Never Censored

Wow. Just pure wow. I seriously would have never guessed. nerdy snort

You know, everyone’s been scared of the “Bird Flu” thing for a while now. I really don’t understand it all, mainly because the solution, to me, is fairly simple: World Stay at Home Week. I propose that everyone, in the middle of flu season, be required to stay at home and not leave the house for a period of no more than one week, barring emergencies, of course. Personally, I think it’s genius.

Where do all the crickets come from? I noticed that there were a bunch of field crickets roaming around, which is normal for late summer/early fall, but one thing has eluded me: how do they get into my apartment? I mean, I always check to be sure that one isn't following me or on my clothes, and as far as I know I don't have any holes in my walls, so how the hell do they get in? And, I end up seeing them in random places. They don't all just come from my closet, nor do they all end up coming from my front door. So where the hell do they come from?

Alas, I have a theory: The Cricketation Vortex.

I nearly went insane at a party last night when the fifth person asked me if I remembered his name. The sixth probably would have had me tossing grenades into the mass of people.

But seriously, how insecure are people about their interpersonal connections? I don't expect people to remember my name, particularly if I have absolutely no tie to the other person, but somehow others seem to think I should remember theirs. I'll tell `em what, if they want me to remember their names so much, they should give me $20 each time I can recite their names to them. I would be committing to memory everything from their full name to their favorite cereal to their last 10 boyfriends.

I suppose people are just looking for someone else to acknowledge their simple existence on this planet-- to not just be another person in the crowd. I can't really get mad at them for that, because they're just trying to find some sort of connection with other people.

... but god damnit, unless a person's my friend, boyfriend, or sugar daddy, people need to realize I don't give a shit who they are.

Does that make me a bad person? Of course it does, but who gives a shit?

Well, while I'm bored in neuroscience, I figured I'd pop a quick one out:

A quick followup on my [[God's doing it to RED STATES!]] rant, even scientists don't know why these super hurricanes are occurring. Of course, I know why. wink*wink check it out.

Anyway, just thought that was funny.

But the real reason for today's post is not to be a bastard about the vendetta of God, but to express a far more important issue: B.D.'s Mongolian Barbeque. While the majority of the country is becoming fatter and lazier, there is a single beacon of hope: B.D.'s. The only problem is that I don't understand it.