I’m in the process of recovering from extreme lack of sleep and what I believe is a contact high, I figured I’d come home, sit at my computer, and just write something. This could either be the most boring POS blog post you’ve ever skimmed through, or the most interesting pseudo-documentary of my life so far.

Robert Q. Lewis

You see, I lead a screwed up life. So screwed up, in fact, that I don’t even use my real name on most websites. The mind-numbingly homosexual pseudonym of Jake P. Lewis came to me after seeing the works of 1950’s tv personality Robert Q. Lewis, who was mind-numbingly homosexual. What can I say? I’m big on obscure cultural references.

But that’s all entirely irrelevant. So irrelevant, in fact, that I decided to go see my great-grandpa. The poor guy, old and senile, lives in a trash-filled home. He doesn’t feel the need to throw anything away. As I sat skimming over a yellowed newspaper from 1986, reading about some idiots making a human chain, I noticed the paper towel lying on his dinner table. The flower-printed pattern was clearly worn, but the napkin was folded ever-so-neatly, as if to be kept in pristine condition. This was in the middle of kitchen where even the roaches had stopped eating. They were full. Wow, I can’t wait to get old.

I never saw my great-grandpa, though. You see, during the two hours I was there, he was on the toilet. Stark naked. This is the grumbling old man’s way of avoiding company. Clever. I could learn something.

But that’s all obnoxiously irrelevant. You see, today I had a hell of time sleeping. Bitches woke me up by calling me at 1:30pm, the nerve. But, I recovered, and spent most of the night at my sister’s house with her, her live-in beneficial friend, my mom, and my two-year-old “OMG-he’s-so-cute-I-would-pinch-his-cheeks-but-he-would-cry” nephew.

Irrelevant

“Dake, Dake!” he cried up at me when he arrived. This poor kid I wonder about often. Constantly he’s trying on his mother’s shoes, wearing jewelry, and locking himself in the closet. I can’t wait to see him buying his first pair of skinny jeans at six.

“Fight!” he said at me, standing on his bed with a menacing look to his face. As I kneeled on to the bed, with giant foam Hulk gloves over my hand, I should’ve seen what was coming next. “Uggghhdgfbnscnmnbsvb.” Yup, a swift punch from a two-year-old’s fist to my crotch.

But that’s all fantastically irrelevant. I was driving home tonight as I passed the orange-lit tattered remains of a blue Indiana state flag (somebody has real Hoosier pride,) and the frozen puddle under a McDonalds sweet tea cup, (who in the hell would waste such heavenly goodness?) I thought about what was in store for the rest of the night.

But that’s all hopelessly irrelevant. I just decided to write a post. And, bless your soul, you decided to read it. Men of few words are the best men. I, however, am an idiotic rambler.