I realize that it's been quite a few weeks since I last posted anything and that a lot of you are probably wondering where the updates are.  I also realize that I am grossly inflating the value of "a lot of you" to mean "any number more than the real number which is zero."  It's ok though -- I'm in the media biz and I'm allowed to be a little sensational.   Can I let you in on a little secret?  The updates are wondering where you've been, too.  You don't return emails anymore and you don't call.   Hell, you don't even come home late from the bar drunk and beat on them like you used to.  They're heartbroken.  You said that you loved them and this is how you display your affection?  Your behavior just makes me sick.  But eating raw chicken also makes me sick so I'm not really sure where I am headed with this.

My life hasn't exactly been perfect lately, which isn't quite the fertile soil that my mentally unstable mind needs in order to grow new ideas.  My dog died in a freak accident involving a tuba, my wife left me for an Ethiopian plumber, and I have become severely addicted to riding in elevators.  Now, you shouldn't let yourself be overly concerned that none of these events actually happened because I am no less depressed about them.  It's situations like this where I like to ask myself, "what would Matthew McConaughey do?"   Unfortunately, the idea of taking my shirt off to expose my completely ripped physique didn't seem like it would solve anything, so I ate a bunch of crayons and just kind of threw up for a while instead.  Do you want to know what that netted me?  A trip to the ER.

This man is trying hard to hide being an asshole.

I'm no doctor, but I do play one in the occasional update and in those updates I am usually an asshole.  This is based off years of factual research, most of which consisted of playing video games and smoking peyote, so I'm pretty proud of that accomplishment.  I absolutely hate doctors so you can imagine where visiting them ranks of my list of cool things to do.   (Hint: just below having a rattlesnake and a deadly spider fight over who could inject more venom into my testicles.)  Doctors are a lot like mechanics in that nothing good can ever come out of a appointment with either.   You will always leave with bad news, the need for a follow-up appointment, and a bill the size of the yellow pages for both.  Even if you do manage to get good news, like, say, that your cancer is finally in remission, that's like someone cutting off your leg only to announce five months later that they did it as a practical joke.  Pretty bittersweet if you ask me.  One of these days, I am going to show up for my doctor's appointment in a white lab coat and really fuck with the minds of the staff.

Unfortunately, the similarities with mechanics and people in the medical profession end there, so I am unable to string out that joke any further to help fill up the rest of this article.  For this I blame the South American cat food cartel.  I drink chocolate milk to help console my grief while contemplating the ups and downs of a post-war Thailand economy and the likelihood that the NASDAQ was bound to suffer major drops due to locust infiltration in the midwest.  It's things like this that get me up in the morning and bring importance into my life.   Well, that and the fact that I am the self-proclaimed king of ImportantLand.  While many people might be quick to point out the fact that ImportantLand isn't a real place, it should be noted that these people are liars and also jerks.  Jerry Falwell was one of those people and now he's dead.  Maybe you should take note of that fact.

See, if I'm only on two wheels then it's a bike, right?.

If none of this really makes any sense to you, that's ok.  I actually composed three seperate updates to post today but one was written in a foreign language which I can't read the other was in invisible ink.  Trust me, you're not the only one who feels shafted here.  I've been getting angry looks all day because it's bike to work day.  Fuck you, I biked.   It's just that my bike has four tires and an engine.  Don't hate the player, hate the technology.  Anyway, I suppose it's not your fault so I apologize for taking it out on you but my prescription of venlafaxine has run out and I am losing millions of gallons of norepinephrine with each passing minute.  Ok, maybe not "millions" but definitely in the high hundred thousands and in case you're not good with numbers, that's a lot.  Hey, what can I say?  I'm more rusty than a redneck's front lawn but stick with me, kid.  We'll go places.  Like maybe the supermarket or perhaps to the napkin factory.  Yeah, I always wanted to go there.