Also just now some mouse potato searched on in to my diary for "shoot your load all over". Outstanding that perverts lurking through the net for wanking material often find my freak brain snug in the middle of sex links. The "milking men" search link hasn't shown it's face in some time. But some twisted faniac keeps looking for Jimmy Falon sites and winding up here. Curious.

Soon will have to perform the job interview dance. Being a supreme bullshit artist I fare well in interviews. Somehow I can smoke and mirror the fact that I look like a scumbag, and make them focus on in my skills and personality. Unfortunately, this fortells that my immenent boss is probably a few seats behind me in life class. I hate having stupid bosses. A superior should have superior intellect. Dullard boss happens increasingly more often than not.

Will want to surf on the slack a little. Don't want to reshackle myself immediately. I see it as a gift of freetime to persue the more giggle career plans. Grab da mic.

I figure if, in the middle of interviews, I bust out some nitrous capsules and ask "You don't mind if I do these poppers to relax me do you?", that I can ensure that the unemployment checks will keep flowing in. I already look like a Robert Crumb subculture illustration. Start cutting lines on his desk organiser.

I forgot one teach. CHUAF WAETC. Break down that anagram muthafuckah. Alrighty. Could Have Used Ass Fucking, With Aftermath Ejaculated Thigh Cream. She was a farm bred, good old country girl thickness. She would have been a fun hayseed amusement park ride. She had delicious hams that I would have parted clumsily as a dorky teen. The only teach at the old high school that gave me a boner during lectures. She could have verbed my subject every English class period. Would have had a much healthier outlook on my high school years if she did.

Ms. Chuaf Waetc, wherefore art thine's peachy lips, I seek a vessel for mine setting spunk.

More poking and prodding in the face yesterday. The docs constantly spring new devices on me. New peeling back my eyelids and sending searing shards of laser guided light into the nether regions of my optic nerve tool. Crushing the armrests with my hands. Legs shake. Abated breath. Fucking optic tests drive me nuts.

Luckily it seems that everyone agrees on the professional side of my healthcare that surgery would be overkill. Contacts should be the bomb diggity. Whatever. I just want to see like a natural man. I'll inject runny oatmeal into my skull if it will help. On the farilla my ninjas. Although the thought of digging my fingers into my sockets everyday with contacts leaves my stomach quivery.

Should just fuse my DNA with an eagle's. Don't try and tell me that technology has yet to be invented. I have numerous resource materials. I don't believe the x-ray eyeglasses ads in those informational texts though. X-ray vision, yeah right.