You know what that is? That's my hairy fuckin' hand come back to life is what it is.
The blog has returned. I don't know why. It just has.
Since my last blog post my finger has been broken and subsequently healed, THE BLACK SUITS has become a homeless bastard child, and tigers have gone kill-crazy. There is lots to talk about.
But not now.
Now is merely to say: I am back for real and there are plenty of posts on the way. My mind is a pent-up internet journal uterus, just itching to spew forth the blogposts it's been patiently incubating for the past four months.
YOU: Internet Journal Uterus? Isn't that kind of, ya know, retarded?
ME: Maybe. Whatever. I like the imagery.
YOU: Well, obviously you like it, you wrote it. What I'm saying is, I don't like it. Or can you not even understand that? You do realize that sometimes you have to think of someone other than yourself, Joe.
ME: Get off my case, Louise.
LOUISE: And would it kill to you ask where I wanted to go for dinner once in a while?
ME: OK, we're gonna start this again, is that what we're doing?
LOUISE: Don't Take Tones With Me, Joe.
ME: (Puts fingers in ear) Nag, nag, nag, nag, nag...
LOUISE: (Overlapping) Oh, that's just perfect, you're So mature, I can see why the kids Respect you so God Damn much.
ME: You leave the fucking kids out of this.
LOUISE: Now we're starting with the Fuck. Fuck this! Fuck that! Look at me at how edgy I am cuz I say Fuck!
ME: That's it, I'm going to Cynthia's.
LOUISE: Fine, Go To Your Whore.
ME: I will!
LOUISE: See if she'll hold you when you cry! SHE WON'T HOLD YOU!
[JOE slams door, leaving LOUISE alone. Alone in the house, alone in the marriage, alone in every way a lady real estate agent in her mid-early 40s can be alone. LOUISE looks down at her wrinkled hand and thinks to herself: "I wish there was a wine glass in you," knowing full well her wish would be granted long before her husband reaches the end of the front walk.]
Anyway.
I guess what I'm trying to say is: Make no bones about it. There Will Be Blogging in 2008. Pass me my whiskey and my hammer. It's time to celebrate.
And, yes. Uteruses do, in fact, spew.
-joe
ME: OK, we're gonna start this again, is that what we're doing?
LOUISE: Don't Take Tones With Me, Joe.
ME: (Puts fingers in ear) Nag, nag, nag, nag, nag...
LOUISE: (Overlapping) Oh, that's just perfect, you're So mature, I can see why the kids Respect you so God Damn much.
ME: You leave the fucking kids out of this.
LOUISE: Now we're starting with the Fuck. Fuck this! Fuck that! Look at me at how edgy I am cuz I say Fuck!
ME: That's it, I'm going to Cynthia's.
LOUISE: Fine, Go To Your Whore.
ME: I will!
LOUISE: See if she'll hold you when you cry! SHE WON'T HOLD YOU!
[JOE slams door, leaving LOUISE alone. Alone in the house, alone in the marriage, alone in every way a lady real estate agent in her mid-early 40s can be alone. LOUISE looks down at her wrinkled hand and thinks to herself: "I wish there was a wine glass in you," knowing full well her wish would be granted long before her husband reaches the end of the front walk.]
Anyway.
I guess what I'm trying to say is: Make no bones about it. There Will Be Blogging in 2008. Pass me my whiskey and my hammer. It's time to celebrate.
And, yes. Uteruses do, in fact, spew.
-joe
