I try to stay focused when I am performing, but there are moments when my mind begins to drift, and I think some of the most disparate thoughts; troubling questions of a disturbed mind. I don't apologize for these thoughts -- they are intrusive, and perhaps, it is my thoughts who should apologize to me. I decided to share some of these thoughts and questions with you, my readers. I ask of you only one thing: do Not send me more medication!

Why do men get the urge to pick their noses when peeing? If you look on the wall in front of every urinal, there are booger remnants on the wall. Why? Boredom? Competition? Inferiority?

Out of all of my performances, how many audience members have murdered or will murder someone? Have I performed in front of any future serial killers? Have any of them spoken to me after my show?

Why are we so afraid of each other?

Which audience member has the worst breath?

Will anything I say ever make a real difference?

How many people dislike me more after seeing my show?

Why does the word: Slinky: make me smile?

Why did it make you smile?

Will I die before my daughter is 18?

"I can't stand that gym teacher, playing with his nails, and whose head has been down the entire show. I should say something that will get him upset. Maybe he will want to fight me after the show, and I'll just laugh because I finally got to him."

I should be doing so much more!

If they only knew the real me; if she only knew the real me; I don't know the real me, at times.

How do I tell my mom about a marriage that will not last?

What is wrong with me?

The first thought I have in my head when I see a pregnant woman is: She had sex. (Although, thanks to modern technology, this is not always true.) Still, I think: She had sex.

Have I ever met an angel?

God keeps using me in spite of myself, and God is constantly putting roadblocks in my way when I want to do wrong. (And that, my friends, is sometimes very frustrating.)

I hope the afterlife is FUN and not just one very long church service, as it is presented by many Christian churches across America.

Will I ever learn Spanish?

Who will be at my funeral?

How many people are thinking about me right now?

I still love Fridays.

It would be fun and funny to perform for a nudist colony.

Oops! I almost said something really bad. Whew!

Oops! I said something really bad. Well, I'll never be invited back to this school.

"This woman hates me! I wonder if I can make her hate me more?"

Oh shocking! Another Christian who believes they're standing up for their beliefs by criticizing my football character. Ho hum! See all the stupid people . . .

Why is everyone staring at me? Oh, yeah, I'm performing.

I feel so shy right now.

Well, there you have it. Some of the thoughts that intrude my thinking before, after, or while performing.