Tuesday, October 23

I'm Back, Bitches.

Thanks to the prodding of a woman I've never met who lives half a world away, via Facebook no less, (and partially because I needed an outlet for my abject opinions that remain generally unconveyed to those in my inner circle as well as a good source for sketch material) I have decided to throw my hat into the ring of blog-dom once more.

The other day, I wrote and almost posted, for the first time in foreva, a mondo-rant about Ellen DeGeneres' degenerate behavior with regard to her dog issues. I stopped when I realized that I didn't want to only write a pseudo-angry blog anymore. No, friend, my goal this time around will be to write essays. I fancy myself a lay-person's David Foster Wallace. For those not in the know, David Foster Wallace is simply the smartest man alive. He is an uber-nerd to the nth degree who, like me, doesn't mind getting inside a piece of writing and just messin' around. He adheres remarkably to the literary non-fiction humor device of using a lot of big words and complex sentences and then dropping a phrase on the reader like "tough titty." If you followed the above link, you'll notice that the keywords section for his book references someone named Dick Filth. An intellect after my own heart. His desultory use of footnotes in most everything he writes is sublime and perfect for anyone with ADHD just mild enough to allow them to sit and read a book.

Join me, won't you, as I endeavor to write magazine quality pieces where there once were only weird jokes about Ron Popeil (albeit, some pretty good ones). This isn't the beginning, but a prelude to the new beginning. A toast to Jody. A toast to Admiral Cook (Captain Cook?). And a toast to the self-indulgence that is, blog-dom.

I remain, your loyal idiot.

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