Oh, Mr. Murphy.

Why you chose to be a police officer and not a fucking detective is beyond me.

"What was going on at the coffee shop, Mr. Burda?"

"I was drinking coffee."

"Oh."

You solved that mystery, genius.
Then, you started busting out the big guns.

"What would you say if I brought out a drug dog?"

"You would find out that I really like dogs, and that you are wasting my time, and yours."

"Oh."

Oh!

Then I watched my tax dollars hard at work, as you glared at me angrily from the hood of your cop car for the next twenty minutes, not writing, speaking, or doing much of anything, really.

Then, Mr. Murphy, you walked over and gave me a ticket for an 'unsafe start.'
I feel truly safe with your cunning and quick wit patrolling the streets of Cupertino, ready to mumble 'oh...' at any discrepancy that you find yourself faced with.

Mr. Murphy, you make me question being a taxpayer altogether.

Oh!

Oh, and look at these stuffs too.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/mattburda/

Chyeah.

one and one/two

After a month and a half of not smoking, I am ready to say this.

"I sure am excited to ride you, bicycle."



Physical activities, my name is Matt. Pleasure to meet you, finally.

Reason #17: you cut off the patches of head hair that I missed when I gave myself a haircut, while I'm nearly passed out.

There isn't a #1-16 yet, but I have the feeling there will be.

On a slow evening,

There is this random little (really, about five foot nothing,) old man who comes into the coffee shop every so often. He is usually wearing a cool (green) hat, and likes to talk about 'back in my day.'
This guy is cool.
Not a whole lot to him, just a jolly, friendly, old man. He has his own mug, gets his coffee with two one dollar bills, tips the remaining sixty five cents, and is on his way.

Not this time.

As we were chatting about the pleasantries of his day, I noticed his tie.
"Hey man, that is a pretty sweet tie you have there."

He proceeded to tell me about his tie.
Apparently, Jerry Garcia was a painter. Not a mediocre painter, either. He was terrible. His paintings were so shitty, that when his wife filed for bankruptcy, the state didn't even want the paintings. They took all of her shit, except for the paintings.

What the state didn't realize, but some other random fellow did, was the paintings potential.
Spread out onto a canvas, it was caca. Condensed into tie form, it was super wonderful.
Anyway, after a brief lesson in the history of Jerry Garcia limited edition ties, I asked him where I could get one.
It went something like this.
"Where can I go about acquiring such a tie, sir?"
He told me where. Kohl's, some other random place I had never heard of, and maybe two or three more random places I had never heard of. I wasn't really paying attention, to be honest.

Then the unthinkable happened.
He looks at me, and says, "When I come to this coffee shop, you guys make me miss college. This place is wonderful. You can just have my tie."
He took the tie off of his own neck, and gave it to me.
I was shocked.
It made my day.

Thank you for your random act of kindness, old man. I am one step closer to classy with this bad-ass, green, limited edition, Jerry Garcia tie. I'd like to think that when I am a jolly old man, with my cool hats and my own coffee mug, I'll be able to pass this tie off to some bored kid somewhere. He probably won't know who Jerry Garcia was, but that's alright.

Pissing off of a rock.

Sometimes, starting to drink early in the afternoon is a wonderful thing. I ended up in random places, making random friends, having my hair gently fondled by random old women at a bar, punching Pat in the face repeatedly, and passing out in Diana's car.

I made it home safe and sound, too. That's the best part.

There is definitely an unnameable appeal to urinating off of very large structures, or in this case, very high rocks. It makes me incredibly happy.

Sorry for hitting you in the face, Pat, but you did take my glasses off and poke me in the eyes. You bastard.

I have been showering with increasing regularity. By that, I mean regularity, period.

Is there something wrong?

I shouldn't drink the rest of this beer.

"One day, I will find that Jester. He only cost two dollars and seventy six cents. I cost six dollars. That fucking bastard.

"He makes me sick, with his wind-up head spinning action. I can't believe that I cost more, yet take additional batteries to operate my light up eyes and spinning clicking noise action. I should be the inexpensive product!"

The robot, armed with gun and clicking noise action, hunted poor Jester. All the while, Jester, trying to escape, couldn't fathom the cause for this hostility from the robot.


"Since I am a Jester, I only speak in rhyme.
None of this hatred will be revealed, not in due time.
Cost two seventy six, I did, its true.
Yet you are machine, I only wind up and sing tunes.
My head spins back and forth, and I cannot recall-
the last time I had light up eyes, or rolled around on a ball.
A bearing you have, underneath your motor.
All I have is a stationary drum,
So what the fuck, robot?"






TO BE FUCKING CONTINUED.

This time around

This break has been nothing but a pleasure, compared to winter break at least.
One day spent driving to and from delicious bread, salsa, and cheese. One day spent snowboarding. Both days with wonderful company.

In all of the random places I've found myself, I've found some interesting things.

I found this little monstrosity at a thrift store in Truckee.


It plays a creepy as hell song, while its head spins around in a circle. This is quite possibly the creepiest dollar I have ever spent.


This little guy I picked up at the De Anza Flea market. He spins in circles and makes clicking noises, while his eyes and gun light up.

I feel safe when he is around. He has a gun, after all.

They will have to fight for affection, more to come later.

Throughout this break, I have realized that being ousted from bed at 6:30 AM may not be a terrible thing. On the way home, I see sights that I usually do not see, since I am rarely ever awake at that time.

Such as this cloud sandwich.
It's not often that I see sandwiches this beautiful that aren't made from foodstuffs.


One of the many reasons that make getting kicked out of bed at 6:30 worth it. There are others, of course.

Things seem to be pretty swell.

I'm going on a month without a cigarette.