McDonald’s will never be confused with haute cuisine, and I never go because I crave their food. But a couple weeks ago, I made a quick stop by the Golden Arches for a quick, convenient bite. Lo and behold, they are holding that Monopoly game this month.

With certain food items, you get these playing pieces that mostly correspond with Monopoly properties (free food items are also possible). Getting all of the properties of the same color earns you get a prize. The 3 light blue properties, Oriental, Vermont, and Connecticut Avenues (kinda cheapo properties in the game) will win $100. Boardwalk and Park Place are a cool $1,000,000. That first, fateful trip, two of the orange properties fell under my control (all 3 are worth $1,000), and I’ve gone back to McDonald’s several times in the hopes of securing the elusive third orange.

Now I’m no fool. The game is controlled by having one of the properties in each set rare, while the rest are common. My two oranges were both the common ones*. In reality, I’m not close to winning anything at all. But it’s a weird sort of siren call that keeps me coming back, and hoping to get just the right stroke of luck. Actually, that probably does make me a fool.

Once the game ends, of course, I’m not going back to McDonald’s until the next Monopoly game. Probably not even to redeem these free food prizes.

There was this one dream where I killed a mind-controlled Queen Elizabeth I with a deck of playing cards. Something like how the superhero Gambit might, expect the cards fluttered through the air like they would in real life. The whole dream was pretty awesome, but that part stands out.

What’s your favorite dream or moment from a dream?

So I was walking back home and there was this guy sitting on the sidewalk. As I passed by, he asked for some spare change. I told him I didn’t have any cash.

This was a lie. I had a $5 bill.

Under normal circumstances, I’d gladly have given him the cash, but something changed. Last month, after some calculation, I realized how much I’ve been giving away. Not that generosity is bad; however, it’s really added up.

At 31 years old, I don’t have much to show for financially, except for some retirement savings and enough savings to survive for a few months should I immediately lose my job. I still even have credit card debt (the cards are now stashed behind the potatoes instead of the wallet, so at least they’re not being used). I need to be stingier and think of my own welfare as well.

At the same time, I still feel badly because it’s likely that guy needed a few bucks more than me.

On Monday, I ended up having a seizure in the middle of the open field by my apartment complex. Apparently, no one noticed as there were no paramedics dumping me into the back of an ambulance. I slowly and awkwardly made my way back to the apartment, having to stop once. Some girl saw me and asked if I was OK.

Guess it was because of this giant cut over my lip. It’s probably awkward to shave near there, so for the time being I’m going to stick with this bad goatee:

Frankly, I’m still tired, some of my muscles still ache, and I can’t wait for the weekend to get here.

What is your favorite color?

If you knew me ten years ago, you could rightfully call me a “Dittohead” (a Rush Limbaugh fan) who swallowed American political conservatism without much thought. (“LOL those poor deluded Democrat suckers, how could anyone be Democrat?”) Government was always bad. Environmentalists were wackos. Etc., etc.

10 years later, I’m turning into one of those wacko greenies, doing stuff like:

• Taking public transportation
• Growing my own food (granted, only 1% of what I eat. It’s something.)
• Using the ceiling fan instead of air conditioning
• Walking to the grocery store
• Using those reusable bags at the grocery store (definitely one of the few)

Al Gore is planning to fly over in his private jet to congratulate me personally for saving the planet.

So I was helping to babysit a couple kids, one of them a three-year-old boy. And I really needed to go number one. Even though he surely would have survived me not watching him the two minutes it takes to urinate, I figured it’s better to have the best of both worlds. Why close the bathroom door when I could keep it open and keep an eye on him at the same time?

So I walked to the toilet, and he predictably follows through the open door. “No big deal, it’s just a kid,” I reiterated mentally, whipping out my manhood to complete the call of nature. What I didn’t expect is the kid’s reaction. His eyes widened, and he started to reach out towards my crotch. By this time, the urine had started to flow, so there wasn’t a convenient way to dodge or cover up. Fortunately, he ended up merely pointing at it (granted, the tip of his finger was only 5mm away from actual contact).

Belatedly, I realized that my penis would look absolutely huge to the underdeveloped version he currently has as a three-year-old. No wonder he was enthralled.

By the time I finished peeing, my penis’ hypnotic grip over the kid was broken. The stench from the urine in the toilet extracted a cry of “Stinky!” from him, so I flushed the toilet and zipped up. Any uncomfortability wafted away like a corpse’s stench whisked off by a refreshing zephyr.

So you go into Chinatown, and there’s simply no avoiding the Engrish. Here’s a few highlights from my last trip:

Dear Chinese readers: what did they actually mean by “anti-damp”?

These were the most puzzling…an Engrish spelling adjacent to the correct spelling.

My skill around girls is roughly what is demonstrated here in this bit from Final Fantasy 8.

Leg cramp…

(By the way: the dialogue that’s in grey text is an outside observer)

Kill me now.*

(* Don’t kill me now. This is a figure of speech, not an actual desire to die.)