I’ve read some websites of people who seem to be having greater success than me at doing the things like to do, like increasing people’s enjoyment of life through my writing and music, and everyone seems to have a different attitude toward his fans or readers or whatever you want to call them.

Of course, I’m not at all popular compared to these people, but what I am is very grateful and flattered that anyone finds what I write funny enough to warrant being read. So much so that I don’t say things on my website like “Send your worthless opinions here” and condescend to furnish an email link.

I think statements like that are the mark of an unhappy person. I don’t see any reason that we can’t all be friends.

Hope you guys get a chuckle now and again.

P.S. you’re all a heaping lot of chicken groping taint slappers! Beat it!

I finished up my gig and walked off stage to collect the usual after-gig shots that kind people buy me from time to time, but I was about to hit the road so I had to take it easy.

Madison had come to see me, but had spent most of the gig outside on his cellphone. I went out back to see what he was up to. He was talking to his sister. He held the phone up to my face so I could talk to her.

“Hello, Madisonette!” I said into the phone. She laughed.

Madison laughed and put the phone back to his face.

“That was Jim” he said, “He’s a guitar player and a drummer, and a writer.” He looked at me. “Hey man, I think that girl that works up front likes you. You should talk to her.”

Hm! Allrighty.

I turned around to head back in the club and talk to the greeter girl, but paused in the doorway to bend over and slap my ass for Madison’s benefit. He cracked up.

I looked up to walk back in the bar and there was the cute greeter girl grinning at me for slapping my ass.

Oops. Not too suave, homes.

I shrugged at her and ducked into the john to take a leak.

I came out and joined her at the kitchen end of the bar where she was rolling silverware.

“So what’s up?” I asked her.

“Well I took my SAT’s today, so I’m pretty tired.”

“Your what?”

“My SAT’s”

“How old are you?”

“Seventeen, why? How old did you think I was”

Jesus God. Seventeen. I had to get out of there. I mumbled something about having to hit the road, packed the last of my gear and left.

I am of the firm belief that girls that young should have some sort of day-glo orange label on them.

WARNING: UNDERAGE. BEAT IT, PERVERT.

Have you ever thought how bizarre it would be to work in the porn industry?

Like, you’re at an office meeting, and the boss is blabbing on and on about the same shit all bosses blab on and on about, and you look over at your coworker Bob who really annoys you a lot because he’s always piping up in these meetings about nothing in particular, and on top of all that you have to look at Bob and think to yourself “Jeez dude, I’ve seen your boner.”.

It’s a somewhat confusing time to be an American, people.

On the one hand, I wish we didn’t do some of the things we do as a country. I don’t really like that we seem to spend a lot of time going around shooting things at people and driving tanks at them, but then again, sometimes people don’t listen to much else. It’s quite obvious that many people harbor ill will for us, or else New York City wouldn’t be short two large buildings.

Something has to be done about the people who want to hurt us, and I have the sneaking suspicion that the people whose job it is to decide what to do about it might make some choices that I personally would not, but I know that I know nothing about these matters and am ill-equipped to make a judgement call. I know a lot of people think that you can get the truth from other countries’ news agencies, but I don’t really think that their version has any less spin than ours does. I think it’s all spin. The only people who really know are not obliged to say what’s up.

I wish Americans weren’t loud and brightly festooned with silly hats and shirts when we travelled abroad. When I was in Europe I got so I could spot an American at 100 yards, no trouble. You might think foreigners are making things up about us sticking out so badly, but trust me, they’re not.

Having said all that, I am very proud to be an American. Sure, my fellow countrymen are annoying sometimes, and many of us dress like idiots, but I think we do some nice things too. Our history has black marks, like the Civil War and Japanese-American concentration camps, but then again we also have the storming of Normandy and subsequent march across Europe, where we freed Jews in their concentration camps. It’s ironic that we freed the Jews in Europe and rounded up the Japanese back home, isn’t it?

When I was a kid my older cousin Mike had a jacket with the union jack on it. I thought that was really cool. I was too young to understand much about flags and symbols and such, but I thought it was neat to have a flag like that. If I were to go back now, I would want one with our flag on it.

We do some good things, we do some bad things. Ultimately, it’s our country though. I’m proud to live here, and what’s more, I’m proud to be from the south as well. I have similar feelings about that.

I’ve heard a lot of people apologize for being southern. I think that’s horseshit. Bad shit has happened here, but lots of good shit has too.

People ask me why I stay here, since I seem to think differently than a lot of people in this area. First of all, I don’t think that’s really the case. Most thinking people who live here feel the same way. Lots of people don’t like to think, but we don’t have to listen to them. Secondly, if I feel that I have a good attitude and can contribute something positive to the community, don’t I have a duty to stay?

I think it’s up to us to quit pointing the finger and having preconceived notions. I think it’s up to us to be the new south and the new America.

I’ve noticed when things happen that are probably going to result in me getting hurt very shortly that I have a tendancy to shout something like “Oh!”

The last time I had a bike wreck I exclaimed exactly that before my head bounced on the sidewalk a few times. Luckily I was wearing a helmet.

I wonder if the shock of realizing you are about to bounce off of something triggers a direct link to one’s subconscious in which one just might divulge the truths of the universe, if only one weren’t immediately distracted by the impact.

Further research should probably be done by people who heal faster than me.