Blank Dust

Hark -- my second poll has already entered infancy. He's growing up so fast! I'm really scared though that my cupcake is gonna get picked on in school with a name like Which of These Minor Characters Interests You the Most, Reader? -- I suppose he needs an alias. Post possible nicknames. Thanks. And don't make fun of my babe.

Large scream for Farm 2 Bistro. Great success story! Restaurant opens, gets little attention, youth gradually come in, thoroughly enjoy themselves, spread the word, the word enters the mass, the mass flock there, and we even get a nice little article by Antonio P in our high school paper! I went to the eatery Friday with a couple mates. Two chicken sandwiches, lemonade, and a slice of pumpkin pie -- all of it terrific. Bow in unison before Nutley's gold medal recipient.

Eerie shriek for cocaine. I've told many respectable folks that I'll begin snorting the powdery drug in a few weeks. I guess that's a joke. Sigh. Ritalin, here I come. Also, stop being like, "Nick, don't do drugs," -- I start tuning out -- "famous people die every day," -- asleep by now -- "Hendrix, Morrison," -- dreaming about FDA exec Margaret A. Hamburg this point -- "don't do it, Mr. Rapper, please." Sure -- most drugs are addictive, bad for you (in heavy quantities), and full of unnatural chemicals you never heard of. But all this modest proser wants: stimulation. I'm the number one blogger in my land now. Who knows, though, after an iota of coke? Maybe I'll claim the top ten spots on Luscious Living's Worthy Web Sensations feature this month! Just so we're clear and I don't get in trouble for "hugely misleading information," (Twig 26) do drugs. Can I be more forthright? Fuck, rhetorical questions are not to be included in formal texts. (Twig 17)

That calendar can't be accurate! If it is, then we're approaching the two month jubilee (thanks) of my blog. Wear appropriate attire to the festivities. Maybe I should lay it out right now. I'm assuming none of you celebrate Thanksgiving. Right? Holidays are midtown. November 26 through November 28 let us thank the Lord for Nick Rapper's linguistic adventures during our primer Fictional Account Festival. All this celebratory garbage takes place in Booth Park. No rain dates. No fee. Bring your own objects. Whoops, I'm certainly turning you off by now. I'm thinking the 26th will be Cast Day -- meet the real humans involved in the blog! Get your most favorite character ever to sign your pet, take erotic pictures with you, massage your back (no promises regarding the competence of your masseuse) -- the possibilities are "absurd."

Black Friday -- More like Crack Pieday! The 27th will involve the throwing of stimulant-infused desserts at each other! Note: don't let my homemade crack go to waste. It's all fun plus games 'til someone says, "Where ma crack at?"

The final day is titled Saturday Parade, and will center upon the compound noun after "final day is titled." Fans, characters, haters, me -- all humans aware of this blog's existence will march on Centre Street, singing anthems like "Fireflies" and "Run This Town" while savoring their leftover illicit drugs. I'd say these events look entirely rad, dudes.

Dave -- surefire clown -- has been odd with me lately. I asked him where he got his School is Gay t-shirt. He responded, ". . ." -- with clear stress on the last ellipsis. What a pointless airhead. What a lesbian pornography pioneer. What a slice of cutie pie. Um, we'll move on.

You know SparkNotes? It's a comical exercise in summarizing classic fiction! I know you use it. Don't perjure -- that's what gets you in Hell. So, what I was trying to say is that this website now offers dating advice. Some awkward girl wrote to "Auntie SparkNotes" explaining that her boy crush is such a weirdo, and her friends think he's creeper status, but she is infatuated with the man. The response to the qualms of anonymous was filled with sarcasm, useful advice and fine writing. My stance on SparkNotes is now "pretty cool" -- up from a long-held "whatever."

My readers know about Jen's fascination with erotica. Enter Jen's other, somehow rarer addiction -- twas confessed in Web Design a few days ago. I was conversing with Dave about the relative pain you feel, initially, when you snort cocaine. Dave told me sniffing anything messes with your sinuses. Even Pixy Stix. "It's true," Jen offered, depressingly. This is horrible! Before long we'll find out that our heroine is addicted to, well, heroin. Miss Jennifer may have inadvertently started a fad! She may be the first of an upcoming batch of tipsy Pixy Stix chicks.

What else? It's been upwards of a year since singer Marnie Stern unleashed a kissing booth at select concerts to pay off parking tickets. I'm hyperventilating right now. If I don't hire another, stabler writer soon, I'm going to end up posting bizarre rants, "random" calf feces, links to pornography, and recipes. I often joke about all this weird fuzz I bask in. But I am, for once, not festooning in irony. I'm actually getting someone else to scribe posts. Will she be the sole writer? I can't tell you with any impeccable degree of certainty that the question I posed has the answer "yes" to it when you're being deadly truthful in your reply. See, I'll tell you something you should know. Cocaine and Ritalin -- three molecules different. Irrelevant you say. Well then, go jump off a kite. Few cups of java and I'm wasted. Baked. Cooked. Sauntered. So, for a while, I honestly say goodbye. I love everyone in the universe. Peace. Take care. Enjoy your new author. Long, delicious hiatus -- oh yes, you have begun!