When I was a kid, I never realized how much I would hold on to things.

Apple Cinnamon Cheerios always remind me of being a kid. A little kid. 3 or 4 years old? Nursery school, for crissakes. Wonderland!

I just got back from the supermarket and picked some up. Delicious. Maybe that's where my job will be? I gotta get crackin' on that...as soon as I settle the deal with the 75 dollars in parking tickets some cops gave me. Fuck that jazz, turn down my appeal? I'm gonna go stomp their faces in tomorrow. This bullshit has gone on too long. The Student Accounts office and I don't like each other.

Today was tuesday...hella busy. It looks like I may have to switch my radio show to a different day, as to loosen up my schedule a bit and make room for homework time (which in the past two days has been FRANZOWNED).

I didn't fare too well on my Moons and Planets homework. There's another assignment due next week, and a test after that. Great. Nothing like shooting in the dark at something you're quite positive will come into your life and eat your GPA.

Who cares about much you can bench press? No, really, who? Do I? Will you ever use that knowledge to get under a car to save a baby? No. Fuck that, who cares. If you brag about how much you can bench press, please, do yourself a favor and put a shirt on.