Last night, Amanda and I came to the conclusion that she will travel to Louisiana later this summer for the purpose of conducting sexual relations with me. Also, we may go fishing for crappie. If the fucking doesn't pan out: pan fish.

We'd like to open up this topic to further public discussion of the matter. Also, in order to fund this project, we're seeking a millage or possibly a quarter-cent fuel-tax which will have to pass the voters.

Some things to consider:

• "Every woman I fuck, I eventually despise" - I recently explained this seemingly axiomatic dimension of my behavior to Myriam. Is there reason to believe that this rule will continue to apply to all future vaginal-pothole repair programs?



• "Yo, you're a drama queen my nigga. Two for Two my nigga."



• Is Amanda something the commision can plan for? Are their any antecedents that can inform the logistics of this Porked-barrel project?



• Webcasting? Should the commission consider dedicating funds to purchasing sufficient bandwidth ensuring adequate and repeated public oversight?



• My favorite son has found my gun



• Will entanglement with the Amanda project lead to ostracism and shunning of future project contracts by other contractors working within the region? In other words, should the commission return to square one and essentially rebid the project for the sake of future development projects that more qualified contractors may shy away from on account of our sweet-heart treatment/first-come-first-served, catch-the-clap-as-catch-can approach to this project?



• Did anyone buy Billy Corgan's Blinking with Fists
  -you're not allowed comment in these precedings

Please feel free to write out your feelings at length. We welcome your frank and reasoned concerns and suggestions.

Note: Julie, 2006 is mere months away.

I just successfully doctored my first Photoshop picture.

It's like a whole new world has opened up to me. That damn tool bar and "layers" are no longer so intimidating.

If I knew the number of pixels, I might even post it, but I don't want Josh to yell at me. I'm also assuming that a .psd file can be easily converted to a .jpeg file, but that's a lesson for another day.

SAID LET'S MAKE A NEW START...

Starting their tour tonite in the BR. Weird.

I'm basically posting because I feel really jittery and am having an even harder time than usual concentrating on work.
Last night I suddenly jerked awake feeling like this... I feel tingly and unable to sit still or think straight. I don't know why! I guess I just need to run up and down the stairs or something.

A cousin of mine got married on Saturday. I spent a lot of time with my family this weekend. Everyone was really getting on my nerves. My family is overall pretty great.. "functional," etc. We all have a weird sense of humor, but so what?
However, my mom is a horrible listener.. or rather, she's not any kind of listener. For some reason it was really irritating me this weekend. She always has to be right, and wont let anyone get a word in edgewise. I am not talking about "motherly" issues. Anything.. any discussion. I have never bothered to talk much to my mother about my life, problems or thoughts. I was reminded why.
It was cool to see my brother, as always. Nice to see my cousin Kyle.
Pennyslvania is a beautiful state. Pennsylvania, Western Maryland, West Virginia. Talk all the trash you want. Beautiful, almost year round. It was even beautiful when the rain was pelting our car during the four hour drive.
After I got home, I went by Reptilian and got the Clockcleaner CD, and the new Kylesa. I got the new Longmont Potion Castle CD as well. I didn't find it very funny, mostly just grating. Maybe I need to listen again.
On Sunday night, I got gussied up and went out with Abby, Boson, my cousin Kyle, Abby's friend Keith, and Jeremy. I got a little tipsy.. about as tipsy as I am capable of getting these days.
Monday morning, Jeremy and I sat around being hung over. He ended up late to meeting his friend in Philadelphia... about four hours late.
I went with Abby and Keith to the Sip & Bite and managed to get a crabcake into my ailing stomach.
During the remainder of the afternoon, much Nintendo was played. Very much. I really enjoyed just lounging around, like I used to do with my brother and cousins.
I decided to take a nap. I slept until 11:30pm. Got up to eat some bacon and then go back to sleep.
Here I am at work. Useless, as usual. Jittery.

Sunday was my only completely free day of this weekend. Thus I slept in late and Jeremy and I went to lunch at 2pm where I began drinking mimosas. Slowly, of course. At around 6pm Jeremy and I plus three of our friends decided to go to a party in Uptown. I ended up knowing a lot of people there. They were all wasted. There was pinata tackling and corn oil wrestling for the entertainment of all.

At some point we began talking about running. Our friend Devin said that he enjoyed running while intoxicated, which is what spurred the initial conversation I believe. This progressed into discussing marathon runners and how fast they ran a mile. I said something to the effect of, "Yeah, even when I was in high school my fastest mile time was 6.36." Jeremy then declared that to be crappy and said that he could do better than that right here and now. I responded by telling him not to let his mouth write a check that his ass couldn't cash. I believe I actually said that and I think I got it from the Killoggs rotating quotes.

An hour later we had bought some more beer, changed into running clothes and hopped the fence of a local high school stadium. The time is now approximately 10:30pm.

Jeremy is decked out in a wife-beater and shorts with my Ipod ready to play Franz Ferdinand. He is also smoking his third cigarette since the drop of the gauntlet. Devin has donned Jeremy's track suit and is armed with a meat-timer to play the role of Jeremy's trainer. Our other two friends, a couple, were camped out in the adjoining tennis courts with the beer to cheer. The plan was that Devin and I would alternate running laps with Jeremy to keep him on pace.



Things began well with Jeremy and Devin completeing the first lap well on pace. I began running the second lap with Jeremy and saying encouraging things. His response: "I'm gonna die. I'm not gonna make it." We finished the second lap on pace and Devin jumped up to join Jeremy for the third lap. I went over to converse and have a beer when suddenly Jeremy dropped out of sight, collapsing on the track with exhaustion.



It was at this time that the police pulled up.

They began shining their big lights on us as Devin and I endevored to pull Jeremy off the ground. Jeremy: "Go, run, just leave me here." We pulled Jeremy to his feet and got him walking back towards the fence and I hear Brian telling the cops, "...he's not really in the best of shape..." as I squeeze quickly through the locked gate (read - tresspassing) Devin attempts to help Jeremy hoist himself over. The cops are wondering out loud if they are going to have a heart attack victim on their hands.



Apparently they were fairly bad-coply to Brian at first, perhaps seeing if they could goad him into defensiveness, but Brian wisely just said things like, "Yes, sir. You're absolutely right. I agree that we are stupid. Yes, sir." So by the time the rest of us got over to them they were fairly cool and told us to pick up our 'garbage' and throw it away, thus turning a blind eye to our complete violation of the open container law. They said that gang-bangers used the area a lot so that if they didn't arrest us and DID arrest them, they were violating the gang-bangers' constitutional rights. They asked Devin where his shoes were and he replied that he left them on the track (flip flops) and was told to get them. They told us if we weren't gone by the time their 'boss' got there they were going to have to arrest us and to clear out because they had already called in.

All in all, not bad for a Sunday night.

Girl, I will always be around.

I've been meaning to post about this but was slightly embarrassed about it.
There has been a serial killer in the Houma, LA area who has been killing men, some from Houma, some from New Orleans. The news reported that these men were found without shoes on, but mostly clothed otherwise. They supect that the killer has been performing some weird religious foot ritual on them before killing them.
So a few weeks ago, I was driving down the Earhart Expressway and there's a whole bunch of shoes scattered along the roadway for at least a mile or two. I remember thinking it was strange and could not believe how many shoes somebody had thrown out the window. When I saw the article about the victims not having shoes on, I thought maybe the killer could have ditched the shoes along the road and that I should tell somebody JUST IN CASE.
So I call Crimestoppers and it is a Saturday about 2 weeks ago. A lady answers and I tell her that I heard the victims of the serial killer didn't have shoes on and that I thought I should tell someone about the shoes all over the road. She seemed totally disinterested and told me that she was on the "weekend crew" and that I should call back on Monday. Needless to say, I did not call back on Monday, and the shoes were pretty much gone by a few days later anyway. How hard would it have been for that lazy bitch to at least make a note or something?? I mean WHAT IF the shoes really were those of the victims? Am I right or am I completely retarded for calling them in the first place?

I've had very little to contribute for a long time. The Milk character, for all his misguided vitrol, is going the way of freedom. It may be that I see my pen name in quotes and feel pretty awful, or re-reading old posts that I wish I could delete. At any rate, consider this a divorce. Journals may pop up, but Milk is dead, dude. He's decided to fellate the pistol. It's the honorable way out of killoggs. I'll always read, possibly scribble, but nothing important. I find a great deal of respect for people who chose to terminate on their own schedule. And with this, I can stop the burden of want in posting to the main page.

Always outnumbered, Never outgunned:

M. Milk

Last night I had possibly one of the worst sleeps of my LIFE.

That's a very bold statement. MY LIFE. Nearly 25 years of lots and lots of sleep experiences. But it's true!
I'm not a light sleeper. I can fall asleep with things going on in the background (tv, stereo, etc). After sharing slumber spaces with sister Angie for years I had to get used to falling asleep to noise (kid has to watch tv to get to sleep ALWAYS). I have been able to sleep peacefully when Chris and Nathan have band practice downstairs and the vibrations reverb through the floor. These things do not phase me.

However, the grating GOD AWFUL sounds of the noisy dirtbikes that some of the thug youth in this neighborhood enjoy riding around the block OVER AND OVER AND OVER prevents me from falling asleep and infact makes it nearly impossible.

It sounds like a fucking chainsaw symphony. Ahh....it's gone. OH NO!!! What's that???? Here it comes again! OVER AND OVER.
I watched the clock. Hour after hour. 12 am. VROOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!
1 am. VROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMM MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM!
2 am (how the hell has no one called the police yet!??? JESUS H!)
3 am (VRRRRRRRRRRRRR RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR RRROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM)

Chris (in a groggy rage) went out on two occasions and I didn't know what he was doing but I found out this morning he had placed two large peices of plywood in the middle of the street. Totally not the best idea at all. While I hate these kids with a fiery passion I wish not to see them fly off their motorbikes and crack their heads open. Luckily, someone must have called the police at the same time Chris was laying out the wood because there was finally sirens followed by silence. SWEET, SWEET silence.

At last I went to sleep. (a whole hour of sleep til I had to wake up at this point).
I had a nightmare and woke up all sweaty and disturbed. I can't even remember much of it but I was in a dark room that looked like an empty hospital waiting room and this huge hungry tiger comes out of a hallway and charges after me. At this point it is 5 am and time to get ready for work.

Worst sleep ever, seriously.

I got an iPod shuffle as a gift.

I love it.

I freakin' HATE iTunes.

During the install: use iTunes as the default player for music files? UNCHECK the defaultedly checked box. Because, oh hell no, I don't want new software to take over my computer and do stuff I don't want it to do.

Unchecking the box? Yeah, it DOES NOTHING. I just played a voicemail WAV from Killoggs. Guess what app opened? Flippin' iTunes.

Eat a bowl of dicks, Jobs. If I wanted WinAmp to stop being my default player, I wouold have SAID SO.

Damned Hippies.