Welcome Saturday

Nothing like the fresh feeling of rising on a Saturday morning. I actually have this weird desire to get up earlier on Saturdays, like I have to cram in all--the--play--time--possible, because Monday is only a mere 48 hours away. But wait! What's this? A three-day weekend!? It's almost too much. I going insane-o with joy, frantic for fun, what to do--should I read a book, watch a movie, cook breakfast, call a friend, go get a nice cream, take Emily shopping, go for a walk, eat something yummy? My Uncle Dave's hot tub should be functional today, and it's got fountains and lights that change color! Ohh yeah! I'm drooling on my keyboard.

Emily has been talking to plants lately. She rescued a couple of smallish ones from the sale rack at Safeway the other day. It started out as a cute thing, talking to them in front of me to make me roll my eyes. But I was in the bathroom this morning when I heard the sultry voice from the kitchen: "Oh, you're all so tall! Look at you, you've grown two inches since I got you. You're so pretty." It's a side of her I hadn't considered, and it's not bad...just, creepy. What do you think? Being friends with plants a legitimate practice, or a hokey, anthropomorphic quirk--signaling the same kind of mentality typical of those who make their dogs wear sweaters?

Another Post

Hi, Joe here with another post.

Yup... Just here....posting. Again. Ummm....something happened....and umm.....I think the world is so messed up...and....

Yeah.

I can't believe she said this....and holy crap...because I really like that movie....and...it's so true because, like, everything is so oriented towards mass consumerism....and Wal-Mart is lame....

So, like, I sent out a memo...to everyone....

Anyways, more later, keep shouting because...if you don't....then you just don't care about anything. At all. Ever. Bye.

Today and Everyday

Emily told me that no one would ever want to read my blog because I don't, like, post very often. In other words, I'm boring and it's not worth checking it out if I never post. Fine. I can change that.

I thought that maybe I was being courteous by not driveling out rivers of worthless slime everyday for everyone to choke on, only posting when I had something productive or interesting to say. But I guess that is not the point.

So, here you go world. Here you go, friends. Rain or shine, pearls or swine, diamonds or coal, plates or bowl(?!), the Plickog must go on...every...single...day...you can come enjoy nothing but the most pointless, uninteresting, presumptious rants about nothing and something. Like the subtitle says, "Who would want to read this crap?" Apparently, you do.

Acceptance Speech

In the spirit of the 'grammies', I'd like to deliver the following: (except that I'm not a hoochie, dirty and I mean DIRTY rich, thoroughly uninteresting and mostly talentless, unarticulate windsack who flaps like a burlap bag on a pole while mumbling totally forgettable thank yous to my fellow sleazeballs who gave me an award because I sold a million records after a few million advertising dollars were poured into shlepping my crappy music to unsuspecting teenagers):

AHEM. Seeing as how I recently finished the most excellent, latest installment of The Legend of Zelda (Windwaker) for Game Cube, I would like to thank 1) My wife, for her good-natured encouragement and feigned interest in said game 2) my wife, for her loving patience and willingness to spend a night or two entertaining herself while I battled sundry monsters, creatures, evil lords, giant insects, etc., and looked for valuable items such as grappling hooks, empty bottles, iron boots, master swords, and of course, triforce pieces 3) my wife, for congratulating me with a smile upon completion of the aforementioned quest, while effectively hiding her inner rejoicings that the game can be safely put back on the shelf, never to see the light of our sun again, unless it is in the home of another mindless gamer who has paid us at least $20 for it. Thank you, Emily. You are my Princess Zelda. (weepweep, peace sign to the crowd, show everyone my shirt that has an obscure shout out to some obscure influence who's not really an influence, but all part of making my image a little more tolerable to those who are on to my pathetic fame game)