Doobie doobie doooooo.
Oh. Hello.
Didn't see you there.
I was just whistling a jaunty tune, while sipping some cola from a drinking cylinder, when the voice in my head told me it was time for a new journal. As usual, I complied with its wishes--mainly to avoid violence--and am now typing prudently to satisfy its evil whims.
...
So...hrm.
Oh. Here's some advice that I just deduced all by myself; It's better to draw on your drawing table than when you're sitting on your waterbed, with a soft covered sketchbook. Uh hyuck. Oh, and...if you tie your shoes just slightly tighter than usual, it makes you feel full of zazz. Like a ninja or an action hero of some sort, ready to leap into action at the slightest provocation.
It's sweet.
Try it, you'll see.

Also, my muse was reincarnated in the form of an especially cozy pair of longjohns, which have become my most prized possession. Did you ever play Morrowind, and enchant some pants to be magic? Well that's what my longjohns are like. They give me +3 to motivation rolls, as well as increasing my dexterity, charisma, and strength by 1! At this rate I'm gonna level up soon.
Fucking sweet, dude.

Now, I sleep.
If you read this, then sometime within the next thousand years one of your descendants will be born with antlers. You're welcome.

P.S. It occurs to me that 'read' and 'read' should be spelled differently, to avoid momentary 'tense' confusion. I'll write somebody about that and see what I can do.

I remember there was something I used to do a long long time ago, involving my hand and a utensil of some sort. I vaguely remember...touching a cylindrical object to a surface and moving it around a bit. Oh, and it would leave a trail of dark liquid-like sludge behind it as it moved, which would take various shapes, depending on seemingly random movements made by the wrist and hand. What the fuck was that called again?!
Oh yeah...
Drawing!
...
I should...draw something...sometime. Now I just need a...
...
a... uh...
...
P...pen? Is that what they're called?
Meh.

Hmm.
Been a while, huh.
Well....
Nothing new to report.
The art juice in my brain had turned into jelly, leaving me withered and non-productive. Oh, I've done pictures...but they were horrible. HORRIBLE!
So now as punishment I make the hands stay in oven mitts so they can't draw. THey hate me, but...fuck 'em. That's what they get.
....
I just learned of sweet-ass pens called Rapidographs, and despite being fun to say they seem very nice. I will have them one day. Oh yes, they will be mine.
Now it is time for sleep.
If you read this, I curse you to live for one thousand years!
Mwah hah hah hah hah hah hah hah hah hah hah hah hah.
It's funny, because you probably think that's a good thing. But eventually you'll go mad, and hurt a lot of people.
Sucker!
...
*Runs away*

Outer space and turtles are cool.
Now, onto dog world...
Well I went to the dog pound today, to put in a resume ( Hey, that rhymed! Sweet!), because I was thinking it would be a sweet, sweet job to play with dogs all day. Because dogs are cool.
It's a big yellow building, with a picture on the side of a bunch of happy puppies, of different breeds, all frolicking in some sunny field.
...
But do you know what those motherfuckers at the pound do?! They kill dogs! That's right! My understanding is that if a dog isn't 'adopted' after a certain amount of time, they kill 'em.
Wtf!
I mean...I've drawn decapitated puppies before....but that's just pencil crayons... actually killing dogs is not cool. I guess it's to keep the population down, but I say fuck that... What's so bad about having dogs running around everywhere?
Those dirty dog pound scoundrels are going to hell!

So anyway...after I damned them all to eternal hellfire, I began wondering about a world in a distant galaxy...with huge dogs, and all kinds of fucked up alien breeds, and then some tiny dogs too...like, the size of ants.... And... tree-dogs, who live in trees....and mole dogs who tunnel underground. And of course, the elusive flying dog...
And, who knows...maybe the dogs have even developed far greater intelligence then our dogs, and can talk. With their minds !
I imagined dog world, and took comfort in the fact that it existed.
Oh yeah, and water-dogs... Guess what they do...
.
..
...
.....
........
...........
.............
...........
........
.....
...
..
.
They live in the water!


I wonder if you can make an intergalactic portal out of household items....
*wanders off*

Really? You clicked on a journal entitled 'Pickle'?
What did you expect to find here? Culinary advice?
Well there will be none of that! No cooking tips or gardening advice, just a spontaneous urge to say pickle.

I tried drawing the other day, and was ghastlier than the ghastliest ghoul when I saw how much I suck now from not drawing enough. It's like the hand hates me or something... Maybe if I get it a shiny glove or something it will like me again. Until then, it stays in the bear trap.

On the upside though, my last journal was completely wrong...my most recent stuff *was* up in '06, not '05... So... I'm only half as lazy as I thought I was. And stupid, for not realizing that earlier. But's it's still a long damn time, and -- even though I've said this in my last two journals -- I intend on doing something... sometime. Soon.
N' stuff.
...
It's that damn Aqua Teen Hunger Force takin' up all my time! Damn you Meatwad!

*rolls away*