Getting Back On The Horse...In A Non-Sexual Way

      Naturally, deep in my heart, I'm a procrastinator. I've probably said that at least ten times...or hundred times, it doesn't matter. I am. Though, this time, it's not entirely my fault or at least I will try and convince you it's not.

I've been working out!

Certainly not my results and certainly not me...

though our breasts are comparable.

      Compelled into giving an actual, healthy disposition on life a chance, I've taken to working out everyday. Anyone who has read this infernal babbling might remember me giving the "Insanity" workout a go. Inevitably, I failed. Ever so quickly, I dismissed my hasty exit from fitland and abrupt retreat into fatdom as a symptom of my defeatist mentality, instilled in me by 90's grunge music and it's angst filled poppy rhythms. 

I was of course lying to myself. "Fat is what fat does.", according to Forrest Gump, if he were a morbidly obese version of himself...eating a turkey drumstick. 

Like this...only Forrest Gump and less classy.

      Fast forward a couple of unproductive months and "Insanity" again, rears it's perfectly sculpted abs. I folded, in the direction of exercising, not fat laziness. So, now, I am one month into it. Which I believe is further than I've ever gotten with exercising regularly...ever. It's proof positive that miracles happen everyday and more often than not, soak towels with sweat and make you swear at the t.v.

I've Been Working!

Who would have thought,

 that the place where dreams go to die,

 would be so well lit?

      As of late, I am employed. I am extremely sad about it. Unfortunately, as jet setting and glamorous as unemployment is, it doesn't pay very well. So, in the spirit of decency, responsibility and good ol' productive citizenship, I got a job. Hold your applause, it's a shitty job. Though, aren't they all? Well, with the exception of "professional money collector/spender" all of them pretty much fucking suck. 

      Though, this one doesn't pay well and has a tendency to suck happiness directly from my soul, with what I imagine is a silly straw, it is also a huge consumer of my time. Albeit, the attention I've given to coming up with a schedule to manage my time properly has been taken up by Netflix and an Xbox, the job doesn't help.

New Ideas!

It's weird that this idea isn't producing any actual light. Strange.

      Much like a car smoking it's tires, my wheels are a'spinnin' and I'm going nowhere with them. I have had tons of ideas lately. I thought up a more entertaining podcast, to go with the OTHER podcast...both of which I'm not doing yet. Plus, I thought I'd try making a graphic novel out of my "Makeshift Theatre Brigade" characters and see how that works out. Still haven't done that yet. Oh, and a novel...about heaven...that I never seem to write. Things are humming in my head, but, instead of producing, it's just a noise. 

      Normally, I would carve out a nice little bit of self loathing, curl up inside of it in a fetal position and wallow like a duck with it's head trapped in a plastic bag...drowning. Fuck that, however. I'm going to give it a shot. All of it. 

How do I know?

Because I'm getting back into this mother mc'fuckin' blog again...and if I can do that, I can do all of that other shit. 

Oh, and I'm going to do more Hubpages. Forgot about those.

Dammit.

The Elton Says Things Almost Advertising Road Show--ish.

      Walking to the podium, my throat was dry and I was starting to sweat. The lights beat down on me with a heat, almost too intense to bear. I was probably exaggerating. I was anxious, nervous and wearing a pair of clown pants...going commando. That didn't help much. Plus, wearing grease paint didn't facilitate the kind of confidence I was assured it would. Why I was wearing a shirt that read, "Stop Being A Prick, Dicks Are For Chicks!", What the hell does that even mean?

      The crowd, silhouetted amid the spot light glare was deathly silent. I placed my pre-written speech cards on the podium, adjusted the mic and took a breath.
"How did I get here?", I wondered as I opened my mouth to speak. Oh yeah, I remember...

Wilt Chamberlain.

That magnificent bastard.

      Having just spent the previous two weeks drunk and broke, I decided to take my newly reborn zeal for writing on the road. It was a new year and time for new lease on career building. If I was to make any money blogging, people had to know I had a blog. I decided the best way to get the word out was old school advertising. It seemed the cheapest and most cost effective. Before I could start,...I had to eat. 

      "You've got a what?", said Gordon, an old guy I had just met, sitting to my left at the diner's counter. I explained what a blog was...again...and continued eating my bacon, double cheese burger with a side order of arterial plaque. "...and you're taking a trip...to advertise it?". I nodded in affirmation. "Can't you just do that ON the internets?", he said with obvious lack of technological lingo.

So? Who farted?

      "I could, but, it would just get lost among all the other people advertising blogs and bullshit...and porn." 

"There's porno on the internets?!", my ancient diner acquaintance exclaimed in disbelief, "Where do I sign up?" he chuckled. I replied, mouth full of burger, with scoffing laugh, mocking him. He didn't get it.

      "Did you know about these porno-nets, Earl?", Gordon said to Earl, his equally old counterpart who, until now, had been engrossed in a news paper. Without looking away from his paper he said,  "No I didn't." flipping to the next page. Apparently, Earl is a man of few words and a complete disinterest in sweet, sweet porno.

      "How do you plan on advertising yer...bloggin-whatsit?" he asked. "I'm not sure really. I just know that I want to do it in the real world and not online. I want it to be memorable, then, it might go viral...on the internet.". 

Like herpes...or a Family Guy quote.

      Gordon, brow furrowed in confusion tipped back his trucker cap and scratched his head. "You want to advertise something that's on the internets--in the real world, so that people will see it, make it viral by putting it back up on the internets.", he recounted. "Yes.", I confirmed. "That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard of.", Earl chimed in. 

      I gave Earl a sideways glare, which he didn't see. Gordon ruminated for a moment and said, "So,...you need a gimmick." he concluded. "Basically. Yes." I established, "Something everyone will remember.". 

I took another bite of my burger, as we contemplated various gimmicks. "You could strap a dildo to your forehead and call yourself Captain Dickman, King of Cockland and dance around at intersections, flopping around your forehead penis...and maybe do some singing.", Earl interjected...to the bewilderment of Gordon, Me and the waitress who was bringing Gordon a slice of key lime pie. 

      He looked up at the waitress and asked, "You'd remember that wouldn't yuh?", to which she replied with awkward silence and quietly walking away and eyeing him over her shoulder. He went back to reading his newspaper and muttering, "I'd remember the shit out of that.".

      "Hey are you any good at sports? People love the hell out of sports and that kind of stuff", Gordon contributed breaking Earl's statement's awkward spell. "It depends, I guess on what--", I managed to get out before Earl added, "You could break Wilt Chamberlain's 100 points in a single game record.". 

      Again, Gordon and I were befuddled and looked at Earl in silence. He looked back at us and said, "What? There's a write up about it in the paper. Something about a guy who was at that game...or something. It doesn't matter. The thing is, no one has ever broken the record. It would be one hell of a memorable advertisement, event...viral...what have you. You'd be famous."

"Hey, he's right!", Gordon exclaimed, "You'd be in the history books.". 

"I'm not good at basketball." I admitted, "I'm a terrible shot and kinda clumsy and I'm white. Excessively white.".

"Ah, well, it's worth a shot, right? Just saying you're going to do it might be enough.", Earl amended.

"Sure it would--", Gordon said, "They'd remember it even more if you did it where Wilt got the record."

"Where is that?"

"Hershey, Pennsylvania, right up the road from here.", Earl informed.

"It seems a little outlandish and impossible.", I scoffed.

"You could always sport that dildo and do a dance.", Earl rebutted.

      Being that I didn't have a dildo. I decided to go for the record, despite not having the ability, talent or skill set necessary to achieve it. It might be fun to try, right? I'd never get that far, however. As I would find out...even the dildo get up would have been a hell of a lot easier.

[to be continued...]

{Oh, a quick side note: I've started contributing at another place. You can read it here. I've also started a "talk radio show"...that's on the internet. It can be found here. I do it every Saturday at midnight. You can call into it and talk to me! The number is (347) 326-9252. Feel free to call and harass me to no end. It would definitely "up" the entertainment value. 

A to Z Blogging Challenge: Reflection and Ball Scratching

      This year, as you may know, I participated in the "A to Z Blogging Challenge". It was a challenge to blog on a different topic every day in April. The subjects would correspond to a letter in the alphabet and be interesting enough to not make people vomit from sheer boredom. I failed on most of these fronts, of course. However, I did learn quite a few valuable lessons about me, the subjects I wrote about and the multitude of bloggers that I encountered during the course of the challenge. Here are a few highlights...

Jennifer Aniston highlights...

      Bone-able Jennifer Aniston aside, there were a lot of interesting things that occurred. My confused fear and anger of senior citizens was somewhat confirmed, the discovery of more hilarious blogging weirdos and a reevaluation of my "internet self" all occurred because of this wonderful challenge. Let me elaborate, before all the gray haired ancients turn their aging devil eyes upon me and cause me to spontaneously com-bust. 

Fucking OLD PEOPLE!!!

      In review, I shouldn't have been surprised...some old folks are just...old. Meaning, that they tend to carry a view of the world that is of a bygone era. It happens to everyone as they get older. It's the reason I'll never get into or understand the music of LMFAO or the popularity of "The Hangover" parts one and deux. To me, they're both examples of things that should have their right to exist revoked...due to their severe and criminal retardation. Yet, people older than me feel that bands like Pearl Jam and Radiohead are reprehensible and movies like "Young Frankenstein" are funny only to assholes...degenerate fucking assholes.

      So, when it was proposed to me, by a "senior member of our society", that I should warn people about the language I used in my blog, I "laughed my fucking ass off". This is the internet, not a shitty old folks kennel your family forgot you in, people curse here. 

      Oh, and there's also porno...an ass-load of porno. Strangely enough, some of those involve actual ass-loads, so, yeah, there's that. Listen, I feel that if you found this blog and read enough of it, you'd see that my language isn't the primary focus of what I write about (it's my infantile psyche and idiotic disposition toward my own penis that are on full display here). 

      If you read any of this, hit the word fuck and immediately feel the Devil searing your eyes with shame, get off the internet. It's only going to make you touch yourself. Believe me, the last thing I want is old, church going grannies poking and groping in a way they should have done decades before, but, didn't because they felt Jesus was watching from the closet or something. It just makes me feel sad, filthy and...somewhat aroused inside...and after that confused. You don't want that...I don't want that. No one wants that.

Ewwwww...Grannie touching her...well...you know.

      Old people's hang ups aside, I also discovered a lot about who I am on the internet and what I want to accomplish. I'm still new to all of this blogging stuff. It's a sweet gig. I've made a couple of bucks here and there and would love to branch out. I like doing this. I've decided to really work hard to deliver more as well, be it podcasting, vlogging or more. 

      Yet, I find myself often confronted with writers block. As it was never an issue before (I only wrote in notebooks or dirty letters to dead celebrities), I never gave it much thought. The A to Z Challenge really held it up to my face and forced a confrontation. I had to figure out a way around it's sweaty, dangly bits to get a post out. It was a great exercise indeed. It taught me that, no matter what caused the writer's block, a quick jaunt to the strip bar would always get the creative and not so creative juices flowing. Either that or drink a Yoo Hoo while watching Seinfeld re-runs. Either of those would work.

Thank you, Seinfeld. You genius bastard...genius bastard.

      I also found a lot of inspiration among the many blogs I read, as part of the challenge. I'll admit that I am not as avid a blog reader as I'd like to be. I find myself quickly gravitating toward sites devoted to the self sex market when I'm on the internet. The blogs I do read are usually the one's I find the most interesting and funny...(Muppets For Justice, Chiz, The ever lovely Lily and Sick Bitch) and rarely take the time to investigate further. Yet, I was compelled to read more blogs for the challenge. I am very, very glad I did. I ran into a lot of really creative writers. Some of which put my meager offerings to shame. Without this challenge I might never have found them and may have gone the rest of my days never knowing of their awesomeness. Go figure...

Here are a couple...

Seriously-WTH?

Word Nerd Speaks

Death of A Hardcore Gamer

Successfully Underachieving 

With that...I'd like to thank you all for reading my blog and not peeing on the carpet. You'd be surprised how many unruly guests disregard that common sense etiquette. I hope that you were entertained and I hope to entertain you further in the future. I have a lot of ideas...and not all of them involve carving small statuettes of Eleanor Roosevelt. It's what you were thinking, I'm sure (it's what they ALWAYS think). I can assure you that was the furthest thing from my mind...maybe.

U, V and W are for Unemployent's Vacant Wideness

      There's something exquisitely dismal about unemployment compensation. It feels like a form of charity, with less nuns and government over sight. People who receive unemployment are seen as lazy, system leaching parasites that sit around all day, getting sit faced, giving the finger to babies and unwed mothers. While two of those things are probably true, the system leaching parasite portion is way off!

The jerk that fired you pays for it too! 

     Regardless, the stigma towards being unemployed can be disheartening. Even more disheartening is the empty time people are knocking you for isn't your fault. There's always a down time between getting canned from one job and picking up another, equally suck ass job. No one is ever prepared for the void that not working leaves in your life. It's not apparent at first but, it creeps up pretty fast. 

      When you have a job to attend to, you have somewhere to go and something to do. There is a set criteria and expectations regarding production during your working hours and you plod through the day to meet them. It's amazing how slaving for "the man" occupies both your body and mind. When it's suddenly gone, there are countless hours to fill and no one to tell you how to fill them. It seems like a blessing, but, you find out, sooner or later...it's not. Drinking and masturbating, as it turns out, only fills so many hours.

Porn is suspiciously absent from this list.

    Drunken pity, self-sex aside, empty hours can play havoc on the brain. Don't get me wrong, not having to do shit all day can kick ass occasionally. Those "special" days when I'm at the mall, sitting on a bench in a bathrobe and cowboy hat, staring sternly at passersby, while playing Neil Diamond's greatest hits aloud on my iPod, would never happen if I had a job. Believe me...some of those days have changed my life, but, there are far better things I could have been doing. 

Starting that much needed beer planking fad, perhaps?

      I pondered the question of what to do with my time for a few depressing days. Okay, maybe not depressing, there were hallucinogenic laced milk shakes involved, various drunken exchanges of "I love you"s with strangers and once...and only once...an emotionally abused orangutan. Don't get your panties in a bunch...the fucking monkey started it. If it didn't want to be reminded of it's forced removal from it's mother and her subsequent poacher death , it shouldn't have, via sign language, called my Mom a cunt. Fucking monkeys. It doesn't even know my mother! Oh and for future reference...orangutans can cry while giving the finger. 

He's more personable when he's sober.

      I eventually stumbled into blogging as a way to pass the time, better my writing and possibly make money. Instead of, you know, feeding dollar bills into stripper's g-string college funds. Which isn't a bad way to spend a day or two either. It's just costly and disease ridden. Blogging definitely helps with that (sorry disease ridden strippers). 

College and baby formula are just going to have to pay for themselves, Glitter Devine.

      So, if you should ever find yourself lost in the immense gulf of time being jobless creates, I suggest blogging to fill your hours. It's a great way to pass the time, augment or develop a bankable skill and you meet a lot of great people along the way. Plus, you might get an income out of it. There's nothing wrong with that--oh, don't look at me with those "what the fuck!" eyes...of course I mean after you tire of the drunken binges and touching yourself...that was a given.