Man I'm Bad at This Writing Frequently Thing

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If you somehow come across this in your internet travels and are a friend of mine and read this junk I put up here somewhat regularly, I can't get into my IM and my world is crashing down around me. Help.

OK, let me ramble:

--Why do they not make orange yogurt? Why is it constantly displaced on store shelves by Peach? And for that matter, why is there no peach juice? Something f*cking serious is going on here.

--Now that I work in lawn care I see a lot of interesting things. One of the best was last week. A woman had a stone goose in her front yard about the size of my Stanley. The goose was adorned in a St. Patty's Day outfit, Leprechaun-style, complete with pointy buckle-shoes, pointy hat, and yes, red beard. Possibly the Greatest Thing I Have Ever Seen. I need to get Stanley one of these. Does anyone know where I might find one?

--You know you're coming out of your sexual prime when you think more about March Madness and who will be on Conan O'Brien more than you think about getting laid. To be honest, I've often looked forward to this day. Can you imagine how much less stress you would feel with no sex drive? Can I just have it removed entirely? I'll pay good money. I don't even care anymore.

--I'm still working up the energy to write and defend my Why the Yankees Have Ruined Baseball essay.

--On that note, I'm tired of skirting around this fact, I don't care anymore, but aside from a few people I hate pretty much everyone from the following areas: North Jersey, New York City, Connecticut, Long Island. Is there anything worse than a North Jersey girl, with the accent and all the makeup and whatnot? I mean I know there are exceptions, but come on.

--I need a shower. Or I could just not shower and move to North Jersey. God, I'm on a roll tonight.

--Mark April 24th on your calendar: this is the day the Cleveland Browns draft WR Mike Williams and I shove a spoon into my eye.

THE CHRONICLES OF THE RIGHT HONORABLE SANCHEZ MAXTON (HE'S VERY EXCITING)

Chapter I, Epic III - How to Further Strip a Deformed Girl of Her Dignity

It has become apparent to me that 92.37% of all the good things that have happened to me in my life happened at my lunch table in high school. This story (and the one to follow sometime in the near future) is no exception.

Sitting at the edge of our lunch table was none other than the venerable Matt Klein, who was huge and had red hair. Thus, we called him the Big Red Ox. It was appropriate. A man of shallow thought and a dwindling number of brain cells, he spoke little but when he did what came out was usually important.

During one sunny day of Junior Year, two girls got in a fight at the front of the lunchroom. There was some slapping and some pulling of the hair, and though the entire lunchroom got into the ruckus, it was pretty short-lived. Both were summarily escorted to the Principal's Office (TM).

One of the combatants, Jess Jesserson (I'm going to run out of these adorable and clever aliases soon), was well known around school due a birth defect. She had since her inception had a bright red birthmark, not unlike a port-wine stain, that encompassed her entire right hand, forearm, and elbow. It looked like she had just dipped the appendage in grape juice. It wasn't disgusting or socially invasive (she was rather attractive otherwise and, as I'm told, did well with the men-folk in a romantic regard), but it was highly noticeable.

Jess, apparently free of the repressive Principal's Office Environment (TM), came back into the lunchroom towards the end of the period. Possibly the biggest mistake she ever was to walk by our table and, consequently, by a scheming Big Red Ox. I leave you with the conversation that transpired, and good you bid day:

OX: Hey Jess, come here a sec.

JESS: Yeah?

OX: So, you got in a fight with Tammy Tammerson, huh? What was that all about?

JESS: She had been talking sh*t about me or whatever, but whatever, it's no big deal.

OX: Oh, OK. Did you get sent to the principal's office?

JESS: Yeah.

OX: Wow. Guess you could say you got caught...red handed, then.

(EDITOR'S NOTE: It was all in the timing and the absolutely pompous way he said it. I recall us all being to afraid to laugh until she walked away. Jesus Christ, where have those days gone?)