Hi everybody, my name is Andrew Ryan. Lately, I have been pondering the inevitable and gradually coming to the realization that my incompetency in regards to decision making is ultimately deteriorating my life. Allow me to justify my stance by telling an anecdote pertaining to my unfortunate life. 

This morning, I awoke from my slumber at around seven hour hands past twelve. I sloshed around in the sea of blankets and pillows and sprung up like a male appendage at a transexual strip club. I walked over towards an adjacent mirror, combing my hair and removing hardened mucus. Obviously, such actions are rudimentary at best but exerting some type of effort is enough to be deemed as being fresh. I yawned, scratched my asshole, and waltzed down the flight of stairs, eagerly contemplating the delicious breakfast feast that awaits for my presence. 

I poured myself an accurate quantity of two cups of Cinnamon Toast Crunch into a glistering white bowl; no milk IN THE BOWL as I detest the feeling of soggy cereal lurking in my mouth but rather milk on the side. I directed the spoon of cereal into my mouth followed by a delightful gulp of 2% organic milk as I peered out the window, seeing everyone and everything in clear view. Each bite satisfied my ailing stomach but alas, each bite drained time as time was surely ticking away. Tick tock, tick tock, the second hand grew louder and louder, pressuring me into a cursory breakfast rather than an enjoyable one. Time refuses to be patient. Such a pity. 

I stumbled out of my house and with slight pep in my step, I made way to a nearby vicinity of transportation to await the local carriage to bring me to my intended destination. Surely, I do not approve of the transportation unit as it is normally littered with incoherent boors who do not have the decency to listen to simple instructions. I waited five ... ten ... fifteen ... twenty minutes for its arrival but it never came. Luckily, I spotted my fellow cohorts slipping Victoria Secret magazines into the myriad of mailboxes that aligned the street.

Hark! I vociferated and one of my cohorts sitting in the driver's seat beckoned me over to his mode of transportation. We exchanged pleasantries and I implored my fellow comrade for an escort to some undisclosed location. He concurred but, to my dismay, forced ME to choose the position in his mode of transportation to which I can sit down on. Two cohorts in the front, two cohorts in the back. 

Surely, you assume that I jest since such a situation is trivial at best! Nay, says I, as this conundrum demands for me to decide whether to place myself in the front or the back. Dorsal or ventral? Such a displeasing situation as I could have kicked it in the front seat or simply sat in the back seat! 

Please help me. 

~Andrew Ryan, your favorite blogger.