The Dumps

Feelin' a little gloomy today. Okay, a lot gloomy. I'm good with impressions, quick with a movie reference, not a bad typist, but if there's one thing I do best of all . . . it's feel sorry for myself.

It's raining outside, and it was still turn-on-bedroom-light dark at noon today, so maybe that's got something to do with it. Loneliness can lay claim on the rest. Had a funny conversation with a girl yesterday, and I look back on my worthless, wasted past with the regret of a good Country song.

Ho hum. I wonder what other people do when they're depressed?

There's the bottle, sure. A lot of folks go there. And sad, pain-expressing music is nice too.

Popped in "Creep" and sang along. It makes me feel like I'm not alone in my misery. Thanks, Mr. Radiohead.

Maybe doing something productive would brighten me up. So I worked a bit on the next episode. I got to the end and felt emptier than ever.

I also did some running on the treadmill. I figured feeling like I was going to die would help me appreciate being alive. Nope. If anything, it reminded me that I'm fat and will pass into death unmourned and unloved.

Lastly, I'm thinking I'll try to do a little writing. I think a real writer would just pour himself into his work, and try and find an outlet for his depression in the fantasy world and characters he had created. Let one of them feel what he feels, let another character try and understand it, let a third character appear and change it all. Might be nice.

Well, the night will pass and tomorrow I gotta do it all again. Maybe with snow, it'll all seem different.

Rish "Mister Brightstide" Outfield

Happy Worst Day of the Year

I hate this day, more than all the others. I mentioned that at dinner yesterday, and my uncle's young, blonde, eternal cheerleader of a wife said, "Really? I just love Valentine's Day." It was all I could do not to shriek at her, "Of COURSE you do! That's like a white guy telling a black guy that he just adores Aryan International Pride Week and all that comes with it!" But ah well.

In the meantime, please enjoy this:

Happy day-before-the-worst-day-of-the-year, kids!

In honor of tomorrow . . .

Lucky Number
By Rish Tiberius Outfield

Big and I were at Del Taco again, and the cashier gave him a hearty smile. "That'll be order number 69," she said, handing him his receipt.

He walked by me, raising his eyebrows. "My lucky number, wouldn't you say?" he boasted.

"Coincidence," I said, stepping up to the register. I gave my order and even made a little joke about the Half-pound Bean and Cheese Burrito, but she didn't smile at me like she had my friend. Too bad. She was kind of pretty. Maybe Big's number hadn't been a coincidence.

"That'll be order number 41," she told me.

Stupid Thing of the Week

Big and I went to Walmart on Monday, and I bought a couple of Star Wars action figures. What can I say, I'm an overgrown fat kid. As we brought them to the register, the woman there said, "Oh, are you a Star Wars fan? Which do you like better, the new ones or the old ones?" I told her, and she said, "Oh, not me. I much prefer the new ones."

I couldn't quite grasp that. As I told Big later, I've never met a single person over the age of twelve that likes the Prequels as much as the Original Trilogy, let alone more. "I don't understand," I said. "You like the Prequels more than the old ones?"

"Lots more."

"Why?"

"The old movies are so boring. I can't watch the second one without falling asleep."

"The second one?" I gasped. "You mean THE EMPIRE STRIKES BACK?"

"Right. Plus, the new ones make so much more sense."

I blinked. "Wait. The PREQUELS make more sense?"

"A lot more."

"Then what's the deal with Sypho Dias?"

She paused and said, "Thanks for coming in. Have a nice night."