Trying to slit your wrists when all you've got is an electric razor is tough.

Not that I've tried, of course. It's just that I was standing in front of the bathroom mirror admiring my hair (it's in fine form tonight -- but why can't I get it like this when I want to?) when my eyes fell on my electric razor. They didn't fall, of course, as that would be rather painful and would probably require an all-expenses paid trip to the hospital in an ambulance.

Hey, the CD's over. What should I put in now? Yes, a little Hip should help counteract all the rap I hear around here.

That trip would be fun, although I think I'd be in too much pain to enjoy it. A funny thing, pain. If you think about it (and I have) pain is actually one incarnation of the feeling of touch. Try this out for yourself and see what I'm talking about. Get a pencil. Any old pencil will do, even one of those funky mechanical ones that weighs three pounds and has the James Bond Ultra-Laser option. Hold one end against your arm. Feel that? That's the feeling of touch. Push the pencil in a bit. That's pressure you're feeling. Push harder, and (if you're like me) you'll feel pain. You can stop pushing now, the experiment's over. Did you see what I mean? Pressure is just an extension of touch, and pain is an extension of pressure. Three feelings in one. Sort of the Holy Trinity of senses.

"I'm in love with the old world!" Sing it, Gord!

I've heard it said that pain's actually a good thing because it acts as a warning system for our bodies. If there's pain that means something isn't working right. Makes you wish computers could feel pain. That way if your hard drive was about to give up, losing your year's work in the process, sending you into a tyrannical rage, causing you to hold your office hostage while you bargain for a helicopter and a box of Timbits, it (the computer, not the box of Timbits -- although that would be a story to tell!) could actually tell you. But then, I suppose, if they did, then they'd be requesting sick leave, medical benefits, unionization, and the right to vote. This would cause the productivity in the workplace to drop to even lower levels than it is now (that's possible?) while the Asian markets, being either 10 years behind or 10 years ahead of us in the West and are thus either too far behind to develop this technology or too far ahead that they realize what a stupid idea it is, would catapult even farther ahead (or catch up -- depending on which Asian market you're looking at) of us.

Blast, my can of Barq's is empty. Time for another, I do believe. "Rain falls in real time, rain fell through the night." He must have been thinking about Hilo, because it's raining now, and will probably do so through the night.

I wonder where that cockroach is. About a week ago I got up at 4 in the morning to go to the bathroom. When I was in there doing my business a cockroach the size of a bus came shuffling out from behind the toilet. Scared the living daylights out of me. Didn't scare the piss out of me, because that's what I was already doing. Anyhow, I saw this thing crawl out, so I stopped my business and grabbed the plunger. There we were. Me, a 21 year old 6 foot 160 pound man with a deadly plunger (hey, my dad was a plumber, I know how to kill with a plunger in 37 different ways). He, (or she -- let's be PC, roaches can be female too) a two inch scourge of the earth armed with two of the most disgusting antennae I've seen on a roach. You can guess who had the upper hand. Yep. So I jumped in the bathtub and tried to shoo the damned thing away so I could continue on. Luckily it had mercy on me and scooted out into the hall. I shut the door, started breathing again, and continued. When I left the bathroom the roach was nowhere to be seen. I wasn't going to take any chances that this beast was going to come into my room when I was sleeping to apply a full nelson worthy of the WWF, so I crammed a towel into the crack under the door. I was safe. From reality, that is. My subconscious wasn't so lucky. My next dream was about socks with wavy antennae that kept attacking me.

My mind: evidence of what not taking drugs does for you.

I've got this box of donut holes sitting on the kitchen counter. (No, they're not Timbits. My computer's hard drive hasn't died on me yet.) I bought them about two weeks ago, maybe three. After four days the humidity got to them, somehow sucking all the moisture out of the insides while causing the outside to be coated in some sort of sticky goo. Mike suggested I give them out for Halloween. Mike. Somehow I think he's got a more twisted mind than me. His stories about castrating pigs are, well, enlightening.

Boy. When you start talking about castrating barnyard animals you know it's time to bring the ramble to an end.

"Same Sean Connery thing..."