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Blame
it on Ben
I
miss deadlines. I want to write every week, I do, but sometimes life
interferes. Someone once told me, "How come you miss deadlines? I write
my blog every day. How come you can't do that?"
I understand your confusion. But then I've read your blog, and I could
do that every hour of every damn day. Here’s how it is—I'm trying to be
funny here. If I were just writing a fucking diary of my life, my life
would still be fucked up, but writing would be easy.
Do you know what happens when I'm not funny? Bombay Bicycle Club part
three happens. Not good.
So sometimes, when I'm not feeling it (as the kids say) I skip a week.
Because if I don't, then one of two things happens—I write something
that isn't funny, or even worse, I write something that just tries to
be funny. Then what am I? Seinfeld, I guess.*
Which reminds me, what's the deal about the $100 bill? Why is it that
every time I take one out at the convenience store, it's like I'm
pulling a gun on the guy?
"I cannot deal with this. You have something else?"
"I have a revolver."
It's like I'm whipping out my dick or something. But then I look at the
$100 dollar bill and I think, "Smooth head, long bushy hair all around
it. Ben, you're a fuckin' penis impersonator."
"I cannot deal with this. You have something else?"
"I have a dick."
I really don't get it. We're in rampant inflation. One hundred bucks is
worth about twenty bucks in my mind. I think. I'm pretty sure. Hell, I
don't know, what does it cost for a blow job at a Greyhound bus station
these days?
You've got your consumer index, I've got mine.
What was I talking about? Right, the $100 bill. What's the big deal?
You don't have change? Really? Because the last nine people in line
before me paid with $20 bills.
You know what? Fuck that. I'm going on the barter system. From now on,
I'm paying with my columns. In fact, I'll just print this out and use
it the next time I'm at the fucking convenience store. I’m making a
stand here.
"I cannot deal with this. You have something else?"
"I have Bombay Bicycle Club part three."
*It's just a joke. Seinfeld is a comedic genius and I'm
just another cheap shot artist. True, he's no Colin Quinn, but he's
great. (You owe me, Colin.)
STANDARD DISCLAIMER:
This column aims to be funny. If you can read anything else into it,
you're on your own.
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Mike Jasper
is a writer and musician living in Austin, Texas.
Originally
from the San Francisco Bay Area, he claims strong ties to Seattle, St.
Petersburg, Florida and North Platte, Nebraska.
jasper2atmikejasperdotcom
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