The truth about corn flakes by Scott Oglesby

Are you Afraid of Big Brother? How about homeless people? How about fortunate
elevator machines rooms

If so then I’ve got some crazy post modern shit to talk to you about.

Say you are using Microsoft word but you are so tired of it. The same running
around and the never getting anything done. Why because you are stranded and
enchanted. There is no way out except for the green lights they put on top of your
fucking computer. And well, I have red-green color blindness. The thing that I am
trying to get at is right now I am in the basement of the Federal Building and it
reminds me of cheers because it is in a basement. I sometimes, usually, all the
time likie to draw fake maps, but it is not even cool anymore.

Anytime you try to be revolutionary, or do something so radically different from the

norm, people think you are unoriginal, because they only see you flatly, like you are
only one thing and that thing is a revolutionary. You can invente a new style of
music but if you only do that style of talk singing post country, well then everyone
will say hey that man is singular to being experimental, when the experiments are
really of a wider variety than your pap smear top 40.

The only people I care about are the ones who are everyone.

The only skylight in your uselessly large Texan watertower, is an obfuscation of

communication.

And I’m so lonely and depressed that Deepak Chopra would just be like hey man, I
see you have a casiographing calculator. I see you have a Casio graphing
calculator. I mean, hey pal buddy son kiddo I know it is cool, but it 1983 it is 2008
so why don’t you get a ticalculator or something. And I say nothing because I never
talked to Deepak Chopra before.

Why should I conform? Why should I conform t your world of TI 84s?. I fucking
sorry but I thought collegewas a time of freedom and soul searching. And I did all
my soul searching while everyone was smoking pot in high school. And you know
what? I like my fucking casioCFX-9850 Plus. I would never abandon my Casio CFX-
9850 Plus. You know why? Because I am a true pal, I am a true friend and I will
always be there, no matter what they say, no matter what they say.

Because they don’t fucking even know you man. They don’t know all the shit that
you can do. I mean all +the cool junk we did together. All those fucking man tests
like the SATs, which are just really +meaningless to everyone. Yeah buddy. I know I
got a 400 on the math portion of the SATs, but you know you helped me through it.
All that crazshit. Remember when I would graph cosine and tangent functions
together. At the same time! You showed me.
And this story is mostly tongue and cheek. But you know I’m serious. I’m serious
when I say, I will never leave you Casio CFX-9850. I swear to God.

PAGE TWO

I want to be a teacher. But that is only because I am malleable as clay. Whatever I

am doing or experiencing, I immediately think is awesome. I immediately think it is
the coolest thing ever. SO when I am reading I think, I want to be an author. When I
listen to music I think I want to be a musician. When I see a sculpture I think I want
to be a sculptor. When I see a building I think I, just like my dad, want to be a
building. And when I am in school I think I want to be a teacher.

Not just that I want to be an author, musician, sculpture, pedagogue, or a building,

but I feel like I could very easily be a thatthing I just said. So I start visualizing all
the awesome teacher things I will do. Or all the cool music I make. But it’s all fake.
In reality my world is stupid. I am trapped in awesome America where everything is
awesome, where there are root beer floats, and psychological counseling for cheap
prices on a sliding scale. I love America so much because I am an immigrant. But
yeah I want to be someone who people regard as being existing. I have all these
thoughts in my head, and I know them so well. I don’t so much want to share them
with people as I want to just prove to other people that my thoughts exist.

Anyway college is not that hard. I’m concerned. Should it be. I am pretty much
gliding through. And pretty sure the gliding will be hang gliding and I’ll be hung by
my shirked responsibilities. That was a bit of a stretch for some word play.

If I were a teacher I would say, “hey I am going to do an exercise where I make fun
of you for your flaws, to teach you that what other people think is generally
bollocks, especially if they are a loser.”

Sometimes I feel like I can’t trust anyone. At any moment someone might just
come up and stab me, or my girlfriend will chop my cods off and feed it to a dog.
But the truth of the matter is you can trust pretty much everyone.

Let me put it this way

You can’t trust anyone.
That’s not just
You can trust everyone.
This is pretty true.
The answer is, you can trust pretty much everyone you just don’t know which ones
you can’t trust, and those people can be anyone. So who out of everyone is the
anyoneyou can’t trust. It si hard to say.

But generally speaking it is better to take risks.

I hate guitar hero. It is a big complacency machine. You know I feel like I have a
right to say that because I like the band Suicidal Tendencies and they are cool, and I
feel like Mike Muir would also say guitar hero and it’s offshoots such as rock band
are depressing and are killer.
I wish people would learn to play guitar. Like my best friend. He could be in my
hardcore punk band if only he stopped playing guitar hero and started playing
guitar. I vow that I will be famous just to shit all over guitar hero. I would rather
give a song I wrote to a Westboro Baptist church public service announcement than
have it be in guitar hero.

Translate this into Arabic please? Really?

‫?ترجمت هذا داخل العربية رجاء? حقّا‬

I have no way of knowing whether that is remotely right or not.

Anyway my girlfriend would never chop my cods off. Because I don’t have one.
This creates angst. Not eh supermarket either.

These hydrolic fluids from the elevator are really heavy.

Maybe I should see someone about that. And the fruity taste inexplicably in my
mouth.

The end.