Dead Caterpillar


The universe is a vast cosmic conspiracy ...

Russell Brand biographical notes

Wednesday, Jun 8th, 2011

Courtesy of Wikipedia.

… In 1995, Brand applied for the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art and Drama Centre London and was accepted to Drama Centre. He was expelled in the final term of his last year for smashing a glass over his head and then stabbing himself in the chest and arms after his hearing a criticism of his performance.

… Brand’s first presenting role came in 2000 as a VJ on the MTV. He presented Dancefloor Chart, touring nightclubs in Britain and Ibiza, and hosted the tea-time request show Select. However, Brand was fired after coming to work dressed as Osama bin Laden the day after the 11 September 2001 attacks and bringing his drug dealer to the MTV studios.

… Brand was later announced as the host of the 2008 MTV Video Music Awards … Brand implored the audience to elect Democratic presidential candidate Barack Obama and later called then U.S. President George W. Bush “a retarded cowboy fella”, who, in England, “wouldn’t be trusted with scissors”.

… Brand’s radio career began in early 2002, when he hosted a Sunday afternoon show with Matt Morgan on London’s Indie Rock station Xfm. Brand was fired from the job after reading pornographic material live on-air

… After a string of high-profile relationships, Brand developed a reputation in the media as a ladies’ man. His dating life won him The Sun’s Shagger Of The Year award in 2006, 2007, and 2008. The award has been renamed “The Russell Brand Shagger of the Year Award …”

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Same drink, different glass, true story

Saturday, Jun 4th, 2011

A man sits down at a bar and orders a Grand Marnier. The bar tender pours him a glass.

The man takes a sip.

“This is not Grand Marnier,” says the man, slamming down the glass. “I ordered Grand Marnier.”

“But that is Grand Marnier,” says the bartender.

“No it most certainly is not,” says the man.

The bartender holds up the bottle of Grand Marnier.

“See?” says the bartender, pointing to the label on the bottle. “Grand Marnier.

“Look,” says the man. “I know what Grand Marnier tastes like. This is not Grand Marnier.”

The argument continues in the same fashion for several minutes.

“Fine!” the bartender says. Frustrated, he picks up the glass, walks into another room and transfers the contents of the old glass into a new glass. The bartender returns to the bar and places the glass in front of the man.

The man looks suspiciously at the glass. He inspects it in the light, sniffs it, twirls his finger in it, and, finally, takes a sip.

“Ah” he says, setting down the glass. “Now this is Grand Marnier!”

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Suspicious craigslist apartment listing

Saturday, May 28th, 2011

$600 ACTUAL HUMAN SEEKING OTHER ACTUAL HUMAN (EARTH) (map)


Date: 2011-05-26, 11:33PM PDT
Reply to: hous-apskt-2405275254@craigslist.org [Errors when replying to ads?]


 

GREETINGS FLESHY MEAT SACS 

WE ARE AN ACTUAL HUMAN SEEKING AN OTHER ACTUAL HUMAN TO TAKE UP RESIDENCE WITH US FOR PURPOSES WHICH ARE NORMAL AND NOT WEIRD, LIKE HELPING TO LOWER THE MONTHLY PAYMENTS TO LOCAL GOVERNING BODIES AND STUDYING FLESHY MEAT SAC INTERACTIONS

OUR RESIDENCE IS VERY DESIRABLE AND APPEALS TO MANY THINGS WHICH ACTUAL HUMANS, LIKE US, ENJOY. EXAMPLES ARE LISTED BELOW

- FURNISHED BEDROOM
- BREATHABLE AIR
- EARTH-STANDARD GRAVITY
- BODY WASTE DISPOSAL SYSTEM
- A FLOOR

YOU ARE VERY INTERESTED IN OUR PROPOSAL, AND WISH TO CONTACT US THROUGH DIGITAL COMMUNICATION. PLEASE CAUSE YOUR SPINDLY BONE-FILLED APPENDAGES TO PERCUSS YOUR KEYBOARD

1707 BELLEVUE AVENUE (google map) (yahoo map)

  • Location: EARTH
  • it’s NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests

PostingID: 2405275254

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I wish my cat were a dog

Sunday, Apr 24th, 2011

Or an octopus. Really, anything would be better than a cat for a pet.

The infernal feline has taken to parodying me by creating a poorly designed, poorly spellchecked, sort of mock humor blog.

Don’t ask what Penny plans to blog about. His usual routine consists of: going upstairs, napping, going downstairs, napping, eating and repeating. Though recently he has spent a lot of time staking out in front of the oven, waiting to ambush one of the mice that lives behind there.

I think his plan is that one of the mice will walk out from behind the oven and not notice a giant salivating fury gray monster hovering above; then, seizing the opportunity, Penny will claw it to death.

Fat chance. I accidentally killed one of the mice by dropping a garbage can lid on its head (true story). Yet Penny stakes out in front of the oven for 8 hours per day and has yet to kill a single mouse.

Tuesday.

Wednesday.

Thursday.

Friday.

Not a single mouse.

The one advantage of having a pet vermin — and yes, cats are considered vermin in the US — is that it kills other vermin. In that respect, Penny is a failure. I may have to reduce his daily rations if this lackluster performance continues.

I’ve also considered entering him into a local cat fighting ring (do they have those?) or patriotically donating him to the CIA as a test subject for their new Cat Guided Bomb project. And there is always the option of relisting him on Craigslist from whence he came.

P.S. No mice were harmed in the making of this blog post.
(One mouse was killed, however.)

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A moment of Pure Idiocy

Friday, Apr 8th, 2011

Slowly approaching the top of the stairs, Christopher is reminded by a giant and imposing wall of sheetrock that there are only three floors in the main academic building.

top of stairs

He flips out his phone and snaps a picture. Perhaps, one day, Christopher can look back on this moment of Pure Idiocy and laugh. Or cry.

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The proverbial Charlie Sheen blog joke

Thursday, Apr 7th, 2011

two and a half men

I’m having difficulty with the math.

The nerdy guy is a man. The fat boy is half a man. Add Charlie and you have another half but that only makes two men … I think “Two and a Half Men” is a misnomer.

Or maybe a fat boy counts as a whole man?

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Rant: In defense of Story

Sunday, Apr 3rd, 2011

Today I was once again brooding over the conclusion of the Lost television series.

lost is meaningless

I skipped for six commercial-crammed seasons down that yellow brick road of toilsome plot. I suffered the company of a brainless scarecrow, a heartless tin man and a cowardly lion. I fought – and killed – a wicked witch and disbanded her entourage of evil flying monkeys. When the deed was done I expected closure, denouement. But it turned out the mysterious Magical Wizard that set me to the task was nothing but a shriveled old man cowering behind a green curtain. Dorothy is pissed.

I am pissed.

Disillusioned by the flashing bright lights, the fireworks, the booming of giant organs and other theatrics, I am pissed because there was never anything magical behind the curtain. Lost was a sham, a hoax, a meaningless labyrinth of non-sequiturs, false trails and bogus symbolism.

Oh what convulsion. Anger. RAGE is a fitting word.  I’m still not over it.

I turned my thoughts to Steven King, of all people. I think, of all the modern authors, I am the most familiar with King’s work. Not only his novels and short stories but his explicit take on writing and Story. Here was a man that dedicated his life to Story. A man familiar with the prime elements of Story: beginning, middle and end. Surely King could empathize. So I typed the words “stephen king on lost” into Google.

Eureka.

The article that came up was a column he had written in ‘07 for Entertainment Weekly. Long before Lost’s non-end, King, in all his magnificent authorial wisdom, prophesized the impending Lost storyline disaster through the voice of Gordie Lechance, a character of his own creation.

The perfect critique of the old TV (i.e. Lost) is offered in Rob Reiner’s Stand By Me. Gordie Lachance asks his buds if they’ve ever noticed that the people on Wagon Train (an old ’50s show) never seem to get anywhere. ‘They just keep wagon-training,’ he says, clearly mystified. Of course he is. Gordie’s going to grow up to be a writer, and even at age 12 he knows that stories should resemble life, and life has a beginning, a middle, and an end. We grow, change, succeed, and fail; eventually we keel over dead, but we do not just keep on wagon-training.

I confess experiencing deep and exquisite pleasure after having discovered that King was thinking on the same terms I was. I’m no author of Story but, author credentials withstanding, speaking as an experienced reader of Story, I UNDERSTAND WHAT IS STORY AND WHAT IS NOT STORY.

Nail four wooden planks together. Attach rubber wheels, a steering rod and driving wheel. Paint it. Slap a bumper sticker on the back. The contraption might be able to fit a person. It might even be able to roll down a hill. But do not call it a car.

If you take the contraption to a mechanic he will tell you with certainty that what you have is not a car.

It is not a car.

By the same token, crash a group of people on a mysterious tropical island. Throw in some (albeit, overly-repetitive and monotonous) dramatic background music. Send them back and forward through time. Kill a few off with a giant smoke monster. Let them escape the island. Return. Call it good cinematography. Call it “a nice journey” even, but please—please do not even begin to call it Story until you have brought everything into unity.

Do not call it a story until you have concluded it.

Those of us who think and care will know the difference. Authors will know the difference.

When a meal is perfectly cooked, it’s time to take it out of the oven. And when a story is perfectly told, it’s time to fade to black. It doesn’t matter to me if Jack, Kate, and the others realize they’re all dead and descend that shaft into a bright white Kübler-Ross beam of light or if they go to war with each other in a final burst of Lord of the Flies savagery. They can discover they’re part of an experiment (human or alien). Jack can even — groan! —wake up and discover the whole thing’s a dream (actually, I’d hate that). But please, guys — don’t beat this sweet cow to death with years of ponderous flashback padding. End it any way you want, but when it’s time for closure, provide it. Don’t just keep on wagon-training.

You do not need to be a mechanic to see what is clearly not a car and you do not need to be an author to see what is clearly not a story.

The equation is simple: beginning, middle and end. Poe called itmathematical.”

A story is not some random mishmash of characters and incidents thrown together pell-mell—twisted and turned, jostled repeatedly in some harum-scarum, aimless and endless meandering river of chaos and confusion.

In the words of the famous Russian novelist Anton Chekhov, “If you say in the first chapter that there is a rifle hanging on the wall, in the second or third chapter it must absolutely go off.”

Complications and elements of intrigue are introduced in the beginning and middle and are ultimately resolved or at least ADDRESSED in the end. That is the stuff of story. And any deviation or hipster rejection of that form is nothing but pure utter grade-A Hollywood bullshit.

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Some rhetorical questions

Wednesday, Mar 23rd, 2011

Is Christopher the new Vice President of Executive Projects and Media Relations or is he tired of inventing new parking spots in ditches, on lawns, soccer fields and even roof tops?

Perhaps the current Vice President of Executive Projects and Media Relations has come on hard times and downgraded to a rusty ’98 Nissan Altima with 150K miles, a severely dented body and missing hub cap …

No, more than likely Christopher is tired of inventing new parking spots in ditches, on lawns, soccer fields and even roof tops.

What’s this?

Is Christopher a perpetual customer of the new Liberty University Bookstore or has he deduced, clever fellow that he is, that the parking police (clever fellows they are) have no way of determining which vehicles are owned by bookstore customers and which are not?

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Here comes the real world … again

Saturday, Mar 12th, 2011

Nearing graduation from college, I am often asked if I am fearful of entering “the real world.”

I don’t know. I’ve been entering “the real world” at every turn in life.

My first day of pre-school was considered a step into “the real world.” In middle school it was high school that was anticipated as “the real world.” In high school “the real world” didn’t start till college.

Am I scared?

The real world sure doesn’t sound like a nice place to live. I’m just hoping it will have eluded me once again, after graduation from college. Then I’d anticipate something like home ownership as the real-real world. Or maybe having a wife and kids is the real-real world. Maybe I’m living in the real world now.

Maybe there’s no such thing as a “real world” …

Hit it Johnny!

“Welcome to the real world” she said to me,
Condescendingly
Take a seat
Take your life
Plot it out in black and white
Well I never lived the dreams of the prom kings
And the drama queens
I’d like to think the best of me
Is still hiding
Up my sleeve

They love to tell you
Stay inside the lines
But something’s better
On the other side

I wanna run through the halls of my high school
I wanna scream at the
Top of my lungs
I just found out there’s no such thing as the real world
Just a lie you’ve got to rise above

So the good boys and girls take the so called right track
Faded white hats
Grabbing credits
Maybe transfers
They read all the books but they can’t find the answers
And all of our parents
They’re getting older
I wonder if they’ve wished for anything better
While in their memories
Tiny tragedies

They love to tell you
Stay inside the lines
But something’s better
On the other side

I wanna run through the halls of my high school
I wanna scream at the
Top of my lungs
I just found out there’s no such thing as the real world
Just a lie you got to rise above

I am invincible
I am invincible
I am invincible
As long as I’m alive

I wanna run through the halls of my high school
I wanna scream at the
Top of my lungs
I just found out there’s no such thing as the real world
Just a lie you’ve got to rise above

I just can’t wait til my ten year reunion
I’m gonna bust down the double doors
And when I stand on these tables before you
You will know what all this time was for

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The CIA Cat Guided Bomb

Tuesday, Mar 1st, 2011

Today I opened up a school textbook for an upper level government course and was richly rewarded. The textbook, “Spycraft,” is all about the secret history of the CIA’s spytechs.

Another unconventional project that failed, although it had been supported by the Chairman of the Senate Appropriation Committee, was the Cat Guided Bomb. The idea was to harness a cat to the underside of a bomb in such a way that the feline’s movements would steer the explosive to its target. In theory, when a cat was dropped over open water with a ship in sight, it would steer itself, and the bomb, toward the safety of the ship’s deck. Initial tests proved cats were ineffective and the concept died as quickly as the first test subjects.

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I don’t mean to be condescending … but

Sunday, Jan 30th, 2011

I had a good laugh reading the “I Secured an Internship, Now What?” section of my university’s internship handbook. I’m more of an idiot for reading it than the author is for writing it. And the author is a better humor writer than I am, regardless of whether he intended to write in the humor genre.

Below are some notable points, copied verbatim from the handbook. My wisecracks are in red. In no way do they compare to the wisdom of Jesus.

Under “What do I need to do BEFORE the day I start?” and “What do I need to do on my first day?”

* (DON’T BE ANNOYING!)

I’ll be sure never to make exclamatory statements in all caps and parentheses.

* Be ready for “Crappy” duties

Does this mean toilet scrubbing or fishing for crappies? I can’t imagine why crappy is in quotes.

* Get ready to be yelled at.

Presumptuous much?

*Be polite and courteous even when you do not feel like it. If you are yelled at or treated poorly, do not fall prey to Mr. Revenge.

Who is this “Mr. Revenge” character? I’d like to meet him. Even if it means being impolite and uncourteous. Is there a Mrs. Revenge as well?

*Do not fall in love with the Secretary—keep love out of the office.

Career advice and love advice: the LU career center does it all.

*Nothing amoral is beneath you – you are an intern!

Is this supposed to be satirical or something? I though Liberty was training ‘young champions for Christ’.

* This is a text-free area! Don’t get caught texting or making calls when you are supposed to be on the clock. And take out those headphones and put away your MP3 player.

Assuming “this” is the workplace, and I am supposedly on the clock, I’m glad the author clarified that I should take out my headphones then proceed to put away my mp3 player. After all, what good would my mp3 player be if I didn’t have headphones? Smart.

Under “What do I need to do to make my internship worthwhile and beneficial?”

* Keep in touch with people you meet, after all internships can lead to jobs and other things that can benefit you in the future.

True. True. A valid point.

I like valid points because they bring understanding, good things and benefit me in the future — and stuff like that — and I  hope I’m not being too obvious or vague; after all, when something is obvious it is evident or apparent and when something is vague, it is not specific.

* Didn’t like the experience? Look for new ones!

I’m glad we left off on that very enthusiastic note. I feel confident knowing the career center at Liberty University has my back.

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Some sweet ‘n sour sentiments in sentences

Saturday, Jan 8th, 2011

Some write words, some write meanings.

Don’t read readings. Eat meanings.

(“I took the little scroll from the angel’s hand and ate it. It tasted as sweet as honey in my mouth, but when I had eaten it, my stomach turned sour.”)

Much is said in the absence of words.

“I don’t know” is a more wise and knowing answer than most answers.

(It is an answer which carries its own proof.)

Eloquence can disguise a lie or half-truth.

(What good is it to gain your own soul when the whole world is lost?)

Place two meanings in one word rather than one meaning in two words.

Language is anyone’s tool.

(Use it too much and be thought a fool.)

Age is not always the harbinger of wisdom. My grandfather taught me that.

Youth is always the harbinger of folly. I am my greatest teacher.

If you want success do not try hard to avoid failure.

(For fear of failure is failure defined and success means leaving failure behind.)

Every good quality you find in a person can be found compounded in another.

Take what qualities you love in people and make them a part of you.

Some people wouldn’t recognize an olive branch if it hit em’ upside the head!

People who have never attempted to sing are the most particular about pitch.

People are difficult to read but books really speak to me.

People.

Is there such a thing as a beautiful beggar?

I have fallen in love with the morning.

Sometimes, at night, I make toast and pour myself a glass of orange juice just to feel a little morning sensation.

Foolosophy is the art of dividing things: mind and body, soul and mind, only body, body and soul but no mind, only mind …

Foolosophers slice and dice reality.

(Because nothing is more divided than the mind of a foolosopher.)

Foolosophy is about finding new angles.

(Life is cyclic and circle-shaped.)

Time is a cheat. Hope is a liar.

(Though the need for both is dire.)

A man will believe he is beautiful no matter how ugly he is; a woman will believe she is ugly no matter how beautiful she is.

Five small spoonfuls of sugar is the same as one giant spoonful of sugar.

(Just who do you think you are fooling?)

Advice to fat men: find a woman with a strong imagination.

Advice to fat women: don’t be fat.

Poetry is beautiful. Prose is meaningful.

Good poetry is prosaic. Good prose is poetic.

(“Beauty is truth, truth beauty.”)

(Listen to the way your conscience speaks to you. It is the way you spoke when you were a child.)

Cling to your child.

(“For theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven …”)

(And when the child departs, so does the conscience.)

A man once told me “rare is a brontosaurus on Broadway.” I admired that.

Moderation is the only idea which should be taken to an extreme.

It is easier to hate than love, that which is loved but cannot be had.

There is a modesty which aims to impress.

Grocery stores are lonely places.

Romantic infatuations are based on the idea that people are not interchangeable.

(Common wisdom can be defied because wisdom is not common. )

“From the overflow of the heart, the mouth speaks.”

(And from the core of the heart, the hand writes.)

Your mind is always being watched.

(No cloth can cover the naked mind.)

Smiling is a good excuse not to frown.

(Can the sun shine while it still rains?)

Observe, filter out, take in, move on.

Impart yourself in someone or something.

Write yourself down, if you must.

(It may still be there after you die.)

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Dark humor: some laugh, some cry

Sunday, Dec 19th, 2010

When a man falls to his death off a 30-foot cliff into a river, it’s not funny.

When a man, who happens to own the multi-million dollar Segway Incorporated, falls to his death steering a Segway off a 30-foot cliff and into a river, it’s not funny either.

It’s hilarious.

As if it wasn’t embarrassing enough to die on humanity’s most ridiculous mode of transportation. The man owned Segway Incorporated. At least he’s not alive to feel the humiliation.

At least he died doing something he believed in …

Ha!

The eulogist will have a fun job spinning that one. To paraphrase one of my favorite lyricists: I’m choking on the irony. That’s what dark humor is: choking. You’re too busy gasping for air to notice anything tragic in the room. Some laugh, some cry. Those who laugh immunize themselves. Those who cry fail to understand. Allow me to illustrate this point.

dark humor

Very recently, I came across a person who failed to understand dark humor. My friend Jon and I were making a purchase at a convenience store. As the cashier was scanning items, we were casually shooting the breeze with your typical, run-of-the-mill, funny-ways-kittens-could-bite-it jokes.

When Jon mentioned that kittens were conveniently sized to fit in blenders, the woman at the register shot us a look of disgust.

“I don’t think that’s very funny,” she said in a disdainful tone.

Jon and I looked at each other and made a tacit exchange of words:

Cat person.

I then took the joke further and remarked that, although kittens were conveniently sized to fit in blenders, it was inconvenient that there was no button on the microwave for kittens.

There’s some background info here …

My kitten Penny has traditionally served as a comedic device for dark humor joke telling in our house. I refer to Penny as a ‘kitten’ even though Penny is a full grown cat because I like how ‘kitten’ sounds in contrast with dangerous objects. For instance: kittens and knives, kittens and bazookas, kittens and bulldozers, et cetera. The word ‘cat’ doesn’t have the same effect. (Try it: cats and knives, cats and bazookas, cats and bulldozers, et cetera. It doesn’t quite have the same effect).

So Penny will always be a kitten in my heart just as every man will forever be a happy smiling little boy in the heart of his mother (It’s a term of endearment, for all the wrong reasons.).

Penny is much like a human child to me. The only difference is that a human child of mine might one day choose my nursing home. In light of this, I discipline Penny differently than I would a human child.

The other day I woke up to find my kitchen floor lined with Purina Cat Chow. The greedy little kitten had somehow gotten on top of the refrigerator and knocked the bag off, spilling heart-shaped morsels of dry cat food all over the linoleum flooring. I’m not one for kitten shenanigans in the morning (which conveniently rhymes with ‘flooring’). So I pick Penny up by the neck skin (as cat mothers often do to their young), look deep into his feline eyes and say:

“Penny, do you know what happens to kittens when they do bad things?”

I pause and let the words permeate. I wait for Penny’s eyes to dilate with fear. They grow huge. Then I whisper very gently into one of his pointed ears:

“They die …”

Relax. The cat can’t understand English.

I wish he did.

Relax. I don’t show my affection for Penny in words, I show it in action.

I very consistently replenish his water and food bowl every other week. I’ve never once forgotten.

Are you relaxed? If you are relaxed, you’re understanding dark humor.

You’re relaxed because hilarity is just beside sorrow on the color wheel of human emotion. It is very easy to make a transition from one to the other. Go too far and you’ve crossed into madness. When you find yourself joking about how the only thing funnier than a dead baby is a dead baby in a clown suit, you’ve gone too far. When your joke involves asking the question:

What is blue and yellow and found at the bottom of a pool?

And then giving the answer:

A baby with slashed floaties.

You’ve gone too far. Or when you begin a joke with:

What’s red and yellow and floats on top of the pool?

And end with:

Floaties with a slashed baby.

Then you’ve gone much too far. As a rule of thumb dead babies, in any context, are too far. Kittens are well within reason. Dogs are off limits. Retarded people are sort of in a gray area.

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Seven ridiculous facts about me

Sunday, Dec 12th, 2010

Thanks for playing Seven Ridiculous Facts About Me.

What are some ridiculous facts about you? Let me know via the comment form below …

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My first skydiving experience

Sunday, Dec 5th, 2010

So there I was, bolting down from the sky, a lightening bolt searing towards the earth at an unthinkable speed.

And the lightening bolt is a metaphor. Meaning: this is not some fancy-pants poetic narrative in which the speaker is a personified lightening bolt. I was not literally a lightning bolt, which are things that do often fall from the sky as opposed to, say, humans which do not often fall from the sky. In the rare cases that humans do fall from the sky, they are equipped with parachutes that release after the strap is pulled the first time, or second. Or fourteenth.

I don’t know. It is difficult to keep count at such high altitudes. Especially when you are a soft and doughy sack of flesh encasing a terrified human consciousness, hurtling towards the earth at terminal velocity in the strictly literal, non-metaphorical sense.

I was a literal human being, vastly differing from the personified lightning bolts sometimes found in poetic narratives. I was alive. Meaning: I was about to die. Literally. This really happened to me yesterday. No, not really.

Wha?

You my friend, have just fallen prey to a clever writer’s ploy to hook a reader with a completely fabricated personal experience. I have hooked you right?

Reader? Hello?

Are you there?

Why of course. How else could the reader still be reading this.

Good. Err. About yesterday: The truth. Because, as clever of a writer I am, I am also a very honest writer. I’m super sincere. I even have the unique habit of signing my letters and emails with the word ‘sincerely’ ™.

So let’s get to the crux of it then. If I’m not daringly jumping out of airplanes and hurtling towards the earth at terminal velocity, what am I doing with my life?

What non-fictional personal experience might I share that might rouse a reader’s interest?

That’s the question I asked myself when I sat down to write this blog post.

That’s a question I have been unable to answer, unfortunately. Which leads to this rather boring and pathetic ending to a blog post that began rather excitedly.

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