Ramble ramble ramble.

There's so much I wanna mention, talk over and brag about.  Everything I post isn't the "next great American novel," but even I have a few standards I adhere to.  Right now, I can't pinpoint what exactly I want to say, but I know there's something.  Not enough for a full blown post, but enough to quickly write a few thoughts and ideas and weird shit I've been thinking about for the last week.  It'll be a buffet of words, a bouquet of bullshit.  Excited?  I am!

To make it even more confusing, I'm going to proceed to do it in one, massive paragraph, with zero regard for any rules and regulations.  I want you to feel dizzy and disoriented by the end of it, reaching for the nearest empty popcorn bag to dry heave into.  No easing into any subject, not a transition in sight.  This will be a good cleansing process for the both of us.  For you and me, baby.

fakhfhfhjcvn

Ready!  

Christmas is coming up, and I'm stoked.  Yeah, I completely skipped over Thanksgiving, but what can you do?  Believe me, I'm a fan of Turkey Day, but it ain't no Christmas.  If you're taken aback and are comically gasping into your computer screen, I understand what you're thinking: "I thought you liked Halloween!" and "I thought you were a prince of unholy terror, a vampire of the night!" and of course, "HOW CAN WE TASTE YOUR DARKNESS IF YOU LIKE CHRISTMAS?"  I know, I know, but my conviction is strong with this one.  Halloween comes in a bitingly close, CLOSE second, if that helps ease the pain at all.  Just think about it, though.  The twinkling lights, the dreadful music, the presents.  I love the dark and I live in a constant world of cinematic psychopaths and monsters from hell, but when have you ever received a SNES for Halloween?  My nose is constantly stuffed.  Through a series of tests, I've found that there's no snot residing within these nasal walls, leading me to think that my nose is, naturally, completely fucked.  Is it allergies?  A wild stew of disease brewing inside my head, waiting to emerge at the worst possible moment?    It's been a few weeks now, and the only relief comes from a stock bottle of nasal spray.  I've never used nasal spray before, but under the guidance of a friend in Indianapolis during our last tour, I gave it a shot.  It worked.  Until twenty-four hours later, where my whole head resumed to feel like poop.  I soon began squirting fluid into my brain every twelve hours, and now it's whittled down to once every six hours.  Before you know it I'll be wearing a pocket protector and a sweater vest.  I'll have a cowlick and you can shove me into my locker in between class.  There's something wrong with this.  What's wrong with this?  I've been thinking about starting a new band recently.  Not out of anger or hate towards my current band mates, nor a desire to shoot my musical load all over the universe, but out of an interest to do something so fucking gnarly it'll make your head spin.  Ya see, I want Calabrese to have an alternate "evil Calabrese."  It'll be our Bizarro-version of the band.  My idea is to whip up a few music videos featuring us and our demonic counterparts, battling and fighting and snarling at one another.  I'd like it if Bad Calabrese tried to take over Good Calabrese, out of an unknown jealousy, which can be explored at a later date.  Maybe they're from the future, too.  Maybe they're our kids, all grown up and trying to take over the world, because the only way to take over the world is to go into the past to KILL.  The best part is that if they did killed us, they would, as expected, cease to exist.  It's so stupid it just might work.  We'd release an album as this fraudulent, corrupt band, complete with new name, costumes, whatever.  I'm thinking Zorro masks, or nerdy glasses.  If they were truly evil, they'd be wearing hip, thick rimmed glasses only hip assholes who don't have eye prescriptions wear.  It's another idea I'm playing around with.  I've been drinking a lot of wine lately.  Red wine, with dinner.  I want a red and white checkered table cloth, too, but I don't want to get too involved.  Chianti.  Oh, Chianti.  I feel like such a classy bastard and I get a good buzz, generating the greatest run of sleepy-time of my life.  I can only assume that the "glass of red wine is good for your heart" mantra really just means "every thing's better when you're drunk."  Especially passing out in a warm bed.  You can't beat that logic.  I'm reading a lot more books recently.  It's cheaper than video games and safer than skateboarding.  I need more hobbies that don't involve scraped knees and a possible smashed hand.  All I ever do is write music and listen to music and go to bars with music blasting into my skull.  You can't say I'm not dedicated.  I'm reading the "John Dies at the End" books, and they're great.  It sucks that they're turning it into a movie because there's nothing better than reading a book that not a whole lot of people have read.  Now everyone will read this book.  It's kind of sad that a main driving point for me to read is to feel superior to others.  Kind of being in a class of your own.  An elite group of readers.  That read books.  I've been getting into cooking, too.  It's one of those things where the outcome is better than the journey, but I suppose that can be applied to anything.  I hate cracking eggs but I love eating omelettes.  I'm trying to eat better.  Not healthier, but better.  Better food all around.  Last night I made an arugula topped, penne and sausage pasta, and it was fucking mind-blowing.  I then proceeded to eat some top tier chocolate, trailed by a glass of that irresistible wine.  I think it would be cool to have a cooking show, where we'd film in other people's houses all across the US while on tour.  It would center around eating great food while on the road.  No fast food, no Doritos and Mountain Dew from the gas station.  Just whatever good ingredients any random person currently had in their pantry, cooked up to a warm, blissful meal.  Maybe I'll start my own YouTube series.  Probably not.  How often do you clean your toilet?  Like, actually get down into it with that brush and bleach.  I have a habit of doing it at least once a week.  Vacuuming, too.  I think I'm a addicted to cleaning, but to some weird guidelines only dished out to me.  Like, I don't give a shit if your place looks like a dump, or any other location that isn't my apartment, for that matter.  I like having the immediate area surrounding my existence to be clean and proper, even if it still looks like a bomb went off inside a comic book shop.  It makes me feel good.  It's kind of weird.  The reason I bring up the toilet issue is because I feel that if the toilet is clean, everything feels clean.  There's psychology behind this.  Maybe I fell into a toilet when I was kid and almost drowned, and am now irreversibly scarred, damned to forever spit-shine my shitter until the constant flow of low sobbing stops.  I dunno.

fkhfkeje39!

The end.