During several weeks with a broken computer and racing, abnormal thoughts, I was all stressed up and had no place to go. When random, disjointed thoughts build up and a troubled writer has no means of transfer — No, I refuse to write longhand like a nerd from the '90s — it's a powder keg. My computer is now fixed, but before writing anything substantial with an orderly flow, I first must detonate this logjam. So I'll just come out and say it:• I'm guessing that the first chicken (which came just before the first egg), never would have envisioned the extensive future of that large, oval stone she just passed. The original chicken — let's just call her “Henrietta” — probably assumed some idiot might eventually crack it open for a taste…but scrambled, over-easy (or “dippy” as we call them back home), poached, hard/soft boiled, Benedict, Florentine, not to mention egg-drop soup? Henrietta should have filed for a patent.• Speaking of patents, each autumn I pick and toss milkweeds, flourishing on the banks of the canal, to my dogs. They chase them down in the water, suck out the milk and discard the container ... much like we do with eggs. So I says to myself, “I wonder if that gooey milk might be tasty, or at the very least, non-toxic?” I'm sure no one's been intuitive, or smart enough to find out.I sat back against my canal “thinking rock” and daydreamed I'd extracted milk from thousands of weeds, bottled and chilled it — then poured it over my corn flakes for breakfast every morning for a week. Soon people were commenting on how young I suddenly looked and how thick and luxurious my hair was. I got a patent (technically it wasn't I that invented this milk, but my God is not a litigious God), under the name “Doug's Dog's Miracle Milk,” or ”I Can't Believe it's Not Cow Milk.”• Speaking of dreams, it's hard to believe no one has yet designed what would be the greatest of all inventions, the dream recorder. Whoever did — and I'm currently fiddling with a crude prototype — would become a billionaire “overnight.” How much would you pay to have your greatest, most bizarre dreams recorded and then converted to VHS or DVD? It would make science-fiction movies obsolete.My “hook” in the TV commercial would be: “Ever wondered how you looked flying naked with no teeth through the halls of your old high school? Well, now you can see for yourself, with “Doug's Nocturnal Spy.” (A quiet disclaimer would clarify, “Refund if not satisfied? You must be dreaming!”)•At the aforementioned canal last Saturday, I had forgotten to wear appropriate, early-September long sleeves. I quickly found myself muttering (much earlier than usual this year), “Stinking cold wind! Where's the freakin' sun when you need it?” This after declaring every day since late June, “I can't wait till this hot, sweaty summer is over!”An unknown poet (named Alibaster Taliwacker) once said, “As a rule, man's a fool; when it's hot, he wants it cool. And when it's cool he wants it hot; always wanting what is not.” Truer words were never rhymed.•No matter how broke I get — and currently it's a compound fracture — I can't bring myself to purchase the cheapest offering of any product. If one gallon of milk is $3.50, the second is $3.20, and the third $2.85, I'm compelled to take the middle one. In my mind, the first is an overpriced brand name and the last has a bogus expiration date or came from diseased cows.No matter if it's food, bottled water, or theoretically a dream recorder — I can't afford the best, but I sure ain't settling for the worst!•I'll admit I'm no John Kennedy Jr., but surely you'll admit I'm better looking than Sen. Henry Waxman. An uglier politician never there was. Abe Lincoln and C. Everett Coop were no woman's fantasy either, but what did they expect with full beards but no mustache? But the bald Waxman has hair sprouting from his ears and his flared nostrils!• Repent! The end is near!• The end.

During several weeks with a broken computer and racing, abnormal thoughts, I was all stressed up and had no place to go.

When random, disjointed thoughts build up and a troubled writer has no means of transfer — No, I refuse to write longhand like a nerd from the '90s — it's a powder keg.

My computer is now fixed, but before writing anything substantial with an orderly flow, I first must detonate this logjam. So I'll just come out and say it:

• I'm guessing that the first chicken (which came just before the first egg), never would have envisioned the extensive future of that large, oval stone she just passed. The original chicken — let's just call her “Henrietta” — probably assumed some idiot might eventually crack it open for a taste…but scrambled, over-easy (or “dippy” as we call them back home), poached, hard/soft boiled, Benedict, Florentine, not to mention egg-drop soup? Henrietta should have filed for a patent.

• Speaking of patents, each autumn I pick and toss milkweeds, flourishing on the banks of the canal, to my dogs. They chase them down in the water, suck out the milk and discard the container ... much like we do with eggs. So I says to myself, “I wonder if that gooey milk might be tasty, or at the very least, non-toxic?” I'm sure no one's been intuitive, or smart enough to find out.

I sat back against my canal “thinking rock” and daydreamed I'd extracted milk from thousands of weeds, bottled and chilled it — then poured it over my corn flakes for breakfast every morning for a week. Soon people were commenting on how young I suddenly looked and how thick and luxurious my hair was. I got a patent (technically it wasn't I that invented this milk, but my God is not a litigious God), under the name “Doug's Dog's Miracle Milk,” or ”I Can't Believe it's Not Cow Milk.”

• Speaking of dreams, it's hard to believe no one has yet designed what would be the greatest of all inventions, the dream recorder. Whoever did — and I'm currently fiddling with a crude prototype — would become a billionaire “overnight.” How much would you pay to have your greatest, most bizarre dreams recorded and then converted to VHS or DVD? It would make science-fiction movies obsolete.

My “hook” in the TV commercial would be: “Ever wondered how you looked flying naked with no teeth through the halls of your old high school? Well, now you can see for yourself, with “Doug's Nocturnal Spy.” (A quiet disclaimer would clarify, “Refund if not satisfied? You must be dreaming!”)

•At the aforementioned canal last Saturday, I had forgotten to wear appropriate, early-September long sleeves. I quickly found myself muttering (much earlier than usual this year), “Stinking cold wind! Where's the freakin' sun when you need it?”

This after declaring every day since late June, “I can't wait till this hot, sweaty summer is over!”

An unknown poet (named Alibaster Taliwacker) once said, “As a rule, man's a fool; when it's hot, he wants it cool. And when it's cool he wants it hot; always wanting what is not.” Truer words were never rhymed.

•No matter how broke I get — and currently it's a compound fracture — I can't bring myself to purchase the cheapest offering of any product. If one gallon of milk is $3.50, the second is $3.20, and the third $2.85, I'm compelled to take the middle one. In my mind, the first is an overpriced brand name and the last has a bogus expiration date or came from diseased cows.

No matter if it's food, bottled water, or theoretically a dream recorder — I can't afford the best, but I sure ain't settling for the worst!

•I'll admit I'm no John Kennedy Jr., but surely you'll admit I'm better looking than Sen. Henry Waxman. An uglier politician never there was. Abe Lincoln and C. Everett Coop were no woman's fantasy either, but what did they expect with full beards but no mustache? But the bald Waxman has hair sprouting from his ears and his flared nostrils!

• Repent! The end is near!

• The end.