Being a Points in Case writer is like belonging to some kind of bizarre family where no one hardly sees each other. In fact, it's more like belonging to a family where certain members have never met each other. Which, I guess, means it's not much different than most extended families. (Wow, this paragraph was a waste of time.)

Fearless Editor Court Sullivan received a call from me at approximately noon on exactly the Thursday before New Year's eve. I requested that he pick me up at the Atlanta airport so we could party. Very few people in their twenties have the kind of jobs where they could respond to such a mid-afternoon, weekday question with the words, “Cool, just let me find some clothes.” Court is one of those people. God bless him.

Stoner Chick and I are still not exactly one hundred percent made up from our little disagreement, but yet she's still willing to fake it for the sake of this blog, and so am I. Which essentially means that though we can't make it work out, we're staying together for you guys. That's kind of sad, huh?

I don't think I'll ever be cremated, but I think where a person would want his ashes scattered says a lot about him, so I've been giving that some thought. The only problem is deciding on the exact strip club. I mean, there are so many good ones.

How fucked up is it that someone can kidnap a child, move an hour south, and keep that child for four years? I mean, that's pretty fucked up. It's not “holy shit, you ate a plate of your own crap” fucked up, but it's close.

I still don't know what a cosine is. And I'm a college graduate. Seems kind of wrong.

American Idol, the show that combined The Gong Show and Star Search, is coming back around to be ignored by me for yet another year. “Idol” proves that Americans have no problem with shitty entertainment, unoriginal themes and beautiful people just so long as people make asses of themselves on television. This is our country, indeed.

And finally, because logic and fluidity need to sober up and help me with my upcoming column (midnight's the deadline), I sadly leave you with the following, which I overheard some guy say about his girlfriend:

“I'm not breaking up with her until I either have my own car or another girlfriend with one.”

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