Friday, July 18, 2008
If you don't cry, it isn't love
I can't think of a single thing to write.
Sure, I've always got a few jokes on the back burner, but there's a reason they didn't make it into the first edition. I only have them around for those times when I'm really running out of material.
Things aren't so bad right now that I have to go to the unused material archive, but they're bad enough that I'm sitting in front of a computer, staring at the clock, and making deals with myself about how long I have to sit here without writing anything before I can leave. Each of the words in this paragraph delays the inevitable where I get up, go outside and shout obscenities at passers bye because I can't think of anything to write.
Ordinarily, I try to stay as productive as possible and, since I can create or research for hours on end (research, in this case, consists of looking at semi-nude Myspace pictures posted by girls with low self esteem), I rarely venture away from my PC; however, when I literally have nothing else to draw, animate, or write, then I start doing other things.
No, I don't get up from the computer, because, even if I'm not writing anything, there are still plenty of other PC tasks that keep me busy, such as sifting through the massive pornographic archive sitting on my computer, resampling and renaming downloaded movies and music, and coming up with new passwords made up of various words for genitals from all of history's best, dead languages.
My current password is the Latin word for vagina.
Only when I've completed all tasks will I get up from my computer and mix with the outside world.
Sure, there are times when I'm forcefully dragged away from the PC to spend time with you normals, but my company isn't much sought after and I can usually hide by turning off my phone and occasionally firing shotgun blasts whenever the doorbell rings.
So what is one to do when they can't think of anything to write?
Well, believe it or not, this kind of thing happens to me all the time; in fact, my trademark style, where I start talking about some mundane activity, like brushing your teeth or international arms smuggling, and then compare it to a relevant, controversial topic, came from this very method. You just start writing, throw in a few dick and farts jokes here and there, and see what comes out the other end.
Luckily, I have a nice buffer that allows me to do this kind of thing and get away with it, since I generally write blogs about four weeks before they appear on the internet. This gives me enough time to go back over the things I write, to fine tune any jokes, take out things I don't like anymore, and add new material; however, most of the time I forget about it for a month and hastily proofread it the night before it's published.
Plus, this buffer allows me to completely scrap a blog if it's so terrible that even I don't want to read it. At any given time, I have three to six half pieces that are just introductions about engaging topics such as current weather, people who brush their teeth right before going to the dentist's office, or why men like to have sex with virgins. That belly button lint piece… yeah, it was one of those.
Now that I have this big comfortable buffer, I have no idea what to write because, for each of us, there is a comfortable zone in which we do our best work; just like when you had to do homework back in grade school, there are some people can't work until the night before everything is due, and some like to get it done as soon as possible so they can have lots of free time before they have to present their material. Perhaps I've overshot my comfort zone, and my brain won't turn restart until I feel the deadline is more pressing.
I suppose I could hire a marketing consultant to make my blog more extreme or something equally inane like family-oriented. I wouldn't feel good about myself, but maybe it would help me find a niche. One of the biggest obstacles to my writing career is that I'm not easily marketable. I could probably write family-oriented material, but the last script I submitted to ABC Family Judy Rapes Her Cousin was rejected and the studio executives sent the police to my house. Plus, I have no idea how to promote myself. Last weekend, I tied a bunch of my essays to bricks and threw them through people's living room windows. I would go about a more traditional route, but how are you supposed to get a permanent address for Random House.
That has to be the best, and lamest, joke I've written all year.
I suppose things aren't so bad. I'll go back to making fun of myself and my country soon enough. I thought I needed a rest, but, apparently, I can keep writing about nothing for an awful long time.
And you get to read all about it.
At least my secret plan to steal people's valuable time continues unabated.
Sex Mahoney for President
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