06/17/2004 - 5:17 p.m. | "Finally, someone invented a way to make more Asians."

Luckily, things have been boring enough that this should be no great chore... right? I don't know if I mentioned this, but Shelly said that part of the recent charm of my diary has been my newfound confidence. More like, "Newfound ability to hide lack of confidence," but it's a start. I always thought that my lack of arrogance was a strong selling point, but apparently girls (Shelly being a representative of them in their entirety) just love the cavalier prick types. TALK ABOUT YOURSELF BECAUSE GIRLS ARE TOO DUMB TO ASK YOU QUESTIONS IN TURN. I guess a healthy touch of misanthropy doesn't hurt. My point is - was - that although I feel like I made a fairly good impression on Kara last Sunday when we worked together, it's hard to say what with everyone in society being one tremendous fake. Do I have that about right? I still love full-blown honesty, especially at highly-inappropriate times, but that is supposed to be my downfall according to this script here. My dad predicts I will be beaten to death at the strip club. Well, "squashed like a grape" were his chosen words. Surprising lack of faith in me as a Human Death Machine. The skinny ones are the guys who keep coming at you, even if their face is made of raw hamburger. Regardless, there is a happy medium, and I am supposedly walking the razor-thin line (turn and swerve) with some degree of competence. I assume a bard is playing his song then.

Forget it. Pretty much minutes after walking into work last Sunday, some little kid pulled on the handle of the M&M's machine again. I decided that perhaps our written warnings were not universal enough and took it upon myself to draw a cautionary poster for the children. Here is a recreation:

I think it is very clear and concise, but Kara called it "lawsuit-inducing," so I have to make a few calls first. OK, so I know I finished work at 6:30, but what does that leave for the rest of the night? Aw, who knows? Time off becomes too much of a blur unless someone is thrusting their vagina into my face. *shudder* I am going to grow up into a disturbed man. Oh! Finally remembered! Went out for Mexican with Matt and KC. It was nice to see them again, and Dos Reales (Two Reals?) has the best enchiladas I've ever had, finally justifying why I order them everywhere I go, but it felt like I led conversation the whole time there as well. Do people think I'm such a stunning conversationalist, or is it that they don't want to be bored by answers I may happen to give? Please explain. Oh - and incidentally, A PLAGUE HAS DESCENDED UPON ON OUR HOUSEHOLD. Plague, dementor, something, whatever. Where's Spritz?

Monday was my first day of class at Parkland. Tuesday, Wednesday, and today were my second, third, and fourth days, respectively. Facts are the most boring things in the world. It's a fairly standard class - the guy's not a bad teacher, and we've got about the requisite number of community college mutants: The huge fat girl who isn't just taking summer classes here, token black guy, the expert on all things guy, white trash t-shirt person (Harley-Davidson! YEAH!! Every time the professsor makes mention of Harley-Davidson, I give the girl a knowing look, like, "You've got a t-shirt with that on it!" It's no wonder I'm going to get beaten up), the one almost-hot girl, etc. And a deaf guy! Wish I knew sign language. It's kind of a boring class (aren't pretty much all of the ones you actually go to boring, though?), but not really through the fault of the professor, who, turns out, is also the vice-president of the college. Dank made the best series of suggestions: "You should rub elbows! And then when he asks you why you're creepily rubbing his elbows, grin to reveal a bloody smile!!" lol - I can't stop laughing at that. Blood capsules would add a whole new level of comedy to everything I did. I'm not sure America is ready. And I know you're not.

Anyway, waking up so early (ahem) gives me loads of time to do extra things. Like taking naps. And tanning excessively to try and cover up the zits on my face. Or, as I like to call them, B1 and B2. I know some comedian or something was like, "Sex is God's joke on mankind" with all the funny faces and blah blah blah. No way, dude. Pimples are the fucking shit on everyone's parade. I can just imagine the design session. "OK, so we're gonna take the holes in the skin and clog it with some junk, so it gets infected, and so that at any given time, each person's face is filled with varying degrees of pus!" "Ooh, that's pretty good! BUT! Let's make it so that this infection stretches out the skin and makes it fucking hurt like a motherfucker! AND! We'll make them so they're all big and red and gross, so that everyone will notice!" "Hmm, nearly perfect! If we just make it so that trying to get rid of them will leave horrible scars, we should be about set." Well, we'll just see about that, God, once I fucking start comparing Jerry Garcia to you. Who's laughing now, bitch?!

But I digress. I have some projects that I should be working on, but I'm just not full of the type of energy I need for that right now. I'm really reclusive, and I've been reading a lot. Ellis is pretty good, and yet I find myself far more addicted to the IMDB message boards regarding who Hermione will end up liking in the Harry Potter books. I refuse to discuss, but reading the arguments are far more fun than they should be. And they led me to this, which you should not read unless you have been coked up beyond all belief or are me. Those are two different things, people.

On Monday, I had my second interview at Hot Topic. I feel I am almost certainly a shoe-in. I mean, besides the fact that in the two times I've gone in there and waited, three people came up to me and asked questions about stuff, thinking I was an employee, there was also the fact that in their little trial-by-fire thing where I have to display how I would greet and talk to people, I totally convinced some fat guy to buy all this piercing shit. And then I'm all like, "Fuck the corporate world!" and "I hate Abercrombie" and they didn't know either of the artists I had most recently bought CDs from (HA!), and I was wearing a homemade t-shirts (A new one, but I don't think it would show up very well in picture form, so just come visit me, OK?), so yeah. I am punk rock supreme. Give me the damn job, so I can turn it down. HA HA HA I'm getting worried. I even made a stop at the piercing places to see if they did navels. Looks like I might have to go somewhere a little less mall-friendly. Sigh. What shall the neighbors say?

Smacko was in town on Monday, but I wasn't up for doing anything illicit, and they weren't up for going to the strip club on an off night, so I just sort of lurked in here. I know, back to being a recluse. I just don't have a lot of patience these days. It's strange. We did go to Pizza Hut, though, God only knows why. And the poor cashier hated our fucking guts because we totally went all idiot savant on her, and between Kyle, Dank, Smacko, and I, we could not figure out how to divide up what we owed evenly. I'm sure our pizza was filled with unhealthy amounts of semen. Shooting things while not drunk sort of defeats the whole purpose, in my opinion. I mean, so what if you hit something then? That's pretty much normal - I can stay and here and play "Duck Hunt" and get the same rush. I figure at least alcohol would put you and nature on equal terms.

And then what the hell did I do on Tuesday? I remember going out... somewhere... but where would I go? I don't have any friends, really... And possibly not any money. Oh yeah! Taffies with Spritz and Kyle. Who would drive so far out of their way to eat at a shit family restaurant? Make a guess. We cleaned and listened to Hugh Brown Shu (!!! Missed you!) and then I got lost in nerdatry for a while. And then... I forget again. I think my brain has taken to editing out the most boring portions of the day that I might write diary entries quicker. Good show, old sport.

Today's title is regarding cloning.