(Posted from my old webspace)

On a daily basis, I make a vow to myself to sit down at this infernal machine and bring forth characters steeped in brilliance. Characters forged within the fires of my genius. Characters that burn through a page, and set one’s imagination on fire.

Then I wake up from my fugue, and become aware that I am no John Grisham. I, in fact, write, as I described to a good friend this morning, to the “lowest common denominator”.

My work, unlike John’s, which was enjoyed by many as they would fall asleep at night, or in the briefcases of traveling business people, would be best imbibed while sitting for one of two possible performances in the local “water closet”.

I know my gifts. They aid in the act of digestion. I also know my audience. I wanted to play to a crowd that would enjoy Erma as much as I did growing up, and am slowly building on that. Mrs. Bombeck never had any illusions about writing “War and Peace”. Her own battle hymn took place in the living room, and spread to every other room of the house.

The setting of my own Greek Tragedy usually begins in within the reflection of my bathroom mirror, and spreads to whatever locale I deem fit for public consumption.

Moobs know no literary boundaries!!!

My decaying flesh, the ideology of hair populating places unmentionable, things I see from the cornerstone of my life, it’s all fodder for comic dissection. I make no apologies for being as digestible as fast food. Somebody’s gotta serve up the burgers. Why not me!

As of late, I note that my viewer base has taken a dramatic leap in hits. It’s made me smile, broadly, that people find some merit in what it is I’m doing here. I write for pleasure, that’s for certain, but I also write to get my thoughts out, and to show others how one twisted little man copes with things most of us stuff down and hope to ignore.

I don’t just look directly at the elephant in the middle of my living room. I teach it to fetch, play dead, and to serve me a tumbler of scotch while addressing me as “Sir”!

I figure it’s fair game. I get to go through life a fur covered meatball. At least in exchange I can be allowed to laugh at that fact.

And it’s my greatest hope you’re laughing right beside me.

I do it for the children. They’re hungry, and need some form of twisted jocular nourishment!

You should never stick your nose up at laughter. Kids in India dig through treacherous  tetanus laden dumps looking to glean the pile they rifle through for a mere snicker…perhaps even a shredded punchline of a stained and faded Garfield cartoon.

I feel it is my civic duty to serve my up my own virtual Crappy Meals, complete with mirth as a prize in each and every blog.

So, enjoy it if you can, and please, always feel free to let me know how I’m doing. Your support is greatly appreciated.

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