Sunday, September 7, 2008

Matthew Simmons is not to be trusted because he claims that he cannot blog while there is much evidence to the contrary

Ambulances keep speeding past my gas station with their lights flashing. Over and over again throughout the night. It has been like this since the college students came back. It has never been like this before. I didn't start working there before the college students came back last year. A parade of ambulances must be an annual event to celebrate the freshman's first couple of weeks away from home. Maybe the university's health center is not equipped to deal with alcohol poisoning and drunk people falling through university's greenhouse's ceiling (which happened while I was going to school there). My gas station is on the way to the nearest hospital.

A few nights ago, there was a little metal antique car toy-thing on top of one of the gas pumps. I picked it up. There were cobwebs underneath it. I left it behind in case my manager put it there. Later that night, the system showed that someone swiped their card at one of the pumps and that the card was unable to be read. I checked to see which pump it was. It was the same pump as the little metal antique car-thing. The little metal antique car-thing was obviously haunted. The following night, the little metal antique car-thing vanished into the netherworld.

I need to check out my new town's library. It's supposed to be haunted.

I blog a lot less when I'm suffering from allergies. I do everything a lot less.

I am waging was with the evil cat that I live with. It is unfortunate that he is evil because I like cats. He is not really evil. Just going stir crazy from being stuck inside and he doesn't get very much attention from people. I wish his owner would let him outside. His owner is my second roommate who I have said very little to besides "Hi." I've hung out with my other roommate who I like a lot.

We live near a major-ish road. Maybe the cat's owner does not want him to get run over. I say "ish" because we live in a country-ish location.

The cat's name is Zordon.

I am kind of allergic to cats, although I believe I am allergic to many cats rather than just one because I have lived with single cats before without a problem.

Although I am suffering from allergies right now, they began in my last apartment a couple of weeks ago, which was cat-free.

My new room is isolated from the rest of the apartment. It is separated by an empty, long-ish hallway. I walk through a door at the end of the hallway to gain access to the television room and bathroom and kitchen. Usually when I open the door, Zordon runs through it and tries to get into my room. I do not want Zordon in my room. I am allergic to Zordon. Zordon tears up the house. I do not want Zordon to tear up my room.

The door to my room does not close securely. It closes to people, but not to Zordon. It is annoying to have to carry a cat out of the hallway or my room every time I open the hallway door.

The hallway door also doesn't close securely unless I slam it. Sometimes I forgot to slam it. This morning, I went inside my house to discover the hallway door and my door wide open.

Zordon has struck again.

There was also the time Zordon got into my room while I was sleeping and woke me up.

He follows me into the bathroom to. It is great to have to carry a cat out of a bathroom when I really have to take a shit.

He also does cool things like climb up curtains, kitchen counters, and chase moths around the room to eat them. He often runs beneath my feet while I'm walking around the apartment, as if he's either trying to trip me or he wants me to accidentally kick him.

My roommate says he thinks Zordon has kittie down syndrome.

I liked the last cat that I lived with a lot. His name was Garfield. Because he looked like Garfield. He didn't really live there. He would just hang out for days at a time. He was either homeless (and preferred my house to being homeless) or lived across the street (and preferred my house because we fed him). Everybody on my street probably called him a different name. He must have been very confused. I liked hanging out with him. He was very nice. He was fat. He was probably fat because he was so nice and people like to feed nice cats. I rarely had to pick him up when I wanted him to be somewhere else besides my room or whatever. He knew. I would open the door and he would leave. I met him the day I moved into that house. I was reading on the front stoop and he came up to me. That house is now on the market. It was a shithole.

I bought the new issue of The Believer because I needed something to read when I went downtown to do laundry. The Believer is expensive (especially since this issue came apart in my hands). i find it very hit and miss. Some of the articles are wonderful. I haven't read very much of the issue, but I'm really enjoying this article:

I won't say what it's about. You will have to read it.

I also liked Sam Pink's advice column in Dogplotz:

Sam is the one writer whose prose I read regularly on the Internet. I just don't have the attention span to read most internet fiction. I have no idea why. I need print. This is unfortunate because most print journals are boring. Online lit is where it's at. I could save a lot of trouble if I liked reading online. But I don't, so Bust remains a print journal.


sam pink said...


Bradley Sands said...

I am your Mark David Chapman to your John Lennon.