A FALSE SENSE OF FREEDOM


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 comics and movies and life 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. 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 is ever going to read it.

I can post about 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 my story about the time I killed a man in Reno because someone talked about it once on the TV. 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.

I have no idea what I'm doing on a fairly regular basis.

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? Yeah, don't do that.

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'm afraid of socks.

I age sideways.

I cry whenever I read the Family Circus.

Rainy days and Mondays never get me down. They pump me up.

I was the second gunman on the grassy knoll.

I’m the reason we have global warming.

I not only believe in lizard people, I'm pretty sure I am one.

I bury mannequins in my back yard . . . and yours.

I read in the bathroom, but only when I don't have to go.

I like to go to the grocery store, remove an item from the shelf, take it to the other side of the store, and put it on another shelf.

I play with my son's toys when no one is around.

I carve the faces of my enemies into potatoes. I bake the potatoes. I eat the potatoes. Eventually the faces of my enemies are digested. This gives me much power over my enemies.

I carry bacon in my pockets.

Sometimes, on hot summer days, I fill a large bowl with vanilla pudding. Then I immerse my bare feet in the pudding and thrill at the feeling of it sliding between my toes.

I smell other people's shoes.

I wear my underpants on the outside of my jeans when I'm at home.

I chew on rubber bands.

I make art out of used adhesive bandages.

I'm afraid of geese.

I'm the guy that dinged your car last week in the parking lot.

Ten years ago I hit a bigfoot with my car. I didn't tell anyone though. I just took the body home and had it stuffed by a family friend who is a taxidermist. I have him on display in the front room. When people come over I tell them that it's a life sized Chewbacca mannequin.

I watch TMZ.

I'm not afraid of fish, but I do think that they are creepy.

I like to buy books from bookstores. I take them home and read them. After they are read I sneak them into the bookstore and put them back on the shelf.

I wish that I was able to grow a mustache like Sam Elliot. That's a mustache a man can be proud of. A child could sleep in that mustache.

I collect used staples.

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

I don't believe in left turns.

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!

I lied before about that whole Bigfoot thing. Bigfoot isn’t real, that’s just me walking the woods naked!

I steal candy from babies!

I THINK INDIANA JONES AND THE KINGDOM OF THE CRYSTAL SKULL IS A GOOD MOVIE!!!

Anyway . . . I’m glad no one is actually reading this . . . someone might think I’m serious.

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