Self-flattery by pre-emptively answering anticipated queries…

Isn’t this all rather inane?


What makes you so special? Why not announce your opinion on street corners, preferably by wearing a big placard so that I can spot you early enough to avoid you?

Through my mighty faculty for objective self-judgement I can determine that I am:

a) (mentally) flabby


b) opinionated.

Should my rambling prove sufficiently vapid, then it would seem that the internet is the best forum for my screed.


What do you expect to achieve?

Words, words, words. Nothing but. Imagine this entire enterprise as the training montage from any Rocky, only with words and typing and less boring and please stop imagining now please.

No, but seriously?

I’m a professional writer, so clearly I get to live a dream lifestyle where I take long vacations between momentary lapses of financial gain. I’m out of shape and I have a penchant for flagellation.

If I didn’t do this, I’d probably resort to petty larceny to pass the time from one packet of noodles to the next. I’ll settle for petty slanders instead.


Are you one of that generation of overachievers whose academic achievements only served as nourishing a gluttonous sense of undeserved entitlement? One of those foolish egos that clothed itself solely in garments and false furs composed entirely of naive pomposity and is now shivering to death by exposure when faced with the chill winds of financial crisis, the sunless winter of underemployment, and the slick ice slice that is the hailstorm of REAL LIFE?



Are you some sort of lapsed Catholic?

Obviously. That, or they’re my kink.


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