Everyone Has An Amazon Best Seller But Me

When you immerse yourself into this WordPress cult, er..culture, suddenly every one you know has an Amazon Best Seller book to their credit.

I don’t have an Amazon Best Seller book to my credit.

I would like one…however that would require writing a book. I have put together some semblance of a book, but it currently sits in pieces between the apps/programs of Evernote, Microsoft Word, and Jotterpad X…like some century old Romans rushed in, tied it together and quartered it with their horses before galloping off to get Eggnog shakes from McDonalds. Jokes on you, century old Romans, the Shamrock shake should be available soon, and it’s a much, much, better choice in the shake-mosphere.

I do however have one published story, and one rejection letter:

Well you know what? Heads Will Roll is a damn fine story. Maybe you don’t like zombies Mr. Jonathan Starke, but don’t tell me about my time, effort, passion, and energy that I put into that story when you don’t know! Especially since I put no time or effort into it, AND I probably ate three packages of Brown Sugar Cinnamon Pop Tarts while writing it, dribbling Pop Tart crumbs onto the keyboard in the process. I probably also drank/drunk several Coke Zeros too. Most likely I put more effort, passion, and energy into burping Brown Sugar Cinnamon slash Coke Zero fumes at the dog, who would in protest open it’s mouth and snap it shut over the invisible pungent odor surrounding it’s small stupid cranium.

And explain to me what  ‘festive pursuits’ means? This sounds like it  might put me in a Dr. Seuss inspired world.

Christopher McManus McBean De Voss

Often found himself at a loss

Which would make he proclaim,

“Gadzooks!”

Then decorate the town,

In his festive pursuits

Palooka is a dumb name for a magazine anyway.

While browsing my WordPress reader, I soon noticed just how many people that I associate with, either regularly or occasionally, have published books. (That sentence needs more commas. It’s like more cowbell, but for literary buffs. )

For example:

Carrie Ruben has a book that another friend of mine recommended that I read.  Imagine my friend’s surprise when I said, “Hey, guess what…I know Carrie!”  I looked really cool. Rodney Lacroix has two books and is in the process of writing six more…this week.

Marc Schuster has also written a couple of books either by himself or with other people, AND on top of that, he teaches other people how to write more better…I have not taken his course. It seems like my friends Maddie Cochere and Kayla Lords are always publishing something new.

I don’t read her, but apparently she is the quintessential name in blogging, The Bloggess has a book, and from the reviews it looks pretty funny…and might feature dead stuffed rodents. Don’t quote me on that, I’m just guessing from the cover. The Hook, who has written a book, recently featured this guy, Tom Lucas on his site. Guess what ol’ Tom did? Tom wrote a book.

(On a side note…Dear Mr. The Hook…For some reason my WordPress reader likes to unfollow you randomly…so if you were ever wondering why I follow and unfollow you a lot, it’s not me. Some one doesn’t want us to be together. WordPress Reader is being a dick.)

Ned Hickson is a real life journalist who happens to have a real life published book. Yay Ned!

Looking at my fellow Pausers; Jack is trying to get funding for his finished book on Kickstarter, and Justin Gawel revealed to me over lunch at Dick’s Last Resort that he is putting the finishing touches on his novella. Monk Monkey’s best friend, who shall remain nameless due to his request, also has several published books.

What is the point of this you ask? Why are you rambling about all that?

Just write a book already, you say?

I am, so get off my back.

I am announcing that I am currently in the process of putting the final touches on my brand new, multi-chapter….

Coloring Book!

Shut up! It still counts as a book.

Look for it on the Amazon Best Seller list soon.

It will probably be along the same lines as this one:

The Action Hero Lists

Action Heroes Favorite Weapons…

1) Guns

2) Knives

3) Humor

4) Dynamite/bombs

5) Box Office Receipts 

 

Why Action Heroes Would Not Make Good Car Wash Attendants… 

1) They tend to crash cars

2) They tend to blow up buildings

3) They tend to not hold jobs long

4) They tend to blow up cars too

5) They tend to hate their boss

 

Top 5 Animals Action Heroes Hate…

1) Snakes

2) Sharks

3) John Malkovich

4) Walruses 

5) Dogs

 

Things Action Heroes Like To Jump…

1) Cars

2) Bodies of Water

3) Canyons

4) The Leading Lady

5) Buildings

 

Songs Action Hero Like To Listen To…

1) Jump – Van Halen

2) Grenade – Bruno Mars

3) Cuts Like A Knife – Bryan Adams

4) Anything by Guns And Roses

5) We Don’t Need Another Hero – Tina Turner

 

Best Action Hero Choices…

1) Bruce Willis

2) Arnold Schwarzenegger

3) Harrison Ford

4) Steven McQueen

5) The Rock

 

Worst Action Hero Choices…

1) W.C. Fields

2) Bill Gates

3) The Drummer From Def Leppard

4) Grumpy Cat (from the internet)

5) Pee Wee Herman

 

A Sampling* Of The Best Action Movies…

1) Die Hard

2) Speed

3) Enter The Dragon

4) The Matrix

5) Terminator 2

 

Games Action Heroes Like To Play…

1) Risk

2) Solitaire

3) Hide And Go Seek

4) Beer Pong

5) London Bridges

 

A Sampling Of The Worst Action Movies (but you’ll watch them anyway)…

1) Point Break

2) Face/Off

3) Spider-man 3

4) Howard the Duck

5) Sharknado

 

Best Action Hero One Liners….

1) Yippie Ki Yay Mother Fucker! – Die Hard

2) Say Hello to my little friend!  – Scarface

3) I’ve come here to chew bubble gum and kick ass…and I’m all out of bubble gum! – They Live

4) Hasta-la-vista baby! – The Terminator

5) Always bet on black! – Passenger 57

 

Worst Alarm Clock Sounds For An Action Hero…

1) Bombs

2) Fresh Prince Of Bel Air Theme Song

3) Bad Guy Explaining His Plans

4) 60 Minutes TV Show Clock Ticking

5) Samuel L. Jackson Reading Dr. Suess’ Hop On Pop

 

Why I Would Not Make A Good Action Hero….

1) I don’t look good in a wife beater

2) I can’t decide on a cool looking logo

3) I’m lazy

4) My catch phrase is, “I don’t know, what do you want to do?”

5) I need to eat. You never see action heroes eat.

 

*I said sampling, I did not mean these were the only ones!

 

 

 

 

Long Awkward Pause – A New Adventure In Blogging

In lieu of reblog Thursday, I have some exciting news.

I’m announcing the birth of a new, exciting, epic, original, ingenious, bold, spicy, operatic, collaborative masterpiece:

Long Awkward Pause!

What is Long Awkward Pause you may ask…and even if you didn’t ask, you may ask after you recover from your excitement over this announcement.

(I will wait until you pick yourself up off the floor, dust your pants off, and compose yourself thus-ly.)

Long Awkward Pause is a humor magazine collaboration between myself, Blurt, B.L.O.G., Monk Monkey, and Ramblings Of An Apathetic Adult Baby. We will take reader submitted topics  and write about them either once or twice a month depending on schedule, earth rotation, Chick-fil-a openings, births, deaths, oil changes, and other such hazards of the blog world.

I’m really excited to work with these guys, and I hope you’ll be just as excited to read our stuff. And if your not excited, at least tell your friends how not excited you are about this site, and how they should check it out for themselves.

You can view  the site, here. Don’t forget to follow, pretty please. Currently the site is just featuring reblogs of us, the actual first post will be on or around Aug. 2nd. It’s a topic submitted by Jo Ellen of Two On A Rant and it’s a tasty one. Feel free to fill out the form on the about page and suggest your own musings.

For everyone who follows, you will receive one free email notification!

The Robots And The Writer

The Robots just suddenly arrived.

They landed on Earth in droves, tall…about 8 or 9 feet in height, dirty metallic bodies, 3 wheeled tank like contraptions on their legs for movement, 3 tentacle-like arms with 6 tentacle-like appendages and on each one, claw like hands and fingers.

They came and they conquered. They conquered in a mere 72 hours.

The entire world in only 72 hours.

After they conquered and killed all the leaders of the world, they kind of left everyone else alone.

Sort of.

The robots made everyone stay inside their dwellings whether it be a fancy million dollar home, an apartment complex, or  a hobo’s cardboard box. It had been about two weeks of the house arrest.

Twice  food rations were left on the doorstep. Apparently the Robots thought our diet consisted of nothing but Spaghetti-o’s. TV was cut down to one channel that just played the same five movies over and over; A Christmas Story, Groundhog Day, Porky’s 3, Bill & Ted’s Excellent Adventure, and Casino. No one could make heads or tails of the selections or whether their was a theme or message to them. Some thought it might be a some secret symbol of the robots intent. Radio was down to one frequency, 104.1 FM. This station only played Frank Sinatra, but luckily it was his whole catalog and not just five select songs like the TV.

The internet, shut down.

After pretty much everyone in the world could quote Bill & Ted’s Excellent Adventure from start to finish, an announcement came over the TV and Radio:

“Greetings, people of Planet 279. You will be hearing this broadcast in your native language since you choose to complicate your race with such nonsense as separate languages. Tomorrow will begin your sorting. I will assume, you 279ings do not know what a sorting is, so I will explain. Each one of you will be individually interviewed on your worth to this planet and to us, your new masters. If your skills are deemed worthy, you will live to serve us. If your skills are deemed inadequate, you will be killed on the spot. We have already eradicated Rappers, Weather Men, Fruit Snack Packers, Walmart Customer Service Employees, Mark Zuckerburg, and Network TV Executives.   One of our kind will be knocking on your door sometime between 8 am and 5 pm to begin your evaluation. That reminds me, we need to add all cable installers to the inadequate list. Do not try to run. Do not try to resist. Do not try to fight. Do try to cooperate. Do try to answer the questions truthfully. And if you are deemed unworthy, do try to die quickly and without crying. That is all.”

And then Casino started playing on the TV again.

I was a novelist. I don’t know what Robots would want a novelist for…especially based on their taste of movies, but I couldn’t give up hope. There had to be a place for someone with my skill set for them. I didn’t have to write novels, I could write about anything…be a reporter, keep records, or something. My youngest daughter, who was 6, pulled on my pants.

“Daddy, I’m scared!” she said with big teary eyes.

“Oh,” I said as I brushed her long blonde bangs out of her eyes and kissed her on the forehead. “Don’t be. Daddy will be okay.”

“But Daddy,” she responded, tears running down her cheeks. “Who will pack the Fruit Snacks now?”

I gave her a hug and said, “I don’t know, honey. I don’t know.”

—–

Eight AM came quickly the next day, and you could see the robots lining up along the suburban street. The had enough robots for one to stand outside each and every door, and at precisely 8, a unison single knock hit the aluminum doors, followed by a metallic warning;

“You have 30 seconds to answer your doors. 30, 29, 28, 27, 26….”

I opened the door. The faceless machine looked at me, and it pushed me aside as it bent it’s large frame down to fit through the opening. Once inside it said,

“Are you Planet 279 inhabitant also known as Frank Baum?”

“I am, and it’s called Earth, not Planet 279,” I responded weakly.

“What you know of as ‘Earth’ is no more. You are now an inhabitant of Planet 279. If you are deemed worthy of service you will be given a new name. Your new name will be 279.0943783749894590834590349.”

“Wow, I don’t know if I could remember all of that,” I said a little worried.

The robot responded, “It will be branded to your forehead. No worries.”

“Oh, great.”

The robot pulled out a clipboard. “Please answer these questions, briefly and completely or you will be eradicated. Please answer the questions truthfully or you will be eradicated. I will be monitoring your heart rate and your brain wave patterns. You will be recorded. Let us begin. For the official record, what is your Planet 279 name?”

“My Earth name or the bar code you just gave me?” I asked.

“You have not earned your worthiness, therefor you currently do not have your official citizenship of our planet. Your ‘Earth’ name please.”

“My name is Frank Baum.”

The Robot checked something off on it’s clipboard. “This is just for show by the way, it seems to make you Planet 279-ers feel more at ease. What is your current occupation?”

“I’m a novelist. I write books.”

The Robot put down the clipboard and raised what looked like a big scary laser gun.

“What is that for?!” I screamed.

“Eradication,” the robot replied.

“Why?! For being a novelist?! What the hell? Do you Robots not read? Or think that the people who will survive this won’t want to read?”

“You will be eradicated because all of the books have all ready been written,” the robot replied coldly.

“What?!” I laughed. “How can that be?!”

“Our writers have written all the books there ever will be, every subject has been written about. There is not a story that hasn’t been written that we already don’t have a book for.” The Robot raised it’s gun to my head.

“Wait!” I yelled. “How can you be so sure? What if I come up with a story that hasn’t been written yet. Then you have to keep me to write it for you.”

The Robot said and did nothing for a moment. “I will download all the books into my database. If you think you can come up with a story that I don’t have a book for, then you may live.”

The Robot raised one of it’s arms and shook for 30 seconds and then said, “Ready.”

“Ok,” I thought a moment. I had to come up with something incredibly wild and out there. “Do you have a book about an octopus with 6 dog’s heads that falls in love with a squirrel after terrorizing the citizens of Alabama?”

The Robot holds up a Kindle and says, ‘Yes.” On the Kindle is story entitled, ‘Bang The Squirrel Slowly.’

“I’ll be damned!” I said as the Robot raised his gun again. “Wait! Do you have a story about an octopus with 7 dog’s heads that falls in love with a squirrel after terrorizing the citizens of Japan?”

The Robot once again holds up the Kindle and displays: ‘Bang The Squirrel Slowly II: A 7 dog headed octopus falls for the orginal squirrels Japanese half sister.’

The robot raises it’s gun again. “It is futile. All books have been written except for 5. You will be eradicated.”

“Wait? What?” I stammer. “All but five? Originally you said all books have been written. Now your saying five haven’t. What five?”

The Robot lowers it’s gun. “The sacred five. They have been turned into movies. We show only the scared five on television.”

A dumb look has to cross my face. “Are you saying Bill & Ted’s Excellent Adventure is one of the sacred five?”

“Yes.”

“And there is no novel form of the movie?”

“Yes, only a screenplay. ”

I scratched my head, “Well then I’m your man to do that!”

The Robot raises his gun and fires. The laser hits me square in the chest knocking me back. I fall as I feel the burning of my heart and lungs inside my chest. I see the Robot standing over me. It bends over to my face. I can barely see it’s head as my eyes darken with death. I hear the robot say,

“We have already spared Steven King for that.”

~Fin~

—–

Editor’s Note:

I awoke from a horrible dream drenched in sweat and drool the other night. Of the dream I don’t remember, I only remember the echoing of these words as I arose from REM state, “We have already spared Steven King for that.”

Thus was the inspiration for that stupid story.

🙂

High School Musical Reunion (minus the Musical) Pt One

I’m about to date myself.

I don’t mean I was going to take myself out on a date, I haven’t had to do that since High School.

Speaking of  High School, my 25th Renioun is coming up.

I’m thinking about going since I didn’t go to the 5th year renioun…or the 10th, 15th, 17 1/2, or 20th High School Reunions.

I don’t know why I’m thinking about going to be honest. I can’t say High School was all that fun, or enjoyable, or even defined me as a person.

The first year and an half down right sucked.

I’m not sure I want to rub elbows 25 years later with people who used to stick gum in my hair and knock the books out of my hands while I was walking to class.

Ha, ha, guy who did that to me, scatering my books and notebook papers all over the hallway….

Good one.

Everyday…

…good one.

My High School was a big wrestling High School, and if you didn’t wrestle….well, you were not cool.

I didn’t have the competive spirit, nor the body, nor the stomach for sticking my face in some other kid’s junk, to really want to wrestle.

My talents lied elsewhere, like being rejected by girls.

I was really talented at that.

At least this was justly deserved, as I was a big old nerd…with a nerd’s haircut, nerd braces, nerd’s slouch, freckles, and my only impressive skill: folding notecards into frogs.

Which to preteen/teenage girls…not that impressive.

So for that, my books and notebook paper would be scattered on a daily basis in the hallways of my Alma Mater.

As well as they should.

Right?

If the wrestlers thought about it though, not really a good recuitment campaign to get me on the blue wrestling tights band wagon. I’m glad that  recuitment companies in the real world don’t use that same technique.

That would be really weird.

I pretty sure if I had joined the wrestling team, I would have had my ass handed to me, plus I’m a little nervous about heights, and I wouldn’t ever be able to do a flip off the top rope.

Which, I’m being told there is no ropes in High School Wrestling, so I guess that was not a valid excuse.

I did sit on the bench of the Freshman Basketball team to try to up my High School sports cred.

It didn’t work.

To be honest…everyone made the Freshman Basketball team.

I sucked so bad at Basketball. I really deserved to ride the bench. I was a pro at riding the bench though. I knew where to sit so as to not get any splinters in my bum, I could take a big swig of water from the sports bottle like I had just played hard…even though I didn’t, and I could cheer and get into a big game hudle with the rest of the team like I was important to the chances of winnig or losing.

I wasn’t.

If and this was a big if….I made it onto the basketball court during game time…like usually the last 30 seconds of the game, and you passed the ball to me, I would probably either:

A) Dribble it until it was stolen from me

B) Pass it right back quickly like we were playing hot potato

C) Shoot it towards the basket, having it fall three feet short of the net.

 

I ran up and down the court like a boss though. And my basketball sneakers were always clean and my socks were always knee high.

So, I turned to theater. Which I also failed miserably. In the fall we had a drama and in the spring we had a musical.

I can’t sing, so in the spring I would end up in the chorus. Sometimes there would be speaking parts in the musicals that didn’t require you to sing, but those always went to the same guy. As a matter of fact, most of the parts in any production we did went to the same people. I would get little tiny parts with one or two lines, which I would rewrite to be funnier or ad lib something during a performance. My enhancements would go over pretty well and the drama teacher would let me keep my new versions, but I’m pretty sure she would have rather me stick to the script.

I’m a more off the cuff type of actor, which eventually lead to me joining an improv troop much later in life, but that’s a whole different set of stories.

The only good thing that I got out of the drama department was I got to snuggle with some of the girls while I was waiting to deliver my one line.

I felt sorry for my parents. They sat through an entire season of basketball watching me and the bench become one. Then they had to sit through 2 hour High School plays of really bad acting so that could hear me say my one ad libbed line.

At the very end they were more than supportive,

“You were great as Soldier No. 4. You really nailed it! So much better than last year when you were Village Peasant No. 2!”

I didn’t have the heart to tell them that I basically injected my lines myself, otherwise they would have been watching me just stand on stage for two hours doing nothing like the wooden trees built by the stage crew.

So scoring big zeros in sports and drama, I tried Art. One of the guys I went to school with could draw cars really, really well. Come to think of it, he could only draw one kind of car really, really well. Which he drew over. And over. And over.

And I don’t think it was an actual in production car. I think it was a bunch of different styles of cars mashed into his ultimate “cool” car creation.

My hand at drawing was simplistic at best. Stick figures having sex mostly. I learned to draw eyes pretty good though…not whole faces mind you…just eyes.

Art was out.

For my music venture, I tried Guitar. I was in the church guitar group for awhile and thank God there was four other guitars to cover up the horrible sounds coming from my instrument. I couldn’t read music nor play any cool rock songs. I was able to successfully get my pick stuck in the guitar hole quite a bit, thus turning the guitar into maraca. If I was smart, I should have invented the Guitaca.

Maybe I still will. I just copyrighted Guitaca(tm) before any of you guys get any ideas.

I left High School with no intentions to look back. College was a much, much better experience.

So what really brought on these ponderings?

A guy from my High School wants to friend me on Facebook. He was neither mean nor nice to me, but he hung out with the book slappers. I remember once he snapped the bra of a big boobed girl in class one day.

I thought that was cool. I wanted to do that so bad, but…you know…not a cool kid.

It wasn’t all bad. Things started turning around towards the end of Freshman year.

I’ll tell why in part two.

Solid Falling – Behind The Music

I had a friend approach me the other day and say, “Hey, I didn’t know you wrote a blog!”

“Yup, don’t call it a blog though. I hate that term. Sounds like something in a B Rated monster movie. It’s funny you just found it, considering that I post a link everyday on Facebook, Google+, Twitter, and Linkin…all of which you belong too,” I reply.

“It was alright. I read half of the first section of something or other that you wrote about something with pictures or something. When did you start doing this?” my friend asks while scratching his nose the entire time.

“Well,” I begin. “It started as a Zombie book project, you know…just a place to collect stories and then sort of….”

“Got to go!” and he leaves.

A couple of days later, he comes back to me and says,

“Hey, remember that blog thing we were talking about? You know, yours?”

“Yeah, yeah. I remember my blog. Don’t call it a blog. What’s up?

He looks at me up and down several times. “Were you really in a band?”

I laugh and reply, “Sort of. It was an electronic band. It was just for fun.”

“Oh,” he says. “See ya.”

Well, since he brought it up, and obviously was so very fascinated by it, let’s briefly relive the “band” Solid Falling.

I was in broadcasting school when two of my friends; Kevin and Jason decided to record random stuff when we were bored.

We were bored a lot.

We recorded: Drills, birds, toy pianos, taping pencils, our voices, our friends voices, bits of TV Shows, anything that squeaked, random things from the internet, things falling, things bouncing, things mechanical, babies, etc.

Myself, being a computer enthusiast at the time (nerd), decided to take these random recordings and fuse them together with musical tracks. These tracks were all common license beats that you could download off the internet for free. We took these free tracks and our recorded mish mash and our electronic band was formed.

Now this was entirely for our amusement, but a couple people heard what we had laid down, and the next thing you know, I’m living in a mansion, own three boats, and have a European tour scheduled for the summer. Then I blew all my millions on nose candy, became dirt poor, and only recently have been able to survive by doing late night infomercials as a pitch man.

Nooooooo…just joking. I am not a late night infomercial pitch man.

We made two full length albums and one EP and passed them out for free to anyone who cared for one.

It was really fun. I miss those days.

I have shared three tracks below, but please be advised this is electronica, techno, trance, house style of music. It’s not for everyone. (Think: Kraftwerk, Front 242, Tangerine Dream…don’t know who those people are? You may want to take a pass on listening to the tracks below. It won’t bother me. This isn’t meant in a bad way, but I don’t care if you like it or not.)

I will say this, even though the intention was never to do anything with this but have fun…I think I may be the fore runner of dubstep!

For that, I apologize.

A Blog Fail

OK.

Alright.

Had this great idea for a post.

Are you ready to hear this?

No?

OK. I’ll wait…..

Are you ready now?

I’m telling you now, whether your ready or not.

So you know the Journey song, Don’t Stop Believing?

And you know how the song starts:

Just a small town girl, livin’ in a lonely world
She took the midnight train goin’ anywhere
Just a city boy, born and raised in south Detroit
He took the midnight train goin’ anywhere

Well, here was my thought: I would take the Don’t Stop Believing song and turn it into a story. Then at the end of the story, I would print the lyrics of the song and say,

“Guess what, I just turned the Journey song, Don’t Stop Believing into a story right under your nose…that’s why you thought the story sounded so familiar…”

Then everyone would laugh and cheer and clap and think I was oh so clever….

Except…

Once you get past the first couple of lines, you have nothing to work with…the song is a mess lyrically.

Let me show you:

First Verse

Just a small town girl, livin’ in a lonely world
She took the midnight train goin’ anywhere
Just a city boy, born and raised in south Detroit
He took the midnight train goin’ anywhere

This part is easy of course. Lonely girl gets on a train, guy from South Detroit, maybe from the suburbs, maybe from the east side gets on a train. It might be the same train, could be different midnight trains…I don’t know, but some way, some how their paths will cross and they will fall in love. Why? Because they don’t believe in love and they have to be told to “Don’t stop believing”…just like the song!

Right?

Right?

OK.

Second verse:

A singer in a smokey room
A smell of wine and cheap perfume
For a smile they can share the night
It goes on and on and on and on

Well, we have established they are on the same train, so that makes things easier for the meeting and falling in love part. This train seems to have a lounge/gambling car in it, which is unusual for trains, but we can deal with it. You know there is a guy or girl singing in this lounge car, setting the mood to have our protagonists meet and fall in love. We will have to back date the story since you can’t smoke in trains now, but that’s ok. Maybe the guy walks into the lounge car, he has a sensitive nose, gets a whiff of some old lady in a sequenced dress wearing cheap perfume. Lots of wine flowing in everyone’s glasses. Smoke everywhere. Which actually makes it tough to smell the cheap perfume and wine, but whatever…this is a love story. Anything goes. It doesn’t all have to make sense. He sees her, she sees him. They smile. For apparently a really, really, really…really long time.

Chorus

Strangers waiting, up and down the boulevard
Their shadows searching in the night
Streetlights people, living just to find emotion
Hiding, somewhere in the night.

Alright.

I thought we were on a train. A midnight train.

So maybe our lovers could have a dream sequence or a fast forward montage to the boulevard.

Let’s go the fast forward route.

So they are walking up and down the boulevard. It’s crowded with strangers, maybe wearing top hats. I see top hats on the strangers, I don’t know why, just go with it. Then we throw in some very poetic prose about how the streetlamps are making their shadows elongate and intertwine with each other…searching the night for their own true love. Then the streetlights people come in, because I guess the streetlights are broken?

What are streetlights people?

All I can think of is prostitutes. Especially with the find emotion stuff and the hiding in the night stuff.

Maybe they are vampires. Vampires hid in the night.

But would vampires walk in the streetlights, and they wouldn’t be called streetlights people…they would be called vampires. Maybe British vampires are called streetlights people. They have different terms for things in Great Britain.

We will work on that.

Moving on.

Verse Three

Working hard to get my fill,
Everybody wants a thrill
Payin’ anything to roll the dice,
Just one more time
Some will win, some will lose
Some were born to sing the blues
Oh, the movie never ends
It goes on and on and on and on

So at this point in the song I think we are just rhyming things to rhyme things…all the while trying to sound profound.

We have a total mess here.

We are working hard to get stuff, even though people just want to have fun. Then all of the sudden we will do anything to take a chance, one more time. Of course some people win and some people lose…duh…hello?…but I think only a very small percentage of people were born to sing the blues. That line would make more sense if 90% of dice games involved singing the blues as well. To top it off, suddenly we are watching a James Cameron movie or the last Batman movie. I don’t know how we got there, but we are there…and what happen to our lovers and the streetlights people…I don’t know.

Next.

Chorus

Don’t stop believin’
Hold on to the feelin’
Streetlights people

Don’t stop believin’
Hold on
Streetlight people

Don’t stop believin’
Hold on to the feelin’
Streetlights people

What?

Is it the streetlights people that need to believe because some random guy from South Detroit and some lonely girl hooked up on a midnight train? Does the time of the train matter even? Could they have hooked up on a 2:30 pm train?

Or

Is my first theory right, and the streetlights people are there to fix the lights. Now the ladder has fallen and they have to hold on to the light pole or fall to the ground and be smushed. But that makes no sense, because they are also holding on to the feelin’.

What feelin’?

What movie?

You can’t smoke in a train!

Oh, forget it.

Just remember I’m the one that got that song stuck in your head all day.

Your welcome.

Just in case you have been living under a rock and don’t know the song:

One Year Anniversary

The one year Anniversary of this blog…yea!

Below is sung to the tune of Bare Naked Ladies, “One Week.”

(Link below if you don’t know it.)

It’s been one year since you have been reading my blog
Cocked your head to the side and said I don’t get it
Five months since you laughed at it
Get it together, and come back read it
Three months since you clicked follow
I realized it’s all my fault, but I’ll keep trying
Yesterday you deleted me
But it’ll still be two days till I publish

Hold it now and don’t watch the TV
As I make you stop, think
You’ll think you’re looking at an idiot
I write about zombies, although they are really scary
I like to write about bigfoot, although he is hairy
All my views are simplistic
If not realistic 
Because I’m all about boobies
Some other blog’s got the mad hits
Don’t try to match wits, even though
You don’t like this.
Gonna take a picture and take some words,
And see what it unfurls
I like the poem, cuz it’s easiest of the posts
Gotta see the Facebook, ’cause then you’ll know
Cut and Paste is the way to go
Cause it’s so easy,
But you’ll have to block out the faces

How can I help if don’t think I’m funny, but mad
Tryin’ hard not to look at the stats that are bad
I’m the kind of guy who laughs at his own material
Can’t understand what I mean? Well, you never will
I have the tendancy to ask you to take off your shirt
If you don’t, it’s ok, we can still flirt

It’s been one year since you have been reading my blog
Cocked your head to the side and said I don’t get it
Five months since you laughed at it
Get it together, and come back read it
Three months since you clicked follow
I realized it’s all my fault, but I’ll keep trying
Yesterday you deleted me
But it’ll still be two days till I publish

Chickity China the Chinese chicken
Look at all the other blogs that I be readin’
There’s Dotty with her hermit on
There’s pelicanfreak
Who writes about doggies
Like a Rich Full Life
Like Devil’s Aardvark
Like Someone Fat
Like Brain Rants
Okay I read too many to name
But if I could, then this would be really long
I try to like what you wrote
Gonna find the time to read them all,
Just so much that should be freshly pressed
Gotta read them all before I get dressed
Sometimes my internet doesn’t work
So if I miss something don’t think I’m a jerk

How can I help if you don’t think I’m funny, but mad
Tryin’ hard not to look at the stats that are bad
I’m the kind of guy who laughs at his own material
Can’t understand what I mean? Well, you never will
I have the tendancy to ask you to take off your shirt
If you don’t, it’s ok, we can still flirt

It’s been one year since you followed me
Dropped your smart phones and said wtf
Five months since I made you laugh
You just thought it might be better than that
Three days since you checked your email,
I realized we were both to blame, but what could I do?
Yesterday you read me again
But I still got two days till I publish
It’ll still be two days till I publish,
It’ll still be two days till I publish…

Numb

Goooood morning Kissimmee, Florida…and by everyone I mean me! I’m your DJ with the most, Donnie D. The one, the only…and I’m not lying when I say this because the rest of you are dead.

Gone, bye bye, adios, Sayonara…see ya!

I’m broadcasting on 10,000 watts of pure boredom and waste of time from beautiful, historic, downtown Kissimmee’s Z100 rock station. I’m sure you, dear listener don’t give a rat’s ass….because everyone in the sound of my voice is dead. Yes, I know…I have mentioned this little fact before, but hey….what do I care?

You’re all dead!

If any of you, by some weird chance are not dead, you are probably dying and not listening to me ramble on about nothing anyway. But in the off chance you are not dead or dying, you can find me right on Main street…just look for the building with the big call letters on it: Z100.

Z100 is Kissimmee’s Rock and Roll headquarters! And I am Kissimmee’s new rock god!

Folks in just a few short minutes I will be playing Pink Floyd’s Comfortably Numb, a favorite and by the way,  how I start every radio broadcast…hell it’s how I start every morning since the big tragedy. I was never much of a pot head before all this, but let me tell ya…being all alone sucks! A little wake and bake helps ease that transition from wandering through nightmare infested dreams to wandering through the streets of Kissimmee for the billionth time…all by myself. And since my bud John is no longer around, I don’t think he will mind if I take his stash of sweet, sweet, Calgon take me away, marijuana.

Hey, remember folks, it’s just  little ol’ me here.

I’m begging anyone…if you can hear me….for the love of God…find me. Listen it’s a well known fact…according to every disaster movie ever made, you always start of with just that one guy…which currently is me…did I mention that? Anyway you just focus on him for like the first 20/30 minutes of the film…then eventually he hooks up with a group of rag-tag survivors consisting of a hot chick, an old dude, a black guy with a pregnant wife…and a stray dog.

So where is my hot chick? Where is my stray dog?

It’s been longer than 20/30 minutes!

I promise I’m not just going to cry for 3 hours like I did yesterday. That was riveting radio I’m sure…

Shut up…

Don’t judge!

Well, you can’t judge. You’re dead.

Let’s take a quick look at the traffic shall we…let’s see…the streets are crowded with the cars you died in…very inconsiderate…you can hardly get a scooter through that mess. Plus it’s all  creepy and scary looking, like out of a B rated horror film, with all your dead arms hanging out the windows, and your dead faces just staring at the sun.

In the weather, it’s going to be hot. It is Florida after all. And this brings a major problem, because all you inconsiderate bastards that died are now stinking up the place. Maybe I should do something about burying you all, or burning you all…but I don’t have the motivation. My arm over my nose will have to do for now.

Well, enough about that…let’s go to the phones. Any requests? And remember I refuse to play R.E.M’s It’s the end of the world, and I feel fine…it’s too easy.

What?

No phone calls?

The phone lines are dead…just like you….

Tee Hee.

Well I was going to play Comfortably Numb anyway, I almost forgot…but before I do that, I would like to tell a Knock, Knock joke.

Ready?

Knock, Knock…who’s there? No one. You’re all dead.

Ha!

You know what? I’m tired, I think you can hear it in the sound of my voice…so today I think I will put Pink Floyd’s wonderful masterpiece, Comfortably Numb on an endless loop while I’ll take a nap.

Just a quick, little known fact about the band Pink Floyd first…they are all dead.

This is Donnie D. your DJ with the most saying…help me, find me….anyone?

Please…

My Country Song

My attempt at writing a country song.

And like all good country songs you should write something that is near and dear to your heart…like losing a loved one, your favorite car, or even the rodeo.

Take any country song, any one, whether it’s fast or slow (except for Devil Went Down To Georgia or Red Solo Cup) and use that for the backing track for my song.

My Country Song

by Christopher De Voss

Please put your boobs in my face
Motorboating between cleavage and lace
Don’t think I’m a pervert
I’m more of an expert
So don’t fault me for my taste
Just please put your boobs in my face

Please put your boobs in my face
Don’t frown or get on my case
I’m not that disgusting
And even though your bra is self-adjusting
It doesn’t even matter your race
Just please put your boobs in my face

Let me squeeze them together
It makes everything better
You just don’t know how good it feels
It’s even better then having two Happy Meals
Darling, I’m begging you, begging you please…
(beat)
My face fits between your boobs with ease

This next part of the song switches to a hip hop/boy band kind of feel, where the deep sexy voiced dude of the group sings-talks the song.

Baby listen to me
It doesn’t matter if your a B cup
It doesn’t matter if your a D cup
It doesn’t matter if your a Triple F
I just want to sit you down on the couch
Put my head on the top of your breast
And whisper sweet nothings into your nipples
Baby…we could motorboat all night
Just you and me
Just me and you…and you…and you
And a C cup makes three…well four
Shhhhhh
Shhhhhh
Hold me baby…no, no, let me hold you
Baby, baby, baby I could get lost in your cleavage

(fade out)