Are you ready for some totally happy fun times?

In that case, you’re going to be thoroughly disappointed. Because today I felt like the topic of discussion should revolve around the world’s current state of affairs. And the mercury flavoured ice cream shitsnack people love to tell us it is. Yes, you’ll notice metaphors are my strong suit. Also, be warned, these are the yellings of a mad man who’s steering away from the creative today. Sometimes you just got to look up from your book and talk about real things for while. 

Merry Tuesday my frenzied little friends. Let me start this address by detailing how I climbed from the dark abyss that was yesterday’s weekly occurrence.

Like any self respecting man over the age of 20, I went out and bought myself a sword.

Yes that’s right, I am cool. 

So it’s summer. 

The birds are making noise, the sky is there, and people are happy or at least good at pretending to be. And true to my calling, I’m ignoring it all. 

Well, I suppose that’s not entirely true. I rolled my keg of margarita mix outside yesterday and I must admit, it wasn't disastrous.

It’s been an actual mouth. Moth. Month? I don't even know it’s been so damn long. Game of Thrones still a lifestyle though?

Yikes. 

I’m embarrassed.

Look away dammit!

Now, I’d like you all to understand something. 

I’m far from a wise man. 

In fact, a wise man once clearly stated I would never be a wise man, which is precisely how I know a wise man I am not. 

You see, all those songs that talk about the fool? That’s me. Every one of them.

BUT, sometimes, riding dangerously long caffeine highs, I like to think I have some half decent insights into this whole ‘life’ thing. 

If you’re like me, you’ve often wondered which arm rest at the theatre is truly yours. You just sit there, absolutely terrified, wondering if you’re stealing from some poor guy or being robbed blind by that asshole with the hotdog. You know in your heart you gotta fight someone (I mean it’s just good theatre etiquette really) but you’re not too sure who.

You know what? Scratch everything I’ve ever said. 

Yes all of it. In the bin. 

Ugh sure, throw in some kerosene I guess. A grenade? Really? You hate me that much?

HEY NO, not that thing, you keep that Alfred. Yeah, you know what I’m talking about. No matter what they say, home invasion is the answer big guy.

Riddle me this my farcical friends: Why does our mutual friend, one Mr. Winnie the Pooh, walk on two legs and not four? 

I mean, he is a gentleman of the bear variety, yes?

As such, one could reasonably suggest it’s only logical to wonder as to why such an aristocrat, with the ability to use four legs, a far more practical option, chooses instead to stumble along like us human folk on two, right?

*Blows dust everywhere*

*Gets dust everywhere*

Oh, damn it all to hell.

I’ve done it again, haven't I? I’ve just nearly forgotten all about your lovely, if somewhat grotesquely oblong, faces. 

Hmm? 

No-no, I suppose I don't mean that. I’m just grumpy with myself as the more civilized versions of us would say. You’re all still so very… bonny.

Now, fair warning my friends. Few things are as psychologically hazardous and cosmically perplexing as attempting to wrap one’s own mind around that of a writer.

Metaphorically speaking of course. 

*Shudders*