I’ve had Cough Syrup in my head all day. The song, I mean.

Here.

Now it will be in your head all day too.

PS, is it okay to embed Youtube videos that are copyrighted into a blog, or did I just break a law? If it’s wrong, it seems counter-intuitive to me because you probably just watched that, and you might not have if I hadn’t.

Or maybe it’s totally okay. What a mystery!  If anybody understands that crap, come explain it to me. And also don’t call the internet police if I’m in the wrong. Kthx.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

You’ll note that this post is… basically about nothing.

The reason for this is that I am doing this contest with my friend Konrad where we each have a jar, and we each come up with a list of things we want to accomplish, and then we have to put a dollar into the jar for every time we don’t do what we said we would do. I’m sure that made total sense and that you won’t have to read that sentence like 20 times to even kind of understand what I’m trying to say, right?

Anyway, point is, one of the things I said I’d do is write three blog posts a week. THREE. I’ve been averaging four a month. So, this is a little ambitious. On a night like tonight when I know I have to get two more in before Sunday or I have to put a dollar into a random jar that I will give away, I have a choice to make about creativity.

Here’s the predicament. Writing blog posts that I think are funny is extremely enjoyable and invigorating. However, sometimes, despite my best intentions, I sit down to write something funny and all that comes out of me is material that looks like it might have come from the trash bin of a junior high journalism class.  (Take right now for example. Right now I want to make jokes like “your eyes are probably bleeding because the jokes here are so painful to the eyes that they make your eyes bleed from their eye blood vessels” or “you keep waiting for a hilarious punchline, and instead you’re getting punched in the face with a lot of boring.” These jokes would not win a trophy at a comedy club. They are, in fact, lame. But it’s what my brain is manufacturing right now. You can’t be a winner every day. Or, for some of us, any day.

And also, organization. I know I’m on my game when a post comes into my head like magic and kind of writes itself and I know how it should all come out and then the pictures work and it all fits together seamlessly and I find myself laughing really hard. That happens about once a week on average, if that.

But this? This is a garbled hot mess of thoughts strewn together in what look like paragraphs, but are actually arbitrary line breaks so that you don’t get overwhelmed with text-blocks the size of The Preamble of the Constitution. (Do you want to know the sequence of “jokes” my brain tried out before I decided on that very lame Constitution joke? It went something like this: “Dolly Pardon’s chest? No too vulgar. Texas? No, too vague and I used Kansas the other day. The Bible? No, verses. Goliath? No, too Biblical.  A Big Mac? No, not actually large. A really big block of text? Um… yeah, no.)

So, the solution is to not write crap posts like this and instead wait for the inspiration to strike. But what ends up happening is that it doesn’t strike. And then you go for weeks without posting, and it looks like you’ve given up on life.

The alternative is to sit down one night, embed a link to a song that’s in your head, then write a post all about how incredibly unfunny you feel that night and hope people appreciate hearing from you even if it isn’t a humdinger My-Daughter-is-a-Cannibal-and-I-drank-Milk-from-my-aunt’s-breast-as-a-child type of post.

This post needs a picture.

At least this picture is kinda funny, what with Wife looking hot, and vomit all over her shoulder, and baby Tessa all bug-eyed, like “Whoa. That was projectile, and I’m not sure what to think about it.”
If I can help it, I’ll never talk about blogging again. Because this post was painful for all of us. If this post is up tomorrow, it means I was desperate and really, really couldn’t find anything else to say. So just have pity on me.
Stop talking now The Weed, and get to bed in the next 15. Otherwise you writing this to not owe Konrad a dollar will make you go to bed late, thus making you owe Konrad a dollar.