Where to Start...you tell me...

 There is no one to grade this thing.  There are no lonely relatives left who want to beam with pride to their even lonelier neighbors about "what a natural talent" their [insert familial relationship here] is.  There are no ex-significant others to tell their new "S.O." how it would be nice to get a personal work of fiction as a love letter, like the old one did....


Let's face it...nobody gives a crap what is going to burble out of my suck hole of a blog.  Today, tomorrow..or whenever.  Best you can hope for is that something funny, obnoxious, thought-provoking, witty, clever, or filthy as hell will come across it so you can re-hash it at work as if it were your own thought....and who is going to argue that it's not your limitless imagination that conceived of the item on the agenda? 


A little history The Blog is nothing new, it just didn't happen alone, in a dark room bathed in the glow of a computer screen - masturbating happened in those situations: I previously had no idea why anyone would want to read information from unknown people to direct their own directionless lives.  But I crawled back an eon or two back into my roomy, 7th Floor walk-up skull, and found records of a time when we would gather at unknown people's homes, or at a corner at the end of a long, dark street, seldom frequented by those of the law enforcement persuasion, and we would pooooooouuuuuuuuurrrrrrrrr out our heart and soul to persons whom we wouldn't otherwise entrust with knowing what time it was.  But the Angst (yes, teenagers...there were teenage years experienced by others before you, and they were just as painful and freakin' emotional as those you feel today.  

And guess what????  Most of us survived, and those who didn't?  Well...they weren't going to make it, anyway....but I think that is how it was meant to be.

 And this will be my version of that same survival skill.  Some of this will be very rough, and some will hopefully be like a night full of beer and weed on a Saturday night.  Resist the urge to laugh, and resist the urge to cry.  And some of you and the opinions you send me are going to be the fat, ugly girl in the nice Camaro that I get drunk and fuck, in the cosmic sense, and we will be friends forever; others of you will be the models I could've had, but You gave me cosmic "whiskey dick," and I am forgetting you as soon as I can.

I look forward to hearing from you all week to week.  My life needs some real work...