Ah, the most perfect weather we've been having. Raging storms, angry flashes of light followed by loud booming laughter echoing through the night as the world fills with water. Downpour subsides, but then crashes down on you again without a seconds notice. Of course, the giant bulge in your roof should have been some slight indication, but hey, a little filthy El Paso border water never hurt anyone. Except for all those people who drank it. Nothing beats sitting in the rain, watching the clouds fight, powerless to stop them, shaken to the bone as they crash against each other like waves on a long forgotten beach where the sun is never seen except to color the sky in the late evening. The rest is darkness, wet sand, and birds. Always birds. No matter what there are birds. They may not always be as happy as they usually are, but their incessant hooting has haunted me for days. Never a moments sleep, during the day, at night, while I drive my car, always the birds. Why can't they be washed away like so many discarded cigarette butts? No rain is ever powerful enough to ruin the kingdom of the birds. A shotgun I do not have, nor would know what to do with, yet I can always hope some horror befalls them. A puddle of water brushes against my feet and I struggle to sit higher in the car to avoid the terrible murky depth full of sea creatures that lies at my feet. A chill runs through me as I remove the cover that is supposed to keep my dry, only to find out that it kept the water in just the right spots to make sure I was soaking wet by the time I got anywhere. Nearly drowning the car on an everyday street would have done nicely, oh wait. That did happen. Lousy rainwater, pooling and obscuring everything with its splish splash. Well I didn't feel like taking a bath.

Crisis in the White House!

That I live in. And am currently sitting in. It seems that all the ladies want in my pants. Well, alright, so not really very many. Maybe one, or two. Or maybe three if you count my other hand. Recently it has come to my attention that I am quite insane. Lets take a vote on this. Unfortunately, I have lost the vote, because I have yet to grow that third hand that would lead to an even greater amount of insanity, because they could put another one of those big rubber stamps there. Also, with a third hand, I could scratch my back, or beat up my kids without taking my eyes off of the precious precious road. The road to gold! Well, lets just say it's the road to moderation. No way man, you can never moderate me, for I am Latin. Look at me with my shirt unbuttoned an extra button, sending all of the ladies swooning to the ground, where I lightly step over them and blow them a kiss, sending them into a peaceful slumber full of cabana boys. Ah yes, the tropics do dangerous things to one's mind.

I just realized that no one reads this thing anymore. Well, in response to this, I will now post more often, since I can say whatever I want, and no one but blog leeches will ever see it anyway. Well, alright, so I already say everything on here, it just never makes any sense, but lay off man, it's always four in the morning when I put stuff here anyway. The key is to forget what you wrote and never read it yourself, otherwise there will just be several edits and all you'll be left with is a lot of the on the page. And no one likes the. Also, why did no one tell me Simpsons Season Four was out? Your all dirty traitors, and when I find out where you live, by which I mean when I get the motivation to drive all over the place, your all going down. To Best Buy. To get me a copy of it. Isn't that nice of everyone to volunteer? Fancy. Well, tomorrow is another day, and I have to go weasel my way out of some library fees, because I just can't seem to find seventy cents anywhere. Well, except for all over, but coins these days are so heavy. Besides, it detracts from me watching the download counter slowly creep downward from two hundred and thirty-seven hours to six hundred and eleven. Wait, that isn't down at all. Oh right, I'm looking at the clock. Hmmm. Well then. It is time to hit the sack, have it creak a lot so that I can't sleep, and devour innocent little devil children in the morning when they rouse me from my beautiful slumber just as my keyboard solo begins in my dreams. Not being musical, I am of course speaking of the keys which I am currently missing at an alarming rate. Onward, to victory! *Please note victory not assured wherever I damn well please, and Kentucky*

Hushed whispers in the woods at night, the stars floating high above, visible for the first time through eyes that know only a simple triangle. That triangle was lost in a sea of points, all more pointy then the last. Smiles and averted eyes, about four thousand dollars worth of outdoor cigarettes, and four people in the car, all insane, but for different reasons. One, the safety driver in the back, clinging on for dear life as the car rocketed past a stroller at an alarming thirteen miles per hour. And don't kid yourself, thirteen is fast, or at least unlucky. Wait, no it's not. Another passenger, not allowed to drive due to the same crazy person having already ripped several pieces of his car off in a frenzy of slow downs and right lane ending signs. Random bear attacks plagued the third passenger, or didn't, whichever she may have thought was worse. Circles through the forest as the silent clock tolls midnight. No water, too many spiders, and a bottle of wine later, we find ourselves in the nicest motel six ever seen, and paying the price for it. Manipulations and hilarity ensues, resulting in desirable circumstances, and the gas station is our only refuge as the village sleeps for the night, even the walmart. I can't imagine what would have happened had I gotten on that train with him that day. A crazy blonde haired lady would be seen moments later driving alongside, urging us to jump as we cower, and realize that our favorite passenger was right, thirteen miles an hour is damn fast indeed. But alas, instead of losing toes or life, simply a satchel on a stick was left behind, an old piece of cheese awaiting the first lucky last class passenger to happen across it. Many things where revealed that night, things that we all knew, yet no one believes, because, after all, I am just Ebert. And apparently that's the perfect excuse for doing anything. Anything at all. The sun rises and we shrink away into the covers, slumber coming but moments too soon. A drive back with the same shrieking in the trunk, everything returns to normal, everyone goes back to those whom they left, and life goes on. Things will never be the same, yet they are as comfortable and nervous as ever. It is truly all good, and whoever says otherwise just isn't looking hard enough. Or looking too hard.

Well, wish me luck everyone, because today I am actually going to do it. I know what your all thinking, it will never happen, but it will, and is in the process of happening right now, and once you start there is no going back baby. Not once you've tasted the sweet sweet candy of the sun punching you in the face when you try to walk to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. Coffee is awful, it is in no way a good beverage. It's chemical properties are simply wonderful, but there is something about roasted garbage served without anything to mask it's taste that doesn't quite agree with me. As a matter of fact, the only reason I drink coffee is for the caffeine that keeps me away for one more hour, one more glorious hour as I speed off down the road of insanity and a regular sleep rhythm. Because apparently it's bad to sleep till three everyday, and apparently getting a job, being responsible and not hookering yourself out to the highest (oh who are we kidding, any) bidder just for kicks. Today I go out into the world to fix several things.

#1: Why don't you have a job yet?
Well, I would like a real job, but I don't speak spanish or look hispanic. Because of this I am a liability to the company in today's pro-everything thats not white society. This goes along with why I can't get financial aid, free government money, or even matter in a survey about a damn crappy movie that will come out sometime far too soon, further destroying an unsuspecting public's trust in today's movie industry, thus promoting pirated DVD's, thus increasing my bottom line. Maybe this isn't such a bad thing after all. Wait, a steady couple of hundred every two weeks would be nicer then three bucks whenever someone decides they are too cheap to shell out a bit more for the nice packaging. Crap, caught in a corner again.

#2: No one really mentions this, but I could lose a few pounds.
This one is really easy: Ladies. Ladies. Ladies. Tim. Ladies. Wait, scratch that fourth ladies, don't know where those gals have been.

#3: My sleeping problem.
As much fun as it is to drive myself insane finding busy work only to pussy out when the sun comes up, today will be different, and I will make it through the day. It will be fun, especially for everyone else when I start to collapse on top of everything. And say random crap. So I guess it will really just be like any other day anyway. Ah, except there are more empty cans all around me, no matter where I go, empty cans. Tragic really. Now I have to recycle those cans, and how would you feel knowing that you will always just be the same thing? Either a can of soda from some bastard kid, or a quick trip from reality for some poor hobo. But that's not the end, because hobo recycling works a bit different. See, they fill their cans back up all on their own and keep that magic fluid in their boxes with them so that the government doesn't try to steal their crazies back. So yeah, the life of a can. Think about it. Well, you don't really have a choice now, I just made you. (There you go little buddy, I got them back for you, now we are even for me hiding that dead hooker inside you)

#4: Why don't you update the blog anymore?
Well, that is a good question. I'm not sure. But hey, this is one of the biggest posts every, not counting that continual stream of hate about UPS, but they are a special exception. I use the short keyboard to write about them, it has special restraints to keep me from smashing everything into everything else. So everyone, I suppose it really depends on how often I plan on slamming back five oversized energy drinks and a pot of coffee. From all the fun killing my heart and sweating too much I am having right now, it may not be as often as we all hope, but hey, not all posts have to be this cynical right? Right.

#5: Is there something on your mind?
Yes. And we all know. The problem here is, I tend to think very philosophical, which is good, but there is this tiny little filter called logic that gets in the way. It's like, while I'm looking at the big picture and ahead into the future, I miss out on all the little details that will get me there. And that logic my friends is what turns into regret, so lets all have a good time drowning our logic with beer, or love. Both do a very good job, although only one will eventually get you some action. I'm talking about love you stupid booze-jockies, but nice try, alcohol does give you the nice delusion of a slim chance of getting action. Ah the action doesn't even matter, it's just nice. Well, very nice, but I think we all make much too big a deal out of it. Or not enough of a big deal, I forget how it works sometimes.

#6: Can't think of number six can you?
Haha! In a tribute to my Jewish friends, I will rest on number 6, and work on seven. This one is for you Daniel, avoid all those exploding buses, or camels, or whatever the hell they are blowing up over there now a days.

#7: Is this thing ever going to end?
Yes. I leave you with this great thought: Banana Hammock.

If you married Tim it would suck.
Why?
Because, not only would I be losing Tim, but you too. It's like getting your car stolen and having a really nice pair of shoes in the trunk.