Birthday Bash at the Barrel

(note: there's still time to sign up to be a donor/sponsor for Will Franken Team Montreal '09 ((see blog entry after this one)))

Well, yesterday has come and gone, but the memories shall remain etched in my memory forever!

As Chuck E. Cheese's is to children’s and pedophiles’ birthdays, Cracker Barrel is to single adult male birthdays! (If there isn't a Hooters nearby)

Knowing in advance that I would turn 36 yesterday, I scheduled an appointment nearly seven months ago with the voluptuous vixens at Cracker Barrel for the full-on birthday treatment. A sultry-voiced madam on the other end penciled in the reservation (in what I can only imagine was a cum-stained, leather-bound roster of clientele including such New York political luminaries as Eliot Gould-Spitzer and Screamin' J. Austen).

At last, the big day was finally here!

Upon arrival, I was led through the sleazy aisles of a New Orleans cathouse-themed gift shop which peddled sexual wares under such innocuous-sounding names as Precious Moments Angel Figurine #872 and The Best of LeAnn Rimes. By the time I arrived at the hostess station, I had an erection the size of my penis!

"How many?" asked the hostess, licking her lip gloss from her lips and then back on with an invisible hands-free applicator. She did this seven, maybe eight times. But no more than nine. That would have been too slutty--even for Cracker Barrel.

"T-t-t-two!" said my friend and I in unison, stuttering the T's at exactly the three same moments in an auditory symbiosis which might lead some cynics to conjecture that we were really only one person after all. Not so. After all, what good is a birthday without at least one friend who isn’t oneself to celebrate it with oneself?

“Come this way,” sizzled our hot hostess in the dark brown apron bearing the insignia of the old man sitting next to a butter churn.

My friend and I turned to high-five each other. “This is going to be the greatest 13th Tuesday in Ordinary Time and optional memorial of the First Holy Martyrs of the Holy Roman Church of our lives!” whispered my friend.

“Yes,” I agreed, “and it’s also my birthday.”

“Oh, I forgot.” he said before accusing me of heresy.

As a formality, we were handed menus. But nobody goes to Cracker Barrel for the menu. Cracker Barrel is all about the happy ending (if you know what I mean).

But before you can have an ending, you’ve gotta have a beginning. MEOW!

And, boy, did things really begin when Bernadette arrived!

“Hi,” I’m Bernadette, “said Bernadette.”

Er. . .I mean. . .quotation marks suck. . .

. . .so do points of ellipses. . .

“Hi. I’m Bernadette,” said Bernadette. “I’ll be your waitress this evening.”

“Don’t you mean. . .our mistress?” I said, squirming in my seat.

“What are you talking about, you creep?” she huffed, making a beeline for the manager’s office.

“It’s okay!!! It’s my birthday!!!”

She stopped in her tracks and returned to the table with a knowing smile. “Oh. . .so you’re the birthday boy? Yes, I’m your mistress. I’ll be your mistress all night, birthday boy.” She set down her serving tray, hiked up her coffee-brown slacks and pushed aside her apron, making as if she were going to straddle me like the well-hung pony I play on Broadway. Suddenly, she spied my friend and shot him a sour look. “Who’s he?”

“That’s Steve. He’s my friend. He just wants to watch.”

She sighed. “Whatever. It’s your birthday.”

After a few more small-talk pleasantries, Bernadette bound and gagged me and went to great lengths humiliating me in front of the numerous grandparents who, either out of senility or perversity, get their wrinkled kicks by exposing their grandchildren to such houses of ill-repute as Cracker Barrel. Why can't these freaks find a family restaurant?

I was sizzling like a steak, bubbling like a fondue, marinating in juices that were anything but orange. Once she determined I was ripe and ready, Bernadette left, only to return minutes later with a chicken and dumplings platter, complete with breaded fried okra, hashbrown casserole, and macaroni and cheese!

She removed my gag and loosened my bonds. Then she promised me that if I was a good little slut and ate all of my food, she'd give me a birthday surprise.

And what a surprise it was!

When the double-swinging doors swung open again, there was Bernadette with three of her hot little friends, all wearing the same kinky outfit consisting of a brown apron, blue button-up shirt, and brown slacks!

They were singing the sexiest little ditty I had ever heard. Something about having a happy something or other. I don't really remember. I was too flushed at the time to even remember my name!

After the song, Mistress Bernadette set a bowl of strawberry shortcake in front of me.

"Ooh," I sighed, "Is this strawberry shortcake?"

"Sure is, you little bitch," said Mistress Bernadette. Then Bernadette and her three friends; Laura, Leah, and Christine, forced me to sing the jingle from the Strawberry Shortcake doll TV commercial before they would allow me to take a bite. I couldn't remember all the lyrics, so I faked it as best as I could:

"Strawberry shortcake, apple-berry, too!
Happy happy doll in a land of fairy goo!
Strawberry Shortcake, nine ninety-five!
Kiss her on the lips and she will be alive!"

The girls smiled and said that my rendition was good enough.

When I had finished my shortcake, Bernadette demanded payment or she was going to stick a fork in my balls. My friend and I left some cash on the table and then slipped out the back door, trying to avoid the paparazzi.

I know some people think it's creepy to pay money for a meal. But until last night, I had never done it before. I always prided myself on being attractive enough to eat for free.

I guess I just wanted to talk a walk on the wild side. And besides, I'm 36 now!

Finally, a man!



Hot night at the Barrel: From left to right; Laura, Leah, Christine, and Mistress Bernadette!

Honor Roll of Donors (Updated 7/6/09)

Here is a list so far of people who have donated to become sponsors of Will Franken's metaphorical NASCAR Car to Montreal (Please see entry below for more details!). Bless you each and every one. And if you haven't signed on to be a sponsor yet, there's still time!(PS - list will be updated as new sponsors donate)(Also, if you would like your donation to remain anonymous, please let Will know via winstonchurchill.will@gmail.com)

UPDATE 7/01/09 Joe Reifer Berkeley, CA signs on to sponsor Will Franken Team Montreal '09)

UPDATE 7/02/09 Arthur Culang; El Sobrante, CA and Jeff Gardner; San Jose, CA sign on to sponsor Will Franken Team Montreal '09)!

UPDATE 7/06/09 Michael Barrows; Pacifica, CA, Catherine Pateman; San Luis Obispo, CA, Daniel Levitin; Montreal, QC, Gevin Shaw; San Francisco, CA, Jessica Chen; San Francisco, CA, and David Silverman; Los Angeles, CA sign on to sponsor Will Franken Team Montreal '09!

UPDATE 7/08/09 Larry-Bob Roberts; San Francisco, CA; and Dan Barrett; New York City, NY join Will Franken Team Montreal '09!

Dan Barrett (New York City, NY)
Michael Barrows (Pacifica, CA)
Eric Bone (Alexandria, VA)
Steven Capozzola (Washington, D.C.)
Peigi Chace (Brookline, NH)
Jessica Chen (San Francisco, CA)
Miles Comer (Phoenix, AZ)
Sean Crespo (New York City, NY)
Arthur Culang (El Sobrante, CA)
Jen Dziura (New York City, NY)
Edward Ehrbar (Los Angeles, CA)
Shoshannah Flach (San Francisco, CA)
Karl Fogel (New York City, NY)
Jeff Gardner (San Jose, CA)
Dawn Glenn (San Francisco, CA)
Emily Gordon (Brooklyn, NY)
Mark Grochowski (New York City, NY)
Carol Hartsell (New York City, NY)
Neil Howard (New York City, NY)
Richard Hubbard (Berkeley, CA)
Daniel Levitin (Montreal, QC)
Randy Lowery (Savannah, GA)
Carlo Mastrogiacomo (San Francisco, CA)
Perrin Meyer (Albany, CA)
Lev Osherovich (San Francisco, CA)
Catherine Pateman (San Luis Obispo, CA)
Jim Pritchett (San Francisco, CA)
Joe Reifer (Berkeley, CA)
Vanessa Rentschler (Seattle, WA)
Larry-Bob Roberts (San Francisco, CA)
Gevin Shaw (San Francisco, CA)
David Silverman (Los Angeles, CA)
Nathan ______ (Jersey City, NJ) (LAST NAME PENDING)

The Sad Ballad of Will Franken and His Birthday and His Gigs in Montreal and How You Can Help

Hello, my dear friends again. My lord, it certainly has been too long.
Too long indeed.

Anyway, tonight is the eve of my birthday. Tomorrow morning, June
30th, at approximately 7 a.m., I will officially turn 36 years old.

Birthday present? Why, thank you. Actually, there’s only one thing I
need this year. I recently received word that, after five years of
trying to get in and failing with each attempt, I have finally been
accepted to perform at this year’s Just For Laughs Festival in
Montreal, Quebec. However, since I’m not a “big name” in comedy (still), I am required to pay for my own transportation up north. So I am soliciting all good fans out there to
donate to become sponsors of the “Will Franken Has At Least Two More
Shows Left In Him” Montreal Tour. No amount is too small or too large.
By going to willfranken.libsyn.com and clicking on any of the Paypal
buttons, you can contribute to defray the cost of Will Franken making
his Canadian debut.

What? Why doesn’t Will Franken have any money to pay for his own trip?
Well, I’ll tell you.

Since I last wrote to you back in late March of this year, I have had
numerous ups and downs. More numerous are the downs than the ups it
seems like sometimes. But life wouldn’t be a roller coaster if the
only direction was down. That would be death. I’m not dead yet. So,
for the foreseeable future, I am not officially retiring. Although,
over the past six weeks, I have come frightfully close.

I don’t know where to start exactly. Let’s go back to December of ‘08
for a second. To tell the story will require an honesty from me which
will humble me and erase any misconceptions any of you may still
harbor about the rock-n-roll lifestyle that a comedian of my means
most assuredly does not lead. (I tend to omit a good deal of truth
about my life, particularly the economic inefficiency of my vocation,
in the hopes that the lie will eventually become the truth)

But right now, I cannot afford dishonesty.

CHAPTER ONE: THE CATS OF JERSEY CITY

In December of last year, I was living a miserable existence in a
dismal room of an attic apartment I shared with a 57-year old
substitute teacher in the unfashionable neighborhood of Woodhaven,
Queens just off of the relatively unknown J train subway line.

I thought I had hit bedrock when a few years before I arrived in
Berkeley, California to live out of my car at the Marina. Compared to
last winter, that was paradise. So when a friend of a friend of a
friend offered to sublet me his studio apartment in Jersey City for
$700 a month last December, I leaped at the opportunity. For the first
time since the Great Divorce of '07, I was going to be a man! At last!
My own place to create great works of art! And. . .who knows. . .maybe
a little hubba-hubba!

There was one catch, however. The friend of a friend of a friend (no
longer a friend) mentioned that his cats would have to come with the
apartment. He was moving in with a girlfriend in Hoboken who had a dog
and feared the two would not mix. He would be responsible for
purchasing litter and food and cleaning up after the cats when I was
away on comedy-related ventures, but I would have to take care of the
daily chores of feeding and box-cleaning when I was home. No worries,
I cheerfully thought. I have house-sat for cats before and expected no
significant problems. Boy, was I wrong.

My first night in my new place (Christmas Eve, 2008), I awoke to
discover the cats had urinated all over the bed while I slept. The
next day, I asked for "wiggle room" on the rent and was rebuked. “No,
Will” he snapped, “you knew what you were getting into.” Yet I can
honestly say that these were the first cats I had ever watched that
had no idea where the litter box was. But what was I going to do? Move
again? How many times can a man relocate in his life? I needed to
catch my breath. Perhaps the cats would get used to me with time.

No such luck. Though the cats did stop urinating, defecation and
vomiting were another story entirely. I told the landlord over and
over, but he wasn’t concerned in the least. As usual, I had blown the
first rule in business: never let the seller know you’re desperate. I
learned to live with it--constantly cleaning up messes and putting a
brave smile on the situation.

In late April, after returning from a relatively successful San
Francisco/Portland, OR tour, I returned to Jersey City. The landlord
hadn’t been by in days to check up on the cats. The place was covered
in feces and vomit. I called him up and demanded a reduction in rent
and he responded by evicting me. (Which he could do, since he never
put anything down in writing. I asked him over and over to do so, but
he told me he didn’t want to. Lucky for me, it turns out, as now he
can’t sue me for any of the money that he incredulously thinks I owe
him.)

I asked for a reasonable amount of time to look for another place.
During those few weeks, I scoured Jersey City for even just a room
that I could afford on my measly transcriptionist’s pay. (Yes, I had a
day job.) I couldn’t find any affordable lodgings that did not
contain the admonitions a) no smoking, b) no cooking, and c) no
visitors.

CHAPTER TWO: ON TO ROUND LAKE

There were no gigs on the horizon except for a May 16th callback in
Manhattan for the Just For Laughs showcase. I couched-surfed in the
days leading up to the show with the plan to stay with a friend in a
little town in Round Lake, NY (where I am writing this now). Round
Lake being only two and a half hours from Montreal, the plan was to do
the gig and retire to the countryside and await word on whether or not
I had gotten into the festival. Since I was responsible for paying for
my own transportation, I figured my positioning so close to Canada
would defray some of the cost.

My friend here had warned me ahead of time that it might be difficult
staying in Round Lake as I don’t have a car. Boy, was he right. The
nearest sign of life from where I am residing is a convenience
store/gas station a mile and a half up the road. At first it didn’t
matter. I was told by the Montreal coordinators that I should receive
word on whether or not I made it into the festival within two to four
weeks. Until that time, I thought, I would just relax in the country
and eke out an existence on my meager savings.

Well, four weeks soon elapsed and I started to worry that once again,
I would be denied a chance to perform in Montreal. I sunk into a great
depression. The plan as I had conceived it was a) if I got into
Montreal, I would take that as a sign to continue doing comedy and
slug it out on the East Coast for at least another year, most likely
in Jersey City. and b) if I did not get in, I would return to San
Francisco and most likely give up on comedy entirely, at least for a
year.

Things got pretty bleak as of last Friday. I couldn’t get a “yes” or a
“no”. I was stuck in limbo and consequently, was prevented from making
plans for either eventuality. And my escape fund, should I have chosen
to return to San Francisco, was getting perilously low. Then, at the
close of the day last Friday, I received word that I had gotten into
the festival after all.

As of the present, I am awaiting word on a typing job I can do from my
isolated country fortress which will pay me enough to survive these
next three weeks. But again, I come to you, my fans, pleading the
causes of my birthday and my recent less-than-comic misfortunes, to
help me succeed in Montreal. Plane tickets are too exorbitant, even
for such a short trip from Albany to Montreal. The only train that
goes there arrives too late in the day for me to perform. But with a
little bit of help from you guys, I can afford to rent a car and drive
the three hours north.

So that is it, I have bared my soul to you. It is a less than
glamorous life, I warrant you. I have recently taken to calling myself
“The Drifter”. Will there be a future for me in comedy? I do not know.
I only know what is on the menu for the short term. And that is a gig
in Montreal. Please, I beg you, keep the dream alive. Help me get to
Montreal by sponsoring me. Go to willfranken.libsyn.com and click on
any of the Paypal buttons to donate today. As of this writing, we have
two sponsors already, Carlo Mastrogiacomo from San Francisco and Randy
Lowery of North Carolina. But we could use more.

And for those San Francisco fans who have been urging me to return to
the Bay, let me just say that there is another tier to my plan. If I
go to Montreal and am somehow miraculously able to finally get an
agent or a manager who can advocate for me in the entertainment
industry, I will continue to slug it out here on the East Coast. If I
go to Montreal and still come up empty-handed, I will definitely
return to San Francisco and the Love I hope still remains in that city
for me and what I do.

I love you all,

Wm. Franken

A Patch of Gravel Alongside Route 19 A Quarter of a Mile from the 319 Junction in Stafford Is For Lovers!

Summer doldrums got you down? Tired of searching for the perfect family vacation spot? Not looking forward to spending those valuable weeks of free time in the same old boring way? Then why not put a smile on your family’s face this summer and take them to an earthly paradise that’s out of this world!

This summer, take a trip you and your family will never forget to. . .

A PATCH OF GRAVEL ALONGSIDE ROUTE 19 A QUARTER OF A MILE FROM THE 319 JUNCTION IN STAFFORD!!!!!


Commissioned in Connecticut in the summer of 1934, (at the same time a dashing young Adolph Hitler across the ocean was ordering the mass murder of his political opponents during the award-winning "Night of the Long Knives"), A PATCH OF GRAVEL ALONGSIDE ROUTE 19 A QUARTER OF A MILE FROM THE 319 JUNCTION IN STAFFORD provides travelers with a touch of rustic New England charm and a poignant reminder of the Holocaust which befell the Jewish people in WWII!


It's entertaining and educational!

Combine learning with leisure--all at your leisure! When it comes to work or play, business or pleasure, there’s no mutual exclusivity at A PATCH OF GRAVEL ALONGSIDE ROUTE 19 A QUARTER OF A MILE FROM THE 319 JUNCTION IN STAFFORD!

Come for the tire-changing and child-reprimanding, but stay for the thistles and gravel!




What is there to do at A PATCH OF GRAVEL ALONGSIDE ROUTE 19 A QUARTER OF A MILE FROM THE 319 JUNCTION IN STAFFORD?


A PATCH OF GRAVEL ALONGSIDE ROUTE 19 A QUARTER OF A MILE FROM THE 319 JUNCTION IN STAFFORD is conveniently located a quarter of a mile from the 319 junction in Stafford!!!

And if you don’t feel like driving, the yellow diamond-shaped road sign is only ten to fifteen feet away!!!



How far are you located from the man in the white coat fishing at the pond?


A PATCH OF GRAVEL ALONGSIDE ROUTE 19 A QUARTER OF A MILE FROM THE 319 JUNCTION IN STAFFORD is only a stone’s throw* away from the man in the white coat fishing at the pond. Please note during hours when the pond is frozen or his wife has called him to dinner, the man in the white coat may not be there. For the man in the white coat’s hours of availability, please visit www.apatchofgravelalongsideroute19aquarterofamilefromthe319
junctioninstafford//maninthewhitecoatfishingavailability.html.org. **

*Please do not throw actual stones at the man in the white coat

**website under construction

How late are the yellow lines open along route 19?

If you’re looking for a little action to **spice up** the night-life, don’t worry: the yellow lines along Route 19 are open 24 hours a day, 7 days a week! We proudly offer a left yellow line and a right yellow line so you and your partner can paint the town red!

**asterisks, they don't mean anything. We just put them in there to spice up the words "spice up"

Is it true you can get AIDS just by having unprotected sex or sharing a needle with someone who is infected with the AIDS virus?

Anything’s possible at A PATCH OF GRAVEL ALONGSIDE ROUTE 19 A QUARTER OF A MILE FROM THE 319 JUNCTION IN STAFFORD! What are you waiting for? Book your vacation today!


What a wonderful vacation! My nieces loved playing in the gravel!

--Ant: Laramie, WY



The staff was very accomodating at A PATCH OF GRAVEL ALONGSIDE ROUTE 19 A QUARTER OF A MILE FROM THE 319 JUNCTION IN STAFFORD! Even though we were a large group and arrived unannounced, we felt just like part of the family!

--A Pile of Trash: Chicago, IL

My wife and I had an amazing time at your yellow lines! The food was out of this world!

Joseph and Mary Scavenger: Aerie, PA

www.apatchofgravelalongsideroute19aquarterofamilefromthe319junctioninstafford.org

twitter us!

About The Author

Lofretta Blipboom is the first African-American woman. Despite her Hispanic/Latina heritage, she is proud to be a lesbian working hard for the equality of Filipinos. Last year, she was awarded the Asian-American Medal of The Pink Ribbon in honor of her achievements in the Islamic community of Northern Ireland. In addition to her efforts at removing guns from the hands of inner-city streets, she continues to work within the homosexually-gay Native American population of Pakistan through such programs as T.H.R.U.S.T. and P.E.E. in order to further the knowledge of abortions and the education of condoms.


Lofretta lives alone in Femur, OK with her three children: Dot, Feather, and Scalp. She divides her time between sleeping and waking, often confusing the two in a literary lucidity which she uses to great advantage in works such as Morgan's Wheel: How Freeman Redeemed Shawshank (1995) and the The Brown Escalator: Civil Rights in the Age of Multi-Floored Malls (1987)


Affirmative Hope is Lofretta's nineteenth book on the Inauguration of President Barack Obama. Her relentlessness in chronicling the minute-by-minute activities which led up to to the capturing, by a third camera, a few seconds before 10:17 a.m., on the morning of January 20th, 2009, of our 44th president's famous half-smile and head-tilt have earned her the moniker "The Chocolate James Joyce".


Lofretta is also a trustee of The Leni Riefenstahl Girls, a non-profit, female-run, racially-empowered, diversity-driven, multiculturally-fueled, rainbow-generated Fortune 500 company--dedicated to the conversion of black-and-white movies to black. Between books, she volunteers at the Po' Center, silkscreening Che Guevara images on camouflage T-shirts for disenfranchised rich white girls. On Tuesday afternoons, she hosts the popular NPR radio programme, Sanctimony Live.


In her spare time, Lofretta is a black nationalist, a black panther, an illegal immigrant, an employer of illegal immigrants, a highly-paid diversity seminar leader, a tenured race and gender-obsessed literature professor, a college girl in a keffiyeh, an exploding Palestinian, a Marxist, a death-row inmate, a militant dyke couple, and a writer and performer of numerous poems she's written about her pussy and her dick.


Bio written by Lofretta Blipboom

Hey Ladies, Who Wants To Make Love To A Drifter?

Hey ladies,

I'm just drifting through town. Checking out all the ladies. Ladies like you.

Oh me? I'm just a drifter. A long-haired drifter.

Thank you. I grew it myself. That's what happens when you drift.

Town after town, convenience store washroom after convenience store washroom, until that one day when you look in the dirty mirror and see how long your dirty hair has grown since you started drifting.

Mind if I smoke? What's that? Oh, it's a state law that you can't smoke under the awning even if you're outside?

No problem. I'll just step over to the side here. Hell, I've drifted all the way from California to New York, I suppose it wouldn't hurt me to drift a few more inches. There. How's that? Ooh, I like that. A much nicer view over here.

What's that? Why am I drifter?

Er. . .uh. . .nobody's really asked me that before. . .I, uh. . .

I drift because. . .

Because I'm a failure. It takes a success to put down roots. I've never been too successful at being a success. But I've never failed at being a failure. And when I feel that old feeling of failure crop up, no matter what city or town I may be in, all of a sudden the pretty girls and the big money starts to make my eyes hurt--the eyes of my heart, you understand--and I just have to get away and be alone in my traveling. Cause a man don't need to be crying in the presence of the pretty girls and the big money. Gives 'em both too much power. More than they already have.

So I guess you gotta get going? That's your boyfriend ringing on that skinny phone there? I completely understand. I guess I'll drift on over to the other side of the street. Maybe I'll drift on out of this town before the sun goes down. Sure was nice talking to you and all. . .

What's that? Oh, thank you. No, I'm glad you find me funny. That's what. . .well, I was going to say that's what I do. But really, it's not what I do--it's who I am. I'm just funny. I know I'm funny cause I'm so sad inside. I guess I already told you that I was a drifter and. . .

Anyway. . .So I understand if you gotta get to your boyfriend and all. . .oh, by the way, which way are you going to be walking? I'm asking cause I'm going to start drifting again here pretty soon and I don't want to drift in the same direction as you, cause you might think that I'm trying to drift with you. . .but I'm not.

I'm a drifter. I drift alone.

I hate to ask. . .but could you please stop laughing? Please? Don't you need to answer your skinny phone?

Okay, I'm drifting now. . .please stop laughing. . .please. . .

What's my name? I don't have a name. . .I'm a drifter. I can't be pinned down with a name. . .

It's Will. . .or Willy. . .or William. . .now would you please let me go away before I have to face my inferiorities?

Listen, you don't need me. . .you have to trust me on this. . .I'm atoning for my sins, I'm living out my karma, I'm making restitution. . .whatever you want to call it, that's what I'm doing. . .now, please let me drift. . .let me drift away. . .

Goddamnit! Stop laughing! DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND? I THOUGHT I HAD IT FIGURED OUT AND I DIDN'T! LIFE WASN'T SUPPOSED TO BE THIS DIFFICULT! I THOUGHT I DESERVED THE BRASS RING, BUT THE BRASS RING HURTS TO LOOK AT! IT'S LIKE STARING AT THE SUN!

THERE IT IS! SPEAK OF THE DEVIL! THE SUN'S GOING DOWN! AND I'M STILL HERE!

YOU GOTTA LET ME DRIFT. . .LET ME DRIFT. . .THE SUN'S GOING DOWN AND I'M STILL IN THIS TOWN. . .

NOW GET AWAY FROM ME!

You're just a fiction. . .I know that. . .

I know what fiction is. . .I live it.

But it sure felt good to write you. . .

. . .I'm going to drift on now. . .

. . .away. . .

. . .alone. . .

Why I Believe VO5 Silky Experiences Moisturizing Shampoo Champagne Kiss with Silk Protein is the Best Shampoo

INTRODUCTION (ROUGH DRAFT):

In our society today, there are many different shampoo brands. There are even more shampoo bottles. Sometimes you will see many bottles of the same brand. This happens a lot in the store when you buy a bottle of shampoo. For example, when you take a bottle of shampoo off the shelf--surprise!--there is another bottle right behind it that is exactly the same. Well, not exactly. The one in your hand is in your hand and the one on the shelf is on the shelf. That is to say, there is a spatial division between not only the various brands of shampoo, but also between the various bottles of shampoo. It would not be fair to the rest of the people who use that brand of shampoo if you bought all of one brand of a shampoo that a store stocked for the price of one bottle. That is one of the many reasons that God invented the spatio-temporal universe: to allow many different people to buy different bottles of the same brand of shampoo.

INTRODUCTION (REWRITE #1)

In our society today, there are many different shampoo brands. Different types of hair require different shampoos. A person cannot will their hair to conform to the needs of a single universal shampoo. That is to say, a person with dry hair cannot make their hair moist without the aid of a moisturizing shampoo. Humans are not self-sufficient in that regard. Therefore, if the only brand of a shampoo in our universe was a shampoo for dry hair, it would not be fair to the millions of people who have moist hair and vice/versa. This is one of the many reasons why God endowed mankind with the ability and the desire to create multiple brands of shampoos to conform to the manifold idiosyncracies of individual human hair.

INTRODUCTION (REWRITE #2)

In our society today, hen. I have always liked the word "hen". But I cannot for the life of me figure out a way to use it in this paper on shampoo. Hen. Hen.

INTRODUCTION (REWRITE #3)

In our society today, shampoo plays an integral part in the cleaning of hair. Teachers, firefighters, railway workers, jingoists, and even bakers are among the many occupations held by people who wash their hair using shampoo. Though some occupations require head coverings (like a firefighter's helmet or a baker's tall hat) many of these individuals still clean their hair in the event that they might remove their head covering later in the evening (or in the morning, if they are working a graveyard shift) so people can see their hair (including themselves if they are in or around a mirror). This is one of the many reasons why God invented headwear: so that man could notice the difference between a covered head and an uncovered head and realize that he came into this world without a hat and will leave this world without a hat. When we go to meet our Maker, we should have clean hair because we won't get a chance to wash our hair in Heaven where there is no need for water because our deepest thirst for glory will have been sated and all our sins washed away.

INTRODUCTION (REWRITE #4)

In our society today, writing instructors often admonish students to keep their religion out of their term papers. This is endemic of a rapid secularization of our institutions of learning and God will not hold guiltless those who defame His glory by keeping Him out of the classroom.

INTRODUCTION (REWRITE #5)

In our society today, students must recognize that teachers hold the key to their future in the form of a grade book. To not do so is to run the risk of dropping out of school and engaging in free thought, living a righteous individualistic life in accordance with the whims and eccentricities of one's own hairstyle, and dying a martyr's death at the unclean hands of the Dirty-Haired.

INTRODUCTION (REWRITE #6)

In our society today, many different people use many different brands of shampoos in many different bottles. Some people may even use two bottles of shampoo to wash their hair if they are in a hotel and they only have small bottles of shampoo and a lot of hair. Some people who are bald don't use any shampoo at all, unless they are pretending they still have hair in order to make themselves feel better. Maybe they put a little shampoo on their hand and wave it a few inches over their head in an attempt to recapture the glory of their youth. I feel bad for those people. They need blow jobs, too.


INTRODUCTION (FINAL DRAFT)

In our society today, there are many different brands of shampoo. One of the many brands of shampoo is VO5. One of the many brands of VO5 is Silky Experiences Moisturizing Shampoo. One of the many brands of VO5 Silky Experiences Moisturizing Shampoo is Champagne Kiss with Silk Protein. In my essay, I will show why I believe VO5 Silky Experiences Moisturizing Shampoo Champagne Kiss with Silk Protein is the best shampoo. (SEE FIGURE 1A)


FIRST BODY PARAGRAPH (ROUGH DRAFT)

It has often been said that silk is sexy and sex is silky. Some people disagree and say that sex is sandpapery and rough and there's a lot of blood and coarse hair. Those people are male homosexuals. But whenever there is a woman involved, either in a heterosexual sexual relationship or in a lesbian relationship (the good kind without real dykey-looking lesbians, but sexy girls kissing each other on Youtube) there is at least some element of silkiness involved. Women are silky and smooth. For example, when you lick their stomachs, it tastes good. It feels natural and right to lick a woman's stomach. Her tits are nice, too. I like biting their thighs also. Sometimes I have left bruises.


FIRST BODY PARAGRAPH (FINAL DRAFT)

When we think of the word silk, we often think of nice things that won't terrorize us. There is a safety in silk. If a shampoo said "Islam" on the bottle that would mean "submit". One should never submit to a shampoo out of force, but come to it freely of their own volition. This is one of the many reasons why God invented Himself: so I would one day write this paragraph.

SECOND BODY PARAGRAPH (ROUGH DRAFT)

The first time I saw a bottle of VO5 Silky Experiences Moisturizing Shampoo Champagne Kiss with Silk Protein I was really high. I came to the store to buy a Reese's Crispy Crunchy Bar. But soon I found myself wandering around the store and pulling out those coupons in those little electronic dispensers just so I could watch another one come out. I was fascinated by the process. It seemed as if there were an infinite amount of coupons in this miniscule dispenser. Then a black woman


SECOND BODY PARAGRAPH (FINAL DRAFT)

The first time I saw a bottle of VO5 Silky Experiences Moisturizing Shampoo Champagne Kiss with Silk Protein I was really high. I came to the store to buy a Reese's Crispy Crunchy Bar. But soon I found myself wandering around the store and pulling out those coupons in those little electronic dispensers just so I could watch another one come out. I was fascinated by the process. It seemed as if there were an infinite amount of coupons in this miniscule dispenser. Then an African-American woman in a blue Duane Reade smock approached me and said, "Child, is you gonna waste all my coupons? Them's is made out of paper, child. Don't you know today is Earth Day?" I told her I didn't believe in Earth Day since it was started by a man named Einhorn who killed a woman and that I always preferred the Cosmos to the Earth anyway. Then I tried to quote a line from Shakespeare but forgot how it went; something about "Earth will pass away. . ." but I might have been thinking about the line from Hamlet which was "There are more things in Heaven and Earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy, Horatio" which didn't really do anything to advance my position. Or I might have been thinking about some line from the Bible which goes: "Heaven and Earth will pass away", but I didn't want to say "Heaven" if I just told her that I liked the Cosmos, because I consider the Cosmos Heaven and the Heaven Cosmos and if the Cosmos pass away along with the Earth then it wouldn't make sense to prefer the Cosmos to the Earth since both are finite entities of a limited duration. And since my argument for the preferential reverence of the Cosmos over the Earth relied heavily on a presumed infinitude to the Cosmos, I realized I was in a very scary position. What would happen to me if this African-American woman realized that I was about to engage in a philosophical fallacy in the middle of the store? Would she call security? But then I stopped myself and said to her, "Heaven cannot be finite. If it were, it would not be Heaven. Heaven cannot be constrained neither by space nor time. Therefore, if the Cosmos are Heaven and Heaven is the Cosmos, the Cosmos cannot be finite. So, yes, I DO prefer the Cosmos over the Earth."

THIRD BODY PARAGRAPH (ROUGH DRAFT)

She looked at me as if I were crazy. Then she asked me if I was going to buy anything. I had forgotten what I had come into the store to buy. I should have told her I wanted to buy a Reese's Crispy Crunchy Bar, but even that would have been wrong. You see, my memory fails me even now. I know I didn't want a Reese's Crispy Crunchy Bar. That is, I don't remember the exact candy bar I wanted, but I have to put something specific in this narrative in order to give it context. If I just say "candy bar" the teacher's going to bust my balls for using non-descriptive language. Uptight cunt. How's that for desciptive language? You're an uptight cunt! I don't remember the name of the candy bar I wanted, you uptight cunt!


THIRD BODY PARAGRAPH (REWRITE #1)

Now it's killing me--the name of the candy bar I actually wanted. It had peanut butter in it, but it wasn't crunchy. Oh, wait. It WAS crunchy--but it wasn't crispy. So it was something crunchy, but not crispy. That had peanut butter in it.

THIRD BODY PARAGRAPH (REWRITE #2)

You know what? I think I wanted a bag of pretzels and then a regular Reese's peanut butter cup. Two different things. One crunchy thing and one peanut butter thing. I guess my mind is colllapsing those two items together, because there's only so much specific memory the human mind can contain. You can have a million different memories and get by, but then let's say there's just that one little thing--like the memory of wanting two things at the Duane Reade--and now you're not just remembering one thing (the memory of wanting something at the store) but two things (the memories of wanting two things)--and your head explodes. It's like that story of the Princess and the Pea. She can't go to sleep cause there's that one pea under all the mattresses. The only difference here is, instead of a pea, it's two different thoughts about wanting two different things. And instead of not being able to sleep, your head explodes and your brains splatter the walls. No, that would probably require a gun. I'm worrying about nothing. It's fine. I can go ahead and remember that I wanted two different things: a bag of pretzels and a regular Reese's peanut butter cup.


THIRD BODY PARAGRAPH (REWRITE #3)

By the way, doesn't "crunchy" and "crispy" mean the same thing anyway? I think candy bars try too hard for alliteration sometimes.


THIRD BODY PARAGRAPH (FINAL DRAFT)

No! I remember now! I actually went into the store without any preconceived specifics about what type of snack I was going to get. Yes, it's all coming back to me now. I just wanted a snack. And the way I figured it, I would go into the store, see the selection, and then use my powers of decision making to make a decision. As a matter of fact, I remember calling my mother before I went into the store. She was shocked to hear from me. It had been nineteen years since she had heard from her only son. I remember she asked me, "Where have you been? We've missed you all these years! What are you doing with your life?" And I said, "Momma, I'm going into a store and I don't have any preconceived specifics about what type of snack I'm going to get." Then I hung up on her when she started to cry and asked me if I was still taking my medication.


FOURTH BODY PARAGRAPH (ROUGH DRAFT)

Meanwhile all these memories are taking place as the black woman

FOURTH BODY PARAGRAPH (FINAL DRAFT)

Meanwhile all these memories are taking place as the African American woman in the blue Duane Reade smock is staring impatiently at me, waiting for me to tell her what I came into the store to buy. She left for a minute and returned with a frying pan from Aisle Five and told me if I didn't tell her forthwith, she was gonna hit me with it. I stammered I stutt-Istam-stumm--I stam-sttu--stammer-stut

FIFTH BODY PARAGRAPH (ROUGH DRAFT)

She hit me with the pan!

FIFTH BODY PARAGRAPH (REWRITE #1)

Pan me with the hit she!


FIFTH BODY PARAGRPAH (REWRITE #2)

Me the hit pan she with!

FIFTH BODY PARAGRPAH (FINAL DRAFT)

She hit me with the pan!

SIXTH BODY PARAGRAPH (ROUGH DRAFT)

"Ouch! My hair!" I screamed. It always hurts my hair more than my head when my head hurts. My head is strong. It can take it. But my poor little hair! It got all bloody! "Look at my hair!" I said, "It's all bloody!"


SIXTH BODY PARAGRAPH (REWRITE #1)

"Ouch! My head!" I screamed. "My hair is all bloody now." She told me that shampoo was on Aisle Five in the Rite Aid on the other side of town. I left the store and got on the cross-town bus with bloody hair. People stared at me and laughed. I felt like a black

SIXTH BODY PARAGRAPH (FINAL DRAFT)

"Ouch! My head!" I screamed. "My hair is all bloody now." She told me that shampoo was on Aisle Five in the Rite Aid on the other side of town. I left the store and got on the cross-town bus with bloody hair. People stared at me. I felt like an African-American in the South before the Civil Rights Movement. Before Black People Were Called African-Americans. BEFORE EVERYTHING BECAME CAPITALIZED. WHEN I FINALLY GOT TO THE RITE-AID, I WAS NO LONGER HIGH. EVERYTHING BECAME CLEAR TO ME NOW. I NEEDED SHAMPOO TO WASH THE BLOOD OUT OF MY HAIR. THEN, AFTER GETTING SPRUCED UP, I WAS GOING TO VISIT THE EMERGENCY ROOM AND ASK POLITELY FOR A DOCTOR TO PREVENT MY DEATH WHICH WOULD HAVE BEEN A MOST UNFORTUNATE THING CONSIDERING THE FACT THAT I WAS STILL ALIVE AT THE TIME OF THE INCIDENT. WHEN I ARRIVED AT THE RITE-AID I WAS SHOWN TO THE SHAMPOO AISLE BY A WOMAN NAMED ARJANI (SHE MAY HAVE BEEN A MAN, IT'S HARD TO TELL SOMETIMES WITH SHORT-HAIRED INDIAN PEOPLE). THE FIRST BOTTLE THAT CAUGHT MY ATTENTION WAS VO5 SILKY EXPERIENCES MOISTURIZING SHAMPOO CHAMPAGNE KISS WITH SILK PROTEIN. IT WAS ONLY A DOLLAR FIFTEEN. WHICH IS EXACTLY THE AMOUNT THE TOOTH FAIRY LEFT UNDER MY PILLOW THIRTY YEARS AGO WHICH I HAD BEEN SAVING JUST IN CASE I EVER NEEDED TO BUY MY BABY TEETH BACK; YOU KNOW, IF I EVER HAD A BABY OF MY OWN I COULD SAVE MONEY BY GIVING HIM MY OLD BABY TEETH. HAND-ME-DOWNS AND WHAT-NOT AND DASH-DASH. SO I BOUGHT THE SHAMPOO AND TOOK IT HOME AND WASHED MY HAIR WITH IT AND EVERYTHING WAS FINE AND I LIVED TO TELL THE STORY.

CONCLUSION (ROUGH DRAFT)

Hen.


CONCLUSION (FINAL DRAFT)

In conclusion, after washing my hair with VO5 Silky Experiences Moisturizing Shampoo Champagne Kiss with Silk Protein, my hair felt silkier than ever. It felt like I had a woman in the shape of my hair on top of my head. I licked it and it felt right and proper to do so. I bit it gently. My cock throbbed as I thought of teacher and how silky smooth she is. Her tits, her long legs, how I want them wrapped around my back clenching me tighter and tighter in the warm comfort of her moist cunt. I will squirt in teacher like I squirted VO5 Silky Experiences Moisturizing Shampoo Champagne Kiss with Silk Protein from the bottle onto my head to make my hair as silky as teacher's thighs. I can't wait to bite your thighs teacher. I will leave bruises. You will come to me for more bruises, teacher. And I will gladly give them. That is why, in our society today, I believe VO5 Silky Experiences Moisturizing Shampoo Champagne Kiss with Silk Protein is the best shampoo.

figure 1A: VO5 Silky Experiences Moisturizing Shampoo Champagne Kiss with Silk Protein