For the life of me, I can’t think of a single thing to say about Michael Jackson, which means I’m bad at blogging.
I live alone and I often urinate with the bathroom door open. When I use the bathroom for other purposes, I close the door, which I think it partly because I couldn’t stop at a moment’s notice if someone broke in. I’d just have to yell threats at them, which is probably the origin of the term “talking shit.”
From what I’ve read, Transformers 2 is extremely racist against all races, which is the type of balance this country needs.
I keep listening to Cheap Trick, an outfit widely described as “power pop.” There should be more musical genres that are just other genres with the word “power” slapped in front. “Hey, do you want to go to a jazz recital this evening?” “Screw that, I’m into power jazz. It’s like regular jazz with a penis.”
Lastly, here is an illustration of my happiness level at work over the last five years. I’m going to use the slack at the bottom to hang myself.
