Excuse me, but I hope you aren’t coming here today looking for anything of consequence. I’m taking the day off. Frankly, the only reason I wrote what you are now reading is that I wanted to get paid for it in spite of not writing anything worth reading. And it’s not like I’m trying to rip off my boss either, as though I were taking a paid sick day even though I feel just fine.
No, I am absolutely not trying to pull something over on my boss. And even if I were, I do believe my boss would figure it out, don’t you?... seeing as how I’m admitting right here, up front, that I’m dumping a pile of inconsequential words into the blog pipe for no other reason than to get paid for them.
And listen, don’t go to thinking I couldn’t come up with something of consequence if I wanted to. There’s plenty to write about. Plen-ee. Justin Beiber, for instance. He got arrested, you know. I don’t know exactly what he got arrested for because I didn’t bother to read the whole news item because... well, basically, because I don’t give a crap what happens to Justin Beiber.
But if I’d awanted to, I coulda. I write about a lot of stuff I don’t give a crap about.
Or how about Chris Christie. He’s going to be arrested, I’d bet today’s pay check on it. It’s just a matter of time. And don’t tell me I couldn’t write a whole lot about Chris Christie and what he’s been up to over there in New Jersey. Hell, I could write Chris Christie’s weight in words about Chris Christie if I wanted.
But I don’t wanna. Not today. Counting my weekly column, I’ve been knocking out a thousand words, give or take, every 2.33 days ever since I opened this blog operation. Didn’t miss a beat for Thanksgiving... Xmas... New Yeras... my wife’s birthday... nuthin. And I’m taking a break, dammit. I deserve it. Chris Christie can wait.
And so can that weird-ass Martian rock that just seemed to appear out of nowhere. Know the one I’m talking about? The one those NASA fellas claim looks like a jellied donut?
Well, what if I were to tell you I think I know what it is, who put it there and how much it will alter the course of human history when the truth gets out? What do you think of that, huh?
But not today. That Martian rock may well be the biggest, most consequential thing that’s happened in my lifetime, and yours, too. But there ain’t nuttin gonna get me to put some consequence on this blog spot. Not today.
And don’t ask me what I thought about the Grammys last night. I didn’t think anything about the Grammys last night because I didn’t watch the goddam Grammy’s last night, just like I haven’t watched the goddam Grammys for years. And years and years. Ever since all the good kinds of music were murdered and replaced with whatever you call that swill you’re listening to now.
If you asked me, it started back in the 80s, back when Reagan and his gang were sucking the soul out of America and leaving nothing healthy behind but empty hype and unbridled greed. Seriously, doesn’t it make sense that honest musical creativity went down the same crapper along with unions, fairness, decency, U.S. presitige, and any hope of ever again hearing any semblance of the truth from Republicans? In fact, I have a theory about why those dopes think Reagan...
...hey wait a minute. Yer not gonna get me startd on that. Not that , and not today.
Now on what that idiot Mike Huckleberry... Hucksterly... Huckabuck... whatever... (I’ll be damned if I even take the time to get that idiot’s name right)... what he said about women. Jesus, why would anyone take a creepy little weasel like him seriously on anything, let alone women. Not that I’m goina say any more about that.
Or President Obama’s big speech tonight. The State of the Union. I’m sure e’ll do fine. He always does. I have this friedn—Sergeant Steve I call him—who keeps needling ne about how Obama is the worst president since Jimmy Carter and how Obamacare is flopping, even though eveybody that doesn’t have theur noses buried in Fox News’ butt knows that every month, the news on Obamacare just gets better and beter, and that Ronald Reagan couldn’t shine Jimmy Carter’s shoes, not to mention what a bucket of flop sweat George Busw is, was, and forever will be, and some day, I;; get aroun to telling Sargaent Steve all that not today though beause I’m in a hurry to get this damb thing done so I can go do somethung that isn’t doing this .
And whar;s the pint in talking about the Satate of te Union anywaay since it isn’t been sadi yet, anyways? And Obam’ll do fibe anyways. So I’m done now fir today and in thre minites, I’m gonna be off doing somthig else. I’m not even goig to reread it to see if there anu chagnes should make anf I’m not even gonna hit the spel check beofre I dump this off on my bos. A