Sometimes writing these blog entries feels a lot like long, disappointing sex. At the beginning everything is great. I’m satisfied, my partner is satisfied (I suppose in this analogy you, the reader, are getting fucked by me), and all that’s needed is like a 15 minute break before I’m ready to go again. Over time I’m getting weaker and weaker, I’m running out of moves so I start improvising weird sex positions but I can match the initial high until finally I get out of bed to make myself a sandwich and simply never come back or call you, which is just a really round about way of saying “I suck so I’m taking a permanent sabbatical”.
I have two forces playing against me. The first one is where I am: the office. At the time this sentence is being written, it is now 10:00 AM. I’ve been at work for an hour and a half I haven’t spoken to a single, goddamn person. Which is fine! I’m totally cool with that. Intense boredom brings out my creative side. When I worked in a bakery (aka, handling your food) I would make little puppets and monster characters out of stuff I found in the garbage.
The second force is my creative process. You know how I write one of these things? I sit on my ass, stare at the florescent light right above my head, and pull from thin air a handful of words that would make a funny title. Then I work backwards, centering everything around that. Imagine a car company doing that. Imagine them engineering a car but starting with names like Avenger, Firebird, or Hummer.
This was going to be today's entry. Check out what brilliant literature I gave up on this morning:
Back in My Day
Kids today don’t know squat! I see ‘em running around and doing that little [gestures phone texting] “beep boop” thing on their phones. I have one phone and it’s on my kitchen wall consarnet! And I use it only to call family, the police and the gas company! They don’t even look like phones. They look like something outa one of them Action Comics ya get at the corner market. My son the investment banker used to get ‘em all the time for a nickel. That was back when we lived in Providence. It was so lovely back then. That was after the war, ya understand.
But these kids today! No respect! With their sneakers and their electric do-hickies and their juice boxes. Why, when I was their age and wanted juice, ya’d go down to the 5th street market up to one of the I-talian stands and get a piece of fruit. Then ya’d squeeeeze it straight into yer mouth. That’s where juice comes from! Right there, from God’s green orange.
My first wife Eleanor, God rest her soul, loved kids [gets teary-eyed and stares off into the distance]
Something changed in this country! I’ll be walking down the street and see this little…Halloween girl who looks like something out of one of them horror pictures. But the thing is, half the time it ain’t even a girl! It’s a boy! If I were that boy’s father I’d smack the queer right out of him! The queers in this country have ruined it! In my day no one was queer. No one! Well, there were some but the only ones they screwed were each other and the kids who got tempted with smokes and a bottle of wine. But at least none of ‘em looked like…[sputters and flails arms]! I tell you, the Dem-y-crats made it OK for queers and rapists and murderers and niggers to be here, and last I checked them things were bad.
And they’re all on the drugs! I seen reports on the news and they say every kid is on drugs! Murdering and dealing and stealing so they can get a goooood long toke of reefer. When we smoked reefer it was only when we was done working or when we needed to get through the day. My daddy was a rum-runner and he told me stories about how he and his partner Freddy’d smoke and then go on runs with the coppers chasing them. That’s when ya really need it!
{insert-hypocrisy on sex in media versus flappers}
{insert-rant on blacks and barack obama}
{insert-catharsis}
Look at all that stupid nonsense that was going nowhere. I barfed on my keyboard and that’s what came out.
What I really need is a mental sandwich. I need to go out and do something new. Something exciting. I need to break into Six Flags and ride roller coasters backwards at the same time a Belgium squatter is giving me a home made Depeche Mode tattoo that says “Ultra” while I’m eating a burrito. I need to pick a fight with someone in the military. I need to brush my teeth. Something!
I’ve written some weird, unfunny shit in my day (and today), but at least I’m not as uncreative and worthless as this guy: http://perezhilton.com/
Chicks love “witty” fags because they embody their inner stupid bitch SAID IT! I FUCKING SAID IT!
I have two forces playing against me. The first one is where I am: the office. At the time this sentence is being written, it is now 10:00 AM. I’ve been at work for an hour and a half I haven’t spoken to a single, goddamn person. Which is fine! I’m totally cool with that. Intense boredom brings out my creative side. When I worked in a bakery (aka, handling your food) I would make little puppets and monster characters out of stuff I found in the garbage.
The second force is my creative process. You know how I write one of these things? I sit on my ass, stare at the florescent light right above my head, and pull from thin air a handful of words that would make a funny title. Then I work backwards, centering everything around that. Imagine a car company doing that. Imagine them engineering a car but starting with names like Avenger, Firebird, or Hummer.
This was going to be today's entry. Check out what brilliant literature I gave up on this morning:
Back in My Day
Kids today don’t know squat! I see ‘em running around and doing that little [gestures phone texting] “beep boop” thing on their phones. I have one phone and it’s on my kitchen wall consarnet! And I use it only to call family, the police and the gas company! They don’t even look like phones. They look like something outa one of them Action Comics ya get at the corner market. My son the investment banker used to get ‘em all the time for a nickel. That was back when we lived in Providence. It was so lovely back then. That was after the war, ya understand.
But these kids today! No respect! With their sneakers and their electric do-hickies and their juice boxes. Why, when I was their age and wanted juice, ya’d go down to the 5th street market up to one of the I-talian stands and get a piece of fruit. Then ya’d squeeeeze it straight into yer mouth. That’s where juice comes from! Right there, from God’s green orange.
My first wife Eleanor, God rest her soul, loved kids [gets teary-eyed and stares off into the distance]
Something changed in this country! I’ll be walking down the street and see this little…Halloween girl who looks like something out of one of them horror pictures. But the thing is, half the time it ain’t even a girl! It’s a boy! If I were that boy’s father I’d smack the queer right out of him! The queers in this country have ruined it! In my day no one was queer. No one! Well, there were some but the only ones they screwed were each other and the kids who got tempted with smokes and a bottle of wine. But at least none of ‘em looked like…[sputters and flails arms]! I tell you, the Dem-y-crats made it OK for queers and rapists and murderers and niggers to be here, and last I checked them things were bad.
And they’re all on the drugs! I seen reports on the news and they say every kid is on drugs! Murdering and dealing and stealing so they can get a goooood long toke of reefer. When we smoked reefer it was only when we was done working or when we needed to get through the day. My daddy was a rum-runner and he told me stories about how he and his partner Freddy’d smoke and then go on runs with the coppers chasing them. That’s when ya really need it!
{insert-hypocrisy on sex in media versus flappers}
{insert-rant on blacks and barack obama}
{insert-catharsis}
Look at all that stupid nonsense that was going nowhere. I barfed on my keyboard and that’s what came out.
What I really need is a mental sandwich. I need to go out and do something new. Something exciting. I need to break into Six Flags and ride roller coasters backwards at the same time a Belgium squatter is giving me a home made Depeche Mode tattoo that says “Ultra” while I’m eating a burrito. I need to pick a fight with someone in the military. I need to brush my teeth. Something!
I’ve written some weird, unfunny shit in my day (and today), but at least I’m not as uncreative and worthless as this guy: http://perezhilton.com/
Chicks love “witty” fags because they embody their inner stupid bitch SAID IT! I FUCKING SAID IT!
1 comment:
Hey! I love Perez! I wake up with him at 8 30 and get dirty! every morning. He's definitely a bitch and lays the gossip on thick. If I had that inside of me I would know.
Post a Comment