Okay, morning. It’s nine twenty two, and I’ve been awake for a while. Pretty wild. It’s the baby. He’ll keep you awake. Well, he’ll keep his mother awake, and then she’ll come in to our room and stomp around, because, well, this small thing has been deflating her tits for a good portion of the morning, and well, I’ve been sleeping. So, anyway, you get the idea. Babies keep you awake, one way or the other. So, a little about me, right? Yeah, that should kill some time. I’m five eleven, and I love peanut butter. Also, I was born in St. Louis, but grew up in Chicago, where I still live. I’m one of those people who still lives within five miles of my childhood home and my grade school. Pretty great. Okay, also, I’m a semi-employed bartender and I pretty much live off my wife. And I have a kid, so that’s pretty much the scoop. I’m a real Midwestern Federline of sorts. I mean, the parallels are astounding. We both have rich wives, we both were born in white trash Petri dishes (Missouri and Fresno respectively) and we both have great chinstrap beards. Okay, not so fast Billy Ray, I don’t actually have a chinstrap beard. I do have a friend named Tim, though, who always rocks at least the chinstrap because, he says, without it, his cheeks just go right into his neck. I think that’s probably a better look than the chinstrap beard, but what do I know?
So yeah, I’m a bartender. Not a good one. When people ask me for fancy shots I either ask them what’s in it or make it up. I’m not great with people, and I can’t stand being told what to do. Also, I don’t really like to clean up that much. Oh, and I drink. So yeah, bad bartender. I work Sunday nights. That’s it. No, seriously. One day a week. Yeah, and here’s the beauty of it, I still bitch about my busy schedule. Why? Because there are people out there willing to listen to anything, no matter how fucking stupid or irrelevant it is. That’s how you can explain the success of things like Katy Perry, James Blunt, George W. Bush, Jesus, my mom, Ashton Kutcher, Perez Hilton, whatever. The list is endless, to be sure.
I touched on it briefly in my first blog, entitled ‘Hello Blogosphere’, but to briefly expound, it seems like everyone and their mom these days has some website where they just talk shit about everything as though they, the bloggers in question, are somehow more clever and entitled to hand down judgment on what’s cool than the people out there actually attempting to make things. I think that’s great. Thank god we’ve finally developed a system where fat, anonymous, nerdy virgins can broadcast their snide opinions and suspicions about everyone else’s personalities, sexualities, talents or lack thereof to everyone in the world and…Here’s the best part! People read it and for the most part, these blogs shape public opinion.
So, it’s a pretty great equation if you think about it. Popular, beautiful people shun tubby, awkward iconoclast with questionable sexuality, or proclivity for gaming or whatever the final deathblow is for these people’s popularity. These shunned individuals retreat to their computers where they, without the hope of interacting with real people, sub public figures into their lives where the popular kids in school (who they had no interactions with either) used to reside. All the resentment, jealousy, snarky comments to other dungeon masters in the cafeteria etc. is now being broadcast all over the universe. Now, that’s all fine. Here’s the delicious part. These very same popular people who once shunned fatty now read his blog, and let his opinion shape theirs! It’s like a straw man that you burn first, and then he comes back to be worshiped. The Internet has completely reversed the world of social physics. Truly amazing.
Okay, that’s way too much of that. I have to work on Thursday, which is tomorrow and I’m dreading it. Why? Because I’m lazy. That’s why. I don’t like to work. But I don’t really like doing anything. I get bored easily. If I’m not having a beer, cracking a dumb joke around a bunch of sycophants who think I’m funny or sleeping, or getting some sort of work done on my penis (hand, blow, vagina, or anus job, you get the idea [pretty funny, actually to call butt fucking an ‘anus job,’ right? “Oh man, Valerie gave me the best anus job in the walk in cooler at the DQ last night, Sooowee!”]) chances are, I’m bored. My friend has this song and the chorus goes “Are You Restless like me?’ And I want to hide my restlessness and casually reply, “dude, you have no fucking idea.” I’m restless in the worst way. Restless and lazy with no desire to do anything. I wanted to call this blog “wasted potential” because I thought the amount of entendre there was charming. Firstly, I’m wasting my education, my aptitudes, whatever, but there’s a lot of potential within me, at least in theory. Secondly, I’m often wasted. I always have the potential to become wasted, and when I’m wasted I tend to think I have lots of untapped potential. Unfortunately, I’m sober right now and I can see the truth. Also, that name was already taken by a dumb graphic designer and some sort of comic strip that featured a giraffe that runs a pizza place or something. Well, at least the name’s being put to good use.
Oh, and keep those advice letters coming. Confidential to Apprehensive in Kentucky: If it’s not coming right back out, it might mean that he’s just too tight back there. And that’s not a bad thing. Try using a straw or a bellows! And have fun.
Okay, till next time,