Official Rebranding Post

Well, we officially hit rock bottom with that last post. A Vikings recap that didn’t even tell the score of the game? On a Wednesday? After not blogging for like five months? Time to flip this thing over and tickle it (that’s a new phrase being rolled out as part of our rebranding).

I am a novelist now. That’s the reality. In the next few days or six months, I’ll slowly unzip and reveal the new format of this blog, which is going to be an insufferable plugging tool in which I mention something about my novel IN EVERY SINGLE POST. But hey, I am a novelist now. This is what we do, as far as I can tell from observing other novelists. Also, I’m shut in a room with the litter box, and I’m a little baked from the cat piss fumes. Whew! I want to open a window, but the AC is on and I’m not looking to cool off the whole neighborhood. I was talking about something. Monday I’ll be back for rebrand. Cat piss. I wrote a novel. Read it. It hasn’t been published.

My nostrils hurt.

Rebrand. It comes soon.

Great And Christian Donald Trump Generously Donates Thirteen Percent of One Million Dollars To Down And Out Whore

Donald Trump, great president of America and very much ardent follower of Christ, has generously given big portion of donald’s father’s money to down and out harlot who has lost very many of her ways in this world.

Large sum of american $130,000, donated by strong leader and Man of God Trump to floozy who wallows in dregs of pornographic film industry, in order to provide for her great opportunity for to accept Jesus and spread giant words of Trump.

TRumP says this is good thing for America.

We must all make good for America and give our rubles, all of them, to women of filth, says TrUmp.

TrumP also gives us generous tip to buy red america is great hats from website that will donate money to great all over american donald truMP.

So do this, America, and america will blast white greatness over all the world. Happy!

Ten Things Only People Who Had A Wart On The Side Of Their Left Foot In The Early ’00s Will Understand

1. Mac’n’cheese is the best. Because of what you have lived through, no one will ever understand this quite the way you do!

2. Bacon. Right? LOL!

3. You like the word ‘awesomesauce,’ you call anything without gluten ‘G-free,’ and you greet people by saying ‘Wasabi, kemosabe?’ If you agree with any of the previous sentence, you did not really have a wart on the side of your left foot in the early ’00s. You fell into a trap laid by the superior intellect only a person that had a wart on the left side of their foot in the early ’00s could possess.

4. You have a friend that tried to get a wart just like yours, but during his quest, he ended up getting his foot chomped off by an alligator. And then his entire leg. Followed by his midsection, heart, and head. You watched the entire thing happen, but didn’t do anything, because, well, wart.

5. You enjoy reading lists about warts and wart-related issues.

6. You have taken an online quiz about what city you should really live in, but still live in the city you’ve always lived in.

7. You become irritated when people post lists about having a wart on the bottom of their right foot in the ’90s. Or worse yet, the army of aged husks from the ’60s that yap on and on about how great sac warts were back then. You won’t hear it. These people all suck, because they have not experienced what you have. Having a wart on the side of your left foot in the early ’00s was the quintessential wart-having experience, and anyone that says otherwise has warts that are dumb, and also very, very stupid.

8. You have purchased anti-wart cream.

9. You have shamed, belittled, and badgered anyone who doesn’t believe warts are beautiful, because, after having a wart on your left foot, YOUR opinion is the correct one, and if someone doesn’t share your perception of beauty, they are a body-shaming bully.

10. Overweight people with warts are disgusting.

Rap Music: Does It Belong In My Cubist Epoch?

If you missed yesterday’s post, you have to be asking yourself “What the f*&k is an epoch?”

It’s okay, I was flummoxed too.

Two hours into my Cubist phase, even I was still thinking epoch was murdered by Notorious P.U.F.F. Daddy back in nine-six. I couldn’t have been more wrong. What in the world could Cubism have to do with rap music anyways?

Nothing, until now. In yesterday’s post, I also claimed I wasn’t creative enough to produce a Cubist work. I couldn’t have been more wrong there either. Would an uncreative person have the revolutionary idea to combine Cubism and rap music into one fluid art movement called rapism? That looks bad. Try again. Would an uncreative person have the revolutionary idea to combine Cubism and rap music into one fluid art movement called Curap? No, an uncreative person would not have that idea. That’s why I had that idea.

If yesterday’s painting was an example of my ‘early Cubist phase,’ then today’s installment is surely ‘high Curap.’ Here we see the artist (me) rip through the fabric of our tangible universe and stumble into a dimension all his own.

Heaven for a G, by Michael Cedarwood. (2015) Microsoft Paint

The painting again makes use of cubes, there’s some liquor in there, and double meaning is incorporated—the ‘G’ in question stands of course for Georges Braque, and also for the way that rap music uses the letter, as an abbreviation of ‘guy.’

The epoch rages on.

 

True Detective Season Two Preview—You Won’t Believe Who Plays Vince Vaughn

The speculation surrounding season two of the HBO series True Detective ends here. As a northern midwestern Hollywood insider, I’ve got the juicy, succulent details.

The cast:

Vince Vaughn plays Matthew McConaughey (all characters are fictitious, any resemblance to real people, living or dead, is purely coincidental), a detective who drives a Lincoln while revealing his thoughts on what it’s like to drive a Lincoln.

Colin Farrell portrays Vince Vaughn (all characters are fictitious, any resemblance to real people, living or dead, is purely coincidental), an alcoholic police officer trying to dry out. At one point, Vaughn, the character, believes he is the brother of Santa Claus, but then comes to his senses and starts a fraternity.

Series creator Nic Pizzolatto makes an appearance as police chief Woody Harrelson (all characters are fictitious, any resemblance to real people, living or dead, is purely coincidental), while wearing a pregnancy vest and carrying on an affair with a busty paralegal.

Matthew McConaughey (the real person) is absent from the cast, for he is believed to be isolated somewhere in the Sierra Nevada Mountains, rubbing his fingers together, writing dialogue for the next run of Lincoln commercials.

The plot:

Matthew McConaughey, the detective, discovers a disfigured body along the Pacific Coast Highway, believed to be corrupt politician Colin Farrell, played by Woody Harrelson. The corpse presents a multitude of esoteric knife carvings along his perineum—this obviously wasn’t the killer’s first rodeo. Naturally, Vince Vaughn’s character, Matthew McConaughey, wants to get to the bottom of things, so he calls in Vince Vaughn, played by Colin Farrell, a choice that chief Woody Harrelson (Nic Pizzolatto) has a major objection with.

Of course, the whole time, we’re wondering if the actual Matthew McConaughey will hop in his Lincoln and descend from the mythical Sierra Nevada peaks in order to help out with the investigation. After a few episodes, the actual McConaughey does come down out of the mountains, and is entangled in an impromptu metaphysical ‘act-off’ with Vince Vaughn’s fictional character named Matthew McConaughey that is not actually based on the real human Matthew McConaughey, in order to define the true meaning of Matthew McConaughey.

Matthew McConaughey, the actor, produces a notebook and begins to read: The laws of physics state that Matthew McConaughey, whether in liquid, gas, solid, or plasma form, cannot be defined by two separate bodies, for Matthew McConaughey exists everywhere, in everything. He is inside you. He is inside me. He is inside a Lincoln. He is the universe. Matthew McConaughey got himself pregnant and gave birth to God.

Security roughly escorts McConaughey, the actor, who drops his notebook, from the set, while McConaughey, the character, goes back to performing the scripted material. He picks up the notebook.

The cover reads, in childish handwriting, Matt’s Journal of Hopes and Dreams.

In the pages of Matt’s journal, the actor McConaughey’s plot to murder corrupt politician Colin Farrell, played by Woody Harrelson, is revealed.

McConaughey, the detective played by Vince Vaughn, chases down the security guards that carried out McConaughey, the actor.

The head guard looks confused and claims that he did not escort McConaughey, the actor, from the premises. Detective McConaughey closes his eyes for a moment to think. When he opens them, the guard is gone and an empty Lincoln MKC sits before him. The car drives off.

The face of Matthew McConaughey, the actor, is superimposed over the final scene before everything fades to black.

Hipster Plans To Avoid Mainstream Highways And Drive to SXSW Only On Obscure, Little-Known Roads

Interstate 35, which travels directly through Minneapolis, Minnesota and all the way to Austin, Texas, site of the annual South by Southwest gathering, is intentionally being avoided by a nameless, faceless hipster in the Land of 10,000 Lakes.

NO.

The interstate system, dubbed ‘way, way too mainstream,’ by the hipster will be ignored in favor of a bizarre and far more lengthy path to Texas. A path you probably have never heard of.

The hipster said the following in a low, drawn out voice: “I would have driven the route if it were still the early 1950s, you know, before the interstate system was created. Roads were cooler back then. Now it’s all corporate and shit.”

The hipster was very adamant about obscurity and not following trends.

“Avoiding conventional highways was a no-brainer for me, so I sat down and brought up Google Maps on my iPhone. I was

YES.

able to find little-traveled county roads, abandoned residential streets, and even flat expanses of Oklahoma prairie that I could drive my Camry over.”

The hipster kept talking.

“I’ll probably see some stuff I normally wouldn’t, and I can post pictures to Instagram and Facebook and Twitter. Really show people how cool it is when you don’t do what everyone else is doing,” he said from behind his gluten-free beard crumbs and glasses without glass in them.

The drive from Minneapolis to Austin, which can be done solely on Highway 35, was made unnecessarily complex after the hipster read an article on a popular website.

“I was paging through Buzzfeed, ironically of course, and came across a list titled ’25 Reasons to Drive On a Highway.’ And I thought, ‘if Buzzfeed knows about highways, then 40 year-old Iowans are probably even aware of their popularity.’ Needless to say, in that moment I knew highways had jumped the shark.”

Does the hipster find his roundabout route to Texas excessive?

“Yeah, I’ll be putting a few extra clicks on the odometer,” the hipster admitted. “Is it totally necessary for me to pass through both Virginias, shoot over to New Mexico, then down into the real Mexico, in order to approach South by Southwest literally from the Southwest, all in the name of turning my back on something the majority of people like? No, it’s not necessary at all. It’s quite stupid, actually. I think I even pass through Canada at some point. But keep in mind, stupidity is in no way popular right now. But when it becomes the “in” thing, guess who will be credited with making it cool? Me. Not that I care. Then I’ll move on to something else.”

As of this writing, the hipster was somewhere in the Pacific Northwest, with estimates placing his arrival in Austin sometime between April 1-3, when the festival will have been over for more than a week.

 

One Man Proves He Can Write For Upworthy. You’ll Never Believe How.

The folks over at Upworthy love to bait people. They’re masters of the practice. They are baiting masters. Me, I’ve never fell for the ploy. Still, their talent for baiting cannot be ignored. Upworthy is wildly popular, and it is taking over my Facebook feed. I want a piece of the cheese.

I can bait with the best of ’em. When you read these headlines I’ve created, your life will change. Even more than after reading an Upworthy article:

—This woman just bought her eighth cat. Think she cray? There’s just one problem: the cats are the only thing keeping her from committing suicide. Now you’re the dick for judging her.

—This teenage dropout is a loser who will never amount to anything. Except that he isn’t a loser, and he will amount to everything.

—A woman grew out her leg hair for her dying husband. As it turns out, she was the one who died. But not because of the reasons you think.

—One man didn’t flush his toilet for 23 years. When you find out why, you will accept gay marriage.

—You’ve probably never shit your pants. Read this. Now look in your pants. They’re full of shit. Find out how.

—A blind owl stole his owner’s wallet and proved that money isn’t everything. It’s just one thing. Find out what.

—A tween changes an entire junior high’s view of body image stereotypes. Click to find out how she lives without lungs, bones, or an endocrine system.

—This man found something in his beard. Something that will make you weep with joy. And horniness.

—One racist educator who lived a life of privilege goes through a series of tragic events and finds herself teaching a classroom full of inner city youth. My jaw dropped when it didn’t involve rap music.

—This video proves that free will exists. Watch it.

—The media tells us to look like Hollywood celebrities. This morbidly obese woman isn’t having it—she shows us why it’s okay to gorge on fast food and not exercise and then get angry when a thin person who works out and eats vegetables is complimented.

—He escaped a life in porn. But he went back, because it was better than normal life. We don’t need to tell you why.

—This pedophile was able to re-imprint his sexual attractions. By working overnights at the zoo. By working overnights alone at the zoo. By working overnights alone cleaning the monkey cages at the zoo. By working overnights alone cleaning the monkey cages with the security cameras turned off at the zoo. By working overnights alone cleaning the monkey cages with the security cameras turned off at the zoo and do we still need to be doing this? Don’t you get it? He’s having sex with the monkeys. Don’t bother reading the article. You will learn NOTHING. You will forget about it before you’ve finished reading it. New headline: Upworthy writer blows his brains out. You won’t believe why (I was saving this one for when I quit).

 

 

 

How I Almost Became A Pill Smurf

As was recently discussed, I quit my job, and got a different one. I can’t describe how joyous this was. Yes, the robotic management was one reason, but also, this: I almost became a pill smurf*. I was on the verge of throwing out my back, running in front of a forklift, or starting a fight with an immigrant, all on purpose, for profit.

Why?

Reason number one was to get time off work.

Reason # two(2)—>When many of your coworkers are addicted to a spread of pharm productions—uppers, downers, screamers, laughers—is there a better way to make extra money, a LOT of extra money, while dealing with the trivialities of something so minor as vertebral subluxation, forklift tire-marks on your flattened leg, or a shattered eye socket from a staged fight with good ol’ Magdaleno (Mags, for short)?

A skullet.

Answer: there is no better way. These guys are paying top dollar per ‘milly’ (milligram) for all the big names in painkilling. Let’s say I plant the warehouse manager’s skullet-comb in Magdaleno’s car and tell him he’s going to be fired for stealing. So he punches my lights out in front of the coffee machine. My face hurts. I go to the doctor. I score a Vicodin prescription. When the doctor gives me that slip of paper, he might as well be dropping a bar of gold in my lap.

That bottle of pills would have been a winning Powerball ticket in there. A month or two ago, a guy broke his leg. If he’s willing to deal with the fractured femur drug-free, and manages the sudden influx of cash responsibly, he might never have to go back to work.

If only I had the balls to do something hardcore like that, I could have auctioned those V pills off, and they would have sold like toilet paper at a butt party. Butt (pun) I didn’t. I stayed healthy, like a sucker.

Well, I’ve been screwed again, this time by my own conscience.

*I heard Jesse Pinkman say he had ‘smurfs’ buying Sudafed for him in Breaking Bad. I don’t even know if the term applies to what I’m talking about here. 

Resignation Letter, Or, ‘The World’

I just quit my job. Weeks before I knew I was going to quit, I wrote this resignation letter. Then, in the excitement of finally being able to quit, I forgot to bring it with me when I actually did quit. Balls. Not a big deal, though: it was purposely designed to confound, flummox, and bring about the general idea that I was somewhat unstable, thus making my hasty departure a point of concern rather than indignation.

The highfalutin verbiage and esoteric references would have been lost on the audience anyway. I mean, the one guy has had the same handlebar moustache for at least two decades. And last year, he didn’t even tell us when one of our coworkers was murdered by his girlfriend (Sadly, I didn’t make that up. She ran him over with her car. Management said not one word about it, to avoid giving people a day off for the funeral. Again, I can’t stress this enough: I didn’t make that up.).

Having said that, I now realize he would have thrown the letter in the garbage after he read the first line anyways. Here’s what I had:

The World*, or, My Resignation

Dearest Bob:

If you’re reading this, that means I’m already dead.

Or not. Anyhoo. Where to begin. At the beginning, I reckon.

Some 900 odd days ago, under Libra’s balanced gaze, a new cycle began, I playing The Fool. As time shifted I slowly toed my way through the major arcana, in both work and private life, ultimately culminating in this letter, which as you see above, I have entitled ‘The World.’

To come at it from another angle—the Moirai may now weave my tale. Read:

In that September of 2011, Clotho, Spinner of Life, dealt my thread. Her sister, Lachesis, drew her rod and measured it. Now, this night, governed by the fish Pisces, Atropos The Unturning, eldest of the three sisters, must now brandish her abhorred shears, and make her calculated cut.

Main point being, in the Menippean satire that this job, and consequently my life, has become, the ultimate communication of this letter is that I am quitting, if you didn’t get that already.

Now, by this time you may have noticed that I have left this communique with the front office and vanished, while the traditional two weeks of notice have not yet passed. None of us need worry about this. In the vast scope of geological time, after Armageddon has come and gone, whatever form it chooses to take, be it Ragnarok, The Four Horsemen, The Karmatic Wheel coming to a stop, Nuclear Winter—I can assure you that my swift exit from this company will not matter in the least.

At that time, when aliens, remaining humans, cockroaches—whatever is left, really—pick through the rubble where once stood this office/warehouse compound, I can assure you that my failure to give the traditional fourteen days forewarning will not be mentioned, nor will it even be relevant.

As Elton John once sang, we are nothing more than a candle in the wind. Or Kenny Wayne Shepherd: cold on ice, joker on jack, tears on a river, whisper on a scream. It doesn’t mean a thing.

And thus, as mysteriously as I arrived, I now dissipate, into the nether regions of the working world. May dementors eat my soul should we cross paths again.

Love,

Guy that don’t work here no more

*In Tarot readings, The World card can represent a cycle completed.

Toilet Paper Buying Anecdote

We all love buying toilet paper. Here’s an interaction I had while purchasing some.

Counter guy: ~looks at what I’m buying then up at me~ “You know what they say, a job is never complete until all the paperwork is done.”

Me: “Yep.”

Counter guy: “That’ll be /whatever the price was/ for the paper.”

Me: “Here.”

Counter guy: ~as I’m already walking away~ “Well, looks like you’ve got a lot of paperwork to do!”

Things I learned:

1/ That guy was really obsessed with me wiping my ass.

2/ Never go there again.

3/ Get a bidet. It makes more sense. If you step in dog poop, you don’t wipe your foot off with a paper towel and call it good.