05/28/2004 - 12:58 p.m. | i gotta get my girl to rock that body

You know what the good part about Rice Krispies Treats Cereal is (besides its complete lack of nutritional value - chomp chomp)? They still include little toys in the box. Hardly anyone does that anymore! You have to sent in UPCs, or it's just some shitty tattoo, or there's nothing at all. Good thing the Treats people know they have the market cornered and can charge anything for their product and know that I personally will pay it. Leaves them enough left over to give me crazy Spider-Man wrist light things. Now isn't that the most hip accessory you've ever heard of? Shining a bright LED of a web in some poor stripper's face and giggling. Too bad my wrist is too big for it. Never thought I'd have to say that. Stupid Heather Frisch arms.

I'm a total materialist now. Everyday when I get dressed, I add up how much my outfit costs (if I were paying full price). $203 and assorted change today. Don't I feel such a slut. The change is because I got one of those cute little homemade flowers that veterans sell this time of year. I've attached it to my belt loop as a secret accessory. My favorite kind, as hardly anybody ever actually sees it. EXCEPT THE LADIES. Shut the fuck up, Nate.

There have been some weird assumptions, though, lately. Like Michelle's mom asked her out of nowhere if she was dating me. I can see where Shelly gets her incredible common sense from. And I guess Michelle's old ex thought that I was Kyle, because I am the "better looking one." Hahahaha - what the fuck is going on, world? In other news, did you know that my defining characteristic is liking box wine? Worried that this might officially classify me as a wino, I discussed other possible options with Dank. We both agreed that random, unadulterated, bile-raising hatred of Phil Collins might do the trick - especially the part about turning everything everyone says into a vague, boisterous insult. "Man, I hate homework..." "You know who fucking loves homework? Phil Collins! With 100 million dicks in his mouth!" I know, I know - I shouldn't rip off Seanbaby, but when a man has reached such levels of comedic perfection, I feel that the rest of society should recycle it into their day-to-day lives. Kind of like how everyone quoted Jim Carrey movies all the time ("Ssssmokin'!") except, you know, funny this time.

Yeah, guess who pussed out on us with the whole strip club thing? Sons of bitches. First, Lisa M. (it would be rude to call her "Justin's Lisa," no?) beared the bad news that the local joint is actually 21 and over, but after a little research (and discussion of AmishTowne - "the Boringest Place in Illinois"), we found an 18+ winner over by Danville - and "over by Danville" is really our preferred location for anything. No bar (BYOB - what the hell?!), no food, just "girls dropping from the ceiling through a cloud of smoke and a dazzeling light show." That sounds like one scary motherfuckin' place. I imagine some sort of gray warehouse with a bunch of naked women half-heartedly gyrating on stacks on wooden pallets. We also found an 18 and over joint up in Aurora, so we were gonna shoot up there and get Smacko, but he still has check and bullshit, so it'll have to wait 'til grduation. Just the idea of seeing our lame friends with giant breasts smashed into their face really amuses Spritz and me. But, of course, he's lawful evil, and I'm chaotic neutral. Er - ignore.

So, as part of our agenda from last evening('s love making), Spritz and I were gonna go to Bennigan's, but we hadn't completely given up on B1 and B2, so we hatched a devious plan: Invite them to dinner with us, and then just turn on the child safety locks and drive them to Danville anyway! Use the gun if necessary. Unfortunately, the killjoys were already eating hamburgers when we showed up. Fucking hamburgers. Phil COllins makes hamburgers - out of the internal organs of orphans and Jewish people! Bennigan's sort of sucked - I don't think my stomach is ready for that type of food right now. I ate this can of Aldi pineapple shards, and it smelled like stinky feet. Spritz had another fucking whole slab of ribs. He's gonna turn into a pork any day now. At least the epitome of Jarheads was there ("URGH," he says) and this violent Asian boy and interracial pregnant couple and two guys drinking this huge blue margarita and the hostess who totally digs at least one of us. Probably not me. Fuckers. But the world is my oyster, really. Which is to say it is an aphrodisiac. Which is to say I have a semi. Fucking nymphos. Spritz and I tried to chase some geese; they fear nothing. Maybe once we start throwing rocks, hmm?

We've reached Sarah Lucas' inner sanctuary. Sort of. We were walking in from Spritz's car... OK, sorry. Tangent time. WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT SMELL IN THE PARKING LOT?! I mean, honestly! I noticed it a few days ago, and it was already confusing me then. Now I just fucking hate it. I can't tell what it is, either. Like, first I thought it was something like plants and stale crotch, but then Spritz and I were discussing it, and I've come to the conclusion that it's old pizza coated with even older semen. Like a whole vat full of semen. Just like what Phil Collins drinks to kept his complexion clear. Whatever it is, though, it's the most angering smell you can possibly imagine. One can't help but scream about it. Or I can't anyhow. So! Like I was saying, we were walking up the ramp, and we kind of peeked in the window as we walked by like we usually do, and fucking Jason Kahn was in there with 2 of the girls who that live there. So, they invite us in, and we stay and chat for an hour, more, dunno, and no doubt we blew their socks off because we are so charming and funny, and they end up wondering, "Why is Jason Kahn here when we can have these guys?!" Good question, ladies. I have a sneaking suspicion that I am "the funny one," but sitcoms spin around guys like me, so fucking deal with it. I do know that there was a mental flinch when they started talking about creepy people who walk past their window more than once or who are found looking a little too long. WE THOUGHT YOU WOULDN'T NOTICE. But, they will be living in a house on Busey and Illinois next year with Sarah Lucas, and we figure if we keep schmoozing, there's no doubt we shall have our in. I've been waiting my whole life for this. Ahem.

I just gave Kyle a ride to work. Since I couldn't find my keys (Kyle guffaws - yeah, fucker, but in the time it took me to drive back here, I'd already figured out exactly where I'd put them, and lordy lordy, they were there!), we took Kyle's car. Man, it's so tiny and cute and responsive. Someday I will get out of Car Purgatory, but for now, I'll take huge and slow and monstrous. Draw other parallels if you must.

The rest of the night wasn't all that impressive. Wasn't really impressive thus far neither, though, huh? We decided to wait on the strip club for Kyle because we need at least a third as fall guy... I mean, buddy. buddybuddybuddybuddybuddy I talked to my favorite of the nymphos and played with a hankerchief, trying to make darling little hats so that I could look all waifish and attract the ladies. Then I really wanted to dress up like a cowboy, but it would still be me here alone then, just dressed up as a cowboy, so fuck it. The real desire was to run around and yell shit like, "I just robbed the Pine City Stage, you gutless yellow pie-slinger!" GIVE ME A FOCUS FOR MY ENERGY!