You know what I would like to have? Musical ability. I would like to be able to sing, dance and play an assortment of instruments. Do you ever wonder just how much pussy a singer gets? It must be astonomical! And, the greatest thing about it is you don't even have to be good looking. That's my kind of job. I am sure actors get their share of girls, but they are in a different league. They have to screw other actors because they don't have a connection with us peasants. Musicians on the other hand are out there with us poor schleps in the late night bars (I wish), or arenas, or big grassy fields under the sky. I think that makes them approachable. So that's why women are always wanting to spread their legs for them. Must be nice... the fuckin' bastards. Number one, I couldn't carry a tune in a bucket. Number two, I have had a harmonica for six years (half my life) and the only thing I've seemed to be able to master, other than blowing from one end to the other and back, or putting my mouth over the entire keyboard and blow and suck, blow and suck, blow and suck, blow and suck... is to annoy my parents. I always kow when to stop practicing though, when spit starts to dribble out the back of the harmonica. So what other proffession is there to get that much booty? Actors, like I said, only date other actors and they have to be bisexual. Painters, although they don't have to be talented, have to be fucked-up wackos who are bi-polar homosexuals and (AND!) suicidal. Dancers need talent and have to be gay. Models have to be either good looking or really ugly, but they all have to have a nice body... and be bisexual. Then there are athletes. Unless they are a figure skater they are usually straight. But whenever I see myself in a mirror I know this option is out. Writers (HAHAHAHAHA!), have you seen the spouses of writers? Zowee! Uglier than hammered dogshit. Course, to be a writer you definetly don't have to be good looking and unless you are a playwright or a poet you can be straight. And I tell you, if "Logan's Run" was published and made into a big budget movie obviously talent is not a crucial factor. Same goes for "Soylent Green" and "Omega Man". Apparently there is a shortage of screenwriters.

You know what I would like to have? Musical ability. I would like to be able to sing, and play an assortment of instruments. Do you ever wonder just how much pussy a singer gets? It must be astronomical! And, the greatest part, you don't even have to be good looking. That's my kinda job. I am sure actors get their share of ladies, but they are in a different league. They have to screw other actors because they don't have a connection with us peasants. Musicians on the other hand are out there with us poor schleps in the late night bars (I wish), or arenas, or big grassy fields under the sky. I think that makes them approachable. So that's why women are always wanting to spread their legs for them. Must be nice... the fuckin' bastards. Number one, I couldn't carry a tune in a bucket. Number two, I have had a harmonica for six years (half my life) and the only thing I've seemed to be able to master, other than blowing from one end to the other and back, or putting my mouth over the entire keyboard and blow and suck, blow and suck, blow and suck... is to annoy my parents. I always know when it's time to stop practicing though, when the spit starts to dribble out the back of the harmonica. So what other proffession is there to get that much booty? Actors, like I said, they only date other actors. And they have to be bisexual. Painters, although they don't have to be talented, they do have to be fucked-up wackos who are bi-polar homosexuals and (AND!) suicidal. Dancers need talent and have to be gay. Models have to be either good looking or really ugly, but they all have to have a nice body... and be bisexual. Then there are athletes, unless they are a figure skaters they are usually straight. But whenever I see myself in the mirror I know this option is out. Writer's... HAHAHAHAHA! Have you ever seen the spouses of writers? Zowee. Uglier than hammered dogshit. Course, to be a writer you definetly do not have to be good looking. And, unless you are a playwright or a poet you can be straight. And I tell you, if Logan's Run was published and made into a movie obviously talent is not a crucial factor. Same goes for Soylent Green and Omega Man. Apparently there is a shortage of screenwriters.

  Why do we have scrotums? I mean, I know why we have scrotums, but I don't understand why they are where they are, or look like they look. Why in the hell didn't Lyle stick 'em in our bodies where they belong. Instead of out where danger lurks around every corner. I was wondering this earlier as I laid naked (from my waist to my thigh, that's all I need) on my bed examining my genitalia. The thought occured to me because I had just finished a particularly vigorous sexual encounter with my hand, and during this encounter I happened to become a little wild in my downstroke and gave my balls a little love slap. Now, as always, this did not incite pain at first, but as the session drew on, as they seem to after 5 or 6 episodes in a day, I started to become aware of a dull pain in my scrotum. This was a difficult point because I had a tough decision to make. I could stop and admit the pain and message my balls, or, work through the pain and message my penis. I feel it was a real testament to my fortitude that I hung in there and kept plugging away. I don't know, maybe it was a joke on Lyle's part to place men's most vulnerable body part next to his most beloved. If it had been up to me though, you can bet your ass I would of kept them babies inside where they belong. Or, at least an exo-skeleton cod-piece.

February 22 Typical Day   This morning I prayed to Lyle for a great day at school (I added a possible blowjob by Mrs. Frisk, but I figured that might be reaching. But, hey,you can't blame me for trying), but this plea was completly ignored. I'm going to remember this kind of stuff for when I write Lyle's Bible. People are going to get a real look at Lyle and see that he doesn't  always help a fella out. Course, he doesn't get in my way too much either.   So, I entered my purgatory and quickly found the day was not going to be so great. I stepped into what I thought was a slush pile but found out it was friggin' lake. BAM! Right off the bat! It's going to be a good day. Hadn't even entered the doors and I have a wet sock with ice chunks in my shoe. No big deal, except that every person within sight turned to watch at the instant my foot entered the puddle.   I was patted on the back by every jerk-off that I would love to see hit by a cement truck with compliments of what a coordinated guy I was, and what great eyesight I have... fuckers. I tried to play it off as "cool to do" but no girls offered one of their dry socks, and maybe a hand-job behind the gym. Thanks, Lyle.