The Great Blog Impossibility Act

    Part of the trade off in using technology is giving up some vision. What you wanted to do gets watered down into what you're allowed to do, a sort of techno-authoritarianism. If plain ol' authoritarian -ism is "My way or the broken jaw way," techno-authoritarianism is "My way or the no way." Or "My way or maybe your columns don't line up and you get text overwriting text and now it's impossible to read. This is what you get for leaving me out of clubs in grade school."

    More on this later!
    

LAUNCH! (or the entry from JULY 4, 2021)

("...Instead of going to a cookout, he stayed home...We'll I don't like it either, Dedra! He just stays up there in the room all day...he says he's blogging....I don't know what it means, Dedra! That's why I'm calling you!...Okay, look, I can't do this right now. I'm on in five minutes and I have to make sure they wipe down the pole...because it's got sweat all over it, Dedra! You know how it is!")

-Overheard backstage at Shooters III. That was your mom talking. Your mom. The stripper.

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    Oh my god! America is 243 years old today. You think your grandpa has trouble understanding how to order dementia meds on a smart phone, imagine a 243 year old understanding voter suppression. Forget it!
    Today, I declare my independence from not having a blog. Am I 30 years too late? Possibly. Should I care? Maybe. Will I eventually invite you to go fu*k yourself if you have an issue with it? Allow me to extend that invitation riiiiiiight now. (RUDE! How dare me! Who do I think I am? Also: Where do I get off / What makes me so smart / That attitude of mine is really gonna get me in trouble blah blah blah, etc.)
    Now, I’m not 243 years old, nor was I established with the institution of slavery at the core of my very soul, so I don’t have much to complain about. I'll have to think of some stuff. You know, things that affect me.
    Is the bar that low? Apparently. And to put a point on it, I live in a small town in the South East so my bar is so low I can’t even hum it! And while that joke may not exactly make “sense,” it does stand as a nice example of what I’m shooting for here: 100 word minimums, a fuck ton of sass, and proof that I am, in fact, far too big for my britches. I mean, seriously, who do I think I am? And where do I get off?
    For starters, I’m gonna get off right here.

    (Exits bus right in front of Shooters III, pulls out a stack of single dollar bills.)

    I guess I'm about to finance your allowance, son. 'Cause your mom's a stripper!

    #SickBurn
    #ShootersIII
    #ThirdInASeries

    (This entry is over!)

    BLACKOUT!

*u