A Stream of Consciousness Part 1

                I first encountered the concept of writing as a young lad.  My opinion today is antipodal to that of yester-yore, but so is my understanding of my body’s mechanics.   I loathed writing until about a year ago, when on a midsummer's day, a thought occurred to me while I was sitting in the gutter, somewhere in Anaheim, CA, picking my nose, and wondering what the fuck happened to my previous career.

The clouds opened up over head, and a beam of light shined down on my scruffy Irish face.  Since it was high noon with a mild overcast, I knew this mysterious luminescence was not the trademark work of the all too ominous “Ghetto Bird”, or police helicopters as it is commonly referred to in the “civilized mans” vernacular, and at that moment, I was bestowed with divine knowledge…and God spoke directly to me. 

“Wylie O’Rylie, this is the voice of God.  You’re a total fuck up, and now you’re going to pay for it…take thy laptop your step father gave to you, and play World of Warcraft no longer.  Your new means of entertainment will be scribing about your hedonistic adventures, and you will include a sound wholesome moral twist at the end of each tale.

You will also include such personally embarrassing stories like the time you were arrested in Rosa Redo, Mexico, for climbing up a set of bleachers at a crowded club, whipping out thy jimmy, and pissing all over the dancers on the floor below.  It did not matter that they were from Ft. Lauderdel or that you felt the white shirts they were wearing should be a different color, and neither did your intoxicated acumen.  NOT BEING THE CENTER OF ATTENTION IS NEVER A GOOD REASON TO PISS ON THY BRETHREN, UNTIL OF COURSE, YOU PROCEED TO PISS ON THY BRETHREN...THAN OF COURSE YOU ARE THE CENTER OF ATTENTION AS YOU HAD WISHED, ENJOY MEXICAN  JAIL.

Now, put down thy beer, finish thy booger, and write, write, write you God damn scribe…or would that be my damn it, or however the fuck that should be grammatically phrased.  Now go, before I decide to miracle your ass to state prison, or cancel It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia.”

Now every one of us has said it before (and some more then others)...“THEY (don’t be proactive in your life or anything) should write a book about my life because its SO unique and SO interesting (maybe to the one who makes this kind of comment that is) and eventually they would make a movie about it.  Yeah, that would be rad, because every thought, feeling, and experience I’ve ever had is 100% original and by tale will be held as a legend.  Shit, I bet they’d even teach it in high school.”

No dumb ass.  No journalist in his right mind would take on an assignment like that.  Even if you were to pay the journalist upfront in both cash and crystal methamphetamine, he’d still think you’re an idiot and better suited as a donor in a testicular vaporizer beta test.  A beautiful science project where they actually get to poor bleach in your gene pool.

Continue Reading : A Stream of Consciousness Part 2