Ah… two bowls of cereal down and fuck I am tired and don’t want to type at all. Maybe some lotion, actually I will spare you the masturbation jokes.(/small For now at least.) Hold on a sex. Hey I tried, but it is just so hard. No, not that. You know what I mean, Sicko.

Just beat it.

Why do I always have songs popping into my head? Do they retain significance to the situation?

My fingertips are still really dry.

My eye lids are also drooping.

I ham havin’ a hard time hookin two sentences togehher.

Help me operator I have crossed my eyes and dotted my tees.

Shh. Don’t tell anyone, but I am literally half a sleep right now while writing this.

I gotsta be keepin' up with the Jones’.

How do they do it? I don’t think they sleep. Either they are aliens of a different dimension, or they are on designer drugs discovered in the ‘40’s.

Me, I can do it, just in another fashion. I have supernatural powers, I think I am some sort some kind of Ultraterrestrial. Furthermore, if you give me a designer drug discovered in the ‘40’s I know exactly how the residents of Tralfamadore may feel.

I for years thought that I might have had a broken persona. I now this is the truth. I honestly think, and have thought for a while now that I could be a paranoid schizophrenic. I have many of the tendencies. Well now, I seem to have gotten off track, and I don’t want to start repeating myself, so where was I. I know my persona was broken in two from a young age, some would call it manic depression, some would find other labels, but I knew I had to marry the two. That is what I did; now I am working on finding the right combination of sweet and sour.

You see at first I was too sweet, and everyone was taking advantage; then I was too sour and no one wants continuous exposure to sour, but I have finally found a way to mix the two personalities into one ambiguous persona where it is unclear if I am a nice guy or an asshole. This is the kind of admriable hero our society is in search of; the cocky badass who files his nails and watches stupid RoMos like When Harry met Sally.

If you don’t understand me, it is all yellow Jell-O, baby. But, it could mean you don't know what it means to be alive, and to have experienced all those random nuances that come along with it. You see, I find those turbulent times like riding on the track through the hills and troughs of an old wooden rollercoaster, or if you prefer a high-speed trek through the neighborhood's greenbelts slowing only barely to cross fairly busy roads. Don’t worry I enjoy the cheap thrills of the latter before the former too namely because of the risk.

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