It’s looking like I’m going to Summer School, which would start in two weeks. I’m not sure whether I’m excited or embarrassed or what. Haven’t told my brother yet. He emailed this earlier:
“I know I’ve told you not to tell people about dreams you’ve had, but I had a dream last night where I was dating Lindsay Lohan, and I think it was pretty realistic. She was looking SMOKING hot, and she was smoking a lot. She was also crying a lot, pretty much the whole time in fact. I was holding her really tight, telling her that everything was going to be okay. And occasionally I would kiss the top of her head, which smelled like an amazing mixture of cigarettes and perfume. A metaphor for Lindsay herself? You be the judge. Anyway, my point is that even in a dream the most perfect, hot, amazing girl on Earth (Lindsay Lohan) is totally crazy and crying all the time. I can’t even get a girl to chill the fuck out in my own dreams, let alone on a crowded sidewalk. I’m beginning to think that I’m destined to roam this World alone, in a haze of drugs, alcohol and awesomeness, fighting bitches off with an old broken mop handle. And I’m okay with that. You should be too.”
"Shhhhhh... Don't tell my parents."
Yet another in a long line of tips that I’m not sure why I would ever use:
“A fun thing to do in the mornings is to position stuffed animals next to sleeping girls faces so when they wake up they think a creature from their dreams has come to kill them. Then just wait their in your suit, reading the newspaper and drinking coffee, and when they wake up and scream, chuckle to yourself, fold the paper up and say “Ha! Idiot.” and then leave. Talk about a great way to start the week!”
Why is someone his age still sleeping with girls who have stuffed animals? Or, maybe a scarier question… Do girls always have stuffed animals????
"Wakey wakey eggs and bakey!"
According to him:
“If you’re having trouble remembering your dreams, don’t worry– they weren’t real anyway.”
More creepiness from the world’s foremost Creepologist:
“A tremendous way to evaluate how hot a girl is is to watch her sleep. And if you can actually be inside the house while she’s sleeping, all the better– dirty windows can distort your view.”
"Sorry, just trying to evaluate your hotness."
This will probably come in handy soon.
“It strikes me that I haven’t given you perhaps the best piece of advice I could ever give you, and that is this: Whenever life deals you a bad hand, or gives you lemons, or fingerbangs you… just go to sleep. In Sleepytown, there are no problems. The car you wrecked is not only fine, it can fly! Your girlfriend’s feelings aren’t hurt anymore, and now she’s naked… with your old high school girlfriend! You didn’t get caught cheating in class, you got driven to a magic castle in a giant shrimp with wheels by none other than Bill Cosby! In summation, if you’re ever having a shitty day, just go back to sleep.”
The scariest thing about all of this is that he used to want to be a teacher, and he still mentions it sometimes. What if… What if?
"Your shrimp-car is ready, sir."