Yeah, I’ve talked about it enough, so here’s a preview of things to come…
Pre-orders going on sale soon. You know that scam, right? Where someone takes your money, to spend on hookers and blow, while you sit home patiently, with nothing new to read?
But I would never do that to you. Not without offering a fancy incentive — like my prized signature, and a personalized note to your cat, dog, lizard, or hamster. Simply specify which animal you own upon ordering.
No guinea pigs or fish, please.
If you don’t have a pet, perhaps I can write a poem about your favourite trip to Walmart. Or say a small prayer thrice weekly for your dying houseplants. Maybe I can donate a toonie to the charity of my choice, in your name, kinda like those assholes who try to guilt you at the local Fresh Co. — except they use your money, and their name.
It won’t be a full two dollars to the needy, obviously, since everyone has to take a cut. The glossy new brochures, and limos to the “save the world” convention ain’t fuckin’ free, ya know. Not to worry, at least a penny or two will trickle down to the bloated African babies. And you’ll feel great knowing you made a difference.
If none of those incentives will encourage you to drop $400 early for a copy of my new book, I have no idea what will.
Oh wait, did I write 400 dollars? I meant pesos. Actually that’s a bit pricey too, let’s cut that in half. Twice. Shit, I need a calculator…
But if you act now, I’ll send not one, but TWO copies of the book. Yeah, you read that correctly. The pot’s gettin’ sweeter every second.
With the weather warming outside, you know what else I’m giving away?
A new fucking shammy! The kind Vince Shlomo sold before getting arrested for chomping down on a transvestite prostitute’s lower lip. Yep, this thing’ll do a beautiful job wipin’ down your car, or soakin’ up 2 L of Coke Zero someone spilled on the rug during your Game of Thrones party.
How could you possibly pass that up??
You can’t — especially once you learn that the first 1000 orders will also receive a free tactical flashlight. I shit you not!! You can freeze this fucker, drive over it with your Humvee, or jam it up your ass, and it’ll never break. It stops working if you do something stupid with it, like use it in the dark, or carry it in your backpack for a month, but only an idiot would do something so foolish. It’s a tactical flashlight, not a practical one, dumbass.
You do realize you’ll have to pay all the extra shipping and handling for these gifts, right? I ain’t no delivery-boy sucker. But after I throw in 3 free samples of hand-made bricks I’ve been stockpiling in my parents garage, you might consider that $400 mark again. American. Fuck the pesos.
Before you start thinking “scam,” I should let you know the bricks are part of an ultra-sustainable, Earth-friendly, green-living construction system I’m pioneering. I’m including free plans with every sample of bricks. In order to save the trees, I’ve carved the design ideas onto slabs of homemade clay, 100% bio-degradable. Shipping is gonna cost a little more, but well worth it to save the planet.
The shipping mark-ups have nothing to do with the sweet deal I have going on with Fed Ex. I swear.
For the measly sum of 5 or 6 hundred bucks, my new book is yours.
It’ll be out no later than 2021. Promise.
Place your order today!
Hookers aren’t gettin’ any cheaper.
Writing is an interesting game.
It’s one thing to hole yourself up in a room for days on end, and make up crazy shit just for the sake of keeping your fucked up mind entertained, but it’s an entirely different beast to go out into the world, and gather real experiences of the weird, wild, and wacky offerings found around every corner.
One might also potentially uncover stories of love, compassion, and personal growth, but those tales are fucking gay.
The Adventure Blog writes itself. All I have to do is play stenographer. The Ramblings category is different. It takes a lot more time and energy to put a piece together — sometimes based on a random thought, sometimes no thought at all. I wouldn’t call it writing for the sake of writing, as something interesting always develops, but journaling is far easier when you’ve actually lived the stories — by experiencing this ridiculous reality first-hand, to find the endless bits of fun, humour, wisdom, or tragedy in the mess, worthy of sharing with others.
So that’s what I went out to do this morning.
Wanna hear a tale?
Of course you do…
I turned 47 today. In dog years, I would be a corpse. But I arose at the crack of dawn, with far more enthusiasm than any decaying canine I’ve ever played fetch with. The plan was a random walk around town, no destination in mind.
Though the temperature reached an almost balmy 18 C the day before, this morning was crisp. Perhaps a small cup of decaf might be a fitting start.
As I entered the only open building of caffeine peddlers, I immediately sensed the stench of death. But I quickly realized it wasn’t emanating from the four ninety-year-olds sitting in silence, staring at their litre-sized paper cups o’ joe, it was wafting from my hair and armpits. Bathing would be next on the agenda.
I approached the counter to place my order. The only way I now have to soothe my ego is to add a preface here — although I think the woman briefly glanced at me, she was definitely occupied with some duty related to organizing materials under her register, and punched in my order without making eye contact.
“Good morning, how are you today, sir?”
“Excellent. Could I have a small black decaf to go, please?”
“Of course. That’ll be a dollar fifty. Would you like your senior’s discount today?”
Happy fucking birthday, Mike.
Let’s talk some basics here.
Life can be broken down into two elemental states — the time you’re awake, and the time you’re asleep.
If sleep time only comprised an hour or two of our daily Earth cycle, I could understand why it would seem rather insignificant in relation to the waking phase.
But it’s not an hour or two. On average, sleep consumes one third of our existence. That’s nothin’ to sneeze at. If that balance shifted only 4 hours, we would be talking about a condition consuming half our lives.
For all the crazy new advancements we’ve seen in this generation alone, it stuns me to consider how fundamentally ignorant we still remain about our “unconscious” periods, despite them being an undeniable part of living, which not a single one of us can ignore without breaking down physically or mentally.