Has anyone else noticed that the Olson twins are aging at a faster rate than humanly possible? When I was ten, they were maybe two or three years old. Now that I’m nineteen, they’re somehow already fifteen. At this pace, they’re going to be older than I am when I’m thirty. Also, there’ll probably be three or four of them by then.

Another weird thing that I noticed today is that, when I’m driving alone, I tend to call all the other drivers on the street “buddy.” I’ll be like, “let’s go, buddy, go ahead and switch lanes,” or, “way to go, buddy, you just ran that red light and totaled my car! Well, you’re my buddy, I forgive you.” But these people aren’t my real buddies, because my real buddies wouldn’t need to be reminded that they’re the first person at a four-way stop sign, or that it’s a green light and they need to start moving. These people are really just jackasses.

In conclusion, the Olson twins are mutant children who age faster than anybody else, and I call everybody else on the road my buddy.

The most shameful thing about me is that sometimes I like to watch a show on the Disney Channel called Bug Juice. It’s the true story of a bunch of kids who go to summer camp and have to deal with such issues as having to wake up when they don’t want to and having to go hiking when they don’t want to. Ultimately, they learn the true meaning of what summer camp is all about, which is that summer camp is very special.

Watching Bug Juice always reminds me of how I never went to a real summer camp when I was a child. This always makes me very sad. I mean, suppose I somehow get transported back to medieval times: I will be completely lacking in the archery skills taught at summer camp. If somebody challenges me to an archery contest in the Middle Ages, I’m as good as fucked. Or what if I get stuck in a tree one day, and the only way down is by walking across a bunch of carefully laid out ropes? I have no rope course experiences whatsoever, which consequently also means that I’ve never learned that I can conquer any challenge that stands in my way. But the worst part about having never been to summer camp is that I’ve never discovered the true value of team spirit, which is the greatest lesson of all.

Anyway, I’ve got to go back to Michigan State next Saturday for about my second or third year of college—I don’t know the exact year, but it’s some shit like that. I know that I’ve already been to college once, so it can’t be my freshman year, and I don’t think I’m old enough to be a senior. Either way, I’m looking forward to school this year, as it will give me an opportunity to skip classes and avoid studying for tests. I miss not going to classes and not studying.

It used to be that when somebody wanted to make a children’s show, all they had to do was take a disheveled old man off the street and force him to mingle with a few retarded puppets for a half an hour. Mr. Rogers, Mr. Dress-up, Mr. Wizard—all of these shows were about senile men who hung out with puppets in their living rooms, except for Mr. Wizard, which was about a senile man who made rockets out of baking soda and milk cartons. But you could definitely tell that Mr. Wizard wanted a puppet.

I imagine that these shows were first created with loftier goals, but then the producers were always just like, “Well, we ran out of money, so instead of that awesome cartoon we were going to make, all we can afford is an old man and a few socks.” And kids bought that shit up. We were all, “An old man and some puppets? Well, fuck, I’m only four years old, I don’t care what the hell I watch.” We were so lame.

On another topic, I think every movie should be like The Princess Bride in that they should all be interrupted every fifteen minutes by Fred Savage telling his grandfather what he thinks of the story. Imagine how much greater Jurassic Park 3 would have been if, right when a dinosaur was about to eat somebody, the scene suddenly switched to Fred Savage sitting on his bed and saying, “But the dinosaur won’t eat them, grandpa, I just know it!” Then his grandfather would say, “Do you want me to continue telling the story or not? Now, as I was saying, the tyrannosaurus was chasing after them, when all of a sudden …” And then it would switch back to the action. This would make any movie way more interesting—in fact, I now find it difficult to watch a movie that isn’t being told to Fred Savage by an old man. And that’s a hell of a lot of movies.