Pants

So, I'm taking a big step here.

I'm going over the picket line...

The other writers, when they hear about this, are going to pitch a fit! They can stay on strike if they want, but I have things that need to be said. I am a little afraid of the repercussions though.

The According to Jim guys will beat me with a harmonica. The Heroes people will kick my ass, go back in time, and kick my ass again. And I'll be raped by the Lost writers and then they'll leave me while I try to figure out the meaning behind it.

It might be too much for me to handle, but I have important topics to discuss.

Joe might not have the balls to write.

But dammit I do.

Sidenote: OK, I am changing the tone of this blog now to happy.

I like Christmas. It's a fantastic time of year, in my opinion. Cause it's that time of year when everybody acts like greedy bastards. Let your shallow need of possession shine, people! Our Lord Savior is coming! For any Jews out there, the Lord Savior is Jesus F'in Christ. And you know what I'm eating for Christmas dinner? Ham.

Every year I am asked to write a Christmas List. I am twenty years old, and it's starting to get ridiculous.

Sidenote: When I was seven, writing this list for Santa, I asked for a cure to diabetes, cause the shots hurt my bum-bum. Looking back, that was probably the most awkward situation my parents could have ever been in. So they wrote me a letter back (on my mom's stationary) about how Santa was sorry (yes, he writes in the third person) but that his medical elves were working very hard on it. I'm glad I was stupid when I was seven.

I can tell I'm starting to get old, too. Usually my list has things like video games or movies or K'NEX sets (those things were freakin awesome!). You know what I asked for this year?

Pants.

I'll tell you why. Apparently I am more flexible than my trousers, because in nearly half of my pantaloons there is a good sized rip in the crotchal nether region. I've tried to fix it. I've sewn it up, but it comes undone. I've even considered putting a patch on it, but I think it would look like a poo patch like on the back of pajamas with footsies. There's no hope, and I'm a cheap bastard who won't buy my own pants. For the last few months I have been matching my underwear with the pants so nobody notices.

So that's pretty much all I asked for this year. Just pants. And I'm sure when Christmas comes around. Everybody will be opening their presents. And I'll open a sweet new video game, and a kick ass movie, and a rockin CD.

And then there will be nothing left, and I'll say, "Hey....where are my fuckin pants!"

Byah!

Rob