dankpelt said what

Reading this means you're at least smart enough to go down to Kentucky, show them fire, and be their god.


Step Inside My World For a Moment -OR- Fumbling With the Cricket Button

Again, it's been a while. Again, I have no real excuse - or do I? I suppose if I were try to to discern the root of the blogging troubles of late, it would all be about a certain lady I know... or knew. Yeah, these days, "knew" might be a far more apt word to describe my ties to said lady. The rest of the details, dear audience of 4, are far too personal to splatter carelessly on the internet like so much monkey poo on the wall of the monkey habitat. I've been attempting to glean inspiration from other people's blogs, but for the most part, they're all just creepy way-too-personal airings of mental dirty laundry. I have enough of my own shit goin on, why would I want to read about somebody else's (generally petty) problems? Or moreover, why would I want the whole fucking world to know about mine? That's not the direction I want this to go, and so it shall not. Therein lies the problem - I want this to be a source of entertainment for the (4) people that read it, I also want the rest of you stalky-stalky types (again, you know who you are. Put the lotion and noose away.) to be left in the dark about my personal life... for the most part. I have to throw the creepy people a bone every now and then too - so I guess that's what this is? Hmm. Here's some things about me that you may not know:

I wish I had a machine that could create sound effects to punctuate my day-to-day speaking. Examples of applications I have thought of thus far would be:

    A laugh track, because fake laughter makes the funny stuff THAT much funnier. Plus, it's fun to listen for that crazy bitch with the unruly laugh - trust me, once you pick this woman out of canned laughter, it's ALL you'll hear. And hey - that's fun. Like Where's Waldo, but on an aural level. And you're "looking" for the heavyset lady with the deviated septum. But yeah, totally like Where's Waldo.

    A recording of crickets. This one is for my own amusement - every time I completely bomb a joke and get greeted by painfully awkward silence, the hush could be broken by the tell-tale chirping of my greasy-looking friends. A practical example for application of the crickets would be like, um, yesterday, when I told a fucking cancer joke in front of what may have been - nay, WAS - the most gorgeous girl I've seen in... far too long. Yeah, cancer. For what it's worth, I was responding to somebody else that commented "You look thinner, Dan." I blurt out, "Aw, it's just the cancer." To my credit, I didn't say AIDS. Nor did I piss my pants and start crying, (which, second to running away and hiding from this girl in the bushes, is what I felt like doing every time I made eye contact with her) so it coulda been worse. Long story short, I'm a smooth motherfucker. And I need the crickets every now and then. And the crickets need YOU.

    I have no idea what the fuck "and the crickets need YOU" means. As far as crickets go, for whatever reason, I find them repulsive. Fat, glistening, weird little shits that crawl out of gross crevices generally have that effect on me. (For further examples of this phenomenon, see Silverfish and those billion-legged hairy fuckers that used to slither out of the shower drains in middle school gym class.)

    This list has morphed from "what sound effects Dan wants" to "nonsensical bullshit." This is a recurring theme with all my life's endeavors.

    Lemurs. Again with the Lemurs.

In other news, I'm turning 28 on Monday. Not sure how I feel about that. I guess I don't, really. Though this is the last year I feel I can truly enjoy my 20's... once I hit 29, I'm just on the cusp of 30, and how wack is that? Ah, it's probably not too bad - at least my pubes aren't turning grey yet.

(/cue crickets)


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