PE: The Unseen Enema!

I’m not sure if I ever feel “special” or “wanted”. I have determined the reason for this is an undiscovered birth defect that children in the future will be tested for.  They may even develop a vaccine.  It’d play out something like this:

(A happy couple with their new baby in tow, walks into a pediatrician’s office for baby’s first appointment. The doctor sits behind the desk, shuffles mindlessly through papers. It is apparent that all tests and labs are normal. Then he stumbles upon a piece of paper that causes him to stop and furrow his Andy Rooney like brow.)

Doctor:  Mr. and Mrs. Happy?

The Happies: (anxious) Yes?

Doctor:  I’ve got some difficult news.

Mr. Happy: What is it?

Doctor:  There is something terribly wrong with little Johnny.

Mrs. Happy:  Oh no!  But I did all the right things during my pregnancy! I exercised, ate the right foods, kept my pot smoking to a minimum, and refrained from contact with undesirable societal elements.

(Mrs. Happy dissolves into tears.)

Mr. Happy: (stiff upper lip) Alright doc.  Lay it on us.

Doctor: Little Johnny has PE.

Mrs Happy:  Oh My God No!!! No no no no no no no nonononononono! aaaaaaahhhhhhh!!!!!

(Mr. Happy slaps the shit out of Mrs. Happy)

Mrs. Happy: (to Mr. Happy) Thanks Honey. (to Doctor) Um, what’s PE?

Doctor: Perpetual Emptiness. No matter how much or how little love and affection you shower that little sonnovabitch with, he’ll still feel like a useless sack of shit, and act accordingly.

Mr. Happy: So, there’s a name for that now?  Thanks modern science!

Doctor: Yes, there is a name, and we are mere decades away from a cure!  Aboriginal children at a camp in a remote area of New Zealand are currently being used to test the vaccine.  When those little bastards stop bouncing off walls and spontaneously combusting we’ll know we’re almost there.

Mrs. Happy:  What do we do in the mean time?

Doctor: (ponders) Well it’s too late too abort.  There’s always abandonment or general disinterest in his life.

Mr. Happy:  Does that work?

Doctor:   I don’t know.  Go ask your father.

(Mr. and Mrs. Happy share a puzzled look.)

Doctor: Go on, get him out of here. There’s nothing else I can do for him.

(Mr. and Mrs. Happy leave with Little Johnny in hand.  Three months later, they divorce.  Six months later, Ms. Happy, under the assumed name of “Thunder Clap”, begins a lucrative career in striptease.  Little Johnny?  I’m not sure, but it is likely that he’s well on his way to becoming the savior or condemnation of modern society.)

The End.

(Cue Cape Fear theme music.)

I may suffer with PE, and we may be saying hello to my son’s great-grandchildren before there’s a cure, but dammit I know you like me! You really like me! (Please say you like me 😦 … and want me :/ .)

Alright I’m done being a jackass.  Happy Valentine’s Day to the all the lonely hearts!


As Is

I’ve been on a bit of an unannounced quest to figure out what my blog’s focus should be. Some ideas have been crazy juicy, almost guaranteed to get me an audience based on scandal alone; e.g. focusing the blog on people in my city’s scandalous tidbits submitted anonymously via a “hot box” placed in varying locations. Other ideas are just far too boring to remember. The only reason I started this search at all is because I was still floundering trying to figure out what exactly I should be writing about. By not having a specific focus I felt, and sometimes still feel, like a bit of a charlatan. All writers have a specific focus right?

Well, thanks to two conversations I’ve had over the past week, one with Carlton Hargo (former editor of Creative Loafing Charlotte) and  another with my loving theatrical enabler Eric Paulk (current Managing director of On Q Productions); I’m embracing the literary floosie in me.  Essentially, I just would like to declare that my blog henceforth is about nothing. Not a damn thing. In fact I discovered simply by reading my own “about” page that I wrote that this blog is a “peek in the into the life, mind and heart of a completely sane lunatic.” Boom. Mission accomplished.  Ain’t it always the way? We find the answers where we least expect them…right in front of our faces. Why can’t we just leave ourselves the hell alone? Well, I should have said “I”, but if this relates to you too, cool! If not, hang tight and watch the crazy train roll through.

Es verdad, I’m extremely hard on myself at times, and it is almost always unjustified. It seems I seek to reach some level of “there”-ness and in the process piss all over the progress I have made. I’m already “there”! Right damn now. Locked and loaded on my key board hammering away at 75+ words a minute getting all these rambling thoughts out while they make sense and saying, “Fuck it, I’m going to write anyway!”, when they don’t. What an awesome feeling to just be, without you or anyone else fucking with you!

So, just call me Seinfeld, or what seems cheesier, and therefore even more awesome; The black female Andy Rooney.


Dontcha hate it when?

What?! If I grow my eye brows out a year (or five), I’m THERE!