2009

I've slacked. Oh, how I've slacked.

I'm good at slacking. It's what I do. It's what I've always done.

When I worked for the man, I could crank out a week's worth of productivity in about six hours. Tops. Then I'd spend the rest of the day listening to everyone tell me how awesome I was, and proceed to spend the rest of the week doing absolutely nothing.

In fact, if attendance wasn't a prerequisite to receiving a paycheck, I would have skipped going into the office entirely.

What I'm trying to say is - I can slack like a mother fucker.

Now this may come as a shock to you, but that's not the greatest skill to have when you're trying to do things at your leisure - like, say, update a blog or write a script. Because you wake up one day, and everything has fast forwarded a year, and all you have to show for it is your cock in your hand.

Don't get me wrong, I'm a big fan of my cock - he's an ambitious little fucker. But he can't pay my bills. He can't update this blog. And he sure as shit can't write a script for me.

So now I'm staring into the abyss that is 2009. And I'll be honest with you, it looks scary.

Will I fail again? Will I even try? Will I write an eerily similar blog entry to this next December?

The answer to all of those questions is: Probably.

And that's my promise for 2009. I will probably try again. I will probably fail again. And I will probably be right back here writing this exact same thing a year from now.

Cheers.

Rock and Motherfucking Roll

In case you haven't heard the big news, Chinese Democracy is finally scheduled to drop, November 25th. Of this year. About fucking time, Axl. About fucking time.

But even with the second coming of Mr. Rose, can we save rock n' roll? Is it even salvageable?

It used to be, you couldn't turn on the news without hearing about Tommy Lee going back to rehab or Axl breaking someone's nose at a concert. Those guys and rock n' roll was the reason most of us turned out the way we did. It was inspiring.

And as ugly as Vince Neil was, you wanted to be his cock, even if just for a day - so you could wake up in the morning, do a line of coke and a shot of whiskey, then wrangle up the groupies and fuck 'til you passed out.

And now? Now Nikki Sixx is writing his memoirs of drug addiction, and Duff McKagan is just a down home dad trying to make ends meet. Now Britney Spears and Amy Whinehouse are the badasses. Now Jonas Brothers are the ones making news.

Amy fucking Whinehouse and the Jonas fucking brothers.

I weep for the music of today. It sucks.

And you suck for not raising your children better, because they're the ones buying this crap.

Chinese Democracy is a great start, and hopefully a step in the right direction - but jesus, people - stop listening to Panic at the Disco and go out and actually buy Chinese Democracy. Drink. Fuck. Break stuff. And play some Paradise City before it's too late.

Motherfuck the Jonas Brothers.

Flying Solo. Maybe.

I sure hope nobody still reads this blog.

How sad would that be? Checking back day after day long after I've totally abandoned you like a cheap whore. Then again, if that were the case, I just blew your mind.

I'm glad I could do that for you.

Anyway, it's good to know this thing is still here.

I've been kicking around the idea of writing again - don't think I really gave it the ol' college try the first time around.

So who knows.

ʇɹoɥs ɐ ƃuıʞɐɯ

˙ɐʎ ɹoɟ ,uıɯoɔ ı puɐ ןǝqɐuuɐ ɟo punos ǝɥʇ s,ʇɐɥʇ

¿punos ʇɐɥʇ ɹɐǝɥ noʎ 'ʇınɔɹıɔ ןɐʌıʇsǝɟ

˙ƃuoן sǝʇnuıɯ 02 oʇ 8 ƃuıɥʇǝɯos oʇuı ʇı ǝsuǝpuoɔ puɐ ʎɹʇ puɐ sɐǝpı ǝɹnʇɐǝɟ ɹno ɟo ǝuo ǝsn oʇ ƃuıoƃ ǝɹ,ǝʍ ʞuıɥʇ ı

˙ʇɹoɥs ɐ op oʇ ƃuıʇuɐʍ ʎq sʇʇnq ɹno ɥʇoq ɹǝpun ƃuıoƃ ǝɹıɟ ǝɥʇ uǝʇʇoƃ sɐɥ ןǝqɐuuɐ ʇnq 'ɥɔnɯ uǝʇʇıɹʍ ʇ,uǝʌɐɥ ןןıʇs ı

˙ǝʇɐpdn ʞɔınb ɐ ǝʞɐɯ p,ı ʇɥƃnoɥʇ ı os 'ǝuo ʇsɐן ʎɯ ǝq oʇ ʍoןǝq ʇsod ƃuıʞɔnɟ ƃuıssǝɹdǝp ǝɥʇ ɹoɟ sı pǝʇuɐʍ ı ƃuıɥʇ ʇsɐן ǝɥʇ puɐ 'ƃoןq ɐ pǝʇsod ı ǝɔuıs ǝɯıʇ ƃuoן ɐ uǝǝq s,ʇı ʍouʞ ı

A Letter to Natalie

I still don't have much to say here on my blog, but I thought I would share the latest letter I sent my ex about our son.

---

Natalie,

I've all but given up hope that I'll hear from you, but I had to try again - for my father's sake.

He turns 69 on Saturday, and he's saying that he feels like it's almost his time to go. I don't want to lose my father without him knowing his only grandchild.

You wouldn't deny your mother that, would you? He doesn't have several children each of whom with grandchildren - he has me. One son, with one grandson.

Please. I don't want to cause trouble, I don't want us to fight - I don't want to take anything away from you or fight you on anything.

I just want my father to meet his grandson before it's too late.

I'm begging you to please just put our past behind us. I'm sure we've both grown a lot as people at this point.

Please.

Daniel

---

I had to try.

Anonymous Douchebaggery and Me!

I love the smell of pussy in the morning.

And not just the kind with freshly shaven hair, either.

The kind with pent up, latent homosexual rage and a hard on for moi.

That's quite alright, though. It gives them some purpose in life - and who am I to deny them that? Hate on, little fella. Hate on.

My friendly neighborhood cockbag who's been leaving the comments does have a point, however.

I haven't been accomplishing very much lately.

In fact, I haven't written a word in months.

The fact that Annabel still puts up with me is a testament to her patience, because I can't even bring myself to put a single word down on paper. Even the thought of blogging makes me cringe.

They say writer's write. And if that's the case, maybe I'm not a writer after all.

I've made a promise to finish the current script we're working on. And whatever it takes, I'll finish it.

But beyond that? I don't know.

Eyes Wide Shut

I kept wondering what would be an appropriate comeback post after such a long hiatus, and I think I've finally figured out.

Ejaculation.

See, about a year or so ago, something really strange started happening to my body. Something that had never happened before, and something that defied explanation.

Whenever my champagne cork pops, my eyes squeeze shut. You know how you do when you taste something sour or when your eye stings? Yeah. Like that.

During climax.

This isn't such a big deal when you're with a steady girlfriend, because let's face it, she already knows I'm crazy and do weird shit - so she hasn't even asked what's going on.

But I started wondering what would happen when I finally break up with Ruth and start dating someone new?

That's gonna be a really awkward sexing.

Is she going to wonder if I hated it? Is she going to think something got in my eye?

I'm going to scar the poor girl into thinking she's got a sour pussy.

It wouldn't be the first time.