3:27 pm | 19 December 2002 | "You're killing me, Larry!"

As it is close to Christmas, that time of unknown things*, and also because i am cranky cubed and really tired, i would like to posit a few questions.

1. Why do so few things on the internet work?
I just wanted to download one album--shit, one song--and first i had to download four hundred pervily-named applications, and even then it didn't work, and meanwhile approximately three blizillion pop-ups, well, popped up, and it was a right-clickin' frenzy, and it made me wish i were at Chuck E. Cheese's so i could play Whack-A-Mole, except on the heads of real people. Stupid people. Anywho.

2. What is the precise moment at which, as an adult, Christmas starts to totally suck balls, and i'm not talking malted milk ones?
Seriously. Even last year, struggling through LAX with a million apparently suspicious-looking gifts (maybe it was the merry "O'Santa Bin Laden" wrapping paper?) strapped to my back like a demented pack mule, the joy of giving gifts and the christmas spirit blah de blah still, like, touched me, or whatever. This year? I am provoked to semi-violent flights of rage upon coming within twenty yards of yet another cartoonish depiction of Frosty the Snowman. I'd like to take his carrot nose and shove it up his

3. Why am i so tired?
Could be #2, but i think it might also be the weather. Alls i know is, i'm logging about five hours of quality sleep a night before i haul my beaten, gelatinous bulk out of bed at or before seven to get my shit together enough to make it through another wretched day. I actually "got in trouble" last week for sleeping on my office floor during my lunch break. Hey Lady: my lunch break, my office, my face imprinted with carpet marks, my business! And i swear to god, if i hear that Satanic Field's jingle again, i will kill. Happy holidays, oh what fun it isn't, boys.

4. What the hell is wrong with me?
I ate an entire bag of almonds today, and my fringe is looking all snaggle-toothed, and i've had the same stretched-out headache on for four days, and i just joined the Columbia House Record & Tape Company online, because i'm depressed and i wanted to get 12 cds for $17.88 S&H, and then dodge said company for the rest of my life.

5. Why doesn't he loooooove me? The Tape Wizard knows who i'm talkin' 'bout. Aaaaang! Aaaaangh!!! whimper! i would run my fingers through your curly silver-threaded black locks, and push your glasses back up your nose, and we could adopt like seven more dogs to bring the total up to an even dozen, and we could talk the smarty-pants talk all day long and make out all night! Come on! We'll look at the Brancusi together! I'll show you my favourite artist in the collection! But nooooo. It is not to be. Nero must fiddle. And i must waste away, a loveless, unloveable, unloved, not-love-havin' husk.

i hate everything. clm.

* Presents are unknown. Santa is the unknown. Why holidays are so annoying is unknown. What several members of my family will be receiving is still unknown. Things under snow, such as poo and bricks, are unknown.