So it's legal to make pornography, it's legal to sell pornography, and it's legal to buy pornography. But prostitution is illegal.

In other words, it's legal to accept money to preform sex acts on film and it's legal to pay for those sex acts on film as both a producer and a consumer. On the other hand, if it's not being filmed, it's illegal to pay for that as either a producer for consumer.

So why don't prostitutes simply give the sex away for free with purchase of a custom-made porno video starring you? You know, sorta like a mall Santa, only with disease testing.

This kid I work with pulls up today in a brand new fat-assed Chevrolet Corvette. He's maybe seventeen. He asks me how I like his new car. Initially, I think he must be joking.

"You purchased that on your salary from here?" I asked.

He says that his parents bought it for him. "And they don't want me to work," he explains.

"Well," I asked, "Why do you? I mean, dude, if I had that car, I would not be spending my Friday and Saturday nights here wearing a pink apron -- I'd be crusin' in that thing and pickin' up chicks."

He looks at me, huge diamonds dangling from several places in his ears and says, "You know, it's not always about the money, sometimes it's about the social interaction."

I walked away laughing.

Judging from the load of comments the last time I wrote about the situation, I can tell you are all clamouring for more Evanescence news.

The latest is that all the US tour dates, which were supposed to happen later this month and in December, have been 'postponed' but they are issuing refunds which sounds suspiciously like 'cancelled' to me.

Plus, Amy opens up a little in a Kerrang cover story on Ben's vanishing called "Malice in Wonderland," which paints her as the cold, calculating leader of "the Amy Show." She says she's happy that Ben is gone.

Ironically, at this time the video for "My Immortal" is starting to play on MTV and such, and its plotline is eerily similar to what is going on in real life with the band.

Today at work, someone called me. As usual, I answered the phone with "Thank you for calling Blockbuster 96th Street, home of the BIG DVD trade in! This is Ray. How may I help you?"

At first, I was confused; I couldn't hear what the guy on the end of the line said, but it echoed as if he were using a speakerphone in an auditorium. Then his voice got a little clearer and he said in a thick Austrian accent, "I'm going to ask you a bunch of questions, and I want to have them answered immediately."

"Ooh!" I said excitedly as I realized what was going on: I was being prank called by someone using an Arnold soundboard.

As you may know, I like to mimic Arnold soundboard clips in regular conversation, so, naturally, I took this oportunity to show off my mad Arnold soundboard mimicry. "Who is your daddy," I said matching the inflection and accent of the clip, "And what does he do?"

The prank caller had Arnold say, "Who are you?"

I fired back: "I'm a cop you idiot! I'm Detective John Kimble!"

"I'm Detective John Kimble!" the soundboard replied. By this point, my manager was giving me a funny look and I decided I should just hang up the phone.

What should I write about today? I guess I could bitch about movies, but I don't want to turn into a cliche. Well, any more of a cliche than I already am, at least.

I could write about this dream I had last night, but I don't really remember it. I think it featured my high school English teacher, but I can't be certain.

I could write about the lunch I had with this guy about taking over his job of web-designer, and about how I am an idiot and forgot to take my wallet. But, you know, right there I've already covered the major points; any more would be over kill.

I guess I could post an informative and quirky web link, but really would that inspire people to write in my commments section?

Sigh. I guess I could write about how I have to change clothes and go into work in a few minutes, but that would really be scraping the bottom of the minutae barrel.

I guess I have no choice but to admit that I'm creatively bankrupt. Stick a fork in me. I'm done.