i dont want to write this novel.

its gonna suck. i dont want to make anything that sucks. plus, it feels like work. fuck work. wanna know why this blog has gone on for over two years, cuz its never been work. its always been fun. yes ive felt an obligation to do this sometimes, but not often.

fuck this book. i dont want to run any marathon. i dont even want to put together blook II for christmas. im a lazy bastard sometimes. and you know who i blame. i blame the rum. but what else am i gonna do. when i worked at the dot com, when i got home i would work on writing newspaper ads for the company, or i would figure out how to do something smarter, or i would go through resumes. i loved that place and i loved working around those people and for them.

i want to feel that way again. i want to do something at night thats worthwhile, and writing a bunch of dirty ass porn might be hot for some of the ladies ive shared the first few chapters to but page after page after page of sex is a grind. how many ways can a man write about humping? and im too old for that shit anyway. ive seen it all. ive done it all. everything on the hetro side of the menu, i guess. writing about it… cleaning it up… making it more poetic and more sexy.. big whoop.

at night i dont know what i want to do, but its not go do my home work. shit. if i was gonna do work after work i would still belong to that fratboy gym and by now id have some rad body for the ladies to climb all over. but who wants to be lusted over cuz of their bod. theres always a bigger badder bod around the corner. why join that dumb wet tshirt contest.

i want to be passionate about something. im not passionate about this sex book of filth. this one guy said that i could always try to develop it into a movie and i was like did you hear what the hell i said, i said everyone is pretty much naked like all the time and it ends in a fuck contest at a howard johnsons during a nympho convention before during and after a blackout followed by an electrical storm caused by an approaching tornado. ron howard isnt gonna direct that shit.

a pretty girl today said if she was rich she would pay me so i wouldnt have to work and i would just write this book and make good love to her all day, and then she sent me a naked picture of herself. thats two, la times, fuckers. jim murray never got *two* chicks to send him pictures of their impossibly perfect bods just for being jim murray. but fuck the la times.

if i ran the la times you know what i would do.

id sprinkle some hi’s through the paper and pretend i didnt.

imagine youre flipping through the business section, just doing your thing and whats hi this right in the middle of a sentence. or in the gutter in the obits. or replacing the page number in the sports section. d1, d2, d3, hi, d5.

best little free gift you could ever give someone is an unexpected laugh. a smile on their face when they couldnt remember what there was to smile about.

look at that cute smile mr david letterman is sharing with the people of the world as he introduces his son harry joseph letterman to america.


im glad to see dave smile. he’s made me smile lots of times.

i hope this helps him lighten up too.

its ok dave.


but im still quitting this damn novel.

check out mindy’s halloween photo essay (scroll down a bit) + the academy + earth-info

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