Fucking Taxes. Killing me over here. No time for new material.
Many of you who come here to burn away some work minutes, are not personally acquainted with me. Your basis for building any kind of concept for who I am, or what I stand for, comes from the words I choose to type. By reading this little blog thing, you may have come under the impression that I am little more than a booze-fueled idiot who takes great joy in exposing his wind-bagged idiocy out on the interweb. He pees on his own shoes. He flies overseas covered in latrine run-off. He gets electrocuted by a she-male in Mexico. You may believe that my morals, abilities, and base-level human intelligence are easily compromised by the presence of liquid spirits.
Actually, I have no real argument against that. It is what it is. I am what I am.
But there are a couple of stories here which are not based solely on lunatic juice. Some are just… strange.
Weird discussions of the mundane trappings of my everyday doings.
Some are explanations, to one degree or another, for my own edification, how I got to where I am.
Some are just mildly embarrassing.
Or they focus on the aftermath.
Some are multi-cultural.
But my favorites remain true to my core.
Yes. You guessed it. This is my cheap way of saying, ‘hey, read this! Good times!’
Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get more lube for my ass. These taxes are starting to chafe.
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8 comments:
I'll be in H-town this weekend for some things. I haven't called anyone yet. If you read this, are in H-town this weekend, and you got a brutha's digits... then pop a colla and holla.
Or whatever. Word.
I'll read the stories, yo.
In my brain you wear big pants, and a ball cap.
Where is H-Town? Is it 'Hog Town' - which actually means Toronto. Probably not.
Deb-e- In my brain, I am six-foot nine, two hundred pounds of chiseled muscle, and a star-Power Forward for the San Antonio Spurs. But whenever I show up for practice, they call security. Assholes. When will they recognize my deep, inner talent?
H-town is actually Houston. Austin is A-tiwn. But that’s hard to pronounce, so we say A-town instead.
I have baseball caps, but my head is quite bulbous. About the dimension and form of a baby walrus. So I don’t wear them terribly often.
This post reminds me of a sitcom clip show. ;-) Good luck on the taxes!
Marge: How many times can you laugh at that cat getting hit by the moon?
Bart: It's a _new_ episode.
Lisa: Not exactly...they pieced it together from old shows, but it seems new to the trusting eyes of impressionable youth.
YO EDWARD!
If impressionable youth ever drop by here, and read any of this... I hope their parents never find me.
I know, I know. I was a bit lazy on this post. It happens.
Liz-
Your blog is all kinds of broken right now. Under construction? You know, when people's blogs break, I am forced to work. You don't want me to work, do you?
I like the obit list. I think I shall try and find it out on the interweb.
How exactly does that happen? I don't get it.
Well, that is most bitter sweet. I am flattered, but I really enjoyed your writing. So, thank you for the compliment, and let the rest of us know whenever you choose to pick up the pen again.
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