TYPO ALERT: (MSN)

SUGAR HILL WITH SPECIAL GUESTS: THE SUGAR RAY GANG?

Sugar Ray: Contemporary pop/rock act releasing a new album this month.
Sugar Hill Gang: Turn of the decade (70s to 80s) hiphop act responsible for the song "Rappers Delight" (the song the old lady sings in "The Wedding Singer").

I think MTV and VH1's appeal to viewers is that if you don't like the commercial that you're watching, you know a different one will show in another five minutes.

Open letter to Brandon the dog:

Hello, Brandon. You may remember me, I was the fat guy running on the Wood Village "exercise track" that you attacked. The name Brandon suggests that you're a male dog but trust me:

You're my bitch.

I knew there was trouble brewing when you and your owner walked past the "All dogs must be leashed" sign at the park and she unleashed you anyway. Born free you were. Running in the field, jumping through the grass. Was it my heavy breathing or the near explosion of my seldom-exercised heart that caused you to leave your serene environment and start barking at and chasing me? Did I look like that easy of a target?

You little fucker.

I watched Scarface three times last week, the Godfather over the weekend, and Casino last night. The next time I go running, I'm going to have an aluminum baseball bat in one hand, a chainsaw in the other, and a ball-peen hammer in my back pocket.

Say hello to my little friend, motherfucker.

I'm going to distract that fat bitch owner of yours with a cheesburger and lure you in with a steak. I'll tie you up and let my neighbor's gay dog sodomize you. I've even got a dog sized ball gag so it'll look like that scene in Pulp Fiction. Wanna go for a walk?

Condo Update:When I'm not ridding the world of its technical difficulties, I've been working on the condo. I'm running a cable from the office to the bedroom where I've installed a 20" DVD/VCR/TV combo. I hate attics, and I hate crawl spaces, so this cable running project should be fun.

I swear to God: Last night I had a dream that I was drinking a bunch of beer in my kitchen, went to bed, and woke up with a hangover. When I woke up for real, I was fine. I called my shrink to ask him what he thinks the dream might mean... if he could analyze it. He said: "Any dream involving a series of events that take place in one setting, such as your condo, suggests that you feel confined, or trapped in some way. It could also mean that your a fat fucking alcoholic that should look for a fucking job and quit calling me."

Gotta go, happy hour starts in a few hours.

I was working security at a bar tonight and we cut a guy off. He was the tall, quiet type. I'm guessing he plays Dungeons and Dragons on his weeknights. Anyway, he gets cut off and the first thing he does is go to another server and ask for a piece of paper. He then spends 20 minutes writing some drunken manifesto about how he shouldn't have been cut off and how other people should have been cut off first.

He wrote a letter. I watched him write it, edit it, proofread it. He just lingered at his table with a (complimentary) glass of water and wrote this thing out. As many times as I've been cut off and as much as I like to write, I've never pissed away bar time writing a sternly worded letter. I've simply driven to another bar. This guy made me think "this is what the Unabomber looks like at a bar."

Otherwise, an uneventful evening. I cracked open a Coors Light for an early morning snack, which I'm sipping right now. I'm thinking that I might watch some excerpts of Scarface as I drift off to sleep.

Happy Mother's Day.