I wrote a song which may surprise you, and not just because it’s a country song.
But stay tuned because it’s not entirely what it seems.
Here it is :
I was tempted to skip the whole lyrics on screen (LOS) thing and save myself a buttload of hassle, but I felt like that would be cheating somehow.
Anyhow, the sneaky and subversive secret of the song, which I will only admit to here because nobody who doesn’t know me reads this thing, is that I wrote that song with the intention of turning people against Trump by reminding them of their actual values.
That’s why it’s a country song. I figured that’s how to reach the diehard Trump demographic who still believes he’s going to save them after he is done grinding their faces into the dirt.
Yeah buddy. Any second now.
So in order to complete my act of subversive media, I tried to think of everything I could that his demographic thinks they still believe and that he contravenes flagrantly.
Only now does it occur to me all the ways he goes against American values. You know, freedom, democracy, truth, justice, and the American way.
They think they still believe in all of that too. Hence complaining about “woke Superman” from assorted pinheads.
Fool. Superman would kick your white Christian nationalist bigoted butt.
Oh well, I guess I can tackle the Americana stuff in another song. Something in an over the top American patriotism style, with a military marching band and a male choir humming the melody in the background as Lady Liberty herself belts it out.
A project from some other day when I am feeling bored and in need of a challenge.
That said, insert my now standard whining about wishing I had spent more time on the lyrics here. I tried this time, I really did.
I had the idea for the song last night, as I was falling asleep, and when I got up this morning I wrote some notes for the lyrics.
But the bulk of the actual songwriting AND making the song AND making the video had to fit into the two hours between 2 pm and when I start blogging at 4 pm.
And the problem is self-discipline. I had like twelve hours or more between the idea and its execution and those are hours I could have spent writing the lyrics and polishing them and refining them until I couldn’t make them any better.
But that would have cost me precious fucking around wasting my life playing videos and watching TikTok on my phone time. How tragic.
So I need to get my priorities straight and accept that if I am to become the amazingly productive and dazzlingly talented and lavishly compensated creative megastar I know I can be, I am doing to have to radically realign my lifestyle and that means less time spent mesmerized by video games and the internet and more time spent doing fun stuff that might actually get me somewhere.
In other words, I need to grow the fuck up.
But not in a way that makes me stiff and boring and serious and tedious and all that. That is how a child views being an adult, and I ain’t having it.
No, I will still live to have fun and enjoy myself, I will just move on from the petty amusements of time-wasting games and move on to the way more fun and potentially profitable world of doing actual work.
I could really make a splash if I truly get behind myself and push.
And even if it all ends in failure, I will have had a good time doing it, so who cares?
More after the break.
Life is trying to kill me
I have had a stressful night.
So I wake up from a post Blogging Part I nap around 20 minutes before 6 pm, and 6 pm is when I have my Sunday shower.
My one shower a week. But at least it’s one I can do by myself.
And as I sit in front of my computer pre-shower, I realize I feel a mite woozy. Oh well, it’s probably just because I just woke up.
So 6 pm rolls around and I get naked and put on the plastic cast cover I use to protect the bandage on my left foot and stand up to go get my shower.
Further wooziness. Hmmm. Not good. I briefly consider not taking my shower out of an abundance of caution.
But in my compromised mental state, if I didn’t take my shower, I would not be able to go to Denny’s with my friends, and that was a total nonstarter.
Like I have said many times before, Denny’s on Sunday with Le Gang is the highlight of my week and the only thing that would keep me from going is being in the hospital.
So I dry off and get dress and as I go to put on my belt I notice something is very off because I can’t get the belt on. The waistband of my pants is cutting too deep into my guy and I can’t get at the belt loops.
Using more sterling logic, I decided that if they were that tight, they would stay up without the belt, and I soldiered on.
About this time I should have noticed that I was feeling pretty crappy. But that really came to the fore when I did up the too-tight pants and the crappiness accelerated rapidly. I felt too hot and nauseous and dizzy and that only got worse when I made the mistake of standing up.
Luckily, on the way from my computer to the door of my bedroom, enough blood got to the right parts of my brain for me to realize that this was not viable in any way shape or form, so I grabbed a pair of pants on my way past and got Julian to fetch a belt for me and sat down on the couch to do a pants transplant.
A transpant, if you will.
And that helped a fair bit but I still felt terrible and I seriously considered very reluctantly bowing out of Denny’s this week.
But I knew I would be emotionally miserable knowing my friends were doing Denny’s without me, so I chose to be physically miserable instead and went down to the car.
Luckily, as I had hoped, the air conditioner in the car soon had me feeling better. On some intuitive level, I had surmised that I had heatstroke even though my conscious mind was too dumb to recognize it.
Then we made it to Denny’s and between hydrating and their aggressive AC I soon felt better, and we had our usual pleasant meal.
Then I go to pay with my credit card, and it’s declined. WTF? I knew there was enough money left on it!
So I have to borrow the cash to pay my bill because I have like $10 in cash left because deposit day is Wednesday and this was a five week month.
Then I realize I need to pay real bad, so I head to the bathroom, but oh fuck, the handicapped washroom is occupied so I have to use the regular one.
Or piss on the floor, which might have been safer.
Problem is, there’s four steps without anything to use to support myself between the bathroom door and the closest urinal.
I make it to the urinal and I get through the very long time it takes me to pee without only one hand to use to support myself (other one was, um, needed for something else) by resting my chin atop the urinal.
Disability destroys dignity.
Then I have to make it back to the bathroom door and through it to my walked, and my legs start to give out on me halfway there but I manage to rally and make it.
But my heart is beating REALLY hard and I am worried. So we hang around a bit longer so I can calm down.
Then, for one final jab, as I am on the way out of Denny’s, I have to pass through the area connecting the front of the restaurant and the back, which is normally no problem, but the busboy and his cart are there too.
I barely scooch past time.
So as you can see, I have had a stressful night.
And now I am gonna sleep.
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.