Cookies and Lottery Tickets

I woke up stupid today. And not from a hangover or overexertion or anything I might have ingested. Just heavy and lifeless. A complete and utter lack of motivation, wherein even the notion of going back to sleep is met with a resounding "why bother?". Coffee must be absorbed and magazines must be skimmed, killing time until this dull malaise washes away.




I'm taking the passive approach to rid my brain of the terrible stupid. No jumping jacks in the shower or headbutts to the fridge. This stupid will learn that it can't just take over my brain and settle. I am going to bore it to death. And if that doesn't work, I'll smoke some pot...no! That's what the stupid wants! What's the opposite of smoking pot? Performing surgery!

I will find a hobo living in the Lower Wacker skid-row villas, and I will take out his appendix. Yeah! One doesn't really need an appendix, so he won't miss it. Plus he'll have an awesome scar on his abdomen. Chicks love scars. Chicks also love dudes with jobs, so I guess it all cancels out.

And since every scar has a story behind it, he'll earn many a bowl of porridge recounting the tale of the ski-masked white boy who chloroformed him and cut up his belly. My actions will confirm the conspiracy theories he so desperately clings to in his daily battles with poverty and mental illness.



After he wakes up, he doesn't have to worry about his appendix flaring up ever again. However, he'll definitely have to worry about a serious infection, and the ever looming specter of being kidnapped and cut up again. But that's his problem.

Wow, I feel better already!