I consolidated the stories about Fred.


...long live, Hill Blocks View. I miss writing. But the thought of one more round of "welcome backs", or obsessing over stats, or thinking of the clever response to a comment, or the obligation to read everyone else's blog... not so much. So I'll try and write. No pressure. If you feel the need to respond, you can email me. I like email. flipaul@yahoo.com

Monday, January 2, 2012

Into The Bright Future. Is It Supposed To Be All Glowey And Explodey Like That?!

It's been almost exactly one year since I started writing and no one has backed a large truck up to my front door and offered me millions to write funny crap for them. (Yes, I said almost exactly. I'm a complete dork.) I was mildly disappointed. And by mildly I mean, I went on a three week long Nyquil and Old Milwaukee fueled bender, where I watched every episode of Red Dwarf on Netflix, decided my house needed a basement, started digging basement, part of house collapsed, decided against digging a basement, and sent threatening letters to Dave Berry and Douglas Adam's for preemptively stealing my funny thoughts.

   But I'm over that now. Now, it's time to look into the future and try and steer my present into that glorious place, all the while avoiding the potholes of people who don't want me to succeed (abject failure seems just a little harsh, Mom), and the oncoming headlights of eminent world destruction. All while trying to figure out; just how in the hell do you steer this thing?
   The typical way it is done, I believe, is with setting goals and/or resolutions. And with out anymore ado, (a doo. That's kinda funny huh? And without any more poop. And without any more crap. Dammit! I just gave you some more ado. Now I really mean it. Without any any more ado,) I present some of my goals and resolutions for this the year of our Lord twenty and twelve.
   This year I will write the great American novel. (Why you fly so high, Icarus?) I will write a terrible, almost unreadable American novel. Or maybe an average Lithuanian novel. A bad kid's book in pig latin.
   I am tired of being harassed for no good reason. This year I will change my current look of bank robber chic. Or possibly I will start robbing banks. I kinda like the scruffy beard.

   I will make progress on my fine art bacon weaving project. My doctor and his "Holy crap, your blood is so high in cholesterol it's practically syrup!", be damned.
  I will test out my new fighting style, by getting into more bar fights. It mostly involves spinning around with my arms flailing about whilst naked and crying like a little girl.
   Three words. Eye lid tattoo. Is eye lid one word? Eyelid. Two words. Never mind. Is that one word? Nevermind. Nope, that's two words. Maybe I'll just draw on my arm with a Sharpie.
   I need to get in shape by the time the grass starts to grow again. That grass isn't going to mow itself. Or rather, that grass isn't going to mow itself wearing a banana hammock.
   I will start a competitive league of over forty parkour. I will not let it bother me that several of them will break hips or fall off buildings or whatever. If you can't run with the big dogs, stay on the porch.

   In the immortal words of the Henry David Thoreau, "Why so serious?" This year I will smile more. I will let my hair down more, but not my literal hair 'cause my hair is thinning. I will allow myself to be a little silly.
   I guess that's about it. With these resolutions under my belt I will march boldly into the future prepared for whatever comes. Unless the sun blows up. Or the bugs rise up and overthrow us. Or Godzilla

Oh and I will try and be a better father and husband and blog more often and not drink so much and blah blah blah.