Yoko Ono

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Candy Cigarettes

candycigs

I used to eat candy cigarettes all the time when I was a kid. The knock against them is that they get you ready for real cigarettes. You practice with the candy cigarettes, hold them and look cool. When it came time to try real cigarettes, it was like “what the fuck, they taste nothing like candy cigarettes.” So I didn’t smoke. The problem now is I’m up to four packs a day of candy cigarettes and I can’t quit.

The Deadly Mold ( and naked girls)

I was checking out the net the other day. I don’t know how this happened but I ended up one one of those sites that had naked girls on them. She was standing in a bathtub and was really hot looking. This girl was a 10. So I’m checking her out and noticed mold around the tub. This really grosses me out and I’m not talking about a little mold. I’m talking they haven’t cleaned the chalking in years. Now I can’t look at the girl. I enlarge the picture and checking out the mold.

Then later in the day. I see this picture of comic books this guy got at a flea market. They’re in a bag in his closet. The bag of books is suppose to be the main thing. I notice all the dirt in the closet door tracks. Firs thing that comes to mind is, “how can people live like this. It’s a pigpen.” Never would I let my place get like that.

Bla Bla Bla and more Bla Bla Bla

Some people never get the hang of talking on the phone. I think it’s because they have nobody to talk to, once somebody calls the flood gates are open.

I called up my friend the other day.  I had something to tell him but first I asked him “how you doing?” That was it. Bla, bla bla and more bla bla bla. I couldn’t get a word in. He’s talking about something I couldn’t give a crap about.

So what I do when I talk to him, I put the phone down and walk away. This time, I put the phone down on the dining room table, went into the kitchen, poured myself a glass of seltzer, drank it, walking into the dining room, picked up the phone and he was still talking. Normally when you talk on the phone, you can hear the other person making a comment or breathing. With this guy, it don’t matter. He just rambles on whether there’s somebody there or not.

It’s funny how he never asked me a question about what he was talking about. Why would he. He don’t care. He just wants to talk.

This is not the first time it happened with him. It’s every time. That’s why I try not to call him.

The Church

I was talking to my friend today and she was telling me that she goes to church when she can. She asked me if I go to church. I told her I haven’t been to church in over thirty years.

The last time I went to church was for a baptism. It was a hot sunny day and I had to drive to southern Jersey. I got there late and the mass was going on. It’s very hot and there’s no wind blowing. I go walking into the church and see an easel on the right inside the doorway. I walk in on the left side not to hit it. As soon as I walk into church, the sign falls off and the easel falls down. Mass stops and everybody turns around to look at me. Everybody thinks I knocked it over. I was nowhere near it. I made sure I didn’t go near it. Now everybody had to watch me pick the stuff up and put it back together.

I know who did it.

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