A Explanation

I just read my last post, and I gotta say, Whoa, I didn't know nitro and Red Stripe would create such a fucking monster. But it was kinda cool, in a way. It was late, late at night, like now, and I had some bad, scary bad chest pains in the afternoon. I never ever would have guessed that anxiety could do that to me, but it sure as hell did. Drinking a beer was not the brightest idea for a cure that I ever had, but I knew I wasn't really having a heart attack, just a good old fashioned stress attack. Or a fat woman was sitting on my chest. Other people have used that phrase before to describe how deeply they were into their pain. Fuck them. I have had a fat woman sitting on my chest. I know how it feels. I'm not particularly proud of the fact, but I am certified in the use of the phrase now.
My wife got me the Writer's Market for Valentine's Day. It's a great gift. It's huge. It lists thousands of publications that will take writing submissions. She got the Deluxe Edition. That means that I get a year of Writer's Market online, with even thousands more places to publish. I'm getting a little overwhelmed by this. She wants me to write to make some extra cash, which I think would be excellent. She also wants me to write because she believes that I can. That means the world to me. That is more than most people will ever get. People will live their entire lives and never have someone that believes in them. And some will have that gift, that someone, and will never know. If I never get published any farther than this blog, I will always be a writer in her eyes, as long as I try.

So here's to trying. Here's to nitroglycerene. Here's to massive doses of asprin. Here's hoping that I live long enough to get this right, and be what she believes I can be.

No more mr. nice guy.

Alright, kiddies. I been disowning this blog way too long. I planned for a long time to only use this blog to post sweetness and kindness. Pictures of my dog chasing frisbees. Pictures of my cats. Pictures of my frisbees. Family-friendly patter here only, folks, no cursing, no innuendo, no alusions to what's really under the pretty suit-coat that woman shopping in paint today had on, no mention of the hint of lace on the top of her half-slip that barely covered her enormous breasts. No, sir, nothing like that. Wholesomeness, dammit, that's what'll be here. Milk and cookies. Mom.

Apple pie.

Well, Mom's wearing a leather biker bra with a tattoo on her tittie that says "Beach Week '69". Milk. Running down the crack of my ex-wife's ass (she had a nice ass) and dripping into the waiting mouth of some bitch we met in a bar in a cocaine-induced haze. I'll be happy to eat my apple pie with welding gloves on, no thanks, I don't need a fork.

I'm not going to have a blog that I can't say shit on anymore. I'll still post a picture of the cat, looking cute. And if I get a picture of the cat hacking up a monster furball, with spittle hanging from its mouth to the ground, I'll post that, too. Actually, now that I think about it, that would be a cool picture to have.

I almost had a heart attack today, sheerly from stress. That's just wrong. And when most people say that the nearly had a heart attack, they're using some bullshit term they heard that they think conveys how seriously involved they were into their crisis. Fuck them. I nearly had a heart attack. I have a heart problem. I know what a goddamn heart attack feels like. I nearly had one.

I woke up to the realization that self-censure is not a way to live. I want to be able to write things that the whole family can read, and I won't have a problem doing that. I don't want to worry about what else they'll see on the blog, if they should be so bold as to venture into the unknown areas that I never told them about, at least that I didn't tell them about outright and openly. So I won't. From this point on, I am free. Free, free, free. If it gets read, I am honored. If it pisses someone off, too bad.

I'm sure it's the beer and nitroglycerine talking at this point. I've had plenty of both now. My chest feels better, my head is in a fucking tire changer. Bed will happen soon. I will be back, and I will not be granting any mercy, any more.

Ya'll have a nice day.