So I'm supposed to be this fucking writer, right? I mean I claim to be. I tell people "Oh yeah I have a blog," and then I turn around and go off on rants about how stupid the people of today are, how largely useless the internet is and how bloggers aren't real writers. Sure, I've been published twice, so I've got my writer's SAG card, if you will, but what the fuck am I contributing to the ongoing conversation? Why the fuck do you read this?

Hopefully because you enjoy it. Hopefully because, like me, you see that we too often don't realize all the things we claim to hate make up tiny bits of who we are. Hopefully because I make you laugh or make you think. More than likely its because I come to your house and MAKE you read it.

What am I trying to say here? Fuck if I know. Thanks, I guess. Keep coming, or don't. Its your life. I'm going to keep on doing this as long as I have thoughts to put out there - and I'm never going to write a bunch of books. I say that, because if I say that I will then we all know I won't. This is a blog of broken promises, of mockery, of sardonic observation and, oddly enough, about hope. Hope that if we all stopped talking long enough to listen, we might just learn something.