Hello, happy people, and everybody else, which is probably the majority of you. Though I'm unemployed, I still fill my days with activities, and one of them has been to observe human nature. I want to understand why people are so stupid.

I haven't learned anything about the secrets of stupidity yet. Only that there's a lot of it. Like people who let - perhaps "force" is a better word - their dogs poop on the sidewalk, and then, when you want to walk around the poop, the person with the pooping dog gives you the stink-eye as though you've just insulted her own child and called it ugly, perhaps even suggesting that it resembles a dog poop. Then the person - let's say it's an old lady just for kicks - breaks stink-eye-contact with you, looks down at the illegally defecating animal, makes a couple strange chirping/buzzing noises that no dog in the history of dogkind has ever heard in the wild or generated itself, leading you to wonder why someone would think to attempt to communicate with such an animal by trying to sound like a distorted kazoo, and then says something like, "It's Ok, Captain Bark-Bark... don't you worry about the bad man who isn't proud of your doody. We don't care about him, do we? He's probably a homosexual. He'd probably look right at home in a tight little sailor's suit, wouldn't he? He's a bad, baaaaad man. But never mind him. Let's go home so I can braid your fur and feed you horse-brain biscuits. Would you like that? You'd like that, wouldn't you? Oh, yes... [distorted kazoo noises]..."

And that leads perfectly into the reason I'm writing this post...

Some of you are waiting for day six of my creation story. I've gotten the emails. I've gotten the complaints.

Astrid even drew me a picture:

Do you have any idea how much cooler Astrid's blog would be if she allowed
anonymous comments? Yeah, neither does she, apparently.

I visited Adam the other day, and he said he wants to typeset the story and illustrate it. I believe him, but I wanted to make his promise a public thing so that, if he doesn't do it, his failure will bring shame on the House of Kinney. Frankly, I'm hoping he doesn't do it, because I think it'd be fun if we all got together to tar and feather him. I've never done that. I've always wanted to, but there's never any tar and feathers around when I'm in the mood. I think it's a cultural phenomenon that's been forgotten because it's so difficult to get your hands on tar and feathers without having to plan way ahead. It sounds so effective, though. Think about it - having to walk around the grocery store, checking the pull date on milk, obviously tarred and feathered. Having to drop your kids off at soccer practice and then explain to the other parents that you were tarred and feathered because you didn't illustrate a story your friend wrote about a religion in which he's a transvestite god.

Shame and humiliation. It's what got humanity where it is today.

Wow. I'm glad I wrote all that, because it's such a natural lead-in to the next few paragraphs...

Obviously, day six of my creation story is exactly seven-thousand times more highly anticipated than that stupid series of books about that stupid kid with his devil magic and little troll friends who probably look like mushrooms and where every other bloody word ends with "-wort" or "-wart" or however those magic freaks spell their stupid words.

"Oh, let's go to Pigwort so we can visit Dr Facewart and eat some fishwort stew with spicy wart sauce and wart, wart, wart... wort, wort, wort... blah blah blah... abracadabra... Oh, look! A cute little dogwart making a doody! [distorted kazoo noises]..."

And that's the perfect segue into my next sentence...

I'm just as excited about day six as any of you. However, as you've probably noticed by the six-thousand word posts that have been going up, there's a lot going on, a lot more to tell, and everything to resolve.

I've had to divide day six into several episodes. I have the outline opened up here alongside Windows Live Writer, and it's looking like day six will have to be divided into five or six parts. This is to keep the daily word count down, but also to keep you from having to read a post the size of your ass in those jeans.

About half of day six is written, but I haven't written it linearly. For example, the first thing I wrote was Felix's epic speech. That thing all by itself is about eight-hundred words, and there's still the story to write around it.

Each segment will hopefully come out to about two-thousand words. I figure that's better than reading eight- to ten-thousand words in one sitting - especially since you've gotta do this on The Computer, which is probably the worst device for reading ever invented, except for a system that somehow incorporates injecting your eyeballs with hydrochloric acid. That'd be worse. Also, if you try to patent that, I have two words for you and I don't know what they mean but whenever people talk about patents they always say these words: Prior art. From the context of the discussions I've read, it's kind of like securing the front passenger seat of a car by yelling "Shotgun!"

However, if you want to work together on a new reading system that involves filling people's eyeballs with hydrochloric acid, then I'll work with you for a percentage. A percentage of what, I don't know. Probably lawsuits. I'm in over my head again. I really don't know what I'm talking about, which is evident by every word of this post (see: rest of post).

I'll start posting day six in about twelve hours. For those of you who aren't bad foreign people and freedom-attackers, the week's postings should give you a good reason not to have to talk to your family during your hot Thanksgiving parties. I kind of have to talk to my family now since they're all probably reading this, but I can still save you. If your family insists that you join them for a cup of turkeynog, or whatever people drink during Thanksgiving, then you can still incorporate my tale of flying unicorns and an odd car by telling your demanding kin that you'd like to read them a traditional Thanksgiving parable.

You could even take my story and rework it into a play. Hand it out to the kids, and have them act it out before, during, and after Thanksgiving dinner (it's kind of long). If enough people do this, then it will eventually become tradition, and people living in the distant future will still be performing it, although they might find the subject matter, the dialogue, and everything else about it confusing.

Can you imagine kids fighting over the parts?

"I want to be sandwich!"

"No, I get to be sandwich! You were sandwich last year!"

And then one of the kids uses my reading system to inject hydrochloric acid into the other kid's eyeballs. The non-blinded kid gets to play sandwich, and I get royalties. Everybody's happy. Except the blind kid.

Admit it, though - that's not much different from your family gatherings as they are now. I think it's safe to say that we've all grown up in environments where one or two people get stabbed each Thanksgiving by other family members while arguing over whether or not to add sour cream to the mashed potatoes.

You're probably reading this and wondering what happened to me this time. Did it turn out that Rory's tripolar? Is he snorting Red Bull again? Is he slamming pure maple syrup for the sugar rush?

No. What you're seeing here is the result of the following math:

Sobriety + dedicating a large chunk of one's life to writing about a sandwich + a lot of free time = AWESOME.

I'd say read it and weep, but I imaging you're already doing both anyway.

Cheerio. Go relax with a warm cup of turkeynog.

You've earned it.