Been watching George Costanza before his downfall. So sad that one minute a person can be full of whimsy and ebullience, dancing vivaciously through the streets, a flowing mane of hair, imbued with passion and charm…

Makes you wonder where it all went wrong…Was it when the hair went? Maybe when the gut blew? You never know when life might slap you in the face, leaving you sad and pathetically alone, lifelessly staring into the shadowy chasm of your own past…

Not sure what I want from life but starting to figure out what I don’t want. Don’t want to die fat and alone. The most ignominious end of all. Anything outside of that will be fine…

Is there any greater tragedy in the modern world than being fat and alone?

Is there a little bit of George Costanza in all of us?

Are you offended by poorly written and ill-conceived cumulative sentences?

Who’s funnier, Jerry or George?

Shouldn’t I have better things to do than waste my time with this godforsaken blog that nobody with any sense about them spends much time on?