Writer’s Block

It seems I’ve run into a bit of a writer’s block …, actually it may be more of a writer’s super massive black hole.

I mean, I’ve had some ideas and all, but just no motivation to develop them.  They just want to sit there staring back at me like the dozens of rolls of 35 mm film that I never bothered to get developed from 20 years ago.  I start writing something, get about a paragraph of it done, then it looks back at me, frowns, gives me the finger and then I delete it out of spite.

It’s strange because I can think of a lot of things to talk about – just not what to say about them.  Like, for example, I’m sitting here in my underwear while writing this post.  Now, ordinarily, I’d find some humor in that to share but, just now, I’m thinking that very few of us bother to wear our Sunday best when posting to their blogs.  I bet there are even a few of you out there happily reading away naked, probably even tempting fate sipping away on some hot beverage – good luck with that.

My kids are running around screaming their heads off just now, too.  But, alas, we have already spoken of those things.  Cats – well, you know how I feel there – I can only imagine using my eye lasers on them so many times before my games of “cat terminator” must be retired.  Work?  Really?   It’s Friday night, who wants to talk about work?

I was thinking I could write on a good controversial topic and piss off a bunch of people.  But, then I’d have to write a bunch of long winded responses to all of the hate comments and I just don’t like to type that much.  I mean, pissed off people are downright funny and I could probably get some good material from that, but it’s just too much effort.

I have been visiting all of your blogs though.  Happily reading along and posting comments where there was an nice inappropriate spot to do so, trying all the while to miss the point entirely – it’s just how I roll.  So many of you are such good writers and thinkers that it makes me feel inadequate, so I have to do something to save my ego.

… I just stared at my fish tank for about five minutes.  I’ve concluded that there isn’t a damn thing funny about fish.  Now, if fish wore underwear … , boxers in particular.  Maybe with pictures of naked humans on them.  That could be amusing, maybe.

You know, it’s too bad that I can’t have like three or four wives.  Can you imagine the limitless opportunities for humorous situations that could arise from that?  All of us living in a single wide trailer home with about 15 kids, and always running out of toilet paper – that’d be great.

… Somebody was sleeping in my bed while I was at work today.  I climbed in to get a nice after work nap in and it was full of dirt.  That feeling can only be surpassed by one other – stepping barefoot into a fresh pile of poop in your carpet in the dark.  Puke is a good variation on this theme too – especially if it is still warm (frickin’ cats)

Why do people leave a toilet plugged up and sneak away?

I’m glad we don’t own things like motorcycles, boats and snow throwers and whatnot.  I know people who spend their whole weekends servicing and repairing motorized equipment.  What a waste of time.  I love laying around taking naps until I’m tired of sleeping, then sleeping some more until I’m not tired anymore.  There’s nothing more underrated than sleep.

Sex …, well, never mind.

I was watching this show – something like “nineteen kids and counting” – I really can’t see a better excuse for a forced castration of a non-criminal than people who can’t control their breeding on their own.  I mean seriously, only insects have that many offspring.

There’s this 69 year old guy at work who has the weirdest breath I’ve ever smelled.  It’s not exactly bad, it’s really weird.  It’s like he was a synthetic being who used to be a washing machine that someone threw out because someone washed clothes from a chemical factory in.  He leaves a trail of this smell for dozens of feet behind him when he walks around.

Hang on …  Ah, my kid’s crying because his brothers are hitting him with water balloons – he’s standing there in nothing but a bathing suit (doesn’t understand the irony of it at all)  just crying away and wants me to do something about it … Guess I better go …, talk to you soon.