Welcome to the latest mind-blistering missive from my spent casing of a noggin, filled to the rim with shinola and burgeoning with backwash and partially chewed Red Vines.
I’ve decided that the ‘Slap’ is going to be about life. Personal shit. Professional shit. Random shit. That way, the Steady Leaks I run on the main site and the ranty blogs I run here have their
own life. I want this to be a place of whatever. It may bore you. It
may be of value. It may turn you into a Eunuch, except not as hung.
Ode to the Daylight.
The middle of the day sucks ass. I’m just now realizing this after 35 years of walking with penis. I mean, it’s a great time of day to not be working. I used to enjoy working ALL THE TIME, but now I’m like a fucking insect who just follows whatever muse that arrives, often to an unproductive end. Like an insect, I ejaculate in your garden.
The middle of the day is when you’re supposed to drink tea. Sit on a swing. Ride a hammock. Put it in your loved one. You know, give them the ol’ greaser. Play some Halo. Read a book. Play golf. Play tennis. Roll a legal cigarette using old ROM comics. Perform or receive a massage. Get sloshed. Watch a Hentai. Play with your GI Joe toys. Go dildo shopping. Be white. Help an old lady cross the street and into the afterlife. Build a log cabin. Snap OUT of a Slim Jim just to be controversial. Christen some kid’s forehead. Anything but work.
I think there’s something inherent in the human spirit that rebels against the hours of 3:00pm to 7:00pm when it comes to actual work. Most of us in regular jobs are either watching the clock at that hour, getting something done within eyesight of a clock, or getting things in order as to efficiently watch the clock. I used to pride myself on being able to take massive toilet breaks on the clock, partially because shitting is the last great frontier but also because it passes the time something fierce. Especially if you had a Game Gear and a copy of Shining Force or had recently devoured a Chick-Fil-A. Stuff tastes good but it screams out of an ass like Yoko Ono after a long look in the mirror.
Oh the memories….
After work there’s the task of driving home. or going to a bar and if that’s how you roll more power to you. But to those who commute and/or have to deal with the kids and cook dinner or whatever… by the time the sun goes down it’s like Tonya Harding has hired some dude to ramrod your knees asunder.
Since I’ve got a lightweight silly job I don’t have that excuse most of the time, but the reptile brain takes over and has started to scream DO NOT BE PRODUCTIVE AT THIS TIME! in my head and by golly, the body’s listening.
Today, I had noble intentions but they were scuttled by the allure of the primal as my buddy Dave asked me to join him for a drink and a cigar. At a place that happens to feature writhing naked women. The call might as well been laced with brimstone.
But I made it through the harsh world of fine cigars, nice whisky, and a beautiful woman to chatter with [toss away your stereotypes of what a stripper is, because I can think of a few that are smarter and cooler and more effortless than any of us will ever be, and if I could get funding there’s an amazing documentary and book I’ll be putting out that’ll open some eyes. In fact, if you are a loaded son of a bitch pop me an email because no one loses money on documentaries about naked ladies, especially ones chaired by hotheaded diminutive luminaries like myself] intact, and by the time I was back at my PC the desire to work and the wherewithal to pull it off were back. What is it about the middle of the day that sucks so bad? I mean, I’ll be damned if I can put three or four decent sentences together between 3 & 5pm [and some of my detractors would argue that this symptom extends to the rest of my waking hours as well], during what many of your supervisors consider the golden hours of productivity but now I feel like I could write a book about needlecraft and still have time for a little self touch.
And now… another Mary Worth War Strip from the vault…
All apologizes to the creators of the strip. This intended as parody only and not an attempt to be the best thing ever.