“Save me, my handsome prince!” Even Princess Estrogia’s cries for help were melodious and beautifully pitched. Her laments floated down from the prison tower like an aria, like a tragic song played on a perfectly tuned harp. Prince Auronious couldn’t help but enjoy the sound of her voice as he hacked his way through the small army of skeletons the Evil Wizard Foyst had set to guard the prison door.
“Set to rest your womanly fears, my fair one!” Auronious shouted back to her as his magical sword cleft a line of skulls from their spines, leaving a jumble of bones and armor in its wake. “I'll soon fell these skeletons, breach the prison walls and bear you safely unto my bedchamber!” His voice carried up to her small tower room like a thunderclap cutting through the clatter of metal and marrow on the battle field. Estrogia had to prop herself upon the heavy curtains to keep from swooning.
“Yes, my prince, yes! Slay the evil dragon guarding me and bear me away to ravishment!”
“I come forthwith my maiden! I shall...hang on a minute” He held up a finger, indicating to the charging skeletons that he would only be a moment. He called back to the tower while the skeletons milled about, looking at each other for cues on what to do. “What did you say was guarding you?”
“An evil dragon!” Estrogia called back. “Foyst crafted him of coal and fire and he’s guarding the stairs to my cell! Slay him so that we may be together!”
“Wait did you say he breathes fire, or that he’s made of fire?”
“Both, I believe. Didn’t the wizard tell you all this when he challenged you to rescue me?”
“No! He mentioned the skeletons, and maybe some wolfmen but nobody said anything about a dragon!” One impatient skeleton broke from the group mulling about and tried to catch the Prince with his guard down. The Prince caught the creature’s rusty battle axe by the handle and pushed it back, causing it to fall hard on its tailbone. “Hey, not now, okay? Gimme a minute.”
He turned back to the Princess. “How big is it?”
“How big is what?”
“The Dragon!”
“What does that matter?”
“Whaddaya mean? If you expect me to slay it I wanna know how big it is!”
“It’s dragon sized!”
“I’ve never seen a full sized dragon in person before! We don’t exactly have them hanging around in the stables back home! Is it like the size of a cat or a wolf?”
“A cat?”
“YES! Is it bigger than a cat?”
“Fuck yes, it’s bigger than a cat!”
“Fuck! How much bigger?”
“Like a house!”
“A horse?”
“House! Like a cottage!”
“Like a peasant’s cottage or like a summer cottage like a bungalow?”
“I don’t know! Are you going to rescue me or not?”
The Prince kicked at the dirt and absentmindedly killed a skeleton that had been inching near him.
“What did you say?” The Princess shouted down, her voice cracking slightly.
“Nothing!”
“Are you coming to fucking rescue me or not?”
“Well like...”
“What?”
“I mean, a dragon’s kind of intense, right?”
“You’re a Prince! Slay it!”
“Hey, I do more than slay things all day, okay? I spend most of my time trying to resolve diplomatic disputes with our neighboring countries! I don’t know how to slay a dragon made of fire and coal! I don’t even know if you can!”
“Come on! What are you afraid of?”
“Well...getting killed by a dragon mostly!”
“God, you’re such a pussy!”
“Hey! I’m wading single handedly into an army of undead soldiers!” He slashed the legs off three nearby skeletons to punctuate his point. “Honestly I think that’s pretty good!”
“Oh, I could defeat the stupid skeletons! They can barely stand up straight!” The Prince looked at the muddling group of undead and noticed that some of them would, from time to time, knock heads and tip over. “But what I can’t do is unbolt my basement door, and kill the goddam dragon with my goddam magic sword. Now either get to slaying or just fucking go home!”
The Prince weighed his options. “M’Lady!”
“Yes, my prince?”
“Fuck this! I’m gonna go back home and father some illegitimate children."
And so he did, and the dragon lived happily ever after.
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
What do I Want?
Dear Internet,
A single, unanswerable question has been plaguing me for months, if not years now. What do I want? It's impossible for me to put my finger on an absolute goal towards which I can gear the rest of my life, and with that realization comes the fear that my life is directionless and that if I don't come up with a goal quick, I'll be adrift in a miasma of self doubt and indecisiveness for the rest of my life.
So what do I want?
Well...
I want a dog. Medium sized, fuzzy, well adjusted, not high strung or overly hyper.
I want a house. Or a nice condo. Or a long-term lease on a nice apartment. With a good bit of space and a dependable thermostat. And room for the dog.
I want some nice furniture. Comfortable and tasteful, but not too expensive that I can't accidentally drip some bacon grease on the upholstery now and again.
Alternately, I want enough money that if I buy some irreplaceable furniture, and ruin it with bacon, I can replace it.
Access to a pool would also be nice.
Year-round pool weather would also be nice.
An indoor pool would be an acceptable second I guess.
I want good friends that I can get drunk with, but not to the point that there's alcohol fueled drama or alcoholism or alcohol related disease.
I want to be free of everything-else-fueled drama as well.
I want a fashionable, functional car. Nothing too too fancy, it doesn't need to cause orgasms when I rev it, though if that was an offered option I'd probably take it.
I want a loving girlfriend. I guess I could stand to marry too.
I don't want to sound sexist so I will not talk about all the characteristics I would like to see in my loving girlfriend, especially since so that any future or potential loving girlfriends can read this and throw it back in my face if so disposed.
I want whatever the opposite of children is... Free time? Money? I'm not directly knocking children or parents here, as many seem happy falling into their respective categories, but I view the decision to have kids kind of like a vegan diet. Un-fun, soul sucking, time consuming, and not for me.
I want internet access, if only to be able to continue our lovely chats, Dear Internet.
I want a nice TV--it doesn't need to be too big or, god, 3D, but I would like one that has an aspect ration that can accommodate widescreen and my old letterbox movies.
I want more movies.
I want more books.
I want a metabolism that will keep my doctor from telling me I have to stop eating red meat for a long, long time.
I want people I disagree with politically to either change their minds or shut the hell up.
I want to contribute meaningfully and positively to culture.
I want to be famous enough that I'm recognized and respected (and boned), but not the point where I'm bothered by the press or idiot fans.
I want fans, but I'd like them to be smart.
A single, unanswerable question has been plaguing me for months, if not years now. What do I want? It's impossible for me to put my finger on an absolute goal towards which I can gear the rest of my life, and with that realization comes the fear that my life is directionless and that if I don't come up with a goal quick, I'll be adrift in a miasma of self doubt and indecisiveness for the rest of my life.
So what do I want?
Well...
I want a dog. Medium sized, fuzzy, well adjusted, not high strung or overly hyper.
I want a house. Or a nice condo. Or a long-term lease on a nice apartment. With a good bit of space and a dependable thermostat. And room for the dog.
I want some nice furniture. Comfortable and tasteful, but not too expensive that I can't accidentally drip some bacon grease on the upholstery now and again.
Alternately, I want enough money that if I buy some irreplaceable furniture, and ruin it with bacon, I can replace it.
Access to a pool would also be nice.
Year-round pool weather would also be nice.
An indoor pool would be an acceptable second I guess.
I want good friends that I can get drunk with, but not to the point that there's alcohol fueled drama or alcoholism or alcohol related disease.
I want to be free of everything-else-fueled drama as well.
I want a fashionable, functional car. Nothing too too fancy, it doesn't need to cause orgasms when I rev it, though if that was an offered option I'd probably take it.
I want a loving girlfriend. I guess I could stand to marry too.
I don't want to sound sexist so I will not talk about all the characteristics I would like to see in my loving girlfriend, especially since so that any future or potential loving girlfriends can read this and throw it back in my face if so disposed.
I want whatever the opposite of children is... Free time? Money? I'm not directly knocking children or parents here, as many seem happy falling into their respective categories, but I view the decision to have kids kind of like a vegan diet. Un-fun, soul sucking, time consuming, and not for me.
I want internet access, if only to be able to continue our lovely chats, Dear Internet.
I want a nice TV--it doesn't need to be too big or, god, 3D, but I would like one that has an aspect ration that can accommodate widescreen and my old letterbox movies.
I want more movies.
I want more books.
I want a metabolism that will keep my doctor from telling me I have to stop eating red meat for a long, long time.
I want people I disagree with politically to either change their minds or shut the hell up.
I want to contribute meaningfully and positively to culture.
I want to be famous enough that I'm recognized and respected (and boned), but not the point where I'm bothered by the press or idiot fans.
I want fans, but I'd like them to be smart.
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Hitherto Unwritten
Dear Internet,
I have been, of late, taking into consideration the literary form of the short story and was surprised to discover, after some cursory research, that while there are a great many short stories of varying styles and admirable quality, that there is a positive dearth of short stories that have been written by--or about--me. I apologize if this comes as a shock, I was knocked for a bit of a loop myself. I had always assumed that I was a prolific author, though admittedly I am far to busy to read work of my caliber; it is beneath me.
In light of this realization, I heretofore vow to sequester myself in a Buddhist Monastery with a good WiFi connection (or possibly a Xiaolin, Hindu, or Shinto one if any of those are closer to where I work) until I have produced a volume(s) of short stories of such dazzling, profound and onanism-inspiring quality that it will be worthy of my lofty opinion of myself. I vow to forgo feeding, pleasuring and even bathing myself until my work is complete (which incidentally means I'll need to hiring someone to take care of all three of those while I'm working. If you know anybody, I'm currently accepting resumes).
As proof of my dedication to my task, dear Internet--for I know if it is one thing you honor above all else it is accountability--I provide for you the opening lines to what will surely be the highlights of my collection (honestly, I've got it all worked out in my head so the hard part's pretty much done, right?). I am sure they will leave you with a discomforting twang in your nethers as you lust for the completed works, know that I am toiling throughout the night and throughout the later part of the afternoon after I wake up and get some breakfast to slake your desire.
Below, the tantalizing previews of my work:
Stephanophecles was a stupid name for a pig.
"Pass the olive brine," I rasped amorously.
Rufus had applied to the issue every principle of logic, Game Theory, tactical theory, and ever tenet of every political, moral and metaphysical theory he could think of but he still couldn't decide if he was happy with his haircut.
Albert was a classically trained thespian, and a classically conditioned agoraphobic, which made attending his performances tricky.
Not that he would have admitted it, but Julius was excited to have finally met a girl it would be worth killing himself over.
Night in the swamp was as still, black and musky as a skunk smeared across route 40 by a set of quality Michelines.
We were all naked, and we'd all brought guns.
I guess it started when Sylvia left me for sleeping with one of her alternate personalities.
There are few things more confounding in a man's life than when he finds out he is to be a bride in a lesbian wedding.
When they asked Alice to be the Queen for a week or two, she figured they were trying to steal her identity, and she was quite brusque over the phone.
Richard had always told his mother that his place in the world was destined to be the wide-open planes of the American Midwest, which she always thought was a strange ambition for a young manatee to have, but she loved her son and so said nothing.
Teddy's grandmother assured him that music was the best way to make the world a more beautiful place, but for all the work these lessons were taking, Teddy didn't care if the learning piano would make the whole world grow a giant pair of tits, he was fucking done.
Once, in a kinder time, your mom was super, super slutty.
Stillness filled the room, as if Death himself were crouched behind the credenza with a party hat and kazoo, waiting for the lights to flicker on before leaping for my throat shouting, "Surprise!"
Ruffles had been able to talk from a very early age, but quickly found that the opinions of a dog are often looked upon with contempt, so mostly he just kept to himself.
Alas, I must now take my leave, as it has occurred to me that any sequester-worthy monasteries will be fairly removed from some of the greater aspects of modern civilization, and so I should probably go stock up on bourbon before I begin (By the way, this is the body of the letter again, not another sample sentnece. If you couldn't tell). I shall continue to write with my typical spirit and grace, and assume that you too shall continue to read with your typical admiration and praise.
Love,
Steve
I have been, of late, taking into consideration the literary form of the short story and was surprised to discover, after some cursory research, that while there are a great many short stories of varying styles and admirable quality, that there is a positive dearth of short stories that have been written by--or about--me. I apologize if this comes as a shock, I was knocked for a bit of a loop myself. I had always assumed that I was a prolific author, though admittedly I am far to busy to read work of my caliber; it is beneath me.
In light of this realization, I heretofore vow to sequester myself in a Buddhist Monastery with a good WiFi connection (or possibly a Xiaolin, Hindu, or Shinto one if any of those are closer to where I work) until I have produced a volume(s) of short stories of such dazzling, profound and onanism-inspiring quality that it will be worthy of my lofty opinion of myself. I vow to forgo feeding, pleasuring and even bathing myself until my work is complete (which incidentally means I'll need to hiring someone to take care of all three of those while I'm working. If you know anybody, I'm currently accepting resumes).
As proof of my dedication to my task, dear Internet--for I know if it is one thing you honor above all else it is accountability--I provide for you the opening lines to what will surely be the highlights of my collection (honestly, I've got it all worked out in my head so the hard part's pretty much done, right?). I am sure they will leave you with a discomforting twang in your nethers as you lust for the completed works, know that I am toiling throughout the night and throughout the later part of the afternoon after I wake up and get some breakfast to slake your desire.
Below, the tantalizing previews of my work:
Stephanophecles was a stupid name for a pig.
"Pass the olive brine," I rasped amorously.
Rufus had applied to the issue every principle of logic, Game Theory, tactical theory, and ever tenet of every political, moral and metaphysical theory he could think of but he still couldn't decide if he was happy with his haircut.
Albert was a classically trained thespian, and a classically conditioned agoraphobic, which made attending his performances tricky.
Not that he would have admitted it, but Julius was excited to have finally met a girl it would be worth killing himself over.
Night in the swamp was as still, black and musky as a skunk smeared across route 40 by a set of quality Michelines.
We were all naked, and we'd all brought guns.
I guess it started when Sylvia left me for sleeping with one of her alternate personalities.
There are few things more confounding in a man's life than when he finds out he is to be a bride in a lesbian wedding.
When they asked Alice to be the Queen for a week or two, she figured they were trying to steal her identity, and she was quite brusque over the phone.
Richard had always told his mother that his place in the world was destined to be the wide-open planes of the American Midwest, which she always thought was a strange ambition for a young manatee to have, but she loved her son and so said nothing.
Teddy's grandmother assured him that music was the best way to make the world a more beautiful place, but for all the work these lessons were taking, Teddy didn't care if the learning piano would make the whole world grow a giant pair of tits, he was fucking done.
Once, in a kinder time, your mom was super, super slutty.
Stillness filled the room, as if Death himself were crouched behind the credenza with a party hat and kazoo, waiting for the lights to flicker on before leaping for my throat shouting, "Surprise!"
Ruffles had been able to talk from a very early age, but quickly found that the opinions of a dog are often looked upon with contempt, so mostly he just kept to himself.
Alas, I must now take my leave, as it has occurred to me that any sequester-worthy monasteries will be fairly removed from some of the greater aspects of modern civilization, and so I should probably go stock up on bourbon before I begin (By the way, this is the body of the letter again, not another sample sentnece. If you couldn't tell). I shall continue to write with my typical spirit and grace, and assume that you too shall continue to read with your typical admiration and praise.
Love,
Steve
Monday, September 27, 2010
Fruit of My Loins
Dear Internet,
As part of my good faith attempt to actually blog about something other than this blog, I feel I must share a personally defining part of myself with you, and so I present for your consideration, the names I intend to impart to my children.
My first born daughter's name will be fairly straightforward, as she will be named for her mother, so will be named either Ellen Page Fry, Keira Knightley Fry or Emma Stone Fry (whichever one is lucky enough to land me first--it's anyone's game at the time of this writing).
My first born son, rather than being my own namesake will be the namesake of all that is great and masculine in the world and shall be known as Egon Samuel Leroy Jenkins Jackson Fry (Fry is my last name in case you weren't paying attention).
A friend of mine once put it to me that this name is too perfect, to chock-full o' awesome to be readily acceptable to any mother of my child, regardless of how droolingly in love with me she will inevitably be. After all, it would reasonably set forth expectations of demi-godlike proportions that I am fully confident any child of mine would be able to perform, but can understand how other people might have trouble believing a priori the potency of my seed, and so I have a plan to butter my wife up (figuratively, not literally....though come to think of it, literally too, but that's for another time)by introducing gateway awesome names that will inevitably lead to my perfect conclusion. These names will also be considered for any subsequent or illegitimate children, as I understand that kind of thing sometimes happens.
Introductory level badass: Names of Famous Scoundrels and badasses from Cinema
Mal Reynolds (unisex)
Han Solo (unisex)
Leia Organa (can't be used if I've already got one other Star Wars-named kid)
Jason Bourne
Brad Pitt's Character From Ocean's Eleven
Liz Lemon
Indiana Jones (unisex)
Lando Calrissian
Billy Dee Williams (alt. Billie Dee Williams)
Robin Hood (unisex)
Meryl Streep In Everything Ever
Secondary Level Awesome: 80s Hair Bands
Metallica (Girl)
Whitesnake (Girl)
Journey (unisex)
Styx (boy)
Foreigner (boy)
AC/DC (Unisex)
Guns (boy twin)
Roses (girl twin)
Motley Crue (boy, or boy twins)
Poison (unisex)
Quiet Riot (unisex twins)
Iron Maiden (girl)
Dio (unisex)
Def Leppard (unisex)
Lynryd Skynyrd (boy)
Maximal Awesomeness: Words that sound awesome (several of which are types of swords) and that nobody else will name their kids
Falconry
Petrichor
Hibernaculum
Apostasy
Expletive
Alpine
Apocryphal
Spectral
Pulsar
Cavern
Stalagmite
Cumulonimbus
Verisimilitude
Aeon
Azure
Phthalo
Ammo
Junket
Wizened
Wakazashi
Scimitar
Katana
Rapier
Saber
Claymore
Feel free to use any of the above to name your own children (the non-copyrighted of the above anyway), as long as you cite my blog address somewhere on their birth certificate. And anytime they're introduced at parties.
Love,
Steve
As part of my good faith attempt to actually blog about something other than this blog, I feel I must share a personally defining part of myself with you, and so I present for your consideration, the names I intend to impart to my children.
My first born daughter's name will be fairly straightforward, as she will be named for her mother, so will be named either Ellen Page Fry, Keira Knightley Fry or Emma Stone Fry (whichever one is lucky enough to land me first--it's anyone's game at the time of this writing).
My first born son, rather than being my own namesake will be the namesake of all that is great and masculine in the world and shall be known as Egon Samuel Leroy Jenkins Jackson Fry (Fry is my last name in case you weren't paying attention).
A friend of mine once put it to me that this name is too perfect, to chock-full o' awesome to be readily acceptable to any mother of my child, regardless of how droolingly in love with me she will inevitably be. After all, it would reasonably set forth expectations of demi-godlike proportions that I am fully confident any child of mine would be able to perform, but can understand how other people might have trouble believing a priori the potency of my seed, and so I have a plan to butter my wife up (figuratively, not literally....though come to think of it, literally too, but that's for another time)by introducing gateway awesome names that will inevitably lead to my perfect conclusion. These names will also be considered for any subsequent or illegitimate children, as I understand that kind of thing sometimes happens.
Introductory level badass: Names of Famous Scoundrels and badasses from Cinema
Mal Reynolds (unisex)
Han Solo (unisex)
Leia Organa (can't be used if I've already got one other Star Wars-named kid)
Jason Bourne
Brad Pitt's Character From Ocean's Eleven
Liz Lemon
Indiana Jones (unisex)
Lando Calrissian
Billy Dee Williams (alt. Billie Dee Williams)
Robin Hood (unisex)
Meryl Streep In Everything Ever
Secondary Level Awesome: 80s Hair Bands
Metallica (Girl)
Whitesnake (Girl)
Journey (unisex)
Styx (boy)
Foreigner (boy)
AC/DC (Unisex)
Guns (boy twin)
Roses (girl twin)
Motley Crue (boy, or boy twins)
Poison (unisex)
Quiet Riot (unisex twins)
Iron Maiden (girl)
Dio (unisex)
Def Leppard (unisex)
Lynryd Skynyrd (boy)
Maximal Awesomeness: Words that sound awesome (several of which are types of swords) and that nobody else will name their kids
Falconry
Petrichor
Hibernaculum
Apostasy
Expletive
Alpine
Apocryphal
Spectral
Pulsar
Cavern
Stalagmite
Cumulonimbus
Verisimilitude
Aeon
Azure
Phthalo
Ammo
Junket
Wizened
Wakazashi
Scimitar
Katana
Rapier
Saber
Claymore
Feel free to use any of the above to name your own children (the non-copyrighted of the above anyway), as long as you cite my blog address somewhere on their birth certificate. And anytime they're introduced at parties.
Love,
Steve
Thursday, September 23, 2010
Better or Equally Terrible Names for This Blog Would Have Been...
Dear Internet,
I've decided that I did you a disservice by naming this blog as pretentiously as I have--though as I have stated, it may not have been my idea--and while I could easily re-title it or import my posts to a new blog with a better name, I won't because my valuable time could be better spent playing with Legos or giving school children temporary tattoos with ball-point-pens for money, so instead I present to you this list that I compiled after what must have been several minutes of contemplation. I invite you to pick a favorite title from this list and pretend my blog is called that instead of what is is actually called, which I don't remember at the moment and can't be bothered to find out because my "Page Up" key was stolen by a bird.
Object Permanence
Bifurcated Mentality
Horny at Work
Misguided Dissemination
Fancy Rants
Oral, Aural and Earl
High on Life! Also Heroin
So Very Lonely
Septuagenarian Sesquipedalian Susquehannan Sellout
Stuff I Can Fit Up My Nose
Unilateral Campaign
Objective Truth
Sexed Up
Run! Run Far Away!
The Midwest is a Government Conspiracy
Ample Bosom Chum
You Shut Your Fat Mouth
Heinous Atrocities
Atrocious Heinies*
Punch in the Face
Illegal Jargon
Abate My Lust
Aptly Ironic
Cunt Trumpets
Ubiquitous Penumbra
Muliebrious Titter
I'll add more if I feel like it (which I probably won't). You stay out of trouble, now.
Love,
Steve
*Why is it that if I say something is an atrocity, it conjures the image of Hitler and the holocaust, but if I say it's atrocious, it conjures images of Mary Poppins?
I've decided that I did you a disservice by naming this blog as pretentiously as I have--though as I have stated, it may not have been my idea--and while I could easily re-title it or import my posts to a new blog with a better name, I won't because my valuable time could be better spent playing with Legos or giving school children temporary tattoos with ball-point-pens for money, so instead I present to you this list that I compiled after what must have been several minutes of contemplation. I invite you to pick a favorite title from this list and pretend my blog is called that instead of what is is actually called, which I don't remember at the moment and can't be bothered to find out because my "Page Up" key was stolen by a bird.
Object Permanence
Bifurcated Mentality
Horny at Work
Misguided Dissemination
Fancy Rants
Oral, Aural and Earl
High on Life! Also Heroin
So Very Lonely
Septuagenarian Sesquipedalian Susquehannan Sellout
Stuff I Can Fit Up My Nose
Unilateral Campaign
Objective Truth
Sexed Up
Run! Run Far Away!
The Midwest is a Government Conspiracy
Ample Bosom Chum
You Shut Your Fat Mouth
Heinous Atrocities
Atrocious Heinies*
Punch in the Face
Illegal Jargon
Abate My Lust
Aptly Ironic
Cunt Trumpets
Ubiquitous Penumbra
Muliebrious Titter
I'll add more if I feel like it (which I probably won't). You stay out of trouble, now.
Love,
Steve
*Why is it that if I say something is an atrocity, it conjures the image of Hitler and the holocaust, but if I say it's atrocious, it conjures images of Mary Poppins?
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
So...apparently I have a blog?
Dear Internet,
Today I found out that I have a blog apparently--this blog--that I did not remember/realize/know that I had set up, so...sorry about not posting in a while. Or ever.
Literally, I clicked "sign in" and blogspot asked me if I would like to write a new post for a blog I have no memory of creating, and since the only other thing I have going on right now is my job, I figure, "What the hey."
Although, now that I think about it, it seems likely that this is some kind of trap, and the open blog space is just some kind of luscious bait laid out for me for reasons that will be clear soon enough. So stay alert, Internet, if you don't hear from me for an extended period of time, it is almost certainly because some unspeakable atrocity has befallen me you should feel it is your civic duty inform the police, (though my preference would be ATF or better) and when my mangled, ravaged body is found flat-packed in a TV stand box in an Ikea storeroom, you will be lauded as a hero.
Although now that I think about it a little more, there are many things that would explain me forgetting exactly when or why I claimed this little corner of the internet, and all of them are brands of alcohol, which actually makes a lot of sense. Like, do you ever find old text messages that you forgot you sent your roommate declaring your intent to make love to his Brita Filter? This might be kind of along those lines.
I choose, however, to believe that it's a trap. Hopefully it's part of a broader conspiracy that involves corporations and maybe governments and it's not just one freak trying to reel me in to his torture dungeon where he will make me pleasure him and read his Buffalo Bill fan fiction because I promised myself "never again."
In any case I will use this blog to continue to report courageously on what it is like to have a blog, and see just how deep the rabbit hole goes.
Love,
Steve
Today I found out that I have a blog apparently--this blog--that I did not remember/realize/know that I had set up, so...sorry about not posting in a while. Or ever.
Literally, I clicked "sign in" and blogspot asked me if I would like to write a new post for a blog I have no memory of creating, and since the only other thing I have going on right now is my job, I figure, "What the hey."
Although, now that I think about it, it seems likely that this is some kind of trap, and the open blog space is just some kind of luscious bait laid out for me for reasons that will be clear soon enough. So stay alert, Internet, if you don't hear from me for an extended period of time, it is almost certainly because some unspeakable atrocity has befallen me you should feel it is your civic duty inform the police, (though my preference would be ATF or better) and when my mangled, ravaged body is found flat-packed in a TV stand box in an Ikea storeroom, you will be lauded as a hero.
Although now that I think about it a little more, there are many things that would explain me forgetting exactly when or why I claimed this little corner of the internet, and all of them are brands of alcohol, which actually makes a lot of sense. Like, do you ever find old text messages that you forgot you sent your roommate declaring your intent to make love to his Brita Filter? This might be kind of along those lines.
I choose, however, to believe that it's a trap. Hopefully it's part of a broader conspiracy that involves corporations and maybe governments and it's not just one freak trying to reel me in to his torture dungeon where he will make me pleasure him and read his Buffalo Bill fan fiction because I promised myself "never again."
In any case I will use this blog to continue to report courageously on what it is like to have a blog, and see just how deep the rabbit hole goes.
Love,
Steve
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