Yes. I’ve done some incredibly stupid shit in my time.
Below is an actual-for-real email I sent to a soon-to-be former boss (an attractive lady-boss, of course.) and is sadly very close to the top of the Misfit Hit Paradeof lame-ass-actions I have perpetratedon innocents.
I have swerved into the solution for Drunken Emails.
Who could’ve known it would be this simple?
Street Cred for Vid: Big Play Films
From: Moron<email@example.com>cc bcc:
Yes, I am getting a tattoo (for my ‘mousing’ musing hand).
It will read simply, succinctly, in Big Bold Letters:
“No! Don’t Go There Lance!”
Brevity? Yes. (‘That soul of wit.’)
“Words have meaning Son,” my father often told me.
And short words, I have discovered, oft hold the most meaningful meaning.
It has been ‘awkward’ (to say the very least) to face you of late.
After my ‘email shot-gunning’ you, off-the-chain escapade of recent shameful regret, but… I did it and today found the courage to read all of what I did send and happily discovered, most were not of the obnoxious caliber of my historical wont.
Thank God and Baby Hey Zeus!
Alas, I wish I had an excuse.
Yet, in searching, there is one to be discovered, but so probably painfully evident that it requires no verbalization:
Two times per year, I get to ‘explore’ my darker side.
Two times per year, I choose a ‘lucky’ recipient to ‘share’ in my darkness.
Two times per year someone gets to be ‘it’.
You’re the New ‘IT’ Girl!
You’re in Good Company.
Clara Bow: The Original It Girl, 1927
The thing about writers (and those so-called writers who call themselves ‘writers’) is that they are so full of themselves, and vain by nature (it is requisite-with the breed), and every writer and so-called writer I have ever met, are… assholes. All.
Vain, pompous, drinks-too-much, full of sound and fury, and desperate.
“A tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.”
I am not (not really) stupid.
I know you cannot ‘comment’ nor even acknowledge, via email, all the posts I posted ‘at you.’
I dare say you would be wise to ignore me and my ramblings, given our professional relationship.
Yet, if you did read even one of the posts on my blog, (actually I think you read the first one I begged you to read—not the ‘best’ one, but one which apparently was on my mind–at the time)
It is a very simple thing to comment, ‘in disguise’ as
Or simply, “A Fan.” (tongue in cheek)
Do that once and I will be sated.
Do it twice and you get a Mickey Mouse Pencil Sharpener,
An Autographed8X10 Hollywood-Type-Glossy Photograph of Jesus Christ.
Sermon-on-the-mount, highly recommended, and our best-seller
But you cannot have both; there is a limited supply.
Do it thrice: You should seek counsel.
“Writers are assholes.”
“Lance is a ‘writer’”
“Ergo, Lance is an asshole.”
There is a point to this post, but most assuredly, I have forgotten my initial inclination in that regard.
***‘Jeopardy musical theme plays***
Now I’ve got it!
This is my convoluted apology to you.
I am, and shall always remain, an Honorable Military Man.
I am cognizant of the duty (and the mission)
And, admitting I was wrong is something which seems to be easier (and more difficult—same time) to do lately.
My first wife once accused me of aspiring to be “King of the Idiots.”
(She was an idiot savant…well, you’d have to know her to get my meaning, yet, I think–know, that I have posted about her…ON-MY-BLOG)
Back to my point:
I am beginning to grow bored with my job.
You are the best supervisor/boss I have had in recent memory. All, and I do mean ALL respect you.
This should be enough for me (and for the foreseeable future it shall be)
I don’t like to shit where I eat, BUT (and this is a curse), I have a opinions and I need to get that tattoo—post haste—and with all due prejudice.
I like you Suki.
I respect you.
I am trying to help you professionally (in my way).
I am not trying to ‘do’ anything other than ‘talk’ to you and ‘work’ for you.
To quote Nixon:
“Let me make one thing perfectly clear…”
I am a whore, but only when it comes to my writing.
Nothing else these days (aside from my computer addiction) means anything to me.
I am not as bad as I may, at first glance, seem.
(Truth: I am worse, but I do not bring that to WORK)
(Yes: you may quote me. I’d be flattered…. Hahahahaaa)
“Oh Good God! Lance is posting yet more ‘driveling-snivelings’ about writers, writing, and his writing travails! He wears me out!”
“Well, you may thank Mister Ohh over at His Place for prompting me to resurrect this long since dead post on the subject. Have a pleasant journey and be sure to give him my best regards while you are there. Ohh! (See what I just did there?) Oh btw, the password is “Mo’ Sent me.” ‘Mo, being shorthand for ‘Moron.’ Gawd! I crack me up! Ha. Ha. Ha.
The Angry Mab
“I dreamt a dream tonight.”
“And so did I.”
“Well, what was yours?”
“That dreamer’s often lie.”
“…In bed asleep while they do dream things true!”
“Oh! Then I see Queen Mab hath been with you!”
–R&M: Romeo and Mercutio
“Peace, Good Mercutio. Peace. Thou talks of nothing. Thou talkst of nothing.”
“True. True. I talk of dreams, which are the children of an idle brain. Begotof nothing but vain fantasy, which is as thin of substance as the air and more inconstant than the wind who woes even now the frozen bosom of the north, and being angered puffs away from thence, turning his side to the dew-dropping south.”
Thou Talkst of Nothing
After a night of hard blogging and writing of drafts, and becoming somewhat disillusioned and more than daft, I perished toward my bed, reaching out for the Arms of Morpheus.
Within moments I slipped into that Hypnagogic Sleep, that strange place between two worlds, that semi-conscious state of being, yet not being,
Salvador Dali 1928
Sleep, but Not Sleep.
Then I began to dream things that should have been true.
But were not true
Yet so true.
Wonderful words words words!
Words to sate my unnourished prose.
Words swirl’d about in my mind like so many fireflies on a summer’s eve:
“Words, words, words!. Once, I had the gift. I could make love out of words as a potter makes cups of clay. Love that overthrows empires. Love that binds two hearts together, come hellfire & brimstone.”
— “Will Shakespeare in Love”
I had it (them, those) words… goin’ on.
Brilliant words. Beautiful, poignant words! All right there!
Right there In My Mind
Hovering, floating just above the surface
I reached out my finger to tap the “Publish Mouse”
Early the next morning, I ordered coffee and then waited outside to catch the room service dude/dudette before they could knock on the door and awaken Sleeping Beauty.
(Yes, we had that coffee maker in our room but I wanted ‘real-brewed, bona-fide coffee’ for us and not some Taster’s Choice shit.)
Presently the coffee arrived and I laced mine with Jim Beam, poured lots of sugar and lots of cream into hers.
Very gently, I woke her.
“Ahhh, what time is it?” She said while yawning and reaching for the ceiling, stretching her slightly freckled arms, splaying her fingers, undulating her hips and moving her head round and round as if she were performing some exotic aboriginal dance to summon up a God or maybe a lessor Daemon.
I sat down on the bed close to her, preparing my aim to land a kiss on her lips.
“I smell ‘real’ coffee. You got us some real coffee!” she said, quickly sitting up as my aimed kiss landed on the pillow where her head had been just a moment before.
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“I was hoping to get at the very least, a kiss out of the deal.”
“I need to pee. Be right back,” she said, jumping up from the bed. “And while you wait, lots of cream, lots of sugar, ‘Sugar,’” laughing at her own joke all the way to the head.
“I Already Did That!” But she didn’t hear as she entered the bathroom and slammed the door shut.
Shonnie, in case you haven’t noticed by now, never, ever does anything delicately, daintily, half-way, or without lusto-gusto.
After what seemed at least an hour, but was more like six minutes, she marched out of the head. The sleepy look had vanished from her eyes, her body language was all energy now. She planted herself in the chair by the bed next to the night stand.
“Here ya go Darlin’,” I said as I handed her, carefully prepared by me, the cup of real, bona-fide coffee.
“Thanks Lover. Now, if you’d be so…”
“Yes yes, I know,” I said, as I lit two ‘Cowboy Killers,’ passing one to her.
“Much obliged,” she giggled, laying it on really thick.
Nervous apprehension descended upon me as I got up and dropped some already queued up, soft and low music into ‘lil boom box’:
The first few notes of Kris and Rita‘s ‘Help me make it through the night’ began. Satisfied it was still queued properly, I immediately shut it off.
“Name that tune Shonnie Girl.”
She took a sip of java, a slow, deliberate drag off her Marlboro, levelled her eyes at me, and said while exhaling, “Uh… ‘Goodtime Charley’s Rag-Tag Band with Tacos and Tamales on the horns section’. Song is called ‘He’s just another dead fish goin’ with the flow’.”
“That’s not even a ‘real’ song. You just pulled that outta your ass,” I protested.
“Of course I did. You wanna a ‘real’ woman in your life or you want one who wastes her time getting ready to be on lame-ass TV game shows?”
“Perfect Segway into something we need to discuss.”
My so well-rehearsed plan was coming apart at the seams. I had not meant to push the Red Shonnie Button. I had meant to push the Blue Shonnie Button.
Obviously, I had missed.
Trying to recover lost ground, aiming at some humility and some seriousness, I broached,
“Shonnie, I’m sorry. But I want you to indulge me for a few minutes. Can we shelve our little ‘word trysts’… sorry, our little ‘romantic word battles’ for a moment. I want to talk to you serious. Have a seat on the bed please.”
Suspiciously, she moved her props (ashtray and coffee cup) to the side of the night stand closer to the bed. Then she lay down stretching out and crossing her legs, seductively opening her bath robe as she did so.
“Ok, you have my attention. Do I have yours?”
*This Woman! ¡Ay, caramba!!*
“Shonnie, Baby, I want you to listen to this entire song without saying one word. It is a song I am sure you have heard many, many times, even several times while with me. Pretty certain you know it by heart, but this time, try to listen as if this is the very first time you have ever heard it. And then allow me to say something before you say anything. Will you do this for me?”
With a raised eyebrow, she said, “Uh, sure. Light it up.”
I got up from the other chair in the room, walked over to lil boom box and pressed ‘play’. Then I got into bed, lying close to Shonnie, reached out and grabbed her left hand, entwining my fingers with hers.
The beginning piano chords… as I lay there, using my fingers to tenderly stroke hers.
Kris began the duet:
Take that ribbon from your hair
Shake it loose and let it fall
Layin’ soft against my skin
Like the shadows on the wall…
As the ‘duet’ part of the duet began I stole a glance at her eyes…
I don’t care what’s right or wrong
I won’t try to understand
Let the devil take tomorrow
But tonight I need a friend
And discerned some tears welling up in them.
Shonnie knew where this ship was sailing.
Sailing headlong into dangerous unchartered waters.
And it’s sad to be alone
Help me make it through the night
I don’t want to be alone
Help me make it through the night
The song ended. Shonnie was weeping.
And so was I.
I sat up and pulled her into an upright posture. I faced her and took both of her hands in mine, looked straight into those intensely blue eyes,
“My Darling, I don’t want you to help me make it through a night. I want you to help me make it through a life. Our life. Together.”
“I love you Shonnie.”
Through blinked back tears she said, “Yes yes, I know. Have known. Just did not know how you were gonna deal with it. Were you gonna run away scared? Or were you gonna stay not scared?” She tried to produce a laugh as she said, “I gave the ‘stay part’ forty-sixty.”
I drew her close and kissed her very lightly on her neck, then deeply on her mouth.
She continued as I kept her locked in my embrace, “Lance, you know I love you too. Have loved you ever since…”
“Ever since our first night?” I interrupted. “Me too. I loved you from that night.”
Joni was well into the next song on my homemade cassette,
Help me, I think I’m fallin’ in love too fast
It’s got me hopin’ for the future and worryin’ about the past
‘Cause I’ve seen some hot, hot blazes come down to smoke and ash
We love our lovin’ (lovin’)
But not like we love our freedom
Neither Shonnie nor I suffered fools lightly, but we knew we were both fools whenever we were together.
How could we even dare to hope for a happy ending to our story? Both of us so headstrong and so independent. She of course not quite as subtle in showing her traits as was I with mine.
And not to mention the two other salient realities:
We were both married, but not to each other.
I was a sailor, and would be compelled to leave her for recurring lengthy deployments at sea.
Liberally and loosely stealing from Shakespeare, we were ‘Star-Struck’, ‘Love-Struck’, ‘Star-Crossed Lovers’ living in a stolen season.
But at that moment, we didn’t care.
We made the most tender, yet passionate, slow passionate, if there is such a thing, love we ever had.
It was, to tritely yet accurately describe it, ‘Heaven on Earth.’
We lay there in the warmth of each other, knowing full well our relationship had been forever changed. And I am certain she, as did I, hoped it had changed for the better.
It was already perfect, but now it had the potential to become ever ‘more’ perfect, which I suppose is impossible grammatically, kind of like being ‘more unique’ or some such nonsense, but damn it all!
If we could form a ‘More Perfect Union’ then by God we would!Come Hell or Rapture!
Just hoping we hadn’t fucked up what we already had.
After lying there for half an hour, wrapped around each other and not saying even one word, just listening to Joni, we got up silently and sat down in our respective chairs.
Shonnie lit a cigarette and took a big sip of what had to be by now, horrible-tasting cold coffee.
I took a sip of mine, but it had been perma-warmed with Beam.
We exchanged loving, lustful, provocative looks.
Not being able to stand the silence or the exchanged and corny goo-goo eyes any longer, she blurted out, “You gonna teach me that Goddamn card-counting shit or what?!” Then she laughed loudly and hysterically.
And so did I.
Our previous rapport had been spared from our love confessional and thankfully remained fully in-tact.
“Drag your ass and your chair over here while I drag the coffee table between us,” I said.
“Fix me a drink while you’re at it will ya? This coffee tastes like shit which hasn’t even been warmed over.”
“You got it, Darlin.’”
“And stop callin’ me ‘Darlin’ all the damn time. Come up with something new, will ya? You’re wearing me out with that Texas Darlin’ shit!”
I had to laugh. See why I loved her so? What the Hell is not to love about a woman such as she?
However. I think she was trying just a little too hard to make sure that I knew and she knew that our previous tête-à-tête way of banging our respective relationship heads together remained firmly grounded and fully preserved. In other words, “The lady doth protest too much, methinks.”
I began teaching her how to count down the deck.
“Shonnie,” I said. “Aces count as zero. Two through nine count as plus one. Tens and the rest (face cards) count as minus one.”
“You’re gonna sit there and keep a running count in your head while you place two-dollar bets. Don’t get fancy. Just use the basic strategy I taught you.”
“When the count goes hot, I mean, when the count goes real positive, anything over plus five, you light a cig in your left hand. I’ll be at the bar and come on over, playing a drunk with a lot of money. Should just be a bit-part for me. No acting required. I can do ‘drunk’ slicker than owl shit.”
“Wait a minute!” She said. “You’re gonna ‘play’ a drunk?”
“Yeah. So what?”
“Never mind. But you probably might need to ‘rehearse’ a little bit.”
“Funny. Anyhow, we’ll go to the El Cortez this evening and you’ll go in first. Take a seat at the blackjack table closestto the bar. I’ll come a few minutes later and park my butt, watching you from the bar.”
“When you signal, I’ll stumble on over and start throwing black chips around. You hand off the count to me by stacking some chips to your right. Five six, seven… Whatever it is. I’ll pretend not to know you while I pick up your count.”
“If all works well, I’ll score a grand or two or three, then feign needing to move on, color my chips and bug. You stay for another twenty minutes or so and then meet me back at The Plaza. Got it?”
“Great Girl,” I said.
“Oh Yeah? Fuck you! If we get into trouble, it’s on your ass.”
“Honey, nothing illegal ‘bout countin’, but they do frown on it. We’ll be fine. Just lay off the sauce a bit.”
“Double Fuck You!” she said.
“There’s that Girl I love.”
“Love? I thought we had alreadysettled thatissue.”
For the rest of the morning and slightly into the afternoon we practiced her ‘counting.’ She was surprisingly adept and dare I admit, picked it up much quicker than I had back when I was floating around in the Northern Indian Ocean trying to teach myself.
I pronounced her ‘Ready for Prime Time.’
“Ready? I was ‘ready’ two fuckin’ hours ago. I’ve just been humoring you. Can we have some food now?”
Love is a Many-‘Splintered’Thing… and a Double-Edged Sword of Damocles.
And absolutely extraordinarily exhilaratingwith Shonnie.
Part X: “Shonnie The Biker’s Wife, Chapter X: Dalliance (and loyalty in Las Vegas)”
Coming Very Soon
Update: Part X is UP
If you are new here, or a long-lost returning Pilgrim, you may want to begin your Shonnie Journey Below
And then simply “Follow the Yellow Brick Road” i.e., The Lancelot Links:
Below You Will Find Most Of The Original Posts. Once / If You Arrive At Thirteen There Are Links To The Final Few Chapters. Please keep in mind however, that each and every one of them is in the process of being rewritten: first to last. This will probably take at least two or three weeks.
(This book must be a later edition. The one I worn out reading, I purchased from a book store in Hong Kong. Same title, but published in the late Seventies if memory serves. Was not aware of any later editions. Might be the same book, just a reprint.)
I taught Shonnie just the basic count. Not as powerful as the more sophisticated ones (for example keeping a side count on Aces). The thing I learned from Uston was the concept of the ‘Big Player.’
The easiest way to get spotted as a card counter is to be betting small, then suddenly when the deck goes ‘hot’, start betting large. Sure tip off. Having someone else counting, then walking up and immediately placing big bets is safer. Usually.
Thanks for your comments and for the visit. You are correct. I need to finish this up. I aim to.
Exile on Pain Street July 1, 2014 at 06:24 Edit
You make counting sound so easy! If you don’t have a brain for numbers or, like myself, a functioning brain at all, you get pretty tripped-up in the pluses and minuses. But that’s a pretty concise explanation.
I know my way around a craps table but don’t know nuthin’ ’bout no stinkin’ cards. I’ve sat at black jack tables and fucked it up for everyone. Boy, do they give you dirty looks!
I think it’d be cool if your last name was Corporal. You’d be Lance Corporal. See what I did there? Finish this up. Did you get busted?
LAMarcom June 30, 2014 at 18:22 Edit
It’s a grind if ya do it right Sadie. More and more difficult these days. Most of the Joints deal from a six-deck shoe and reshuffle halfway into it. Tough to get a real advantage.
Thanks very much for reading and commenting.
LAMarcom June 30, 2014 at 18:21 Edit
Laughing my ass off!
LAMarcom June 30, 2014 at 18:20 Edit
You could be right Mark.
Thanks for the read and your comment. I appreciate it.
LAMarcom June 30, 2014 at 18:19 Edit
Yeah, I think I know that guy.
Thanks My Friend.
happierheathen June 29, 2014 at 22:26 Edit
One of my cousins is a nice guy who dresses well and speaks softly, and if you aren’t careful about counting cards in certain Vegas “properties” he’ll drop by and invite you to take a walk with him. Good thing you didn’t get to meet him.
markbialczak June 29, 2014 at 19:14 Edit
Somebody’s gonna end up either beat to a pulp in the back room of the casino or bloody face down on the pavement in front of the joint, and I sure hope it ain’t Shonnie. You know how to build the tension, Lance-a-rooney.
Mad Annie, Bronwyn, Ann June 29, 2014 at 19:12 Edit
“There’s that Girl I love.”
Methinks the cat just landed amidst the pigeons!
~ Sadie ~ June 29, 2014 at 18:42 EditDamn – you can get an education anywhere 😉 I want to try that card counting shit, now!!! Thanks Lance for teaching me something new & the continued saga . . . great writing & storytelling!!
This was yet another ancient post marked for ‘Make-Over.’
Now this has been accomplished, albeit with a ‘soft’, ‘light’ finger on that ‘delete key.’
It was not my intent to change much about the original post in general, nor the ‘message’ in particular. My desire was mainly to bring it up to speed vis-à-vis my 2021 ‘Higher Production Standards’.
(That’s ‘tongue-in-cheek’, by the way, as if Y’all don’t already know this! Hahaha!)
This next is Not ‘tongue-in-cheek,’ however. It is sincerely serious.
When I originally ‘penned’ the post I was a little frustrated over ‘Bot’ likes and also, as I called them, ‘Drive-By Likers’ You know the breed (Even If you have been blogging only a short while).
The ‘Drive-By Liker’ surfs the WP Reader page and likes damn near everything, in an attempt, I surmise, to generate interest and traffic in His/Hers/Other’s blog site.
This used to piss me off.
Now it doesn’t.
Because I am more and more maturely humble these days as I find myself on ‘The Back Nine of Life’
And so now I give all the ‘Likes’ the benefit of my doubt and just appreciate them for what they are.
Long lost AbusiveMuse sent me this email. (Rememberher? I’ll drop her in at the end as an ‘Added Value Bonus Bit’.)
“Lance! Someone took the time to drop a ‘like’on your dumb ass. Be Happy with it! Never look a ‘Gift Like’ in the Mouth. Print it out and fuckin’ frame it. Put it on your “I Like Me Wall” along with all the other ‘Real-Life’ bullshit accolades and awards you have dragged around with you over all these years. Fer Chrissakes! Get over yourself!”
“Love Ya. Mean it.”
Not everyone has time, nor even inclination to comment on every bloody post they ‘like’. I understand this now. That is just how some folks roll.
On the other hand, I will, ninety-nine percent of the time, leave a comment on every post I have liked.
This certainly does not mean I am the ‘better, kinder, gentler blogger.’ It just means that That is How I choose to Roll.
We are all different, unique, and worthy-of-respect individuals, and we approach blogging each to our own ends, and according to own philosophies (I have written extensively on this of late. See attached below: “Worthy Writers”)
Back to THIS post:
I wanted it to be a fun, light-hearted, whimsical way for me to bitch, moan, and complain about a personal ‘Pet Peeve’ of mine.
I think I came close to accomplishing my goal back then. I have copy-pasta’d the comments from the original post at the bottom of this one.
But I had also posted some other posts related to the subject, which were a little more, shall we say, ‘direct-to-the meat’ of the matter.
“More matter, less art” as Gertrude said to Polonius in “Hamlet”.
I’d skip those old posts if I were you. I am certainly not proud of them.
Okay, there may be one or two exceptions to what I just wrote above. This below might be one of them. I had forgotten about it. I find it kind of endearing. You may too.
I have a lot of opinions about a lot of things, reading and writing and commenting being very close to the top of my ‘Opinion Hit Parade.’ Not always have I expressed these opinions in a respectful way.
I am working more and more toward the ‘respectful way’ of expressing my opinions these days. Lord knows, we have too much vitriol in our world to deal with already.
I do Not wish to contribute to That and if you catch me ‘back-sliding’, please call me out on it.
Mister Lance ‘Eddie’ Marcom
Alright!After All That ‘Preamble’and if You-Are-Still-Here…
Here is the post I have been trying to post:
“A like is a like of course of course
“And everyone loves a like of course
“Unless of course
“The like is from the Famous Mister Ed…
(Who is just a horse and not a real person)
“Go right to the source and ask the horse…
“Do you read before you enforce
“That this is a post that you’d endorse?
“He’s always on a steady course…
“Talk to Mister Ed.”
“My Kingdom! For Readers!”
This rant is certainly not directed at those of you who actually read my scribblings. It is directed at those few, those happy few who… Never mind:
Y’all catch my drift, as I am certainly not the only one who experiences this.
And in Closing, Allow Me To Say This About That:
Please Don’t Hesitate To “Like” A Post Of Mine Now Because You Mistakenly Assume I Will Be Wondering,
“Where Is The Frickin’ Comment?”
I No Longer Think That Way
So ‘Like’ Away!!
Cheers To All My Good Friends Out There in ‘Radio Land’.
Comments from the original post below. (Best to start at the bottom and read your way up. Makes more sense that way.)
LAMarcom June 18, 2014 at 18:37 Edit
janeybgood June 18, 2014 at 15:53 Edit
No problem Lance, I’m glad to “meet” you 🙂
LAMarcom June 18, 2014 at 15:46 Edit
Bona-fide speed reader!
Awesome (I read fast too and sometimes I also out-type my brain, which can have unfortunate consequences….at times)
Thank you very much for your visits and commentary.
Always makes my day to have feedback.
janeybgood June 18, 2014 at 15:41 Edit
Believe if or not, I did read it that quickly because I’m just that good 🙂
Succinct and brilliant! I,like, totally liked it.
Teela Hart June 7, 2014 at 03:24 Edit
LAMarcom June 6, 2014 at 08:29 Edit
Teela Hart June 6, 2014 at 06:40 Edit
I’ve always loved Mr. Ed.
And a comment is a comment of course of course. 😀
LAMarcom June 6, 2014 at 00:18 Edit
Funny paradox, ain’t it? Catch 22?
LAMarcom June 6, 2014 at 00:15 Edit
Exactly how my mind works!
Thanks for not being a ‘bot’.
Laughing. See? You made me laugh.
Now here is your token for a free Lone Star Beer redeemable at Lackland O Club only.
happierheathen June 6, 2014 at 00:08 Edit
So, then, you’re writing for those who never read your stuff so won’t know of it anyway. It makes perfect sense to me.
We are, each of us, all of us, complicated, worthy people, full of brightly brilliant ideas, passionate passions, boundless potentials and infinite possibilities.
We are “Writers,” which makes us just a little bit different, special, andweird.
(In a very good way)
We each have our own personal foibles, strengths, weaknesses, levels of humanity, quirks, degrees of sanity, degrees of insanity, levels of intelligence, variancesof meanness,variancesof kindness, oscillatingmagnitudes of mood, cascades of creativity, brilliance of brevities, vacillating verbosities, and on and on…
In short we are all individuals possessing something unique that only each unique one amongst us can share.
And THAT, My Dear “Special Writer-Friends” is whatmakes this vocation so Magical.
And so very fulfilling and so very rewarding.
Ninety-Nine Percent of my Writing is Autobiographical.
And I know from visiting the Blogs, that most of my Fellow Writers, at the very least, Write a good deal of same.
For me, I find it healthy and cathartic.
Your mileage may vary.
But remember Socrates’ renowned statement,
“The unexamined life is not worth living.”
Content Credit: “School of Life”
Some of us have our own personal agendas.
Some of us do not.
Yet,We, each and every one of us, is worthy: Agenda Full, orAgendaEmpty.
Honestly, I am fresh out (of agendas)currently, but I am shopping for one to rent.
Upon ‘Sober’ Reflection…
(Yes! I have Quit for Good, The Drinking–Having Chosen Life Over Death Because I still have years and years and years worth of shit I want, need, to write and to share.)
Yes!Upon sober reflection, I realize I DO have an agenda after all: My ‘agenda’, modest as it may appear, is to spread a little joy and deliver a bit of enrichment into the people’s lives who honor me by investing some of that most valuable, finite commodity we ALL share:
I work very diligently not to waste even one single moment of yours, because there is no such thing as a ‘Money-Back-Time-Guarantee’.
“Love It, Or We’ll Refund All Your Time Spent. With Interest. No Questions Asked! Guaranteed!”
Sorry.Don’t work that way.
Some of us are Brilliant, Talented Writers.
Some us are just getting started and may need advice from time to time. Just ask; you will most likely get an inbox overflowing full.
“So, You Want To Be A Writer?”
Street Cred for Vid: Shea, Et al.
Some of us are polished, published, poets, prose-writers, playwright professionals, some of us are copywriters, some of us are even journalists, some of us are a combination ofa few or of them all.
Some of us have genetic talent.
Some of us must work harder at it.
Most of us sufferWriter’s Block from time to time:
Content Credit: “Ivan Kander”
But the fact that we are all here,grinding out word after word,
Proves our worth and our respect for our craft.
And the Fact that you are reading these words right now proves you have respect for your fellow writers in Our Wonderful Writer’s Community
I think what my ‘message’ is trying (and most likely failing) to eloquently say… is that I love the writers in my fellow writer community.
We all have worth.
(Well except for that worthless schmuck who don’t like Lenny Bruce… and Y’all know I am even just kidding on that.)
“Thank You Mask Man”
Video Share Credit: ThankYouMaskedMan1
Neverkid About Comedy; Comedy is SeriousBusiness!
Never Joke About Lenny; Lenny is Serious Business!
And if Y’all Think I’m a Serious Person, and not joking, I am gonna purchase you a one-way ticket to ‘The Re-Education, Never-Take-Lance-Too-Seriously Gulag Facility’, recently re-modeled and up-graded–it has running water now.
And Gulag Goulash Every Saturday Night.
–Lance, Your Humble & Worthy Servant, Who Loves, and Respects, All of ‘Y’alls’.