When your attention span has the equivalent longevity of a mayfly trying to get laid, how does one possibly accomplish anything meaningful on Planet Stupid?
Maybe it’s simple enough — just focus on the now, and fuck the rest.
So, as the new book is months away from completion, I took the time to pump out a NEWER one between writing and editing unfinished chapters.
A new book between a new book?
Haha, fuck yeah.
To explain this more concisely, I’m gonna share with you the introduction segment of the newer less-new book. And it’ll give me a chance to add some blog-style visuals that won’t exist in the final edit.
Are you confused? Me too. What else is new…
The gate-keepers, AKA literary agents, don’t seem to give a flying fuck to indulge in my madness, and so be it. Fuck them. I’ll find my own path to greatness.
BIG BANGED: The Best of BonerFruit…
Back in the not-so-distant past, ideas worth sharing were immortalized using mediums like clay tablets, cave walls, metals, ceramics, temples, architecture, parchment, papyrus, paper, and on and on.
Ironically, there seems to be an inverse relationship that exists within evolving society — the faster our tech advances, the more tenuous our storage media becomes.
Sure, we may have terabyte hard-drive capacity in our homes at this very moment, but without a power grid to fire up those ones and zeroes, anyone discovering your laptop a thousand years from now will be just as confuzzled as a 20th-century tenured professor trying to make sense of a shaman’s million-year-old cave paintings.
A massive solar flare, an EMP, a trumped-up cyber-attack (hell, even a shitty refrigerator magnet!), all have the potential to wipe out the zillion bits of information we hold so dear.
Do you remember those 33 thousand pictures you took on your iPhone (the ones you’ve never looked at even once), all stored on some cloud server in a digital virtual reality? They have about as much permanence as a keg of beer at a frat party.
It took less than a generation for compact discs to become more worthless than beer coasters. Show a CD to a twenty-something, braindead punk today, and the conversation might go something like this:
Dumbass: Whassat dude?
You: It’s a CD.
Dumbass: It’s shiny! Whassit do?
You: Plays movies, music, stores data.
Dumbass: Data? Izzat like a robot dude on the Star Tracks?
You: (sigh) No, you put it in a compact disc player, and a laser reads the information.
Dumbass: Lasers? Like in The Force Awakens Me? Play it, play it!! Pew Pew!!
You: I can’t. Firstly, CD players are obsolete. Secondly, once you’ve played a song or movie more than 10 times, the disc instinctively knows how to scratch itself in a critical location, and hence becomes worthless.
Dumbass: I don’t get it. So whassit do?
You: Nothing. It’s just a beer coaster.
Dumbass: I like da rainbows on it!
You: Yeah. Drink up, stupid.
The point I’m trying to make here is that all the memories and information we’ve faithfully stored in microchips might just go the way of the dodo at any given moment. And it won’t really matter how many backup thumb drives you’ve squirreled away in fire-proof safes or hidden bunkers — if the power grid becomes decimated, which it inevitably will, you’ll only have so much dinosaur juice in your generator to re-live those fun moments you recorded with your buds on a drunken crime spree in downtown Aylmer.
So, in the spirit of horrible negativity about the future, I’ve decided to compile some of the earliest and funnestest essays from my website BonerFruit.com, and commit them to a print book.
Yes, I know no one will give a fuck about reading my aberrant thoughts when they’re starving or trying to stay warm after the zombie apocalypse, and yes, I know that paper ain’t that much more permanent than a hard drive, but at least I’ll have an additional hundred pages of goofy shit to amuse me before tossing the mess into a firepit to keep warm, as I’m hunted by roving bands of rape-cannibals dressed in tattered dog furs.
Is this a sneaky, pathetic attempt to pump out a new book that’s already been written?
But some of these pieces date back to 2018. In pandemic years, that was a lifetime ago. I barely remember writing half of the shit that follows, and, if you’ve been with me since the beginning, maybe you’ll get reacquainted with a snippet or two of fun shit/stupid philosophy to help you facilitate another fucked up Groundhog Day on Planet Stupid.
If not, at least you’ll have an additional 45 seconds worth of kindling to throw in your fireplace after the government declares the manufacture of winter coats to be the next-latest-existential-threat-contributor to “climate change.”
P.S. There’s a better-than-average chance you find a few fun new surprises buried in the mix as well.
Happy Zombie Hunting!