The Gospel according to "Gospel-Tron", MegaBot Supreme.

Today's post is a recycled affair that rambles on in efforts to tell you about a spider that I named Buck-Buck. If you don't believe me, you're a dick.

Dear Diary (Father),

It has been over a week since my last entry (confession).

Today was a good day. Well, no, today was a shitty day. No, no...today was just like any other day for me...half good, half shitty...all "Day".

To tell you the truth, Diary, today just kinda happened. I don't know what the fuck I was talking about before, I don't really rate my days. You know that about me, Diary. You know all my secrets. You also know that I don't have any secrets, that being my #1 secret ever...which in turn creates a Paradox, not to be confused with Irony, which is just gay.

Diary, today I had a run-in with the Austin Police, again. I'm still kinda shakey. And, Diary, I hope you know that when I say "run-IN" with the Police, most often times I mean that I had a "shoot-OUT" with the Police.

Today was definitely one of those days where that vague statistic proved accurate.

So, I had me a shoot-out. No big deal, right?

It's just that sometimes, just sometimes, flying bullets can express the words "No, I'm not going to come over there. I want to be left alone, thank you very much. Oh, and I'm not a dumb-ass, you dumb-asses" to people whose profession allows them to carry badges and bullets which express the words "Hey, dumb-ass...come over here. We wanna talk to you."...far better than the words can actually express themselves when spoken.

A bullet is funny like that. When you shoot a bullet at a man, you shoot your heart at him. My father said that.

My father never said that, actually, Diary.

You knew that. You know me so well.

Moving on, I went to the video store, today. I walked around that place for about an hour before I realized that every time I picked up a movie's box, I found myself judging the movie by the expected depression that watching it might give me.

That's not that troubling, I suppose, if I was only picking up Dramas. No, this happened with every single genre that I picked up. And, I have no idea why.

This is not what concerned me. What concerned me was that I became aware that I was doing this, which then made me realize that I wasn't in the mood for a movie.

Then, I came to the conclusion that Man had vomited me out of a long line of screaming Evolution just so that I could sit in a Video Store and stare at boxes that had replaced the word "book" in the phrase "don't judge a book by it's cover" and, going against this phrase that, perhaps, was one of the very first phrases (and one of the most important and theoretically practical) that I had ever learned...was denying the very brutal struggle that Cave Men had endured, unknowingly, to set our world into motion.

And, everytime I think about Cave Men, I get a little weird.

So, I walked up to the counter and smiled at the Manager.

"How much for the place?" I asked.

He smiled back at me.

"I want to buy this store. How much?"

The Manager started laughing. He quickly noticed that I was not laughing with him.

"Uh, what?"

"The store. I want it. Minus you and your employees. You guys can leave for all I care. I just want the store and all the depressing movie boxes. Oh, and the movies themselves, I need those, too...just in case."

The Manager just blinked at me. Then, he began to laugh again. So, I started to laugh with him. But, I tell you what, Diary...in my mind...I wasn't laughing with him. I wasn't even laughing at him...

I WAS LAUGHING STRAIGHT THROUGH THAT MOTHER-FUCKER.

Anywho...I stopped laughing.

"Man, this is really funny. 'Cause it isn't funny, which makes it really funny." I said.

He then stopped laughing, too.

"Uh, okay. So, you're serious? You wanna buy the place?"

I nodded.

"Well...uh...er...well, I'm just the manager, so...I can give you the...the...owner's number. If I can just..."

The Manager was nervous. So was I, actually. The words were just coming out of my mouth...like they do.

He started to shuffle through a notebook on the desk.

"Look! Calm the fuck down and give me the Owner's contact info, you son of a bitch."

He blinked some more.

"How dare you?!" I screamed.

The manager looked about the store at the gathering crowd of customers and employees.

That's when I unbuttoned my shirt to reveal a Houston Astros t-shirt that I had on underneath. (I wear it sometimes as an under-shirt, dick)

"Aha! Gotcha! I'm just bustin' yer balls, son! It's me...your new Poppa."

I pointed at my Astros shirt and tapped the logo, in hopes to convey that I was helping ease the connection between The Houston Astros and me being the new video store owner...knowing full well that there was, in deed, no connection whatsoever.

The Manager had that look on his face that Apes tend to wear when they're not sure if they want to smash your face in, or hump your face in.

"I'm the new Owner of the store! Yeah, that's how I run things around here. Loose as a goose...bustin balls and having a good time. We're gonna have a lot of fun, gang...from here on out."

I stretched my arms wide and spun around like a little boy in the park.

Then, I just walked out.

Oh, and I made friends with a spider today. His name is Buck-Buck.

your friend who writes in you,
Boom Boomstein Von Clapingston IV

(did you notice the part about Buck-Buck? Why didn't I just get to the point about Buck-Buck? That was the best part. Looks like I'm the dick.)