Sunday, July 30, 2006

Dinosaur Robot

Okay, so.
I'm going to build a nine foot tall robot dinosaur that eats babies and craps golden eggs. He is gonna wear a pub hat because those hats are totally great. His teeth will be six inches long and made of titanium. His eyes will probably glow red. Also, he will have a built in CD player so that some really good songs can play while he goes on baby eating rampages. This is gonna be great.
Also, if anyone has a free way of recording a few songs (like, three, maybe four) then you should tell me and lemme do it. Remember: Its gotta be free, its gotta be fast (like, 20 mins a song or better, if that can be done. I'm looking for minium effort here), and its gotta be easy. Yeah.

Friday, July 21, 2006


So yeah. A guy emailed me and told me how great I was. But I forgot to save one of his emails so I could link his blog. I think his name was Chris. Chris! Contact me and I'll totally link you up! Yeah!

I found the email. This is Chris. Check him out. Go Chris!


I like orange food. A lot. Seriously. I like orange food soo much that if you can think of a really, really wierd orange food, I will eat it, because I'm that conifdent that I will like it. Here is a list of orange things that I enjoy.

Orange Juice
Orange PEZ
Orange pop
Cheddar Cheese (mild, medium, and sharp)
Orange colored bell peppers
What else is orange?
I dunno.
I like orange food.

Wednesday, July 12, 2006

No Petrol Experiment: Day 12

I have decided, with a little more than half of the experiment to go, to temporarily discontinue it. I will start everything back up, starting from day one, on July 25th. Then I will do a genuine month without gasoline. Until July 25th, please feel free to call me if you need a ride or anything like that.

Saturday, July 08, 2006

The greatest dream ever.

I was walking through downtown new york
then i decided to go into this seedy bar
when i go in, im suddenly in the backroom
and there is a beared man in a chair
i say "hey, im tyler"
he says "hey, im chuck."
and i said
"chuck NORRIS?!"
he says "yeah."
"WHat are you doing here, chuck?"
"well, you know how im the greatest fighter in the world?"
"they're gonna make me fight some bears."
"lame, dude!"
"I'm gonna bust you out!"

so then, i pull out this screw driver, and bust out a window, and i leap through it. Chuck is still inside, all like "hey, man, i Can't make it!" and I'm all like "if i can make it, you can!"
then he jumps through, and i'm like "just a sec, man, wait here."
and i go to the door that leads outside, and this guy, that looks like ed from coffee depot, is like "you can't leave. where is chuck?"
and im like "dude, im just heading home. i feel sick. chuck is still in the back, waiting to fight."
"you can't leave."
"man, i will totally stab you with this screw driver."
"ha ha. that won't be nessecary."
then he opens the door, and as i walk by, i stab 'im anyway!
and then i yell "c'mon, chuck!"
and me and chuck run and someone end up at the park by my house
and then he says
"thank, man."
then i woke up and had to pee.

I apologize for the typos, mispellings, and shortcuts. I just spent like, 5 minutes typing it in AIM, and I ain't retyping that shit.

Friday, July 07, 2006

Day Seven

Yeah. Yesterday I rode 22 miles. I haven't used a cent of gas directly since this whole thing started. Of course, you could argue that the bike i ride was delivered to the target where i bought it in a gas-guzzling 18-wheeler, you could argue that the fruit I eat was taken from out of state using gas-poered locomotives. Sure. Argue away. I promised no car riding for me. So go die.
My legs are dead.


Rant time. Hide the children. This is going to be angrier than a Maddox and less coherent than a Hoffman.
You know what its time to destroy? People. Most people should be destroyed. But you know who REALLY deserves it? Christians. Once again, idiotic, toothless, immoral christians are trying to get America to do things the way that THEY want.
Not the way their "Savior" wants.
The way THEY want.
And what is it this time? Our freedom of choice. The ability to choose the way we want to live. Isn't that WHY america is here? So we can live the way we want? But no, these morons somehow decided that this was a the-mother-fuckin'-ocracy!
That right, mofos, its gay marriage rant time. Also abortion. Also, I hate organized religion.
Who do these self-righteous pricks think they are? Why does the "sanctity" of marriage need protecting? If they wanna protect it, why not outlaw divorce? Why not attack Las Vegas and thier drive-though (no joke) chapels? But no, they decide to make their target homosexuals. Why? Because the bible says its wrong.
Right. Sorry. I forgot. We, as a nation, have based everything we believe to be true by what one religion's Book o' God says. I totally forgot that we allow only one religion to practice here. I totally spaced on that. My bad.
Where is my tounge again? Oh, right, in my cheek.
They talk about how "unnatural" love between two men or two women is. They talk about how wrong it is. Its sinful nature.
Oh. But wait, didn't Jesus say "let he who is without sin cast the first stone."?
Sorry. I spaced out again. I forgot that we only listen to Jesus SOMETIMES. I mean, he is only the basis for our entire faith, right?
And what about abortion? These bastards are trying to get a ban on that, too! Yeah! Stupid Bush padding the supreme court with his right-wing justices (I know I'm a little late with this complaint, and as far as the TV tells me, this litle attempted injustice is behind us now, but thinking aobut it still pisses me off). Why? Didn't Roe vs Wade establish the right for the states to choose individually their stance on abortion?
And don't republicans oppose big government?
Oh, right, I remember now. They only like it when they can use it as a means to an end.
And don't show me those photos of mutilated babies. Don't gimme this jargon about taking a human life. Babies don't have brain function until the 25-28th weeks. Clinically, an adult without higher brain function is considered, legally, dead. So why not a fetus? Why not? Because killing people is wrong? Also, getting an abortion AFTER this time is legal in 34 states. Wait, thats an overwhelming majority. Maybe because (hopefully), the overwhelming majority of people are sane, intelligent, and well-informed. Yeah, and I'm a chinese jet pilot.
Wait a second. Killing people is totally cool. I forgot that one, too. They just have to have killed someone else. Because you know, and eye for an eye and all that jazz. Its not like we'll all end up blind or anything.
It is sometimes difficult for me to comprehend these people. Why do they believe these things? Because they are raised that way? Because they feel that restricting our rights so that we all have to live by thier personal moral codes is the good thing to do? Or maybe forcing others to thier will gives them all hard-ons. Cripes.

Monday, July 03, 2006

Day Three

This is easier than I thought, however, I see potential bumps in the road.
Dating will be harder. Not that thats a HUGE deal, since I've been on, what, three dates in the last five years? Jesus. Reading that makes me feel pathetic.
Fuck you! don't judge me!
Where was I going with this?
Also, my dad likes to use to to haul shit al over the city for himn. Thats out, immediatly. I wonder how he'll react? No matter what, I'll bet that I'll document it here!
So yeah. Thats about it. 28 days left.

Sunday, July 02, 2006

Part Four

A pounding bass line makes me lift my head. That son of a bitch Cobbs’s party? Already? Fuck, how long was I asleep? I sit up, and rub my head. I look out the sliding glass door into the backyard and sure enough, over the fence, I can see Cobbs’ house aglow with the going-ons of a party. I walk into the kitchen, grab the last bottle of liquor, rum, and hop the fence. I walk into Cobbs’s bathroom, and pee loudly. When I walk out, there is a short line. Some girl gives my an angry look. I smile at her and sit down on the couch.
Why am I here? I take a swig of the rum. Why the fuck am I doing at this douche’s party? Is it because I’ve been drinking alone too much lately? Maybe I’m feeling pathetic? Maybe I just came here to get a quick fuck in, you know, to help get over the enormous loss of Nat. Ha, that’s funny. Stupid cunt. I look at my wrist watch. Its gone. I remember I don’t wear a watch. I laugh.
Who is sitting next to me? Some girl. Almost a woman, maybe, 19? Shes ugly about the face. I gargle happily as I take another swig. My rum is almost gone. Damn, I might have to mooch to keep myself pickled. I wonder who would be the easiest to m-
What? I look at the girl.
“You talkin’ to me?”
“Yeah! Hey!”
“What’s your name?”
“Ed. Edwin.”
“Oh.” She waits for me to ask about hers. I don’t.
“I’m Miranda. My friends call me Andy.”
“You have friends?”
“Oh, stop it!” She laughs. “Why are you here?”
I shrug. “I guess because drinking alone makes you an alcoholic, and I don’t wanna be one of those, if I can help it.”
She laughs again, but this time its fringed with nerves. I take a good look at her breasts. They do not disappoint. She notices that I’m looking, and shies away a little. Her unconcious rejection of my gaze infuriates me. Why the fuck show ‘em off if you don’t want people looking?
“You know Cobbs?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“I’m just trying to make conversation.”
There is, for a moment, only the sound of the music.
“So are we gonna fuck, or what? Cause if you’re not gonna be naked by the end of the night, then you can go ahead and leave me alone.”
She gasps, and storms off. I smile, glad to be rid of her.
Cobbs confronts me moments later.
“What the hell, dude? Tiff is pissed at you.”
“Fuck her, man, she was being a bitch, calling my a wino and some shit. She and some fat chick threatened to get their boyfriends to kick my ass.” An lie, but Cobbs is too drunk to notice.
“A fat chick?” He asks. “Did she have blonde hair?”
“Probably Sherri, then. Sherri is a cunt.” Cobbs drinks from a red, plastic cup. A staple for any party-goer.
“You’re tellin’ me, man. She was a total bitch.”
“Yeah. I’ll talk to Tiff and Sherri about it.”
I mananged to dodge them the rest of the night, but somehow during the party some curvy little cretin attaches itself to me. We are both too plastered to drive, and she’s sober enough to know it. We take the bus. We end up at her place. She makes some Eggo’s, because I’m hungry. We get into bed.
And I can’t get it up. No matter how I try, no matter what she does, I can’t perform. What the fuck? This has never happened before. Son of a bitch! She moans in frustration, then pushes me away, and starts to shower. I can hear her moaning. Is she masturbating? Yup. I get up and start watching Conan. The TV gets bad reception, and I eventually turn it off, to sip on a beer.
Jesus this has been a bad week so far. What’s next? I’m going to have to find a job. The landlord is cool, but I can’t see him just letting me live in his place for free. I might want to get car, soon, since Nat probably took mine. It wasn’t really mine to begin with. Shit. Whatever.
Why am I like this? It seems that I’m merely surviving. I put forth no effort into anything I do, yet things usually work out okay. Is someone looking out for me? The God I abandoned years ago? Some other deity? Or maybe fate. Ha. Maybe it’s the Force.
Someone rattles the doorknob. My eyes go wide. A burglar? Fuck me sideways! I start to think, then I shout, “You better fuck off, man, I gotta gun!”
The burglar shouts, “Who the fuck is that?”
In my drunken stupor: “Its Ed, man,” Then I add, “Crazy Ed! Fresh outta prison!”
I hear the lock turning. He picked it! Fuck me sideways!
I stand up, chug the last of the beer, and then hold it by the neck, ready to smash in intruder over the head.
A man steps into the apartment, and ducks as I swing the bottle at him. The woman from earlier appears, wrapped in a towel, and shouts, “Steve!”
Me and the burglar both look up, then I smash his head with the bottle. He drops, clutching his head, blood dripping onto tile in the apartment entryway. The woman runs to me, and I expect a warm hug and gratitude, instead, I get slapped, and she goes for my eyes.
“Fuckin’ shit! What the hell? Get offa me! Get! Go! Stop! Hey, fuck off!” I shout as she claws at me.
“You son of a bitch, I’ll kill you for killing Steve!”
She knew the burglar? Then I realize, Steve’s the boyfriend! This bitch is another Natalie! Cunt smoker! I punched her hard in the shoulder, and she jumped back, clutching it hard. I see blood, and stitches, and realize that I hadn’t noticed the huge wound she had there. I squint at the bloody hand that she covers the cut with, and notice more wounds, a cut across the nose, a huge bruise on the shoulder, the leftovers of a black eye. I look at Steve, who is getting up, slowly, and I nudge him with my foot. I look at the girl.
“Fuck. Sorry, lady. I thought he was a burglar.” I shrug.
“A burglar with a house key? You fuckin’ queer!” She jumps at me again, stumbles over Steve, and is falls. Her towel comes loose, and reveals more bruises on her stomach and some cuts on her back. I cringe.
“Lemme help you.” I bend over.
“Get the fuck out!” She screams. I hear someone outside ask if we need help.
“Fine, I’ll go.” I step over Steve, and the woman, and I walk calmly away. Some neighbor asks about the noise.
“Steve’s beating his girl again.” I shrug. “She hit him with a bottle in the back of the head.”
The neighbor nods, then shakes his head. “When will she learn?”
I shrug, and walk off, following a Wendy’s sign that is bright against the dark, starless sky.

I don't really see this as going anywhere, unfortunatly. I'm going to discontinue the series.

Part Three

It’s morning, and my hear hurts.
A car is honking outside. My car. I walk over to the bedroom window, and see Nat down there with her sister. The sister gives me a dirty look as Nat walks to the door. The doorbell rings, pounding in my head. I look for some pants, realize I didn’t get undress last night, and go downstairs.
Nat is standing there in her sister’s clothes, embarrassing little numbers from straight off of the discount rack in some chain department store. I give her a cocky smile as she brushes past me. He sister walks in a few steps behind, carrying several flattened boxes. She throws them onto the living room floor. Nat begins throwing things in. I watch for a few minutes, and then go and get a glass of water.
The only thing on the downstairs TV is the normal daytime trash. I shake my head in disappointment.
Nat is standing over me. I blink. I fell asleep?
She hands me her key. I look around the room. Most of the stuff still here is hers. I notice a few of my DVDs are missing. Whatever. I look up at Natalie. She is still there.
“You want something, woman?”
“An apology.”
I laugh. She gives a look that is supposed to be mean, but it only makes me laugh harder. She huffs and then walks off, her heels making confident clicks on the tile near the door. The door slams. I shrug and get up. My head hurts a little less now. I walk into the living room.
I didn’t like most of that stuff anyway.
The driveway is empty, too. She and her sister took both the cars. Oh well.
I slink back upstairs, and turn on the TV. The gentle sounds lull me to sleep.

I end up getting to work the day after Nat packed her shit. Boss give me some speech about bullshit, and how he had to give the man a car at half price to prevent the cops from showing up. He hinted at wanting to keep the cops outta his place forever. He probably had a nickle bag of pot somewhere in his desk. Uptight bastard. He was keeping my last paycheck. When I hear this, I smile, and give him the finger.
“Here ya go. This will go nicely with my money you’ve stolen.”
“Stolen?” He looks shocked. “I…”
I get up. “Have a great day, shit eater.” I leave, walking home. Nat still hasn’t brought my car back, and I don’t care. Life is easier without it.

I make a list when I get home of things I have and things I need to have.
Things I Have:

Things I Need to Have

I look at the list for a long time, then add “Milk” to the “Need to Have” list. Yesterday was bad. Today isn’t much better. How long ago did I become miserable? How long ago did I stop caring that I was miserable? I crumple up the list, throw it away. Fuck it, I don’t want that depressing bullshit staring me in the face when I get up.
The phone rings.
“Hey, Ed, It’s Cobbs.” Cobbs is my neighbor. He likes to drink more than most.
“What, Cobbs?”
“I’m having a party tomorrow. Wanna come?”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Cool. Bye.”
I get a glass of water, and stare out the window above the sink. Outside is the shitty back lawn, patchy and brown, a broken plastic slide from the days when Nat ran a baby-sitting service. Wasn’t it the rule that only white trash house wives baby-sat during the day? Am I white trash? A real-life redneck?
I drag ass over to the couch. I turn on the TV. Nothing is on other than the usual shit. Seinfeld is nowhere to be found. Fuck. I roll onto my belly, and fall asleep.

Part Two

When I drive I go into a trance. Nothing matters but me and the car, on the road. Weaving through traffic, stopping, speeding, turning. It’s so simple and graceful that I forget everything else. Driving is my Zen.
When I come out of it, the neighborhood I’m in isn’t familiar. There are no recognizable street names, to landmarks. Where is the freeway? If I could find the freeway I could get home. The ‘hood is shabby, shady, run-down. I worry a little bit. I reach into my pocket for my cell phone. Natalie will know where I am. This used to be where her old boyfriend lived, I think. My cell phone is gone. I remember Horace. That must have been my cell phone, not his. Shit. I’m lost in my own goddamn city.
I slip back into my driving trance, and when I come out of it, I’m at home, pulling into my driveway. I look at the gas gauge, and its hovering below E. I sigh and turn off the engine, sitting in the driveway, eyes closed, head back. I reach up to loosen my tie, and find it’s gone. It’s on the passenger seat. Good. I like that tie.
I honk the horn once, twice, thrice. Natalie comes out in a bathrobe, with wet hair. It’s ten o’clock. I’m five hours late getting home, I haven’t called, and Nat’s taking a bath. Nothing phases her.
When she gets to the window I stare at her dumbly through the dirty glass, and then I open the door. The leans in and kisses me on the forehead.
“Out with the mistress again, eh?” She asks. Her voice is a little shaky. I look her over. She is nervous. Why?
“No. I got lost. I would have called, but the cell broke when I dropped it. I got in a fight today.”
“You hurt?”
“You care?”
“Not really.” She answers. I look over her shoulder, at the back gate. Was movement there?
“You were with someone.” I said, looking her in the eye. “When I honked. Why would you be with someone when I was five hours late?” I look back over her shoulder. Sure enough, a half-dressed man hops over, and glances around.
“I…” She starts talking so I stop listening, and push her out of my way.
“Hey!” I call after him.
“HEY!” I call.
He turns, looks me over, and runs a little more, to a huge truck. Just as bad as the goddamn SUV’s. And he was ball deep in my fiancée a few minutes ago. Today was a bad day.
I’m running now, and as he tries to pull away from the curb I make a mighty leap and land on his hood. He brakes suddenly, sending me to the ground. I stand, and he is in full reverse, looking over his shoulder as he plows down the dark street.
I walk home, and glance at Nat as I open the door. She shrugs and walks up to me. “I wanted to get caught. I want out. I feel trapped, and doing this was the way I felt…” I stop listening. It’s all bullshit anyway. Nat is a moron. Most women are morons. I remember the car door might still be open, but I’m too apathetic to go check it out. Nat might have closed it, then again, maybe not. Oh well.
“… you think?” Nat finishes, waiting for my reply.
“I think you know that if you wanted out I would have let you go. I think you were turned on by the thought of getting it on with Joe Blow when I could have come in at any moment. How many times did you take it from him? Ten, eleven? It was five hours. That’s a lot of time to fuck. You say you want out? Then go. There’s the fucking door.”
“Don’t talk to me like…”
“Shut-up, woman. I’m tired of you anyway. Take the fucking car, go to Joe’s house, and let him finish. Poor guy was probably only a few minutes from coming in your hair, right?”
“Fuck you, you have no right…”
“To talk to you like this? ‘I just got caught cheating on my fiancée and now he is implying I’m a cheap whore!’ Call Oprah. She’ll take your side, I’m sure. Get the fuck out of my face. I’m getting some bourbon, then I’m hitting the sack, and if you’re in that bed when I get up in the morning, I’m going to push it out the goddamn window.”
I grab the bourbon and stomp up the stairs. Nat follows a distance behind me, and creeps in the door.
“My only question,” I say, before she has the chance to speak, “Is why did you decide to abort your little mission when I honked?”
“I panicked. Things weren’t going as planned.”
“Whatever.” I turn on the TV. It’s Sienfeld. Good. I like that show.
Nat steps in front of the TV.
“No. We need to figure this out!”
“Fuck. What is there to figure? Take your shit, get in my car, and get the fuck out of my house, woman. I'm tired of you. There are no legal forms to sign and nothing to divide. Luckily I was smart enough to wait to combine bank accounts and such.”
“Nothing. If you come across something and you can’t decide whom it belongs to, take it. I don’t want a lot of shit lying around here reminding me of you.”
I unscrew the cap to the bourbon. 1/3 of a bottle left. Enough to get a nice little buzz going. I smile and take a hearty swig.
“It’s not that simple…” Nat is really pissing me off now. I tell her that.
“I don’t care, we need…”
“Woman, you get the FUCK out of this HOUSE!”
She shrinks. I notice her robe is open. I see her trimmed patch of hair. I used to make her shave that, but she got lazy and I gave up caring.
“Edwin…” She starts. I throw the remote at the mirror behind her. It shatters. She screams. She grabs a pair of sweatpants off of the dresser, and throws on a shirt.
“I’ll come back.” She promises.
“Your shit will be in boxes when you do.”
She storms off. I hear the car engine rev, and then rubber is peeled as she heads off. Probably to her mothers. Whatever. I take another swig of bourbon. This is some tough shit that happened today. Lost my job, my woman, and maybe even my car. I never liked them, anyway.
A few more gulps and the booze is gone. I throw the bottle into the broken mirror, and it shatters, mixing its broken pieces with the glass already in the stained shag carpet. I smile at this thought, and close my eyes.

Part One

This job sucks. How many years have I worked here now? Nine years? I’m still making a barely livable wage. I should have joined a job with a union. Rather, we here should for a union.
Car Salesmen Local .343
Re-fucking-diculous. Who is that buzzing? Ah. The valued customer. Harold? No. Hank? Something with an “H”. Definitely an “H”.
“What year is this?” He asks, pointing at some model of car or another. I hardly pay attention to these shmucks anymore. Every day the same-ol’-same-ol’. They come, the look, they leave, wasting my sitting around time. I look at him, trying to convey my anger through the most subtle eyebrow movements and narrowing of the eyes. He stares back with the stupid eyes of a cow. Fucking Harvey. Whatever.
“I’m pretty sure it’s an ’04.” It’s a lie. I have no idea what year this is. It could be a model-t for all I care.
“Hey now, I said I wanted an ’05. Why would you waste my time with this?” Hal has been like this the whole time: angry, blunt, loud, stupid, fat. He probably jacks off to that weird Japanese shit. God how I hate him.
“Yes, sir, sorry.” I say without looking at him. I stare instead at the car, intense and unmoving. The car stares back. A contest begins. I stare, the car stares back. The car wins when I break away to follow Henry down through the lot to whatever sporty piece of shit he has picked out this time. I silently pray for a roc to come screaming out of the sky and pick this waste of flesh up and carry him away. Then I could go inside and stare into space without getting yelled at by Boss.
Fuck. It’s some monstrous SUV. Why would someone waste their time with these hunks of ass when gas is 3 bucks a gallon? But good ol’ Herbert coos like a father over a new son, running his fat hands over the hood, pressing his piggy nose against the window and admiring the interior. “What year is this?” He asks.
“What? Oh. Its an-”
“I said what year is this one!”
“’05. Gets stellar mileage, it’ll run longer than you.” I say. He laughs at my witticism, not knowing that I just cursed him to die tomorrow. I pray my curse will work. Then I smile back at him, thinking of the heresy I have just committed.
“How much?” He asks, looking at me and ignoring the Day-Glo price on the window.
“32 grand.” I reply. I laugh to myself, at good old Harvey. Once Man was a mighty warrior, and now he is reduced to buying over-priced cars and sitting around jacking off to Jap porno while people like me sit around and wish a thousand deaths on them.
“25.” He says, giving me a stare that I’m sure he thinks is intimidating.
“32 grand.” Why should I bend to this prick? The window says 32 grand. That’s the price.
“24.” He says, frowning slightly.
And that is it. The last straw. 27 years of hatred and angst against my fellow man bursts forth from my lips.
“Listen, prick, it says “32000” because that’s the fucking price. Do you go to McSuckass to order your shitty super-sized heart attacks and try to bargain? No. The menu says five bucks, and you pay the five. But you come here, and you think corporate America will bend to your will? ‘I am consumer, hear me roar!’ Egads. People like you are the reason we are hated in every other country around the world. And why the fuck even argue when you’re going to buy this ugly piece of pig-shit? You’re gonna pay the money in gas anyway, you stupid fuck. Either pay the 32000 or go find a nice train track to lay your goddamned head on.”
For a moment, Hugh is confused. Then he gets angry. “Listen to me…”
I stop listening.
I start walking.
He grabs my shirt.
I turned around and nailed him in his little, piggy eyes. My fist feels dirty afterwards. He falls on his fat ass, bouncing a little. His cell phone falls out of his pocket and breaks. He looks up at me in blind anger. I turn and walk away. I got in my car, and started to drive away. As I did, I looked up and saw ol’ Hector storming off to the main office.
Whatever. I never liked this job anyway.

Saturday, July 01, 2006

World Peace

This is a plan I came up with a while ago. I figured I had better write it down before I forgot.

You see, the world is chaotuic, a jumble of religion, culture, and race. No one gets along. People kill each other every day because they don't live the same way, because they have no common link between them. I say: It's time for a change, brothers! It's time for someone to step up and DO something to make this world a livable place! I am that someone. I have a plan! I call my plan Potatoes for Peace!
You see, people are dying of starvation every day. We simply don't have enough food to go around. Sure we send wheat and things to these starving people we teach them how to farm it, however, what the hell can you do with wheat? You need other things in order to make bread, or cereal. Wheat by itself is just grass. What we need to give these people is a crop that they can simply grow and eat. A hearty plant that requires little care or attention. The potato.
However, they need our help as soon as possible. They can't depend on their shaky little crops for at least a few years to support thier villages. The goal of Phase One of my plan is to get a massive crop of potatoes to these people within a year, so they have something to eat while they farm more potatoes.
However, where can we come up with a crop that huge? Where is gthere enough farmable land?
Canada. The second largest country in the world. Our silent, moose-friendly neighbors tot he north. I say: Take 'em over. Move 'em out. Send 'em to Mexico. Its warmer and more pleasant their, anyway. Just remind them to bring bottled water.
So: we have Canada. Its full of trees. We cut 'em all down, and save 'em. I'm sure we can just leave 'em in Montana, since Montana is right next door to Canada. We gotta save 'em, though, 'cause I'm using them later on.
So we have all of Canada to farm on, and farm we will! We'll grow so many potatos that you will be able to see 'em from space. Thats a lot of potatoes. Once their grown, we harvest them, then get ready to ship 'em out.
But not alone! No! We wouldn't send JUST potatoes to these impoverished people. They wouldn't know what to do with the damn things! So Phase Two, we take the trees, cut 'em up, and make recipe book out of them. They'd be specific to the area, too. Like for China, we'd have recipies for rice and potatoes, and for Africa, dirt and potatoes. You know, something they'll recognize.
About now is when people remember the plan was called Potatoes for Peace, and they wonder, "Tyler, how is it these Pizzas will bring about peace?"
Lemme tell ya.
You see, as I pointed out earlier, we are all different people. We are all of a different race, different religion, from different countries, we speak different languages. We eat different foods. However, if we had something to unite us, something like, say POTATOES, then perhaps we could unite. All the hatred in the middle east we die out. Phase Three will be complete. We will be a world united, under a potatoey banner. And thats Potatoes for Peace, the boldest, bravest, and by far sexiest plan to wipe out both world hunger and war forever.
I expect full credit, a Nobel Prize, a black, private helicopter to be named "The Batcopter", and unlimited calls to the US and Canada if this actually works.

Day 1

Just to make sure everyone understands, this will not be a daily thing, unless new and interesting things happen to me daily. This is Day 1 of the No Gas experiment. I haven't left the house yet. I am not excited to walk or ride my bike to work, because its pretty hot outside, but I'll do it! Because I'm a man! Also, look for installment 1 of the short story within a week.

Yeah! I walked to work, then Chris (step-father) dropped off my bike and I pedaled home.
Day one is a success!!

Also, a change of plans for this month without petrol. You see, I have to go out of town for the 14th, 15th, and 16th of this month. I will be in a strange city without my bike. Unfortunatly, I'm going to consider these three days null and void, and simply extend the end of the experiment until August 3rd. I'm pretty sure thats it for now.