No such thing as writer's block
There's no such thing as writer's block.
Let me repeat that: there's no such thing as writer's block.
Hmmm. I kinda like the sound of that. There's no such thing as
writer's block.
Excuse me a minute. The microwave buzzer
went off or I have to take a leak or maybe -- just maybe -- I
need another beer. I usually don't write while drinking, but
tonight's an exception. Besides, it's what separates me the musician
from me the writer: As a writer, I can drink or not drink and
you'll never know the difference. As a musician, I can drink
or not drink... but everybody can tell the difference right away.
I swear to you, though, I'm totally sober
right now.
Don't believe me? Prove it.
* * *
And for the last fucking time, no, that
third picture I posted last week was NOT a real picture of me.
It was doctored by Photoshop. As one of my friend's told me,
"You're the only one I know who uses Photoshop to make you
look WORSE than you really are on the Internet."
To which I replied: Whaddya mean worse?
* * *
Then again, maybe that third photo was
the real me. You'll never know. Maybe I'm pretending to be something
I'm not. Maybe I'm really a 23-year-old college girl with big
tits. (Oh, yeah... I'd have big tits all right. And I'd swallow
too.)
But I'm not a college girl. I'd have 2,000
hits a day if I were. Then again, maybe I'm a college girl pretending
to be a middle-aged man. Maybe I'm the Misanthropic Bitch. Or
maybe I'm Matt Drudge pretending to be a college girl who is
pretending to be a middle-aged man.
Don't believe me? Prove it. (You know,
video is going to kill the Internet star.)
* * *
By the way: Don't send this column to
your parents. I thought we had an understanding here? But then
I get e-mail that says, "I just sent item number #18 to
my dad..." Stop. Just stop it. I don't care how well you
think you know your parents, believe me, if they get the opportunity
they will sue my butt.
* * *
You know what the worst thing about drinking
is? Friends who think I black out. I don't black out. I wish
I did. Here's a sample of a conversation I had to endure one
morning after a particularly funzie party:
- "Do you remember what you did last
night?"
-
- "Yes, I remember what I did last
night."
-
- "Do you remember slapping my wife
on the ass?"
-
- "Yes, I remember slapping your wife
on the ass?"
-
- "Do you remember taking off your
clothes, standing on the kitchen table and quoting Schopenhauer?"
-
- "Yes, I remember taking off my clothes,
standing on the kitchen table and... fuck you, it was Sartre.
And as I recall, YOU were cheering me on. I'm not Jodie Foster,
pal, but you're skating on thin ice."
* * *
I have a new dog. New to me, anyway. I
call him Spike. His name is Debo, but I still call him Spike.
Funny dog. Looks like the laughing dog from the Grateful Dead
logo. The other logo. I didn't even know I wanted a dog until
I had a dog. I wanted a ferret. Got a dog. No more on this, cause
I can sense a column here. You'll have to wait for more information
on my dog.
* * *
Sent an e-mail of erotica to a particularly
loyal fan. She said she came hard. Two thousand miles away and
she orgasmed thinking of me. Or whoever she thinks I might be.
Which could be Matt Drudge. Who's pretending to be a college
girl pretending to be a middle-aged man.
Can I give you some advice? This is good
advice. A lot of people on the Internet pretend to be someone
they aren't. This is part of the fun. Likely, you've tried it
at least once. Bald guys will pretend to have long hair, fat
guys will pretend to be thin, men will pretend to be women and
women will pretend to read my column. A whole lot of pretending
going on.
But no one -- and I mean no one -- will
ever get on the Internet and pretend to be a middle-aged man.
It's just a bad, bad move.
* * *
Case in point: I'm in a baseball league
for guys 40-years-old and over. Once I asked the manager, "How
come no one ever asked me for proof of age?" He and the
two coaches standing next to him laughed their collective asses
off. He said, "Do you know ANYONE who will fake being 40
just to pay $300 to play baseball?" I admitted I didn't.
Then he said, "Besides, Jasper, you play like you're sixty."
* * *
Politically Incorrect is on. Gotta take
a break and check it out. Be right back.
* * *
Well... it wasn't a very good show. Always
nice to see Tony Curtis, though.
Checked the newspaper while I was gone
and Microsoft reports that it's working on some Year 2000 glitches
in Windows 98. Apparently it's nothing serious, just some minor
flaws. For example: Microsoft officials said that during laboratory
tests they set the computer's year to read 2001 and yet they
were still able to play Oasis recordings.
* * *
Got some e-mail the other day calling
Norman Greenbaum the ultimate one-hit wonder. Guess so. "Spirit
In The Sky" still makes money, maybe more now than when
it was originally released. Some people use the term one-hit
wonder derisively. Not me. Norman got one more hit song than
I ever had.
* * *
Got another e-mail from a guy who described
my writing as "on the cusp of absolutely nothing."
I kinda like that description. That's my goal, by the way. To
write nothing. And get paid for it.
* * *
Hey, I forgot to tell you about Thanksgiving.
We ate turkey, dressing, mash potatoes, monkey paws, buffalo
wings, buffalo burgers, pig lips and each other. We're sooooo
thankful.
* * *
Anyway, there's no such thing as writer's
block. There is such a thing as writing which sucks.
I think I proved my point.
* * *
STANDARD DISCLAIMER: This column aims to be funny. If you can read anything else into it, you're on your own. Copyright 1998 by Mike Jasper.
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