As I’m sure by now you are aware, I try to support most things that help humankind. My favorite event of the year is coming up his weekend: the Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure! (to breast cancer).I’ve ran for the last 10 years. I started because my niece had asked me to run with her one year. While I was waiting to start the race, a man and his little boy walked past. The kid must’ve only been 5 or 6. Both had paper signs pinned to the back of their shirts. The man’s said he was running in memory of his wife, and gave her dates of birth and death. The kid’s was much simpler, but enough to wreck my world. His said:
“I run because I miss my mom.”
I ran that year, heartbroken and devastated for that kid. After the race, I caught up to him and his dad in the drink tent. I told the kid how sorry I was about his mom. No kid should ever have to lose their mom in such a horrible way. I also made him a promise: that I would run every year for the rest of my life because he misses his mom. This is my tenth year running, and I’d like to ask all of you that read this to give me the name of anyone you would like for me to run for also. I’m adding names to the shirt I plan to wear. This is my first year running solo, but you’re more than welcome to be part of “The Second Base All-Stars” with me. Just list as many names as you want of people affected by cancer that you know in the comments. I’ll make sure they get on the shirt.
Please reblog this, I want as many names as possible. Every woman matters…every single one.
I was asked this the other day by certain beautiful counterpart of mine. I didn’t answer her at that time because I really had to stop and think about it. It came to me last night at work. The honest answer? The Sims.
Yes, those Sims. The ones created by Maxis. For those of you who have known me the longest, and were around when I wrote “Taking the L” and “Krahne”, you’ll remember that my earlier writing had a certain brutal quality about it. I haven’t gotten fully away from that sort of writing as anyone who has read part one of “The Cinder Plant” will tell you. I have to attribute about 90% of my savagery to the Sims.
Let me explain. When The Sims was first released back in 1999, I was one of the first people that I knew to own it. I loved building their houses, furnishing them, and even creating my people the way I wanted them. Life was good for a while…until I realized that Maxis had created the possibility that your Sim could die. Suddenly, the game took on a more sinister role. The game allowed me to create scenarios that would most likely never happen in real life, and watch how things played out. I began to plot against my characters. I wanted to see how they would handle what I would do to them. For example, your Sim might need to pee. He’d start waiving his hands and yelling “Tay yo mah!” Whatever the hell that means. Sometimes I would tell him to go. Sometimes, I would make him piss himself just to see what the game would have him do next. He would cry, and want to shower. When I realized that you could have a hand in your Sim dying, shit got ugly. I killed everybody. It was like if Stephen King was death; people were killed in such paranormal ways, they would literally haunt the house. I would have the entire neighborhood over for a pool party. Once everyone was in the pool, I’d delete the ladder, and watch them turn into tombstones around the pool. If I was feeling particularly psychotic, I’d create an island in the middle just large enough for one person to stand, and put the ladder leading onto it. Then I’d see who made it out alive only to die on an island. I wouldn’t always kill them though. Sometimes, if I had an annoying neighbor that wouldn’t leave so I could go to bed for work, I’d put the game in build mode. Then I’d put the neighbor inside a glass room with no doors with the urns inside. Then I’d switch to play mode, and wait for 2 am for the ghost to haunt the neighbor. He’d get scared, and run away (magically through the window). No matter what situation I came up with, the Sims had an answer. That answer always was based on what would keep them alive the longest. Now when I write, I create these horrific situations, I imagine my Sims, and see how my characters get out of them. Sometimes they get out unscathed, more often than not, they don’t. It’s just how it happens! I hope this answers your question. Thanks for asking!
This is a difficult post for me. I suspect that I’m going to be viewed and treated differently by many of you after you read this.
I was in Maine once, getting a couple books autographed by Stephen King at a small meet and greet booksigning he arranged. I’d introduced myself, and asked what the secret was to winning over readers. Immediately he told me “Just tell the story how you mean for it to be. Don’t water it down. If your characters swear, let them swear. Yeah, it’s going to piss some of the readers off, but if you try to bullshit people in your writing, they’re going to hate you for it. They’re on their time, reading your stuff. You owe it to all of them to write honestly.” He told me a lot more, but that’s the part that covers what I plan to tell you. It’s not about the characters though, it’s about me. And God.
I grew up in the worst part of the U.S. for an intelligent kid to grow up in – southern West Virginia. For those of you that have never been there yourselves, it’s a nightmare of a place to be. The economic situation there is miserable, the education system is an atrocity, and dental care is damn near non-existent. In short, it was everything that I’m not. Two days after I turned 18, I moved out of state. This was not early enough, however. Before I could manage an escape, I had been forced to attend church for 13 years. Despite all of the other markets crumbling, it would seem that there were plenty of places around to sell you your own personal brand of religion.
Having had God force-fed to me for so long, it was difficult for me to ever consider anything else was even a possibility. God made the Earth, if you worshipped God like a good boy, you got into Heaven. If not, you burned in Hell for eternity. End of story. Well…normally that would be the end.
After moving a couple hundred miles away, I began to realize that the world, and life in general were way bigger than any ill-informed kid like myself could understand. When I started college, I met people from every background imaginable. All of whom would impact my world view, and eventually send me on my way to my “awakening”. I made friends with a guy that helped me get a recurring summer job at a funeral home. Looking back, that job did more to open my eyes to life than anything I’d done up to that point.
It was while I was dealing with the dead people that a couple things became brilliantly clear to me: 1. Death is going to happen, and more often than not, unexpectedly. 2. People have a hell of a hard time letting go of their dead. 3. Religion is often the only thing that makes the entire situation bearable. Sounds like common sense, right? It’s all it took to change my entire view of everything I’d been taught in church.
That death was going to happen was a no-brainer. It’s when you combine the other parts that it gets interesting. It’s generally unexpected, people can’t cope, and religion gives them something to hang onto to help them cope. That started sounding like one hell of a business model to me. If you take something that is incredibly difficult to deal with, and find a way to make it managable, people will buy. Offer them hope of seeing their dead loved ones again when they die, as long as they play by the rules, and the masses will come in droves. All you need to do then, is pass the collection plate.
Rewards are often not enough though, to convince people to do what you want. What do you do then? Simple. You create a consequence. Make it horrible. Make it the worst thing anyone of your time could possibly imagine. Make it being burned all over. Even worse, make it being burned all over for all of eternity. Who in their right mind would rather burn for all of eternity than get to see their dead loved ones, and live in Heaven forever? The kicker- no one can ever dispute that it happens this way, because you have to die in order to find out! It’s brilliant! (Pass the collection plate.)
This truly became my way of thinking. Once I added in that the events in the Bible were oral history for six or seven hundred years before even being written, my ability to go back to seeing religion (organized, anyway) as anything but a magic show was doomed. The more stuff you have to do to worship the way they tell you, the higher the production value and the more you feel like you are getting your money’s worth.
I still believe in something. I guess it’s God. I don’t really know what I believe any more. I know that I won’t be taking part in any organized religion anytime soon though. I know I’m sad that I feel like I won’t ever be able to believe as easily as I once did. I know I wish I could. Anyone have any recommendations, or have any insight that they can share that may help?
Once again, summer is almost here. It’s a beautiful day here in Pittsburgh, and the Summertime girls are out in full force. YES! and NO! I love Summertime girls.
They wear their cute little summer clothes, they smell great, and always seem friendly. Those are all wonderful things! Unfortunately, there is a drawback to Summertime girls…the cavemen they’ve decided to get busy with in the off-season. They get dragged along with their hot counterparts to the parks, the malls, and the eateries of America. I think they serve mainly as a human leash to protect the rest of civilization from the rock-eating troglodyte offspring they’ve managed to sire. You’ve seen them out together; she could be a runner up for Miss Universe, and he is one of the Geico cavemen.
At some point or another, they decided that Sloth from “The Goonies” was cute enough to create a miniature of. They did, and now everyone has to wonder how the hottie in skin tight yoga pants, looking like an angel in the summer sun ended up with Ugg and Sloth. The only thing I can come up with is that without the constant light and warmth of the sun, their judgement as a female must wane considerably in the off-season. It’s the only possible thing I can think of. What do you think?
She passed away today. I’m so very, very sorry that she’s gone. She and Mr. Howe were wonderful people. The first day I ever met them, we were in a church. They were an older couple, she was in her 80’s and he was like 3 or 4 hundred I guess. We hit it off the very first day. She’d gone to the ladies room, and when came out, her dress was tucked into the back of her panty hose. My own grandmother had done that once, and I couldn’t help but smile as I told Walt to let her know what she’d done. I didn’t want her to be embarrassed. Walt said she wouldn’t, and that she’d been showing her ass in public as long as he could remember. I only hope he meant that figuratively.
She told me I looked very handsome that day. I told her she looked like a princess in her dress, and then I told Walt that one day I would steal her away from him. He told me not to bother, she wasn’t a very good kisser anyway.
A few years back, Walt died of pneumonia. Mrs. Howe managed to keep going. How she did, I’ll never know. Walt told me that on the day they met, he knew he would marry her. He did. They loved each other until the day he died. She’s missed him terribly every day since, and so have I. Now today, she’s gone too, and I miss them both terribly.
I learned a lot from the Howes. I learned that there is such a thing as love at first sight. It doesn’t happen often, but it does happen. I learned that most things in life aren’t worth the hassle. You need to save your strength for the things that are worth fighting for. I learned that there’s no reason in the world why an arrogant young punk can’t have two funny old bats for good friends. Most importantly, I learned that good friends are very hard to come by, and impossible to replace.
I never even got that kiss. It’s okay though, my buddy said she wasn’t a very good kisser anyway.
Goodbye Mrs. Howe, you were a beautiful old bird. I really hate to let you go.
For reminding me that I’m yet to turn my genius abilities into a huge financial empire! Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate the fact that your dad built a super cool weapons factory, and died to let you be in charge, mine didn’t. That’s true. However, I have far greater mental abilities than you. One brilliant shining example is that giant hole in the middle of your chest that houses the arc reactor (which I’ll be coming back to in a minute). If it were me that had shrapnel threatening my heart, I would use the reactor to charge the retaining cup with positive ions, then use a negative ion pulse to charge the shrapnel, and pull it to the cup. It would only be a matter of time before the shapnel was completely out of your body. But hey, that’s just me.
Let’s talk about the arc reactor. Shall we? A true genius would’ve scrapped that dinosaur as soon as fusion reactors became an option. Fusion is safer, more durable, and doesn’t cause blood poisoning. True, it’s still volatile, but a man with your resources should be able to figure something out. Also, the gold-titanium alloy that the suit is built of should probably include a super hard ceramic plate base. Alumina is a good option for a hard ceramic base. Come by my work, and I’ll be glad to show it to you.
What I’m getting at here is that you need to step aside, and let me show you how to be Iron Man. Granted, I won’t be able to actually get back into the suit until I lose some more weight, but I could do the whole rich genius with a love interest with no problem. Until then, I’ll stay out of the Iron Man suit and get back into my workout suit. I wouldn’t want to look like this guy (?) that I found at http://www.break.com.Because, as far as I know, Iron Man isn’t supposed to have a camel toe…
I believe that each of us creates a playlist, or a soundtrack to our lives that grows with each passing day. It isn’t intentional. It just kind of happens, like life. You hear a song and for whatever reason, it resonates with every fiber of your being for that particular moment. I don’t even know that I believe we have a say in the song selection. They just kind of stick.
Take for example, when my son Talon was born. The day we brought him home from being born, my boss called and told me congratulations. Then she told me she needed me to turn in my keys because some things that I said to the mayor (about his performance) of a town we were developing in didn’t sit very well with him. It didn’t cause the company to lose the deal, but she said it almost did. Having a second child should be a great time in your life, but finding myself newly unemployed was drastically impairing my ability to be happy. At some point over the next couple of weeks, I was in my car, and I heard Fleetwood Mac singing “Go Your Own Way”. I’d heard it a billion times, as everyone else has, but this time it was applied like a tourniquet to my hemorrhaging life. It became a game changer. Although the song is about an inappropriate relationship between band mates, the chorus really seemed to be what I needed most. I could go my own way. I did. I quit looking for jobs of the traditional type, and started up my own company. I created a not so run of the mill computer repair company. I only worked after 5pm, I would pick up and deliver computers, and I did everything the big guys did without up-charging for convenience. My wife was less than supportive. In fact, she kept making the statement that “You don’t have a company.” When I started, she said it. When I ordered business cards and invoices she said it. When I registered my business with the IRS, and state she said it, and when I hired my tax guy she said it. She didn’t acknowledge that I did in fact have a business until she realized that I was paying for the house, and car and all of my other bills without having another job for income. When I sold it to move to Pennsylvania, she was upset about it. I’m okay with that.
Now every time I hear “Go Your Own Way”, I can’t help but think back to all of those ups and downs, and smile. I could go my own way. I did it very well.
Okay guys, I have to make a confession. It’s a bit difficult, because confessions generally indicate that you’ve done something wrong. Admitting that I’m wrong is certainly not something in which I’ve ever aspired to attain greatness . Yet, here we are. Tonight at work, I had a bit of downtime, and I had a chance to look through what I call my “Little Book of Greatness”. I’d started the book years ago, and “the book” is actually up to either notebook number 11 or 12 now. What goes inside, are all of the things that inspire me. Not just writing ideas, but actually inspire me to be great at anything I do in life. I like to take one of these books with me to work to read through whenever I have a little downtime. Tonight I opened it to about the middle, and this is what I found:
Gene Simmons (KISS): “The thing is, KISS has pretty good music. We don’t play stuff that’s all that technical, we play shit people can listen to. In the end, it’s all about the production quality of whatever you’re trying to sell. If we sell somebody a 60 dollar ticket, we make sure they get an 80 dollar show. People are going to remember if you try to pinch them for 60 bucks, and all you do is sit in the middle of a stage, strumming a guitar on a bar stool. For 60 dollars, they want you to blow their fucking socks off. They worked for that money. If you want it, you have to work for it too. If you want to be better than the other guy, you have to work harder than the other guy. It’s that simple.”
He’s right. He’s absolutely correct. So here it is folks. My confession: what you’ve been getting is about 6% Joe Smith, and about 94% easy writing. Has it worked for me? Not really. I have some absolutely fantastic followers, some are drive-by followers, but most of you kick ass. With that being the case, I feel like I owe it to all of you to make the necessary adjustments. Most of you guys have a few awards. Congrats! I know from not having any that you’ve earned them.
The thing is, I don’t want a few. From here on, my goal is to have them all. Every fucking one. My promise to you is that from now on, the doctor is in and you’ll be getting a full dose of Joe Smith.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to try to get a hold of Joe Hill for an interview.
If you are friends with a guy that has used that line, I’ll bet we both know something about your friend: he’s a nice guy, but he’s a fucking crybaby. The problem with these “nice guys” is that they are fucking spineless. There is a difference between being a nice guy, and letting the world wipe their feet on you. I’m a guy, so I can’t speak for the women here, but I can’t imagine that there’s very much appeal to a guy that doesn’t have enough man to him to stand up for anything. Would you want to be with a girl that didn’t seem to have any convictions about anything at all? Well, you might, if you’re a nice guy, but I sure as hell wouldn’t. I want to be with someone that knows what she wants, and will get it even if she has to destroy the earth to pull it off. Think about this: You are out on a date, say for example – celebrating your anniversary. An aggressive guy starts making comments of a suggestive nature to your girl that are making her uncomfortable. Are you the kind of guy that chooses this exact moment to want world peace, or do you help this fucker get in touch with his inner self – from the outside? Do what you want, nice guy. I’m going to show her that if she’s ever uncomfortable in a situation, that I’ll take care of it. Here’s something to discuss at your next
Crybabies Anonymous Niceguys Meeting: How to Man Up, or How Being a Pussy Can Prevent Getting Any. That’s just my opinion. What’s yours?
As you saw the other day, I’d added a column titled “The Interviews”. This section is going to be for authors that I am interviewing that have sold over a million copies. I don’t discriminate with genres for these interviews, so there will be a decent variety of writing styles covered. The initial contact interviews will be pretty boring, run of the mill stuff. Who’s your greatest influence, etc. Once they are familiar with working with me, we’ll get into the deep cuts. I’ll be labeling the interviews accordingly so we can distinguish between them. for example:
Dan Gutman – Contact
Dan Gutman – Heavy
With that said, I have sent the contact questions to Mr. Gutman. He has sold 1.5 million copies of his books for kids. We’ll see what we end up with…
I was bored of the old dark look. I thought since spring was here, it was time to brighten things a bit! This theme just seems to have a bit more pep than the last one. As everyone knows, all men ever think about is pep!
I also added a bunch of new menus because I’m happy to admit that Hey Joe! is growing! I’ve added a dedicated section for female authors to discuss whatever the hell females discuss, a guest author page, and an interview page that I think will be interesting. Lots going on, so I need to get back to it. Oooh look! Somebody brought donuts!
Why Tom Nardone is one of the funniest bloggers in the world…
Yesterday I went into a public restroom. As I was entering, the janitor was leaving, so I had a clean fresh smelling bathroom all to myself. This doesn’t happen too often. It was as if all the previous days filth had been eliminated just for my own personal comfort. It was looking like the beginning of a wonderful day.
I entered the stall furthest from the door. I smiled to myself as I placed a paper-ass-gasket on the seat. I sat down, and prepared for what I knew would be a very enjoyable experience. But then it happened. My bowel bliss came to halt when someone else entered the bathroom. I hoped his stay would be only a brief moment standing in front of the urinal. I thought, surely this man was not going to undermine, what has so far been, a perfect…
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I don’t know if this happens to any of you guys, but I keep getting email from people asking for relationship advice. These people are not followers of my blog, but apparently read it often enough to understand that I’m a “no holds barred” kind of guy when dealing with bullshit. I was thinking about copying and pasting these e-mails to a page on this site called “Hey Joe!”, I guess it’ll be kind of like “Dear Abby” or “Dear Prudence”, but not pussified the way those answers are. Also, I think it’s a great way for the people asking the questions to get really great, bullshit-free advice from the brightest people available – the Hey Joe! readers! What do you think? Do we start this thing up? Can we help the miserable masses asking for our help?
Let me begin this post by thanking a fellow blogger Tom Nardone for reminding me why I started this blog. Thank you Tom. You are right, the world is full of shitheads, and I need to get back to bringing them in front of the public, to keep the spotlight on their shitheadedness (how’s that for a curse word!). Check out Tom’s blog at:
As Tom reminded me, this planet is polluted with shitheads. Lately though, it’s occurred to me that we have become so acclimated to them, that many of us may not even recognize them when we see them. To help out, I’ve created a handy dandy little guide you can use to help identify these individuals, and inform them that they are in fact, part of the problem. Let’s get started, shall we?
1. The loud cell phone talker. You know this fucktard. It’s the guy (or girl) that has to scream into his cellphone so that everyone on the planet can hear his side of the conversation. Unless you are talking to Marlee Matlin, Leslie Nielson, or Helen Fucking Keller, stop screaming. I don’t give a shit about your buddy getting so wasted the other night. Neither does anyone else in the western hemisphere. (I know what you’re thinking, and yes; Leslie Nielson was deaf.)
2. Mr. (or Ms.) “You let the guy in front of me merge, so I’m going too”. Yes idiot, I did let him merge. I understand the basic traffic principle of 1-and-1. You obviously don’t. Now I have to follow your fucking Mercedes to wherever you are going, so I can key it with the word “Shithead”. Thanks. I was just hoping to take a side trip from wherever the hell I was going originally to deal with you. That’s great. Thanks.
3.Mr. (or Ms.) “I have six carts full of shit in the express checkout lane”. (You and the guy from number 4 are both getting kicked in the balls the next time we meet.) Obviously, this guy or girl can’t fucking read, or at the very least understand the number 10. I was behind a lady at Micheal’s (a craft shop) one day that had bought almost a hundred spools of thread, and was in the express lane. When she noticed that I was looking at her like she’d just wiped her nose on my sleeve, she said “What? It’s all the same, Technically, it’s one item, just divided up.” I have three simple questions for you: 1. What planet do you live on where bullshit like that works? 2. If I chopped your head off and dismembered you, shouldn’t I get away with it (it’s all the same, just divided up.) and 3. What the fuck are you going to do with that much thread? Are you starting your own fabric company? (See what I did there? Two questions, from the same thought, but divided up. I counted it as 1 question. It didn’t fucking work, did it?)
4. Mr. AND Ms. “Makeout Wherever”. Look, I’m all for sharing the love. Really, that’s an awesome idea, it really is. Unfortunately, “Share the Love” does not mean two trashy ass people that look like they’ve left their trailer park before putting on “public” clothes making out in the middle of the mall, or more likely, Wal-Mart. Those two kids with you are proof that your genetics are fucked up, and you need to quit reproducing. Stop getting yourself worked up, or it’s just going to keep getting worse. Seriously, look at those little bastards, they’re getting worse every time. It’s like making photocopies of photocopies on a dirty photocopier.
5. The Analyst. Possibly, more appropriately, “The Analist”. This is the prick or whatever the hell a female prick is, that has to contradict everything everyone says, because they know everything. These conversations go like this:
Me: “Our public schools are really going to have to get better standards if we want to compete with the educations kids in Europe and Asia are getting.”
The Analist: “Actually, it is quite fair to even compare the two. Generally speaking the way our school systems are structured…blah blah blah.”
Me: “Hey! Look over there! It’s Elvis!”
The Analist: “What? Where? I can’t….” <punched in the throat>
Me: “You’re a shithead.” <Get up and leave.>
I absolutely hate these people. I seem to come into contact with them on a daily basis. I really feel like it would be in the best interest of the world for me to tell them to shut the hell up. Just shut it. Nobody wants to hear their shit.
6. Mr. (or Ms.) “I just bough a new car that costs 40 thousand dollars too much for where I live”. I want to hurt these people in a way that would make Stephen King cringe. They go out, and buy the most expensive fucking car they can find, park it at the far end of the parking lot, taking up two or more spaces so it doesn’t get bumped by a neighboring car door. When driving, they turn off the highway or road at about a half mile per hour. Apparently that expensive ass car doesn’t corner well. If you’re going to worry that fucking much about it, don’t buy it. After all, it is still just a vehicle.
As always, this isn’t an all-inclusive list, but they are the ones on my nerves tonight. Who irritates the fuck out of you? Leave a comment, and we’ll discuss.
Man, It seems like it’s been forever since I actually had something to say worth posting. It feels good to be back to writing again. Unless you haven’t been watching the news, I’m sure by now most of you know about what happened in Boston. I can’t even say how horrible I feel for those families that have been left devastated by this. It’s just awful.
Anyway, the events that took place really got me thinking about the place many of us call home. The U.S. has been, since nearly the beginning (after of course, we murdered and destroyed the lives of the natives that lived here forever before us) a place that has welcomed any that would come here to build a better life for themselves. My own family came over in 1556, when Peter Smith, a boat-wright left Kent, England and came here to give the Smith family a chance at becoming very wealthy. Obviously, that was a miserable failure, but at least he tried. Unfortunately, that willingness to take in any that would come has began to take its toll on us. Over the years, many other countries have wanted to do us harm. We fought our motherland for our independence, we fought the French, we fought the Germans, we even killed ourselves in a civil war at one point, trying to make the US the greatest country on earth. For a while, we succeeded. Somewhere though, I feel like America somehow shifted it’s values. We traded the durability of “Made in USA” for the affordability of “Made in China”. We’ve let our core values slip. What used to be the norm in America – families that stayed together through anything, is now almost entirely obsolete. We went from being the new kid on the block, to being a super power and super ally, to super bully. We are now the world police. Somehow, we’ve let what matters most (the stuff here at home), be neglected for things that happen abroad. As many of you know, I generally like to state my case in an expletive-laden fashion, but tonight I won’t. Tonight I’m hoping that everyone that reads this, will share it with someone from the younger generation. We have to get back to where we were, if we are to have any chance of a future at all. We used to lead the world in many categories that matter most. According to a video that I saw recently, we’re almost completely out of the first-place spots all-together. A show on cable television called “The Newsroom” basically paraphrased the video I saw and it stated that the only categories that we come in first in now, are the number of incarcerated adults per capita, the number of people that believe in angels, and defense spending. Here is a link, but I warn you, it has some strong language:
Again, it’s unfortunate that these statistics are all true. If we are ever to be the greatest at anything, besides fighting in wars that are or are not our own, the younger generation is going to have to step up. I don’t put a lot of faith in that happening, because they would rather play video games made in Japan, or screw around on the internet on a PC made almost entirely of components made in China, Taiwan, and India. Years ago, we had the strongest minds available working their hardest to make and keep America on top. What are we going to do now without the Thomas Edisons, Marion Donovans, Ben Franklins, Sarah Goodes, and Dale Carnegies? Those names represent some of the finest men and women America has seen. Each of them brilliant, and paved the way for a greater America. Sadly, I think I know the answer.
As many of you probably already know, I published my first book of short stories (Mother Anna) about a month ago. The book was a small collection of short stories that I’d written as a way to gauge reader response, and to see what sort of stories had the most pull for readers. The feedback for the title story “Mother Anna” has been unreal! I expected a few people to tell me that they enjoyed it, but I’ve been getting emails every day from people asking me to do a full length book about Anna. I’ll admit that even while writing the short story, I was wanting to go on. Anna is just one of those characters that you really need more of. In response to all of the e-mails, I have decided to begin work on Anna’s book. I’ve decided that “Anna Begins” is a fitting title, as it will be about Anna’s early days, growing up as the daughter of Rasputin. There’s so much more to tell that I’ve began drafting a timeline, and a rough outline for all of the events before, during and after the murder of Rasputin from Anna’s perspective. I believe we are all in for a hell of a tale.
I was on my Facebook page today, and realized that people are still posting shit from like 3 years ago that I’ve already posted the link to Snopes for. What the fuck is wrong with you people? Do you think I do this shit out of the kindness of my heart? No. The answer to that question is a definitive fucking no. I generally don’t do shit out of the kindness of my heart. In fact, all the have to do is check my wall, and they will see that once a month I have a Facebook friends list lottery. Not that kind of lottery, the kind where I go:”Have we had any contact this month? No? What a shame.” Then I remove them. It’s that simple, if we don’t talk at least once in an entire month, we’re probably not really “friends” and I don’t need you trolling around my Facebook page, checking out the pictures of my hot ass female friends. Where was I? Oh yeah…Anyway, I don’t do shit out of the kindness of my heart. I tell them the things that I tell them, because if they are on my “friends” list, they are a reflection on me. Therefore, I don’t want people to see stupid shit like: “This kid’s ass fell off. Facebook has agreed to pay 8 cents per share to get this kid a new ass. If you don’t share, you hate God, and like to put defenseless kittens into blenders.” on my friends walls. Or the one about the girl…
This shit has been going around for years. I’m sick of it. I think in order to help alleviate some of my frustrations, and to stop my “friends” from looking like total idiots, I will begin maintaining a wall of shame on my Facebook page that will name the idiot that didn’t do their research before posting that bullshit, along with their crime. Shaming your friends for making themselves (and you) look like idiots may be the key to stopping this horse shit from continuing to spread on the worlds largest waste of time, and social network, Facebook.