C Monks Gang! What's up, my peeps? It's Gene. I'm guessing I need to establish some hardcore credibility, and quick, so I'll just say quickly that I'm from Houston. That alone should be enough. It's the second fattest and first greatest city in the entire world. We've got awesome things that your city can't compete with, things like George and Barbara Bush, the NRA conference, and delicious meatball subs. I love my city, and I love my meatball sandwiches.

Monks asked me to play blog in his place for a week, so here I am. Like a 6'5" Italian Meat Baron, I'm here to magically deliver some sort of hearty gratification while our hero is out. I freaked out a little on the first day, but now I found my comfort zone, I found my gold spot. I found a place where I can write Utter Wonder entries 60 lines thick, a place laced in dreams. My bathroom.

Being in the bathroom really takes the stress out of this bloggin' deal. It's just type away and potty! I got the mini-fridge kickin' under the sink, and it's done; it's a regular type away, drink away potty. I can drink all the Red Bull I want. This is sweet. I'm never leaving the bathroom. Ever. See? Watch me! I'm blogging on the toilet! I'm never leaving!

I know about this badass meatball sandwich/Red Bull delivery service, too. I've left the front door open, and I think he knows the way back by now. I order all the meatball subs I want. I've got infinite amounts of Red Bull and sugar-free Red Bull and meatball subs, and all of it just a phone call away. I never have to leave this seat. Spears baby news, on the throne. A new Pope while I'm on the potty! The return of C Monks, April 25th!!! Trusty bowl, I'm never leaving you. This is so perfect. Nothing can ruin this.

Crap.

I forgot about work. This blog has me all hyped up, when I know I can't blog in the john there. Work is dumb and the toilet sucks there. The toilets don't even have Wi-Fi at work. It's like I step into some mid-to-late 1990's internet-free-zone, where people have bad haircuts and talk about Newt Gingrich. I hate talking about Newt Gingrich. He's not even good looking, and that haircut... Dammit! This bathroom blog idea is just full of holes.

I need to slow down, maybe just sit on the toilet for a while and think this thing out. Just soak in all the Lysol and sugar-free Red Bull. Breathe a bi... Oop! And I think my meatball sub just walked in the door, so I'll let you guys go for now. I hope the delivery guy remembers where I am. See you tomorrow!