Grues Day, Jelly 1st, 976 GUE I have my psyduck with maxed out stats because I used drugs until he couldn't take any more. His name is Quackers. He has the damp ability, a naive nature and knows ice beam, calm mind, surf and psychic. I'm looking to raise a duskull to have shadow ball, will-o-wisp, confuse ray and return. Both are immune to explosion attacks. The final member of my battle tower team will be ninjask who will have double team, swords dance, baton pass and silver wind. Ninjask has an ability where speed increases every turn and after doing double team and a swords dance then pass that over to my duskull with baton pass. Normal stat altering moves are voided when one changes pokemon but with baton pass that allows the stat changes to be passed along to the new pokemon. In short, I'm certain this team will 0wn when I go to the battle tower. Your Regularly Scheduled Entry Work was busy and I came home all stressed out. I locked the screen door to the laundry room and let Spot hang out up there so I could type down here until I unwound sufficiently so I could feed her without feeling stressed or pressured by a little white and black kitty who keeps her fat daddy company while he reads before going to sleep while all hopped up on Hershey's Kisses. I got into work four minutes late today because I overslept but it's no big fucking deal because a man known to get up at the crack of dawn can stay in bed until noon. Lying outside the building was one of those crows with white markings lying on the asphalt. Last September I found a little bird flapping and struggling on the ground after eating poisoned corn left on the roof of the building to thwart the accumulation of bird shit. Really fucking cruel shit. I took the little bird home, tried to take care of the bird but by the next day the bird had passed away. The bird I found on Monday morning was already long gone. I was furious. The whole setting of hundreds of cars screaming by on Academy Boulevard, unknowing and uncaring, over the weekend while this bird lay there struggling from poison after a bad fall and no one ever thinking about helping the bird. They can't be blamed because they couldn't have noticed but still the whole situation strikes me badly because it's such a lonesome death. My fury rose when I thought, "Shit, I hope that's not one of the nest builders" followed by "Shit, I hope that's not the mommabird." There were people coming into the building behind me, the chicks I work with, and I couldn't go pick up the bird and lay him on the stones so at least he could rest in peace rather than get knocked around by some car looking for a place to park. My frustration was worn off by running up the stairs and taking a moment or two to catch my breath. During my lunch and breaks I didn't have the balls to sit out on the lunch stairs because then I'd know if that bird was one of the nesters. I wanted to avoid bad thoughts like poisoning everyone else and leaving them to strugglr, die and have them found by loved ones. At least I have Spot. I love my Spot. Later that afternoon I was doing a follow up call, waiting on hold and the hold music was Nat King Cole. All of a sudden I could smell cigarettes, that smell of the blue barber liquid and the old shampoos, that animal smell of cut hair and the music wasn't some recording on a telephone but coming out of that antique radio that played right behind my grandmother tuned to WPAT Easy 93. The sun is low in the sky and everything on Main Street has a golden color and the shadows actually make things cool rather than just being dark places. A couple yards away is the Carvel ice cream store and across the street is the stationary store with a Pac Man arcade machine. My grandma is smiling and laughing at small talk with the customers, my grandfather is busy with a customer or doing the nightly money count and my father's laying it on thick with his customer. I'm five years old all over again. As useless and pathetic as the concept may be, I would like to re-live my life. All those video games I played back in the eighties. The thrill of shoplifting with friends. Avoiding the mooning and showing my weiner for a quarter incidents back in first grade. The faculty made it into something so big and evil but I remember my father drove me home, stopped at the Evergreen Deli, told me never to do that again and broke down laughing because of me. Unfortunately after that incident I was set apart from everyone else and just played with the little neo-nazi, the slow Italian kid (who was called Power Dog by the neo-nazi), the bizarre jewish kid who kept fwapping dandelions or rubber bands against his fist and the fat philipino. It wasn't that bad but I hoped to have more friends and to have more people to play with. The miracle of my grandma, hearing her tell stories about how she grew up across the street from a firehouse, how she'd feed the horses who helped the firemen and how she could smell the horses at night when the windows were open because it was so hot in those little apartments. Seeing Brandy again and acting like a little priss when he'd come over to give me love by slobbering all over my face. His ashes were buried with my grandma after she passed away. To relive that one time where that girl came over the summer before second grade just to see me and I was in the tub and how we sat in the den at that wobbly table talking but I can't remember what we were talking about. Yes, I'd have to put up with my fucking mother all over again being smaller and more prone to being afraid because of my size or the god damned niggers at school who decided that I was the only white boy who was fair game. I'm sure they're all rotting in jail by now and they fucking deserve it because that kind of shit laid the foundation for any perceived intolerance on my part. If those little cusses act like that then their parents allow them to act like that so therefore they're all niggers. A proto-spivak's-razor but far more apt than anything applied by a thirty two year old spivak. I'm rambling now. Needless to say I want to hug my dad. No, I need to hug my dad.