DIary of a Celebrated Personality, Volume Closed Head Injury

I hope that you enjoy the title, because it will be all downhill from there. God I hate editing. Maybe it is because I hate editors. And I hate the word "because" I can never type it correctly. But the real reason I have gathered you all here today, is to announce that I have ow idea why I invited you all here, because I didn't. Well here is an informational short that I stumbled across recently, it was made some time ago by a self made trillionaire named F.F.F Throckmorton Dimpoleberry, and even though it is a bit old, I think that it is as timely as ever. "Then my Mother told me to go to Flint and Saginaw, and Bay City, well I had become a fine salesman of great renown by this time, and although Mom was an edgy labile ignorant wench, I decided to follow her advice, just so as I could fling the embarrassing wreckage of the results back in her face. Never the regardless, I pursued my sales career with a renewed vigor, having of course prudently paused to recharge my batteries, something lesser entities, or salesman, never take the time to do. Obviously these weak asses end up lining the ashcans of history, while persistent sociopathic pests such as myself stand reveling in the glory that is so richly deserved. My Edsel careened into the spacious parking lot of the firm that I had previously contacted and notified that I would be arriving at within the hour. As usual I was quite satisfied with the performance of my automobile on the highway: it was a high acheiver in regards to mileage and handling, the latter fact which went greatly towards boosting my self esteem, as I had developed the habit of manually filling the tires of my vehicle by mouth daily, as well as of course according to the standard specifications that had been justly arrived at my the succession of teams at the weights and maysures bureau. And so, having dusted off my garments and preened a bit in the rear view mirror, I jauntily angled my self towards the entrance, insurance policies in hand. I was met by a rather large fellow with a protruding jaw at the entrance of the company. I told him that I had made the necessary arrangements for the appointment which I was confident that I would soon be taking part in, and he naturally gave me access to the to door to the room of the designated meeting place. I will take the opportunity here to point out that this corresponds rather directly to point number 456 on my list of Simple Principles of how even the most basic village idiot can induce the Universe to do his petty bidding,if he but faithfully follow these 1,762 clearly delineated principles which are clearly outlined in my series of handsome brochures entitled "How Even a Jellyfish can Wrap God Himself around his Middle Finger, if he but follow faithfully these 1.762 clearly outlined Principles that are Contained in this Series of Brochures, Provided all of them are Purchased, and Read Thoroughly, and followed completely, for only 17.99 postpaid plus SASE." And I will continue to reiterate, that anyone, even if they are limbless and acerebrate, can succeed with these principles, provided they follow them carefully, and in sequence, and send me the money.

Well to make a long story short, the President of this firm that I had previously contacted, and in a pleasing manner, arranged to have the meeting with that was about to take please, or so I expected, asked me to take a seat. Now here is another crucial juncture where salesmen of the average variety and mentality make a critical mistake. They don't take into account the 342nd of my Principles: "Don't Let Anybody Else Tell You what to Do, Even if it is in the Form of a Suggestion, or an Offer". Taking charge of the situation, I confidently smiled and said "I will stand, you sit down" He refused to sit down and gave me a puzzled look. Here I applied one of the 27 General Keys to my Principles: Animal Magnetism. Assuming a very pleasing appearance, I stared deeply into his eyes, and began to softly growl. I took full advantage of the diaphragm, avoiding shallow breathing of conventional growling, and growled deeply, while continuing to maintain the most pleasing expression on my face that I possibly could. Naturally, my adversary slowly assumed what is commonly called a sitting position. It was at this point that I recognized, based on the postulate of Previous Accumulated Experiences, that I could sell him as much insurance as made me contented. He was quite pale, sweating, and generally exhibited a constellation of signs that indicated that he had swooned considerably down the evolutionary ladder. This was the story of how I made my first million, and I sincerely hope it will of great benefit to you as you slowly yet surely mold your life to the expression of these 1,762 Principles. Please try these ideas and you will surely find that you will be richer and more confident than you had ever previously dreamed possible. Thank you and have a pleasant day."

What can I add to that, really....

Wither Assurbanipal?

For those of you who might even know what that is about. This entry is just being entered to let you know that I haven't died yet, and that the latest theory of what I am dying of is encephalitis, which just recently edged out vaccine reaction. A coward dies a billion deaths would be more accurate. One problem with this "slogan", like many others, is that it overlooks something. It overlooks the fact that most of the "deaths", however frightening they might be, are quickly over, and never as frightening as the real one, which even non-cowards encounter, and which is completely horrific.

But there must be a more pleasant topic than death or debilitating illness. And there is, but it would only be a way of ducking reality. Do you have anything to say? It is your turn. I didn't think so.As usual, I have to do all the work.

At least I can take comfort in the fact that an especially lame blog has the capacity to attract legions of followers. Unfortunately that doesn't mean EVERY lame blog. It seems to be some kind of perverse lottery. But I will keep trying, as every attempt I have had at an interesting, perceptive website has plummeted by the wayside. Wall gotta go now, it is time to take my temperature.

The novel is almost here

What novel, you rasp? This one of course. See you are expecting some boring piece of garbage filled with boring predictability like characters, plot, meaning and other related drivel, but I have really outsmarted you this time! According the the painstaking H Q Picadilly Strunket rules of style, all you need for a novel is 200 hundred straight pages of words, be they composed on paper, papyrus, velvet, cellophane, baseball cards, hummingbird skins, or whatever medium you happen to have hand at present. SO I am almost there! I really never thought I would do it. Of course I now have to dedicate myself to the arduous task of knitting all this sewage together into a single handsome collectors edition format computer file, but this task should be a mere basket of baubles compared to the work I have already completed. I may just rent a hamster for a weekend and let the beast exercise her lily paws on the keyboard to finish this thing off. The only difference that cold possibly noted could be the sharp erudition of the hamster.

Burroughs cutting method? Hah! For sissies! This loot is numenally cut! Saves loads of labor! I can pad it out with rarely seen Bazooka Joe strips and no one would be any the wiser...

Onthe subject of cutting, I think that it would have been better if the cutting had only been the beginning. He should have then buttered it up, put it in a blender, and fried it on an open flame before lovingly ladling it onto his editor' red pen.. It would have been similar nonsense, but at least it would have been delicious. Another book that is cutting resistant: The Bible. no one can mess with the transcendental cutting techniques obviously in operation there...Who would believe me if I plead that this shining parchment was the result of randomly collecting scattered typeset that had been skydiving the night before... I didn't think so...

Well anyway, here is the editorial for today, to try to bring you back to reality. You evidently have trouble controlling your imagination. Haiti. Need I say more? What can be done for these poor people. Of course they are just acute sufferers of the human condition. BAH! you snort behind narrowed eyes, overstuffed in your armchair. What the duat is he talkin' about now? You sit there, satisfied and self-possessed, encaged by your seductive mistress extra sodium pork rinds, and sincerely believe that is could never happen to you, as you shrewdly plotted to live in a locality that hasn't experienced an earthquake since the time of North American mountain building, that is, well before you were born. And you are right. But as you reach in satisfaction for the the last lonely rind, you are seized by the pain representing your accumulated pork rind slaughtering karma, and dissolve into a fine goo on your living room rug. Food for thought.