supposedly works miracles with smokers sitting on my coffee table, loaned to me by my friend Diane. A book that I haven't read yet, but am saving for the exact moment that I get the psychological bullshit straightened out in my mind. I'm not ready for that last puff yet. I have, however, gone from two and a half packs a day everyday for the last fifteen years, to somewhere under six cigarettes a day for the last week and a half. Amazingly, I find myself not even wanting those four or five. I might have had three today, I don't even remember. What's clearing for me is this…

…I am not simply the sum of my parts. I am not limited by what I was last year or last month or even an hour ago. I'm not obligated to anyone or anything to continue doing one single thing I am currently doing right now if I don't want to. That's a bold realization when you take into account the amount of people who think somehow that they do. That's what divorce lawyers and doctors and two week notices are for. They are your exit clause, your green light to smash the statue in front of you and wheel in a brand new block of marble.

All the made up bullshit we let swim around in our heads, the failures from ten years ago that still hang around our necks, the albatrosses that we won't let go of… all of it can be let go of in a second. Instantly. And we have to. If we don't, each one of them becomes another chip with the hammer at that block. Sooner or later you'll realize that your options are limited before you even start carving of your own accord.

It's a small example, but I went from 50 cigarettes a day to 6 instantly, and I'll go from 6 to none just as instantly. Anyone that knows me knows what a massive about face this is. I don't say it here for encouragement or congratulations (so please save that for another time, hahaha), but to make the point.

Letting go of who we "are" opens us up to be what we actually can be. We just have to acknowledge, and then cut, the bullshit we've been feeding ourselves all of our lives.

-S

Normally when comics get together and talk shop, especially about material, someone always interjects with the line, "Everything has already been done". I must have had one of these conversations recently, and I fell asleep last night with it in my head. Accompanying it was the quote from Solomon about there being "nothing new under the sun". I don't really have any clue what he meant by that in a biblical sense, but he was right.

In some shape or form, everything has always existed… the only thing that changes is how it is put together. Matter can neither be created or destroyed. I'm sure it took scientists centuries to put that little gem together. It can, however, be rearranged. That's where we get all this "new" stuff. It stands to reason though that the only thing keeping us from anything is the knowledge of how to arrange the things we have right now into something else that we've imagined.

It's all in the organization. Even now, I'm trying to organize certain words that have always existed in a way that communicates a certain thought. I'm probably failing miserably. Think back to the cavemen, whatever that word means to you…. some primitive man with a couple of sticks and hunger pangs. Why did it take him so long to make it from the Great Rift Valley, through Europe, and across the land bridge into North America? Realistically, he could have driven. Everything he needed to make a car was already there.

The raw elements needed to manufacture steel, the fossil fuel needed to make gasoline… He could have built a factory full of car building robots and a series of gas stations along the way. Sure he still needed tools to build those things, but he could have made the tools too. He just needed to go through the progression of ideas in his mind. Theoretically, he could have gone to the moon. There are no new materials today that make any of that possible. The only thing different is that we've now found a way to put those things together in a way that resolves a certain need in our society. Maybe the caveman didn't see that need, or maybe it actually does take thousands of years to let the process happen.

Maybe the only thing keeping us from time travel or teleportation or those little meals in a pill like in the 5^th Element is that we simply haven't waited long enough. But it's also possible that maybe we just lack the imagination necessary to envision cool shit like that as truly possible. Maybe we are caught up in the immediate present and can't let ourselves toy with the idea that the necessary tools to create anything we can imagine already exist, right here, right now. We just have to arrange them the right way.

The right combination of chemicals will cure cancer, or provide unlimited fuel, or unlimited food. The right combination of ideas or ideals could stop wars… could get people to see things through a different set of eyes. Maybe we're stuck in a broken rhythm of how we try to put things together.

Maybe we're swinging sticks and just barely discovering fire when we could be going to the moon or flying, not walking, across continents. We've figured out how to create a lot of really good things in the last millennium, but we're a long way away from anything great.

We just have to put it together.

-S

It's one day in, and can rest easily knowing I gave it a shot. I watched the guy pretend to run around the top of the half a billion dollar Bird's Nest Stadium like Peter Pan, then I watched a billion dollars worth of fireworks explode. What followed though just doesn't suck me in like it's supposed to.

Women's 10M Rifle? Eat me. I'm sure that this sport means something to these people, but watching a Croatian lady with bandaids over her eyes shoot what looks like a Daisy Air Rifle at a target 30 feet away is about as exciting as watching butter melt. Thankfully I only caught the end of the event, and they quickly cut to badminton.

Fucking badminton.

Apparently there weren't enough shitty events. As long as we're making stuff up, give me all the schoolyard P.E. games. Dodgeball, four square, tetherball… Or even better, make Yahtzee a sport. Or Megatouch Monkey Bash. Who dedicates their life to such a non-sport? Stop feeding me this inane horseshit. If you're really insistent on adding new events, bring back that Mayan death game with the rock ball where the winners killed the losers and ate them.

I'm sure badminton is not a new addition and has been in the Olympics for a while, but I don't care enough to do the research. I suppose we gravitate to all of this because it's representative of some kind of pseudo-world-harmony. Still, it's happening in China… where they are probably imprisoning their athletes for not winning the gold. How do you build a stadium that big, and ultimately that useless, when your citizens make fourteen dollars a day? It just seems like a waste.

On a side note, I really want to see Russia compete against Georgia in something.

But back to China. I'm ready to see the fun stuff this year. After all, it is Beijing. Where is the event where they toss dissidents off a mountain top? Why not just throw human rights activists up for the marksmen to shoot at instead of that crappy blue target? It would definitely be more interesting. Wrong maybe, but much more watchable. Who wants to watch Tank Stopping? I certainly do.

It all reeks of bullshit. I also find it funny that one of the "Friendlies", the official mascots of the 2008 Olympics, is Yingying the Tibetan antelope. Hey Tibet, sorry about all those people the PLA killed… but we'll use one of your goats as a symbol of how we're not really being oppressive dicks.

The politics aside, I think I'm going to try to avoid watching this year. I'm sure there are a ton of really interesting back stories to the competitors, but I still don't care. I will probably miss out hearing about little Ling Mai, who lost both of her legs in a panda feeding gone wrong but somehow managed to qualify in the 100M hurdles anyway. How touching.

I still don't care.

I hope the Chinese win a lot of gold medals though, and sell them for a few years worth of salary so they don't have to go back to the shoe factory. And even if they do go back to the factory it's not a bad thing... I kind of like the idea of knowing I have a pair of Nikes made by a tetherball bronze medalist.

-S

Cut to 1:00 am outside a bar.

There are four guys standing around each other huddled in a frantic circle. Two of them have on pink shirts, one of them has a popped collar, one has a backwards hat with a chunk of hair sticking out of the front… none of them are gay. A typical pile of frat boy nothingness, standing there… are you read for this?

…Calling Triple A to come change the tire on their BMW.

Come the fuck on.

At first it was one of those conversations you don't mean to eavesdrop on but overhear anyway. I thought they were calling a cab. Maybe they were hammered. Maybe they had legitimate engine trouble. Something… Anything… And then I heard, "Flat tire… BMW… How long?…" And I couldn't stop laughing… right in front of them.

"What's so funny"

"Aaaaaaaahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha! Nothing. I have to go get my friends now…"

And I did. I started grabbing everyone I could find. It was like I had seen a unicorn. Four adult males, willing to sit outside and wait for an hour for a mechanic to come change their tire. Four college students, probably driving Daddy's Beamer, perplexed by a flat tire. They had to be confused. I can't explain it any other way. They couldn't have been afraid of the work. There's no way.

I blew a tire about two weeks ago, and Sam and I changed it like a pit crew. Seven minutes and we still got where we were going before everyone else. Like it never happened… It's not a difficult task. I manage to blow tires about once a month I think anyway... It's no big deal. As a matter of fact, I know a couple of guys that could have taken all four tires off and left the car on blocks in the time it took these four jacknuts to make their phone call.

So it's just me standing on the patio showcasing these four sissies like a zoo exhibit. "What you have here is the North American Fraternity Boy Pussy in his natural environment." Even girls were laughing at them. Everyone was, but just quietly enough to not ruin the moment. If people had been overt about the laughter, the four of them might have gotten skittish and gone to change the tire just to make the laughter stop. Instead, everyone was careful not to spook them. It was very strategic… the way you take turns tiptoeing up to the glass of the white tiger display… everyone careful not to mess it up for anyone else.

But we were all laughing at them like children.. listening in…

"Blake. Dude. I have to get home."

"It's cool Trevor, the guy from Triple A said someone was on his way. Let's do another Jagerbomb."

"I can't… I've already had two tonight, plus I drank a Miller Lite. I'm wasted. Where's Morgan?"

"His collar came unpopped. He said he'd be right back."

"Hey Gregory, why are all these people staring at us and then looking away?"

"They're just jealous. They've probably never seen people this cool before."

You're right Gregory… we haven't. Thanks for making our night, Sissy Boy. Maybe next time you should scrub the sand out of your vagina, and see if the four of you can't solve your own problems without using up Daddy's money.

-S

-S