Taquitos are delicious, yet puzzling. All that they are made of is a grilled tortilla and shredded meat of some sort. It can't be that hard to make. Here is how they become puzzling. I always look at taquitos and think, "I can eat about a dozen of those. They're the size of markers." I like to compare my food with art supplies. Baby carrots are the size of pastel crayons, pepperoni slices are the size of water paint colors, and so on. Once I get through about five taquitos I'm already full. That's when the questioning starts. I start looking inside of the taquito to make sure no extra meat is hiding in there. I put it under an even hotter heat lamp and start asking it questions like, "What are you made of?" "Should I alert Guinness as to your packed in food ability?" Maybe we should start feeding to taquitos to all the starving children. Solve the world hunger problem. Thank you Mexico.

I had this dream earlier this week. I don't remember it. That would be such a terrible entry if I ended it right here. Leave you hanging. The thing about it was that I woke up and immediately thought, "That was such an embarrassing situation. I should write about that in live journal." I didn't write about it at that exact moment though. Then later I thought, "There was something I had to write about. Wait, that was a dream." I could imagine what that entry would be like. "Isn't that embarrassing when you are talking to a tree about a robin, then you realize that a robin is actually is sitting in that tree? I hate when that happens. Especially when the tree is like, "I didn't know it was a robin. I just know there is a bird there." Then you have to explain to the robin that the joke wasn't about that particular robin having a red breast, but about other robins." That doesn't belong in live journal. It's not life. It's fake. That is sleep journal or dreamland journal. That would be fucking hilarious in dreamland journal.

Contrary to popular belief Black Friday is not the hardest day of work. The hardest day of work is inventory day. Black Friday you're helping customers the whole day. Inventory you have to help customers and the inventorriors. First, the entire store has to be cleaned up and checked to make sure no merchandise is hiding. Merchandise does hide. It can sneak under racks, into the upstairs, or even into other merchandise. That starts off the hell. There is dust and old shit from Carter's era all over the store. Some of the stuff doesn't have any information as to how much or what the hell it is on it. Now in most places that would mean, "Please throw this away. You don't even know what this is?" During inventory, that means, "Find out what the hell I am...if you can." After everything is all cleaned up, then the inventorriors come in to do their job. You know what they do? They scan every fucking item in the store and find out how many you have and how much it costs. That's all that they have to do. Then the workers have to count again to make sure the inventorriors didn't make any mistakes. They make mistakes. The first inventory I was in I thought the inventorriors would be awesome and know everything. They don't. Most of them are borderline retarded. While you're counting, customers ask you stuff too. You'll be counting, "88, 89, 90," then somebody says, "How much do 38 of these 22 caliber bullets cost? 49.99 or 54.99?" Try to stay on task with all those numbers flying at you.

I've never been drunk or even buzzed. I have good reason. I've figured out why me being drunk is not a good thing by the numbers. I've noticed four types of drunk people. They are funny drunk, slutty drunk, angry drunk, and sad drunk. I have a personality where I could be any combination of these four drunks. Funny drunk is okay to be as long as you don't do anything dangerous to be hilarious like staple a pattern of a bird into your back. That's a 80% chance of a funny drunk working out. Slutty drunk sounds like fun, but everybody knows it's awful. Slutty drunks are easy to pick up and make out with everybody around. The problem is that they will just have sex so easily, run around naked, and end up with all sorts of diseases. That's a 0% chance of anything good coming out of that. Angry drunks start shit for no reason. You might walk past an angry drunk and nudge him harmlessly and he will instantly say, "What the fuck? You want to start something let's go right now." Angry drunks will beat the shit out of themselves if they don't have any small, minuscule reason to beat up somebody else. They also have to prove to everybody that they are the shit. Nobody really cares though. That might even be a negative percentage of being good. Finally, sad drunks. They are just pussies. They cry and cry and cry about something that may have happened a year ago. They drunk dial old bf's or gf's or just regular f's about "being lonely" and "feeling remorseful." Nobody is around sad drunks for a reason. It only makes them sad to be around someone like that. Sad drunks are like a black hole of pain that smells of vodka. No good can come out of them either. I could easily be any four of these types of drunks. I know that I could. So that means a 25% chance of being any one type of drunk and only one of those drunks having some good come out of it. There is a 20% chance that I do not regret my drunken night. How is that math for ya?

I got spare jokes in my trunk, so be ready.