so i got in my car today, and as i turned the ignition the radio came on, and the particular station that the radio was tuned to happened to be on a commercial break. and the commercial was for this grocery store titled, i'm not making this up, "Al and Bill's Grayslake Piggly Wiggly." the commercial urged the listener to "come and enjoy [their] discounted fresh produce" and other on-sale items. does the name of this grocery store concern anyone? especially considering that Grayslake is a suburb of Chicago? or at least i think it is. in any case, i might expect something like this from arkansas, where they sell citronella candles in budweiser cans (i'm not making this up either, i bought one and gave it to Noah, because his dad lives in arkansas... just ask him), but near Chicago? why does a business owner think it's okay to name a store "piggly wiggly"? it's just going to make the world more stupid, naming stores after things we would say to babies.

helen, my best friend, and i painted my room today. i'm so thankful that her dad paints for a living. it's kind of sad that i'm 19 and had never painted a room before, but she knew exactly what to do, and consequently, my room is now the brightest shade of honey mustard you will ever see. we had a good time, though even with fans, air conditioning, and open windows the room was a sauna. we seriously considered stripping and painting in our underwear, then decided maybe that wouldn't be the moral thing to do since the blinds were up and i live smack in the middle of a dozen apartment buildings, which equals lots of people. we wondered if there are places where it is socially acceptable to paint rooms in your underwear. we would like to move there.

before i go, i would like to give a couple updates. number one being the POW foundation. since announcing the existence of this foundation i have declared myself the president. this means that it is my job to delegate responsibility to those lower in rank and to then watch them carry out those responsibilities. i've determined that Helen is going to be the vice president, Jeanna is going to be the treasurer (because she's great with finances), and Jesse Jackson is going to be the chaplain. of course, none of them know this yet, but i will tell them soon. Jeanna will work her magic and fundraise a large sum of money to the tune of... well... a large sum of money. then Helen AND Jeanna will go to the store and buy millions of those little green plastic army men, like in Toy Story. i suppose one of them could go by themselves, but she might get lonely, and besides... millions of green army men could be pretty heavy, so i suppose it would be a good business decision on my part to have them both do it and expediate the process. it will be Helen's job to go to every grocery store, every gas station, every walmart, every target... EVERY place in the united states that might possibly sell oreos, and line up the green army men around and on the victims. Jeanna will go with her and be responsible for taping signs on the shelves around the oreos that boast our motto: Stop Murdering Innocent Oreos (SMIO). if a daring customer should attempt to buy some oreos during this process, either Helen or Jeanna (or both) is expected to handcuff herself to the shelf or a nearby pole to show the reprobate that this is a serious matter, that the life of a sandwich cookie weighs in the balance. as president, i pledge to watch them do all of this via satellite. and Jesse Jackson will pray for world peace.

secondly, my mom has recently informed me that two nights ago my brother was innocently playing video games in his room when, out of nowhere, a bat tried to kill him. fortunately, he was able to distract the bat with that "knock knock. who's there? banana. banana who? knock knock. who's there? banana. banana who? knock knock. who's there? banana. banana who? knock knock. who's there? banana. banana who? knock knock. who's there? banana. banana who? knock knock. who's there? orange. orange who? orange you glad i didn't say banana?" joke long enough to escape from the room but leave the bat trapped inside. my stepdad then fearlessly went into the battleground, armed with nothing but a tennis racket, and beat the damn thing to death. and the funny thing is, i almost felt sorry for the bat.

ok, i'm going to bed. the paint fumes are making me woozy.