Why on God’s green earth do I consistently leave tasks to the very last minute? There’s no way anyone can deliver their best effort when they’re scrambling to make a deadline. I think I need help.
I know there are people out there, other writers, who suck much worse than me. I know because I know them; I’ve met them. But they’re submitting better work because they don’t sit on it until the day before it’s due. You know who you are, you trollops, and you know that I know you know what I just said is true… Just you wait. I’m off to see a hypnotist and he’ll rewire me so I’m not such a pathetic slugabed twit: “You’re getting sleepy…sleeeepeeeeey…when I count to five you’ll stop farting around all the time… you’ll get your work done early…and…you’ll lay off the chips…” And when that happens- you are screwed, pal. I’m taking all your work off of you and doing it better than you ever dreamed.
You’ll review CDs for Vice magazine for the rest of your life in exchange for peanuts, actual, literal peanuts. No, not free CDs. Peanuts, delicious peanuts. Peanuts.
Now, look at this-
I found that in my inbox today. It’s from my uncle Gary.
Gary is forever emailing me pictures of naked fat women getting into mini minors with the words “Does my ass look big in this?” And videos of elephants eating from each others butts; and lame jokes like:
A teacher is explaining biology to her 4th grade
students. “Human beings are the only animals
that stutter”, she says.
A little girl raises her hand. “I had a kitty-cat
who stuttered”, she volunteered.
The teacher, knowing how precious some of
these stories could become, asked the girl to
describe the incident.
“Well”, she began, “I was in the back yard with
my kitty and the Rottweiler that lives next door
got a running start and before we knew it, he
jumped over the fence into our yard!
“That must’ve been scary”, said the teacher.
“It sure was”, said the little girl.
“My kitty raised his back, went ‘Fffff, Fffff,
Fffff’…And before he could say “Fuck”, the
Rottweiler ate him!”
Because he’s only six years older than me- owing to my mother giving birth when she was just 19, and he being the youngest of her four siblings- Gary was a big part of my childhood. He was always doing cool things like badging cars, throwing shotgun shells into fires, rolling balls of pilfered mercury around on his bedroom floor, fashioning knives and pellet weaponry from everyday objects, stealing and collecting various speckly bird eggs, proudly mounting car badges on pieces of ply wood, showing me my first picture of a naked lady (standing in the entrance of a fancy hotel in nothing but heels and a mink stole. I was six.), growing an enormous pumpkin, raising pigeons, killing fish, throwing bricks at horses, riding his bicycle through puddles and splashing people, calling his stone-deaf mother (my grandmother) every name under the sun when her back was turned, deciding he was too old for his interminable matchbox car collection and bequeathing them all to me, ingeniously hiding contraband under floorboards and in heating ducts, throwing rocks on people’s roofs at night, throwing bricks on people’s roofs at night, ringing people’s doorbells and running away at night, badging cars, shoplifting, eating raw spaghetti, making sandwiches with just bread and tomato sauce (ketchup), making prank phone calls, inventing clever and hurtful nicknames, badging cars… I could go on forever.
These days Gary has his hands full with two precocious brats of his own, so his mischief-making has been limited to sending group emails containing stuff like this-
I’ll post up more of Uncle Gary’s retardedness as it comes in.
Happy monday!