Listen, I’m not a jackass. I knew that poking the bear would wake the bear. What I didn’t realize was that the bear would awaken, and then his tummy would growl, and he’d open his mouth and angry mechanized wasps would fly out, and then he’d shoot napalm diarrhea from his fuzzy hindquarters.
Painting With Shotguns
You threw your hats into the ring, and I picked names out of a hat. Maybe the same hat. I dunno. It was a Fez. With sequins. It was filled with monkey droppings. Is it yours? (I know it isn’t Doyce’s — his is velvety and dispenses both Skittles and Rogaine.)
Anyway, here are the seven lucky folks!
Been a while since I slapped you in the mouth with a hot tasty recipe, right? Right. Thus, it’s time. Except this recipe ain’t hot in the temperature sense. It’s cool. Chill. But it’s hot like sexy. It’s hot like fishnet stockings. It’s hot like that scene in Ghost with the wheel of clay. Yeah. Nnnggh. Swoon.
The novel I’m writing basically went into sleep mode for a week. Like, for a straight week, it drifted into the Null Zone — not good, not good at all. I mean, I was working. Just not on it. But now I’m back, bitches, and I’m up over 30k and chugging along. It’s sometimes tricky to sort of regain momentum, and now that I think about it that might be worth a post all its own.
Good goddamn, my novel progress as of last week and this week was basically shot in the ass and left to bleed out. Last week was a flurry of activity on the home-selling and home-purchasing fronts as we had to coordinate an inspection for this house (which means I had to wrangle dogs off-site for about three hours) and then attend the inspection for our future house.
I know. It’s Monday. What the hell, right? I don’t normally do Painting With Shotguns till, what, Wednesday? Thursday? Hey, this is my blogopolis. I make the laws in this mighty burg. I am King Blog of Blogtown! Sitting upon my throne of spent 12 gauge shells! I have disbanded the Parliament of Terribleminds. The […]