My finger is cold.  Not all of them mind you, just one of them.  My right index finger.  I have no idea WHY just that finger, but it sort of happens that way.  Maybe it has something to do with a weird circulation wiring mishap.  Maybe it is because I have the forefinger designed to be a perfect squirrel forehead compress.  In either case, I can’t feel my H,Y,G,U,N,M, and B keys.  That is right.  I am a peck typer.  I type with 3 fingers.  My left forefinger, my right forefinger, and my right middle finger.  I’ll throw the ring finger in if i am feeling frisky but for the most part it is how i operate.  If you would quit your nay saying for half a centipede, you could hear my reasoning.  There isn’t a reason, but i can out-type 90 percent of people.  I don’t mean to toot my own horn but….toot toot.

I wrote that ENTIRE paragraph in 8 seconds.  It is the same amount of time you have to ride a bull….but it is much more intense.  I haven’t got any finger prints because i type at a speed hotter than fresh welds.

Don’t believe me?  It is how i start campfires….typing out Kumbaya on a piece of tinder.  It works wonders and gets everyone in a S’mores mood.  Win Win for everyone.

Those three fingers can control the flow of time.  That is why I will age in Dog years, then turn back time and do it again just for the fun of it.

Also, I think I need to start a counter down until the day i become famous.

I know that this is one of the most pretentious blogs ever written, and that is on purpose.  The most pretentious blog ever written is worthy of fame.

Speaking of fame, I am hell-bent on being there.  I want my own cereal brand.  I am going to mix my three favorite cereals together: Captain Crunch (screw the berries), Raisin Bran Crunch, and Fruity Pebbles.  I will call it “Broclewobbles” and it will be the most delicious thing on earth.  Don’t believe me?  wait 10 years and pour a bowl.  Let it blow your mind.

About the book:

I wrote about staring my grandmother down…as the title indicates.  She liked to go into staring contest mode when I do things she doesn’t approve of: Eating my way through her pantry, Hiding her purse, wearing a thong in public. that sort of thing.

Then i talked about the absolute Monster not eating after six is starting out.  Like a dadgern sandwich nazi i used authoritarian means to put my stomach on moon-time lockdown.

It sucks being oppressed….it sucks even more when you oppress yourself.  It is like repeatedly stepping on your elbows and laughing at yourself….never mind HOW IN THE WORLD you are possibly stepping on that specific part of your anatomy…the fact that you keep doing it is what you can’t seem to get over.

Sort of like that.

tonight’s Topic: Zoning Out.

So i zone out a lot.  While i am driving, while in class, when defusing bombs…the works.

That in and of itself isn’t that big of a deal.  I can put myself on autopilot and just sort of go with it.  I let muscle memory dictate what i do.  The only thing is, i usually find myself (afterwards) staring at something inappropriate, like a human being, or more accurately, a part of their anatomy.  I won’t be looking there at ALL, i won’t even be seeing it…but to the person or persons i may be looking at, it is the creepy, stalker stare of imminent death.

I can’t help it.  I will be review my life choices at the speed of light….then thinking about mashed potatoes….then considering everything else that can be accomplished on a Saturday afternoon, all while staring at someone’s butt.

Maybe it is weird.  Of course it is weird.  But more importantly it is honest.

Word of Wisdom:

“Whoever said honesty is the best policy never got hit in the face with a snow shovel.”

-Rodney Dangerfield-