Operating Room

Right. I know that is a played out picture. But fuck off because I took that one so it rules. It's way better than anyone you've ever seen before. Deal with it. It's out of my control.
What is going on in your world? I'm interested. But only as interested as I have to be for the sake of keeping you around long enough for me to steal from your wallet. I don't even care if it is money I steal. I will get that crushed mint and business card from 1992 and 1987, respectively. It isn't my fault so much as it is yours, because you know I like to keep my breath fresh and call numbers that don't belong to whom I am calling any longer. I like to call them and ask for the previous owner of the number. Then I like to shuck and jive with them. You know this. You know how I live for short snippet adventures into lives of strangers. So if you would simply not keep them shits in your wallet, I wouldn't be forced to steal from you.
When my shit from Amazon gets here, I'll have something better to read. This crap I am trying to read now blows. It not only blows. It eats. It not only blows and eats. It sucks. It does anything you can think of relating to shoving a big mess of crap into your mouth.
Today, I did one pull up, 25 times, in a row. So I guess I did 25 pull ups. But I did like 100 throughout the day. I also ran 8 miles today. Fast. Under a 7 minute pace. But just under. I think the last mile was like 9. I was beat.
This sty on my eye is beginning to swell and puss and turn green and bloodshot my eye and all in all make it look like I have leprosy or some shit.
My piss still smells like popcorn.
I might need some help. I've got serious issues.

I Dee

Right. When I piss, it smells like popcorn. Anyone want to tell me what that is all about? Unkind is my new myspace friend. Cocaine needs to get on board with this bullshit. It wastes my time. I like wasted time.
Work is preventing me from doing crossword puzzles, word jumbles, reading the paper and Sudoku. Fuck work. I have the worst sty one my right eye you've ever seen. It is giant and bothersome and it is all around gross.
I want to hire someone to take pictures of my life. I want him to develop those pictures in black and white and I want them to make some meaning of all this.

Return Of The Loop Digga

Right. On a field in Mycenae I watched an Amazon start a fire engulfing armies 4,000 years ago. I stood in amazement as the blaze purified my skin and as I died, I named her Athena. I watched another man give her a necklace and her bless him for it. I first felt the desire of contact, but I died having only touched her wrath.
She was already in power when I met her 3,000 years ago. She was another's wife and the object of my passion. The most perfect woman to come, Nefertiti, I watched her rule when her husband died. She vanished and when she left, so did my will. I wanted only to see her eyes, but saw only her beauty.
She sat level to the masses, yet in a tower above as she orchestrated a rise to power. She gave a son to a grey eyed descendent of Venus 2,000 years ago. She then gave his best friend three children. I fled a nation as news of her suicide spread. Her whole life I wanted to see Cleopatra, but would have died knowing only her ambition.
Her husband died 1,000 years ago. She tried to make peace with the enemies of her husband in order to protect her son. I wept as she was exiled, but drank as she returned to make peace between her son and his enemies. I thirsted for the sight of Empress Agnes, but drank only her mercy.
She dressed as a man and led inferior men to defeat the English 500 years ago. I fought under her determination. I was inspired by her bravery. I devoted myself to her defiance. She would be executed, and later canonized as Joan of Arc. I fell in love again because of her purity and wanting to hold only her, I only held her divinity.
I'll never meet her today. I'll never hear her voice, follow her spirit, feel her rage or change her tire. I will know she exists, and for the first time in the history of man, the world will not be alerted to her presence. I take comfort in her aura. She is the inspiration for God. I have dreamt of her taking me to see 300. I will live this life wanting only to feel her, but will only feel her humility.

Font Of Putrescence

Right. I spend more time looking for a picture to post than I actually do writing anything. I spend more time writing anything than I actually do paying attention to what I am writing.
I am about to go somewhere for a little bit. I can't talk about where. So drop it.
A social thought process information train is all fucked up, with a plague of madness. But on the plus side, I knocked over the sun-sphere.
I want to take pictures. I want to take pictures and call them photographs. I want to take photographs and call them art. I want to call them art and give them imperious names like, "Cliche Alchemy." I want to hang Cliche Alchemy on a wall in a gallery and talk to people about how great Kurt Vonnegut is. I want to talk about how great Kurt Vonnegut is and sip wine. I want to sip wine while laughing about the vulgar plebs who don't watch foreign films. I want to laugh at the vulgar plebs who don't watch foreign films when I notice a girl in Seven Jeans. I want to notice a girl wearing Seven jeans and show her my photography. I want to show her my photography and talk about the texture and layers I employ when framing my mind's eye. Then, when it the night is over, I want to quickly walk past the homeless and scoff at my fortunes - to a God I don't believe in.

It Is Also A Boy's Dream

Right. I like to say sheesh. I also like to say schuck and jive. I also like to waste long weekends by getting drunk during the day and then running for an hour and a half each night.
Every damn time I make the noble effort to jerk off, I get a sudden case of the most terrible gas known to man. Then I put my business away and start to do something else, and the gas goes away. I make plans and preparations to shake hands with the unemployed again and sweet merciful crap I almost choke myself out. I don't know what to do about this.
I am drunk right now. That shouldn't come as a big surprise, considering I am always drunk. Seriously. I wake up and bong beer just to get through the day. Not true. I go run, come home and bong beer before I shower to make it through the day. I like to run. I wish my whole life could be spent running and working out.
The worst thing about being drunk so much is that I always have to check my sent email box to ensure I didn't act the ass the night before.
The best thing about being drunk all the time is that I am in constant surprise of my own life. "Wow. I did that?" Is something I usually ask. I also am like a detective, constantly piecing the puzzle together of events I made happen while tying one on.
All in all, I could make the case that I am smarter because I drink. But the reality of the matter is that I only drink because I really have nothing else in my life. Army. Drinking. Army. Army. Drinking. Army. Drinking. The occasional phone call home. That's my life. Once in a while I go eat something. But mostly, it's all Army and drinking.
I ate kangaroo and crocodile a few weeks back. If you haven't, then you ought. Because kangaroo is the bomb. Crocodile is a little fishy, but splendid nonetheless. I was at this restaurant that I think translates to "Steak on a Stone." I was like yeah right because the German peoples have a problem with eating cow. But we went in and sure enough there was cow. But also a whole mess of crap I have never eaten before. So I order and they bring this raw meat out to you on this stone. The stone is hot and you cut a piece of raw meat, press that piece against this stone and it cooks right there. It was the jet. Every bite was cooked to my specifications because I cooked it. Every piece was still hot when entering my mouth. It was the best shit ever. I want to open one up in the states.
I wrote this post in the future. Time isn't as linear as one might think. But then again, it's entirely linear. I am lying. I wrote this shit in the past. As usual. As usual I am lying and as usual I am writing this in the past. Stupid military hasn't given me the keys to the time machine yet.
If the Army did give me the keys to Betsy, the time machine, then bet your ass things would be different.
1 - I'd go into the future and get a shitty job and make shitty money for a year. Then I'd take that shitty money to the past where, due to inflation, that money is worth quite a bit. No wait, this is complicated as fuck. I would go to tomorrow and rob like a billion dollars worth of gold. Then I would take that gold and go back in time to like the year 2000. Then I'd hook up with year 2000 Yossarian and diversify my bonds. Zip my ass now to the present and enjoy the bitches of today. Genius.
I'd also go back in the day and stop the shitheads from burning the Great Library. I'd hook up Julius Caesar with a glock the day before motherfuckers wanted to act up. I'd give Alexander the Great a few grenades. I'd stop John Lennon from making music and his buddy Paul. I'd tell everyone who shot J.R. I'd kill Biggie and Tupac the day before they actually died. I'd hang out with Elvis.
I'd do a lot of shit. But mostly I'd try beer from every era in human history.
One would think that since I am a grown ass man and it is the middle of January that I would have packed up the Santa Nutcracker. Wrong. I still use that little motherfucker to handle all communications. I think it keeps getting funnier. Like on Friday when the Sergeant Major asked me something fucked up and I grabbed Santa and said, "Wow. I see the fully functional brain I got you didn't arrive yet. Maybe next year." No I didn't. But I wanted to. My Sergeant Major is a retard.

You Are Not My Target Market

Right. Today is Friday. I got a job so I can't get high. I miss my guys. I like drinking with my friends. We should have had more nachos. I am hungry. I havn't eaten in like a week. Someone should make me some food. I don't have any food so someone should buy me some and then prepare it. I will eat it. Everyone wins.
This post is over because this is a half-assed attempt today.

Fire Holds Options

Right. Some people bother me. Other people piss me off. Most people I can ignore. Everyone I can sit next to and enjoy a drink if they would shut up and not be so fucking loud.
Speak on it son.
Every single person I don't know has contacted me today asking about this troop increase and all and what I think of it. It's not really my job to think of it. My job is clearly defined. And it has very little to do with thinking of policy. But to answer, I don't care. Will it help? For a bit. Can we sustain the level of force? If they say so. Mostly, I don't care. I think it's funny. I mean, to up the troop level is a funny idea. 21,500 more troops. That's close to 6 Brigades. Damn near 2 Divisions. I don't know that we got 2 Divisions of mother fuckers just sitting around shooting dice getting bored. We are taxed. Our operations tempo is high. But whatever.
Your boy George made the decision. Sometimes I like George. Sometimes he gets me all happy and motivated. I don't know what it is. Sometimes I'm just like, "Man. That dude doesn't give a fuck." I can respect not giving a fuck. But then sometimes I'm like, "Where is this bloody bint getting these ideas? Fucking Kubla Kahn? Maybe Chaka Kahn." It's like 50/50. Fucking 5 - 6 pick 'em with that dude.
I joined to go. So I clearly saw a purpose in it at the time, but not so much anymore. I still look forward to going, but I have my doubts it will do any good. But a troop increase will clearly put more people there. I guess that can be an objective met. Another objective met could be the Navy still proves how useless it is.
See, eventually everyone will fight. So now or in 5 years, what's the difference? That's just where I'm at in my life. But I am in a lot of places in my life.
Another place I am at in my life is that INXS had some good music I neglected to listen to prior to today.
Here's where I'm at in my life, a thousand hours wouldn't be enough with you. Especially if you made some nachos.
Man nachos rule. I sadly haven't had a nacho in like a year.
German people eat the most messed up junk you've ever seen. They eat wax. Like candle wax. They claim it's a potato, but fuck that noise. I'm Irish, I've had potatoes. I've eaten them any way you can think. But the German people think it's good to somehow cook them into a candle wax and eat them.
They also eat more pork than a rebellious Jew. Pork eating rebellious Jews. That's funny. I hate pork. Except for bacon, which the German people managed to fuck up. How you fuck up bacon is beyond me. But these lazy gits did it.
I think that if she would invite me over to feed me nachos and watch sportscenter with me and then go out drinking with my friends and maybe sing karaoke with us, I might have to give serious consideration to tossing salad. And by tossing salad I mean wedlock. Wedlock of my mouth and her asshole. No, just regular wedlock. Unless she was into that sort of sensation. Then it would be both wedlocks I previously mentioned. What I am trying to get at is if she wants her salad tossed, she really doesn't have to feed me nachos, drink with my friends and sing karaoke. But I mean cut a brother some slack you stupid bitch.

Mystify

Right. Emailing massive quantities of music is fucking time consuming. Someone should buy me a chimichanga or something. My job is so retarded. I swear some of the decisions made I wonder if the decider was even awake at the time of deciding.
Every German I have met is looking for a fucking handout. Lazy gits. The whole lot of them. My landlord is the worst. I am looking into prosecuting my landlord as she is ripping me off something fierce. I hope she rots in hell for it. I bust my ass for the bullshit I make and she just keeps taking. I can't wait to go to German court. I'm sure I stand a chance.
So I have a new private who came to my platoon and he is so gay. I'm not insulting him, he is gay. As in he likes dudes. And I'm fine with it, because what the fuck do I care? Be gay. Be not gay. I don't care. But it does bother some of the other people in my platoon. Which is disturbing, because why should they care? But they do. So I have that to deal with. How do I do that? As in how do I continue to train and build a cohesive platoon when they act like this guy is contagious with the deadly mutaba virus.
I like to listen to my Ipod while I eat.
I think it's safe to say I am a rational man. But if I have to deal with this mother fucker much more I will cut out his eyes and feed them to his whore of a wife. While I'm at it, if this other mother fucker continues to not listen and talk the blah blah he's talking, I will be forced to feed him his own spinal fluid to wash down the genitals of his children. I hate these two people. I want them to die.
I wish these songs would fucking send. It's been like a year.
Don't fucking ...zzz... me. Answer your phone.
More People used to come here to read. I guess I am no longer interesting.
I can't rhyme for you. I wish I could. Because you deserve it.

Sincerely Yours

Right. If I told you a lie, with conviction in my heart and confidence in my voice, would you believe me? If I looked you in the eye and told you the secrets of my heart, shakingly and with uncertainty, would you dismiss my confession as a lie?
The hatred of life begins at an early age when one realizes that a decade separates one from greatness. If Alexander were born today, he would work as a janitor and people would overlook him. Had Ricky from down the street been born in 1935, he would have ignited a metamorphosis of the cosmos. Had she been born a day after me, a lifetime of squalor would be avoided by a chance meeting at O'Hare International.
The whiskey warms the blood where her hands can't reach. The blanket warms the flesh where her soul can't speak. Sleep warms the soul where knowledge of her existence is blocked.
Words can flow back and forth, glances can be ignored and thoughts can be felt. Hair can be pulled, lips can be bitten and eyes can sweat. Silence can deafen, calidity can be shared and dreams can be manifested. Emptiness will be known, distance will be realized and wonder will be lamented.
I've dreamed of an elbow bending at angles previously impossible. I've believed in perfection to a degree of surprise. I've been imparted with knowledge that her sweat gland can sustain a botanical oasis. I've written sentences thrown away by the poets of old. I've inspired ideas shaming my ancestors.
Once in a millennia, a woman is born who forces the world to limn her with every effort in every medium. This woman is here now, and is occupying my life with her heart of gold and thighs of heaven. She is the only person I know who has a soul. She is the reason mankind existed, so that a million angels would wait for eternity to watch her in glorification for her life span.
For you, a million sentences with a million connotations and entendres I would spew forth forever,every second, until the very sound of my voice and thought of it speaking another sentence would make you eat my tongue only so you could never hear such things again, enabling you to sleep a sleep from which you will dream of things I only wish I could speak.

Some Unicorns Stay

Right. I declare that I will know you as Salome in my heart until I am told otherwise by your heart. Or until I write you a sentence in a drunken haste you find scary. Or until you make me soup and fuck it up, because who fucks up soup?
I have something serious to say today. I once had a friend in high school. We played football together and he was a year behind scholastically, but years ahead of me in maturity. He later became my roommate in college and was, and I am sure still is a very good man.
The last time I saw him was at his wedding. I hear he has a son now. I am a better person for having know him and his family.
His family. My friend had a wonderful family. They are very close, supportive and loving. Good people all around. I was 17 when I first met his family and he had a little brother named Mark. Mark was 12 or 13. The first day I met him, he put on a pair of boxing gloves and punched me in the face. Ballsiest fucker alive. For a year or so I couldn't remember his name so I called him Steve. For some reason everyone thought it was funny and even his family called him Steve.
Steve or Mark or however you want to know him grew up, and grew up well. While he was several years younger than me I admire him because he has a knack for living. He's a good kid.
Three years ago Steve was 21. One morning, while I can only assume masturbating, Steve felt something on his balls. He went to the doctor and it was cancer. And not nut cancer. It was a cancer known as Desmoplastic Small Round Cell Tumor. This cancer usually manifests itself in the abdomen, but chose his ball bag. 80% of people diagnosed with this cancer die. They took his balls and began chemo for 8 months. The kid lived. The kid went back to work and got promoted. He moved because of his job and was living his life.
Steve went in for his yearly scan a couple of weeks ago. On December 27th the doctors found the cancer returned and is now in his abdomen.
Steve, my old roommate and the whole family will never read this because they do not know about my blog. I just want the 4 1/2 people who read this to know that there is a kid who has touched my life who is in a world of sorrow and fear. I have no way to help. I pray, I hope and I would offer my life would it do any good.
My grandmother told me that when a loved one dies it's because God needs a new soldier for his Army. I am of the opinion that if Steve dies, God needs a General.

Trying To Do Right By You

Right. Divorces are messy. Messier than the nut sprayed out prior to the divorce. This will be my third divorce, all because of my cursed infidelity. I am sorry ladies. From the depths of my gullet I am sorry. But times change and a man grows older.
My first marriage was to Elvira. Ahh Elvira. You gave me my first sexual boner. For that I rewarded you with being the thoughts behind my first batch ran. It was a good batch.
I cheated on you with a slew of women. Elizabeth Shue comes to mind. I almost divorced you for Joan Jett, but the thing was, I really thought we had something. Elvira, while we are no longer married, you are not forgotten. I still think of you sometimes and they are fond memories.
I divorced Elvira for Niki Taylor the supermmodel. I could have written off all others had it not been for my raging hormones and the fact that you made me feel inferior. For the first time I cheated not because of a wandering eye, but out of a deep seeded need to be loved. A need you only fulfilled when you wanted. I cheated on you with a bevy of women. I can't even remember them all. Jenny McCarthy had stripped her way into my life while we were married. But I was too young and you were too pretty for it to last. I miss you.
Claire, by far you were the longest lasting marriage I have ever had. We were married right through high school and through college. It was a beautiful thing you and I. Of course your participation in our marriage was sporadic at best so I cheated with Natalie Portman, Gwen Stephanie, Jessica Biel and various porn stars, but My heart always belonged to you. You were and still are the wind beneath my wings.
Keira Knightley. I knew from the first moment I saw you that we would marry. And I tried to remain as faithful as possible. I fell to Famke Jansen a few times and Zoe Saldana a handful of times, but it was all physical and looking back, it saddens me that I did that to you. The occasional porn star was there as well but the point is, I loved you, with all of my soul.
And now I would like to take this time to say my vows. I Yossarian, having put all of my whoring in the past, have decided upon walking the isle and for the last time in my life marrying. The divorce from Keira was hard, but in the end it made my resolve stronger and I now take you, Ziyi Zhang as the hottest woman on the earth. May this marriage last forever and I love you.
Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the hottest woman alive:

Trees Are Dying

Right. You and me at an undisclosed location can make it happen. But then again, we can make this shit work any time, any where. That's just how we would roll. Were "we" ever defined as such and had probable cause to roll.
To make mom happy, and score with mad bitches, I am going to put shit on a myspace page. Lame I know. But I have a ton of pictures from Rome and Prague and sitting around the house that they have to go somewhere. So if you know my real name, and I'm not entirely sure that Yossarian isn't my real name, then look me up in a day or so and pictures of me will percolate your atmosphere.
It's not that I don't like the Army, because I do, it's that I need to have a normal style in my life that leads to drunkenness and bitches. Neither of those are afforded to me at this time.
I'm going to put the screws to your ass here soon.
Thank you for bringing the Old 97's into my life. I should have thanked you sooner. But not a day goes by that I am not appreciative.
I'm not bragging, but as it turns out I am Time's Man of the Year. Are you jealous? Because you should be. I think the real man of the year is who ever sold, "Hey. Remember that movie the Big Lebowski? Well, let's put a mirror on our cover so everyone can be man of the year," to his boss.
I can do anything you can do.
Stop giving me shit. I know I am breaking the fucking rules. I got it. I don't give a fuck. I didn't care yesterday, I'm not going to give a frog's fat ass tomorrow and I sure as shit don't fucking care today. Are you picking up what I’m putting down? Are you tracking? Are you smelling what I'm cooking? Are you feeling me? So shut the fuck up about it. I don't work for you and even if I did it wouldn't stop me from knowing you are a complete git. Sod off.
What in the bleeding hell are we doing now?
If I go there, I won't be back.
I think the most genius work of all time, in any medium, has to be Teen Wolf Too.

Supergalactic Lover

Right. I am excited about the upcoming year. I can't wait to see how I can fuck this one up. This year will bring some serious shit and decisions that have to be made. Decisions I'm never very good at. Decisions like, "What am I going to do next?" I was faced with that decision a few years ago after college and opted for grad school. A noble endeavor which provided me with the most expensive piece of paper occupying space on a wall in the house my mother owns.
After grad school I was faced with another decision and picked door number three and wound up in the Army. I should have joined the Air Force. Them fuckers don't do shit. I'm good at not doing shit. I'm good at Army shit too, but it's not comfortable sleeping in the rain. Also, the Army is kind of stupid. My unit runs shit like a bunch of prats and it causes more stress than it has to.
This year my paperwork will be in hand and ready to be dropped off. Leave will be accounted for and in about 14 or 15 months, Yossarian could be on his way home. That is the decision. Ought I continue, do 20 years and collect the retirement check for a Colonel? Or ought I leave the Army? Fuck beans decisions.
If I choose to leave then I have more decisions to make. Namely, what the fuck else am I going to do with my life. I'm not very attractive, so finding a rich girl, while my ultimate goal, is highly unlikely. I would need a job. I don't even know how to go about finding a job. I never had to. My first job a friend hooked me up with. Then college and whatever I was doing for work was all bullshit. Then I joined the Army and that wasn't exactly a hard application process. "Hey I want to be an officer." "You got college?" "Yeah something like that." And here I am.
Other than making people laugh and drinking as if it were my job, I have no marketable skills. I'm not sure where to market my drinking prowess either. And I’m not a big fan of standing in front of people so making people laugh is right out. I really have no clue what to do or how to go about doing it. So I guess that would leave a rational man in the Army.
There is the proverbial rub. I've never been accused of being rational. I once tried to send a teacher to the office in high school for disciplinary action. I can drink a long island ice tea in 4 seconds. I dated a crank victim twice...the same fucking one. I bought a fake Rolex that doesn't work.
Maybe I should try to do what I've always wanted to do with my life. But I don't know what that is. I once heard someone pose the question: What happens to the man who tries to achieve his boyhood dream? What happens to the boy if that man fails? I don't have the answer because I can't remember what my boyhood dream is. I think it involved Supermodel Nikki Taylor, but I can't be certain.
Let's play the game and say I decide to leave and go get a job. I need to earn more than what I will be making when I leave. That only makes sense. But I don't really have anything to offer so I can't see why anyone would pay me.
I also have no clue where my résumé is so I would have to start fresh and that seems stupid considering the only thing I've done is go to school and learn how to kill people. I wish the world actually had assassins. I'd do that job.
If I stay in the Army where is that going to get me? When my contract is up I won't have seen my friends or family in two years 238 days plus the plane ride home. I'd like to get to know my folks before they die. I have a nephew I wouldn’t mind meeting. But I would get to do some super secret spy type shit once I was branch qualified. That is kind of hot. I think the job gets a whole lot more fun and interesting once all the fields open up.
I think at the end of the day, I miss normality. I miss freedom of movement and doing what I want. The desire to have time to go out and meet girls will bring me back home. I'd like to not work a 70 hour work week and then the work the weekends. That would be nice. But what is I am one of those crazy cats you see on TV who are workaholics? What if I am destined to just work and work and be miserable because of it. I'd bet there's a whole lot more money to be made outside of the Army if I am. But then again I can yell cocksucker at my job and no one gets offended. That's nice.
I will also turn 29 this year. Fuck. I couldn't have wasted the first 30 years of my life with any more brilliance if I tried.

2006 - You're Quite A Woman But I Don't Wanna Be Your Man

Right. A new year is upon me. Superb. In the year past I have done some shit. Most of it is not worth mentioning, some of it is worth a parade and all of it bores me when I think of it today. I could recant tales of hookers boned, cities visited, meals eaten and women obsessed over, but instead I will do what I am best at – predict the future.
In 2007 the year of our lord a lot of shit will happen. Most of it will bother me, some of it will pleasure me with its mouth and all of it will be remembered by those remembering trivial aspects of life.
I'm thinking that's not really predicting. Fuck. Now I have to get into a trance and shit.
I predict that Fergie will put out even worse music than she has prior to 2007. Making us all miss her London Bridge bit.
I predict this will be my last full year in the Army. The Army will be just fine without me and I it.
I predict that even if I get a real life horseshoe and hang it upside down above my door, you still wouldn't be attracted to me. Making this prediction strange because no one knows who "you" is.
I predict that as my leadership time ends, my run time will get real slow.
I predict I will do all in my power to make it to Korea this year.
I predict that if this fake Rolex I bought doesn't start working properly, I will blow it the fuck up.
I predict that when I piss next, it will rule. And I was right.
I predict that Janet Fitch will be exposed as a horrible author and she will give me back my 20 bucks for this boring bullshit I am reading. I could read better things from shit stains on a snare drum.
I predict that I will not run my fingers through anyone's hair this year. That is unfortunate.
I see the Yankees winning the World Series.
I know this year will blow.
I predict I will shank that motherfucker if he keeps looking this way.
I predict that if you skip work for a week and meet me in Old Mexico we could have fun and possibly run away for ever living under fake names. I predict that if we did this it would rule.
I predict that sooner or later I'll have to clean up in here.
I predict that I will spend no less than 25,000 dollars on alcohol this year.
I predict that I will be hailed as the most genius man ever when I unveil my drunken thoughts to the scientific community through a mind link I will create one day while I am trying to make shampoo out of the right mixture of body wash, water and scope.
I predict that this year I will divorce Keira Knightly as the hottest woman ever and marry Ziyi Zhang as the hottest woman ever. I suspect this will happen in about 6 months.
Happy New Year. May the next 365 days bring you happiness and peace.