Wednesday, June 20, 2012


      Lately, the insidious bastard called "writer's block" has seized me. Though, I'm not completely bereft of ideas, I just come to a stand still on their execution. So, rather than do what comes natural, like, punch myself in the testicles and screaming, "WRITE, DAMMIT!", I'll try something different. I'll write my way out of it.

It's better than attic banishment. better than attic banishment.

      This isn't easy for me in the least, writer's block has put me off of writing for years on end before. I believe it's the confidence shattering lack of production that kills me. Oh, and the nonexistent pay, benefits and noteriety. When coupled with my lack of ambition and small penis, I am sad mediocrity incarnate.

So, how do I start? Maybe a story...

      Years ago, before the time of Lancelot Link Secret Chimp, Al Pacino movies (like this one -->N01-097808 Heat - Al Pacino - Two Disc Special Edition) worth watching and "Rush" there lived a puppet maker who dreamed of having a son. One day he decided that--wait. Am I re-writing Pinnochio? Is that what I'm doing here? Let me re-think...uh, puppet, puppet makes a wish--fucking cricket. Goddammit!

What can I say? I'm a dick.

      Great, I plagiarize classic children's stories when trying to beat writer's block. Nice. What a remarkable thing to learn about yourself. It's like discovering a split personality that secretly records squirrels fucking.

      I recently watched a video of John Cleese giving a speech about making a time, space do...something. I don't know what he said exactly, I was kind of angry at my shoes at the time. Regardless, I got the gist of the message, which was to make time for yourself to think. Time I don't have, unfortunately, so, I'm going to go the full on other way and ramble, like a drunken, senile old man, talking his way out of a medication increase and pants wearing.

I'm hip!

      I blame all of this on drugs. Not prescription drugs of course. The kind you get from someone's remarkably well maintained basement. Well, okay, prescription drugs too. Man, if I had known then...I'd...probably still have done drugs. Who am I kidding? I have no will power. I'd probably end up doing an ass load more just to show up my younger self. That's what kind of dickhead I am. 

      Though, the idea of traveling back in time intrigues me. What would I tell my younger self? Would I lie and tell him that I'm a world leader that single-handedly legalized marijuana and Monty Python required viewing for an English Literature doctorate? Maybe, I could tell him that regardless of what people tell you, you really did learn everything you need to know in kindergarten. Would it be beneficial to share information that would end in monetary gain? Maybe, yammer on about how a site called "Facebook" is, how it sucks the life out of millions of people everyday and that I should save some money and buy some stock in it when it goes public. I think the life wasting aspect would have appealed to me back then. I was kind of a dark side teen. I blame that on HBO. Oh, I could tell myself about Google and Microsoft and want not too! I'd be a mega-millionaire by the time most people have given up on any real semblance of a happy future. Man, I could acquire my own estate (here in to for referred too as "The Compound Ala Elton"). Things would just get sweeter from then on. 

This came up when I searched for "The Compound". 
Who am I to argue. 
Thank you Google Images, yet another win.

      Compound Ala Elton would be stocked with first rate...everything. From food to mixed wildlife blood sport death fights, everything would be top notch at Ala Elton. I'd invite movie stars and world leaders to my Compound, only to turn them away at the gate for reasons ranging from "You're appearance demonstrates your astounding lack of brain smarts" to "You reek of failure.". Oh, what a splendid life it would be...for a while, then, I'd just die cold and alone, surrounded by the latest...everything, laying in a pile of money and naked, willing super models fondling my newly lifeless corpse. Screw you humbleness! 

Oh, who am I kidding. I'd probably just go back in time to tell myself to sleep with more women. You're only young once! 

Fuck I hate writer's block. 


  1. If I could go back in time, I'd bring my smart phone and hand it to my five year old self. Then I'd tell him to run to the patent office.

  2. That's the second post I've read today, where the writer wrote about having writer's block , whilst writing a bloody funny post about being a writer with writer's block!

    My writer's block involves NOT sodding writing!

  3. I actually wrote a post about writer's block as well. Strange. Maybe it's initial warning signs of... I can't even think of a witty comment right now.

    Anyway, when I have writer's block. I usually furiously write absolute nonsense until I find something worth writing about or give up. Here's an example: "I took the train into work today, but if I had my way I'd take a jetpack. I wonder how much fuel a jetpack would require. Do I have the funds to buy the necessary amount of gas everyday? What if jetpacks could be fueled with cat carcasses? Where would I find enough cats, though?" And, I got nothing out of that.


Comment. Lest your fear consume you, cry baby.