My life online is one of occasional snark attacks. I’m not complaining, mind you. Only a total moron would risk going online as an internet asshole without preparing himself for the hate that would come his way eventually. If you want to go around the internet acting like some kind of cyber alpha-male, you’ll attract other fucktards like a woman’s cunt attracts starving zombies.
This lifestyle is alien to most people who haven’t worked in TV. Even call center people have fixed shifts. This is the reason why most of the people who work in TV aren’t married, or are separated from their spouses. You want the nastiest, most stressful job evah? You looking for a way to get rid of your nagging girlfriend? You itching to ditch those grubby college friends of yours? You want your weird-ass family to stop giving a shit about you? Try TV, man. It will ruin every single aspect of your life in one fell swoop. You’ll never make it to dates. You’ll never have time for nights out with your buds. You’ll never have the luxury of family time.
You must know that I don’t own a lot of shoes. I have a pair of leather shoes that I wore at my wedding, a similar pair I wear at formal occasions (like other people’s weddings), comfortable sneakers that I use around my hometown, and these big ole Caterpillar construction boots. These boots are what I’ve worn almost daily for a handful of years now. They are so damn sturdy I believe they’re going to outlast my lifetime. Scarred by years of pursuing strange stories in even stranger places, they probably look less impressive than they did when they were new. Nevertheless, these boots are far more awesome than most people I know.
And the damn fuck sneered at it.
The recent dearth of posts in my blog might lead you, faithful readers, to think that I am having a dry spell. Nothing could be farther from the truth. In fact, these past few weeks have so far been my most creative since the year started. I’m actually shitting thunderbolts of ideas from my puckered little asshole on a daily basis and perfectly sane people strangely deem it worth a tidy sum of money. Not a whole lot at this point, of course (the big bucks will come from writing actual scripts), but enough to be disgusting for people who value real manly work. Like hauling rocks and shit. While I respect manly work, let me just say that I am of a wholly different persuasion. I want to be paid for not using my God-given muscles. I want to be paid for brainfarting words and ideas.
