So it would seem I’ve launched some mad campaign to “get myself out there” (professionally) and to write in my ridiculous harem of blogs on a “regular” (meaning shits daily) “basis” (meaning… uh, more than one bass?)
There may be two people in the entire world that have followed my blogging endeavors for any length of time, and neither of them is even me. No, I’m lying.
They’re both me.
But both of us know that Things To Laugh About, (most often lazily stripped down to TTLA), was the first blog. YES! This ratty collection of attempted laugh harvesting is the place my writing renaissance started. I may have talked about that before, or conversely may never have mentioned anything about it and most likely won’t ever again. I forget.
The point is, this was the first blog but the great “Look at me! Look at me constantly!” crusade was announced… on the author blog???
Give me a freaking break!
Listen: the first thing you need to wrap your mind around is the announced routine is going to crash and burn faster than the German airship Hindenburg on May 6, 1937 (just about six months before my mom was born, for those of you keeping score) at Lakehurst, New Jersey. I was a few decades away from being there, but I’m told it went quick. [Ten million bonus points for all of the people who looked at the picture quickly and thought this might be about Led Zeppelin. You’re wrong, but you’re my kinda wrong].
But let’s play a game. Let’s say for the sake of argument and to exercise muscles of absurdity which rarely get worked to this degree, that the blog idea doesn’t fall on its face before reaching the first turn. Let’s say that by some laughable insanity the “right pair of eyes” stumble upon any one of the four sites and they actually see what’s in front of them.
What then, huh?
Well, I’ll tell you one thing. The fact that you didn’t hear about it first here at TTLA will certainly piss me off a great deal more than it will if I’m right and he drives the Model T off the cliff a half a mile from the bordello. Yeah. If this bullshit idea works I will be steaming mad. And I’m not talking your dad when you talk him into letting you pull the car into the garage for the first time and immediately take out the side mirror mad. Way worse. I’m talking Yosemite Sam mad.
I mean, where’s the wave at the four-way stop when I give you my right of way? Where’s the love for the historical role that this blog, this blog plays in this doofus’s professional life? There would be no author blog if this blog hadn’t sullied the screens of computers all over the… greater Syracuse region. I kid myself because there’s no one else here to do so. I know the blog reached a little farther afield. But, yeah. No author blog, no music blog, no poetry blog… nuttin’!
But its real place in the pantheon comes from the fact that in writing the stupid humor bits on here I realized that the scary-movie-sentient fog which had wrapped itself around my intellect for a solid twenty years or so seemed to have moved on to the next guy, believing no doubt that the lack of any sign of brain activity for most of the time signaled victory.
Hey, I’m not saying the older posts on here are all winners. I haven’t actually read through them in a while, so maybe none of them are. Couldn’t honestly tell ya.
But the confidence it gave me was real. The ability to think through ideas and the ability to laugh at my own idiocy, that, my friends, is what got me ready to start writing books.
So all I’m saying is… you shoulda been told from here. Where’s the loyalty? I’m so Sam mad that I can’t even really think of anything sufficiently horrific to say to you. So I’ll just leave you with this image of a creature who is actually capable of this trait since clearly, you are not.
And yes I realize I’m talking to myself. There’s got to be at least one post on one of these internet diaries, complete with the wimpy little key that didn’t really do anything more than a bent paperclip could have done where I’ve explained the terms of my madness. Do a little digging if you want to meet the squirrels that live in my gulliver. Because you guys don’t know me like I do, and believe me I need to put myself in my place every now and then.
So mister future big shot writer brat punk wiener, just remember, I’ve got my eye on you. Both eyes, whenever possible.
Your Own Damn Self