It is with a heavy heart that I must announce an end to Howler Monkey Central.

I know both of you got mild entertainment from what can only be described as a half-assed attempt at comedy, but everything has its time.

At this time I would like to announce the launch of my new blog

Mr. Skip's Mediocre Ride

Same old crap, slightly different format.

Put it in your favorites. Go ahead, I won't tell anyone.

Whoop.

A Lesson in Amateur Street Racing.

OK class, take your seats.

*ahem*

Car "A" pulls up to a stoplight alongside Car "B". Car "A" realizes that he needs to be in the lane that Car "B" is occupying in order to make a turn in the near future. Car "A" accelerates in order to make this maneuver as quickly as he can. Car "B" mistakenly regards this action as an invitation to "race", and therefore thinks "it" is "on". Car "B" accelerates in order to pass Car "A", thereby "winning" the "race". Unfortunately, both cars are stopped by another stoplight, at which another car is already stopped. This Car "C" is now at the front of stopped traffic, directly in front of Car "A", and dead even with Car "B". The light turns green, and Car "B" peels out, leaving Car "C" in the dust. Car "B" for some reason has now claimed victory over Car "A", which is completely in violation of the rules of street racing. If anything, the second leg was a race between Cars "B" and "C". Or rather, it WOULD have been, if Car "C" had been at all aware of the situation and not listening to the Shrek 2 Soundtrack and singing along to his/her favorite songs. This concludes today's lesson.

One guess to which car I was in.

Whoop.

Mothaf***in' Snakes on a Mothaf***in' Plane.

Go see it. That is all I will say on the subject.

Whoop.

Golf, Golf, Golf is a game. Golf is a game that you play, and today....

I managed to shoot par for the course. Granted, I had only completed half the course, but I feel the day was mine.

That's about it. Sno Cones rule.

Whoop.

Geek Talk.

On my batch of errands I ran today, my journeys took me in to get a haircut. Now, I can't tell you where I go, but it rhymes with "Freight Clips". Now, I happened to be sporting one of my favorite shirts, The Flash. This led one of the stylists to start making jabs at me, as I am more pear-shaped than muscular, and I don't look like I could move faster than 10 mph, tops. But once the insults were complete, this woman talked non-stop about superheros and comic books until I left the shop. So it just goes to show you, the geeks are out there, but they have good hiding places.

Skip, out.

Whoop!

R.I.P. Plastic Paratrooper Man.

You were taken down in the prime of your life. You hadn't even had one good throw. But now I see that a good jump didn't matter to you, you were a daredevil. Why did you have to try that stunt so close to the fan? So now we will remember you, as you will remain a POW within the confines of the box fan until someone frees you. And I'm not taking that fan apart. It's too damn hot in this apartment.

Plastic Paratrooper Man
2006~2006

Whoop.

Oh, I'll SHOW you a shadow....

So another Groundhog Day has come and gone. I can't help but think that this was the day that meteorologists look forward to all year 'round. It's their equivalent of Spring Break.

And I have got to say, one day is enough. I have had my fill of news anchors referring to their weatherman as their "resident groundhog".

So we get six more weeks of winger. OK, I could have just gone back and corrected the typo to read "winter". But come on. How cool would it be to have just 6 more weeks of Winger? Or for that matter, Nelson, Journey, REO Speedwagon, and Hall and Oates?

If you haven't already guessed, I'm really only updating this blog to fill the time between now and when I get to go pick up the woman of my dreams at the airport.

I think I'll go see if that Bill Murray movie is on.

Whoop.