Pulling My Ribs Apart

Why do I have a blog?, I oftentimes wonder. I don't like writing (or, really, talking all that much) about politics, because people are so very, very stupid and I'm only negligibly smarter. I've stopped believing that anyone has an opinion anyway; they just have certain amounts of... let's call it something girly like, "Love" and "Hate" that they mete out. Why we mete out love for this or hate for that is probably a result of our upbringing or, in some cases, a frazzled contrarian countenance.

I guess I like to write funny little stories (like the grandiose, beloved epic that was Dodgy Goodtimes' presidential run -- still ongoing, I believe) but my humormuse can be quite tempermental. I'm sure inspiration will strike again and I will have a reason to own this webspace.

I've also never been one of those types to "share things of a personal nature with other human beings." I'm a firm believer that no one deserves to know anything, and -- now that I don't drink -- things rarely slip out accidentally.

But I will make an exception today, since I have no other real reason to keep this blog, and share something personal, something about my aforementioned drinklessness. In the five months since I stopped, I haven't enjoyed the nice, solid shits that come with more stable innards. And I mean "enjoyed" as in "taken pleasure from," not "had." I do have them, even more now the last few weeks as I've honed my, as the Germans like to call it, Dietrepairen. But I don't think I'll ever really enjoy shitting the way some people do. Now, don't think I want to wear a diaper or suffer incontinence. I guess you could just say that I can't wait to EVOLVE some more! If not the nuclear bomb, God, how about a shitless society? Right back at ya, slick.

Love always,
Sir D of G