how many drugs does it take to get you out of my mind?

Oh, come on, Internet; catheterizing the elderly? Old woman ass rubbing against your shoulder? Nothing?

Fine. Whatever.

Maybe it’s just me, but I find it nigh-impossible to see a morbidly obese person wearing a solid purple shirt without immediately thinking of:

• Violet Beauregard
• Grape Ape
• Barney
• or Grimace (thanks, honey)

Although not necessarily in that order. In fact, I think of Grimace mostly now. Maybe it’s my Ronald McDonald ’do.

Also:

• In slightly more than two full days here, I’ve already seen two (2) midgets scurrying about Cambridge, nibbling on stray bits of cheese and breadcrumbs, no doubt planning to regurgitate later into the mouths of their larvae. And I fear infestation. Come on, Boston; mix in some Raid now and then.
• Putting my phone on vibrate, slipping it into my pocket, then having people send me text messages all day long is a fun way to pass the time.
• I simply cannot look at a woman speaking into a handheld microphone and not think dirty thoughts. Even if she’s really fat.

Something else: hot girls with small, star-shaped tattoos on the back of their necks, almost completely (though not entirely) obscured from sight via combination of blouse collar and short yet feminine brunette hair, never ever ever sit next to me during these presentations. But Grimace? Every fucking session.

It’s like she’s drawn to me, a big round fleshy hunk of metal to my Ronald McDonald ’do magnet. Come to think of it, she’s probably big enough to have her own gravitational field. So maybe it’s me that’s drawn to her, what with my weight being within the healthy limits for a man of my height and stature, thus making it difficult to hold my ground and withstand such a force.

It’s hard to say, what with the time change confusing me and all.