HALLOWEEN IS NOT MAGIC-THAT"S DAVID COPPERFIELD

Happy Halloween.

One of my worst memories as a child happened on Halloween. I lost a spelling bee, because I couldn't spell H-A-L-L-O-W-E-E-N. I still think about that loss to this day. It stings even 30 years later.

SCARY THOUGHTS.

I've spent the last hour "re"-searching "slutty pre-teen Halloween costumes" at the local library. I am sure that all the library patrons are ready to call the cops on me just because I'm a little creepy. At least I didn't title my article EYE CANDY like Newsweek Magazine did. Newsweek magazine better watch out. I just might zip their article over to Bill O' Reilly. Bill will go ballistic on them. After he's done masturbating to the photos that is.

SCARIER THOUGHTS.

David Copperfield is no CHOMO, but he might be a rapist. According to FBI at least. I find that hard to believe. I mean the guy owns 4 islands. He's an illusionist. A master magician. He can hypnotize small animals. There is no way in hell that any girl would ever remember being raped by him. Anyway, I hear his penis is so small it's real magic if his dick makes it to your vagina. He should get an award for being a real wizard. Not jail time with my boy Micheal Vick.

IF I MADE AN EFFORT WOULD YOU FALL DOWN FROM THE SURPRISE OF IT?

I have to say I am sorry. To all 20 of you. My readership that is. I haven't been posting. It requires me leaving work and taking a trip to the library, or it requires me to get up early and make an effort to write before going to work.

As you can see... that's asking a lot of me. It's been a month now of working and I have hardly posted about that at all. I figured I have been at this for 4 years and all I have got to show for it is a lousy 10 readers or whatever. Nobody cares, and nobody notices.

But then I read over this blog. And after an absence from the immediacy of writing I noticed that I really suck at blogging. And the fact that 5 of you have stuck around for this long speaks well of you. I should be shitting in my pants for you...or... well you get the point. You Rock! That's the point. You should get a blow job for all the hard work you've put in trying to decipher the gibberish that passes for insight on this blog. And if you don't have a dick, you should at least not have to swallow when you perform a blow job tonight. Again for all the hard work you put in. If your spouse (significant other) needs verification on this point-just send them over here. I'll vouch for ya. No need for the spit patoon today.

Oh. And I am gonna try again to write a bit more. I promise. Just like the last time I promised. But you know what they say about the cycle of abuse, I mean you read that flyer about domestic abuse the last time you volunteered with the Breast Cancer Awareness March. You read it cover to cover. So, I think you know the bad times we've been having are now safely in the past, and we are headed towards the UP CYCLE -you know-the good times. When the all those pleasant feelings and super emotions I will soon be giving you make up for all the times I've punched you in the head.

I don't mean to punch you in the head. It's just I've been drinking a lot lately. And you know how I am not myself when I drink. But I still love you. That's why I get angry. If I didn't care so much I wouldn't get so god damn mad at you. And start blaming you for shit that you didn't do. Like not trying to calm me down after my panic attacks. I bet you didn't know I was dying inside my head. How the fuck are you supposed to know that? I guess I just live in a fantasy world. A fantasy world where people can read my mind. Or even if they can't read my mind they take the time to consider things from my point of view. But who am I kidding? That's not how the world acts. I bet you don't even realize how scared of dying I am right at this exact moment. That I'm a bit panicked over it. I'm having a panic attack right now. But I'm going to be OK. And I don't need you to tell me I am OK. So stop looking at me like I'm the crazy one. You wouldn't even care if I died.

I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. I know you'd care if I died. But it probably would take me dying before you'd ever got around to noticing something about me. I'm just saying.

Go pink!