The Fat Man Today

I don't blog enough. Why do I even keep this blog up anyway? Sit down. Feel your ass settle into the chair. Close your eyes and think of the last single most relaxing thing you did. Like eat your favorite chocolate. Or talk to your favorite person on the phone. Mmm. Feels good, doesn't it? Feels as if the past few days were a blur. You're slowing down though, like a horse fresh from the races, catching it's breath after a tenuous run. Through your closed lids, you imagine yourself looking down at your forelegs and seeing the veins bulging through your hide after all that effort. There is steam rising from your flanks, your body is so heated after the run that you're emanating an aura of sorts. You grin, and shake your head. In real life, you shake your head as well. It's been a good four days. Nobody will ever find the body, you think. After all the running and the effort, the pains you took to hide Elsa's corpse after you accidentally stabbed her durin...

Instead of explaining with words as to why this man is amazing, I will instead show you a photo. Photo courtesy of Robot Walrus . All rights belong to Alex Ross .

It's good to have something to believe in. Really. It's always good to work for a cause, to fight the good fight so that a select group of the population have an easier time of it. I mean this in all honesty. Marxists supposedly work for the equality of the social system, feminists fight for the equal treatment of the genders, environmentalists tout the rejuvenation of mother nature for the continual benefit of future generations of the human race. We're all fighting and believing in something, and one way or the other, everybody's got a point. Which is what brings me to mine: the -ism I adhere to is the one belief that will sit on the sidelines and chuck bombs when everybody else has gone to hell and back trying to shove each other's ideals down the next guy's throat. My personal -ism takes enjoyment in seeing the gestalt of a situation and making fun of it by pointing out the pros and cons of either side. Most importantly, my -ism believes in a sense of balan...

Two nose-related stories. So without further ado. . . Lately, I've been having nosebleeds left and - well, mostly left. It started during my week-long battle with a flu that kept me in bed the whole of last week. I was woken up from an afternoon nap by a clogged left nostril, so I picked up the rag I was using for a handkerchief and blew my nose. Imagine my surprise when I saw gobs of blood on the rag. I wasn't really shocked since I was used to my nose bleeding at the oddest of times, so I just plugged the hole with TP and went back to bed. The past few days, though, the same nostril's been doling out the blood like a faucet. Just yesterday, I ended up wasting a brand-new handkerchief because I was gushing as if there was no tomorrow. A friend actually told me off when I was telling her about my plans to gym later in the evening, since I did just come from a sickness. This morning, though, after another episode of gooey geyser, I used the office bathroom's mirror to...

Gather 'round, kiddies, and let me tell you a horrifying tale. This little ditty ain't no sham - it tells the truth (upon my honor) about the mad-dog menace of the stick they called . . . TETEBALUCHI . Now, as things started out, he was just a tree mindin' his own business down south of the country. But then one day, the choppers came, and saw no finer wood for profit than Tetebaluchi himself. He protested, oh yes with all his tree-given gifts, but the axes were sharp, the men's arms strong as an ox during the matin' season. Tetebaluchi fell, amidst a furuious cascade of profanities that would make your sailor brother's mother's uncle pink with embarrassment. Oh yes, boys and girls, Tetebaluchi fell, and he shattered the earth beneath him with a thunderous CRACK! Now, the thing about them trees is that you can cut them down, but you can't ever kill them, no sir. When you cut them down, you hurt them and take away a little bit more of their life, but ...

He really needed to get back to his fiction. After checking out an artist's blog for inspiration, he felt it. It started small, a creative rush dripping throughout his body. It didn't feel like writing on the adrenaline-induced equivalent of crack or staring into the eyes of God, no. This was something different. It was like coffee, or Super Mario Brothers. This was what one would feel after downing a mugful of rich, luxurious espresso shots. This, he reasoned, was probably how Super Mario felt like after eating a mushroom - bigger somehow, and more secure that while he wasn't really larger than life, there was this voodoo majik that gave him the endurance he needed to storm the castle and save the princess. Super Mario and espresso. Some reach, he thought after a second. Holy shit, that was a false start. He stood up and closed the computer, headed for the bathroom to take a shit. Afterwards, there was dinner to look forward to. So much for day one.

Wow. I promised to fix up this blog a long time ago, but even after all that, I only get around to doing it now. And I go and choose a default layout, to boot. What a jerk. So anyway. Hi. The problem with coming back from a blog hiatus of sorts is that you've had plenty of opportunities to write decent blog entries but you end up saving them for the future when you get to bringing your website back to life. I'm no stranger to that, I'll admit - so many things have happened these past few months that made me stop and thing that "Hey, there's something nice to blog about!" only to be followed by the thought that "Oh shat, I haven't cleaned up my blog yet." It can get very frustrating. Especially when the only bit of writing you do get to doing involves work. Which, by the way, is doing great. I've never been busier - dealing with the constant demands of the clients for better, cleaner output can be both frustrating and rewarding, despit...