There Are Bones In The Wax!

A few days ago, some poor soul who actually reads this blog on a semi-regular basis sent me an email, asking me if I had passed away.

My last post was published on February 29th, and I've never been away for more than a few weeks, so he naturally assumed this must mean that I was dead. Clearly this is not the case. Well... that might not be the truth.

After all, you don't know if the person typing these words is the same guy who wrote a scintillating post about the truth behind Valentine's Day earlier this year. I could be an impostor. That theory completely collapses the moment you realize that absolutely nobody would ever impersonate me on the internet, because there's no incentive.

What diseased mind would want to pretend to have my life? Why do you think I've been avoiding this blog like the plague for the past two months?

That's not fair, I suppose. After all, I'm sure there are many starving people in Bangladesh who would kill for a life of misanthropic isolation in an air-conditioned basement with running water and a steady supply of hard liquor.

They might take a gander at my Facebook page and think "That guy has nearly 60 friends, and he's clearly well-fed! Why is he complaining about his awesome life? Also, what is Facebook?"

In my head Bangladesh is some kind of post-apocalyptic wasteland without access to the World Wide Web. I don't know much about Bangladesh, aside from the fact that George Harrison held some concert for it back in the 1970's.

That, and their flag is a shameless rip-off of the Japanese flag.

Oh wait, the background's green. Nevermind.

Am I picking on Bangladesh? Why do I keep typing the word "Bangladesh"? Am I an impostor? Am I typing this from Bangladesh right now? You'll never know.

In other news: I'm not typing this from Bangladesh.

Back on point, I guess. Not that there is a point to any of this. We'll all be dead come December, anyway. I've got my fingers crossed! So somebody thought I was dead, and emailed the person they assumed was dead for confirmation. Because that makes perfect sense.

Even if I wasn't dead (Spoiler alert: I'm not dead), I still might not answer your email. I get so many emails in an average day (at least two!) that it's very hard to answer every one of them.

Ladies?

There are only so many hours in a day, and I have to spend at least twelve of them watching "women in prison" movies. That's how I unwind from a busy day of not watching "women in prison" movies.

Best. Poster. Ever.

What do you do with your free time, pray tell? Something constructive? Maybe you have a 9-5 job in some monolithic office building, maybe you stay at home with your kids, trying to keep them from jamming pennies in electrical outlets, or maybe you just hang out at the park all day feeding rat poison to pigeons.

Well, bully for you! That's not me. That's not my life. My life is a never-ending parade of glamour and excitement. My life is a fucking adventure. I live on the edge, baby. I'm like Ric Flair, stylin' and profilin'. I don't have time to answer emails from people I don't know!

Oh... I was talking about that, wasn't I? Yeah, I'm still alive. I haven't been on my blog in a while. Honestly, because I forgot I had one. That's right! I forgot I had a blog. And not because things have been so hectic around the house. I haven't been overwhelmed with excitement and distractions. I'm just a forgetful son of a gun.

I've always wondered where that expression came from. Is it implying that the person in question was birthed by a firearm? How would that work? How does one go about impregnating a gun? Is that how guns reproduce? I always thought they were manufactured, but I suppose I could have been mistaken.

Does this mean that little guns, like Deringers, are actually baby guns, and that one day, if they drink their milk and work hard, they'll grow up to become big .44 Magnums like their embittered alcoholic fathers?

Congratulations, Mrs. Pennybrooke! It's a... a... fuck it, I quit.

Shit. I don't want to live in a world where gun-on-gun pornography is a real thing. I don't need another fetish in my life.

So I forgot that I had a blog because I'm a fucking idiot with a bad memory, and my one fan (who was kind enough to call me a "douchebag" in his email) thought that I had died. To be honest, I'm not sure if he was concerned or tentatively pleased that I might be dead. It's hard to tell. Probably a little of both.

He did say that he was tired of the "holiday deconstruction" thing I had been doing as of late. He saw it as Christian bashing, which is only because it was. But not entirely. I've always been fascinated by the way these strange ceremonial occurrences have evolved over the centuries, and figured I would share my thoughts with my audience. He did not approve.

But that's not why I didn't write about St. Patrick's Day or May Day or whatever. No, I didn't write about those holidays because I don't give a flying fuck about those holidays. I also forgot that I had a blog. Have I mentioned that yet?

But I remember now. I remember the blog that I have long neglected, and now I'm back. I say "I'm back", but this could very well be my last post. Because I could drop dead in ten minutes. And you would never know. Does this qualify for "most worthless blog entry"? I think it might.

I've been called out of retirement by some random dude to confirm my status among the living. That's really all I had planned on talking about. To be fair, that's better than most of my posts, which start with me not planning on talking about anything. So maybe I'm on the right track.

My concerned reader also inquired as to when I would start writing movie reviews again, because he seemed to enjoy those. The answer: I have no idea. I haven't been motivated enough to actually write anything about any of the movies I've seen thus far this year.

I'll probably have something to say about the forthcoming Piranha 3DD, but that's next month, which is not this month. I will eventually write about a movie again. You know... unless I die.

I've already decided I love this movie.

But that's in the future, and that's where you and I are going to spend the rest of our lives. I am going to inform you that something is coming soon. Something completely different from anything I've done before on this blog. It's going to blow your mind when it happens.

But for now, I will leave you with some parting words from my optometrist:

The Bread Is Starting To Rise!