You may have noticed my recent absence from the blogging world.
You probably didn’t notice it right away. It just suddenly dawned on you one day that a persistent irritant had disappeared. Like when you suddenly realized the itching had stopped because that annoying rash on your testicles had finally gone away.
But you’re not rid of me yet. You can get all the restraining orders and pepper-spray you want, but I’m not going anywhere.
Take that, Beth.
Note: the previous line was for comedic effect only. I am not following or harassing a woman named Beth in any manner that could be construed as a violation of any court order.
You see, I’m like herpes: you will never truly be rid of me. I’ll always be there lurking, just waiting to show up and ruin your weekend. (It’s been a rough few months.)
Anyway, there have been several reasons for my dearth of activity:
I’ve taken up the silent art in an elaborate scheme to infiltrate the world of mime and sabotage it from the inside.
I planned to work tirelessly to become the world’s most prolific and prominent mime.
Upon reaching the pinnacle of miming, I would embark on a downward spiral of debauchery and scandal that would permanently stain the miming world.
Unfortunately I was unable to bring my plan to fruition; it seems miming is way harder than it looks. Also, I’ve discovered I’m allergic to white face-paint, berets, and being punched in the groin by small children. (They have little fists of steel.)
I do however plan to go forward with the downward spiral of debauchery and scandal.
My attempt at learning to juggle chainsaws was going along swimmingly…until suddenly it wasn’t.
Learning To Write With My Left Hand
Upon falling victim to an unforeseeable and unpreventable accident, I have lost all use of my right hand.
Well…that’s not strictly true; it makes a interesting paperweight.
Would it be so difficult to print the words, NOT TO BE USED FOR JUGGLING OR ANYTHING COOL, somewhere on a chainsaw?
Note: perhaps I should have learned how to mime chainsaw juggling.
I Spent Several Weeks As A Banana Slug
If you’ve read this blog in the past, you will know that my aunts are a great big gaggle of witches.
You will also know that I have on occasion angered them. Maybe it was something I said. Maybe it was something I did. Perhaps it was something I wrote in this blog about their chunky thighs, potato-faced children, or their general tendency to be evil hags.
But usually it’s my mere existence that sets them off.
Anyway, they turned me into a banana slug.
It’s ridiculously hard to use a keyboard when you’re a banana slug. You get brilliant ideas, but you just can’t execute them.
On the upside, banana slugs have voracious sex lives. There is nothing in this world sexier than a banana slug…to another banana slug.
Take that, Beth. You’re no banana slug.
I’ve Had No Good Ideas
I’m just kidding; I’ve never had any good ideas.
I promise I will post again soon, and it will be my usual level of crap.