The invisible salesman

tried to peddle his wares,

but he had no buyers,

because he wasn't there.

(Author's Note: This little piece was written BEFORE the movie Identity [starring John Cusack] was scripted, casted for, and even premiered. There is a similar poem said by a character that goes something like: "While playing on the stairs today/ I met a man who wasn't there/ he wasn't there again today/I wish, I wish he'd go away". While some movie buffs probably immediately pointed a crooked, accusing finger, I assure you that mine was written first!)

Two little kids,

playing at their home.

They hear an ice cream truck,

promising tasty ice cream cones.

They jump up, elated,

grab their piggy banks.

Neighborhood kids line up outside

like soldiers in their ranks.

The bigger boys push forward,

obliviously selfish,

to stake their claim for creamy goodness,

horribly relentless.

The toddlers sob,

the kindergartners weep,

the glorified Ice Cream Truck

come screeching down the street.

The smaller kids sense it,

something isn't right.

They scatter to their homes.

The bullies stay to fight.

The door swings slowly open,

a hulking man steps out.

He raises an odd contraption,

he's the keeper of "the route".

The bullies' courage falters,

retreating footsteps pound.

They're much to slow, he fires the gun.

Brain Freezes all around.

This was the tale of the Ice Cream Mafia,

to believe it isn't easy.

Just don't be a bully, and beware the godfather,

"Mint Chocolate" Chip Bonadicci.

I think I may have a treat for my fans tonight. I feel as though...yes...

I may just go on a tear tonight.

It's 10:52, I've nothing to do ( Maybe I'll try on a shoe...), so I guess I decided to write in a confounded thing that few people read, one person respects, and most everyone ceases to acknowledge. That's right! I'm talking about Billy's weblog! No, no, I kid; I'm speaking of mine, of course.

I have a weekend standing guard between College and I, and it's crumbling like an old pound cake. I attended AUM's orientation yesterday (that's Friday, August 19th 2004) and spent all day exploring the campus. Oh, the had 'Peer Monitors' you were supposed to follow around but after half a day with them I realized I'd learn much more if I seceded from the group. I left without much of a fight.

So there I was, strolling around the very scenic (but baking, God was it freaking FRYING) campus. I was with Candace most of the time, and although she was a bit of a prude (with all due respect, love) we had a decent time exploring our future marathon walks (that is what it feels like to walk from class to class). I got all kinds of great (albeit useless) stuff from the AUM bookstore for free due to my scholarship, but was careful to save some money for those "emergency" situations when a professor suddenly wants me to buy a Golden duck's ass for a science project or something (Duck's asses was a very small section in the back of the store; 'twas smelly).

By now my use of parantheses and description of my day must be boring you, so I'll attempt to move on to something of interest.

As you can see, I plugged my Poetry section on my last post and was just wondering who else is interested in Poetry and writes their own, etc. Oh, and by the way: If it's generic, don't talk to me.

Did I cover everything? Let's recap:

1)Made fun of Bill.

2)College and how it tastes like cake.

3) The prude, the bookstore, and the Golden Duck's ass.

4)Blatant Pretention

5)Recap.

Well I didn't go on a tear, as I promised, but I did write a little something. It took me a good twenty minutes to write this pyrite! On a final note, ...again I have nothing. But drive safely and visit me again, or on your next car ride I'll pop up from your back seat with a bloody meat-hook and a million-dollar smile! Good night, fans.

Hey new phrase: "You have about as much appeal as a naked banana."

...By the way, check out my poetry section bitches; thou shalt be satisfied!

To express the thought on paper

is difficult to do.

The nothing that I think,

the Psychological Flu.

Far better than the thought,

untampered with by time,

it threatens with an upturned smile,

the hero of the rhyme.

This entry will be short.

I was informed yesterday by a security guard at the outdoor mall in Montgomery, a fun little place called Eastchase, that dancing (yes, dancing) is not permitted.

         Another night, another log; more disgruntled strangers, more welcome comments for those near, dear, and queer to me. But I jest! So I suppose you songbirds wish to know of my doings? A query to which I will gladly respond, but first and foremost on my mind is this: Are any of my "log" perusers fan of  The Dark Tower series by the infamously famous Stephen King? You fellow worshippers let yourselves be known (Bill, as a close and personal friend, I know you are a fan, so you need not retort!)! That having been said, on to my doings.

    How sorely disappointed you all must be to hear that I have done nothing! Nothing any strangers would find terribly interesting. I did manage to have couple of nights with my sweetheart (she goes by the gorgeous name of Candace) this week. I do that on most of my nights. So, fans, if you are looking for an autograph...you know my location. What else? I did manage quite an accidental rendezvous with my good pals (and fellow cutthroats) Billy, known to most of you villains as Legato_Bluesummers, and Marc known to the hipsters and grunge connoiseurs as AgainstYou. I was driving along, executing a perfectly legal right turn at a red light and this giant, blue cadillac jumped out of nowhere. ** So I pulled out my nine mil' and busted the skank bitch's tires. He tried to push the gas and was scrubbin asphalt with his hubcaps so I did the punkass a favor and capped him in the forehead.***

So we hiled one another (Yes, I meant hile; it's gunslinger jargon.) and pulled into a nearby gas station. We spent the remainder of the night cruising in his Cadillac, my ass being careful to avoid pushpins on the seat that fell (not quite by accident, I suspect) point end up. We ended up at my house minus Marc as he had an appointment at Dr. Wes's practice. We actually spent the remainder of our time trying to get this damn website to work.

May I interject for a second, Robin?

Sure Obsessive Compulsive, just as long as you don't make a mess.

Thanks. So why the hell would I want to go to a new fucking dialouge box when I press tab at the beginning of a new paragraph? Why? I wouldn't. So here I am, typing this glorious log, and I press tab and what the hell happens? My blinking vertical line (Forgive me, I forgot its proper name) move to an entirely different box! Of course I test this odd occurence again and again only to reach the same outcome. Damn this 20six system! Damn it to the farthest and most vile nooks of Hell. Fuck indenting!? I guess you assholes don't indent in the UK...well damn you too!

We finally got it to work, got up to some mischief, and called it a night at about 12:20. Good times. That was Tuesday I believe and one of the only variations of my monotonous schedule. But hey, tomorrow should be fun, I get to go to a haircut, work, go to a party, and hopefully end the night with the most luscious Candace. That's about it for this entry. Please, hold your applause.