Random Bits

Larry,

Given my writing infrequency of late, you could consider this a flurry. Although, I would consider none of this to be exciting or important.

I took four showers yesterday. My OCD-like tendencies seem to be rearing thier ugly heads again. That was a bad analogy. I took one in the morning before work. Then I took another in the afternoon after I worked out. That one was absolutely neccessary. Next, I took one not long after I got home from work. I was just hot and I thought that a shower might cool me off. It worked, by the way. Finally, I took one around bedtime. Anna made chicken mushroom quesadillas and they were huge. Ah, she also made a salad to accompany dinner. So, I had my salad and quesadilla. Then, I polished off her salad and 1/4 of her quesadilla that she couldn't finish. I don't like to see food go to waste. Big mistake! I don't think that I've ever consumed so much at once. I hurt badly for 2 hours after dinner. Not to mention, I had the chicken sweats. So, shower number four was important for a number of reasons, namely so that I could cralw into bed and be comfortable. But that's a lot of showers. I have problems.

Oh, one other thing. I got home yesterday and the blender was on full blast. I was a little freaked out. I asked Anna, later, if she had used the blender that morning before she left for work but she said that she didn't. I've come to the conclusion that my house is haunted. Haunted by the spirit of a poor person that was once slain in Hurt Village. That's the housing project that was razed to make room for the Uptown homes, which is where we now live. Obviously, the ghost was jealous of all the fancy aplliances that we have. Poor ghost.

More to come.

Paul

By the way, the video that I included in my last post has now been viewed 79 248 times. And I got an email from some fellow in Canada. People are so immature!

That's hot

Larry,

What's up, partner? How's it going? I'm ok. I wrote you a play.

[Phone rings]

RS: Hello?

V: May I speak to Radio Star?

RS: Speaking.

V: You're a dead man!

[End Scene]

Enjoy!

Pen Pals

Larry,

What's shakin'? Not much here. Chillin'. Anna's gone to sleep and I'm left to my own devices. Big mistake! I did want to mention something that strokes my ego. I use the Google Analytics to see who all is reading my letters to you. That's natural, I would assume. As it turns out, Martyn reads the letters. However, this hasn't always been the case. Seems that one day, Martyn was looking for something that involved foreign objects in the ass and happened to stumble upon us. What was he looking for? We'll never know. But he did get caught by his employers, which is funny in it's own right. He was rebuked but in the end, bonded with his employer as a result of his casual surfing.

I told you earlier that I use Google Analytics, right? Well, Analytics tracks all sorts of things. Normally, nothing is that exciting or worth repeating but I did want to mention a couple of things.

First, someone from Asse, has been reading my letters to you. I can't believe that there is such a city and I think that I'd kill myself if I were from Asse. The jokes write themselves. On second thought, maybe it would be a gold mine to live there.

Second, someone actually typed this into the search box: nair+get+into+my+vagina+what+do+i+do?

I love it. I love to think that someone's painful vagina is the reason that they read my letter to you. That makes it a little dirty and at the same time, a little sexy.

People have also searched for crystal meth and deoderant so I must tell you that I am pleased. Such arbitrary words for such an arbitrary undertaking.

Martyn is awesome. Upper Norwood rocks!

Thanks, Martyn. Keep reading even though I only write to Larry once every two weeks.

Paul

The Sisterhood of the Calling Purse

Larry,

How's it going, old timer? I am well, if you were wondering. Honestly, I'm ready for this week to be over. It's been a long and tedious one and I feel as though I could use a vacation. Which is a little absurd considering I had a vacation of sorts back in Janurary. At any rate, I am tired of being at work and that may indicate that I am ready for a change, career-wise. You wouldn't, by any chance, need a grip or best boy for your show, would you? I think that I could do either of those jobs, although I'm not sure what either entails. However, I am confident in my abilities and have been told that I am the best by many people. The best at what, I am not sure.

I had a point. Anna's purse often calls me during the day. Anna will leave the keypad of her phone unlocked, throw it in the purse, and forget about it. I, though, am constantly reminded for I will, from time to time, receive calls that upon answering, realize very quickly that there is no caller, save Anna's purse du jour.

I once got a call from the purse as Anna was walking furiously from one terminal to the next in an effort to make her connecting flight. Sometimes, I just listen because I'm bored. And in part, because I think that she'll figure it out somehow and pick up the phone. She never does. But I remember that call well. Clop, clop, clop, clop. This for 10 minutes-the pace building to a crescendo; a symphony of airport terminal ambient noise accompanied by the hurried steps of Anna's high-heeled feet. A beautiful piece, believe me. But that wasn't the point.

Today's call came to me from Anna's purse as she was at lunch with her work friends. The topic of conversation: abortions. An icky subject for any man, I think. But I did get to hear about one woman's niece's or daughter's (I believe that there were 4 in all) abortions. That is, she had 4 family members that had had abortions. I'm just glad that it wasn't me at lunch with that crew because I would have been tres uncomfortable. Good thing that women have other women to discuss such matters. I suppose that one could say it's a blessing. Saves us from conversations like those.

Purse, stop calling me at work!

Have a good one,

Paul

Writer's Block

Larry,

I can't write. I have lots of stuff that I want to tell you about but the words just won't come.

Sorry.

Maybe tomorrow.

Here's what you have to look forward to if I can overcome this momentary inability to engage in intelligent and inconsequential colloquy:

My new iPod
My new pen pal, Martyn
My acceptance into the Stanford E-Learning Program, although that's not officially official

I think that's it.

I hope that you are well.

Paul

Conspiracy Theory

Larry,

What is up, my friend? Not much here. My mom ruined my day today. You know that I had hepatitis, right? Well, officially, the doctors all said that it was hepatic toxicity. A subtle distinction, or maybe, not depending on who you ask. I think, given the manner in which one contracts hepatitis, that the difference is a big deal. I mean, it's the difference between eating poop or mixing acetaminophen and alcohol. I'd like to think that I didn't eat poop. Technically, there are 3 main types of Hepatitis. A, B, and C are all viral. One involves sex, one is contracted from eating the poop, and one you can get from blood transfusions or dirty instruments. In short, my mom said that she talked to some nurses and they all agree that I contracted Hepatitis B from my shoulder surgery and now the doctors at St. Francis are covering their respective asses by telling me that it was hepatic toxicity. So, it would seem that I am the subject of a great medical cover-up. This must be my 15 minutes but watch as I milk it for all that it's worth.

I'm going to do some digging; get an independent blood test from some impartial street doctor. Do those kinds of doctors exist? They do on TV so it must be true. I should probably go ahead and call 20/20. But I don't need people digging into my past. Who knows what they will find.

Anyway, my mom broke the news to me this morning. It's really cast a pall over this otherwise beautifully crisp Spring day.

To be continued...

Paul

Cyclone Larry

LD,

It's unfortunate that you will forever be associated with death and destruction in and around the continent that is Australia. I'm sorry for you. Really. But I don't suppose that many Americans much care about what happens in Australia. That's always been my position. What happens in Australia...well, that's their business.

I just wanted to send you a little note to let you know what's been happening in my world since last week. Here are some highlights:

I was in the locker-room today getting ready to go work out and I overheard the most ill-timed conversation ever amongst men in a locker room. I stood on the scale weighing in as these two guys, standing there buck naked and toweling off, are talking about, of all things, sausages. I mean, polish sausages, kielbasa, hot dogs (I know that's probably not considered sausage), but still. You get why it's amusing. I thought, this really is a sausage party and quickly got the hell out of there.

I'm using what might be women's deodorant. I can't really tell. It smells like flowers so I assume that it's for women. The thing is, I think that I'm allergic to the strong stuff. I can use regular, run of the mill, deodorant for about a month and then all of a sudden, all hell breaks loose in the armpit region. It's as if someone lit tiny brushfires down there. It gets all red and irritated and if I put on anything, it just makes it burn and itch. Last week I used some of Anna's lavender-scented baby powder. This week, it's some weird Herbal deodorant that says nothing on it about the gender for whom it is made. I'll take it though. It makes me feel better. I don't know if it actually works and really, I'm sure that I even know what deodorant does, if anything. Nor do I know the difference between an anti persperant and deodorant. I think that it's an industry built on a scam, like dry cleaning. That doesn't work.

30 minutes left in the workday and then I am headed home. God, I love the end of the day.

More soon,

Paul

LA Clippers

Larry,

Remember how I said that I'd have more exciting stuff to talk about the last time? I lied.

This weekend was pretty chill, as far as weekends go. Anna was worn out from her trip to Florida last week so she was asleep by nine on Friday and Saturday. I, left to my own devices, stayed out of trouble. Surprise.

We did have lunch at the White Church. It would appear that this is where we're having the rehersal dinner. I have told Anna repeatedly that I don't want to give a speech. I just can't do it. I get stage fright like you wouldn't believe. My neck gets stiff, my mouth dries up, and start to take on the attributes of a robot. It's not so pretty. So, in the event that I am forced, I plan to thank everyone for coming, and then, at some point duriung my ramblings, blurt out "I can't do this" and then disappear into the recesses of the old church. Should be funny. You should come.

You're invited, by the way. Anna wanted me to tell you. Since you're a big Hollywood moviestar, I told her that you're schedule wouldn't allow it. She wanted me to pass the information along, regardless.

On a lighter note, I went to my mom's house this weekend to help her set up her new TiVo. I love TiVo, by the way. It's the best invention since...well, frankly I know of no other invention that comes close to the TiVo. So, for me, it's the best invention EVER. But I digress. I was at my mom's house, setting up the TiVo. I was almost done and my mom had to leave. She had to go pick her dog Pax up from the groomers. Since my mom drove us both from the White Church, I was left there alone. I watched a little Blow but then found myself outside playing the Pied Piper to a bunch of ducks. That's all irrelevant. I snooped around her apartment a little bit while she was gone and discovered that she had in her tiny apartment, 6 nail clippers. SIX. Isn't that too many? There were two in her bedroom, two on the bar that separates the kitchen from the living room, and then 2 on a coffee table in the living room. I could understand 2, maybe. One for the bedroom and one for the other room. That way, if you're lazy like me and you feel the urge to cut your grossly long toenails, you can do it whether you're in the bedroom or the living room. But to have six makes me think that my mom's got some kind of weird toenail problem or fetish. I can't decide which. To be honest, I'd rather not think about the possibility of my mother having any kind of fetish.

You know what? I've got to stop there.

Hope that all is well in Hollywood.

Paul

Heil, Me

Larry,

What's up, buddy? I know that it's been a while since I've written. Sorry about that. I haven't really been busy or anything. I'm just really, really boring. It's no excuse and yet, it's the only excuse that I've got.

This weekend was boring. Anna was having her special girl time and didn't want to do much of anything all weekend except lay around and watch shows that were invented to drive men crazy. There was lots of E! and various garden shows and home make-over shows. At one point, I threatened suicide if she didn't stop. She didn't. Obviously, I chickened out.

I got a shower Saturday afternoon. Not that a shower in and of itself is a big deal, but I shaved while I was in the shower. Gave myself a little Hitler mustache. Not that I'm a fan. Just thought that it'd be funny to see Anna's reaction. She didn't notice. There wasn't much hair up there anyway and when I got out of the shower, I came out to the living room where she was and stood around for a bit, chuckling to myself. She didn't have her glasses on so she didn't realize that there was a Furher in the room. Alas, my joke backfired. That pretty much sums up the weekend.

It's a shame though, about the Hitler mustache. I mean, from now until the foreseeable future, that mustache style will be forever frowned upon, never accepted as a viable facial hair alternative. I think that it's kind of cool. I mean, there's little upkeep once you get it shaped correctly. It's rather inconspicuous-at least, it would be if stupid Hitler hadn't made it infamous. I think the soul patch (another facial hair style) is completely derivative of the Hitler. I mean, someone probably saw the picture of Hitler and said, "You know, that's not a bad looking mustache. But I can't wear it over the lip. What if I take the same style and move it downstairs...below the lip." And like that, the soul patch was born. Born in infamy. No labels on it though. You'd think that someone would have realized by now that the soul patch is just the Hitler mustache's cousin, once removed.

I'll just stick with the no facial hair look, at least for the time being.

Hitler sucks! In fact, this is what happens when people think that the world is ready for the Hitler mustache.

Take care,

I'll have more soon. More of this, you ask? Better stuff than this, I assure you.

Paul

Odds and Ends

Larry,

Just wanted to drop you a line and share with you a couple of things of note. You might not find it interesting and if you don't, that's ok. I don't really care. Yeah, I said it.

Anna and I have decided what our first baby shall be named, if it is a boy. Are you ready? Ivan. That is a kick-ass name. For a boy or a girl, I think.

We have both decided (I think) to get new cars. Honda's got a new car out called the Fit. It drops around the Ides of March so we've got to wait a bit but I am very excited. It gets 56 miles to the gallon and retails for around $12,000. That is one sweet deal. I read somewhere that the hybridized version gets 84 mpg but they only sell that car in Japan. Dang the Japanese. They get all the cool shit. Not fair.

My buddy Jay told me a story that was hilarious. Unfortunately, I'm sworn to secrecy. Don't you hate that?! Why bother saying it if you can't tell, right? I love doing that to people. I'm making up for all the times that someone's done it to me.

I have discovered (and I use that term loosely) the best show ever. Wonder Showzen . Comes on MTV2. Honestly, I'm surprised that they air anything worth watching. I would have guessed that they would have followed in MTV's footsteps and shunned anything watchable long ago. I was dead wrong.

I'm not sure if you know anyone in law enforcement but if you do, could you do me a favor? Could you run some plates for me. I'm looking for the driver of a truck and his license plate number is TN GDD 644. I need to have a conversation with that guy and you're rich. Pull some strings for me. I'll be your BFF.

Talk to you soon,

Paul