A False Sense of Freedom -or- I've Said Too Much

There is a certain sense of freedom in running a blog that very few people read. I do have you, the Loyal Readers, whom I love dearly, and without whom this blog would be nothing more than the equivalent of me standing in an alley behind the local K-Mart talking to myself about writing and such.

The thing is though, since I feel pretty comfortable around you, the Loyal Readers, and because I just can’t seem to find anyone else who wants to take a few moments out of their lives and drop by this sad, empty corner of the web, I can say pretty much whatever I want to. I can shout it to the cosmos and I won’t have to worry about my inbox filling up with nasty emails since no one else will ever read it.

I can post about my weekend trips up North, were I enjoy ice fishing, cross country skiing, and clubbing baby seals.

I could drone away recounting all the separate occasions I have littered on this nation’s highways.

Heck, I could even tell the story about the time I killed a man in Reno just to watch him die. Why not, no one will ever read anything I ever put out the on the web, so I might as well just spill the beans already.

I once spent the night in Miami and licked the toilet seat in a public restroom just to say I did.

There’s nothing I enjoy more than dressing up as a little old lady and trying to guilt men into helping me cross the street.

Did you know that if you shoot heroin directly into your eye ball that it doesn’t leave any marks for the cops to see?

I’ve never told anyone this before, but sometimes, when I get bored in the middle of the night, I like to put on nothing but my boxers and a pair of cowboy boots and walk the streets and ask anyone I meet if they have any Limburger cheese to spare.

Wow, this is so spiritually uplifting to unburden myself of these truths.

I have to keep going, I don’t want to leave anything out.

I was the second gunman on the grassy knoll.

I’m the reason we have global warming.

One time, I kicked a puppy so I could see what it would do, but I kicked it too hard and it flew over the neighbor’s back fence and landed in their barbecue grill. They were having a barbecue at the time. The grill was lit. That was seven years ago and I still can’t get the stench of burning puppy out of my nostrils.

Elvis isn’t dead, he’s sleeping on my couch.

I like to pee in public swimming pools!

You know that feeling you get when you are alone in your house at night and you think you see someone from out of the corner of your eye peeking in at you though your window, but when you turn to look no one is there? Yeah, that’s me . . . I’m real quick.
I take money from charity jars.

I have tattoos on the insides of my eyelids.

I’m the guy from the Alanis Morrisette song!

Bigfoot isn’t real, that’s just me walking the woods naked!


Anyway … I’m glad no one actually reads any of this … someone might think I’m serious.


  1. I feel free to appreciate your comment.

  2. So yoooou're the guy in the Alanis Morrisette.. I think I get it now. ;)

  3. Really? The insides of your eyelids? I was buying it up until then.

  4. "I was the second gunman on the grassy knoll."

    -spits out water- Oh my God. xD

    This is great.

  5. You seal-clubbing puppy-kicking ingrate!!!! (Sorry- couldn't resist). I loved just reading on to see how much more you would come up with!

  6. "Bigfoot isn’t real, that’s just me walking the woods naked!" I'll now be taking Bigfoot Hunters off the DVR, thank you...