Yo Daily Post Was No Help Today

Did I mention my goal of two hundred posts before the end of the year? That means I’ve got like fifty left, so I think I’ll just throw a few one sentence posts up here for good measure.

Man, I was at fifty views today, and then I did the daily post and it somehow got messed up because nobody’s responses were coming up. I think if it had shown up on the website, even though it was pretty bad, I can’t even remember what I said but it was short and off the cuff, if it had shown up I could have maybe gotten 75 views and I’d be three quarters to my goal of a hundred views in a day by the end of the week.

Whatever, time to diversify my visibility strategy anyway.

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86 Whiskey, Sub Vodka

It is Sunday night. I just finished work and Wife has to stay up and finish her paper. So that means I get to stay up writing, too! Sweet. Plus I got a glass full of ice and vodka. Ran out of whiskey yesterday.

My new blogging goal, oh by the way I’m setting goals now mother fuckers what you know about that, is one hundred views in a day. One hundred views shit kazam blam that’s some crazy shit. I’ll be looking like the pied piper of blogging out here.

Hell yeah man but fuck all the dumb shit, a hundred views in a day by the end of this week and I’m about to hit my two hundredth post on this blog, two years in. A year and ten months anyway. I got big plans for December. I’m about to drop all kinds of dumb ass posts on this blog. I’m going to be a word generating machine.

Nah but fuck it. Earlier today I was feeling dumb as hell, just sitting in bed and staring at the computer. I was thinking to myself, shit, man, some people blog about how to write. I blog about how I don’t write. I write about pretty much the opposite shit of successful bloggers.

I get on here and write about my neurosis and and moroseness like it’s some shit to be proud of. Hell yeah that’s what I do. Fuck it.

Man but anyway, I don’t even know what to talk about these days. I never do. I’m trying to write something so I have something to market. That’s some dumb shit right there. But anyway we’re all going to die soon enough, no use pretending like we’re going somewhere important.

Reading Poetry to Ebola Corpses

Hey. Aw…shit. This font is so much better. I think it is the same god damned font but it is three times smaller.

Man, shit, what a world.

Sometimes we got to write for ourselves and sometimes we got to write for others and sometimes we just got to write and fuck the cost. Man, shit, what a mother fucking world.

Hey I don’t know. Maybe this shit is good for you, like a can of green beans in the kitchen of a doublewide trailer.

Twenty-six minutes from now, my wife will get off of work and I’ll sit around waiting for her to come through the door. Twenty-six minutes from now I’ll be sitting in a chair with my feet up inside of black socks that make my toenails look ragged in the morning. Twenty-six minutes from now I’ll be a little less drunk, a little less happy, and all together half as amused.

Yeah but fuck it that’s a lifetime away for an aborted child and anyway I’ll probably look back on this moment with pity in my heart for the poor bastard who thought these thoughts.

I am planning on writing stories, on becoming a millionaire, on starting a new blog and washing the dishes and getting up from this chair and being someone other than Gordon Mother Fucking Flanders once in a while. I’m going to stop dancing at the masquerade and I’m going to laugh freely in the dark when bitches are maneuvering furtively around the plate of cubed Colby Jack cheese on their way to the exits. I’ll go outside and have a cigarette with the riffraff catering staff. I’ll swap stories with syphilis infected sailors and pull the plank out of my third eye while measuring out a cup of sugar for the neighbors.

I’m out of whiskey and I’m tired of breathing.

More blog views this week than any other month except my best month – February 2013. Daily post. Links. Gaming the system. Bringing in the readers. And all for what? For sucking my own dick. Don’t let anyone do it for you. Sometimes got to grab yourself by the genitalia and moonwalk past the gatekeepers.

Hey. Fuck it. In the land of the blind the one-eyed man is king. And even the king needs a place at the table.

Do you ever feel like that sometimes once or two times? I do. I feel like that all the god damn time. What am I going to do about it? I’m going to do something about it by God. I’m going to help this shit, god damn it. I ain’t going to wallow around in my own cock sweat. Fuck it.

Yes I am. I’m done with this bullshit.

Nah fuck it. Fuck it man, I’m going to write a story about Christians and shit. Ya’ll won’t recognize me. Next time you see me, i’ll be the number one best-selling Christian thriller author. They’ll compare me to Frank Peretti and you won’t understand, you’ll have no idea. I’ll write about spiritual warfare and Eastern Mysticism. I’ll start a school in Dubai for people who want to wear less clothes. I’ll traipse across Pat Robertson’s new wraparound porch and call myself an anarchist. I’ll find arrowheads in Billy Graham’s back yard and buckle Sam Walton’s bootstraps. John Steinbeck’s grand daughter will pen an award winning memoir about our travels together in the Austrailan outback. I’ll come in second place to Timothy Leery’s third cousin Andrew in a sack race at Rick Perry’s inauguration party in Honolulu.

Beryl Markham’s bastard son will write me a letter comparing me to William F Buckley and I’ll respond with a quote from Norman Mailer’s The Naked and the Dead. I’ll read Shakespeare aloud to corpses behind ebola treatment centers and I’ll suck dicks in Venezuela until they give me Che’s body. I’ll melt the polar ice caps in a rap battle with Eldridge Cleaver on a vacation in Iceland and have Alexander Pope reincarnated to put that shit into heroic couplets.

But mostly I’ll stay home drinking whiskey and listening to music in terrible headphones. The cat batted the shit out of the good ones.

Good Christ What A Bitch

God damn it I’ve been looking for a new theme for an hour and a half and I still have shit to do on my stupid projects that I don’t want to do fuck. And this is what I came up with. This shit is huge! God Jesus Christ.

Whatever. We’ll see what happens now. I don’t fucking know any more, I been sitting here having to pee for hours and hours and not fucking accomplishing shit. I’m just going to change it back I guess. I guess I should learn how to write CSS code or some shit. It’s a good thing I did something early today or I’d be fucked. I mean, I’m pretty much…ah fuck this is some dumb shit.

Anyone’s Ghost Two Point Motherfucking Oh, Bitches

Yo it’s blog update time in this bitch. Things are wildin’ out of control around here. I got 171 unique visitors to the blog this month, which beats my best month ever (February 2013), which only had 74! God damn! That’s some crazy shit! And it’s all because of the Daily Post I suspect. That and my shout out to Richard Feynman. Apparently a lot of people are looking for that motherfucker.

I’m about to change the theme of the blog, not thematically, but the WordPress theme I mean. I don’t get as many likes as I want and it’s either because a lot of people don’t like this shit (which is a-ok) or it’s because you have to open the post in it’s own page to even like or comment. So I’m going to try to get rid of that shit. It’s not ideal because I really like the way this theme looks, but I am writing a lot so things just keep getting pushed down and no one can read my old posts any more and there are some good ones. Ah most of them are a bunch of bullshit. So I thought about just making a new page with links to the three good ones but then I stopped thinking about that.

I might do that later.

I’m just curious how the theme change will affect the number of likes I get, etc. I don’t get a lot of follows from those Daily Post readers. Anybody who would take time to click on random blogs in Daily Post I guess they aren’t hard up for shit to read. What the fucking ever.

This Post Sucks

Golden Key

Man it seems like I would have a lot of places I’d want to get into, I guess just based on the movies I’ve seen. There’s always someone with a secret box that’s locked up somewhere. But I guess I’d just take the key to Fort Knox or some shit. Nah I’d probably take the key to Area 51 or the Pentagon. But then I’d probably get shot down anyway. Just because you have a key doesn’t mean you’re allowed in.

I guess I could take a metaphorical key somewhere, like the key to the stress center in my wife’s brain so I could turn that shit down a notch. God damn, been trying to write since this morning and can’t get a second in. Got to go to work in ten minutes and this is all I’ve written. Son of a bitch. Anyway don’t matter, I got time tomorrow since she’s got to be at work at 10 and I don’t have to go until 230. But shit then I got them other dude’s book projects to get to.

Yeah I’d probably take a key to an invisible room with a computer and internet connection. Nobody could fuck with me in there. Man and what if that shit was outside of time, too? I’d take a key to another dimension. But that’s not really a building, locker, or box.

Oh well, I guess I’d just take the key to a bank (member FDIC of course) somewhere that wasn’t heavily guarded and take a bunch of money so I could just stay home from work today.

Montezuma Got Stoned to Techno Music

I keep researching how to sell books and shit but I don’t even have a book to sell. I have some other projects that I’m working on for other people to sell, but the strategies I’m reading about won’t work for them. I’m reading them because I want to implement them for myself, but then I can’t because I don’t usually finish writing books.

I think I’m going to make it this time. I’m going to keep pushing forward and fuck it. Just keep doing the same dumb shit that I do best, which is highly ineffective probably…or no that’s the wrong word. Probably highly inefficient, but fuck it. Anyway I’m going to write this story about John Gibson or whatever his name is and the oil crisis in the 70’s. Apparently people would high jack shit back then to get gas. There were riots and shit. Funny how much I don’t know about American history even forty years ago. But American history isn’t special, I don’t know anything about any history forty years ago. I don’t know what the hell I learned in school. I do remember learning about Montezuma because my teacher made this kid stand on the desk and we all threw paper balls at him.

So I think Montezuma got stoned. Which sounds funny.

I think I figured out the daily post bullshit and anyway I guess it’s fine that my other post didn’t make it to the page because I thought they were saying you have to write what you would say to ten-year-old you when they were really saying you have to say what you would say to ten-years-ago you. Little different. I was like, shit why are ten-year-olds going to the coffee shop?

Anyway fuck it. I’m just going to keep writing and listening to sad music and podcasts about American history and writing and maybe that will work.

I just keep writing dumb shit on my blog and so far this has been my best week in views and visitors since last April (not much of an achievement considering in April I had 80 views or something). So maybe if I keep doing this shit for years I’ll find ten people to buy my book and then I’ll just have to finish the damn thing. Or maybe the apocalypse will come before that and I can stop going to work at the restaurant.

Things Come to Those Who Wait and Those Who Don’t

Waiting Room

Do I believe that good things come to those who wait? I think that things come to everyone and if you are waiting around for something then you’ll just ignore all the other stuff until you get what you’re waiting on and then you’ll say oh that was because I was waiting for it. Besides it probably won’t be what you originally wanted, but you’ll tell yourself that it is or even that it’s better than what you wanted and that will be basically just a result of you being tired of waiting and finally realizing that you didn’t even need that thing to begin with.

I think you should have no expectations of getting anything. I think it’s a very sane way to live. That way if you wake up in the morning you’re surprised as shit and if you wake up dead you’re similarly surprised and you’ll never have to go to the dentist because you won’t expect them to be in business past the next minute or so.

That’s just me though. Not everyone can be so rational. Some people sit around waiting for things or going out and getting things. Hell I don’t even know who originally said this or why they were thinking it. You know they probably said it to some kid so he’d stop pestering them. That kid eventually figured it out, too. Probably was a hundred and five and said, fuck, well, I guess I better rationalize my life by saying that after all it was pretty good times waiting around for whatever it was that I wanted back then.

Ping Backed Arm Chair

Some people say “don’t edit yourself while you write. You lose all the creativity blah blah whatever the fuck some people say.” But when I do that shit this is what I end up with. Some scattered witty remarks and a bunch of curse words. But when I go slow and try to think about what I write, I write shit like that one post a while ago about walking in Central Park. I thought that was pretty good.

So today I tried to post a response to the Daily Prompt really fast, so I could be in the top of the list so people would come look at this shit. I don’t know what happened because I did the same thing I did yesterday except I posted from my phone, so I guess something went wrong with the ping back because I guess the shit was in html or something. Sucks because somehow I woke up just as that daily prompt got posted. So there were only three responses by the time I tried to respond to that shit. But then my shit never got posted and no one looked at this mother fucker at all. Somehow I got like five follows though. I can’t figure this shit out.

Daily Post: By Hand

What was the best gift I ever got made by hand? One time my sister gave me this box of stuff that would make me look like Martha Stewart, including a name tag that said Martha Stewart on it. At the time, I think it was 1998, I was making a lot of Martha Stewart jokes. I don’t remember any of them now.

I get a lot of gifts by hand because everyone I know is broke. I’m about to make everyone on my list a gift by hand. I’m about to start but I probably won’t…so I’m just avoiding everyone for Christmas this year. Like last year. Screw consumerism anyway. Maybe that’s what I’ll do. I’ll make them feel guilty for propping up an artificial capitalist regime by buying me gifts from Crate and Barrel. That’ll do it.

Daily Post