Dear people who eat baked Lays, consider organic food to be the only option, and those who will understand this post is not an April Fools Joke:
When I last posted my body was going through changes and I wasn’t quite ready to handle the stress load of new jobs and all the food I was consuming. Now I am back over two hundred pounds and my bloated corpse of a living flesh sack has been contemplating the ever longing desire to bring forth my creativity in my monotonous life.
And that’s harder to understand for some than how Donald Trump is still a candidate in the running for President of the United States. But basically it comes down to the law of the universe wherein when you want to be flooded with creative breakthroughs you are left barren and fucked by the sandpaper-dick of life. It’s dry. It hurts. And you cry a lot while you eat ramen for the fourth time this week with your cats, and then show up to work the next day raving about the “savory pasta dish” you had for dinner last night while everyone stares at your gut, your big fat sodium swollen lying gut.
And the cats know even their food is better than yours.
And you know that you have this drive and you picked up a second job at yet another pizza shop and your planning a bachelor party and you’re missing your friends and you’re setting yourself up for all of these great things you just can’t bring yourself to talk about in your blog because you don’t have time or you don’t want to look for all the gifs to make it funny because your mom doesn’t understand your self-deprecating humor and you don’t want her to misunderstand your words and think this is the end, my ramen eating twenty-seven year old son has lost it again, he’s on the deep end and he is about to go off it and here I am enjoying Florida and seafood and sunshine and there he is writing about potato chip flavors he wishes made the Lays flavor contest but didn’t and therefor his life is invalid.
But then it comes. And you think podcasting was on my outlet list, and I could do that. But I need friends again, but like brutally honest ones and ones you haven’t talked to in forever, or at all, or that you met on the Internet and got on a plane to fly cross country to anger bang the hatred you have in your body from being scorned in life. You need all these people and more, and you need to convince them to come bullshit with you in your newly finished, furnished, and cozied basement where you have set up a sound corner and all you wanna do is sit in chairs to talk about things no one is going to care about.
And how do you get them to come! You feed them! Alex! Genius! You make them food, you feed them while you talk and you ask invasive questions that are going to make people uncomfortable and also laugh but mostly the first thing! And how do you get the word out?!
You get back on Facebook! You get back on and you post it and you ask who’d be interested and twenty people like it and don’t understand that that’s not how to volunteer but then twelve people actually comment, and volunteer, and you feel like you serve a purpose now outside of your two jobs, three cats, and obsession with how you can make ramen interesting tonight!
And whether they mean it or not you’re going to take them up on it because you’re getting back in the swing of things and pretty soon you’re going to be the only one not married, welcoming spawn out of another human, or working for a bio-pharmaceutical company. But goddammit you know all those people and you’re gonna feed those people and make them get fat with you and ask them about all those things that you’re NOT doing with your life, and everyone is going to love it!
Maybe. Or it bombs. One or the other. 50/50. The odds aren’t great. But they aren’t bad.
So welcome me back with open arms as I delve back into the world of podcasting where things are sure to get weird.
The “Most Things are Garbage. A Podcast.” Podcast, where I have my friends over, make them dinner, and talk about anything I feel like.
Sincerely, and if you don’t listen I know a guy that will break legs. Your legs…,