another day another dollar.

what's up on this wacky ass wednesday? i sound like a goddamn dj or some shit.

i wish i had my own talk radio show. it would play music some so it wouldn't really be a talk radio show per se. per se is a cool word. i instruct you all to use it at least once today.

i don't want to sound like i'm bitching, but i haven't been feeling well lately. my stomach is fucked up. i just really want you all to know how much i care about my 6 readers, and let you know that i am continuing to work through agonizing pain.

anonymous, i want you to know that i've already gone through all the receipts and pinpointed who you are. please quit feeding off me and get your own life. i can't continue to make you appear cool the rest of my life.
for those of you who did purchase a cd, don't worry. you will be taken care of. i promise. you cannot rush genius. i don't know how many times i have to tell you.

i had another dream about my fucking college football coach last night.

he made us do a drill where we shuffled laterally in a football position with our chins hanging over a barbed wire fence. he held our helmets and if we raised our chins, he cacked us with the helmet.

my son is playing school football for the first time this year. seventh grade. he is the quarterback and linebacker. go figure. it's called genetics.
i'm really looking forward to his first game. september 8.
i hope he doesn't have nightmares for the rest of his life.

andy pate is learning the bass. we're gonna have a band as soon as he learns g, c, and d.

here is you guy's assignment for today.

rank the following songwriters:

john prine
van morrison
neil young
bruce springsteen
elvis costello

they are to be judged on overall coolness, magnitude of work, musical talent level, and artistic integrity. each category is worth 25% of the overall score.

i just made that shit up. do it anyway, bitches.

i'm gonna go over to andy's for band rehearsal.

When the chairman of the board is checking on the church's list
To see how many sundays he's forgotten and tidings that he's missed
And the crazy man on the corner is still shaking his fists
At the cops putting the cuffs on the poor man's wrists

Whatcha gonna do?
When the walls crumble down and the game is through,
And darkness smothers everything you thought was true
Whatcha gonna do? -- s. copeland

i love quoting myself,

scott

p.s. anonymous, those are words with the music. cool then.