The fun thing about being a newspaper reporter, even if it's in a small town, is that you get free lessons and advice from people you interview all the time. For example, I remember that about a year ago I interviewed a writing professor who told me that not wanting to write was no excuse for a writer to quit writing even for a day. He said, "What makes you think you can sit around forever waiting for inspiration to strike? It may never strike! If you want to be a writer, you have to even write when you don't want to write, and make something happen."
Let's see if he was right. I haven't wanted to write much lately. I haven't felt funny, and I'm in a really bad mood today. Lucky for the world, I have spoken to exactly one person face to face today, so they were spared. I can be a dick. Still, I'm very nice. Anyway, I don't want to write, but I'm still going to write. And I'm gonna try my damndest to make it funny. Man, I really don't want to do this.
What the hell shall I write about it? Maybe first I should turn the radio off, because some jackass on talk radio is talking about teenagers are sending each other panty pictures over the phone these days. And there's no way I can concentrate when I hear the word panties. I'll be back.
There, now I've turned off talk radio and replaced it with the wonderful music of Captain Beefheart. If you think you've ever heard the weirdest man make music ever, you're wrong unless you're talking about the Cap'n. He's so weird that Frank Zappa wished he was him. Yes, the Cap'n even makes that hairy toilet-sitting Jew's music sound as blandard as a Papa Roach song. Did I just say "blandard?" Ever since the annoying "ginormous" set off this stupid word hybrid trend, I've been against them, but blandard does save me the trouble of saying both "bland" and "standard." And then I subsequently wasted the freed up time spending three sentences explaining how I did it. I never made the honor roll.
You know who else was weird and I actually knew them? No one that I can think of. Well, no one that I can think of that I haven't already written about. That's my problem. I have written about everything I know that has ever happened, and during that time I was so busy writing and behaving that I didn't make any new stories happen. I really need to fuck some shit up. I mean REALLY fuck some shit up. Then again, most of my best stories aren't about me making it happen, they are about dumb shit happening around me without my permission. Still, I could increase my odds of adventure happening by standing on a street corner naked or by prank calling the police.
Speaking of being outside naked. I have often thought about this. If a woman laid out in her front yard naked, it would only be a matter of minutes before she woke up with a dick in her. It could either be a dick from a guy she approved of, or a dick from some weirdo rapist that she totally didn't approve of. Either way, if a woman lays out in her front yard, there's a dick coming.
However, if a man lays out in his front yard, the same thing won't happen. Actually, I take that back; the EXACT same thing will happen to him: he will wake up with a dick in him. It could be a dick from a guy he approves of, or most likely from some weirdo rapist that he didn't ask for a dick from. Either way, if a man lays out in his front yard naked, there might be a dick coming. But we all know what is never coming to the weird man who lays out in his front yard in his home-made nudie suit: a nice piece of woman-ass. Hell, he's not even getting an ugly piece. If anything, he's getting a cod piece. And who wants what they already have? Oh right, gay people. Speaking of gay people, do you think lesbians fight over who gets to use the good dildos? Yeah, me either. I wonder if lesbians have nightmares that their dildos will turn into real penises with live men attached to them and chase them around asking them to look at their record collection. Yeah, me either.
You know what I hate about lesbians? Not much. As long as they are hot. No seriously, I hate seeing one type of lesbo couple. This one: the full-time lesbian with the just-this-one-time lesbian. The full-time lesbian always bosses around the new lesbian, and the new lesbian takes it because she's just excited to be with a "girl." But you can always see the crystal ball for both of the them. In ten years, the just-this-one-time lesbian will have given into her biological urges and married a man and had kids, while the full-time lesbian will be ten years older, but still preying on new temporary lesbians who are exactly the same as the previously mentioned just-this-one-time lesbian. Speaking of homos, Judas Priest just came on my radio. I bow to the Priest with their super-gay lead singer. Man those dudes still rule. Rob Halford sings so hard that one time he was twenty-five feet away from me at Ozzfest, and I could feel his voice pounding my chest. It wasn't the speakers, it was the direct soundwaves. I could hear him separately from the speakers. (Don't think it was lost on me that I said "came on my radio" or "on my chest." I noticed, but I was in the middle of a dumb story. That Priest show was so cool, except when he started making dirty faces at some dude in the crowd that he liked. You know what else is funny? The song that is on is Painkiller. And I just took a painkiller. I don't take a lot of painkillers, but I have been battling an unknown painful scary-as-shit illness for two weeks and also a brand new minor skull injury for about five days. Hey, I'll write about that in my next post. It's my snow-tubing story. Judas Priest is the shit.