Here are the lyrics for the fabled "Toast Song" that I always talk about. The guy singing it is playing his drumsticks on a metal toaster.

All around the country and coast to coast
People always say, "what do you like most?"
I don’t want to brag, I don’t want to boast
I always tell ‘em, "I like toast."
YEAH, TOAST!!
YEAH, TOAST!!

I get up in the morning ‘bout six A.M.
Have a little jelly, have a little jam
Take a piece of bread, put it in the slot
Push down the lever and the wires get hot,
I get toast.
YEAH, TOAST!
YEAH, TOAST!

Now, there’s no secret to toasting perfection
There’s a dial on the side and you make your selection
Push to the dark or the light and then
If it pops too soon, press down again
Make toast.
YEAH, TOAST!
YEAH, TOAST!

When the first caveman drove in from the drags
Didn’t know what would go with the bacon and the eggs
Must have met a genius, got it in his head
Plug the toaster in the wall, buy a bag of bread
Make toast.
YEAH, TOAST!
YEAH, TOAST!

Oui Monsieur, bonjour coquette,
Une croissant? Et vous auvent?
Maurice Chevalier, Eiffel Tower,
Oui Marie, baguette, bonsoir!
FRENCH TOAST!
FRENCH TOAST!

TOAST!!

I don't understand why people take me seriously when I make jokes about my sexuality. I mean, when I say to a guy "You sexy beast", is it really THAT convincing? That or maybe people are easily fooled when it comes to a person's sexual preference. *shrug* Oh well, I guess this is the price I paid.

Sitting down, laughing and fine;

we're all joking around, we're having a good time.

Then something happens, an almost imperceptible shift.

I meant to be funny, but instead created a rift.

I slipped in a comment, Fitting for the moment, you see.

But they begin to wonder and question about me.

And so they ask:

Are you gay? 

Please.

Honestly, Yaoi has never really done it for me.

So you're not gay? Excuse me, what did I just say?

Do you really think I want to find a guy and go roll in the hay?

I could go on, and deny it some more,

but in their minds they have marked me as "Unsure".

And so the questions go on (At least up to this day, it's true),

I can't help but wonder, have I bitten off more than I can chew?

While I like to make people guess and put them on their toes,

I had no idea about how far this would go.

I know my sexual preference, to me it is clear.

But in that moment I had forgotten, people hear what they want to hear.

If a random person were to ask me which I like better,

I would have no reason to be truthful, because his/her opinion doesn't matter.

What makes me irritated, and bothered to no end;

instead of a stranger, these questions come from my friends.

And then it hits me, as loud and clear as a bell;

even after the months I have been with them, they still don't know me that well.

Well, I guess I got what I asked for; but still, the Irony is cruel.

I feel like shit right now. I am sleep-deprived; depressed; have two important assignments due on Friday; and I have a nagging feeling that I am going to die alone, unloved (by a woman), and forgotten. So I thought "Hey, while I am down here, why not make a parody of "How do I love thee" by Elizabeth Barrett Browning." A space before the slash indicates that there is a punctuation mark there.

In addition, for those of you who have noted that it doesn't perfectly mimic "How do I love thee", I have one thing to say to you. Tough shit. If you don't like it, go write your own.

How low am I? Let me count the ways / I am pathetic and weak and incomplete/in the face of the challenges of my life / On occasion, I pray for death to come and bury my strife / I lack the will to look myself in the face / which is good reason to get out of this place / I am easily passed by for those who are better / I hold myself back, as if restrained with fetters / Indecisive and lonely, thats me to a tee / despite what I tell myself, I have never been free / Once I had happiness and kind words to give / but now they have gone, just as my breath / To my sorrow and satisfaction, though I may still live /  but all shall wash away in my death.

This is an entry from Fables From the Morning After that I find I can really relate to. It reminds me of my parents and how I used to wish that they would get back together. However, I realized, after a while, that they hated each other and if they got back together, my life would be far worse. Fortunately, things aren't like that for Pig and Rooster.

Friday, January 28th 2005

Rooster's Old Argument

Rooster opens the diner door quicker than he should. It swings out wide. It shakes his balance. It makes Pig look up from her order pad.

“Hello,” she says. Those who don’t know her well would miss the tenderness that creeps into her voice with that one word. The sullen crowd at the counter drinking coffee misses it.

Rooster does not.

“Hello yourself,” he says. He takes a step into the diner, but only a step. “It’s been a while. Can we talk?”

“Talking was the part we were never very good at.”

Roosted takes another step inside and the door swings shut behind him. “It’s important. Please?”

Pig steps away, behind the counter; her safe place. She grabs a rag and scrubs furiously at an old stain. “It was important before, too.”

“I know. I knew it then.” Rooster sits down on a stool. “I treated you wrong. But there’s only so many times ‘I’m sorry’ can still mean anything.”

Pig looks up. Unshed tears hide in her eyes. “That doesn’t mean I get tired of hearing it.” She blinks and looks back at the counter.

“I’m sorry.”

“I know. Can you believe it?” Pig bunches the rag into a soggy ball. “I know you never meant to hurt me.”

“But I did anyway.”

“But you did anyway.”

“I’m sorry.”

Pig pounds her fist on the counter and shouts at the top of her voice. “Everybody out! We’re closed. Get out.”

Pig’s voice startles the crowd out of its collective reverie. They stare at her for a second, but she gives them a look that keeps them from arguing and they file out in silence.

Pig hurries after them and locks the door. Then she turns back to Rooster. “What do you want?”

He doesn’t turn around. “The same thing I’ve always wanted. The same thing I want whenever we have this conversation.”

“I’m not going to let you see them. I got hurt bad enough. They don’t need to be hurt, too.”

Rooster spins on his stool to face her. “They’re my children too, damn it!”

“They are not your children! Not anymore. I raised them. I stayed up with them at night when they were scared, I gave them medicine when they were sick, I fed them, I clothed them, and when Wolf came… When Wolf…” Tears stream hot down Pig’s face and she hugs herself to keep from sobbing. It doesn’t work.

Rooster walks to her and wraps his arms tight around her. He whispers tender words into her ear. It’s comfortable, the two of them together. Like old times.

Pig pushes him away. “They’re not yours. You have your job, this important thing you have to do.”

“I wish I knew another way.”

“I know. But that’s why they’re not your children. You don’t have room in your life for everything.”

Rooster slowly walks to the door. “I still love you.”

“I love you too.”

When he’s gone, Pig cries for a long, long time.

By Jason @ 12:10 AM PST

I recently found out about the list of 213 things that Skippy can't do in the United States Army. For tose who have no idea what I'm talking about (or want to go to the site):

http://www.skippyslist.com/

He didn't actually do everything on the list, but that doesn't mean it didn't happen.