Since I was a wee lad, about 10-11, I'd always enjoyed writing. I used to write Final Fantasy fan fiction before I knew what fan fiction was. I wrote stories that made me laugh, poetry I thought was deep as shit, terrible rap lyrics in case the hip hop community ever needed one to champion the plight of suburban teens, and journals full of nonsensical one-liners. I would share bits and pieces with friends and family but rarely would I present a finished product. It was always a hobby I would tackle with enthusiasm in short bursts, then abandon completely for weeks.
In the past year though I started writing more frequently and began more proactively seeking criticism. Not only did I actually finish pieces, but I began submitting them to various humor sites and magazines, a monumental step for me; in my mind it ranks somewhere between civil rights icon Rosa Parks refusing to give up her seat in the front of the bus and local cheap bastard Harry Reynolds refusing to pay for his seat on the bus in the pantheon of great American achievements. Sometimes I knew I had no shot in hell of having my work accepted (The Onion), other publications filled my head with tepid excitement (Cracked), whilst others still I believed were sure things (oh fuck you Going Bonkers, who names their magazine that? Going bonkers. When I hear that I think of whoopee cushions and Whoopi Goldberg, both of which are anathema to laughter. Fuck you and your stupid magazine title. Was A Dandy Fart Noise taken, you humorless sons of bitches? I gave you gold, pure gold and you tossed it off your stupid unicycle or whatever whimsical shit you use to get around then you threw a pie at someone's face because pies are always funny and honked a clown horn and rode off to publish a piece on how to be sardonic to a boss who doesn't understand the meaning of the word sardonic which when you think about it is beyond pointless but what do I know about humor I wasn't good enough to be published in the entertainment juggernaut that is Going Bonkers.) After more rejection letters than I could responsibly use for kindling I decided to start a blog to improve my writing skills to make pretty words sound nice good and receive feedback and criticism on my feeble portfolio.
I enjoy writing things that make me laugh, and wish to spread my laughter through the world like a sexually transmitted disease spreads through lower-income urban areas. Chlamyd-ha-ha. It's been a dream of mine for a while to try my hand at stand up comedy, and I feel continuting to write is the best way to not be terrible when I decide to grow half a spine and spend three minutes up on a dimly lit stage spewing incoherent, possibly anti-Semitic nonsense at a bunch of randos.
Well, that's mostly true. Yeah I've always wanted to perform stand up but I've never literally dreamed about performing. I'd be kind of disappointed in my dream factory if such was the case. Like when you dream about working, only your dream workplace is slightly less remarkable than your actual workplace. Someone was nice enough to have made coffee but it's kind of cold by the time you get there, there's a rock in your shoe small enough to not warrant a mid-hallway shoe removal but persistent enough to never let your mind wander far from the niggling discomfort, you use niggling discomfort in a sentence, at the end of the day you realize you've been carrying a crayon around and can't remember where you got it, shit like that. One of those dreams where you wake up and you're pissed at your brain for sucking at dreams. I mean c'mon Brain. What's the deal? You wanted 7-8 hours of sleep, I gave you 7-8 hours of sleep. You wanted sufficient amounts of gamma aminobutyric acid to facilitate REM sleep, I gave you expired Valium because chemicals, right? You wanted a pillow that didn't have decades of accumulated sweat and tears, I refused. That pillow has been in our family for generations. Just put a little more effort into the dream making, alright big guy? I believe in you.
Anyways I'll be posting things that make me laugh first and foremost because I've been conditioned to believe that breathing grants my opinion both weight and importance, thus it must be nurtured and cherished. I hope to make at least one person laugh. Or smile politely. Ok just finish an entire post. Well fine then, don't fucking read it! I'm not holding a gun to your head, Jesus!
