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Oscar Worthy


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That's what I want to see this summer.  It's the only way to get things back on track.  Catharsis.

Plus it's fun to see assholes beating on assholes.
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A guy walks into a bar...


A guy walks in to a bar
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I'm considering giving this thing up... again. I took about a month off, and in that month I've been inundated with... ... no. I can't do it. I can't lie to you. No one gives a shit. No one ever really has. I liked it that way. It worked for me. I could type and type and post badly formatted bullshit, replete with misspellings, dick jokes, and sexism, and no one would ever say anything. No feedback at all. I was content in my little cell. Then came the "book". Now, when I post something, everyone knows who it is. Hundreds, if not thousands, of the millions of people who adore me instantly "like" the most banal out-of-focus picture of the mess I made in the cat box. I am overwhelmed. And beholden. Now I'm supposed to care. About a lot of shit. Cats, crossdressers, restaurants, happy marriages, racists and perceived racists, everybody and everything. I don't though. That makes it hard to write about anything here. I don't give a shit about the assholes in Oregon just like I didn't give a shit about the assholes in Wisconsin. I don't care any more about the shithead in the White House than I do the fuckheads battling each other to take his place. Fuck 'em all. I'm burnt out. Fuck everyone. Especially fuck everyone who doesn't agree with me. I'll know who you are by what you want me to "like" on Facebook. Fuckheads.
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Busy Busy


8 straight weeks on the road with work. One trip to the Army-Navy game.... booo... hiss... One massive case of writer's block. I gained 14 pounds since 8/27. And joy of joys, Dangeresque got full tuition paid from his first choice school's honor college. That means I only have to take out one mortgage on the McMahonsion. Life is sweet. Oh yeah. Trump. Star Wars. PC. Bruce Jenner. Safe Space. Muslims. Deely Boppers. Libyans. Etc... Welcome to 1988
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One fine day


It's a beautiful day. Literally. It is just beginning to warm up after a chilly morning, it won't get much warmer than it is right now, but the sun is shining and the last of the leaves are falling. The Prince will be home after about six months away, and we are all excited to see him. Thanksgiving is Thursday, and we are going to have a great meal. Swim season started and today is the first meet of the year. Dangeresque was elected Captain. I'm doing well at work and we can afford what we need. I'm finally getting use out of my right arm after surgery. And some fuckhead decides to shoot down a Russian jet over NATO territory.
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I've been really busy, but not busy at the same time. Hard to explain. Lots of irons in the fire, but not a lot for me, physically, to do. So I'm just worrying. I did a lot of up-front work, maybe that's why I feel like I'm not really doing anything, but I've been in what feels like a constant state of panic for the last few weeks. Staring at my phone, or the computer, just waiting for the next three sentence email I need to write. It's very weird. And exhausting. This must be what it felt like to be a telemetry guy on a moonshot. I had my screwed up shoulder "fixed". It's been five weeks today since I had surgery and I still can't use it and it still hurts like hell every minute of every day. Pain pills, the narcotic kind, don't work so I've stopped taking them unless it aches so bad at night that I can't sleep. I'm running out of those little pixies and just as well. They only last a couple of hours and then I'm up and whining again. I'm not a stretchy guy, and keeping my arm in one spot for six weeks is making it real hard to move. Seriously, my tendons are like that kid in that movie who gets so tight after a broken arm that he can throw a million mile an hour fastball. On the plus side, I've lost a ton of weight. Can't eat, don't wanna, and the only thing that keeps me from murdering everyone because I've gone mad with pain is to get my ass out and walk around. Oh, and I can't booze because no pain pills at night if you booze. So Saturday, when I boozed, I got like four hours of sleep in fifteen minute increments and seriously thought of just ending it all with another bottle of wine and the rest of my oxycodone. I can't even drive my car because it's a manual and my right arm is the one that doesn't work. Seriously. It should be better by now. Fuck you, maddad's shoulder. Fuck you, you prick. Like I ever did anything to you.
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