In the famous words of Mr. Anderson, "What in the hell?"

This paper route is fucking me all up. I'm sleeping in a split shift. I go to bed about 10:30 p.m and then wake up at 1:00 a.m. I do the paper route until 5:30 a.m. and go back to bed at 7:00 a.m. I try to sleep until 11:00 a.m. but it's not working out that well for me.

I'm disappointed that I haven't had any free time to blog, play my gamecube, or even just relax.
I swear I'm getting a fucking contact buzz from all the cigarette smoke. In a week I'm going to have to get the patch. My mom is trying her best to keep her habit to herself, but it's nearly impossible in a Honda Civic. Christ, I'm glad I quit smoking. I have been nauseous every morning. I feel like I'm 80 or something. I'm still young, I should be able to adjust easily. Yeah, right...

My diet would agree with the previous statement. You want to know what I had for breakfast? I had a bowl of fucking raisin bran and ranch wheat thins. What in the hell is the matter with me? I usually have a sugar free carnation instant breakfast or egg whites. At this rate the saddlebag prophecy is going to come true.

Yesterday, I saw a man in his underwear while we were delivering the paper. Holy hell, put some fucking drapes up you exhibitionist mother fucker. It's too damn early to see you half naked on the john. On the flip side, I have seen some really beautiful Christmas lights. I need some sleep.

So what's next gatorade and cheerios for dinner? Being able to pat my back and me disintegrate into a pile of ash? Naked men running across lawns? Physical brutality by a blow up Santa? Why am I so god damn nice?

Oi with the fucking drama already...

Until tomorrow insomniac rant I will leave you with one piece of advice:

It is possible to over decorate. Once you do this the novelty wares off. So don't fucking do it. If you have more money invested in your Christmas lights than in your 401K you have a problem. Merry fucking Christmas...

What's that you want me to deliver your paper up your ass?