Hey John,

I won’t be getting an update to you until tomorrow. Spent last night coughing until 1:30, sleeping until 2:00 and then coughing until I came to work today. Ergo, I am going to go home so I can cough some more in private.

Will try to get something written tomorrow.

JM

So with that in mind…

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I wanted to write about… um… yeah.

Usually, I write down little things here and there during the day, especially if I’m at work. My mind is like a chalkboard; every twenty minutes and you have to wipe it down, cleaning it clear of whatever was on there before, so if I happened to see something while I was driving to work that inspired me to think about it as a writing topic, if I don’t jot the note down, it’ll never come to light.

Which is how I got to write about tonight’s topic: The William Shatner Roast.

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I signed my first lease when I was 17 with a man far too young in the head for me. Fresh out of high school and chock full of foolish ambition. A know-it-all complex.

I got a job at Applebee’s in Times Square and then the gym and now Jennifer where I hate my job. I realize now that these shitty jobs are all that is out there if you are uneducated unless you are extremely lucky. Having institutions stand behind your intelligence is more impressive then the army of references from equal educational stratum as yourself.

Tonight while riding the train back to Brooklyn to pick up the love of my life, Mr. Crocker, I was innocently doing my crossword when the obnoxious chitter chatter of completely brainless girls interrupts me. I desperately tried to concentrate, but couldn’t. They moved so that they right in my view.

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Mayor Ray Nagin is getting a lot of flak for New Orleans not being… well… New Orleans.

When reporters ask him about it, and about how money from the federal government and private donations total the $1 billion mark, instead of talking about why they haven’t used it yet (like by saying that the government set the money aside, but has yet to actually approve it), he decides to take a dig at New York City.

“”You guys in New York can’t get a hole in the ground fixed,” he said in an interview with 60 Minutes, “and it’s five years later. So let’s be fair.”

I agree. Let’s be fair.

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I recently discussed the winds of change that I feel blowing across Capitol Hill, causing a chill of fear among normally safe politicians who are facing serious challenges not only in the general election, but within their own party’s primaries.

That wind could not have been any chillier than for Frank Murkowski, the Republican governor of Alaska who not only lost his party’s primary, becoming the first incumbent governor to lose in a primary in 12 years, but lost miserably. To the tone of third place out of three candidates, garnering only 19 percent of the vote from his own registered Republicans.

Why, you ask? Arrogance. And Americans are fighting back.

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There’s been a lot of drama lately because of what some “scientists” have said about me lately. I’m too small. I’m not big enough. I don’t look like the other planets.

What the fuck is that about?

They want to call me a “new breed.” A “prototype.” Do you know what a prototype is? It’s the rough draft, the original, and the one they end up throwing out when they get what they really want. Is that what these scientists plan on doing with me?

I mean really, what is a planet, anyway?

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