Dug up #9

English class journal entry from 11 November 1991:

Jim looked out his window. It was a beautiful sunny day. The clouds drifted by like blobs of spit in an unflushed toilet in a men’s room at a gas station off the highway in North Carolina somewhere. Birds chirped as if it were summer, with the principal reason for that being that it was summer. Jim stood up and walked over to the fax machine. Suddenly, Jim realized that it was not a fax machine at all, but a secret government computer with information on every person that ever existed and every event that ever occurred! Then he realized that, no, it was just a fax machine. A fake one even. Made out of cardboard. Used as a stage prop. He’d just brought it home to impress the chicks. But in today’s harsh, cruel world, where everyone needs someone to care about, who isn’t prone to do that?

Daily Hey Magic Number: 33

Dug up #8

English class journal entry from 16 September 1991:

I’m not sure what just happened. I think I just inhaled a bug or something. At any rate, I feel strangely happy now, as if something were going to happen or has happened that is good. Perhaps it is a result of this brand new pen. The ink gives off quite a sweet smell. So sweet, in fact, that I think I’m going to pass out…

OK, I’m awake, I just revived with Vivarin. I’m trying not to hurt myself in any way, and (ouch) dropping that book on my foot probably wasn’t the best way to start. Ah, well, all good things must come to an end, and for all bad things all ends are good, and some people have good-looking ends, and all’s well that’s well and good. Whatever the heck that means.

I’m not sure what just happened. Maybe I briefly fell into a daze from heat prostration. Perhaps I’m drunk on the semi-toxic particle-flavored rustwater that this school’s drinking fountains spurt out at tepid temperatures. That liquid is so rusty, I once had to get a tetanus shot after I drank it.

Daily Hey Magic Number: 35

Dug up #7

Creative Writing class journal entry from 6 December 1993:

What is the true nature of God?

Now, don’t strike me down to hell for saying this if it’s what you believe, but I think it’s pretty safe to assume that God is not a viscous blob of ochre gelatin.

It is my personal belief that God doesn’t look like a solidified object at all; I think that he’s just a big ball of light. If he does look like a human, though, I don’t think that he has any genitals. I’m using the word “he” with someone with no genitals. Great. God is a eunuch.

No, that’s not what I mean. I don’t know what I mean. All I know is that them damned religious T-shirts bug me. Which brings me to the conclusion that God exists in the form of a T-shirt.

No, that’s not what I mean. I don’t remember what I mean.

Daily Hey Magic Number: 36

Dug up #6

Creative Writing class journal from 17 November 1993:

My Lovely’s Chicken Bodice.

Arf! my dear. I adore your chicken bodice, it so flatters your eyes. The feathers are soft and white and heavenly. How do they adhere to you like that? Forgive me for so saying, but the way they wrinkle and come up and around and connect at the beak, with the eyes symmetrically placed, well… it seems to magnify your bosom. Oh, don’t blush, madam, I am only being complimentary. I am not always looking at your bosom, no, but an occasional glance now and then… well it is rather quite extraordinary seeing as how you have just the one. Oh, I’m not denying that, my dear… no, it would not be gentlemanly of me to suggest that you have only one nipple. What? You have two? Really. That’s even more extraordinary. Two nipples on the same breast! Hmm… is it one on either side? Vertically! They’re arranged vertically? I don’t believe that! Slip out of that chicken bodice, my lovely, and let me see for myself.

Daily Hey Magic Number: 37

Buy up

lucahack: I just purchased an expensive piece of computer equipment online with money that I don’t have
lucahack: God bless America!
foldingsuplex: good job helping our economy along
lucahack: if I didn’t buy the graphics tablet, the terrorists would have won
foldingsuplex: yeah. that’s the truth
lucahack: I already have one but it no longer appears to work, and I’ve had nothing but trouble with it since I got it
lucahack: but that couldn’t possibly happen TWICE

Daily Hey Magic Number: 38

Dug up #5

Creative Writing class journal entry from 25 October 1993:

This is a journal entry. It contains whimsical insights into various issues throughout history and throughout the world. Today’s issue concerns journal entries.

Now, I will begin a new paragraph and attempt to be witty and clever in my response to the issue of journal entries.

Journal entries are cool, but sometimes they make me want to set my desk on fire.

Ah. Whimsy. There is nothing quite like it. However, the topic of whimsy would make for an entirely separate journal entry. Now, I shall continue to make casual, humorous observations about journal entries.

Boy, some journal entries, such as this one, sure are a pain in the butt!

Note that I included references to anatomy and physical displeasure. Allusions to these often are indicative of witty humor. But this entry is not about humor. It is about journal entries. And now it’s over.

Daily Hey Magic Number: 39

Dug up #4

Creative Writing class journal entry from 11 October 1993:

My Wonderful Homecoming Experience.

My weekend started off on a lovely note as the football team came to an exciting yet entertaining loss. It’s as though the other team was toying with our minds when they let us score those touchdowns.

Then, the next afternoon, I went to the grocery store to buy Dining Materials, and ended up buying many Tabloid Magazines simply because they had Shannen Doherty on the Cover. Then I went to Chris Harmon’s house, where we cooked dinner by giving everything to his mother and saying, “Make this smell good.” Then, we picked up our dates and came back and ate dinner, during which the conversation topic switched to enemas, after which I went into the family room and passed out.

After renting the movie “Vasectomy!” for after-dance entertainment, we went to the dance, where I tripped over the tarp more than I actually danced. I consumed a lot of punch, because they played a lot of country music. However, fortunately, I did not get blue balls this year.

Daily Hey Magic Number: 40

Catch up!

StoneCo1dCrazy: So how’s your catch up going?
lucahack: I am totally not working on it at all
lucahack: it will probably be lots of one sentence posts
lucahack: or more journal entries from ten years ago
lucahack: I’m even running out of drawings
StoneCo1dCrazy: Stuff like “Gee, Rachel’s a fine dame. I bet she’s a goer”
lucahack: christ, I need more material
lucahack: yeah, stuff like that

Daily Hey Magic Number: 41

Mock up

Here’s a number that I wrote and recorded several years ago with help from my younger brother Tim and mixed very poorly without help from anyone. Words, vocals, and keyboards by me; drums, bass, and backing vocals by Tim. It is a song about the perils of dishonesty.

Some Things Are Fake [MP3, 1.2 MB]

Continue reading

Roughed up

The world is knocking me about with boxing gloves lately. What’s up with that? I don’t even have my mouth guard in.

Can you at least wait for me to put my fucking mouth guard in, world?

Gas up

Today, my friends, is a day that will live in infamy. Did I say infamy? I meant idiocy. I had to decline a lunch date on the steps of the Art Institute of Chicago with a pretty girl because I was obligated to be at my apartment between 11:30 AM and 3:30 PM so that I could let the person from the gas company in to read my meter.

This meter reading had already been rescheduled from one week before, and had I known about the possibility of the lunch date, I would not have chosen this particular day for it to be rescheduled. However, the appointment was set, and I was forced to decline the lunch date, with an eye towards possible lunch dates in the future.

At about noon, the guy from the gas company came. I had fallen asleep on the couch the night before, and therefore was utterly unprepared to let the gas guy in. Fortunately, the gas guy (who turned out to be a gal) merely wanted to get into my basement. I told her that I would meet her around at the back gate. I put on some pants and went to exit my apartment through the back door. However, I was unsuccessful because, in what was to be a harbinger of the stupid day ahead, the doorknob popped right off the door into my hand. It is to this moment resting on my kitchen counter.

So I had to exit through the front door and run around to the back of the building. I did so, and then opened the basement door for the gas gal. We entered and I pointed her in the direction of a wall filled up with meter-y looking fixtures.

“Those are electricity meters,” she said.

We looked around, and seeing no other meters nearby, peered through a locked gate into another section of the basement, presumably used for storage and janitorial purposes, and sure enough, there was another wall of meters.

“I can tell which one is yours,” she said. “It’s the only one there that hasn’t been upgraded.”

“Really?” I asked.

“Yeah, it doesn’t make sense… I can’t figure out why they all weren’t just upgraded at the same time.”

With the meter inaccessible, I walked over to the super’s back door and knocked, to see if perhaps he could get the gas gal at the meter. Alas, there was no answer.

“I guess I’ll have to reschedule,” I told the gas gal.

So, to sum up: declined a date with pretty girl for stupid reason; had stupid encounter with gas company, which was more stupid than was anticipated; must reschedule another stupid encounter for later date which will likely result in declining another date with a pretty girl for what will turn out to be stupid reason.

Gah!

Vaguely creative and artistically unfocused balderdash.