Just Passing Through

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.

Computers Prove My Laziness

My computer at home ate itself this weekend. BACK UPS people, BACK YOUR SHIT UP. I did not back up everything, because I thought it would simply take too damn long to copy all those music, photo, image, and text files over to solid state media.

Well, it’s going to take FORfuckingEVER to reproduce all of it, if I am unable to pull it off my dead-ass hard drive. Much of it is irreplaceable. The music was never scored. The stories were only outlined, so I only have the designs for the skeletal frames, with all the fleshy words being flushed by my lack of foresight. The photos? Fucking forget it.

Sometimes, it’s hard to look yourself in the eye after things like this happen. I have no excuses. It was simple, brazen, stupidity-driven laziness.

Damn you laziness!

So. Back to square one, which has me pacing somewhere between livid and violent, talking myself down from great heights. Fucking irritating.

Such is life.

And to properly mark how crazy and unpredictable life truly is, I am going to tell a story. Because that’s how I roll. With a dab of butter. Maybe some strawberry jelly. When the computers of the tough get breaking, the tough get writing. And as I am typing this, I have no idea what story I will be telling. It will be a true story, it will probably be ridiculous, and I will not censure it in any way. Fuck it. I am going to tell Drink Story #10. You’ve waited long enough for one of the classics, and I could rant about my shitty computer until every last drop of spittle has flown from my rabid jaw. But that would be so zzzzzzzzzzzz.

Here goes. Well, in the post below this one.