Stepping Forward in Shit

Life can be a real sour cunt, you know that?

I’ll warn you now. I’m gonna bitch and moan and have meaningful insight all in this motherfucker, so if you’re bored already, stop reading. Still here? What’s wrong with you? Anyway, the world will shit on you, disappoint you, wear you out and fuck you up. And it’s not just big things. You’d be surprised how often a little bump in the path can totally throw someone off the deep edge. Definitely a “straw that broke the camel’s back” situation. These past few weeks have been very tough for many people. Saying that, these last few decades have been very rough for some people. Many people, so as much as I want to bitch and moan about how annoying my life can be, I don’t. I don’t because there are others out there that would love to have my life.

Am I grateful? Sometimes. Sometimes I just want to smash anyone that looks at me cockeyed. Other times, I want to set myself ablaze and stand unflinching in a shopping mall, never screaming as people watch in horror as I amble towards them. Sometimes I want to be feared. Hated. Respected. Powerful. I feel my fists clench, my jaw tighten, and my patience wear thin, and a familiar burning resentment towards others that I envy boils up from my core, spills over, and all I want to do is shit all over the world and watch it burn down with me.

Looking for a positive turnaround paragraph? Nope. Not here. I guess you could say that this is a more…jaded and cynical part of my life, or more accurately, week. Usually edged with sarcasm to fake my own intelligence, but let’s just say what this shit boils down to. Jealousy. I am jealous. Competitive. I always have been. I don’t mind if my wife talks to other men. Kisses them, hugs them, fuck even flirts with them. Because I trust her. But every drop of testosterone I own in this haggard carcass surges right from my balls and into my brain when I see someone else trying to make a move on her. I am jealous of others that have more than me, have less than me (by choice), are smarter than me, stronger than me, all sorts of stupid mortal-based petty bullshit that now as I write, feels like angsty emo horseshit. Perhaps I need to save me from myself while I cut myself to feel because I’ve been asleep so long that I need someone to save me.

Or perhaps this is just a rough patch, and I need to get over myself and be happy for what I have, and what I can create. Anger and frustration are a part of life, and I certainly don’t help my situation with personality. I hide behind a wall of sarcasm and faux intelligence to hide what I am: Jealous, angry, and resentful. Secretive and obsessive. Hateful. Intense. And at times? Ignorant.

Do I want pity? Fuck no. What do I want? Fuck if I know. Or no. Don’t care. Most of the time. Sometimes?

Kindle Formatting Frustrations

I have never run into a bigger load of fuckin’ horsehshit in my entire life.

Formatting my cocksuckin’ book for muthafuckin’ Kindle has been as joyful as popping hemroids with a flamin’ needle and then jamming said needle into the tip of my cock and blowing my nose into my own ass. It’s fuckin’ unbelievable all the shit you have to go through to get this motherfucker published. It’s insane. Sure, it’s easy to upload the god damn file to Kindle. But. You gotta format that motherfucker first.

Fortunately, there are some kind souls out there that have posted guides. You can find a whole host of them on YouTube. Here are just a few: Part One, Part Two, Part Three (thanks Paul Salvette!).

I didn’t know that I had to learn HTML, and CSS, and WEEWEE5, and DICKSHIT8-2.0. Turns out I did. I’m not giving up, though. Oh no. No sir. Not fuckin’ givin’ this shit up. It has become waaaaaaaaaaaaay too personal for me to walk away now.

Oh, things try to stop me. This keyboard, for instance? I have to rail the FUCK out of the spacebar to insure that I get a space between my words. My hard drive? If I touch it, it disconnects and reconnects. Lotsa shit like that happens, but I am not stopping. No. No fuckin’ way.

I don’t givea good flopping fuck what shit this whole process throws at me. I’ll deal with it all. I was excited to get my book on Kindle post haste, but it turns out I have a VERY long way to go. I’m going to juggle publishin’ my shit, and update this fuckin’ blog with the new book I’m writing. I will try an keep myself from punching my dick through my computer monitor in sheer fuckin’ rage while slamming my own fist into my ass because I hate m’damn self. Stay with me motherfuckers, cuz’ it’s gonna get a whole lot FUNNIER from here on out.






The Wrong Cover Letter

       Here’s a bit of humor for ya. This is the cover letter I wish I had the guts to send somewhere when I was in college. It’s good for a laugh. Enjoy:


Dear Sir or Fucking Madam:

 I am writing for inquisition of my piece Fuck Your Mother (word count: 559,006.334) for submission in the literary journal, We’ll Never Take yer Shit.

I am aware that the acceptance rate for new authors is negative 10 percent, and I am also aware that if I have some kind of shiny badge or award, I will be accepted into your shitty anus of a journal, so I would just like to say that I ain’t got shit for awards, and this letter will fall on deaf ears.

Fuck Your Mother is a literary non-fiction psychological romance thriller that begs the question: Why are literary magazines filled to the brim with shit? It answers by saying that no matter how much I write, I will need some kind of acceptance or award in order to be submitted into other literary journals, and I will need a whole godamn PILE of literary awards  in order to get an agent for my novel, Suck my Metaphorical Dick.

            It’s funny that I noticed this trend of crap and how it smells up my life with ridiculous reasons and austere and pompous attitudes. Just because my work isn’t accepted into fucking Glimmertrain or The Black Warrior Review, doesn’t mean my work is bad.

            It just means that it doesn’t have a shiny award.

            This goes for millions of other writers out there, some who get so fucking discouraged that they stop writing, and decide to get some shit job working late in order to finish their play which will never been seen by anyone.

            Also, I will have a college degree very soon, but will wind up working in a fucking Wal-Mart because let’s face it- if you got a degree in English, you basically have a degree in poverty.

            So, I’ve essentially wasted my money which is my fault, and I am wasting my time, which is your fault because I know damn well that this will be overlooked and scrapped because “I am an emerging writer fresh out of college and I am hungry to learn about the business of writing”, blah blah FUCKING blah.

            Thank you for your time (not really) and consideration (rejection) for my piece Fuck your Mother. It has been an anal-retentive joy to write this shitrag, and I hope you all burn in Hell for what you do to young, good writers and their drive to EXSIST!


Blow me,



     When I wrote this, I’d about had it with the publishing industry and its bullshit. I laughed my shlong off when I went back to read it, but when I wrote it? It was liberating. Try it one day. Write a cover letter that totally expresses your frustrations and anger. Share it here, I’d love to read it.