Untitled Post #1

Tomorrow night at midnight this website will officially launch and I am met with extreme eagerness and unbelievable nervousness. These posts are somewhat my private thoughts and I am sharing them with the world. I feel that I need to slow down and carefully decide whether or not I should cross certain boundaries or share certain subjects. At the same time, I will not stray away from the things I want to talk about. I do plan on talking about touchy subjects, and if you know me my sense of humor can be questionable. Though at the end of the day, it’s just comedy, and I preach mindfulness.

I want to reiterate that I’m not a licensed doc or physician, and by God, I hope you don’t think that this entire website is dedicated to that self-help pipeline bullhonky. I have really cool plans, planned.

Really I just wanna talk. Write. Share. In a simpler way during a different time.

On a fun and silly note here is a random excerpt from a book twelve years in the making. Have a laugh.

Bobby Dobby was a shell of himself. The recent news regarding his health left him in a comatose limbo, and at no point did he confess the tragic news to his own wife or Cleveland. 

For the rest of the afternoon, Bobby Dobby sat around the house eating all the ice cream in the freezer. He was slowly gaining weight by the second. Just then, Mo announced that she would be flying to the Sahara Desert to fight the Commies.

“I need to go my silly salamander, I need to be there. I pray to Vishnu that they haven't taken the wall yet,” Mo said with great sorrow.

Bobby Dobby begged her not to go, but nevertheless, she left in a burst of enthusiasm. 

“Tell Cleveland-child the gods above believe in his talents and that they know he is a very special boy,” she said as she fumbled to carve out a few more hollow point rounds.

Bobby Dobby cried and cried. He knew that something bad was going to happen. His tummy hurt too.

Cleveland was practicing punches in his bedroom.

A few days later, and 6,500 miles away, Mo stepped off the plane into the vast desert. Five seconds later she was stampeded upon by a wild flocking of meerkats. Mo was dead.

The Bureau Assistant General of Northeastern Africa phoned Bobby Dobby minutes later, giving him the dreaded news. Bobby Dobby was emotionally compact. He was a “man”. He only cried for twenty-six consecutive days. 

Cleveland ran away to the “Accommodated Home for the Fat Kids of Pensaltuckee '' in Pensaltuckee, Pennsylvania.   

Bobby Dobby was drowning in tears. These tears were not falling because of Mo’s death, but because of the fact that a player named, XxBatTl3xSw0Rd5xSWaGxX, had hacked his level “355 Warlock”. Fuck everything man.

He had lost ALL hope in humanity, achievements, multi-colored cloaks, enchanted swords, and ALL types of Magic.