WHY DON'T YOU BLOG ALREADY???

Because I’m fucking dead, okay, and there’s no internet access in purgatory. Yes, purgatory…the jury’s still sorting through a questionable summer I had back in 1999.

Not blogging has been WONDERFUL, like a salami sandwich with fresh Mozzarella on a Fall day when the weather cannot decide to be cold or warm, so it remains indecisive in that way only weather can do. SO GLAD being away hasn’t affected my mastery of simile. I was beginning to worry. Where have I been? I’m on the sidelines, eating a twinkie and playing with a rubber hose. See…that’s what you waited months for, a fucking twinkie and a rubber hose. I’m the Hostess with the mostess and ya know I’m gonna post this.

While we’re on the subject of blogs: I’ve been reading everyone linked here (in purgatory I mean), and no one writes ‘fuck’ enough. Are we all getting soft? Blogging impotency? Write hard, people! Please, everyone write ‘fuck’ in their next entry. And please don’t do something like this: f#@k. That doesn’t count.

Charlie said I should blog about cereal—so here it is:

Fuck, I love cereal, but NEVER eat it. I don’t know why. Each month or so, I buy a box of cereal because I’m in the food store staring at the box of Kashi or some oat-tastical whatever and I think, “I should eat more cereal. It’s healthy to eat good cereal in the morning.” Flash forward one bowl and 2 months later: fucking cereal is stale and barely touched. I’m smoking twice as much and Mel is saving the stale cereal to feed the birds outside. But I throw out the boxes before she gets the chance, fearing a colony of ants will take over said cereal and infest our apartment. And when she gets mad, I just give her a look and revise my story, tell her how I took the cereal outside and threw handfuls into the air as birds gleefully descended upon the earth and feasted. Fucking bird buffets all over town, and they were happy and singing and chirping.

You want to know what’s really going on with me?? Do you?? Quaker Baked Cookies—the apple cinnamon ones made from whole grain oats / 0 trans fat. That’s what up, playerz. I fucking slam back 2-3 of them at work each day and dream of salami and mozz sandwiches (see how I brought that back) because I have an addictive personality and a strong yearning to never change what I’m passionate about—this is how I accomplish things in life. It’s how I operate and accomplish goals, too. It’s why I order my computer to spend every second downloading each Springsteen show from the Magic tour on the day after the show is fucking played, so that in a few months I can look at all of them in a CD wallet and pat myself on the back, while Mel sighs, questions why she loves me, and then proceeds to feed the fucking birds cereal.

I’m still here, damnit. No factory guarantees or refunds.