Does this work? I can't get this crap to work. Can anybody read this? Why is it all invisible? Hello?
posted by Omar G. 12:51 AM
Okay, this is pissing me off. Why isn't this working? Why is this thing e-mailing me pictures of Rob from Milli Vanilli? Screw it. I'll figure it out in the morning.
posted by Omar G. 12:53 AM
Can't sleep. Stupid Blogger piece of shit. Where is all this text I'm typing going? Test. Test. Test. I sure home nobody can actually read this. Maybe I should delete everything.
posted by Omar G. 3:21 AM
Hey! I can see it! Rock! Now, how do I erase all the crap I wrote last night?
posted by Omar G. 8:15 AM
So late for work. But this is cool. Oh, hey: ECHO... ECHO... ECHO! Oh, that is so dumb. Nobody's going to read this. I should have just called together the committee. I'm no good at this. I should do a Web link, make this like a Web log thing and say something very insightful and witty about how it relates to my life.
Ummm... All right. I didn't know the Village People were gay until like after college. Seriously. My parents even made fun of me. It was awful. I was driving home and I wasn't singing along like I usually do, I just listened to the words for once They were saying, "Young man, I was once in your shoes," and "You can hang out with all the boys," and I suddenly thought, "Hey, there aren't a lot of chicks in their songs." And I had a total flash, like a complete moment of clarity like at the end of The Sixth Sense and I suddenly understood. So here's the link.
posted by Omar G. 9:04 AM
Just got to work. Everybody's giving me a dirty look for coming in so late with no donuts. Hey, I'm doing something profound, ya'll. This is important. The Internet must know what I'm thinking at every moment of the day. Fools. None of them understand that the stuff I throw out every few minutes to the masses is far more important than doing office work.
Oh, hey, fresh coffee!
When I'm done with this coffee, I'm going to write something fucking profound. Socks will be blown off people's feet like... big, shooting, blown... things. Can't think. Need coffee.
posted by Omar G. 10:01 AM
Profound... Um... Let's see.
Damn, my ass itches.
Um... When I was five, I learned that adults lie and children are not immune to the evils of the world. I vowed at that moment that I would not be shielded from --
GodDAMN, my ass itches! But I can't scratch it because everybody in the office will see it. Maybe if I... Maybe if I scoot in the chair a little.
Ow, ow, ow, it's itching worse now! How does that happen? Is it an ant bite or something? Jeez! My ass! Oh, here we go. Scoot in the chair. Mmmm, padding. Better.
Shit. My coffee is cold.
posted by Omar G. 10:17 AM
Lessons learned this morning:
Cannot be profound on demand.
Have some sort of bizarre ass itch that should get looked at.
Suddenly don't feel at all superior to all those Blogger-using Web loggers.
posted by Omar G. 10:37 AM
Heard a joke, but now I can't remember it. Would link to it, but somebody told it to me in real life, and as they were telling it, I suddenly had the overpowering urge to delete the joke before I heard all of it. Blame my father, who sends me like 32,239 e-mail jokes a day.
posted by Omar G. 11:21 AM
I HATE Blogger! I can't be writing stuff all the time! I'm a writer, fer Chrissakes! What kind of shit is that?
posted by Omar G. 12:32 PM
I mean, seriously. I update my page, I go to sleep or get back to work, and I don't have to think about it for two days. This is like slavery! They make it so people expect you to be tossing off bon mots all day long like you're some sort of Internet Dorothy Parker, when the truth is, I'm boring! I have nothing to say. I suck.
I hate me.
Blogger, take me away.
posted by Omar G. 12:59 PM
Have stopped crying. Hey, what happened to Brad F'ing Pitt?
He's so funny.
Have resumed crying.
Blogger owes me a day of work. People keep coming by my desk asking if I'm okay, and I keep yelling, "Shut up! I have nothing to say right now!"
I overheard somebody saying the human resources office is calling in a psychiatrist of some sort.
posted by Omar G. 2:01 PM
The psychiatrist is a fucking lunatic. He was all acting like I had some sort of problem. I mean, I'm not the one who deals with crazy people all day, guy.
He asked me why I was continuing to type after he unplugged the keyboard from the computer. Duh! Hasn't he every heard of keyboard memory?
When he wasn't looking, I pushed him into a closet and ran. Typing this from one of the upstairs offices. The lady sitting next to me is looking at me while she talks on the phone. She's typing something really fast. Maybe she has a Blogger page, too.
posted by Omar G. 3:15 PM
Started crying again. I think it's because I was thinking about The Iron Giant.
posted by Omar G. 3:57 PM
The police lieutenant said I could use their computer if I spit out the desk sergeant's car keys. He got mad when I spit them out directly onto his hand. I thought the napkin was for me to wipe my mouth with.
I went to Blogger's Web site and I'm having trouble finding other sites that sound like mine. There's nothing in their FAQ about defense attorneys.
The police say I can't have a phone call now.
posted by Omar G. 4:14 PM
Omar sez he want me ato put a thing on his sight. Says hes using frogger or sumething. Sedative worked fast on himn. He sleeping now like angele. Told me to put thiss on his horrrible happie sight. I ecscape, go down laundry shoot, go use computter. I going to mesxico for two getaway from cops. That guye omar hes funny. He almost ated the car keyes. I was laughinng an coughing and he was spittting on the polize. He crazy guy, sptupid funny.
Nightnight. I escape bye now.
posted by Jo Jo 9:53 PM