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I tried this in November and crapped out just over half way through. I was horribly distracted by the prospects of the Thanksgiving bounty.
Late last year, I signed up for a free on-line dating site. It didn't deliver the results I had hoped for. So, recently, purely out of spite, I created a fake profile on which I wrote a whole bunch of inane stuff.
Part of the matching process involves answering a bunch of multiple choice questions so you can be shown profiles of others who answered the questions in a similar manner.
The questions offer a space for comments. I will be entering the questions and my comments as my entries for the month of March. Let's get started. This will be fun for kids and adults alike.
Question: How much influence or control do your parents have over your life?
Answer: Except for the massive trust fund my parents left me which would allow me to attend the best schools, start a business, engage in embarrassingly generous philanthropy, travel the world or simply do nothing at all, my parents have no control over me what so ever.
Regarding my joke dating site exploits; I began to feel guilty.
Part of my fake profile had a focus on skydiving. A lot of women (and presumably men, except I was not looking at men's profiles. . . not that there would have been anything wrong if I had been) include a skydiving picture in their profiles. So, I thought I'd have some fun with that.
However, a woman seriously contacted me wanting to talk about skydiving. Even though my profile was for the most part absolute nonsense, apparently this particular person did not get the satirical aspects.
Given that my month's writing was going to consist of my silly answers to questions from the dating site, that kills my initial writing idea. Granted, it was a cheap idea.
Heck, some of my daily words would just be my verbatim typing of the question from the dating site. They would not have even been my words at all and they would have been counting toward my daily tally. So, what to do?
Previously, I tried my hand at a mostly continuous story. Perhaps this time I should write individual daily 100 word stories. Yes!
Johnny awoke in the morning unsure of himself. He sleep had been restless and unsatisfying and when he opened his eyes in the morning, for a moment he was unsure as to where he was.
Then, he not only remembered where he was, but how he got there, unlikely as it seemed.
He had been traveling with a nomadic circus. After they left the last town where they had been living and performing for a week, the troupe had become aware that they were being pursued for something unsavory one of their clan must have done.
OK, that last entry was bloody pointless. It was just going to lead to another ongoing, ridiculous story with no beginning or end; just a sloppy middle. Sort of like eating a Twinky without the soft cake, protective outer layer.
So, again, what now? What would Stephen King do? Well, he'd have that last entry about circus people made into a major motion picture full of second rate actors and sit back to count his money for a while.
Even though I know Stephen King and have worked with Stephen King, I'm no Stephen King.
I really do not want to make this into a diary, but this past week, I had a cyst sliced out of my back, leaving what the doctor described as a golf ball sized hole.
I imagine he was probably exaggerating a bit, because if I really had a hole that big in my back right now, it would hurt like hell, but it doesn't.
To celebrate the possibility of a gaping hole in my back, I wrote a couple of haikus. I hope you enjoy reading them half as much as I did writing them.
Without further ado, I humbly present, three back hole related haikus; a trinity of prose, if you will.
I have a back hole
I could not bowl on Friday
Due to this divot
A bowling ball has
Three holes across its surface
And now, so do I
The controversial Haiku #3
Oh dreaded back hole
What if a mouse gets in there?
A vermin man cave
Dry your eyes. Put the kids to bed. Be fulfilled.
I feel like I'm getting some pretty good mileage out of this back hole thing. And that made me realize, ever since I bought my car 17 years ago, a little empty slot in the dashboard has housed a small, stuffed yak that I got from a fast food place all those years ago when I still ate fast food. Thus, the slot in the dash has become known as "the yak hole".
Which of course made me wonder how many other twists there might be to the idea of the now famous "back hole". Let's see now!
Continued from the prior entry - variations on the theme "back hole":
Jack Black's oft flapping oral cavity - Jack hole
The dead center of my Get the Knack album - Knack hole
The faulty part on a bullet proof vest - flack hole
A cavity in which might be inserted any number of miscellaneous items - brick-a-brak hole
The place where you put your various between meal treats - snack hole (also known as "a mouth")
Button slit on the coat the "banker man" wears in the pouring rain - mack hole
Christ, I've fallen behind again. This is just like what happened in November, but this time, I am determined that my deep and thoughtful verse will not be lost forever in the ether.
I will see this through to completion. I am not a quitter. I am not a loser. I am not the kid whose dog always ate his homework, first because I always turned my homework in on time and second, because I never had a dog until I was done with school.
However, for now, I think sheer boldfaced panic is the answer!
So, let's bring on the panic.
This is terrible. This is horrible. This is worse than worms in ones food.
Or, going out in the nude!
I'd be arrested for being lewd.
Some stranger would yell "hey, dude!"
"Your nakedity is a rude and even a bit crude."
I'd respond "dude, take a lude!"
And at this point, I'd realize I had rhymed two words that sound exactly the same, but are spelled differently and have two different meanings. Can you identify them?
And now for some random bits of wisdom I've picked up over time:
"Christmas shopping - who needs it?"
Statement by the drummer for a Poughkeepsie based band called Darling Czar during a concert in mid-December, 2013.
"The IT gods are malicious and malevolent."
Me, in an e-mail to my boss a few weeks ago.
"I hear you knocking, raisin, but you can't come in".
My old college roommate, after hearing someone describe how when they opened their dorm room door one morning, there was a raisin on the floor.
Pun for the day - "darn socks"!
I hope you appreciate the quality of the content being produced here, oh constant reader. Crap! That's Stephen King wording. How about "oh benevolent reader overlord". Yeah, that's good.
I mean, here is a solid, witty pun that I am providing totally free of charge and that you will now remember, very possibly for the rest of your life, every time you are folding your freshly laundered socks.
Or, if you are one of those people whose laundry is done by someone else, well then, shame on you!
Here's a sneaky little fact; one that might just rock your world; even more than the fact that I just used two, count 'em, two semi-colons. Wrong or right, it's how I roll.
The sneaky factoid is this - it's not really March 15 right now. It's March 20. I am writing as if I have gone back in time 5 days and it makes me wonder, if I could relive the past 5 days over again, what might I change?
The answer is a resounding "nothing", except maybe eat less at the Tuesday Indian buffet.
It's time to share some facts about me. I'm sure my loyal, if not discerning, readers would like to know more about the source of the twisted, yet oddly entertaining prose they have been blessed with over the past 15 entries.
Incidentally, let us with hindsight forever refer to yesterday's entry as the "ides of March" entry, in deference to the Bard, for whom I feel nothing but disrespect.
Yeah, that's right. I think Shakespeare blows syphilitic goats. His work is formulaic and repetitive. So there!
I have a small collection of stuffed monkeys.
I have to admit, I haven't felt this exposed since the last time I was in confession. The priest asked if I had impure thoughts. Well, of course I have impure thoughts. They come about every other second. Yep, just had one.
Like I'm going to entertain a complete stranger sitting opposite me in a dark, closet sized room with in depth descriptions of my insanely graphic, impure thoughts. Not a chance.
But, in the prior entry, I just admitted to billions of internet enthusiasts all over the world that I have a stuffed monkey collection.
Let's keep w/ the confession angle.
When I was a kid, I took a rubbery tube thingy that had been part of a swimming snorkel, held it to my chest like it was some sort of creepy tentacle and taunted my mom with it.
OK, that wasn't much of a confession. Hmmm. Let's see.
I used to burn bugs with a magnifying glass. That's pretty weak, too. Kids do dumb stuff. I wouldn't do such a thing now. It's cruel, but I suppose it's not exactly Hitler material.
Ooh, I've got one!
OK, are you ready for this? Can you stand it? Are you man enough? Here it is!
I once stabbed a clown! Yeah, bad ass, eh? I pulled a shiv on a clown at a midway in a creepy traveling fair and let the scarlet billows flow. Punk ass clown had it coming, making fun of my lazy eye and all.
The clown was quite literally surrounded by lazy eyed freaks every day (and I'm not saying that to be cruel - the carnival had a freak show, and a lot of the freaks had lazy eyes).
By the way, are you feeling the magic, here? If one publisher glances at this, I am as good as a millionaire overnight. It's not often that one gets to watch lightning being caught in a bottle, and I hope those of you reading this are aware of just how lucky you are to see this bit of genius in the making. I digress.
I tried to waste a clown, who most certainly deserved it. I'm not even sure the clown's mom would have blamed me for my actions. She may have even given the knife a twist.
Most people are familiar with the song "The Name Game". Fans of American Horror story will certainly remember the hilarious musucal number done to the song in season 2.
I feel it is high time the song be updated to apply to a modern office environment, so I have penned a little ditty called "The Blame Game". It's goes a little something like this:
Why didn't ya, didn't ya do it?
I told ya, I told ya to do it!
You said you would have it by morning.
Consider this a verbal warning!
The other day someone told me I shouldn't cross him. I started to think, what does that mean; don't cross him?
I shouldn't steal his cattle?
I shouldn't violate his daughter?
I shouldn't toss dead varmints down his drinkin' well?
I shouldn't ask his wife to dance with me at the Spring hootenanny?
I shouldn't make light of the fact that he flunked cipherin'?
Fact is, I could take or leave his daughter, but he's got a real fine herd of cattle. Fine indeedy, I tell you what.
This entry shall be known as "a special place in hell" and is purely autobiographical.
I volunteer with Special Olympics. I have been doing so for 14 years in two different states. I spend a few hours a week, for about 10 months a year, running practices.
This past weekend, our basketball team participated in the first of several annual tournaments and I made two of my players cry by yelling at them. These folks do not exactly lead charmed lives and I turned what should have been a fun event into a miserable crap bag.
Continued from previous entry.
I am an agnostic, so I don't believe in heaven or hell, but after my less than stellar behavior at last weekend's Special Olympics basketball tournament, I almost wish there was a hell. There is at least some part of me that comes to the fore from time to time that needs to suffer and burn.
This behavior in large part lead to the failure of my last marriage. One would think after medication and therapy, I would have learned to control it, but apparently not. Who is this hate filled psycho?
Think Casey Kasem...
A listener writes "Casey, my name is Trevor. I'm 16 years old and grew up in Topeka Kansas. Even though I'm just a teenager, I already feel like I've lived a long life. Tired of my mom and dad's constant fights, I ran away from home when I was two.
I made my way across Kansas, hitching rides and stowing away on trains. I worked odd and not so odd jobs. And when I was feeling particularly low, I must confess, I succumbed to the come-ons from the whores on 2nd avenue.
Thoughts for the day. And mind you, it isn't really March 26. Shucks no. It's April 10th.
A dream I had last night:
I dreamt I was talking to someone from Canada and they were describing how terrible it is to live there. Their most fearsome pronouncement was that if one was to visit Canada, one should not eat the ice cream, because Canadian ice cream producers put tarantulas in their product. I'm not sure what the root of this dream was, as I have visited Canada several times and have always had a positive experience.
A little poem for the day:
Rain rain go away
Come again some other day
And if you don't come out to play
I'll kick you in the nuts
I don't exactly know what it means, but I think that is the basis of all great poetry; the not knowing; the leaving of things open to interpretation. The liberal use of semi-colons.
I realize if I complete this writing exercise, my work will be saved on the interweb in perpetuity. But I'm wondering if this is enough. I'm thinking Smithsonian.
It really is March 28th today, so forget that other crap I have written about it actually being several days later than the day for which I'm writing.
Careful readers will note that I made such a reference on March 26th, but that was a bold faced lie.
That being said, I'd like to make a few near term predictions, that will be provable or disprovable in a few short days, as they reference events which will have reached a conclusion within that time period. Consider these carefully and watch the skies. Keep watching the skies!
Continued from previous submission.
The NCAA men's basketball tournament, which is still being played as I write this, will pit U-Conn against Kentucky for the national championship. I know! Crazy huh? A 7th seed vs. and 8th seed! It's never happened before and the chances of it actually happening are extremely slim, given all of the powerhouse teams still left in the tourney. But it's my prediction and I'm sticking by it!
Next, the U-Conn women will win yet another national championship. I know. This prediction is not so boldly risky.
I just realized that I am a life long communist.
I have known for a while that I fit the socialist mold, what with my dislike for capitalist barons, my feelings that certain safety nets, including access to health care, should be provided by the government, my agnosticism, my tendency to be drawn to the colors red and yellow, etc.
But, I just remembered today that when I was a young child, playing a pretend fighter jet pilot game with some neighborhood friends, I chose to be "the Russian guy" to make the game more interesting.
So, having established my "red" tendencies on the interweb, I will surely be whisked away tonight by a fleet of mysterious black vans. Perhaps I can pull a Snowden and disappear under a cloak of espionage! Or, more likely, I can look forward to an extended acquaintance with electrodes attached to uncomfortable places.
Oh, look at me rambling about government conspiracies on my last post for March. How typical of whacko internet paranoia and radicalism. I digress.
To anyone fool enough to have read my posts, thank you. Perhaps I will try this again some time.
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