http://www.razerzone.com/getimba-share -n-win/uc4hs17

A friend of mine made this for a class. I play Robert "Bobby" Diego. If you like this video, pass it on to your friends.

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Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock.

Jesus Christ, it's only 6:12; I'm going to lose my mind. I'm going to sit here in this room in this chair and I'm going to go out of my mind. This sucks.

Okay, okay, okay, just think about something else, that'll help. Umm, let's see, what can I think about?.... Oh, I know, I'll think about that episode of Larimore's Pond that I watched last night, that'll keep me occupied for a while. Man, that episode was really good, I mean, who would have thought that Danielle was really Jason's sister, that's crazy. But, really, at the same time, that's creepy because I'm pretty sure that they had sex at the end of that one episode. I mean, I think that they had sex because all the lights in the house went out and they were all like, holding hands and shit when they went in the front door. Can't really judge that, though, I mean, maybe they went inside and played video games and only turned off the lights because the of the glare that the one lamp in Jason's living room puts out. Yeah, that sounds about right, I guess. Wait... what about the next episode where the two of them woke up next to each other naked and they like, made out and stuff? Oh man, I guess they really did have sex....that must be really awkward for the two of them. If I had sex with my sister, I think that I'd have to like, move away or something; just get away from her, at least.

Okay, this is getting kind of creepy with all of the incest and whatnot, I think I should.... think about something else. Man, thinking about stuff is hard to do. I guess the news was right, Americans do watch too much TV and we are getting dumber. Actually, that's probably right considering the fact that I just had an entire mental conversation about an episode of a TV show that I just watched last night. It's even sadder because that was the first thing that came into my head instead of like, the meaning of life or something. Wait, that's it! I'll sit here and think about what the meaning of life is and maybe I'll have a breakthrough and write a book or something.

Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock. 6:14.

So.... the meaning of life..... What is the meaning of life? I remember that one time that I asked Mr. Johnson from school about the meaning of life and he just told me that I had to figure it out for myself. Mr. Johnson was an asshole, you know? That guy was the most useless guidance counselor ever; he never guided me towards anything but the door out of his office. I remember what he told me when I asked him that question, too. He just told me that everyone had to find their own meaning of life and that the meaning would just come to me one day. That prick probably had the answer on a sheet of paper in his desk or something and he just gave me that bullshit answer to get me to leave his office. You know what, I'm glad that I burned his car up after that one football game, that guy was useless as Hell.

Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock. 6:15.

Anyways, what was I thinking about?... Oh yeah, the meaning of life and all that bullshit. Well, the answer definitely isn't "find out for yourself" or whatever that idiot told me, that's for sure. Let's think for a minute, what could the meaning of life be? I remember that magazine that I read in the grocery store that one time when I was shopping for caviar and Ritz crackers that told me that the meaning of life was discovered by Boy George and he shared it exclusively with the magazine.

Wait, why was I buying caviar and Ritz crackers? Hmm.... oh yeah, they were for Denise's party that she threw for Marty from the office, that's right. Man, that party was awesome; especially the part where Marty got drunk and thought that he could fly like Icarus, that was awesome. I mean, it was really sad when Marty fell out of the window and died, but I feel like that night was pretty good overall. Wait, stop, don't get sidetracked by the awesome party where Marty died, you have better things to do.

Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock.

Now, what did he say the meaning of life was? Was it cheese? No, it wasn't cheese. Cheese was the answer to Final Jeopardy last night, stupid. If it wasn't cheese, what was it? Wait, did he say that the meaning of life was lawnmowers? I think that's what he said it was, yeah.

Lawnmowers? What the fuck do lawnmowers have to do with the meaning of life? Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, I get it. That one time when I was riding the lawnmower in the back yard and I was mowing grass, like I usually do when I ride lawnmowers, and I was riding towards that piece of paper; I remember. I was riding towards the piece of paper and I was all like, "I should get off and get that piece of paper but I'm too lazy to get off of the lawnmower." So instead of getting off of the mower and getting it, I just ran it over and shredded it into a million pieces that immediately went all over the yard. And then I was all like, "Oh shit, I'll just run those over and keep shredding them until they're all gone." And then I did that and it took me like 3 hours to mow the lawn, that's right.

So, the lawnmower represents me and the lawn represents the course that I must take to complete my life. And the paper represents the challenges that I must face in life and I can either get off the mower and handle my problems head on or I can run the paper over and avoid my problems until they get shredded up until they become several problems that make my life really difficult. Man, that shit was deep, I'm surprised. I really hope that what I just said wasn't what Boy George said because that shit should really go in like, a magazine or on a bumper sticker or something. I know, I'll put that up at my MySpace headline and maybe it'll catch on. Wait, that'll never work, no one checks my page any more since I put up that one techno song that everyone hates. Oh well, it's their loss, the stupid, non-techno-liking ingrates. If they can't appreciate good club music, then they don't deserve to know the meaning of life.

Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock. 6:16. Jesus...

Man, since when was my ceiling covered in little bumps? I guess that I just never noticed that before, I guess. I mean, it's not like I come home from work and I'll all like, "Hey, what's going on with my ceiling today?" There sure are a lot of those little bumps, though. Maybe I should count the little bumps on the ceiling just to pass the time. No, don't do that, that's what a crazy person does and I am definitely sane, that's for sure.

Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock. 6:18. This is getting ridiculous.

Drip-drop, drip-drop, drip-drop. WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?!

Oh my God, you fucking annoying faucet, stop dripping! Jesus Christ, I can't even hear myself think about deep and meaningful things with this stupid dripping going on. Okay, turning both of the knobs doesn't stop it, what do I do know? Oh, I know, I'll put a sponge underneath of it, that'll work. There we go, dripping is all gone and I can think again. I wonder who invented the sponge. Like, what guy was sitting in his house and thinking, "Man, I wish that this entire bowl of water could be absorbed and stored in one convenient but squishy location." And then he was all like, "I know, I'll invent something that is full of holes to hold all of this water." And all of his friends called him a dumbass for inventing something that was full of holes with the express purpose of holding water. But those guys got showed up, didn't they? That guy invented the sponge and got all rich and shit, that's awesome.

And his friends were all probably like, "Hey bro, we're sorry for making fun of your sponge, can we come over and bounce on your trampoline?" I mean, if I invented the sponge and got rich, I'd probably get a trampoline and go to town on that thing. But the sponge guy, he doesn't forget about the people who mocked him and he's all like, "No assholes, you can't bounce on my trampoline," and then he presses a button and armed guards come out and shoot his friends. Man, the sponge guy is really ruthless and scary for a guy who just invented a squishy water thing.

Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock. 6:20.

Knock-knock, knock-knock, knock-knock. IT'S FINALLY HERE!

Oh yes, my endless minutes of waiting have paid off and my pizza is finally here! Okay, got my money and I've got enough to pay for the pizza and to tip the delivery guy. I just hope that he isn't a weirdo because I can't stand weird people, they drive me crazy.

A lot of people have heard me talk about the short story that I've been writing for quite a long time. I have often found myself wondering if I would ever finish this story and to be honest, the outlook is kind of grim at this moment. But, what I do have for all of you is the ending. The very end of the story has been stuck in my brain for quite some time and I feel like typing it out for all of you might let you get a grasp of what I'm going for with this story and what I hope to accomplish by writing it. So here it is, the ending to the biggest project that I've ever entered into.

(Mind you, I'll probably re-write this ending about 10000000 times before I'm done, so nothing is set in stone.)

As I climbed up onto the short ledge that ran around the edge of the roof, I decided to jump off with my face pointing upwards. The way I figured it, I wanted my last moments of vision to be of something beautiful and substantial like the sky and not the sprawl of decay, sadness, and broken dreams that stretched out for so many miles around me. To be perfectly honest, I found myself surprised that I wanted to face the sky as I fell, considering that I'd spend countless days of my life agonizing over what I could see in those clouds. Putting one foot up on the ledge, I couldn't help but laugh at the conversation that I was having with myself. I was seriously debating, in my own head, mind you, how I was going to face as I fell off of a building with the intent to end my own life. I suppose that when you consider killing yourself, you never look into small details like what direction you're going to face or what clothes you want to wear.

Hell, maybe some people do think about that kind of stuff and I'm just terrible at doing this sort of thing, who knows. I found myself laughing at the thought of me trying to shoot myself and going, " No, not there, it'll get all over the wall and ruin that fruit painting that Mom loved so much." After giggling for a few moments over my stupid little detail-work, I realized how much more insane I must have looked standing on a windy ledge at the top of a building and laughing like 5 year old. Pretty soon, though, my laughter turned into sobs and I tipped backwards on the ledge and I began my trip downwards.

As I fell, I was instantly happy over my decision to fall with my face pointing upwards because I was sure that the wind whipping into my eyes would have made me cry for sure. Oddly, though, I could sense that I was crying and I knew exactly why as soon as I focused my eyes upwards and into the cloud-ridden sky. Directly above me, in an unmistakable cloud formation, was Valerie's face. After years of looking out of my apartment windows and painting every bit of the sky that I could see, I was finally looking at her face. The girl I knew so many years ago was looking down at me with the same face that she had on the day of her accident. The same kind features gazed down at me and made me feel just as warm and safe as they used to. At the same time that I began feeling this way, I heard her words echo in my ears, "When you look into the clouds, the thing that you desire the most appears to you." I had spent so much time wondering if what she had said was true and know I finally knew, I was finally able to find her in that sea of whiteness.

The wind whipped at my clothes and I began to hear the sounds of the city below me and I knew that the end of my journey was very close. I took a glance downward and my thoughts were confirmed as I saw the cars below me rushing into focus with every passing second. When I turned my head back towards the sky, I once again saw Valerie's face and I was pushed back into tears by the sight that greeted me.

The face that I had been longing to see for such a long time had broken out into a smile, a wonderfully sweet smile. As the ground approached me even faster, I looked right back into her face and smiled as wide as I could.

I've decided to veer away from my usual form of writing a funny story to try my hand at writing something serious. I'm not 100% sure of what the plot will be, but I'll tell you guys that the title is "Cloud Paintings" and that the story will be about the past, regret, loss, and a search for inner peace.

I hope you all enjoy it when I finish.

The night is hot and sticky, like a freshly baked cinnamon bun filled with smog and noise and crime; a lot of crime. And although that particular cinnamon bun may sound pretty nasty, it's exactly the kind of cinnamon bun I've been lookin' for.

I'm Damien King, wandering private eye and detective for hire. I've traveled all over the place fighting crime and righting wrongs no matter where they spring up. Ever hear about that kitten smuggling ring in Cedar City? Probably not, but I totally broke it up. How about the Cherry Pie gang? Sure, it may have looked like they were all 90 year old grandmas who were just baking pies, but I swear they were up to no good and I had to stop them. But those cases were nothing compared to what I was about to go up against here in West Pines.

I'd hear talk around the city about a guy who was goin' around and orderin' ice cream without payin' for it. Now, I'm a pretty peaceful guy most of the time, but hearin' about a guy who was getting delicious ice cream and not payin' for it really churned my butter.

I decided to start my search by skulking around the bad neighborhoods and grilling my usual contacts for information. As I walked by Starbucks%u2122 after Starbucks%u2122, I couldn't help but feel sickened by my surroundings; this area was in terrible shape. Every street corner had two or three hippies standing on it passing out flyers for some peace rally or anti-animal torture candlelight vigil, it was disgusting. There was a unique and terrible mix of smells in the air, ranging from the signature overabundance of choking body spray coming from the Hollister stores to the sickeningly sweet scent of Bath and Body Works stores. As a whole, the neighborhood was enough to melt the skin off even the toughest gumshoe; which was lucky for me since I'm tougher than the toughest gumshoe.

After journeying though the horror of suburban clothing stores and coffee shops, I arrived at the residence of Clarence Yerlinger, my first and most reliable contact. Clarence and I had been friends from the time I rescued his sister from the Cootie Boys back in third grade, something that no other 8-year old but me could have ever done.

I knocked on Clarence's door using our signature secret knock that consisted of several beats from Another One Bites the Dust, our shared favorite song. When he didn't knock the door after I had been beating on it for well over 20 minutes, I began to grow suspicious. Remembering that Clarence kept a spare key in the bushes by his front door, I slowly opened the door and entered my friend's home. Once I was inside, I could tell that something was wrong right off the bat. All of the furniture in Clarence's house was all either on fire or turned completely over, something that I hadn't seen in his home since we were in college together. After turning the house completely upside-down for almost 5 minutes, I decided that I needed to take a break and fix myself some tea like the classy sophisticate that I was. As I opened the kitchen cupboard where Clarence kept his teabags, I saw something terrible. It was Clarence's head; just his head. And out of Clarence's lifeless eyes dripped something that looked like.... ice cream. I got some of it on my finger and tasted it; it was rum raisin, that ice-cream stealing prick had gotten to him.

I'll get you, you bastard.

So, I'm not feeling very creative this year as far as costume ideas are concerned, so I figured I'd go with an old classic. I'll put on a polo shirt, some tan cargo shorts, flip flops, way too much cologne, and I'll go as a douchebag.

So much better than the Grey Knight.

I have an idea for a flash cartoon, a rough idea, mind you, and I'd like to see it animated. I myself have no artistic talent or program with which to draw anything, so I'm in a bit of a predicament. To be honest, I have a bit of apprehensiveness about this since I realize the amount of work a flash cartoon involves and I know how hard it is to make them, so it's hard for me to simply dump this on a person.

But, in the spirit of trying, I'd like to reach out and ask for help with my idea. If you're interested, please reply or PM me and I'll tell you my basic idea.

Thanks.

Everyone has a vision in their head of what they'd like to be. Something.... really cool that they aspire to become or some character that they would like to play.

Personally, my inner characterization is a man wearing a black suit with matching black shoes, but with a red and white floral print shirt underneath the suit jacket. This particular man is a smooth jazz player and lover with a penchant for fruit juice and sunglasses at night.

What's your character, Newgrounds?