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Revelations, Book One

Okay, this is going to come as a big surprise to all of you. Especially you regular readers — you’re going to be shocked. Your flabbers will be gasted. You may even pee, just a little. See? Shocking.

Anyway, here’s the thing — I’ve decided that I suffer from a certain deficiency. A gap in my personality, a hole in my persona — a character flaw, if you will.

(And frankly, I’d prefer that you would. Somehow, a ‘hole in my persona’ doesn’t sound very good. It either seems like something that would require painful surgery to plug up, or the kind of thing you’d see in one of those kinky pr0n emails. Or both, if you’re into that sort of thing. Pervert.)

Okay, what was I talking about again? Oh, right, my revelation. Okay.

So, it’s come to my attention lately that I have a bit of personal growing to do.

(And again, the pervs chime in, eh? ‘Personal growing’ just too good to resist, is it? Oh, you sad, sorry people. Go watch VIP or something, would you? I’m trying to make a frigging point here.)

Now, I’m sure that those of you who’ve read any of my stuff, or run into me out there in the real world, would agree that there are a whole canyonload of things that I could work on to better myself. And it’s true — I have my weaknesses, like anyone else. I could be a better listener, for instance. A little self-confidence now and then would be nice. Sometimes, I wish I were more gracious, more easy and honest and comfortable with people.

(Okay, maybe just ‘easy’. That sounds like fun, all by itself. Or with a side of Jell-O, even. Whee.

Actually, I take that back. I’m not sure I really want to include our favorite gelatinous treat in my kinky sexual escapades. Even if they’re imaginary. It’s not that I don’t like Jell-O, really. Of course, I don’t, if you get right down to it — there are frankly not that many places where I’m interested in seeing a bunch of lumpy jiggling going on. And ‘the end of my spoon’ is not one of those places. Not even close.

But that’s not what keeps me from including the stuff on my bedroom supply list. The thing that really frightens me about combining Jell-O and jiggy-getting is their old catchphrase. Remember? ‘There’s always room for Jell-O‘.

Well, that’s great and all, but they never say exactly what there’s supposed to be room for Jell-O in. And with all those orifices flying around during sex, I’m not ready to risk somebody taking that slogan literally and shovelling the stuff somewhere I don’t want it. I think I do plenty of jiggling as it is, got it?)

Anyway, the point is that there’s a whole litany of things on my ‘To Become’ list. One of these days, when I finally get past this whole ‘working five days a week’ nonsense, I hope to have time to work on some of them. In the meantime, though, the list keeps growing. And the results of the latest bout of disappointed self-discovery are simply too shocking to keep to myself. And here’s the big news:

I’ve decided… I need more… focus in my life.

See? Outrageous, isn’t it? Crazy talk! Just because it took me fourteen frigging paragraphs of drivel, and Jell-O, and some nonsense about gastered flabbers, or flabbing gasters, or flabby geezers, or whatever the hell I was talking about back there, suddenly I need more focus. Preposterous.

It’s not just this train wreck of an entry, though. Nor is it solely the rest of the rambling, inane, boobery drivel on this site. Certainly, that’s reason enough — hell, it might be reason enough to have me committed some day. I wonder whether anything I write can and will ever be used against me in a court of law. That would suck ass.

(Hey, speaking of focus, and not having any, Mr. Burns on the Simpsons just said:

‘I’ll be squeezing my Bobo in no time.‘

This is just one more example of why I should — nay, why I need — to compile a list of Simpsons quotes taken out of context, and work them into everyday conversation. Or just spout them randomly at inappropriate times during boring conversations. I’d get a hell of a kick out of whipping the above line out and using it next time I’m asked to give a status report in my next group meeting at work. ‘Squeezing my bobo’, indeed. Excellent.)

Okay, look, just forget this whole thing. I obviously can’t stay on track. Fuck it — I’ll work on ‘focus’ tomorrow. Or sometime. Hey, if that’s the worst thing on my list I never get around to fixing, I’ll be much better off than I am now. Right now, I’m gonna finish watching the Simpsons. Self-improvement can suck my ass. I’m too busy to better myself. Meh.