Razor Kitty Fax Detergent Versus Ancient Fever Rerun

Top 100 Twitter Applications or 1 Schizophrenic Twitter user with 100 user accounts.

1. Washing dishes.
2. Washing dog.
3. I'm getting up.
4. I'm getting down.
5. I'm going out.
6. I'm just getting in.
7. I'm going to bed.
8. I'm in bed already.
9. I lost my cell.
10. FOUND IT!
11. Got in late.
12. TIRED!
13. Nothing's new.
14. Can't. Working.
15. Probably.
16. Just relaxing.
17. No. Close, though.
18. Perhaps.
19. Hopefully getting laid.
20. Cooking.
21. Seeing the folks.
22. Have flu.
23. Quit.
24. Money = not made of it.
25. Married already.
26. I remember. Forgot.
27. Only kidding.
28. Dancing.
29. Pizza night.
30. I don't know.
31. Mom said no.
32. Whatever.
33. Can't. Dancing.
34. Wash Day.
35. What's her cell?
36. I read it in NYT.
37. Lazy day.
38. I forgot. Now, remembering.
39. Crashed. Okay. Forgot.
40. Okay, though.
41. Too much.
42. He's gay.
43. Saw it.
44. Your cell is off.
45. In bathroom.
46. Yard.
47. Chinese tonite.
48. Hope its good.
49. When's it?
50. Party.
51. Up to a foot.
52. Got stoned.
53. Like heavy pork.
54. I Digged it up.
55. Your coming?
56. Just like that.
57. Organic.
58. Then I saw spots.
59. Like it baked.
60. Oh, like heaven.
61. Bathroom calling.
62. Probably. That's my job.
63. He still loves me.
64. Is he gay?
65. On TV
66. New York. I forgot when.
67. Going, okay?
68. Whatever.
69. Texted him just now.
70. He moved.
71. Craiglisted it already.
72. Probably shopping.
73. Had a brain fart.
74. Wtf?
75. Mooshi pork.
76. You what?
77. Already downloaded.
78. Lost 10 already.
79. Pretty big.
80. Dong Illustrated, I think.
81. Cute.
82. Jello shots.
83. Hoping. Praying.
84. They're up. I'm in my room.
85. All 4 seasons.
86. Just outside, why?
87. Traffic.
88. She was hot to my knowledge.
89. Melba toast.
90. What? I saw it, yes.
91. Maybe its okay.
92. Just woke.
93. I saw it was on.
94. You text me?
95. He kissed me. then left.
96. Let them out.
97. It was a no show.
98. Probably okay
99. Tired of surfing.
100. Top 100 Twitter Applications or 1 Schizophrenic Twitter user with 100 user accounts.

Post-Traumatic Facebook membership revocation OCD poem

I learn to put on shoes.
I tie my shoes. I pick off things off my sweater.
I clean my hands. I look out the window.
I make toast. Do the dishes.

I take my shoes off, I change my shoelaces.
Each shoelace is tied, then retied, to ensure a good tie.
I check my facebook. No update.
I post my OCD.

I take off my clothes. I put new ones on.
The shoes are in the corner. I took them off.
The dishes need cleaning. I look out the window
I post on facebook my OCD

I wash my dishes. I have my toast.
I dry my hands. I post my OCD.
I want to wear my shoes, and from my drawer
I pull out new shoelaces. I tie and retie.
I logon to facebook. I love my OCD.

What is he doing? How does he survive? They must say.
I'm doing fine. I tie and untie my shoes to ensure a good tie.
I make my toast. Then I post.
My OCD on facebook.

He needs new shoes. And what about his sweater?
I check each shoe twice.
Do the laces need replacing? I take them out.
I tie and untie
And I post on facebook "I tie my shoes"

inspiration provided by the comments posted in response to theNYT article The Medium

Pleasington's night

What little left of history remained with Pleasington were some random artifacts, unsent letters to friends and lovers, sealed and stamped, and, of course, the various photographs of his family. Otherwise, the majority of his life was stored in memory, which laid over him like the open, empty sea. And Pleasington lied in bed, drifting awake. At any moment he would feel the wind come across, and hands of what he remembered lay upon him and hold him and show him those he loved. Wasn't it wonderful, they would say with him. Wasn't it the best? And these hands which held him -- not his, not of God -- cared for him. Pleasington heard words in this head: "Everything that had ever been always will be". He heard many words --- his own and others --- being repeated in the same way he remembered. He spoke aloud their words, and sometimes could be heard screaming in his and other' sexual ecasty or his or other's laughing or reciting curse words and spewing venom and acting out all the other's he loved and hated. He voice changed to accomodate the different times, his different ages, and attempts at understanding the the different words, genders and cultures, acting out their mannerisms, as Pleasington flayed his arms above him. Pleasington moaned and thrashed in his bed, pulling the sheets from their corners, while he cried and screamed as if discovering something was almost resolved, yet not entirely. It was as though he dreamed while in this state of wakefulness, and otherwise would sleep in a state of normal conciousness. Inside, he housed all the visitors that had ever loved, kissed and held onto, and they were left in their original state within him, wanting him again. Yet they were no longer a part of him; nor could he let them go, for they always need him. And at the end of the night, Pleasington's visitors got tired, and strayed to his dining room, or laid on the furniture in the living room with the carpet-fresh vacuum-marks, their ghost prints he imagined on the mirror and the walls, hands he once held. And for the rest of the night they would sleep, leaving Pleasington set back adrift to his world. He would lie there in bed next to his digital morning alarm. And when it sounded, he would know it was time to get up.

Pleasington's dining room

The first thing one should notice when entering another's home, at least to Pleasington's way of thinking, was the immediacy of the first room they entered. It was the first appearance of that room which set the tone for the rest of home, its owner, and subsequently the celebration of that home's quiet inner life, as one hoped for. Yet,  in reality, the risk of interference that outside occupants brought to the home necessitated the continued management of the room's appearance. The home depended upon the room's potential; it was set specifically for any unexpectant visitors. This was important: Pleasington hoped such visitors may appreciate, or even share, his feeling, too. And this even contributed to the significance that such a room would bear, and the effect it continually --- without him being aware --- that it had upon him.

The room one noticed was the dining room, shortly after passing through the foyer, Pleasington arranged for the visitor to take notice either through severe track lighting overhead, open air windows, special candle scents, a Bose stereo playing soft jazz, or some other trigger which drew one's attention upon entering the home.  The room contained a large  rectangular dining room table, governed by four wrought-iron high-back chairs. Each chair was pushed in as far as it would go. At each place at the table laid a professionally dry-cleaned white linen placemat. They were spotless, wrinkle-free. And the table had a deep dark polish, yet it varied in its hue, as though the table had worn off its sheen in some places, yet retained it in others. So, if any one happened to join in with Pleasington at his table, they may notice the variations in the glow, yet inclined to concede some respect as the table was adequately maintained over the course of many years.  

Above the table, on the dining room wall, was large mirror. There was a shelf, a mantle-piece of some sort, which displayed black and white and color photographs, the kinds that one would see in the late stages of mature adult life. And, as Pleasington entered into his own house, he felt that strong feeling which constricted his throat and slowed down his usual chipper frame of mind in the way a cold presence will contract the body and leave the mind left to achieve a warm solution. While others arrived at their house with a sense of relief, to Pleasington, there was a sense of arriving at the last terminus on a subway, from the city life of his mind, to the suburban life he had entrusted to his heart.

After Pleasington hung up his raincoat, pressing the water-heavy arms down, he placed the mail on corner of the dining room table. Per custom,  he proceed to dwell into the dining area where the content of the photographs containing pictures of Pleasington and his former wife, and his daughter. He had a tendency to review their arrangement, and invariably would rearrange the heavy frames of them, coiled together, holding one another, in times like winter and summer. Times at the beach were next to those he took while standing in snow. They documented the various stages of having them, growing with them, and the ellipses which followed of all the others never photographed. He picked the frames up and held them in from of him. His mouth would move words now and again, speaking to them as if they could hear him; and other times he was able to speak in words he now knew -- yet didn't know then. And when he looked into their eyes, the glow of their faces remained still, smiling back at him through the camera. And he would put the pictures back in their places.

There was only one photograph of Pleasington, and --- be it by coincidence, or some other aspect ---- the photo was just of himself. He was waving to the camera, yet in an obviously ironic manner, as if to say to the viewer that his presence would asethetically dilute the film itself.  He held onto that one for another reason, though, but couldn't state exactly why. He didn't try to remember what trip they were on or when the photo was taken. It was just him, among the others, giving an outsider a reason, perhaps, for all these photographs belonging together, at least it would appear that way to any visitor who happened to drop by and cared to take a look. He felt this was correct, and kept that picture.

He took all the photographs without anticipation, nor planning. Pleasington was proud of their quality, as any man of such taste may be. And, any expectation that he would be standing in this empty dining room with the photos, and the clean placemats on the table surrounding him, may have occured to him long ago as being unexpected. One would expect not to experience where one stood, where one has been, and the years left.  These would have been experiences mitigated by family, significant others, or close friends.  In the presence of loved ones, he felt many of the things which preoccupied him would not be; and, in such a way, didn't warrant personal arrest of his senses either. It was all merely a state a mind. Pleasington struggled with his eyes for a moment, yet refused to wipe them, and they dried up quickly. He went to the kitchen and went to the freezer. He would choose a microwave dinner, "Chicken Cordon Bleu with Mashed Potatos". It was almost 6:00pm, and then it would be time for All Things Considered on National Public Radio.

Pleasington looked at his front door as he crossed the foyer back to the dining room. There would be nobody coming home tonight. Soon, tomorrow, and the next, would arrive. And the dining room would remain the same. Weeks, and then years, would have their order, and then pass by. And he would care for the dining room. While the microwave prepared his meal, he set a table for one, and drew a clean linen napkin from a drawer, then sat down. He didn't feel like reading his New York Times while eating. By the time the meal was completed, in five minutes, he had lost his appetite. Pleasington listened to the sound of the microwave buzzer while looking at the photographs next to the mirror above. An uneasiness made him heavy and frightened,  and he could not get up. His breathing became watery, with an occasional constriction in his throat, in which he cleared. And he didn't move for quite a while. He merely looked at his proper arrangement: the clean linen placemat, the empty paper plate, with the fork and napkin, along with the worn polished glow of the table, reflecting the track lighting above. It was all in good order. Then night came, and Pleasington got up and walked to bed.

Fox News Cunnilingus Co-Worker Boring Database Response System

Allow the soothing sounds of boredom to move over your mind. Nod, agree, or chuckle when appropriate. Savor any modicum of interest and store in the dull-co-worker database. Remember that she is the only one on earth that is obviously correct, and lavishly agree. Think about ways to make her talk about herself so as to relax in the pure drift of your own imagination. as she aimlessly wanders the pastures of today's topices: Emmy Awards, movies, and the endless social comedy of PeopleSpeak, that we've all come to enjoy and share. Use this evidence to initiate tiny laugher ha ha's for her as she speaks on her observation deck to the world of us 2 techs. Write all this down in your mind as you talk, for later on, the relentless boring inner monologue of her reverifing her unique identity. Imagine twittering her mindless observations to the world, writing each dull observation line by line. It would take year to fill a landfill, but in no time, in 140 characters or less, to fill the cry for attention from Lady McMuffin Head, the Consumerist of Middle Class Angst -- I pray --- if I were not laughing so hard --- of hogging up bandwith pouring out verbatim  her pancake mentality prose . And, Dwell in the vapid air of her eyebrow kama sutra candy, as she pontificates upon our distigusting earthen follies revealed by AOL.com, My Space and Facebook. Human people, so funny, ain't we having fun in the office, honey? Sitting there, her acolyte to the liturgy of her Dunce Americana, I revel in my new found resume worship skill set: Provide nice environment for co-workers to shit out anything that bubbles out of their mumbling heads.

Overall Response to Corp Bullsht

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Executive Compensation Supervisor

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My Co-Worker's Television Network Channel Line-Up

Family & Relationships
What's For Lunch?
Liberals Suck
Listen To My Story
I Can't Wait For The Weekend
Car Problems
Chatty Time
Let Me Talk Now
Mumble For Attention
My Famous Baking Skills
Everyone's A Dumbass Except For Me
I'm So Fucking Right
Web Site Entertainment Alerts
Did you See Lost last Night?
Picture Time
Tax Refund Ego-Pump
Oh, This Looks Nice
Techno Mumbo Jumbo Naval Gaze
Everyone's Not Special Except Me.
Imagine Winning The Lottery And The Ensuing Conversation?
I Have A Big Attention You Need To Pay Attention To.
Crazy Bandwith and Internet People

the man who went on

In the drawn hours late of Tuesday's labour,
The time spent here I logged complete.
Hours erased and consumed by fading memory,
As I leave this desk for the street.

These working days pile and drive
Us home for a square the dinner-meal.
I sit here, again, and map the space in front of me:
With a plate I made with the microwave,
And tomorrows' clothes hanging on their rails.

My working sun rises, and the night's a memory
Of dreams I'll never have and a life once lived.
Maybe this is all there is.
The clock still ticks, for now;
The Everlast double-A battery draining the minutes.

Traffic flows at 70 miles per hour as
Pedestrians in tow tailgate and swerve.
The clouds appear above the highway
Laughing as they sail on by
Through the delicate land in the sky.

Passing cars to get to the next lane
Leads to an Exit sign and a traffic light.
There is time to hear the idle engines of each other.
Time beside the wheels of one another.
Then leave in separate ways.

Entering the doors which soon lead me to my desk,
I sigh and look down and find my seat.
And through the day I remember how I arrived:
A man that went on, and rose with the sun,
And left at the end of the day.

Guaranteed sure-miss pick-up lines / conversation

May I invite your ass out to dinner?

Why don't we change the name of winter in New England to something easy to remember, like "This Sucks", or "My Bedroom is Warmer"

Forgive me if I'm being forward, but I remember this elevator and you getting your way with me in it. You were pressing all my buttons, and at every floor, you got off.

Can I borrow 5 dollars towards buying you a drink?

I see that your hot body is a contributing factor towards your fashion sense.

My asking you to get laid by me may not be wise old words, but wouldn't it be funny if you smiled and said, "Okay, Dumbass?"

My wife recommended I show you that this wedding ring is merely a trick, so feel free to call me anytime for some dinner time, or a drink at your place.

Have you met my friend 'South of the Border'? hands looped around belt buckle, forefingers pointing towards groin area.

May I give you this Xerox page to a web site to an advertisement for a book published by May I Sleep In Your Party Pants, Ms. Hottness?

If I were French, these words to you would sound so like Panera Bread: hot and inexpensive.

Nice to meet you here. My bedroom also has a Happy Hour for five minutes, too. Care to partake?

Its comes to my attention by our new president that by asking you out for a date would be good for the economy. Care to accept this initiative?

I think that your being hot has not been acknowledged very closely. Please call my secretary and make an appointment with my doctor the next time I have my physical exam, and join us.

Have I seen you on American Idol? Or is that show no longer hot, or on television?

I don't know how to say this, but if you take the square root of pi, divided it by NOT and then put a negative symbol thing in front of NOT, it would spell, 'YOUR HOT", and have a directional signal pointing to my living room where you'll find me working your taxes.

I love the way I check you out. I have further instructions for you to follow. Proceed with me to another bar.

By just being hot is not enough of a bailout. That's why when I look at you, your high rate of inflation, combined with excellent FICO score, makes you so beautiful as well. Care to accept 1 hour of my body for 800 billion dollars?

I wanted to come up to you and introduce myself. My name is I Can't Believe Your So Hot. I'm sorry, that's not my name.

Didn't I see you in a dream I had, or was it that movie, called "Dreaming of your hot ass."

Dangling in front of you is not just any guy, its a guy with 100 million dollars in unsecured debt for your every pleasure.

You seem like a beautiful woman. Yet, I require physical evidence to the contrary. Please proceed with the instructions contained in my pockets and until you have been cleared.

Hi, would you like to dance with me? If not, would you like to carry me to my bedroom to read a book?

Seems the bank asked me to talk to you about a forthcoming offering of securing your body for a pleasurable rate of return. You'll have to initial on the 'X''s all over by hard body.

I came over to ask you a favor. I have 500 pounds of jello at my house and no one to swim in it with me. Could you assist?

I'm sorry, If it wasn't for your hot ass doing the talking, I think I could remember what you were just saying.

I thought this place would have more hotties in it, but your hottiness contractual obligates me to contact the authorities and serve you with all due justice, the penalty for being so hot. But, I'll pay you a 10 dollar processing fee.