Pantslessness
I think that the heat is starting to break. That is the only explanation that I can come up with for my unprovoked lawn mowing and bike tuneup-ing. Tuning up. One of the spokes is broken, but I got a bunch of gunk out of the chain, straightened out the mounting of the rear wheel, and put air in the tires. I rode in circles a little bit, but I was too lazy to go in and get my helmet so I could ride around the neighborhood.
The brake pads still need to be replaced, because right now braking is more of a suggestion that an action. The derailleurs need to be adjusted (note to self: google for directions) and I need to buy a cup to protect the precious cargo that I keep in my pants from the metal bar that is always threatening to leap up and strike a +3 blow to my groinal region. Actually, the bike shop where I acquired my bike almost sized that blue monster properly, it just barely nibbles at my scrotum, like a baby giraffe reaching for that succulent top leaf on the tree. I doubt that they had any $40 custom fitted bikes, so I’m not upset. I wish that the wheels were straight, but you can’t have everything, especially if the University won’t give you your leftover money from the student loans. My preciousss, those greedy Universitieses, tricksie tricksie, they hurt poor Bleag-ol.
Lisa and Stan keep threatening to buy me an air conditioner. They feel responsible for every drop of sweat that I exude. I keep trying to tell them that air conditioners cost money, but my bitching about the heat is always free. If I ever stop coming up with interesting turns of phrases to describe the heroic journey of each salty drop of sweat down my forehead I will move into the refrigerator, but until then, lord, it is still hot.
Paul did indeed go downtown last night: 
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A few of my friends have heard me say that I do not believe in the supernatural, but today in Formal Languages and Automata Theory class I was thinking about decidability and proofs, and how when determining the decideability of an item, sometimes you can prove that it is not decideable by relating it to an item that is proven to be undecidable. That attached itself to the idea of a “supreme being,” if you will, which later led to the idea that if God were a number, perhaps God is an infinitely long string that cannot be enumerated. That would mean that no machine could ever decide the language that is God. This concludes any pretense of me not going to hell, because I am sure not going to church. Well, not unless there are free donuts, bad coffee, monotone singing, and upright napping. Later tonight I will be struck by lightning in bed. Hopefully that isn’t true, because if I die in bed I will regret not smoking beforehand. (only after, haha) Not that I want to smoke anymore, just occasionally when I get a whiff of Camel Lights Box 85s being enjoyed by some lucky smoker. Oh Lord, just one more… carton.
Where was I? Oh yeah, bemoaning the university to which I have tied the next two or three years of my life. Enough of that, though, how about that douchebag Karl Rove? Isn’t treason a hanging offense? If you can’t find a rope, maybe you could use an electronic human zapper. I bet they have those things in Florida and Texas. Most of the time I am against capital punishment, but since Karl Rove is not actually a human being, but a dark necromancer from beyond the void, in this case wasting his ass wouldn’t affect anyone’s karma negatively.
I can picture him now:
“Do not succumb to the weakness of truth, Cheney. I can take life from you as easily as I gave it.”
“Augh! Argh! My heart! Oh, the pain!”
“That is but a taste of the torment that you will suffer at the hands of our master if you fail us, Cheney!”
“Please, Karl, I beg you…”
“I should kill you for your weakness, but you shall serve another purpose yet.”
“Thank you, oh my master, thank you for your benevolence once again.”
“Here is a bucket of live babies, you may feed upon their souls now, for you will need the strength for the horrors to come.”
I realise that me relating the senior members of our nation’s administrations to some sort of evil wizard and golem/undead dude isn’t particularly constructive, but you have to remember that I converted two Bush voters into non-Bush voters, and they are spreading the goodness like some sort of Ponzi scheme. In the end I will get a penny from every registered voter, and that’s when I will buy my own country. You’d proclaim that you’re an island — I’d proclaim that I’m one too. Next up: elect a real human into office.
“Tricksie, tricksie” Hee-hee. Da Pooper makes me laugh. That’s why we like you for a roommate. Well, that’s one of the reasons. The Keathlys love ya.
Anyhow, it might be too late in the season to follow through on that A/C “threat”. But if we see a good sale IT’S ON! It would still be cool to buy one of those heater/air conditioning units like they have in hotel rooms. But your computers are such a good heat source that it seems needless at this point.
Yes, KR is a dark necormancer. He needs to be killed, although I’m not sure what his achillies heel is. Every evil villan has one though, so there must be a way to kill him, or at least suck him into the hellish dimension from which he was cast upon us. Holy water? Nah, too predictable. Breathmints? Nah, too “Kory”. Maybe burying him in a pile of My Little Ponies. You could attend the Gemtastic Seminar to find out if there is a gem that could kill him.
Hee-hee again. Live babies. So funny! Did you read The Onion’s article about sunbathing? It said to stick a “test baby” on the driveway for 1/2 hour to test the UV rays. DAMN FUNNY SHIT.
You have to remember that I was raised by a Karl Rove like family. I’m lucky to be alive and in full control of my faculties. . . or am I?????
less words, more pictures