Who here knows how to set a mood?

Madcap with These Old Feelings does!
Well gents here goes nothing.
I started my photo album today because I demanded taking pictures in a photo booth at the mall. On that page I flattened a flower that was in the vase on my kitchen counter. While looking for heavy things to flatten it down I stumbled upon my Sophomore yearbook.
Let me tell you there's nothing that can make you remember good times like a good signing in a yearbook. I got to reading all the comments. Ya know, from the people that sign awkwardly and just write something cliche like "See you next year..." or "Have a good summer", from the people who are trying desperately hard to be your friend and write things like "OMG so I'm so glad I met you this year, really. Let's hang out over summer! Keep in touch! Text me! My number is 602-plz-call", then there's writing that are at least a page long of all tiny hand writing from your best friends. The ones where all the sentences start with "Dude do you remember that time when..." or "I can't believe when you..."

And that's when it really hit me.
Fuck the people that couldn't easily write me a novel of our adventures. The only people that can pull that shit off are real friends, the kind that can look at you and have conversation without opening their mouths, the kind that have the parents that just expect you to be at their house, the kind that you can dance in front of just as comfortably as if you were alone. THAT is real goddamn friendship people. Fuck the party friends that only know the drunk you. Fuck the people that you have to ask a month in advance to hang out with. Fuck the people that don't even want to be your friend. That shit doesn't matter. And I'm gonna remember that from now on. I'm gonna make things the way they always should've been. Me, my best friend, our dream, and some crazy shit inbetween.

God it feels good to say that.
Well that's all I've got.

Peace out home boy...that's what I always say.
-B.M.

Captain's Log.

DECEMBER 24TH, 2009

3: 47 P.M. My mom didn’t seem to appreciate the humor in the kill list on my wall. I don’t think I’ll ever understand people.

3:51 P.M. The parents are wrapping my gifts, leaving me stuck in this god-forsaken room, with the taste of spinach-crab dip lingering in my mouth. My phone is broken and Myspace is stupid. You’re all by yourself on this one, chief.

3:54 P.M. My room isn’t god forsaken. I was joking. In fact, it’s nearly impossible to look at one of my walls without getting aroused.

3:55 P.M. I am now looking at my wall. I can’t stop. Assume we are in a hypothetical scenario where I belonged to male gender: my penis would most certainly not be limp.

3:59 P.M. I kind of have to go to the bathroom.

4:00 P.M. Pardon my French, but Vanilla Coke rocks my shit.

4:02 P.M. Holy shit, this is boring. Internet gets old really fast.

4:03 P.M. I’m going to read some Dearly Devoted Dexter.

4:11 P.M. The atmosphere of my room is rather gloomy for reading. The lighting is just never right. It’s mildly frustrating. Regardless: Off to read another chapter!

4:17 P.M. Mother just left to Block Buster. She’s renting Inglorious Bastards. Well, ah rumpa pum pum.

4:24 P.M. Demented, but just what the doctor ordered.

4:31 P.M. Whoever taught dogs how to push open doors was a real asshole.

4:33 P.M. The next time I find myself in an awkward situation, where I’m required to fake human emotion and empathy in order to comfort a poor, helpless, distraught, whimpering victim…I’m just going to pat them on the back, say “there, there”, and hope that’s enough to shut them up.

4:38 P.M. Father informed me that I am now free to leave my room—a glorious moment.

4:39 P.M. Sidewinder out.

I Think Death is Least Funny When it Happens to a Child.

"I can't relate to 99% of humanity."

Oh Steve... you always know what to do; you've stolen my heart, Mr. Buscemi.

Pardon me for straying off my original topic, nevertheless: I'm not homicidal yet, but I'm getting there. You may want to alert the proper authorities.

Hugs, kisses, and broken fingers,

Sidewinder