I keep hearing that I should blog more. Apparently successful bloggers (whatever the fuck that even means) post almost every day, even if it’s just a small stink nugget about their day, to keep the itty bitty attention span of the average internet addict tuned to them. After all, it’s stiff competition out there; I mean with all the lolcats, free porn, and social activism. (Just watch this video and you’re an honorary humanitarian! You should get an award for hitting the “SHARE” button, you thoughtful person you! Now return to your regularly scheduled donkey show.)
I can’t bring myself to do this. Do any of you actually give a shining shit about my day?? I didn’t think so. Just as I do with my feelings, I prefer to bottle up my irritation with the world until it explodes into a glittering glob of poorly punctuated poop puns. If I was as angry at nothing every single day as I am in each Turd Mountain post I’d surely have climbed a clock tower by now… and defecated on innocent pedestrians beneath me like a possessed pigeon. What, did you think I was going to go on a murderous rampage or something? I don’t do guns, people. I deal in words… mostly just alliterative synonyms for poop.
So then, what’s the fecal-minded shit slinger to do when the colon is cleansed? When the intestines have been over irrigated, leaving not even a trickle of turdwater to flow? Let’s cut the crap – I have writer’s block. It’s not that shit isn’t pissing me off; I just can’t single out any one thing that’s irritating my bowels more than another right now.
It doesn’t help that my bipolar, anxiety-riddled, manure mound of a brain has gone into super psycho mode and refuses to register anything I say, do, or write as acceptable. (I came clean about some of that shit HERE.) My first Cracked.com article has recently gotten some attention again, and instead of being excited about the renewed interest in the biggest break of my “career” (I’m not sure it could be called that, but my thesaurus is permanently stuck open to the POOP page so we’ll just go with it), instead I’m dwelling on the miniscule droplet of negativity that experience left me with. Seriously, the sky could be full of rainbows and flying unicorns that piss constant streams of vodka over the sunshiny Meadow of Magnificence, and I’d be oblivious of everything except the tiny turd stuck to the whimsical leprechaun’s shoe. Don’t question me; of course a leprechaun would be there. And he would be whimsical as hell, goddammit. Even if he did fall off his unicorn. You know what shut up, this is MY fantasy world I’m shitting all over here, I can paint it (and desecrate it) however I want.
So there you have it. It felt like passing a kidney stone, but the first inspiration (and laxative) free turd has been laid on the Mount. Aside from the Shit for Brains post (linked earlier as well-I'm too lazy to find new and exciting links for you to crap all over) this was probably my most honest post; and while we’re being honest, I fucking hated every second of writing it, as I’m sure you did of reading it. Let’s hope that stool softener kicks in pretty quick and I find something better to write about than my own shithead self.
In the meantime, how about you just subscribe to this damn blog via email or Facebook so that I don’t feel compelled to drop another bowel bomb like this the next time traffic slumps. And as always, let me know what’s shitting in your cereal. Who knows, you might just have a Turd Mountain post dedicated to you, which is about the equivalent of being the jolly clump of crap on that jubilant green midget’s moccasin.