Do When Done

She was cross-legged on her couch, hunched over, phone in hand, scrolling and reading. She texted, "800 words for what"

"to save m" She put the phone down. It was the first time she'd gone to the toilet without her phone in ten years. She wasn't spoiled, but she had a pleasant upbringing. Her boyfriend was raised by a television with a bulky fat remote and his current phone folded in half. At least it fits in his pocket, she thought. What does he do in the bathroom? She heard her phone vibrate and rattle her coffee table. She hated that noise. She leaned and opened the door, raised her voice and commanded her phone to read the text: "eight guys here, need to motivate them, figured around 100 words of encouragement per" The voice was robotic, but her mind translated it as she heard it applying a tone that hid concern with confidence. She tried thinking of a response, but all she could think of were questions to ask her phone.

VVVVV VVVVV. She picked up her phone, read his next message and put the phone back and waited for it to ring and walked away. She could hear the table rattling from her room. She was on her back thinking, stretching and yoga and thinking, on her computer typing and thinking. She wrote him: "here are some links with tips on motivating people" She was embarrassed by her own lack of effort and started cleaning. She flung and shoved things back to their place and the vacuum tracks weren't parallel. She took the shower cold, washing only the neck down, chewed her food less than normal, skipped her sox and scarf but put on her seat belt and nearly ran a stop sign before braking hard. She pulled over to check the phone. There was a police car around the corner. The officer chased and stopped the person behind her. "than you!" her phone read and she sat there crying.

Retiring this Blog

This just in: this blog is dead! In dying, it has given life to a new blog.

I will, with my colleague, be testing the waters attempting to re-spark my creativity and post in a consistent fashion. Corazon will continue posting on her blog, I will not. It is her blog and I have no business posting there. Also, as the breaking news brief stated above, I am quitting this blog until further notice where further notice means never or a month, whichever comes first. My money's on never because I still have high hopes on it arriving as that's when my girlfriend said she'll let me do that thing to her thing with that thing with things.

Breaking Blogger News!

What is this! A Blogger feature I’ve not seen before, a feature perhaps purloined? Purloined and downgraded it seems. I’ve seen better thefts performed by quadriplegics or the NY Times.

I’ve added the feature to this blog and adjusted it accordingly. Unfortunately, after this addition my bland blog has turned into a bland and ugly blog.

Seriously, check out those voting boxes beneath this entry. They’re crude and outdated. It’s like walking down the street and seeing Blogger wearing an expensive suit, a fitted shirt, shiny leather shoes, and parachute pants.

Is there no way to customize this feature (further)?

Seeking Guest Writers

That’s right, friends, I’m seeking guest writers. I’m looking for someone who’ll contribute to this blog for money. That’s right, I’ll pay you. I’ll pay you how I pay the street walkers who indulge me on occasion: with poems. That's right, poems.

You’d be surprised how often prostitutes will accept mediocre, drunken poetry as payment for fellatio. No, I guess it’s not that surprising. It’s only happened twice, and they were women I was dating at the time.

Anyway, potential guest writers, the ideal candidate will:

-Be attractive;

-Not be experiencing any financial hardships so as to accept poems or sexual favors as payment;

-Not outshine me and;

-Be witty and provocative.

Actually, be either witty or provocative for a writer with a combination of the two will surely outshine me. If that happens, you’re dead. You hear that, motherfucker? DEAD.

If interested, post relevant information as a comment and I’ll contact you within a minute of applying.

Chess

I used to be a goddam chess genius! My army brother taught me when I was eight and when he returned on leave a year later, I was the best player in the house—shit, I was the best player on the block! So you can imagine my surprise when all the Joe Nobodies who can barely type out sentences on Yahoo chess annihilate me.

You know, I’m starting to think my insidious fucking family let me win all those matches years ago. I’m starting to think that maybe I wasn’t so good after all. I bet if I played them again today, they’d kick my ass. Yeah, that must be it, or it’s all the inhalants I’ve been huffing.

Anniversary Party

So the one year anniversary of this bitch is coming quick. It came so quick I didn’t even realize it. Now I know how my sexual partners feel. Nah, I’m kidding, I’m as flaccid as a half-filled water balloon.

Anyway, to celebrate I’m throwing a party at my place. I’m gonna have grab bags of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos and a 2/3-full bottle of 7up.

Lucky for you all, the anniversary lands on October 4^th, a Saturday. This means that there’s no work the next day and we can stay up as late as we want watching Saturday Night Live on my bed. I’ll be on the computer watching porn, but you guys can eat my Cheetos and drink my 7up on my bed. Just bring your own fucking napkins. I don’t want any Cheeto residue staining my bed. Make sure they’re moist napkins because dry napkins don’t do shit against Cheeto dust fingers. I don’t need to be telling you this.

If you don’t bring your own moist napkins, I’m not letting you in.

Don’t RSVP, I’ll just expect people at my door that night.

No Substance

Yeah, so I haven’t been posting with the same frequency. So what. Bite me. Just the women. Harder.

Thanks.

I’m kidding. The truth is that I’ve been slaving for two weeks hunched over my keyboard and wallowing in my filth trying my hardest to come up with something worth your time. I have pages and pages and pages (two) of words I’ve found unfit to post. Every time I write something and it’s not posted, an angel’s wings get clipped. Now you understand the enormous weight on my shoulders. Why would God do this to me! Why, God! Why!

You know what? This blog looks really bland. I mean, it’s white and there’s a glass. What the hell? Invisible powdered water? What was I thinking? Oh wait, hah! I’m so brilliant. I wish there were more color here.

There, now I’m happy. If you can help me add more color, leave me a comment. I expect no comments.