I am enraged. Fuming. Indignant.

[ mood | furious, livid, incensed... I need to find my thesaurus... ]
[ music | Clifton Sutton - Good-bye Sadness, Hello Morphine! ]



Stealing a man's physical property is one thing and stealing his intellectual property is entirely worse but he has done the unfathomable. He has stolen my emotional property, which is certainly the most loathsome crime any man can commit.

It seems Mr. Orion himself is currently engaged in the courting process with my future wife, Maybelline Adams.

The temerity! The gall! The audacity! The-

My thesaurus was just here! Somebody must have moved it-


Who does he think he is? Prancing about town in his latest Hungarian fashions, smoking his solid gold pipe, wearing that monocle even though EVERYONE KNOWS HE HAS PERFECT VISION IN BOTH EYES!

So, the question remains- what am I going to do about this?

If I were to judge based on my history in these situations, it would be safe to say I am going to do nothing. Nothing at all. Where did I put my whiskey?



[ mood | trapped ]
[ music | Bathus "Tubby" Bentley - Brunch For One ]


After possibly the worst night of sleep in my life, I awoke and immediately began constructing a security system to protect my laboratory from intruders. My initial plans called for the installation of a few trap doors, some trip wires, and perhaps even a crude battering ram?

I did not intend to fabricate such an intricate web of tricks and traps. Like most of my inventions, the system is perfect, save for one crucial design flaw- there is absolutely no way out. A minor annoyance, to be certain, but a mistake I hope I do not make again.

Time for Plan B

[ mood | 50% awake ]
[ music | Phineas Simulacra - The Great Duel ]


Whether it was a conscious decision or not is uncertain, but I have decided that I am through sleeping. For good.

Or possibly for evil.

My mind is not quite as sharp as it was three days ago, which was the last time I had any rest, but it is EASILY twice as aware as it would be if I were asleep right now... I figured it all evens out in the end.

Not that I do not miss sleep; nothing would be more welcome at this point than the gentle embrace of my down pillow or even the sweet lullaby that is the uproarious grinding sound of my mother hacking up an entire spittoon full of phlegm before bed.

Much to my lament, gaining a night of sleep would mean leaving my laboratory unguarded, which I am not about to do-

In fact, if my ears do not deceive me, I currently have-


For the the fifth time this evening, I almost bashed Mother's skull in with a pipe. While not entirely un-welcomed, this would be an unnecessary murder, and one spawned simply out of my fatigue.

If I were to finally dispose of her, it would be after a full night's rest, which I am beginning to realize I need severely.

I must find a creative solution to my problems. A trap! I will booby-trap my laboratory first thing in the morning.

It is probably in everyone's best interest that I sleep in the basement tonight.


[ mood | vengeful ]
[ music | Leonard Hollendaise - Sunshine Spectacle (re-mixulatation by "DJ" Heffenwizen) ]


And as if I did not already have enough stumbling blocks in life, I have developed a new external hindrance. I now officially have an Arch-Nemesis.

His name is Frederic Ransom Orion III, and is heir to the vast fortune of the Orion Lumber dynasty. He claims to be an inventor, but he is, in reality, nothing more than a dirty thief. After the completion of each of my inventions, and subsequent submittal to the patent office, I have been informed that he has beaten me to the punch by a matter of minutes, or even in some instances, seconds.

But how?

He must have hired spies, to follow me and steal the blueprints to all of my inventions! My initial plan to thwart his schemes backfired on me. I encoded all of my notes in a secret language that I made up one night in a drunken haze-

But one of his agents stole the key, and tortuously enough, left my notes behind.

Now I am left with almost 30 pages of garbled nonsense.

Some of my best work, too- A device to receive airborne transmissions of moving picture-plays I have named the Motion Picture Triangulation Receiver, or "MP3 Player."

If it were not for Frederic Ransom Orion, the world would recognize the invention of the MP3 Player as the most important discovery of the 20th century.

Yes, this old gem

[ mood | anxious ]
[ music | William McCabre - Our Immortal President ]


As often as I make this statement, I think this time it will prove to be true. I am ready to fix myself.

My insides are rotten. My heart is corroded, my brain has been beaten to a pulp by useless equations and my liver... well, my liver probably looks like a weatherworn prune that time forgot. A fossil. I am falling apart. It is hard to tell, because my exterior is flawless. My abdomen is as firm as a washboard and my biceps are behemoths. I am a big, stupid ape.

My last invention nearly killed me and certainly murdered any semblance of respect my mother ever had for me. It is not unreasonable to assume my subconscious is trying to destroy me. Maybe the world would be better without my insanity!

But I must not think these thoughts!

I am going to turn my life around! I AM GOING TO CHANGE THE WORLD!

What separates this particular attempt at prosperity from the other ((miserably) failed) attempts is, for the first time my actions are not inspired out of interest in impressing Maybelline.

If anything, the opposite is true. I am going to demolish her with envy. She will feel my wrath, be it in the form of the end to all diseases, or whatever other brilliance I bestow upon the world. I am going to evolve the human race simply to spite one woman.

Not that I think I will ever love another woman again. Love is for idiots and perverse, hormone-driven animals. I am in love with science. A cruel mistress, to be certain, and an unfaithful one. Luckily, she cannot survive without my keen intellect.

In that respect, it is quite the codependent relationship. At the very least, I plan on elevating its status to committed codependency. If anyone ever expects any better than that out of a relationship, they are a God-Damned fool.

The final invention.

[ mood | sweaty ]
[ music | The sweet hiss of a broken Victrola. ]


Tonight I was tired and bored. And just a little bit drunk. The solution to my problems, it seemed, was to invent. I was not sure what I wanted to invent, but I had some tools and some metal, and wood, and chemicals, so I just went to work. That was six hours ago.

What I have sitting in front of me is a mass of gears and dials and levers and... genius. I'm not sure what it does yet, or what it will do when I'm finished. In fact, I have no clue how far I am from finishing. The only reason I even stopped was because I realized I had been working as quick as I can for the entire six hours, and my heart rate had elevated to the point where I suppose I was hallucinating. I have been twisting the same screw long enough that I have not only stripped the screw, but have also dulled the screwdriver.

I decided that I deserved, nay, REQUIRED a break.

And as I sit here marveling at my masterpiece, the gears moist from errant sweat glinting in the candlelight, I wonder- what in God's Name is this device going to do? Will it make me rich? Will it kill me? Is it merely a trinket, a child's plaything?

I am almost certain this is no toy- it stands almost eight feet tall- I have to stand on a ladder to reach it's highest points. It has several sharp, jagged edges, and it is, to put it bluntly, frightening.


This is the closest I have ever come to divinity. Tonight I am going to reach God, and hopefully defeat him.

I need a glass of water.

A crossroads in my life- the corner of Wealth and Insanity.

[ mood | torn ]
[ music | Glen "Salt" Licke - Hobo With A Heart Of Tarnished Gold ]


Even though my personal life is still admittedly spinning out of control at an incredible clip... my body has never looked better.

I am becoming quite the stunning human specimen. Perhaps I can parlay my awe-inspiring physique into scientific success- as a model for textbooks and scientific journals.

Or simply abandon science altogether and become a professional arm-wrestler. I have already received several offers from potential sponsors, who will pay quite a tidy sum if I scream the name of their product after I defeat a competitor.

Yet, amongst all of this glitz and glamour, I still feel unfulfilled. Three-figure tonic sponsorships are meaningless if I do not have my beauteous Maybelline to spend them on.

I have done everything in my power to reduce my debilitating obsession. For instance, I only run by her house on even-numbered trips. I still write her love letters- but I quit delivering them. Mother says I do not talk about her in my sleep as much anymore


But my love still lingers, deep inside of me. I tried to dig it out, after a particularly gruesome exercise session left me dehydrated and hallucination-prone. Obviously, I did not find it.

Chalk up another scar inspired by love. That makes an even forty. I am crossing my fingers that I do not pass the fifty scar mark. That would mean I was crazy.

My body is not a temple. MY BODY IS A FORTRESS.

[ mood | unsure CONFIDENT ]
[ music | Skip Spiederman - Dirt On My Pillow ]


The best method of filling the void in my soul seems to be replacing emotion with adrenaline. From this point on, for every thought I have of Maybelline, I am going to do fifty push-ups.

My unrequited love will now manifest itself into pure power.

Every time I doubt my self-worth, I will sprint at least half a mile. The first day that I instituted this rule was a very, very long day. But now, either as a result of the confidence afforded by my increasingly toned body, or out of fear of more exercise, the thoughts have become less frequent.

Or perhaps I am simply too fatigued to doubt myself.

One of the side-effects of all this activity has been a significant rise in my testosterone level. Yesterday, I was so proud of my reflection that I decided to throw a trashcan through a shop window. This reaction has perplexed even myself.

This morning I took on a pack of rabid dogs in a street brawl. I was unarmed, except for my quick wit and rippling biceps. My initial reaction was to run, but I realized I had to stay and fight. I have now established dominance among the stray animals of the downtown area.

I found myself too restricted in my coat to move properly, so I have taken the liberty of ripping the sleeves off of it. Now I wear it just for style. It is really rather striking. Much more distinguished, in my opinion.

I'm growing in every way, especially physically, but I cannot help but think-

Took a brief pause for a moment of self-doubt. Now I have to go for a very long run. If I counted correctly, that session warranted 4 1/2 miles. What a rush!

The first step on the road to health

[ mood | exhausted ]
[ music | Pierre le Fleur - Le Croissant a l'Orange (Chapeau et Champignon) ]


After delaying for as long as possible, I started my exercise routine this morning. I must say, it was not as facile as I had imagined.

For example, I decided that a good way to get started would be to embark on an exhilarating bicycle ride. I did not realize until today that I have never, in fact, actually ridden on my bicycle before. I have made several attempts in the past to climb onto it, with disastrous results.


After about a half hour of cursing, bruising, and nearly shattering my tibia, I finally made it on to my bicycle. The thrill of accomplishment was soon deflated as I only maintained my balance for approximately 5 seconds.

The bulk of my substantial exercise today came from my run to the nearest bridge and hurling my bike into the river. No easy task, but the adrenaline from my pure hatred of this awful, demonic device helped.

As did the energy "shake" I made for breakfast.

A nutritious blend of equal parts bacon fat and refined sugar, my shake was not exactly appetizing (or particularly easy to swallow), but it did provide the necessary nutrients my body so desperately craves.

The tingling sensation in my left arm tells me it is working.