I got arrested for some crimes yesterday so I got taken to the station and interviewed.

The cop interviewing me was really hard-hitting (his name was Officer Cushioned Blow) and he was trying really hard to make me say I did all of the crimes.

At one point he said I better admit to the crimes or I'll be playing "spin the soap" in prison.

I think he meant it as a deterrent but, man, I love games and I like the idea of the forced interaction that prison brings since normally people all leave when I ask to play games with them. Then I have to kill them and it wastes a lot of my day.

My neighbour in the unit next to me has such a loud alarm that I can hear it in the morning.

Finally, I kind of know what it's like to sleep with someone: slightly inconvenient when they get up before you and you want to keep sleeping; distant.

I labelled some of my socks as "odd socks" and grouped them together.

Now the other socks make fun of them.

When they grow up, these socks are going to become stand-up comedians.

Just so you know, I am well aware that this blog hasn't been good in years.

But I feel it's important to keep it going as an alarming example of what happens to the creative brain when it's forced to do non-creative work for extended periods of time (hint: this is where something funny would go if I was still able to think of funny things.

Happy Valentine's

The wry, unacknowledged smile of a couple that are going to give it up tonight.

The look of fear on the face of a guy trying not to do anything to fuck it up. Making as few movements as possible in case one is the wrong one.

And her. Desperately wanting him to do something to earn it so she doesn't feel like a whore for giving it up.