The bastard maples that surround my yard like an enclosing
phalanx laugh maniacally at me, I imagine, as they hold onto their arsenal of dead
and wilted leaves into might-as-well-be November.
Joke’s on them: I probably won’t rake my yard this fall anyways, regardless of when they unleash their crunchies.
Joke’s back on me: I’ll have to rake them when they are soggy and mixed with 9 months of dog shit next spring. The trees know this.
The mental image of a classic Roman phalanx wielding an arsenal of modern missiles makes me giggle harder than the joke I just made. It’s a shame when no one believes me when I tell them I’m funny.
Like the little arboreal nutrient factories have done, my urge to write anything has become drained and exhausted. Maybe it’s the season of death and decay, maybe it’s the lessening sunlight and accompanying Vitamin D deficiency, or maybe it’s the Viking’s losing season and loser quarterbacks and loser coaching staff that is turning good quarterbacks into loser quarterbacks.
What my writing inspiration lacks in chlorophyll, I’ll harvest via chloroform – meaning I’m going to take a deep breath and incapacitate myself until I’m spent. That is supposed to be some sort of deep, profound metaphor for conquering writer’s block, but it will probably just turn into a thousand words of what it seems like: a masturbatory experience that not one of you won’t regret walking in on.
Welcome to Gallagher’s show! Oh, you have front row tickets? This way please. I hope you brought a rain coat.
Lack of literary ambition mirrors my seeming lack of social outings. It’s not like I’m a homebody any more than I was before: I shoot pool on Monday nights, sometimes Tuesdays, meet up for chicken wings with another group of friends Wednesday nights, and sometimes play cards on Fridays. It just feels emptier, I think, without the trips to the beach with beautiful women in sexy bikinis (or in nothing at all) that had turned up the heat on a meteorologically disappointing summer. Hell, I was even told I looked positively Jack Johnson this summer. I WAS Jack Johnson this summer, you know, minus the copious weed smoking and amazing guitar skills and millions (thousands? hundreds?) of dollars he has.
I had a tan and the wispy unkempt hair resultant of a recent swim and no combing afterwards.
Ladies, contain yourselves.
No, the nights these days [Editor’s Note: the great part about editing my posts myself is that I get to say things like “the nights these days…” and not have someone tell me how stupid it sounds] are instead filled with streaming media and online gaming, the latter of which I had sworn not to do until the snow flies and I’m starting to wonder if I shouldn't postpone that until the snow melts as well. Five hours of Doctor Who over dinnertime, the time I should be doing my laundry, the time I should be doing the dishes, pause to let the dog out, and bedtime make the eternal darkness outside stretch into -oh shit, I used the word “eternal” back there so I can’t say eternity now… um- infinity. I rarely text anyone, and even rare-erly [Ed: really?] receive any.
Work is the tits. Oh fucking auto-correct, I meant “the pits”! It’s actually not, but what else am I supposed to say when someone else brings up their crappy job?! “Sucks to be you! I make enough to pay my bills and my mortgage and inject cardboard crack straight into my carotid!!” At least when people complain about the weather they are complaining about a shared experience. Unless the person they are complaining to lives in San Diego. Because go fuckyourself, San Diego! California should quit stealing all my friends!
So yeah, that’s my sob story: a not-so-grand tale of First World Problems. Not exactly enough substance to write a Linkin Park album but surprisingly close HAHAHAHAHAHA LINKIN PARK EMO JOKES ARE STILL FUNNY!!! It’s not exactly like I’m a starving Ethiopian HAHAHAHA MY NETFLIX SUBSCRIPTION FEE COULD FEED HIM FOR A MONTH!1!
I’m such a dick sometimes. At least it makes it easier to write these exhibitions of autofellation.
The end to my woes is only as far away as the cute bartender with cleavage wider than the gap in her teeth at whatever bar has a karaoke night going on, I know. That can be expensive, though. Stripper+blow parties in the backseat of an Aston Martin and a credit card zero-balance are mutually exclusive at my pay rate. I could maybe skip the car and host the strippers at my house and still make my mortgage, but first I’d have to clean it up.
Eureka! I’ll hire strippers to be my house maids!
That’s a much better idea then when I once tried to hire maids from a seedy motel to be strippers… Hey! It was totally consensual! Right up until the point I gave them the green card I promised them!
I don’t know who this little blog post is going to piss off more: my stripper friends, my maid friends, or my mother.
I almost went out for Halloween 3 nights ago. I got like 3 hours’ warning that hey, the bars have to celebrate tonight because Halloween’s on a freaking Thursday as if that’s the scariest day of the week at all (Someone get that Gregory guy on the phone, I have a bone to pick about his calendar). I always want to do some witty pop-culture reference from the past calendar year, but I didn’t have a fox costume or NBA jersey, nor the time to make up an Obamacare 404 webpage costume, or the idea to dress up as the zombified Jeff Hanneman.
Funny aside: when researching the funniest celebrity death of 2013 for that joke, the pictures Huffington Post used on their website for some recently deceased folks were instead blank with the words “The Image License has Expired”. You can’t make this shit up.
I think I will dress up, though, in what in the nerd kingdom is called “cosplay” (and what everyone else calls “a flashing neon sign telling women to stay thefuck away from this weirdo”) for the Doctor Who 50th Anniversary feature-length episode. And I’ll probably do the same for the next Star Wars flick to reach theaters too (maybe as Goofy, Jedi Master). It’s kind of fun to make something up and wear it proudly. And there’s enough nerds out there that do the same thing that I can find acceptance from them and feel good about myself. And they all have horrible acne and social skills so I can feel superior to those lonely virgin nerds, too.
Ok, I’m getting pretty close to disgusting myself now.
I think my favor for seclusion started with the last camping trip of the year, Labor Day weekend before the weather turned and the leaves were still green. Sure, I was with family, but I spent a lot of the weekend in zoned-out space, staring at the fire or napping an afternoon away. One cannot find the same escape during a lazy weekend at home that one finds in the Boundary Waters. That camping trip was a rejuvenation oddly coming at the end of summer as opposed to Spring, the traditional season of renewal. Maybe I’ve just been extending this serenity for far too long. The Dude abides, but you can only write so many post-dated checks for creamer HAHAHAHA ARE THESE ENOUGH NERDY POP CULTURE TRIVIA TO GAIN YOUR ACCEPTANCE PLEASE?!?!?
Whatever it is, it’s a long Minnesota winter and it’s only going to get worse. Anybody is going to have to make sure to fight the sadness of S.A.D. to make it through alive. I’m definitely going to have to clean my house up to entertain people, as it’s going to get too cold to have stripper+blow parties in the backseat anymore (I don’t know if you noticed, but strippers don’t wear effective winter clothing). I’m glad I made it to tailgate at least one Vikings game so far, and with a regular 9-ball schedule I’ll still get out and see folks. And that’s just what you have to do.
Oh shit, the Playstation 4 releases in less than a month?!
Someone come shovel me out before Christmas. I think I have enough supplies to last until then.
That’s a much better idea then when I once tried to hire maids from a seedy motel to be strippers… Hey! It was totally consensual! Right up until the point I gave them the green card I promised them!
I don’t know who this little blog post is going to piss off more: my stripper friends, my maid friends, or my mother.
I almost went out for Halloween 3 nights ago. I got like 3 hours’ warning that hey, the bars have to celebrate tonight because Halloween’s on a freaking Thursday as if that’s the scariest day of the week at all (Someone get that Gregory guy on the phone, I have a bone to pick about his calendar). I always want to do some witty pop-culture reference from the past calendar year, but I didn’t have a fox costume or NBA jersey, nor the time to make up an Obamacare 404 webpage costume, or the idea to dress up as the zombified Jeff Hanneman.
Funny aside: when researching the funniest celebrity death of 2013 for that joke, the pictures Huffington Post used on their website for some recently deceased folks were instead blank with the words “The Image License has Expired”. You can’t make this shit up.
I think I will dress up, though, in what in the nerd kingdom is called “cosplay” (and what everyone else calls “a flashing neon sign telling women to stay thefuck away from this weirdo”) for the Doctor Who 50th Anniversary feature-length episode. And I’ll probably do the same for the next Star Wars flick to reach theaters too (maybe as Goofy, Jedi Master). It’s kind of fun to make something up and wear it proudly. And there’s enough nerds out there that do the same thing that I can find acceptance from them and feel good about myself. And they all have horrible acne and social skills so I can feel superior to those lonely virgin nerds, too.
Ok, I’m getting pretty close to disgusting myself now.
I think my favor for seclusion started with the last camping trip of the year, Labor Day weekend before the weather turned and the leaves were still green. Sure, I was with family, but I spent a lot of the weekend in zoned-out space, staring at the fire or napping an afternoon away. One cannot find the same escape during a lazy weekend at home that one finds in the Boundary Waters. That camping trip was a rejuvenation oddly coming at the end of summer as opposed to Spring, the traditional season of renewal. Maybe I’ve just been extending this serenity for far too long. The Dude abides, but you can only write so many post-dated checks for creamer HAHAHAHA ARE THESE ENOUGH NERDY POP CULTURE TRIVIA TO GAIN YOUR ACCEPTANCE PLEASE?!?!?
Whatever it is, it’s a long Minnesota winter and it’s only going to get worse. Anybody is going to have to make sure to fight the sadness of S.A.D. to make it through alive. I’m definitely going to have to clean my house up to entertain people, as it’s going to get too cold to have stripper+blow parties in the backseat anymore (I don’t know if you noticed, but strippers don’t wear effective winter clothing). I’m glad I made it to tailgate at least one Vikings game so far, and with a regular 9-ball schedule I’ll still get out and see folks. And that’s just what you have to do.
Oh shit, the Playstation 4 releases in less than a month?!
Someone come shovel me out before Christmas. I think I have enough supplies to last until then.
