Day Ten

Hello good folks. Today is day ten, but it feels like day eleven. With that in mind, here's a pardody of my blog written by an adoring fan of mine. It's great because my blog is intended to be a parody of all blogs, especially the ones I was forced to read in that Tunisian prison camp in the eighties. So to have a parody of a parody is like very meta. "Meta" is this word that undergraduates tend to say when they want to sound smart but didn't do the assigned reading. The good thing about a blog is that there is no reading required. Or is that the only thing required? Again, very meta.

Here's this other blog you should read.

Day Nine

You may have noticed that I neglected to blog yesterday. That's because I refuse to blog on the sabbath. Nobody blogs on the Sabbath, except for the Clinton's. The Clinton's lack an ethical apparatus, which is why I always vote for them in every election. I just write "The Clinton's" on that weird voting booth machine from the eighties and immediately leave the Pentecostal Church.

Remember when I blogged about BuzzFeed? That was two days ago. I just posted a link to my own blog -- a blog post from two days ago, no less. That's technology for ya: constantly promoting narcissism. I don't think I used that semicolon correctly. That's okay. Blogging doesn't count. None of this is real. Anyways, on Saturday I blogged about how great BuzzFeed is, and today they repaid the favor by writing (I use writing in the loosest of terms here) an article entitled 33 Signs that Coffee Owns You. How prescient. This  blog is about coffee. I think. Well, it's about many things. Everybody should read BuzzFeed's "article" about coffee and then feel empathy for my coffee-less blood vessels.

I keep meaning to tell you about my "girlfriend" and all the fun times we have together. Maybe tomorrow. For now, a picture of that guy who played Malfoy in the Harry Potter series will have to suffice. His name is Tom Felton. He was also in the James Franco version of Planet of the Apes. That movie is bologna. James Franco is bologna. He'll win an Academy Award and then everybody will be upset, especially Seth Rogen, who isn't allowed to win Academy Awards.

Look at Malfoy over there. He's all sensitive and shit. Whoa, come on. Get off his back. He's an actor. He has demons. That sweater must be the itchiest thing since herpes. (Note: NEVER google "herpes itch" to make sure that's the STI that itches.)

Day Seven

I almost forgot about this blog. That was a close one. Another day without a blog post would have been supremely embarrassing. I didn't drink coffee today, but I did eat jalapeno poppers. Have you ever heard of jalapeno poppers? It's this weird accutruement usually served at some of our finest American establishments like Sonic or Beef 'O' Brady's. Jalapeno poppers are fun because when I look at them I think: "nestled safely inside five layers of breading is a tasty jalapeno, which will be really great because I love jalapenos unless they are raw in which case I won't eat them because everything I eat must be cooked by migrant labor." Then, when I bite into the jalapeno popper, there is only cream cheese and something that vaguely resembles a vegetable. The jalapeno popper is the sleight of hand man of the bar food appetizers. Now my stomach is gurgling and I've been farting for four hours. Cream cheese is the worst. 

I have come to the realization that I might be a hipster. Has that ever happened to you? I think this is how all hipsters become hipsters. Here's a few reasons as to why I know I've morphed into hipster ethos. I started wearing pants that are tight (probably because of all these jalapeno poppers) and I have huge glasses and I live my life in heavy sighs. Also, I smell like whiskey sours and ginger ale. Do hipsters drink ginger ale? What do hipsters do all day? Do they have jobs? Not in Obama's America. Nobody has jobs now, especially not hipsters, who wear Nike's because Michael Jordan played basketball in the nineties. Hipsters love the nineties. Everybody seems to love the nineties. I'm indifferent. We had a surplus, which was cool. But I was only ages 0-10, which was not so cool. I had to do stuff like wash dishes and fart excessively. Once, during the nineties, I picked up a live snake. I thought it was fake! It wasn't. I cried. Snakes are so scary. Everything is scary if you're a hipster. Things like change and enthusiasm and work ethic are positively horrifying.

I think we should make a questionnaire to determine whether someone is a hipster or not. BuzzFeed probably beat me to the punch. I like BuzzFeed because they give you the news in pictures. Nobody else has the balls to do that. Who needs words when you can explain Benghazi in forty GIF's from Mean Girls?

It's time for my nap. Have fun folks. 

Day Six

Guys, I almost lost it today. Old habits die hard (or sometimes not at all). I woke up in a fury of grog and headed straight for the teapot where I filled it with lukewarm tap water and placed it on the stove, allowing it to boil for three minutes before I remembered my caffeine-free pledge. What was I to do? The tea was already on the boil. Steps one (fill the teapot) and two (boil the water) were completed. All that was left was step three (drink cheap tea in a state of unmitigated euphoria while finishing that Aziz Ansari standup special I started watching two years ago). I had to find a distraction. I stared out the window for ten minutes. Nothing happening. I stared at the sun for five. I stared at my bookshelf for two. I eventually picked up one of Arthur's Schopenhauer's collected writings, Essays and Aphorisms. 

Schopenhauer was a real sourpuss.  Look at that face. It looks like he just ate forty lemons. Did they have lemons in the nineteenth century? Of course not! Germany was a real bummer back then. Among other things, Schopenaur really hated tomfoolery, especially if it had to do with Hegel. Nobody likes Hegel, anyways. Except for Marx, but what does Marx know?

Back to Schopenhauer's disdain for funny business. Once he said: "Life is missliche Sache -- a disagreeable thing --: I have determined to spend it in reflecting on it." That's uplifting. I think the most disagreeable thing about that statement is the use of a colon after an em dash. That's just gratuitous. R.J. Hollingdale tells us this about Schopenaur: "like many very intellectual men he [Schopenhauer] had a strongly sensual side to his nature, and his sexual interest was very strong." Whoa, hey. Slow down buddy. I didn't know all intellectual men have a sensual side. News to me. I'm intellectual, so I must be sensual.

At least, that's what I told my "girlfriend." I said, "I'm intellectual and sensual. My sexual interest is very strong."

She left the room. Now it's just me and old sour grapes over here. Schopenhauer is my only friend.

Happy Friday.

Day Five

Today, I have been informed that the only thing required of a "daily blog" is that one must write a blog post every day. Well folks, forgive me for my insolence. I have failed thee. It's hard to blog everyday. I only have so many synonyms for coffee. Actually, I don't have any synonyms for coffee. The only thing that pops into my head is "cafe," which I think is coffee in one of those foreign, less civilized languages like Spanish or Canadian. Sometimes, while participating in an activity that demands less-than-intense concentration, I will think of words that I do not know the meaning of. Does that every happen to you? I'll be sitting on the couch, pounding pretzels and jalapenos (don't judge!) and all of sudden I'll be like: "Candelabra!" What the hell is candelabra. Is that like a menorah for gentiles? Or "ontology." I don't know what ontology means. Sounds complicated. Why do I think these words? Why do I think about anything I think about? Why is life so full of mystery? Where's Neil DeGrasse Tyson to give me the answers?

Quitting caffeine is hard. Maybe I already started drinking coffee again. Maybe I'm lying about the whole thing. No way. I would never do that to you. I hate to lie. So many consequences. Such a moral conundrum.

Remember my "girlfriend"? She's not real. She's also very mad at me. I'll tell you about it later. I don't know why she's mad. I haven't figured that out. Women -- am I right? If you can't beat 'em, join 'em.

Remember this song? No you don't. You hate outlaw country. See you Friday.

Day Three

We've entered the abyss. The third day. Numero tres. Hold your applause. I'm not impressed with your strategically ambivalent encouragement. It does nothing for me. My insides died a long time ago. Three days, to be exact. Three days without the sweet, crazy aromas of piping hot Colombian roast. Without the daily dance between me and the coffee handle. God forbid I'm forced to use that cup from college with the broken handle wherein I must perform a highwire balancing act of atomic proportion just to cart the coffee from the kitchen to my office. (I don't have an office.) One false move and there's Colombian roast all over a freshly minted pair of khaki's. ( I don't wear khaki's.) Three days and counting. But who's counting? The internet, that's who.

And on the third day, Jesus rose. That's a paraphrase from this book called the Bible. Have you read the Bible? It's super long. I skimmed all the boring parts like Abraham and David and "Jesus." I once ripped out a page from the Bible. I don't know why. I guess I wanted to see what would happen. I thought, "God will smite my ass if I take a page from his magnum opus. It took him a bunch of centuries to write this. He's gonna be so pissed." He didn't smite me. I think it's because I took a page from Job. God hated Job. Or, possibly, God was trying out some alternative parenting method he read in a dime store paperback he found nestled in a used bookstore somewhere in Queens. I bet it was titled: How to Test Your Kid's Loyalty if You Think He's Been Crushing Brews with Satan. I think God likes Queens. It's a pretty diverse borough. God is pro-diversity. He's very forward thinking.

Wow. I didn't mean to write that paragraph. Oh well. Blogging is a creative force that musn't be tampered with. According to Blogspot, "musn't" does not exist. I beg to differ. Why I was just telling Hester Prinn how she musn't mope so when Pearl is around.

That's enough for today.

Day Two

Headaches. The ones that linger directly behind the eyes. These are the worst ailments for the caffeine quitter. They appear quickly and increase with gradual intensity, as though someone were stacking quarters on your optic nerves. My head hurts. I drank gallons of water today. I peed, too. I did not take Excedrin. 

Also: I ate an entire block of cheddar cheese -- extra sharp.