Recently, I asked myself the question, "What would Horatio Alger do?"

Finally found the answer here...

http://www.wuacc.edu/sobu/broach/algerFAQ.html

...and now I don't know what the fuck to do with it. Probably shouldn't have asked the question in the first place. Don't know what the fuck I was thinking listen to fucking *Duke* of all people. Fucker's done more drugs than I could aspire to. I also realised that the other reason not to ask that question is, despite what people might say 'behind my back', I'm really not interested in doing sexual things to young boys. Not even in fantasy.

Seriously, though, I really need to quit fucking around and read more of Yaga's stuff. I'm wondering if there's a way to fuck with my browser so it'll wrap the damn text to make it easier on me, though what I REALLY wish that the printer was working so I could just print it out and read it in bed. I prefer to do all my serious reading in bed. Few other places can I really just lay back and chill, you know? Hell, it took me forever to figure out why the fuck people read on the can and even now, well, I know it's time to put the bookmark back in when one or both of my legs start to fall asleep. Distracting, that. So, yeah, that's one of those things I prefer to do in bed. Much easier to get comfortable.

So, my urge for munchies was accompanies by a very small longing for something sweet, so I've accomodated it by acquiring a bowl of Cocoa-Puffs-rip-off-in-a bag, though this one is actually fairly decent, compared to that other bagged garbage. I'll tell you, though, that none of them really compares to real Coca-Puffs and the good shit is almost actually worth the $5 that cereal costs these days. Some cereals are more easily faked, though. Lucky Charms, for instance, are faked very well. They obviously look nothing like the real thing, but the taste of "Magic Stars" is virtually identical. Real Rice Krispies are almost not worth buying, unless you feel a desperate need topay the extra buck and a half more for that tiny homosexual trio on the box. (Not that there's anything wrong with that.) I've never seen faux-Trix before, but if it exists, it may actually be an improvement on the real thing. Back in The Day, Trix was awesome. One of the best. Then...they changed it from fruit-flavoured Kix into some kind of fruit-shaped shit that hasn't tasted the same since. I won't touch the crap anymore. I'm not kidding, either. The flavour fucking *changed*.

I also got some Hemp Plus granola, 'cause it's probably the best fucking granola I've ever had. Now, I am not one of those Hemp Activist-type folks and I'm not of those hippy granola-eating motherfuckers, either. Fact is, my mother apparently bought the stuff one afternoon because she thought it was funny. Regardless, the stuff is good. It's really sweet (for granola) and it's loaded with all these hemp seeds that, aside from being some kind of freak source of nutritrion, will probably guarantee that I'll never pass a drug test for as long as I live. Between this stuff and poppyseed bagels, I may have effectively banned myself from the corporate workforce. Score.

Damn...I'd fuck a nun in the ass for some strawberry yogurt right now.

Something I remember about my elementary school, actually. If you hung out after school in whatever sort of programme they had going on there, they'd feed your dumb ass. Yogurt loaded with chopped fresh fruit and, if you desire, covered in granola. Spaghetti. Other weird shit. This is also the school that introduced me to Stained-Glass Cookies and fantasy gaming. Yeah, these were some *serious* motherfuckin' hippies. I remember reciting (possibly in front of a crowd) from memory one of Shel Silverstein's shorter poems there for some reason.

--
I've done it, I've done it!
Guess what I've done?
I've invented a lightbulb that plugs into the sun!

The sun is bright enough,
The bulb is strong enough,
There's only one thing wrong,

The cord ain't long enough.
--

I'm sure there's a middle part missing in there, but I don't feel like going downstairs into my room and hunting for the book. I own copies of both "Where the Sidewalk Ends" and "Light in the Attic." For some reason, I always like the former better than the latter. Not really for any good reason, especially since owning one without owning the other is among the heights of stupidity.

I pick a particular rhythm to the poems I bother to remember. When everyone (except me and like, three other people) in my 10th grade English class chose THE SHORTEST FUCKING POEM IN THE WHOLE MOTHERFUCKING TEXTBOOK, *I* recited "Sea Fever" by John fucking Masefield.
---
I must go down to the seas again,
to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship
and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song
and the white sail's shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea's face
and a grey dawn breaking.

I must go down to the seas again,
for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call
that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day
with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume,
and the sea-gulls crying.

I must go down to the seas again
to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull's way and the whale's way
where the wind's like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn
from a laughing fellow rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream
when the long trick's over.
---

It was a very, "I rule and the rest of you are all bitches," moment, despite the fact that I think my memory clipped a couple lines. I mean, seriously, nearly the entire class read the exact same piece of shit poem about some fucking peach or rose or something. Cocksuckers.

Later, watching Star Trek...I think it was Five, but it might've been the end of Four...I corrected Bones at the same time Spock did, only I added the words, "you dumb bastard." I mean, really. Once you know the poem, you *know* who the fuck wrote it. Fucking writers, they were ruining the moment.

This reminds me, I haven't checked willwheaton.net in nearly a week...