Randy's Thoughts Chapter 25
Journal Entry for Sunday January 11, 1998
I hate the police. I swear, in that organization (if you could even call it an "organiz"ation), the left hand doesn't know what the right foot did five months ago. What I mean is, they have an IQ number that is equivalent with that of fried mayonnaise.
Apparently they needed to run tests on the bones of Timothy H. Tailor, not those of Timothy A. Taylor. It's scary, really, to think that we as a society trust people like this. (Now I'm not bashing all members of all police departments. Just the stupid ones).
Unfortunately last night mom did come and catch me with my nose bleeding. She said she's going to call the ear, nose, and throat doctor on Monday (tomorrow) and set up an appointment so we can talk about having my nose cauterized. Lucky me!
I'm about ready to slap Mark in all this. Every time my nose bleeds, he starts laughing about it and making jokes. Now, I laugh about and make jokes about a lot of stuff, but a bleeding body part is serious.
Yeah, I hope you didn't forget about my dorky brothers Brad and Mark. I know I don't write about them a whole lot in this thing, but I try not to think about them any more than necessary. I mean, I love my brothers as much as the next fellow, but still, you can only love so much when one's Johnny Cash (only without the voice) and the other is an egotistical, hair obsessed Fabio wanna-be.
It does make me laugh every time I picture Brad with long, golden, flowing hair, and a dark tan. Actually it makes me think of some left over hippie who stayed out in the sun for about twelve straight days with no sun screen on.
Reading through last night's entry, I got to thinking. I wonder what dad's surprise was going to be. I wonder if it was something that just he did, maybe, or if mom was in on it too. I went over and asked Wilson if he knew anything about it, and he just started quoting from some ancient book of Italian proverbs. I never did get a straight answer, which makes me wonder whether or not he's in on this too maybe. Like I told mom, that kind of thing happening is just what makes Wilson Wilson Wilson Wilson Wilson Wilson.
Geez, I just got a hand cramp from writing all those "Wilson"s.
Well, I really don't think much else has happened since 10:15 p.m. last night.
Maybe I shouldn't write any more entries on back to back days.
-Randy
A/N: I don't really have anything to comment on in this chapter.
Oh! I'm not trying to degrade policemen by writing these things. So don't blame me, blame Randy. I mean, he wrote those remarks. These are his thoughts, you know?
One more thing. Just try pictur
