Gregg Allman. How a man works his craft to excellent results.
I drink to stop the voices in my head. Round about Thursday, they get mighty loud, and then they start arguing with each other. Some of them makes sense, and I ignore the ones that don’t. When is the weekend? About a thousand miles away, and I’m crawling along on a wagon drawn by desert turtles.
God Help You for Richie putting me up to the task of giving you something to read on this here day. God Help Us All.
So I have been wondering about something my Lady asked me, and I told you about it, in the Crazy Sue episode of the Caves of The Moon Series.
By the way, that series is a continual, but not continuous thing. There will be more, so be forewarned. They will pop up like a body buried in a shallow grave that the winter frost heaves up for springtime picking.
Anyways, she asked me about where her soul would go when the anesthesiologist put her under. I’d be interested in your thoughts, in our forum.
I have my own thoughts, and these were not the sort of thing you want to tell your woman when she is fearing the worst and which might have happened to her, as it did to someone else in the waiting room, as I told you in that Crazy Sue thing.
That is the sort of thing I am exploring in the new chapters of the Weekend At Willies series I put on a side site so not to bore those of you who don’t give a shit about my writing, which is fine by me. No harsh on you if you don’t want to partake. I tell my tales for those of you who dare to listen.
Mostly, I do it because I just can’t help myself, and it needs to get out. It’s like a powerful urge to put thoughts into words, and explore different ways to go about it. It’s my own personal demon.
I wrote the Gate chapters as an exit, and an entrance for you, Dear Reader, to separate the true stories of my punk past from the adventure that is continued in a new way: I wanted to write the shit out of them and create new images in your mind, from my own demented brain.
I do not claim to be a great writer, and not even a good one, but I do my best for you, because you have told me that you like to read them.
Also, I just can’t help myself. Writing is like a drug habit that my real job supports.
If you have even read this far before checking out my ‘tubes finds, then much appreciated, my friend. I will do my best to reward your inquisitive nature, you explorer you, as we both explore the path that awaits us ahead.
By the way, I actually don’t hear voices in my head.
They are real.
The voices tell others to take down a plane. Not me. I don’t do that shit. I just like to wreck your head with my creepy tales.
How to take down the Democrats? Split the blacks from the gays? Hah? Aren’t there Gay Republicans and Black Republicans? Secret document from the national Org for Marriage… wow.
Well, tree huggers are weird, right? (Possibly NSFW)
More political stupidity: Harold Cain kills bunnies. “Shhhh. I’m hunting the wabbit.”
Just be sure to wear your new hoodie with the gun pockets when you go hunting bunny wabbits.
Maybe we should all simply destroy our TV screen, so we can get a break from all the stupid ugliness out there? Bury our heads in the sand? Well, here’s how you can kill your plasma screen, with a microwave oven transformer, which emit quite a hell of a charge. This is from The Awesomer, which is a lovely site to explore, if you want to waste some time.
OK, onto movies. “Safety Not Guaranteed.” Remember that ad in a newspaper long ago?
Here is the movie trailer about it. I’ll be checking that stuff out. Right up my alley.
Sasha Baron Cohen. My own guilty pleasure. Fuck yeah, and no apologies.
On another note, Adam Savage, in the opposite direction.
“Hey! I’m Walking Here!”
Onto my own favorite stuff: Saturn is the coolest planet in our neck of the woods because she has her rings. Here is how it would look if our lovely blue marble had its own rings. Looking up at them. CBZ found this in the ‘tubes.
God Help You.
God Help Us All.
---willies (the online TDC persona) out.
Of course, you can take a step into the future with me. Your safety is not guaranteed. Here is the next chapter of the Weekend At Willies. Chapter Three. Seen.
OK, One More For You.
Kids in a car doing Hall And Oates. “I Can’t Go For That.”