DIARY 02/28/04 by Lloyd Davies

It gets harder to control the rage everyday as I move further and
further from acceptable monk conduct. Some crazy middle-aged woman
(and I use the term loosely) was tailgating me as I was on my way to
the dentist in my ol' rusted, grey primed Geo. It was bad enough that
I was going to the dentist. This went on for about two miles until we
hit a red light. I told her to not tailgate me and she gave me some
lip. I yelled, "Awwww, shaddup you old krunk!" It was a good thing
that I didn't have a nine (9mm) on me, or I would have unloaded the
clip and given her some air conditioning. But I am too much of a pussy
to even own a gun. Some of my associates at the pizza parlor have
attributed this rage to (what they term) sexual frustration. Is it the
virgin thing again? Is that what is causing the problem? That means if
I was doing the wild thing frequently, I would be more placid. I would
have a perpetual grin on my face from that and not because I look like
a retard and nothing else would matter. Of course, if it was Shannon
Tweed or Teri Hatcher, well, I guess I could see that. But you just
don't see Easter Island stoneheads like myself with babes like that.
#$@%*! Why did those natives on Easter Island have to use me as a
model for their stone sculptures? I really could use a new computer.
This one is just too spartan. What am I talking about? I am going to
become a monk! Anyway, after listening to all that nonsense yesterday
at the pizza parlor about the babes, I have come to learn, albeit
vicariously, that if one is interested in a babe, one needs to go up
and ask a babe out almost immediately. This "kicking the can" around
for months on end just doesn't cut it. I'm sure that even the babes
are asking themselves, "When are these clowns going to get on with
it?" I won't have to worry about this myself because I'm a 30-year-old
virgin. As it stands, it looks like I'm going to go into seclusion
until Monday. I'm going to check out my mothball collection in my
closet, and maybe I'll even wax my ol' rusted, grey primed '89 (1989
Geo Spectrum). Actually, let's forget about waxing my Geo, shall we?
It's no mystery, the paint is history.