I Blog In Chains

Dear Dysfunctional,

as the day passes before me, marked by very little activity and even less worth mentioning, I find

myself at the end of the day with my gaze fixed on a screen, attempting yet again to pour forth with

fervor those words which so often lack the desired lucidity. Blogging is no longer something I do

purely for enjoyment; those days are behind me, though I often enjoy the works I create. No, I have

been enslaved; enslaved yet again to what began as a simple innocent pasttime. Each day that passes

without a post leaves etched in my mind a tinge of guilt for not sating my craving for expression.

Perhaps I should instead limit myself to trimming bonsai trees and carving incredibly ornate ivory tusks

for a pastime; that seems like a much more tame and more relaxing hobby. Writing, however, is never

entirely a feat which is effortless and enjoyable. Naturally, there are times when it is enjoyable and

entertaining, but if you can regularly write on either many different subjects, or write at great length on

the same subject, then kudos to you. I'm sorry, my writing is obviously not nearly that prolific. So when

I feel obligated to write posts on random topics in relatively short succession, the strain becomes

evident. I lose all my hair, my teeth fall out, and I develop other symptoms, which my doctor incorrectly

credits to scurvy. And so here I am, confessing my opinions to you, dear reader. But remember always

that I do so not because I want to, but because I must; for you see, I blog in chains.

Don't forget to write!

Milton Hanes

Song of the day is... Burnin' For You, by Blue Oyster Cult I know, you don't like this type of music,

but hey, its what I listen to, and this blog is all about me, me, and me

Sleep On, Oh Vulnerable One

Dear Dysfunctional,
Sleep is a beautiful thing. In sleep, you are refreshed, and upon waking, the troubles and worries of the previous day have dropped from your beleaguered mind as snow from the winter sky. The human in repose is an image of peace and trust unlike any other. Uncognizant of his surroundings, the sleeping soul trusts that the world around him will continue in its good graces towards him; that he will not awake to find that all is not well. Well, the person that assumes this has obviously never had any real friends. When one falls alseep, the trust is so great that your fellow man can not help but betray it. I have, and I kid you not, awoken to find that my friends have draped me in pickles and grass and jumped on me repeatedly in my rest. Nor is this trait a new one. Man has devised scores of tortures to inflict on the sleeping; whipped cream, water torture, the infamous warm water trick (which does not really work, by the by), and dragging individuals about the room or even college campus to pose pantless with multiple landmarks and the like. To be perfectly frank, I would prefer that we needn't sleep at all. Sleep is a huge scam. It is pleasurable, but only in so much as relieves you of tiredness. But if you weren't tired in the first place, then sleep would be an utter pain. It's like social networking; it doesnt make any sense until everybody buys into it, and at that point there's no escape...

Sweet Dreams!
Sir Elton Talley















PS, song of the day is Shoot You Down, by The Stone Roses

Workout Satire

Dear Dysfunctional,
And now, an excerpt from my workout journal.


Day 1:
In preparation for my new workout regimen, I took it upon myself to visit such premier stores such as Walmart and... Walmart in search of proper fitness equipment. The first item on my list was fairly easy to find; roughly three metric tons worth of bottled water. I view this purchase by way of a longterm commitment: as it is, I now have enough of the most plentiful compound in the world to last me in this fitness program until about the ripe age of 120. I figured this based on the estimate that my rigorous cardio should demand about three quarts of water, fortified with crystal light, per diem. The second item was somewhat more difficult to locate. I cannot understand why it is so difficult to locate headbands in purples and oranges, an item so popular during the nineties. Upon continuing, I was shocked by the exorbitant pricing of small three quarter pound weights. Upon reading the price tag, I paused for an executive decision and have resolved that, for the betterment of my budget, I can sacrifice a modicum of my professional image by substituting the weights with a pair of hefty soup spoons. Next, I purchased every Madonna CD I could possibly lay my hands on. I figured that I would need music not only to keep my blood pumping, but also to assure any other runners in the near vicinity that I was knowledgeable of the nature of the pastime, and not an amateur who was not even aware of the close connection between running and music. Lastly, but not leastly, I selected a pair of flamboyantly coloured Nike shoes. I chose the most expensive pair, which were around the price of a small car. I find this appropriate, as I have sold my car in the expectancy that in the near future, I will be able to run to any of my more patronized locations. The only thing I fail to understand is why the shoes are so expensive, despite the fact that they seem to be made with minimum materials. 


This has been a short excerpt of a small journal that continued for four or five days. Tune in next week for the continuation of this inspiring true story. And just remember that you too can drop those extra pounds; all it takes is determination, resolve, resoluteness, will, purpose, courage, boldness, steadfastness, and liposuction. 

Stay strong and resolute and courageous and determined and steadfast, 
Chase Mulliett 

PS, song of the day is totally irrelevant, Diamonds On The Soles Of Her Shoes, by Paul Simon.