I was reading my buddy DJ's blog, and thought, "Shoot, I have as little to say as he does! Maybe I should start a blog?" Suddenly, the watercooler burped. A sign!
I decided to copy him. I copy him in most everything he does with a few exceptions. I didn't follow him into the telecommunications game. Also, he Shakes Hands with the Bishop rather more than I think is healthy.
He tells me he sells circuits. I could never do. Too intangible. What th' heck is a circuit? It's like Billy Crystal talking about selling time in City Slickers. My company, M/Y Properties, is a burgeoning Real Estate Empire. As it consists of 1/2 a semi-valueless cabin no one wants to go to, it mainly exists in my mind.
I'm still unsure about blogging. Who wants to read ravings from some guy who doesn't know shite from shinola? Blogs are ubiquitous, though. People seem to write about a kinds of nothing. People seem to read them. They read DJ's, for cryin' out pete's sake.
DJ covers the entertainment industry, politics, and other current events. I'll try not to infringe on his territory. I thought perhaps I'd write my most personal inner thoughts, and invite the world to ridicule them. And perhaps talk about my feeling. Pause. Not!
I learned that from Borat. I'm working my way up the humor ladder to knock-knock jokes. I don't feel ready. Humor is a harsh mistress.
I learned a lot of serious stuff from Borat's documentary. Everyone should see it. Who knew that the testicle smell could linger in a mustache that long?
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2 comments:
Love the pic. Love the picker, too. Kinda looks like the bass player from my 9th grade garage rockin band. We were known township wide as "Little Peter and the Cordless Electric Vibrators". One thing for sure, Damian better buckle up. Peetnis
Your world frightens and confuses me.
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