Well, here we are. I don’t know if I have anything to say, really, what with Hyde not posting any of her practically-trademarked love and mushiness crap for me to tear at. I’ve got a meeting tomorrow morning, so I’m going through the ritual of drinking entirely too much so that I’ll be all loud and obnoxious and uncooperative when I wake up. You know, so you can respond to the weird corporate brainwashing slogans with some witty remark:
“Come on, now, people. There is no ‘I’ in ‘Team.’”
“There is if you’re drunk enough!”
“Ray, could you just be quiet back there? We’re trying to help the other associates learn how to do the right thing, how to be team players.”
“I had sex with your mother last night! Whaddaya thinka that?”
“My mother has been dead for two years.”
“That would explain why I had to get bailed outta jail this mornin’, then, wouldn’t it?”
You know, witty stuff like that.
Anyways. So I was trying to add a bit to the “Two Heartbeats” thing, and I realized something. The reason I only had those two pages and nothing else, is because the story is going nowhere (if you don’t know what I’m talking about, check out the December issue, “A Slight Introduction”). I like the idea of having a story that we can all write on, but I don’t like the idea of making it a story that isn’t any fun to write on. Makes all kinds a sense, dudn’t it?
Trey’s always thinking up really cool story ideas, if you want to know the truth. No follow-up, though. Over the years, I’ve heard several reasons for this, but the one most common goes something like, “I finish the story in my head, and then I don’t feel like writing it anymore.” So I think he would be the perfect candidate to start a new story line. That’s just my opinion, though. Then, he would never get tired of writing, because he wouldn’t know how the story went after the next person had changed it.
Maybe it’s a clever tool to get our favorite Admin to break out with some hellagood writing, or maybe it’s just an evil plan to force him to fret over his keyboard, wondering what, what, what do I type? What have I done to have this injustice forced upon me? Why can’t that evil bastard just let me live my life?
We’re pulling up on a year here at The Strangelands, which is sort of amazing, considering that it was an idea thought up by Trey and I (honestly, it was thought up by him, and then reinforced by me—sort of a pact of evil and maliciousness). We’re both pretty notorious slackers, believe it or not, and yet…here we are.
And someday, this little site is going to be big, I tell you. I was thinking about ways to make it famous, but I’m coming up kind of short. So far, the best idea I’ve had is to get brutally attacked while writing, and then describe my attacker in full detail and post it to the site before he can pull out the internet cable. The downside to this is that then I have to die. Because otherwise, it won’t get on the news, and The Strangelands never gets to be in the limelight.
Maybe I’ll get t-shirts made, “They’ll kill me if you don’t go to the website.” And then, instead of putting a picture of me, I’ll put a picture of a cute little baby, smiling and looking like it’s got a real prosperous future ahead, making the world a better place. And I’ll have a cop on there, too, pointing a gigantic gun at the baby, because people are always ready to get riled up about police brutality. And the cop will be saying something like, “I’m a evil baby-shooter ‘cause I never went to The Strangelands.”
Both the baby and the cop will have speech bubbles, like in comic books, and that’s how you’ll know who’s saying what. And then on the back, that’s where we’ll put our web address.
Yeah, that’ll be perfect.
Peace out, li’l homies.