But then again I can�t help of an ancient Chinese curse, �May you live in interesting times.�

Something a lot of people, I realize, may not understand is a curse, but when you think about it then you realize for you it is. Maybe not for the people in the future who look back at your �interesting times� for entertainment and future movie plots, but for you, you had to live through it.

Anyways I�m off topic. Actually that is kind of the point. I really don�t have a topic for this entry what so ever.

However�

I do have an unbelievably strong urge to write something. Just keep on type, type, typing till I form some kind of coherent thought.

The thing is I can type all I want, but I need something to type/write about. So how about this I�ll regale you all with tales of the items that plague my computer desk.

Sounds fun doesn�t it?

Ok so it�s not exactly a hot �I got to know� topic, but work with me here. I�ll do what I can to make it entertaining and you do what you can do to keep frown yawning your way through.

We got a deal? Ok then let�s move on.

I�ll work my way from the left side of my desk to the right. If for some reason this turns into the most boring drivel on the face of the planet I�ll abort said part of the entry about mid way to my desk lamp.

First you start off with the little shelving unit with its top raised a bit higher then the rest of the desk. Quite obviously this is where you are supposed to put your monitor.

I�d like to say I�m some kind of rebel against computer desk fashions and say I have like a ten pound bag of manure or something similarly off the wall rather then my monitor. But as the programmed drone I tend to be, and a stickler for putting shit in its right place, of course my monitor is right there.

Though I�m not a complete mindless automaton when it comes to computer desk fashion. The shelving unit underneath it doesn�t contain the computer tower itself. Instead it holds a butt load of printer paper, a few program boxes, and an incomplete manuscript, hand written, that�s about sixty pages long entitled, �Cybereality�.

If you knew the basis of the story you�d give a chuckle at the title and say �how cleaver.�

Trust me I know your tastes and you would find it quite clever. Trust in the Chrome man he shall not lead you a stray�or to an Office Max or a Staples seeing as there are none in this town and I wouldn�t know where to find one.

Sorry dude, you�re on your own.

Instead of having the computer there I have it on an old, wooden, dark stained end table to the left of the computer desk. For one it�s kind of big so it wouldn�t leave much room on the shelving unit. And second I seem to have to get to the back or inside the case a lot and putting it in the shelving unit would make that process ten times more complicated then I want it to be.

So it sits on top of the end table. Actually it sits on top of my old base computer and next to my old ass external 28.8K modem with my nifty, sleek, and spiffy looking cable modem on the other side.

Not a tough decision on which one I would be using.

I wanted to throw in a redneck equivalency joke about my new computer sitting on top of my old, big ass computer. Sort of like you�d see in some redneck homes the big ass television that�s a unit of its own being used as the entertainment center for your newer, much smaller television.

Only I don�t use the old computer for anything at all so it�s not quite like that. Hence the rednecks joke to lame to actually use, but worth mentioning at the very least.

Because seriously the big bucks in comedy is dick and fart jokes, but a good filler between talking about breaking your dick and talking about the fact your shit is so green it nearly glows in the dark is a good redneck joke.

Trust me on this�I�ve studied this topic thoroughly for a good�five�ten minutes. So I know what I�m talking about.

To keep with the theme of new shit sitting on top of old shit lets get back to my monitor. My monitor, thanks to certain graces, is fairly new. Basically I�d say its about two to three months old. So it�s a pretty nice monitor that I�ve sat top of my ever so sturdy, but pretty old computer sub-woofer.

Now still the redneck joke doesn�t work seeing as the sub-woofer doesn�t actually work anymore. Well ok that isn�t completely true it still works, but it just doesn�t work well which is quite sad.

A few weeks ago I was on here, as per usual, listening to music through my headphones, once again as per usual, at a very late night hour which as you guessed it is also as per usual.

Man of predictable and repetitive living patterns? Yeah I am, but I swear there is a joke in there somewhere. Just can�t think of one right at this moment.

Well I�m listening to music and I realize I�m hearing a very loud and annoying crackling noise between and during quieter moments in songs. At first I thought my headphones had gone to shit on me seeing as one side is duct taped on.

Well either it was the headphones or the voices in my head where back and they where picking up really shitty reception on there television.

It was a week of this that finally drove me insane and sent me looking for my cheapo headphones to see if they still worked. So I had the music going when I unplugged my headphones and was ready to plug in el-cheapo headphones. Just as I got them in the headphones jack I realized�hey I can still hear that crackling noise with my headphones unplugged.

Good lord it is the voices in my head coming back with shitty television reception!

Ah man I haven�t even fixed the place since the last time they where bouncing around in my grey matter.

Then logical, clear thinking finally filled the gaping holes in my thought process the size of North Dakota and I realize hey�my fuckin sub-woofer is the thing that is making that noise!

So now I have this nice, shiny looking sub-woofer with two big box eight inch speakers on either side of me that do absolutely nothing. Well they look impressive so someone coming and seeing this bad ass sound system on my computer might think heyyyyy now that�s nice, buddy!

Let�s hear some tunes! Kick out the tunes ye man of major ass whoopin computer sound system!

Then I�d have to say �.uuuuhhh what�s that on the tip of your nose! Then I�d give it a quick little flicking swat. You know the kind that bump your nose back up into your skull and stings like a mother fucker and brings tears to your eyes.

Then I�d be all like oh I�m sorry about that I didn�t mean to hurt you, but I swear I saw a SARS carrying bug of some sorts hanging out on the tip of your nose. You should thank me, dude cause I just saved your life from a disease that does�uh�.something nasty and probably makes a lot of flem.

Then you�d be ever so thankful that not only will you forget to ask me to kick out the tunes on my ass whoopin computer sound system. You�d also hand over the contents of your wallet/purse then offer me some sweet, sweet lovin cause I�m just that damn good. But I�d have to thoughtfully reject you because I�m not the kind of guy to take advantage of a person like that. And reassure you it�s not because I don�t want to bend you over, slap your ass, and make you call me Daddy. No, baby its not that I just want it to be about the love.

Then you�d be all googly eyed over me cause not only did I save your life, but then you�d realize I�m all noble and shit. And then I�d use my new hero glow to actually get you in the sack despite what I said, but only I�d work it so we did it two times that night because the first time I�d be all nervous and shit and seriously you�re hero shouldn�t be known as �the man who can get it done before your Minute Rice is done cooking.�

See how this none working sub-woofer works out for me! Yeah it�s amazing what you can do with hardly working, useless shit isn�t it.

And yet we are not done with this section of the computer desk. See infesting that area of the desk on and around the sub-woofer is my bubble aliens.

The local China Buffet has just inside it�s doors a set of �bubble gum coin slot machines� and one of those things is these little alien dolls. They are tiny, about the length of a quarter, and made of solid rubber. For a quarter they are exceptionally well made and well kind of fun in there variety.

You got the scholarly one with his little suit, book tucked under his arm, and clutching his umbrella. I see him as the Daddy alien of them all cause the rest of them look like they are slackers like me and completely jobless.

I mean one of these little fuckers has to be the responsible one and get a job. So I say you got a book and a suit then by golly you�re the man for the job! What job, I don�t know since you�re a tiny piece of rubber, but damn it all to hell we�ll find something.

Then we got the little surfer dude with his Bermuda shorts, his hand thrown back in the air, and a look on his face like he�s saying �whooaaa, duuuddddeee� complete with Valley Guy accent.

That�s my little stoner guy�.I don�t expect him to do much other then eat my snack cakes and watch my television.

And then we come to my street hockey team which they are not particularly bright. I mean only half of them have sticks and the other half�well they don�t look to stable on there skates. That or half of them are carrying �beating sticks� and the other half didn�t realize they where suppose to bring weapons to this fight.

Like there is some kind of fucked up gang turf war being fought on top of my sub-woofer. Two rival gangs who insist that a fight isn�t a fight unless you�re on roller blades.

And to add to the chaos, and quite possibly the reasoning behind said gang turf war I have two miniature bottles of booze sitting next to my bubble aliens.

See now I never plan on drinking these because�well�I�m not the biggest fan of hard liquor anymore. But those mini bottles are so damn�uh�ok they�re fuckin cute. Are you happy? You�ve caught on to the fact that I think miniature versions of things are all cute and shit.

And there you are all nagging me till I break like you�re the cute fuckin police.

Guilty as charged, officer! Please don�t beat me with a mini baton! You might break a toe or bruise my lip or something.

Now I don�t plan on drinking these little bottles of alcohol, but it does add a new twist to my little family of bubble aliens. I mean these little bottles are tiny and won�t do anything to me, but they�re like three times taller then the bubble aliens. It�s like witnessing a massive party hosted by aliens with very, very weak immune systems.

I�ve mention before that I�m easily amused, right?

Yeah I just wanted to clear that up.

Now seeing as this is getting exceptionally long for a bullshit entry I�ll try gloss over several things on the main part of my desk to speed things.

The most obvious point of attention on my desk would be the three towers of CD�s filling the back end of my desktop surface. Two of the towers being identical laser line, sixty count, CD towers jam packed full of all the music CD�s I paid for before learning of the beauty that is MP3�s.

In front that sits my two empty tins of Altoids Tangerine Sours that I can�t seem to get myself to throw out. The tins are all nifty and shit and hell I paid a fortune for those little tasty Altoids. I�m keeping these fucking little tins till I figure out what I�m going to do with them other then have them sit up for decoration purposes.

Though soon they won�t be alone seeing as today I picked up two packs of Camel�s Exotic Blends cigarettes. Both of them being little cool tins of there own like the Altoids case, but only not as sturdy. So now I think I�m just going to have a little tin case collection sitting there like some kind of memorial to all consumer products that come in shiny, tin cases.

Oh and speaking of these Camel�s Exotic Blends cigarettes one of these, called Twist, is the first cigarette I�ve ever had that actually smells tasty. I guess part of the blend includes a hint of citrus in the tobacco which is most evident when you open up the tin case. It�s quite a powerful, rich, and very nice smell.

They are so delectable smelling I�m not sure if I should smoke them or eat them right up. Seeing as I�m not hungry and the nicotine on monkey on my back would proceed to beat my brains in for eating up its precious nicotine. I think I�ll skip eating them and instead taste and smell the rich citrusiness of the cigarette.

Ok moving right along we come to my �official� Alcatraz ashtray. And when I say its �official� what I really mean is �crap my mom bought on her vacation to San Francisco to remind me she�s been there and I got an ashtray from there.�

I feel so loved�

There is a hint of irony in getting this ashtray that I�m reminded of every time I use it.

Now for me to get this ashtray is through the blessing of my mother and her yearly, two week trip to San Francisco that she has been doing for the past twenty years or so.

Me, I�ve been out of the state once in my entire life and never out of the country.

Written along the edge of this ashtray are the words �Solitary Confinement.�

You think about that and it�s kind of funny in a very sad, pathetic kind of way. Meaning I really need to get the fuck out more often.

Well that pretty much sums up the contents of my desk. Thus making, according to Word, six pages of mindless drivel that I probably lost you all on about three or four pages back.

And to think I still had more to talk about, but seeing as six pages on Diaryland is the equivalent of a novel. I�ll end this entry now and save what else I had to talk about for another entry.

Till then�

It's about time - Wednesday, Jul. 07, 2004
An Honor for Chrome - Friday, Feb. 20, 2004
A great loss - Monday, Oct. 20, 2003
a terrible announcement. - Tuesday, Sept. 09, 2003
Chrome speaks: - Friday, Sept. 05, 2003