Reach for the Stars. No, not those ones. These ones down here.

They say if you work really hard at something, and want it badly enough, you can achieve anything you put your mind to. Do I ever have a fucking bone to pick with that asshole. Seriously, if I wasn't wrapped up so tight and cozy in my Snuggie right now, he'd have a flaming bag of dog shit on his door step. I'm pretty sure Wikipedia has his address. I'd probably put a flaming bag of shit on the door step of the guy who invented Snuggies too, just for good measure. What a stupid invention that was. Now, a remote boat on the other hand, that's a different story. That guy; now that guy would get a bag of kittens on his door step. Kittens playing with yarn, all soft and fluffy, bright blue eyed, and on fire.

Do “they” think if I worked really hard, I could be an astronaut? No, “they”, I could not. There are multiple cons to being an astronaut. First, I get car sick. And I have a small hunch that it might be a little more intense when going into space. Second, the space suit would definitely not flatter my figure. And white just really isn't my colour. It makes me look washed out, ya know? And third, most importantly, I would complain about the food in tubes and to be honest, I'm just really not a big fan of Tang. So “they”; for your information, I could NOT be an astronaut.

No matter how hard I try, I cannot become the following things:

- a successful black man (I am not black, nor am I a man)

- a pro basketball player (I am not black, nor am I a man)

- Oprah's best friend (I am not black, nor am I a lesbian)

- French (I'm not actually trying to become French. Let's face it, even the French don't want to be French.)

- less offensive (for obvious reasons)

- the 4^th member of Wilson Phillips (when I heard they were back together, I sent in my audition tape. No word yet. It doesn't feel promising.)

- smart (Wait... What were we talking about? You're making fun of me, aren't you?)

- addicted to heroin (I haven't actually tried that before, but I think I could give it the old college try.)

When I was a kid, instead of all of this 'reach for the stars' bull log, I wish someone was straight up with me and said "Listen Chels. You are off the wall strange, you make people uncomfortable with the offbeat things you say, you're 10 years old and you can't figure out how to multiply and for the love of God, you wear a fucking turtleneck every day of your life." Maybe not Prime Minister material.
 

I was thinking of something more along the lines of a Walmart greeter, or scooping ice cream at Dairy Delite. Oh, nope, bees. I can't deal with bees. I guess we can cross that off the list too. Goddammit, “they”. If I ever get a hold of this “they” character, not only will he have poop on his door step, but I will also drink the rest of his milk.

I just sang "Christmas is sleigh bells, that just can't go to sleep."

Merry Christmas friends! What a wonderful time of year, isn't it? I love everything about it, except snow, slush, wet, cold, malls, buying Christmas presents, wrapping Christmas presents, giving away Christmas presents, U2 Christmas songs, the colour red, and crippling loneliness and depression. Wait, what?

I know I said I don't like giving Christmas presents, but if there's one thing I do enjoy, it's receiving them. If you are drawing a blank for gift ideas for yours truly, here are some things on my wish list.
- rocket powered shoes for getting places faster
- Willow Smith's new album to listen to while I'm getting places faster
- deodorant so I don't smell when I get there
- track ball to play with my friends
- to be bit by a radio active spider. But the kind that give you super powers, not brain tumours.

As your Christmas present, I would like to tell all of you individually, a few things that make me love you. Key words: I would like to. I really would. But as it so happens, not only do I not love most of you, but I try not to make a habit of saying nice things to people.
But, tis the season to not be an asshole and junk, so here is a handful of the most notable:

Chuck Norris; You have taught me everything I know about roundhouse kicks, kicking through wind shields, and owning facial hair. I wouldn't be the same without you. Chuck Norris is in fact, the real Slim Shady.

Jesus; for all that cool stuff you did. Holla at a Caucasian.

Older Sister Number One; I love you because you made 6 year old me sing the man parts in Phantom of the Opera. And for setting up this here blog for me. If it weren't for you, me poisoning everyones mind would not be at all possible. Thanks big sister.

OIder Sister Number Two; I love you because you shot a snot rocket that stretched about two feet, while we were doing the dishes. I also love you because we played hair ball-ceiling fan-volley ball.

Papa Dunny; I love you because you go out to buy hot dogs, come home, and realize that you forgot to buy hot dogs. I also love the way you order Chinese food in a Chinese accent. "Numbuh wohhhn, chicken fly lice." I'm sure we ate their spit on numerous occasions. Oh and that first belch in the morning to alert the world that you are awake. That really pulls the old heart strings.

Best friend; I love the way you never know any of the words but you still sing. And your superior one toned whistling skills. You are the Chuck D to my Flava Flav.

The cast of Jersey Shore; just for being you.

Carlos Dragon; for believing that I have Justin Bieber on my facebook. "We totally facebook chat like every day."

And last but certainly not least, Myself; I love myself because I walk into walls, spill my food and drinks all over myself and everything around me, lose my train of thought mid-joke (my native name when I was a kid was "One who can't tell a joke"), say off beat things that make conversations awkward, my wonderful way with words (I am a word-smith, self proclaimed) and how I look exactly like Kim Kardashian (also self proclaimed). I am a self proclaimed Proclaimer.

I'm on my weeeee...

I apologize if you did not make the short list, no hard feelings, I'm just not very nice. Leave your name in a comment, and I'll be sure to tell you why I love you. Or like you. Or can stand you.

Merry Christmas fuckers