Somewhere in what you are about to read, sculpted in an odd and confusing manner, explains exactly why no one ever talks to me. (Psst, the guards haven’t let me out of my room in weeks, and to be honest, that’s probably a good thing.)
During my formidable learning years, a teacher once told me that I had a vivid imagination, but I was a terrible writer. At the time, I assumed she was right, after all, she was the teacher and I was the student. So, me being a wise young lad, I figured the only way to get better was to keep writing.
Screw that noise, I spent the next 30 years making potatoes look smart.
|The two on the right invented Hash Browns this morning.|
Yes, I decided to take the low road instead. I never wrote another word, at least none to be read by anyone of distinction. But that was then and this is now. Therefore, in the interest of torturing myself, I am revisiting my passion yet again, (or my persistent need for ridicule) writing another fantasy novel that will systematically torment my soul.
The voice inside my head says, “NO!!!” I answered it back with a resounding, “Huh?”
So, is honesty the best policy? Only when it’s the truth, or categorically avoids upsetting someone, or prevents herpes, or or or . . . never mind. Where was I?
For the record . . . I love ellipsis, only because it pisses off the punctuation police.
From the moment I began writing my first book, and even now, the memory of that teacher’s educated observation swirls around inside my head. I, however, refuse to succumb to her knowledgeable opinion. Thinking back, I probably should have picked a different hobby to occupy my time.
Yes, writing is a hobby for me. I do not take it seriously. Consequently, there is a strong chance I will never master the skillful art of making words enjoyable to read.
I am an idea sort of guy. I got tons of them. Trouble is my idea’s are constantly pounding on my brain, seeking a way to escape. I have no alternative but to release them. You are currently reading one of those idea's.
This is what happens when someone is 'Brutally Honest', although pointing out stinkiness is not always bad thing. (I know stinkiness is not a word. Don't worry, I'll gladly pay the fine to the dictionary police.) So, do you know what happens when brutal honesty is suspended? I’ll tell you what happens, stinkiness festers. And without proper medicated cream the stinkiness will get worse, which I am sure you all know what happens next. You become famous and makes millions!
Sadly, you eventually find out the hard way that your stinkiness is really stinky and then on cold dark nights you hide under the bed with the boogie man, screaming for your mommy to save you. But you can take comfort in the fact that stinkiness, though painful and will always leave a nasty scar, is curable. The pain and scars serve as a reminder that your stinkiness needs some work, or several trips to a therapist.
“jimmy! I need more coffee!”
“Mr. Kafka, I’ve given you all we got!”
“Dammit jimmy, there is no way I’ll finish this without more coffee!”
“Can I be brutally honest with you?”
“Sure jimmy, go for it.”
“Your stinkiness is putrid.”
“Thank you, jimmy.”
In conclusion, be honest, and if it hurts the ones you love the most, I can recommend a good medicated cream to alleviate the stench of unwanted stinkiness.
Have a great week and celebrate the New Year with lots of alcoholic beverages and please do not drink and drive.
Make 2016 a year of Flaming Lies and Purple Honesty
|Hey! Purple is our thing, don't be stealing it.|