April 29, 2009: Day Off

LOLSCHACH's Journal: April 29, 2009

Busy few weeks. Need some time off. Recuperate back to peak crime-fighting condition. Acquire nachos.

Head to grocery store. Wednesday morning. Snivelling brats are in school. Soulless corporate zombies are at work. Only the elderly stand between LOLSCHACH and free reign of the super market.

Sight liver-spotted codger hobbling slowly-but-surely toward the store's single motorized shopping cart. Must get there before he does. Motorized shopping carts are entertaining to operate. Sprint. Shove senile old man to the ground. Pile into cart and hit ignition switch. Old man is screaming at me from the floor, "Dang-blast it you damn punk!" Tell him to go crawl in a coffin and die. Grab his cane and drive off with it. He'll never catch me, now.

First stop: Cereal Aisle. No store seems to carry Quisp anymore. Disappointing. Continue browsing. Stumble across unanticipated horror nestled between Honeycomb and Cocoa Krispies.

Damn Veidt. Selling LOLSCHACH's likeness. Hate him. Lose appetite for sugary, nutritionless corn-puffed styrafoam. Decide to just fill bowl with Betty Crocker fruit snacks and receive 700% of daily vitamin C requirement. Perhaps top it off with a bottle or two of Flintstones chewable vitamins.

Remainder of shopping experience uneventful. Make it home in time for banjo practice. No one must ever know.

March 17, 2009: Day Off

LOLSCHACH's JOURNAL: March 17, 2009

Stayed home. Fog drapes itself over the city like an oppressive mist.

Rain tickles across window panes like shell casings across blacktop.

Wet. Too wet.

Turn on TV to watch news. See children's show instead.


Reminds me of movie.

Two men. Cowboys. Riding out into the desert. Rough, tough. Happy to be embodiment of manliness. Share jokes. Watch sunset. Embrace. Kiss.

Do horrible, unclean things to each other in tent.

Lights go on. Audience stands up. Everybody claps, cries. Everybody but LOLSCHACH.

Movie wins Oscar.

Veidt sends copy to me as birthday gift. Hate him.

March 11, 2009: Day Off

LOLSCHACH's JOURNAL: March 11, 2009:

Down time. Television programming; a cacophony of dull, meaningless advertisements, grotesque sexual wish fulfillment, violence devoid of repercussions and bottom level comedy designed to placate the irresponsible masses. Keep them indoors. Keep them off the streets. Keep them from me.

Soap operas. Bland, unsatisfying tripe. Good only for distracting overweight, under-educated housewives from their slimey, squirming offspring, choking on Play-Doh in their own cribs. Plots are repetitive. Every character seems to suffer from amnesia. If only I could forget the ugliness of the world around me as easily as Paul could forget that Pamela was cheating on him with his twin brother, Terry.

Television disgusted me. Went to library.

Thanks to internet, library practically abandoned. Now nothing more than a squalid, urine-soaked motel for vagrants and mentally inadequate social rejects. Passed through children's section. The Butter Battle Book. It's been years. Been years since I was a child. I was never a child.

My attention is drawn to a tome lying disheveled on the floor at my feet. I pick it up. Unlicensed Watchmen coloring book from 1981. I find my face plastered upon its sticky, yellowed pages. I received no royalties. Must pay visit to Random House Publishing. Beneath the crusted smatterings of Crayola, a story can be gleamed.

I am not amused.