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It was one of those cold, rainy days. A day that makes me reluctant to leave the warmth of my bed for any reason. So I laid there half-asleep, half-awake listening to the half-frozen rain hit the half- frozen window until I awoke with a jolt because I had half-pissed the bed.

Hurriedly, I make my way to the toilet to relieve my screaming bladder. Arriving in the nick of time, I am overwhelmed by the rank odor my urine is emitting and I vow to drink at least a gallon of water today. Also, I am amazed at the amount of froth bubbling up in the bowl and wonder if I'm pissing hard enough to generate electricity. Oh well, I might as well take a dump while I'm in here.

One look in the mirror confirms that once again I haven't gotten enough sleep. It's crazy how my dreams alternate between such incredible bliss and freaking terror. One night I sleep like a dead man, the next like a dead man without a soul. Nothing fixes that like a shower and shave however. In less than an hour I'll be as fresh as a flower.

Now I'm heading to the kitchen for some breakfast. I'm not in the mood to cook, so I select strawberry pop tarts, apple jacks and some OJ to wash the whole concoction down with. Maybe one day I'll get that 4 food group thing down to a science.

As I get geared up, I feel a stirring within my body. That oh so familiar ache that can only be soothed by the female persuasion. Hmm, it's time for some action. What shall it be? The grocery store for a MILF? Nah, lets hit the college for a P.Y.T. Time to hit the streets baby!

Upon entering the elevator, I am filled with dread. I don't like enclosed spaces and I have a tendency for airsickness. As you can imagine, I have to be damn near sedated to get on a plane. Yet I push the button and scramble to the back. Already, I can see the sweat forming on my forehead in the stainless steel. I close my eyes and begin to pray.

The elevator slows and a gather myself to jet like the feds were on my tail. I look but unfortunately the floor indicator is only on 8. Darn. I hate the witch on 8. Please don't let it be her.

The doors open and in walks Bonita, the daughter of one of my childhood friends Doc. After exchanging mutual exclamations of surprise and hello's etc, I ask " What are you doing here? I thought you were going to school at cornball state or whatever that school was."

"Ha Ha. That is so lame. MISTER Cornball." she replied. "If you must know, I took the semester off to work on Hillary's campaign. I like Obama and all that

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