October 2002
Click here for zippy.

October 1, 2002
Starting out the month at The Daily Journal can be quite a challenge, especially when you're trying to forget that your life is a meaningless pile of monkey poop sitting on a hot steamy garbage can lid. Random Link 'O the Day.

October 2, 2002
Jennymonster weighs in!
When I am feeling blue (or puce, for that matter), I look in the mirror and smile because I know that in spite of it all, I have a great left eyebrow.

October 3, 2002
I was disappointed in a recent family photo that you couldn't see my rippling pectoral muscles. This may have been because I was wearing a shirt, or possibly due to the reality that my chest is, in fact, concave. E-Mail.

October 4, 2002
Yet another unsuccessful bar pickup line: "Has anyone ever told you that I have 20% more riboflavin than the other guys?" E-Mail.

October 5, 2002
Here in Indiana, as soon as a man reaches the age of "Corn Maturity" he must don a corn costume and play "On the Banks of the Wabash" with his own accordian accompaniment.

Get More Corn. (yes, we realize we've used this image before)

October 6, 2002
"Different strokes for shoplifting folks," as my great, great grandpappy used to say. Or maybe that was "GIT ME THE DAMN REMOTE! WHOTHEHAY TOOK MY COPY OF MAXIM?" E-Mail.

October 7, 2002
As I contemplate my possible rejoining of the dating scene, I realize that while I am fluent in VBA, VB6.0, HTML and SQL, none of these are known as romance languages. . E-Mail.

October 8, 2002
I was raised by aardvarks down in Georgia, but they were civilized varks and even had all their natural snouts. Except grandpa who used to make us kids laugh by playing with his snout-denture after dinner. E-Mail.

October 9, 2002
In the future, not only will everyone have 15 minutes of fame but everyone will have their own sitcom on UPN. E-Mail.

October 10, 2002
I'm tired of "Avon calling!" all the time. Why doesn't Victoria's Secret ever call anymore? E-Mail.

October 11, 2002
My entire department moved, thus requiring everyone to squeeze into smaller cubicles. I feel cramped. Confined. Restricted. I just gotta be free, which is why I'm switching to boxers. DOWN WITH THE MAN! E-Mail.

October 12, 2002
FYI...Congress passed a bill today making sno-cones illegal. You'd think they would have better things to do with the problems posed by bacon. E-Mail.

October 13, 2002
Ahh...what a clean smell. My two little girls just got out of the tub. The whole house smells fresh ever since we started adding a few extra quarts of bleach to the bathwater. E-Mail.

October 14, 2002
I know it's a bit early for Christmas shopping but when I saw that leopard spotted codpiece in the store window, I knew I had found the perfect gift for gandpa. E-Mail.

October 15, 2002
For a change of pace, this entry will not mention "nipples." E-Mail.

October 16, 2002
While I enjoyed attending an Alice Cooper concert recently I felt somewhat disingenuous singing along with "Department Of Youth", flanked as I was by some fifty-year old man and his father. E-Mail.

October 17, 2002
The wind was cold that day and very strong, moving the trees through spastic gyrations with a decidedly cruel and crisp hand. A few brown leaves clung with dogged desperation to their summer homes while their siblings scattered, climbing the winds to their eventual graves in faraway gutters and compost bins, capturing a scant few memories on their journey to accompany their decomposition. I watched all this through the smudged window of my empty one-bedroom apartment and reflected on the brevity of life, the importance of family, and whether I wanted to get Bullwinkle or Mr. Hankey tattooed on my left butt cheek. E-Mail.

October 18, 2002
Today I'm just in one of those inexplicable funks that can only be removed by watching two llamas doin' the nasty. E-Mail.

October 19, 2002
Yes, I was a bit wary when approached while exiting the county's only 7-11, but he seemed earnest enough. So I hired a clown for my sons birthday party. He showed up late, didn't have enough wind to blow up the balloons to make animals, had forgotten his clown makeup and only wore a dirty, wrinkled Danzig t-shirt, and he was constantly trying to grope my wife. That's the last time I hire Cracky The Crackhead Clown. E-Mail.

October 20, 2002
Ahh...what a clean smell. My two little girls just got out of the dryer and they are soft, fluffy and downy-fresh. E-Mail.

October 21, 2002
Ever since my divorce I've begun to notice the opposite sex again. I must admit that it had been awhile since I gazed longingly at the female figure but I rather enjoy the shape of their legs, their curvaceous thorax, their powerful mandibles and their slinky, sexy antenna. Oh mama, me like! E-Mail.

October 22, 2002
If I had my life to do over again, I would most definitely not have supersized my order at McDonalds in the spring of my sophomore year of high school. What was I thinking?!?! E-Mail.

October 23, 2002
Could you fax over the PY65 this afternoon? I really need it so that SA CODE 1432823 can get his S7 updated by the end of Q3. Thanks. E-Mail.

October 24, 2002
I'll never forget the day that Charles Grodin first burst into my life, setting up a multi-colored tent in my back yard and singing show tunes in the buff. He sang well, good and true, and the air that day was brisk. Since then he's moved into my house and legally adopted all my silverfish as his own, turning them against me, turning them into his own private army. No longer do they hide in the shadows but instead brusquely insist on sharing my Oatie-Like Crunch, drinking out of the milk container and refusing to flush. You've got some gall, Charles Grodin. E-Mail.

October 25, 2002
I've got the sneaking suspician that my elderly landlady has been kidnapped and replaced by a pollster. Yesterday, while taking out the trash, she cornered me, insisting that she only needed just a few minutes of my time. For the next forty minutes I underwent a grueling battery of questions regarding my thoughts on the situation in Paraguay. I feel so cheap and dirty. E-Mail.

October 26, 2002
If you're being interviewed by a woman for a job that you really want, and she just happens to have an extensive collection of antique milk jugs displayed about her office, do not, I repeat, DO NOT, blurt out the phrase, "I really like your jugs." There's just no getting around it. E-Mail.

October 27, 2002
My wise old grandmother used to tell me, "Skippy, when you lick the rear end of a cat, there's no need to make gravy." I'm still trying to figure out what this means. I'm also looking for a good recipe for gravy. E-Mail.

October 28, 2002
"I have no real talents and lack even a remote ounce of ambition or drive. Most people cringe at the thought of being near me or even hearing my voice. I'm not fond of anyone and I've been known to tackle co-workers who get in my way at the vending machines. I'm extremely creative when it comes to wasting company time and resources."--maybe it was just the two bottles of cough syrup talking, but I sure thought this was good verbiage for a succesful resume at the time that I wrote it. E-Mail.

October 29, 2002
There arn't too many circumstances where uttering the question, "Do you want to touch my monkey?" is appropriate--even if you're walking around with a monkey at the time. E-Mail.

October 30, 2002
I'm glad Tito Jackson is alive and well on planet. For instance, without his presence this journal entry would be blank. E-Mail.

October 31, 2002
This year for Halloween I'm dressing up as Nipsey Russell.
Attention other TDJ contributors: Please feel free to replace this entry with one that actually contains humor. Or a tasty chicken stock.