Monday night was a bitch. I had nothing. All I had were several ideas that went nowhere.
First…When I need an idea, and ask Schmoop for one, she will typically say, “You can write about how much you love me.”
My reply is always the same, “Schmoop, I need at least a couple hundred words for a post, not a snippet.”
Then I found a picture in the car of me and this chick:
I thought I could write about her and the wedding reception we were attending.
Of course the picture is about 20 years old, and you know what? I haven’t a fucking clue as to who she is. But…
I bet we had sex, and I bet those gorgeous nails left quite a few back scratch marks while I was enjoying her ample breastesses.
I thought perhaps writing about Rush Limbaugh’s weekend wedding. But then I thought, even dickhead Rush has a right to be happy.
Of course, it’s a shame he has to ruin the life of the chick he married in order to do so. I throw up thinking about their honeymoon night sex.
I bet wife number four does too…for years to come, or perhaps, only months.
Nothing exciting happened at work. So I had nothing there to help me out. Drive-By Mikey and I did have fun with Luis, our ice delivery guy, but I’m saving that for Friday.
I was thinking about writing about the B Fucking P oil spill, but it’s just kinda depressing…
Although I did have an idea where planes could fly over the spill, drop gallons of red wine vinegar on the oil and we’d have salad dressing for eons.
My fave dickhead blogger, Doggy Bloggy, begged me to write a post about him in a comment he left yesterday, but eh…Why should I take the time to piss all over a guy who is already soaking in his own urine?
So there you have it. I had nothing, and yet…I managed to throw another round of crap up. This in fact, appears to be a post about nothing.
Maybe I should change the name of my site to, Winefeld.
I hope that during today’s 10-9 work day that something pops into my thought bulb.
If you have any suggestions, by all means, lay it on me.