At least four days this week I found myself thinking of things I wanted to write here when I got home, but then when I get home, I just don’t feel like doing it any more. What a loser I am.

Now I could try to salvage the things I would have talked about on those days, but it wouldn’t be the same, so instead, here’s a story ’bout Crebo.

Crebo shot a man and ran away. The man didn’t die, because Crebo had shot him in the foot. Also, Crebo had shot him with a pea shooter. Nonetheless Crebo ran until he couldn’t run any more. Then he fell in a ditch. In this ditch, Crebo found a stick of dynamite. Crebo decided to take up smoking and start with that smoking that dynamite. Luckily for Crebo he did not have a lighter. Unfortunately for Crebo, he did have a grenade. He tried to use the grenade to light the dynamite. This did not work, but Crebo was badly wounded. Fortunately the man who Crebo had not killed made it to the ditch while there was still lots of time to call for an ambulance. Unfortunately the man did not look in the ditch and thus did not see Crebo and so did not call an ambulance. Crebo died, but fortunately he left all his money to medical research. Unfortunately Crebo didn’t actually have any money. The end.

Well, I suppose I was wrong in stating I would write something today. But I’ll see what I can do about that tomorrow. But here’s something:

Rubber Jimmy was not a real guy. He was fictional. And he certainly wasn’t Rubber. But he was still called Rubber Jimmy. At some point, he picked up the name, and it stuck. That’s the story of Rubber Jimmy.

This guy was totally baking a fried ham when it bit him. Surprised that his ham had a mouth, teeth and the necessary musculature to bite he took it back to the store from which he’d bought it. The storeowner explained that that particular ham was always troublesome. The man got his money back and the storeowner threw out the ham. The end.

That’s neither a joke nor a story, really. It’s just a paragraph about a ham that could bite.

For as long as Bosmo could remember, he’d been a truck. But that all changed one morning when he woke up and was not a truck. He was a man. This was an unnexpected turn of events for Bosmo, who had previously assumed that he would be a truck forever. However, he took it in stride and lived well as a man, until he went back to being a truck. And that was that.

Barring any major mechanical malfunctions, tonight should be a nice, easy and short workday for me. I like it.

Okay, it’s nine years in the future and you suddenly don’t have lungs. You’re still getting around fine without them, but people have started mocking you and it is, frankly, getting annoying. Finally some guy dressed like a pirate comes up to you claiming to have the power to return your missing organs. Unfortunately it turns out he thought you were some guy whose shipment of musical instruments had gone missing. I guess what I’m trying to say is, the future, she looks bleak.

Haiku!

Golden Explosives!
They’re the most expensive kind.
Worth every penny.

Today I was informed that I needn’t be at work until two hours later than I was expecting. Which kicks ass. I got to be all eat-with-Marq-and-Kip-y. Which is way better than being at work. Way better. But now I still have to get ready for work. Which is less pleasing.