02/08/2005 - 4:13 p.m. | sunflower seeds act as protein

Let's say I've been avoiding NoDoz instinctually - ever since the incident a few summers ago where I took a couple at the factory and went tripping through hell, craving mashed potatoes and being fairly positive that Harve was, in fact, going to murder me. However, there was an extra one on the trip to Gays, and seeing how I was driving, I thought I'd need it. Wrong again, Phillip. Rather than making me more alert, the pill more or less seems to have gone directly up to my brain and started punching shit around. I felt swirly. But fine, whatever. I still had enough force of will to get us all back home. The thing I forgot was that too much caffeine eats my soul. I lay in bed for the next five hours, twitching nervously, completely unable to sleep. My body was tired, clearly, but every attempt made was met to settle down was met with a forceful shudder. Finally, up at noon to head off to work, feeling completely exhausted, madness already poking at my tattered will. Oh yeah, I should be great for calling people and soliciting large donations!

Turns out I was. I'm not sure if I was pulling a Michael J. Fox, trying to hide my shakes through constant activity, but somehow I was on fire for the day. I was actually the top caller for the campaign I was on, earning me the less than spectacular prize of a mug. Why not give me a small cut, you bitches! It's weird, though. I feel like this shit should all just be luck, but I've done pretty well pretty much everyday since I've started, and Tebben, honestly like the nicest person in the world, hardly makes diddily shit. How is that fair? Maybe I'm just lucky at this. Which would make my luck at picking things to be lucky at pretty poor. Why not roulette, you fates? The other day, I brought up my zombie [novel] to Tebben, and I was pleased to learn that I am not the only one who walks around all day thinking about what would happen if the undead menace arrived in Champaign-Urbana. We've been having discussions on our breaks, and he's actually given me quite a few good ideas, including the solution to a big logistics problem I've been pissy about the whole time. I'll put you on the acknowledgements page; just don't sue my ass!

I love Polaroid cameras so much, but the film is so crazy expensive! It's nearly a buck a picture in some cases! Anyway, once I'm no longer beleagued by debt (This should take at least a month, what with bills and books and everything), I have a feeling all my money is going to be sucked into that crazy talking 600 I have.

Came home for our Super Bowl party, which was actually pretty large. Apparently all this planning has been going on around me, inviting people and making food and shit. God damn loners. Left to my own devices, I would have no doubt passed out reading about Gehenna, the end times for the vampire nation. Jeez. I didn't pay much attention to the game, not even opting for Kyle's strategy (Yell with joy everytime Spritz does, yell louder every time Spritz gives Shanks shit). I was far too enthralled by my $12 bottle of wine (on sale for 7!!) and Kyle's bean dip. Yes, I do admit it is delicious, even if it is going to take 10 - 20 years off of my life. It's well enough worth it.

As I sat there next to Dank (Dank!!), watching the commercials and listening to him predict the end to pretty much everyone, I realized that the advertising world is in serious need for some Nathan Walsh. In my opinion, the Super Bowl is the biggest day for the year for advertising, but pretty much none of the commercials were interesting, funny, pretty, or creative at all. What a disappointment. Maybe the industry was scared as hell to do something too risque after the whole censorship issue came up last year, but most of these ads were just insipid. "OH NOS THE PILOT OF THE SKYDIVING PLANE WANTS BEER SO MUCH HE'S GOING TO KILL HIMSELF HAHAHA" "HE LOVES HIS CONVERTIBLE SO MUCH HE FROZE TO DEATH" And for Christ's sake, monkeys never work in your favor in any medium (unless you are Oscar-winning director Clint Eastwood in the hit comedy Every Which Way But Loose!)!! Only 2 ads stuck out in my mind, for their self-referential humor. The FedEx ad with Burt Reynolds was fairly cute, but my favorite was the Diet Pepsi ad satirizing the idiocy of celebrity. P. Diddy is stuck in the desert 'cause his car broke down, and a Diet Pepsi driver picks him up. Diddy arrives at some bruhaha in said truck, and the entertainment world goes nuts. BAM! Carson Daly is driving one down the street! BAM! Fez is trying to parallel park on in some tight spot! BAM! Xzibit has pimped his Diet Pepsi truck and points proudly back at it. The craze spreads to middle America, and the world drives a bunch of ridiculous Diet Pepsi trucks around because a bunch of hacks started doing it. Ha ha ha - good one, Diet Pepsi!

On the plus side, Pepsi has resumed its free iTunes campaign. Assuming I can still peer underneath the lids of bottles to see the winners, my time has come once again. But Nate, you still have to pay a dollar for the Pepsi. Yeah, but this way I got a song and a Pepsi for the price of one! But Nate, Pepsi tastes like sugar-sweetened asshole swill. But it's free!! Yes, but you get a terrible song in a horrible format that you can't even play in Winamp. Sure you can! All you have to do is burn the song to a CD, rip it into an mp3, and there you go! But the loss of sound qualit-SHUT UP DONT SHIT ON MY PARADE

With the game drawing to a close, we switched over to the Puppy Bowl on Animal Planet (A fairly surreal experience, hours and hours of puppies fucking around with toys and sniffing each other's asses in a miniature football stadium. And oh, to be the ref that showed up from time to time. "TOOT Aggressive snuggling, Terrier Owens!") and got ready to go to bingo. Pretty much the worst bingo of all time. We're not entirely sure why they even had it, but they did, and it was dead as hell. Buttsex was in a pretty bitchy mood, too. Luckily, we were all good and hammered (Well, I was), so it was nearly tolerable. Did I fall over a few times? Maybe, but only because perching under the influence was a silly, silly idea. I somehow made friends with this guy wearing a Kansas City Chiefs windbreaker. I don't even know what I did, but suddenly he was buying me a 4 dollar shot. How could this not exacerbate matters? Kyle and I both made it into the Shambo, and we both made it into the final round. Given our afinity for the ninja position, we could have made the game gone on for quite some time, but Kyle Wild, the bigger man, finally conceded after about five rounds. I was long past morality and far more concerned with bringing the greatest amount of painful humor to the situation. Anyway, my prize was a) this box of horrible MSG-coated cereal called "Muffin Tops" (Gave me IBS) and b) a stupid ass Coors Light wallscroll. Well, fuck it if I'm ever going to put that shit up in my house. The day there is beer paraphenalia on the walls of my home is same day I walk in with a gas can and a large box of matches. Therefore, against Michelle's wishes (and somehow offending her horribly again - how am I so talented at that?), I did my best to destroy the mother on the walk home. Fire was useless against its polyester weave, but a few swift kicks of justice fixed the framework, and I tossed what pieces of the shawl I could rip off at Smacko. Then I got a hot chocolate.

Henceforth, we will not be drinking for some time.

At some point in the evening, Spritz disappeared entirely. The next we saw him, his foot was broken. What happened? Does he remember? Nope.