My best friend is a weirdo. If this frog were toast...well, you get the picture.

No one can ever paint the perfect cloud. 

Near a storm drain at home

I stared into the disappearing water, unable to identify a clear image. Once my eyes isolated what appeared to be a consistency in the wave's motion, it quickly disappeared and my eyes were forced to refocus on another portion of the whirlpool. Leaves were caught in the vortex, the small toy boat that I had when I was seven. The face of my grandmother, the teacher who had tied my shoes, the banker who refused the loan for my first house-all caught for a moment-then gone. The faces of strangers appeared for a moment and then disappeared. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the distorted image of myself come into view. Quickly, I shut my eyes, clenched my lids as tight as possible, until all I could see was the blood pulsing through the thin membrane. I was safe. Safe from the inevitable. I can keep my eyes closed forever if I have to.

I had fifteen, or so, minutes to myself today. I spent them with a Winston and moment. While I was outside the student union, I had the chance to crouch and reflect on many things, but a duck and drake were what filled most of my time. There is a certain perfection to be found in ducks. Any animal form, for that matter, but it was ducks today, tomorrow it could be an albino spider for all I know. Today, though, those fifteen minutes were spent admiring the flow and curve of a mallard and its mate as they stood breast deep in a shallow stream, October pregnant with late season rain. The time and selection, the perfection of design. At times, I am embarrassed by the moments that I steal away from the day to simply observe. Momentarily. That passes, and I am left grateful for the privelege. The duck: clownly colored, perfectly shaped, supremely designed. Were we all to find ourselves reshaped, remolded, reaquainted with ourselves, could we compete with the simplicity and purity of the simple waterfowl? Klowns, shamans and the like, borrowed from the beasts an admiration for the gods.

Surf long enough on the internet, and you are bound to find...well, actually it didn't take that long at all. Google Ass Clown and voila! 

Say it ain't so, Joe. Yup, I put Joe J. out on the waiver wires to get through a brutal bye week in the old fantasy football. It paid off and I won, but I had high hopes of swooping back in and picking up the number 3 WR for the Seahawks. Well, oh well. Injuries have befuddled the Seahawks once again and Joe's value on the boards went up almost overnight. Foolish me. We'll miss you, Joe. And we are sincerely sorry that we toyed with your heart. 

I get the point and all, but it is the Smurfs, afterall, so it kind of misses the mark...a little. Okay, a lot.

You have absolutely fricking got to be kidding me. How many more inner circle, unqualified appointments is it going to take to get to Armageddon.

Exclusive interview...

Nick "nutty as a squirrel sack" Cage has a kid...still love the guy, but whoa!

Uh....Kal-Elle? 

The Whizzer.