Whachamacallit?

For those of you who care, I, Ray Lai, finally managed to secure myself one o' them job thingy-ma-jigs. As of this week, I am now an official member of the Los Angeles asian/nerd hipness known as the Giant Robot store employees. Please come in and say Hi on Saturdays, because that's where I will be, not hanging out with you guys, who I would like to spend my saturdays with.

March 31st, what a day to be alive!!

Great moments in March 31st history:
5. Ray Lai begins the fourth day of his pointless existence.
4. Somehow, somewhere, Attis is resurrected.
3. Fool's everywhere hold their breath, dreading the immense embarrassment the next dawn shall undoubtedly bring, even if it's only because they acknowledge themselves as fools.
2. The knuckle method of 31-day-month counting is given its third, and most important to date, piece of supporting evidence.
1. Ray Lai's life is given a point, as the world is blessed and made that much better by the birth of the most beautiful, witty, even-tempered, chubby-cheeked, Ricky Gervais lovin', Paul Bearer impersonating, non-talent sharing, front-door touching, car-door locking, teeth grindin', adorable snore emitting, fabulous rack possessing, paranoid android.

As you can see, this day is truly one for the history books. Happy Birthday Chubbs, you Rock harder than Chris.

PS. To get a better understanding of how this girl makes me feel, please listen to "Man in Me" by Bob Dylan off the album New Morning. Go, go buy it now. I can wait.

Percy Pringle the Third

Just a quick note:
Looking for a sure fire way into a man's heart?
Simple.
Perform a spot on impersonation of one very creepy Paul Bearer, the manager of WWF superstar The Undertaker, when he least expects it.
Works like a Kleenex box. Inexplicably.

"So I was crying the other day..."

In an effort to remain informative, I just returned from Las Vegas with the P.A. Mase (Paranoid Android, for those of you not hip to my vast collection of pseudonymns for the coolest encounter of the third kind), and it was just about the most perfect trip to Vegas one such as myself could possibly have. We encountered no traffic, outbound or in. I got to spend lots of time curled up in bed with the only woman in the world I care to do so with. I won money. We saw an absolutely mind-blowing show. And I got drunk. All within a 24 hour period. I fail to see how it could possibly have been any better than that. Honestly.

On a side note, in an effort to seem more deep, or deeper or whatever, and more emotional, I have been growing my hair out so that it succeeds in concealing my already-well-concealed-eyes. Because, for some reason, society, or at least some minute elitist portion of it, has deemed that the less emotion people can actually see you undergo, the more you must be enduring. It really does make perfect sense.

And I have also decided to begin telling people that I cry more often. Note that I won't actually be crying any more often, or at all for that matter, just informing people that I have been doing so. You might call this...lying, or acting, or whatever. That's your business.

I'll also be utilizing the word plight in conjunction with some quasi-deep, abstract sounding concept, so as to demonstrate that I think about...you know...stuff...a lot. So much so that it makes me cry. So now, most of my conversations shall begin accordingly: "So I was crying the other day...at the plight of.... the world." "So I was crying the other day...at the plight of....existence." "So I was crying the other day...at the plight of....infinity. Man, he's got a hard job"

This way people won't think I'm...you know...dumb. And chicks will totally be into my shit.