Holiday greetings to the stalwarts of my blog...that's Dionne Warwick to the left of us. She was a horrible musical artist before she decided to be an even worse psychic. You'll see why I included her later on down the page.
I'm in a writing slump. Ok, I won't lie; I just don't fucking feel like writing over my holiday break from the renowned University of Cincinnati.
So, I have a treat for you all. We're going back in time...to the earlier works of a burgeoning writer before he learned how to write ledes for stories, be counter-intuitive on purpose and structure a nicely written piece.
You are going to read the pre-pubescent shit I've written before becoming a man. (dipped in sarcasm)
I've cleaned up a lot of the blogs I plan on posting over the next week or so. I reminisced over them last night on Myspace, then decided to do what any artist worth their weight does when they don't feel like creating anything new...
Repackage old shit.
Hope you enjoy them. This is my gift to you during this season of giving.
That and I'm too damn lazy and poor right now to give you anything else.
-Spragoo
I'm in the wrong damn business... (July 13, 2009)
Turn on cable TV some night.
In-between watching Kendra and old World Series of Poker reruns, you'll be bombarded with a multitude of "text your name and your girlfriends' name to see if you're compatible" commercials.
Now, truly, do we think this works? A phone or computer is going to tell me whether Bertha is the right one for me?
Seriously?
Well, you know me. I had to put this shit to the test.
So, I text some names one night to one of the numbers burned into my retinas by these commercials of ill-repute.
I text my name along with the name Melba. What did I find out?
That Melba, due to her weight issues and full-faced beard was not a compatible option for me...not to mention her zealous affinity for toast.
I found this hilarious, because I don't even know a Melba.
After a couple of more beers, my "what the hell" mechanism kicked in and I decided to text a few more ridiculous names to the number, just to see the inane results.
I continued with Bocephus and discovered his fond affection for farm animals, aunts and sisters would keep us from forming an intimate bond...
Mandigo - I could not handle his physical attributes, such as an elephant trunk dangling between his legs.
Bunny - she would give me a venereal disease.
Jesse's Girl - she would cheat on me then write a one-hit wonder about it.
In other words, it was all complete horseshit.
I received the phone bill two weeks ago...for those five names alone I text, my bill totaled $534.98.
Thank (insert name of favorite deity here) I'm not promiscuous and have 20 names to text.
Thankfully I'm not a retarded, lovestruck, Spam-eating neanderthal relying on a phone to tell me what my own two eyes and skeptical brain should.
Maybe this gig is a way for the Bilderberg Group to eliminate the dumb people mating...just charge them ungodly amounts of money for them to learn that someone named Chevy or International Harvester isn't meant for them.
Yes, I speak to you, redneck trash of the world who use burlap sacks as condoms...
"Shee-at! I dun fot ole' Massey wuz da un fer mah. Nah I gotta go out ta pasture fer mah luvin'."
Why the hell have I been slaving in the United States Army for 10 years, when all I needed was a phone number, a sense of humor and advertisements on Country Music Television and We - Television for Women?
Give me a fucking commercial. I'll tell everyone they're going to die, pay taxes, meet someone, drive a car and quit a job. I'll even toss in some lucky numbers like 678, 214 and 3.
Play those on your Pick Three, dumbass. You're sure to win.
Do you want your weight too? Ok, we are all fat because we are all Americans. That is your weight. Just eat prunes and Vienna sausages for the next 10 months and shed that weight...
Hey, I've now got a new diet to sell! Will you sheep buy that too?
Pick up the phone and text me now. Your future hangs in the balance. Screw making your own future, just let some half-wit text it to you....continue the rapid decline of Western Civilization.
It seems as if I've been in the wrong damn business...I might as well cash in on the insanity that now passes for normalcy.
We can believe TV, right?
-Spragoo
