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If You Are Reading This, Then You Are An Ungrateful Bastard.

So if anyone out there is displeased by my lack of updates, blame yourself.

That's right, YOU!

As you can see, I've been screwing around with my HTML. Which, if entering a short-ish entry, will put the entry at the very bottom of the page. Causing you, the reader, to chuckle at my ignorance.

Which leaves me with 3 choices..

1) Short entry and having you to search for entry.

2) Long, dumb entries about bird people.

3) Not update until I have the time, and inclination to write a one-page novel.

You know, I ask who wants to get interviewed and my email box gets swamped.

I write harassing letters to corporations and get the same response.

I ask for help, and I'm left all alone.

Somebody either help me, or deal with the lack of Jon in your life. Just don't blame me when your life turns to shit.

So I have a funny story I'm going to tell, undeserving as you all are , just let it be written that my kind heart knows no bounds.

Last night I was cooking a steak for dinner. Me and my roommate both had one. I asked her if she wanted me to cook hers, she said no, and that she'll have it tomorrow.

I say OK and proceeded to cook mine, making sure it's just mine, and no other. After dinner I go to sleep, and everythings pretty typical and whatnot, until I arise from my slumber, only to bear witness to a note left by my roommate stating something like "Jon, where is my fucking steak? I was going to have that for breakfast. I'm so pissed at you!" Blah, blah....

First off, who the fuck eats steak for breakfast? Sure, steak & eggs. But we didn't jave any eggs. She was going to eat a stake dinner for breakfast. What a fucking weirdo. Second, I didn't touch her filthy steak. I had no idea what she was talking about.

Women. Always looking for an excuse to bitch. Whether it's PSM, or what have you.

Anyways, as I was driving to work I pieced together what had happened.

Sean, my idiot friend, called me that night. Sean works at a studio, and is known as a serious night owl. I remembered telling him I was cooking a steak. I also remember him telling me how hungery he was. I also remember him asking if there were another steak on the premises. I also remembering confessing to Cherl's.

So if you haven't guessed already, here's what Inspetor Jon deduced from said evidence.

Sean came over last night after he left the studio thinking I might still be up. Sean walks right in (as usual) and notices the host have all retired to their respective beds. Sean takes it upon himself to COOK HIMSELF A FUCKING STEAK DINER IN MY HOUSE WHILE I WAS ASLEEP!!!

After his delightful meal, he returned to the foggy night which sprouted him. Leaving only hints, allegations, and dirty dishes.

When I got to work, I called the son of a bitch and he confirmed my assumtion.

Who the fuck walks into somebody's house and cooks themself a steak dinner while the people that live there are sleeping? Am I wrong for getting peeved about this? Should I make a new rule to inform a new friend at their first visit to my abode "Come back anytime, just please don't walk in when we're asleep and cook yourself a steak dinner"? Is that what I need to do? I mean, it's already a pain in the ass to ask a chic that I'm about to have intercourse with sign a legal contract stating that the follow act is consensual and mutual. Now I also have to inform people that they are not welcome to barge into my house at all hours and cook a gourmet meal, because, I guess, they just can't assume that they're not welcome to do that.

Well fuck me in the ass and call me Elton John. Tis' scary times we're living in people.


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