Flat! So?

Hello kiddies! I've been quite busy with a new project so I can't share my innermost thoughts with you. I would love to say that I will be back soon to say inane things but that probably isn't the case. I'm far too busy to entertain you guys so this may be the unofficial end to the inexperienced hack. I'd tell you more about it but quite frankly you don't need to know (yet). In any event, enjoy your sad, pathetic lives without me. I'm sure there are more important things to do while you're online rather then reading this drivel anyway. PEAS!

New days

I would like everyone to know that I am not now or have ever, stuffed a cabbage in my ear. These wild allegations are nothing more then slander produced by those distateful people that plague my webspace. Please, do NOT listen to them. Also concubine and horseshoe. Thank you.

Horrifying Premonition

I had one of the worst kinds of nightmares last night: The kind that you are partially awake for but your body is still paralyzed so you can't move and you can see what's going on with half-lidded eyes, overlaid with images of what you are dreaming about. I was lying on my bed (as I usually am when I'm unconscious) and I am suddenly transported to what looks like a laboratory. I can see a creature in front of me working feverishly on something that he is obstructing with his body. His body is made of something shiny but it's too dark to tell for sure (marble?) and when I decide to get up and see what he's doing and am unable to do so, the fun starts. In my head I'm yelling my head off but I can't talk and I can't move. I'm not strapped down or anything and the only thing on me is a heavy blanket but I can't seem to get my arms to cooperate. Summoning my strength in a herculean effort to will my limbs to move, I reach up and as I am close enough to the humanoid creature to move, I grab for his arm. He twists around with a horrified look on his face and says something that I can't understand. It seems that I was not supposed to be awake and that he was indeed going to do something ghastly to me. This reaction empowers me to ask the question "Who are you?" and he tries to pull away from me but I hold fast. At that moment I had the upper hand but I still can't move the rest of my body. The scientist/torturer creature is terrified and so am I but slowly gaining confidence. Then just as suddenly I wake up. I don't know what it means but I figured I should share the experience with you before it gets lost in the mists of unmemory. Phew!

Ruminations

What the hell happened to me? I used to be strong, fast, smart and funny. I used to be the envy of all the guys and idolized by all the girls that laid thier eyes on me. I didn't have a care in the world. Then suddenly I was in the second grade and everything changed. There was a girl named Nicole G that captured my heart and I was struck. I can already hear you know-it-alls out there grumbling the words "crush" and "puppy love" but obviously they have not had the pleasure(or displeasure) of having someone stuck on thier minds so totally. She was blond and hazel-eyed and she didn't seem to care about me at all. I think that's what struck me the most. She lived here life oblivious to my admiration of her. That's how it started. Fast forward a bunch of years and I'm in high school. Nicole has long since gone but that feeling never leaves. That want. Now here I am. I wish I could go back to before I met Nicole. I was someone else then. It seems that the me that is now is not the me that I thought I'd be but here I am nonetheless. Still, I could be worse off and there are bright things to look forward to. Enough ruminations for now. It's time for wild abandon with pixelated strangers. Have a fantastic week, people.

Getting that worm

Damn it's early. Me peepers haven't yet adjusted to the lack of sleep and abundance of sun. It seems that I have developed an unhealthy obsession with electronic devices... I'm about to go camp the AT&T store until it opens and gives me an iPhone. Why do I need an iPhone? I don't rightly know. I have a phone and I have several MP3 players that work perfectly but I can't be dissuaded with logic and reasoning. I need one immidiately so I can move on to the next gadget that I will rarely use to it's full potential. Maybe it's a status symbol. Maybe I just love Steve Jobs that much. Who knows? All I can say for sure is that the iPhone better be as awesome in a box as everyone says it is or I'll be pretty upset. Wait, no I won't. Still, if I manage not to destroy it within the first 3 weeks then I will consider it a success. Enjoy yourself today, reader, for I look forward to squinting at poorly visible videos and texting with no tactile feedback all day.











*Update











I wasn't the only one that had the idea to wait.

Bwomp!

Still on hiatus and I feel fine. I might even take a trip down to the beach for real since my farmers tan seems to be fading. More later if my retinas ever finish adjusting to the light.

Me and me makes three

I've decided to disconnect for a while to give myself a chance to explore new activities other then sitting in front of the computron for hours on end. If you don't see me on, don't take it personally. I've found a much nicer audience in my mind. But rest assured, I will return. Eventually.

Goofball murders

Damn I'm lazy. I love writing but I can't seem to get going these days. Don't really have much to say and the imp that runs the imagination circuit has been on an extended vacation. I try to jumpstart on my own but it fails to work. Also I'm hungry and I can't be expected to think on an empty stomach.


*LONG PAUSE WHERE I GO GET SOMETHING TO EAT FROM THE FRIDGE THAT MAY OR MAY NOT BE ICE-CREAM WITH CANDY CORN IN IT*


Ok! Now I feel much better. I think. Not sure what candy corn can do to someone if ingested with dairy. I take my chances for the edification of humanity. Maybe I can just start an interesting story with a random idea!

*WAITS FOR THE IMAGINATION CIRCUIT TO BE ACTIVATED BY THE BACKUP OPERATER, A DRUNKEN COW*

Mooooooo! *hic* Well guys, that's all I got. Until next time... stay away from the fermented cud.

I'm not EMO, honest

Wow... My last posts have been a little on the EMO side. If I could warp back to yesterday, I'd punch myself in the face for even considering writing it. I suppose you have to hit bottom before you can pull yourself back up. Life's been a douchy whore to me but there is no reason to take it out on you, reader. And besides, there is good news amongst the voids of anger and despair: I got me a car! Now I'm gonna be the one nearly killing others with my wide left turns and my failure to signal. There's nothing like driving around aimlessly and getting lost a lot. I drove around for an hour and it was liberating and great fun. Even the policeman who wrote me a ticket for littering seemed to be genuinely pleased.
What am I saying? Nothing. But what I am typing is that I tend to get morose at the littlest things. Enjoy this for what it is: A quick waste of your time while I work out my problems on the screen. Whether or not you respond is immaterial. I do this simply because I can. I do it for us, reader (not really).

Dag. Part II

And who cares? It's what everyone wants.

Dag

This world is going to hell in a handbasket.

Foodificationalism

I love me some food! Don't you? Of course you do! And you're in luck! There's a bunch of food to go around. Well for most of us. I am doing my part for the benefit of those poor unfortunates: I'm going to eat a sandwich, every hour on the hour, in honor of those that can not reach their local delis because of bad weather conditions and for those that don't have the right condiments to enjoy a sandwich the way it should be enjoyed. Does it sound ridiculous to you, reader? That is only because you don't take food seriously and should be flogged mercilessly until you do.
The best thing about food is not the taste. Or the smell. Those are just smokescreens. The real action, so to speak, is in the sensation of swallowing a mouthful of delicious tender vittles in front of someone that has none. There can be no greater joy then eating a bit of cheesecake knowing full well that the child near you does not have any of his own to join you in your oral festivities. Now that may sound harsh and downright rotten but that is only because you happen to be the child in that hypothetical situation. Should the shoe switch to the other foot, you would happily munch on your chicken 'n' rice pizza in front of me. So let us not be petty and please pass the syrup. These sandwiches don't go down easy and I need all the help I can get.

Pain in the head

Worst headache ever.

Rain in the room

It's raining out. I like rain. It makes me feel good. Well usually. Today's rain makes me feel thoughtful. What am I thinking? That's not the question you really want to ask. What you want to ask is: why purple, frilly panties? And while that might be an astute observation on your part(bravo, reader!) it is not for you to ask (hoisted by your own petard!). Don't assume that I am wearing said purple, frilly panties. Perhaps it's a gift for someone! Perhaps they are evidence that god exists and had manifested itself thus. Or perhaps I made the panties up to begin with. That's what I do. I play games with you, reader. You're in my domain. I can make words Looooooooooooooooooonger or shrtr. I can make you think of rabid, tick-infested shoe gophers merely by mentioning them. See that? You just did. The power I wield has made me drunk. What was I saying? No idea. Oh right! Rain! Rain makes me feel like I'm enclosed in a watery room. Everything feels blurry because of it. It's kind of awesome. I'd be walking outside in the rain right now but actually I don't have a good reason not to be outside. See you out there, reader! Hippopotamus nuts infected with gangrene(gotcha again!).

Damn hair

Well it seems I can finally incinerate my drivers permit because I got my license. It is a joyous day. Stuff seems to be looking up for a change. Everything seems to be falling into place except one thing. My damn facial hair torments me morning, noon and night. If I cut it short then it looks funny. If I leave it long then I'm told I look like a terrorist. It grows continually so I have to try and trim it just right so it doesn't look like crap. Most of the time I couldn't care less but recently it's been a real pain in the neck. Electric razors tend to pull the hair instead of cut it regardless of the quality of the device. Disposable razors work alright but you gotta keep buying them unless you want to jig up your face. Still I have my license so it's not all a waste. I'm bored now. Peace.

A great f*cking morning

I woke up today to a txt from my roommate asking me to take care of Big K since he wouldn't be back for a little while. Big K is his dog. I let Big K out to do his business in what should have been an enclosed back yard. Big K, after finishing his business, decided that going back into the house was too boring so he squeezed himself through a gap in the fence and was now running wild in the street. Knowing that my roommate would murder me with a tire iron if anything happened to his dog, I ran out after him. I couldn't catch him on account of a trauma he must have received from another tall, dark Hispanic man that required him to whine and run around the neighborhood avoiding me like the plague. He decided to take himself out on a walk and I finally caught up with him about 3 blocks down. I commanded him (yeah right!) to stay as I inched closer and then before he could bolt, I picked him up and began the long walk in my underwear to the house. Thankfully he was not hit by a car or something. He is currently safe and but not sound, cowering in my roommates room while I write this. What a great way to wake up on a Saturday morning.

Random thoughts

Damn! I had to pay my rent. A kick in the pocket. It beats living under a bridge or something. Life's been a downer recently so I've decided to take a vacation. Right here in my own room. I'm currently sitting here in a fold-up chair, wearing a Hawaiian shirt and sandals. Playing the ukulele (not very well). The ukulele is just for show. I'm wearing a pair of sunglasses and staring directly at my 100 watt light bulb which I have forcibly screwed into a flashlight. Sure is bright.
That's just silly. I'm sorry guys but I'm obviously talking through my butt. I'm merely wearing a t-shirt and sitting at my computers. Hold on... Ok I went and got a glass of water and something which I believe is sand. They are sitting side by side next to my shoes. That is as close to the beach as I'm likely to get anytime soon but it will have to suffice. A positive mind goes far these days. Too bad I don't have the ukulele for real. A ukulele would be nice. I'm just counting the days until I can get a car so's I can drive myself over a cliff.

Dreams Suck

I hate dreaming sometimes. You're doing things in your dreams that couldn't possibly be or become true and you wake up to find that it was all a figment of your imagination. The symbolism in dreams also makes no sense. I'm climbing down an icy mountain but I'm talking on a cell phone and then I realize that the mountain is way too hard to traverse with only one hand so I climb back up and decide to take a much easier route around the mountain in a car. What the hell is that about?! How is that supposed to help me figure out what to do in life? It's so friggin' strange. There's more to that dream but it's all equally nonsensical or disappointing. I wake up today to find that none of it is true and I can't do anything about it. The crazy thing is that I think I willed myself to dream it in the first place and just like everything else my brain does to mess with me, it happily granted my goddamned wish. I would like nothing better then to explore this facet of my mental self-flagellation but it appears that I can't think of anything else to say. Thanks brain.
What is it about dreams that can make someone who is normally happy, sad? Or turn what could have been a perfectly good day into a day of wasting time dwelling on stuff that never happened? I would call it a nightmare except Freddy Krueger wasn't chasing me around. Nothing in my dream was horrifying until I woke up. And as normal as some of the imagery and subject matter were, I knew within my dream that it must be a dream. At least I can be thankful for that. It would have been much worse waking up and thinking it was real life.
If there was a way to reproduce this feeling consistently it would be a great punishment for inmates. If jail was a place where you woke up every morning disoriented and emotionally jacked up, it would probably stop crime a lot more then hanging out in a cell learning to be better criminals. They would be too busy feeling like crap to shank the warden. Hell, they might be more apt to shank themselves.

Getting down with the sickness

I hate bein' sick. It sucks a lot. I'm currently sweating in my room for no apparent reason. Sickness is weird on the body sometimes. I'm tired but I'm not tired. My stomach is weird but I want to eat. Damn sickness is breaking the fourth wall for us today. Craptastic.

Joyous occasion

I got my driving license. I would say something witty and/or insightful but I'm too busy being unsad. Carry on.

Missed Opportunities

Damn! I missed my chance for April fools this year! Oh well. By the way: why is it that the big deal these days is to get a huge wide-screen monitor when most blogs and websites have adopted a thing strip of text and images that barely takes up half the screen? Who thinks this crap up?! Hmmm... Maybe I'll change this blog to better use your screen. If I ever get around to it anyway. I'll write more later. Unless I'm dead or I win a million dollars. Or if I find an interesting piece of lint to examine. Time will tell.

Driving Hell

Driving scares the crap outta me. And not because I don't have a license yet. People that are out on the roads today are completely insane. We've got old folks that can't stay in their lane, we've got young folks on cellphones, we've got truckers nodding off with the occasional road-rage retard that comes after you if you don't make your turn the millisecond that the way is clear. It's enough to give any sane person a heart attack. I've been out on many different roads but the main theme that goes through my head is that everyone treats driving like a single guy treats doing the dishes: it's fine to cut corners as long as you get most of the egg salad off the fork (or something like that).
Driving the way you're meant to drive isn't difficult. You signal your turn, wait until it's your time to go and then make your turn. Simple. I love people that can sit there and lecture me on proper dining room etiquette but can't drive home without nearly killing half the drivers on the road. I think I'm alright at driving but my excuse is that I haven't been doing it for very long. I would like to imagine a utopia where people too stupid to follow the rules of the road are disintegrated on the spot and you can drive through the cloud of stupid that tried to make a left without signaling. But why stop there? Why not just have a place where you have to be able to read and write to get a driver's license? In my state, all you need is to guess at 20 questions and someone will hand you a permit to drive. I wouldn't mind if I had to write an essay for that one. It would eliminate the young idiot drivers and the illegal immigrants that haven't bothered to learn the official language of my fine country. But it's not their fault so much as the jerks giving out permits and licenses like they were Easter candies.
Maybe I'm just bitter. Maybe I'm right. But going out onto those roads seems like a war-zone at best and a calculated method of suicide at worst. Be careful out there, people. And fear not; the disintegration ray is nearly ready.

Important news!

Boobies.

That is all.

Weekend!

So! It's a lovely Friday here in AnyTown, USA! Everyone is rarin' to get to their weekend activities early so they can clog up traffic by 6 PM. I think I'll enjoy a rare evening of sitting by my faithful dog and lighting my toes on fire! It's got to be better then risking a more serious injury like stubbing your toe falling off the sidewalk while avoiding that crazed, knife-wielding maniac with women's underwear on his head. Or spraining your wrist while you fend off hungry sharks in your rapidly sinking vessel.
On the other hand it might be a really good weekend. Maybe you have drunken sex with someone you don't know AND you didn't contract that new super-virus that liquefies your lungs. Certainly a win-win situation if ever there was one. But at the end of your weekend or more accurately on Sunday, you start thinking about how much time you have left to enjoy and it's just not enough. You can already see the goons you work with leering at you and asking inane questions: "How was YOUR weekend? Do anything fun?!" And the truth of the matter is that up until that very moment your weekend was fine but Monday has occurred and you're back to grinding your teeth when you have to ask your co-worker to kindly move out of the way so you can get to your sweeping.
Well it's not time for that just yet. Thankfully you have the full weekend to look forward to. And if you see me, don't make fun of the underwear on my head.

Vent

ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZT!
Grrrrrrrrr...
FU*K!
AAAAAAAAAAH!
Tweeeeeeeeeet!!!
Blam! BLAM BLAM BLAM!
Ugh!
koff, koff.
...ssssssssssssss...
grumble, grumble

Phantasms of Sarcasm

Sarcastic @$$holes run my world. I can't stand their smug looks and their condescending attitudes. They like putting you down and they enjoy their work. But your hero is not without his bag of tricks. I use the mighty axe of knowledge coupled with the shield of humilty to combat these nefarious jerk-bags. Well more like the shiv of reverse-sarcasm and the broken bottle of show-them-for-the-stupid-and-inconsiderate-fruitpops-they-are +7. Sarcasm is great when used correctly but like all things, too much of a good shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth (i think that's the saying anyway).
The best thing in the world is to laugh at work. Especially when everyone else is having a miserable time or having problems staying awake. Nothing brightens my day more then being able to laugh knowing that the others don't have a clue at the hilarity happening right under their noses. It's the only way to combat the sarcastic douche-poofs when they get to tearing me down. Well that's only if I forget the truncheon hidden under my keyboard.
Max Bastard out.

How not to be crazy

I think I've figured out how not to be crazy. No not really. If I knew that I wouldn't be crazy anymore. Being crazy is very time consuming and leaves one without much reward. Letting the brain ruminate on the same thing all day can't possibly be healthy or productive and yet the brain somehow doesn't care. I have these bouts of either asking my brain what to do or calling my brain a moron. There's no winning involved and I wind up where I started: Nowhere.
I have some thoughts as to why my brain tortures me with information and expectations. I don't think it was my brain to begin with. Ok, I know that sounds crazy but let me explain. What if my brain was really my Siamese twin brothers brain? What if he was all but reabsorbed in the womb only to surface years later to drive guilt and doubt into me like a railroad spike? I've never heard it cackle maniacally but that's only because that would confirm my suspicions. Never mind my evil brain.
What about my heart? I think they are in cahoots. But I don't think it belongs to a twin brother. I believe that was transplanted in just before puberty. I don't know when or how but it just doesn't seem normal sometimes. Why else would I tear up at movies that are barely sad? One might think I'm less of a man but then again one can stick it where the sun don't shine.
My heart and my brain can both eat the big one for all I care. I can't trust them not to screw me up from day to day. I'm going to have to band together with the rest of my body parts to combat this evil conflagration from hell. I can see it now: My lungs and stomach leading the fight while the kidneys and colon back them up as calvary. There will be much headaches and running to the bathroom but I am confident that when the smoke clears, I'll have full control of my brain and heart. It's a good thing they don't know what I'm doing otherwsie ti wulod eb ipmosisbel ot tpye.

Catching the vapors

Boy! It's been a while hasn't it! I could have been dead or something. But I'm not dead. I'm words on a screen. I'm electric pulses coursing through your monitor. I'm sub-conscious remarks whispered in the back alleys of your brain. I am a warm blueberry muffin. I think I might be high as well.
But fear not, gentle reader, for I have news from the front-lines:
I don't care Spitzer is a douche and neither should you. Here's why:
* If you didn't expect that from him then you are to blame for his actions as much as he is.
I mean the fact that everybody made a big deal about him jogging in the rain when he was first brought in should tell you that he MUST be hiding something. Whatever. The Giants won and the Patriots lost. Um... Britney is insane or something. I dunno. I try to keep up with useless news but there's just so much of it out there.
So what's goin' on with you, reader? Everything coming up roses in your microcosm? Work going ok? All 7 kids taken care of? Your feet washed? That's good. I'm glad it's working out. I'd hate to think about you failing miserably in life. It can be pretty hard.
Life's been really weird lately for everyone, including yours truly. Sorting it all out is a full-time job in and of itself. So in the interest of getting it all sorted I've decided to be a little proactive with it. I'm currently trying to find an apartment so if you have any openings in the Horsehead Nebula and don't mind pets, let me know.

Links

Links today:
Sex.
Life.
Drugs.
Coffee.
Humor.
Death.
Mother.
Chicken.
Games.
Happiness.
You.

Fame

It seems I'm too busy for my audience these days. I wanted to make this blog a daily thing but that isn't happening. I'm a stickler for consistency but I'm also busy so I guess I can't have it both ways.
My blip of a blog doesn't seem to be catching on like wild-fire as I once hoped. I must embellish a story about sex and drugs and see what happens. Here goes:

"Max Bastard was found dead, sitting on a toilet with an Elvis impersonater's penis in his mouth and an empty bottle of Vicodin in his hand."

-- Bryant Gumbel

Sensational enough? I hope so. So go ahead and send those letters of inquiry to the New York Post or the Miami Herald or whatever reputable news source you use. Feel free to add details of the death to the reporter. Was it a homicide or a suicide? Did I suffocate or was it an overdose? Who knows?! Have fun with it. If it works out and I get on the news some how, I might become a celebrity and then I'll wind up having to date Paris Hilton for the publicity... Ok well maybe I didn't think this through well enough. On second thought, I'd rather be a nobody.

The joker is dead. That is all.




I don't really care either way but I was wondering: "Don't you have to be talented to die young?" I didn't think heath was a particularly good actor (obviously), but it does make me think that times are changing. It used to be that you had to be good at something and then they would find you with a hole in your head the size of a grapefruit from a shotgun blast or over-dosed on enough heroin to to kill an elephant. It's kinda heartening actually. Maybe Frank Caliendo will finally kill himself like I asked him to.

Another wonderful day

Today, my friends, I am feeling joyful. Not for any reason. I just feel good. That translates to nothing in particular to write about. I only come up with something when I'm angry it seems. Or depressed. Sadly(?), that's not the case today. So again I have nothing to say. Congratulations to me. The blog has somehow survived 10 posts. I'm gonna have some cake and ice cream later. See you around.

Mentally winded

I just got my mental wind knocked out of me. It's an occurrence of something unexpected happening, leaving the brain unable to think of much else. I won't go into the details of what happened but rest assured that it was favorable.
Last night I had a silly dream. I'll tell you about it because I don't want to forget it. I dreamt that I was dating the late Tupac's daughter. Tupac, understandably, did not find this copacetic. It was known that he wanted to have words with me via his guns. A friend of mine decided he could talk Tupac out of killing me so we went to his house. About halfway through the conversation between us four, my "friend" leaves to go take care of something leaving a very unconvinced Tupac behind. I sat there with him and he made small talk as he brandished different weapons at me. Finally he came to the conclusion that he shouldn't kill me because his wife would be angry at him. The end. One interesting "fact" about this dream is that I knew what was going to happen if my friend was to talk to Tupac. It was like I was an actor in a movie I'd seen a couple of times and knew the ending of. The problem came when the friend left, changing the script around. We were supposed to walk in, he would talk to Mr. West coast and then I'd leave with my life. When that didn't happen, I was scared outta my wits within the dream.
That's all I have for you today, Kiddies. I'm sorry about my lame dream but I figured I'd share something with you. If everything works out with my "occurrence" I'll tell you about it. But don't hold your breath.

Who gives a rat's ass?

Welcome, joy seekers and naysayers, to another thrilling episode of America's rising sensation:

Who gives a rat's ass?

The show where the average citizen, like yourself, can win fabulous prizes by answering with the question "who gives a rat's ass?" I am your host, Max Bastard, and I wish you all good luck!
Ok! Let's get started:

1.Did you know that Barbie's measurements would be 39 - 23 - 33 in real life?

2.Did you know that all the clocks in the movie pulp fiction are stuck on 4:20?

3.Did you know that Coca Cola was originally green in color?

We've tabulated the scores and there is no clear winner. On to the lightning round!

Bonus-super-lighting-redlight-special-noholdsbarred-inyourface-omgwtfbbqsauce question:
46?

Aaaaaaaannd it seems we have run out of time. The winner of this show is clearly you, reader, for you are reading this blog. Enjoy your feeling of superiority over your fellow man for now knowing fun facts you might not have been able to bore someone else with before. As for me, who gives a rat's ass?

Bleh

So here we are again. You and I. It's cozy. I wanted to make it a point to write every day but I felt I had better things to do for a couple of days. It's not your fault, really. It's all me. Don't blame yourself. I've considered writing a serial of some sort just to flex my fictional writing muscles but that sounds like too much effort. I'd rather shoot the *Expletive Deleted* with you guys.
I don't rightly know what a blog is. The definitions are plentiful and equally crappy. This has evolved into a diary/ranting space and it's been OK so far. You're still here. That's all that matters. Unless you need insulin shots or a wheelchair. That matters more. But only by a little.
Recently I've been checking out crap on YouTube. Virals mostly. Stuff so dumb that your brain has to stop and say "WTF was that?! I've GOT to see it again!" until you can't get it out of your head. It's debilitating and a monumental waste of time but such is life.
I'm tired now so I'll leave you with some words before I go off to take a nap or something:

If you have nothing to say, make sure that what you do say is within block quotes. The chicks dig that.

Enjoy your day. But not too much or you'll spoil it.

Still here?

Ah! A new week! And you are still here. Great for you. I'm glad you survived your weekend unscathed. It's a good thing that an Internet scammer didn't steal your identity and started a bestiality porno website. It's a really good thing a prowler didn't crawl into your window to strangle you in your sleep. There apparently wasn't a shoot-out near your window or a hurricane that blew through your town. Bombs and disease have not sent you to meet your maker, either. All is well. Seemingly.
It's not that I'm optimistic. Any of those things could happen to you soon. Maybe all of them (and you get raped by an orangutan.) These things are highly likely at any given time.
Scared yet? No? Well that's too bad. I'm just trying to bring you back to reality today. If the idea of any of this did not cross your mind, I'm just here to remind you. Consider me your own Dr. Phil only I don't really try to help you at all. One could make the argument that neither does Dr. Phil but that's immaterial.
In any event today is Monday. Try not to die.

Inspirational message to people around the world

I hate my stupid brain. Yesterday I came up with a great concept for today's blog but the moment I woke up this morning, I forgot it completely. I couldn't tell you anything about it at all. And not to say that it would have been insightful or humorous but it certainly would have been more amusing then this veiled attempt to excuse my lack of creativity.
By now, if you've been paying attention, you might have gotten the idea that I am a master of self-deprecation. Nothing could be further from the truth. I can be extremely funny sometimes. I do this thing where I put a lampshade on my head and pop out at people as they exit the movie theater. It's a hoot. One time, I went to a comedy club to see what passes for comedy these days and the comedian on stage decided to joke on the audience. He poked fun at my date and I for looking like extras off a Lost shoot. I stared glibly at him while my date hid behind her tattered parka. Wait that wasn't me. Never mind that story.
I guess you could say that I have no real reason for this blog and you'd be right. I don't think I care that I have nothing to say but something about pressing keys on this keyboard makes me feel like I'm real important. This is more of an experiment of sorts. Am I trying to show my writing chops or a sad cry for help? You be the judge.
And now for an inspirational message to people around the world:

"Please share your art with others. It helps many through their artless days and gives critics something else to do besides watching dust settle."

That is all. Enjoy your weekend, ireadcrappyblogsinsteadofdoingsomethingworthwhileperson.

Doing the write thing

I listen to Opie and Anthony and if I've learned anything about being funny, it's that it is really random what people will like. Based on shows I've heard (and I've heard plenty), any caller can bomb completely and there are no indications that the hosts will find them funny. People that call in to be funny usually aren't and some that call in to refute something on the show on a serious note will become "Radio Gold".
On their talk show, they have callers commenting on anything from Jimmy Dean's Sausitches to "Dog" the bounty hunter to baseball players who take steroids.
Listening to lil' Jimmy Norton is usually the highlight of my day. That guy is filthy and hilarious on a daily basis. Even when he's bombing. Which is an impossible idea. Anthony is a gun-nut who can do voice impressions. Opie is an angry loudmouth host that ensures the show is entertaining every millisecond they are on the air. Great show for those who aren't PC and can take a joke.
I guess the obvious point is that, with these great influences, I still can't make something chuckle-worthy.So why am I talking about O and A? 2 reasons.
1. I can put their labels on my blog and get more hits.
2. Who cares. Leave me alone.
Maybe I'll put up a picture of a naked woman to grab whatever dregs troll through these blogs hoping for a peek at a nipple. Worth a shot and it gives them something to do with their other hand. And remember: The name of this blog is Inexperienced Hack. I'm nothing if not accurate.

Humpday

Today is, as we like to call in the workin' world, humpday. It doesn't mean that people are more apt to molest coworkers (well not any more then they would normally). It means that today is halfway through the week for the monday-friday, 9-5 crowd.
Humpday really isn't special. What you are reading now is the kind of drivel that most people are capable of on humpday. The average person can't come up with an original thought by the middle of their week. I myself have no real excuse for this drivel since I never have anything new to contribute to a conversation much less society.
An example:
Today I was talking to a coworker about something we spoke about for 5 minutes last week. After talking with him about the same subject for an additional 5 minutes today, there wasn't anything else for me to talk to him about. I could tell that I was expected to say something but I couldn't figure out anything to say. So I lit his shoes on fire and bolted for the door. Luckily the guy was understanding and didn't press charges.
Humpday is also about introspection. By this time during my work-week, I like to take a good, hard look at myself and wonder if my life is heading in the direction I want it to go in. This goes on for minutes at a time, even when I'm talking to others. Especially if it's someone telling me what to do. Mostly I just blank out for a while and let muscle memory get me through the day. It's difficult shining shoes.

My girlfriend is a robot

No really. And I don't mean it in the cutesy, affectionate way like someone who refers to thier loved one as "Chimpy Poo-box". I mean a real robot. She clicks in her sleep. "Clicks?" you might be asking. Yes. Clicks. Like a robot should. Also I think I saw something shiny recede into the back of her head at one point. Can't be sure. She needs a lot of sleep (I'm thinkin' robot batteries don't recharge quite as quickly unless you're plugged into a wall or something.)
About a month ago, she was working 90 hour work weeks. That's ridiculous. Wouldn't her servo units lock up without the proper oiling and coolant application? Maybe that's what she does when she says she needs to go "freshen up".
She plays video games like you or me. But unlike you or me, her fingers move way too fast for normal humans. I can't beat her at tetris attack. She's just too good. She actually picks her thumbs completely off the controller and then places it on the appropriate button. Eventually there won't be any games I can beat her at.
In any event, I'm fine with it I guess. It's not like I hate her or anything. I realize she's just a little different from you or me. For one thing she can't turn invisible like I can.

Starting anything sucks

So. This is my first blog ever. It's already an amazing experience. I doubt that I'll update this more then once. Or ever. But enjoy my lack of insight for the time being because life is short or whatever.
It's noon and I gotta go back to work soon but I figured I'd try this out. I want to jump on the bandwagon of all the other fools online at this time, posting crap that doesn't mean anything to anyone. I guess you can probably tell from my tone that I don't really like blogs but then you would be mistaken.
The problem is that most blogs I've read are at least 3 years old and written by high school kids that can't locate thier state on a map. Still I suppose everyone should get a chance to tell thier inane stories online at some point so here goes my own.
About me: Comedy. I realize that doesn't really say much, especially since there doesn't seem to be any comedic content so far but if I can be frank, comedy is not easy.
I suppose I should have thought up a clever first blog entry to entice others into listening to my rants but then I'd have to change the name of my blog and that's not gonna happen. In any event I hope that the last 3 minutes of time you wasted on this site pisses you off and you have to write a counter-blog about it. If nothing else i'm here to confirm your suspicions about why people suck. More later. Maybe.