Piss Off! Working :)

“I hate writing, I love having written.”

-Dorothy Parker

Before any of my relatives who read this get too excited, I am still a stay-at-home, exercise bike riding, painting, writer. That being said I said, can I say said twice so shortly in one sentence? I guess if I am quoting myself and I am, shit need the quote marks, “I will write when I have something of interest to write about.” Or something like that and likely better in the original Klingon…let’s see…

qapumchu’meH HeghDI’ vay’ Daj ghItlh umqu’ ghot jIH

-Finally Klingon for every word 🙂

See that was better. The gist of the story and my “absence” (the quotes indicate that the word absence is not what I truly meant, just a handy tip from me to…well probably me) is that I am hard at work redoing Puddles and Whiskers. Yes, I know how many times can one person work or one reader read the same stuff? The answer for me at least is, UNTIL I GET IT WRITE! See what I did there?

As a writer or as this writer, I am very happy with my writing until I am not, typically this happens while reviewing (my new word for editing in an attempt to make editing more palatable like adding ketchup or pepper to shitty food, which by the way, if you add ketchup or pepper to food I make for you the first thing I think is “They think my food taste bad”) my writing, something I do a lot with Puddles and Whiskers. However, this time the act of attempting to write a follow-up got me in a state of unhappiness with the writing.

So I pondered and pondered out loud on Puddles and Whiskers and of all things while watching Silicon Valley hit on the idea of a pivot point. This pivot point, instead of wedging Puddles and Whiskers into Stroud why not alter Stroud to fit them? Thus over the past few…however long since I posted DICTATIONSHIP, I have been working on turning Stroud into Menagerie.

Our girl’s Puddles and Whiskers art, by the way. There is more art on Puddles and Whiskers. 🙂

Menagerie for everyone who is not a long time reader, is a serial story I started with animals in space. Space is science fiction, Stroud is a science fiction cyberpunkish setting, thus one plus one equals a lot of work for me. I wasn’t sure how the story would work out, but had to try because I was stuck.

The result, in my opinion, a hell of a lot better. While altering the characters into animals, I found story elements that needed to change or alter, resulting in a stronger story with less “AH HA” moments or “What the Fuck, where did that come from” moments than before. Now, I am not finished, but I am further along that I thought I would get. Oh yeah, for those who want to see a sample of what I am talking about, here you go (yes a link I like the pretty colors.)

So like I said, less bullshit here and more substance. Finding a better story within a story I already enjoyed is something of substance for myself, those who enjoy Puddles and Whiskers, and fellow writers who find themselves stuck…sometimes making a pivot point is the best way to get unstuck.

“I think there are two types of writers, the architects and the gardeners. The architects plan everything ahead of time, like an architect building a house. They know how many rooms are going to be in the house, what kind of roof they’re going to have, where the wires are going to run, what kind of plumbing there’s going to be. They have the whole thing designed and blueprinted out before they even nail the first board up. The gardeners dig a hole, drop in a seed and water it. They kind of know what seed it is, they know if planted a fantasy seed or mystery seed or whatever. But as the plant comes up and they water it, they don’t know how many branches it’s going to have, they find out as it grows. And I’m much more a gardener than an architect.”

-George R.R. Martin



Maybe The Exercise Bike Is Right

“Your days are numbered. Use them to throw open the windows of your soul to the sun. If you do not, the sun will soon set, and you with it.”

-Marcus Aurelius, The Emperor’s Handbook

The exercise bike says I am a fat ass out of shape writer. Fine it did not say the writer part.

The list to my left says I have something I have not had for a while, goals and the means to reach them.

The list beneath my keyboard says I have something to do each day, even if that something is not something I want to do.

Welcome to my climbing out of the chasm-sized rut. To wit, this will be your regular post…once a week on Sunday at sometime. After reading the past few whatevers of posts I have decided to post once a week here. This has two effects-

  1. hopefully when I post I have something to say other than what is on my mind or what I did; for those who want to know what I have done, ask
  2. reduce the amount of time wasted allowing me to focus on goals such as figuring out where the u key is today. Sorry, such as having a rough draft of the complete second arc of Puddles and Whiskers done by the 22nd of the month or riding the exercise bike three to four times a week

I think about covers it, hardly entertaining…oh wait…

Destiny 2 released last week and we have played from the moment the game went live in our area. This amount of play may account for the fat ass comment by the bike, screw you bike, getting my warlock to level 20 was important to me in the same way as…name some other video game related goal and it was as important as that.

As a long time Destiny player I feel they got this sequel right. The bad guy is an actual bad guy with bad guy dialog and a desire to defeat the bad guy, which never happened to us in Destiny 1.

Graphics are a huge improvement as are the 1,000’s of tiny tweaks such as being able to color each component of your character or characters will attempt to catch the edge of something and pull themselves up instead of bouncing off the edge and falling to their doom or bad guys fight better or public events are awesome. No longer do you go into a public event knowing exactly what will happen, sometimes a public event increases in difficulty as more enemies arrive or new enemies or in one case last night-one tank turned into two then into two tanks with a major enemy from another faction and then a major enemy from the tank faction and that was without the six or seven players taking part.

I expected to be let down because the last few expansion of Destiny 1 were let downs after a huge hype machine. So far, we (boy, girl, Barb, friend, and I) have not been let down.

Now that really is it until next week. Go out and have a great week.

“May I never be complete.
May I never be content.
May I never be perfect.”

-Chuck Palahniuk, Fight Club   


When The Rut Is A Chasm

“The ability to speak does not make you intelligent.”

-George Lucas

Can we talk?

I’d like to think so, but I know the reality. This really is me typing for me and along the way some people stop by and read and whole lot more spammers attempt their nefarious, yet hideously stupid, plans to clog the interwebs up with shit and there are plenty of times where I look around and think to myself, maybe they have the right idea the interwebs at time do resemble a sewer system so why not clog it full of shit that nobody wants or needs unless you happen to be a Nigerian Prince, which how many of those are there? I’m going to guess not a lot, bordering on one or two, I guess I could look it up but I really don’t care because no Nigerian Prince is going swoop in on his…whatever Nigerian Princes ride on or in and save the day, not that my day needs saving, but princes saving things is what Disney taught me and Disney wouldn’t lie would they?

See I’m in a rut.

I finished Wil Wheaton’s Just a Geek and realized that I was stuck in a rut. For those interested, Just a Geek is a good book if you like reading blogs written by Wil Wheaton and to a certain degree me, seems we have or had a similar writing style. Yet if you are a me you also come to the conclusion that the book is slightly depressing because…well you too have not done much with your life despite trying or in the case of Wil Wheaton tried and succeeded.

Me…I keep trying or do I? I’m not really sure anymore, just like I still have no clue what I want to be when I grow up. This writing thing is pretty cool and I seem to have some talent for it, but then what? Write a book? That seems to be the catch all answer to the “What to do when you are a writer” question. What if and I am being serious here, see how I told you I was being serious, what if I don’t have a book in me?

What if, and pretend I did this because I did, I published five books and nobody bought a copy? Try to imagine how that fucks with that answer, because it does and I did. One book was full of naked women too…now how fucked up is that? Really fucked up.

The first four books just like Wil Wheaton’s Just a Geek, copies of my “blog” at the time, in a very similar style, although I have to say mine have a bit more humor and anger in them than his does. See I don’t have a problem writing about me here or anywhere else. Despite what you may think about the tone and structure most of what I write is about me and how I really think about things.

I tend to avoid “controversial” things such as politics, the state of the country, state of the world and recent or trending events because I am not an expert and plenty of people can voice their opinion. I don’t like opinion. However those interested, downward slope is my answer to all of the above things I don’t normally write about, hell until now never write about.

So I am down here at the bottom of this rut which as I look up is more a chasm. I need to find the thing I should be doing now in addition to the other things I should be doing…

good example, I love being a parent even when I have to yell, which I don’t like doing (Yes some of you may think I like yelling and being a dick, I don’t-sometimes messages are received clearer at volume and from someone you can despise for a bit).

I think that ends my example.

I cook (not all of the food gets eaten we are horrible with leftovers) and to be honest the amount of cooking I do in relation to the good feels I used to get is slanted in favor of I cook, they eat it, I…I don’t know what

I write this blog, but honestly blogging has not been fun for a few years. It used to be fun when I wrote about sex and lots of people talked to and with me, only one person talked at me. Here nobody…okay that is not correct my mother (who asks when Puddles and Whiskers is going to be new, I directed her to their blog), and KDaddy who always has something I find funny or insightful to say and…that’s it.

I do write this for myself, but I really enjoy when people take part. Do you want to know how people take part now, they read to see if they are in the blog and my take on the events that they were witness to…except I don’t do that very often or I embellish the events so much in the interest of storytelling to obliterate what really happened…

Why? because I got tired of people telling me the only reason they read what I wrote was to see their name in print. This isn’t print. All it took to drive that home was a former friend who asked me to include his most horrible behavior to his soon to be ex-girlfriend, because “wouldn’t that be a fun blog?” No you dick, it would not and did not and forever altered my writing on here in the same way as my family reading the blog and then attempting to confront me about the things I did…

And what does this have to do with being in a rut? I sit here, now every other day, as part of a routine, a new routine to be sure, but still a routine and I write what is on my mind, but not everything that is on my mind and I feel NOTHING.

NOTHING at all about my writing. Okay that is not true, Puddles and Whiskers gets my attention and yes I am still working on them they have their own website with art (thank you children and Chris Cortright). Everything else…not a thing…other than I hate the Geoglyphs and Alpaca’s post. I mean I love that people are learning about

  1. Geoglyphs
  2. Alpacas
  3. and the answer to an Animal Crossing puzzle that is at least five years old

But the people, numbering in the thousands, who have visited the post for that answer, never read anything else…fucking Animal Crossing…

Any who, I blather on about nothing and then move on. I no longer read my own posts unless I am having some contemplation time (read reading on the toilet) and I do that because I cannot remember what I wrote most of the time. That right there bothers me the most because I put, over the years, a lot of time and effort into this blog and yet I cannot remember most of what I wrote in the last six months or so because it was mindless drivel about a day, a thing, or an incident.

People seem to love my game reviews. I don’t. I’m not what I think of as an interesting reviewer.  I play the games. I write what happened. To me not very interesting. Thus I don’t know why people read what I write about when it comes to games. I’d like to know, but like I said somewhere up there, I get very little feedback at all

Sad thought of mine brought about by Wil Wheaton’s Just a Geek is that I miss the old days. I don’t like living in the past. I love learning from the past, but here I have been for the past few months longing for the past when I wrote about sex and people spoke to me, spoke to each other, and there was general sense of reason, belonging, and that people were reading. Nothing says people reading like someones commenting on something you wrote in the middle of a three-thousand (yes 3,000) word post on threesomes.





Why don’t I write about sex? Because WordPress is run by or managed by a lot of single minded puritans who…suffice to say some reader somewhere got their nose out of joint because SEX, complained and WordPress had a field day finding sex blogs and blocking, banning, or booting them (those were some fun months)…other than that because we have not had the resources for me to start my own hosted site…

So can we talk?

“Let children read whatever they want and then talk about it with them. If parents and kids can talk together, we won’t have as much censorship because we won’t have as much fear.”

-Judy Blume


Definition of Me by the Shirts I Wear

“The best things in life make you sweaty.”

-Edgar Allan Poe

I carried an exercise bike. Totally not what I should have done with the thing, but after the looks the salespeople gave my gut I thought I should show them that I could carry the damn thing to the car. Which in the pantheon of stupid things that happened around me was nothing because as a girthy man I hefted that box out to the car and then waited until we left to start breathing heavily. It’s not what they know it’s what you show and I showed them!

Thus I have a sore shoulder, but I have an exercise bike; personally I think the trade off is worth the temporary pain and as my spirit guide Tyler Durden likes to say, “Sticking feathers up your but does not make you a chicken” or something like that. Not that I was going to stick the handles up my butt and claim to be a bike…what a fucked up Transformer that would be. Personally I feel more like, “Even the Mona Lisa is falling apart.”

I try to act my age, but without a proper role model around I continue to act like myself and how meyeself gets treated is totally based upon the T-shirt I am wearing and NOT who I am only who I wore or who I am wearing, I always wanted a vest with tits…when I wear “How to Pick Up Chicks, shirt which shows the proper way to safely pickup a baby chick women glare and men grab their women,  you know in case I might lunge at them and pick them up by their rump. I only do that in the bedroom as part of the Farmer Ted scenario night (I play Farmer Ted with a girthy pitchfork). What I meant to say, is that I know how to safely pick up a chick, woman, small child, and bird that has stunned itself on our front window.

Long story turned into a 500 word story the T-shirt I wear seems to impart more to people than the look on my face, the other clothing I am wearing-commando!-and any other factor which may be relevant. The cat shirt for example, I hate cat shirts, cat memes, and in most cases cats. I know they are cute, but cats and I have a long and contentious history, yet I own and wear with some pride a cat wearing sunglasses shirt and I get the shittiest and stupidest days every single time. I wear it, I believe, because on some subconscious level I am tempting fate to kill me while wearing the shirt because people who know me wouldn’t be able to put cat shirt + dead me together.

If I was found wearing a Spongebob shirt, “Oh yeah, that’s him for sure.”

The cat shirt, “Nope, no clue at all. Maybe he stole Nate’s ID.”

Two cars, three shopping carts, and a deer today all tried to hit me or get hit by me in one way or another while the shirt was on. I swear its just a cat wearing sunglasses nothing more. No subtle jab at women visa vie picking up chicks implies that I am after your chick, you the chick, or have any sort of misogynistic intentions towards you…the proverbial chick in this example.

And maybe that is why the salesperson kept looking at my chest so oddly, not thinking, now there is a girthy man who could use an exercise bike, but more in a why in the fuck does he have a cat stretched to ridiculous proportions across his chest or maybe he really was looking at my girthy commando region thinking that he could imagine snuggling up with a man who loves cats enough to wear them on his chest after a workout on the bike…

who knows…

shirts define who I am and I am someone who wears a lot of shirts

“Reject the basic assumptions of civilization, especially the importance of material possessions.”

-Tyler Durden, Fight Club

Codpiece Revival

“If you don’t stand for something, you’ll fall for anything.”

-Wiseman, Sucker Punch

End the tyranny of length over width, embrace the natural (unnatural?) tendency of the human being to grow wider not taller…hell given that after a certain period of life barring a trip to a clinic where they insert bone from some other person or animal to give you few extra inches of height we, as a species, cease to grow tall and once that happens we only have one way to grow-wide or girthy

Close your eyes. CLOSE THEM DAMNIT! And imagine a world where length is no longer the most important…damnit, open your eyes and start reading after CLOSE THEM DAMNIT! and imagine with me a world, or just this country where girth is the new measurement of importance.

Who cares how tall you are, how wide are you? Height is a limitation of genetics, but girth that is an indication of a whole bunch of important things, such as potential wealth, potential time on your hands, potential sexual prowess, potential for early death…oops, there are some things that need to be worked out, but you get the idea.

Embrace your girth.

Love your girth.

The Girther Movement needs sponsors of course and starting with the obvious, collectible T-Shirts from your favorite fast food places and the first one to embrace the movement and the best way they can do that is take that skinny ass clown who does not look like anyone who eats there in anyway and girth that clown up. The King is already looking plump, he embraces girth. That fucking clown needs to start eating the shit he is shoveling and while he is at it get rid of the makeup, I want shirts to sell and that clown scares the shit out everyone.

Obviously Hollywood is next…well actually porn leads the way like they do in all things, don’t believe me do some research and you will see that other than warfare, porn is a leader in innovation and they can finally take those long cocked freaks, the ones who you see and immediately think, “Where is that going and how does it not burst out of her stomach like the alien in…well, Alien,” and replace them with normal 5 to 6 inch cocks that (is this a time for whom?) are grithy. Sure that will lead to a whole new set of insecurities for the supposedly “average” male, “is my dick grithy enough?”


But you can, at just about any clinic, get your dick inflated in the same way as women can get their tits pumped up. Imagine that! Dick inflation surgery. Hand in hand (HA) with tit inflation a whole nation of balloon people. Oh my…I think I am onto something here…

Soon enough instead of trying to get snaps of celebrities looking all fit, tit and beef curtain slips, paparazzi who should already be a legally hunted sub-class of humanity in the vein of the Running Man, can spend their time snapping pics of celebrities eating healthy and not focusing on embracing grithyness.

Once Hollywood embraces girth all bets are off other than how much longer until the North American continent sinks under the enviable grith of the people. I’m getting light headed thinking about all of the potential of a girthy movement. Sure a lot of things will have to get bigger such as the crotch region of anything men wear because if you don’t think every man will rush out to have his junk pumped full of whatever to get bigger like his best bud then you don’t men, cocks, and the American consumer mindset and I guess upon reflection that is okay…still the mental image of an entire nation of men embracing oversized, over decorated, and “fashionable” codpieces is fucking funny…by the way, cod pieces were a thing once before and if bellbottoms and other hippie crap can make a come back then codpieces surely can…

go girth or go home

“Sexually progressive cultures gave us literature, philosophy, civilization and the rest, while sexually restrictive cultures gave us the Dark Ages and the Holocaust.”

-Alan Moore, 25,000 Years of Erotic Freedom

Objectively Subjective

Chew, if only you could see what I’ve seen with your eyes!

-Roy Batty

…and that is how I got this huge scar across my stomach…

…you’ve never met that (aunt/uncle) who died from…

…in my head the sky is a color that denotes a stabbing is about to occur…

…I’d tell you about when I was a kid and how hard it was, but I can tell that you aren’t listening so let me sum up with, I will crack your ass the other way if you ever do (insert something stupid that people do around me) again…

…that one time where this happened, followed by that…

…you’d think I’d been to jail before…

…I don’t blame people, but I do hold them responsible, and then I remind them as often as I can of their screw up…

…sometimes, there really is a life lesson buried in one of my stories…

…hard as this is for you to believe, this time it is true, because strange shit really does happen around me…

Funny story, I really am grounded in reality, so much so that I think my feet are stuck in the concrete that is the depressing miasma that this life seems to be so often-bills, schedules, blah, blah, blah, blah…and yet if you were to meet me, were to hang out with me, you might wonder…

why is he such a dick?


is something wrong with him?

I don’t know. It is possible that something is indeed wrong with me and I am fine with that. People with real issues don’t have as much fun as I do and probably get called less names, but fuck them if they can’t see what I see…besides whatever would be necessary to “fix” me wouldn’t agree with me

I know that Roy Batty had it right. Through my eyes and my interpretation of everything life is removed from the miasma, but you have to be able to take a chance to let go-free you ass and your mind will follow kind of thing-I can’t explain it and I cannot repeat a day. I tried. I tried to tell everyone what happened during one day and I couldn’t.

Not that I couldn’t tell them what happened, but the details changed, the words changed, the whole story became different with each telling. Entertaining each time and yet, even as my word hole spewed forth the details, my grounded myned kept silently saying, “but wait that didn’t happen exactly that way,” and I guess my mind is fine with that I know my soul, ethics, morality is because I haven’t stopped once to say, “Sorry, what really happened was exactly this…” instead I roll on confident that the important salient details such as nouns and verbs are there, but the adjectives change…

That! That right there! I am objectively subjective. Wait…yes, that does sound wrong and yet that is what a story teller is someone who can keep the nouns and verbs in place so that people can follow along using adjectives to add color…

which may explain why I was never able to draw Tippy the Turtle to get my correspondents art course, still bugs me to this day, fucking turtle, tippy or not.

I wish I found some better sounds no one’s ever heard.

-Twenty One Pilots, Stressed Out