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 |   Life is rough...I have to write it out. |
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I start blogs.....I neglect blogs....I abandon blogs. I start blogs.....I neglect blogs....I abandon blogs. I started this blog....I loved this blog....I abandoned this blog. I started this blog....I loved this blog....I abandoned this blog. I guess it is a good thing I didn't actually hold my breath. |
Day 9 Prompt (yep also on Day 11): Of the many forms of comedy, and one of my favorites, is comedy teams. Share your thoughts on comedy teams. Would you be more likely to be part of a comedy team or are you the 'lone stand-up type'? Ahhh teams. Normally I hate teams. Hate 'em. I wanna do it myself. Move over and let me do it. However…..in this case I think I fall on the opposite side. I would fucking rock a comedy team that was mean spirited. The only time I would be good at stand up is when you make fun of the people in the audience, but it would need to be an interaction not a degrading. I need someone who wants to be all …..cheesy and over the top with me… You know…. Skeason: Well, let's see, they are all bags, Who's a cunt, What's a bitch, I Don't Know is on the corner... Awesome friend: That's what I want to find out. Skeason: I say Who's a cunt, What's a bitch, I Don't Know's on the corner |
Day 10 Prompt (albeit on Day 11):Is there someone in your life, or family, who is the source of comic relief? Is there a funny story to share? What or who would you write about if you wanted to get a 'for sure' laugh? My sister is the comedy relief in my family. She can really be the court jester at… any time. Nothing embarrasses her. Well, nothing that she does. I have no stories to tell though because it is just normal ass little sister crap. Dancing in restaurants, making stupid jokes…stuff like that. All I know is that if I feel like laughing uncontrollably at the most inopportune time then I need to bring my sister. If I want to actually laugh at people, not just make shitty bitchy remarks quietly, but actually make each other laugh over it …well I need my sister. I know that if I want anything involving my mother to be fun I need to bring my sister. And if I ever want to experience those moments where someone says something so violently stupid that you are taken aback…at a loss for words...and you quietly wait for them to realize so you can laugh at them…yep…need my sister. As for what I would write about if I wanted to get a for sure laugh…I wouldn’t. I am not delusional. There are no for sure laughs for me. That’s okay. Fuck it. |
Day 11 Prompt: Another effective form of comedy is satire. Take a shot at writing a satirical piece on a local or national news story, or respond to any other blogging groups' prompt from a satirical viewpoint. - Make it funny folks. Man …didn’t comedy week just kick my ass? I will even go all George Washington on you and be honest….I could have written. I could have written. Instead I spent three days reading four romance novels. Escapism at its best in skeason world. And the reason I have sunk down deep into books filled with situations that despite all knowledge to the contrary….simply must be real somewhere…with someone, otherwise….man…otherwise all fucking hope is lost…anyway…the reason was my mother. Yes I am still plagued by the woman who has infected my life in ways both bad and good. And since my focus is quite simply ALWAYS pulled to the bad, let’s focus on the good for a second, shall we? One of my favorite things about my mother is how skilled she is. There are so many things she is a self-professed expert in; I would be a fool not to take every single piece of advice that oozes out of her mouth. However, to experience her at her best there is only one ride you are going on….The Guilt Trip. It’s the longest, most unstable roller coaster in the world. Wellllll….I dunno, I think I heard about one in China…but it is damn close. You pay a high price to take a trip down these wobbly tracks. The tickets prices are steep. If you want to sit up front be prepared to hand over your dignity, self-confidence, and self-worth. I guarantee you will scream the entire time. If you want to ride in the rear she will give you a major discount because she is real fucking good at riding some rear. Tickets to ride back there and have her shit drag you around will only cost you your thoughts before you fall asleep. You have to open the door to doubt to ride back there, and most likely you will white knuckle it the whole damn way. Riding in the middle…well even though the signs everywhere in humongous letters and neon arrows clearly say that those are the seats she wants you take, the truth is that you get whipped around and beat to shit just as much in that section as anywhere else. It’s a slow price you pay for that one, one you don’t notice until it’s over. The ride itself is filled with the most amazing loops and corkscrews. You never know which way is up and whether you are looking forward or back. You climb the hill that seems too large to even contemplate, yet you do it…you sit there bumping along listening to the click-clack of condemnation dreading what might be over the bend but excited to move a bit faster. And the free fall of judgment, while quite possibly making you wish for the end, will be akin to a near death experience – all your mistakes played out before your eyes in stunning recreation. Look hard enough and you might see details you yourself had forgotten. You might start to feel nauseous or disoriented. This is all normal. These are things she insists on for the authenticity of the ride. You don’t go to Italy and not eat pizza and all that jazz. It will only last for a few days after the ride; you will start to feel better soon. Probably in time to ride again, though you will need to strap in again even if you don’t because this is a ride you cannot refuse no matter how much every ounce of your being screams in terror. Besides, it’s not that long…half hour ride a few times a day…anyone can handle that shit. Easy peasy. Who needs opinions, thoughts, stances, beliefs, or a version of self all fucking day anyway? P.S. The prompt I chose to satire was: Prompt: In my psychology course, we're learning about obedience and morals. Do you find it difficult to say no to people when you view them as an 'authority' figure? Do you think your need to do as you're instructed would outweigh your personal morals, as has been proven to happen to the majority of people during psychological experiments such as the Milgram Experiment? from:
And now to catch up….. |
Prompt:Even bloggers who prefer to write a serious toned blog, can't resist sharing something funny. Share your opinion on using comedy in blogging. Do you enjoy reading comedic blog entries? In the 30 Day Blogging Challenge - Do you look forward to 'Funny Fridays'or do you dread them? What the hell Brother Nature   ??? Jesus. A whole week? Since my feelings on the official month’s Funny Fridays are very well documented we can just say that I neither look forward to, nor simply dread that day of the week. I plot against it. I despise it on a creative level of hatred that I have not experienced before. If it wasn’t for my aversion to all things incomplete (despite life’s influence on my recent performances) I would skip Fridays altogether. Fuck that day. Fuck it straight to hell. But that is writing a blog, reading one is quite another story. Since we all know what a downer I can be, I will reluctantly admit that I prefer the almost funny. The relatably scoffable. That level right before an actual laugh where you are smiling and making small sounds of agreement under your breath while you nod to yourself like an idiot. That is the kind of “funny” I find that I enjoy. Perhaps that is why I cannot BE funny. So – I do enjoy when a blog can make me smile with inclusion. As for making me laugh….ehhhh…whatever. |
Day 5 Prompt: And for day five, who did it? What was your villain or murderer's motive? Well, hmmm. Since I always seem to take the first prompt and fuck the rest of the prompts for myself, this time not being altogether different, my villain and my victim are one and the same. So, let’s see… There was this chippy that got screwed at the local clip joint. Unable to move past her anger she hired a button man to croak the owner. He got nailed by the elbows and put the finger on her for some nose-candy he had in his bucket. Rather than serve a three-spot, she grabbed her deck, a few bindles, glommed a nun’s habit on the way and dangled. |
Day 4 Prompt: In conjunction with yesterday's prompt, what job would your mystery solver have? Would your protagonist be male or female, or something else altogether such as an animal? The hero is a buzzer wearing broad who wastes berries on the bang-tails. The hero is a chippy who helps cons cop the sneak from the clubhouse for a century. A dick who constantly can be found dipping the bill with a dish at the drum. A flogger wearing flattie undercover at the flophouse. A goon in glad rags gesturing at the girlies' gams. OKAY! I won’t keep going. I can’t help it. It is just so fun. The hero of my story would be…… A gum-shoe on the take who spends all his time dropping jack on the bang tails and jujus. He used to be a trigger man for the trouble boys but now just likes to tip a few with the skirts. |
Day 3 Prompt: There are so many different styles in which to write a mystery: cozy, hard boiled detective, private investigator, historical, police procedural - to name a few. If you were to write a mystery what approach would you chose? This is an easy one for me. I’d go hardboiled. Two reasons and two reasons only are the basis of this decision. First…The names! Uh, hellooooooo, Sam Spade? Mike Hammer? The Continental Op? Fuck you – that shit rocks. Second…The slang. Like tiny drops of crude heaven. I want to call women; babes, dames, kittens, ankles, bims, broads, twists, and skirts. I wanna bop a boob and it have nothing to with twisting a titty. My hero could be a gum-shoe or a house dick. A snooper, sleuth, or Shamus. Seriously, I could go on and on ….but now I need to have a gasper. |
Day 2 Prompt: In writing a mystery is it essential to have a red herring? While I am generally anti-fish as a whole, my entire scenario was basically a red herring. The death itself was misdirection. (I wish I had read the next day’s prompt before I posted!) And since I pass out red herrings all day, every day in real life I understand that, while they are most certainly not necessary to the furthering of any plot, they are definitely more fun. ____________ So it was recently suggested to me that I spend some time every day being positive about my life. Recognizing things I am grateful for. I mention that while I am sure there are things I am grateful for, I do not, under any circumstances, feel like shining the light on them right now, even knowing that is the whole purpose. I also mention that 500% of my time is spent inside my head. Just because I rattle off a list to myself doesn’t mean I believe it. Yep, I do understand that is also the point. But when I am in a ‘fuck that’ sort of mood there is not much convincing me otherwise. I am asked, “Is there a group of people you can hold yourself accountable to?” Nope. “How can that be?” I scoff, explaining that I roll with the freelance accountability group…not offering too much to any one group. Leaving a little room in case I need to act….less than I am. “Why would you act that way?” Real laugh this time before immediately explaining that I can seem less than I am to people because I know what I can do and to what degree. That I just don’t give a fuck about other people and what opinion they form regarding me. “Yeah…you really gotta do this.” So…without further ado, my little blog’s first static daily addition (though it shall approve in appearance soon): …pardon me…do you have any saccharin? I have a home. I have two smart, adorable, loving children. And yes – that is all the effort I have for such bullshit right now. |
Day 1 Prompt:If you were writing a murder mystery what would you chose as a method of death? Suicide by overdose. Yet not an emotional, can take it no more, suicide by inflated self-indulgent overdose…no, no! Calculated. Planned. Organized. The victim would be found in the last place anyone would ever think they would be. And not like...”Oh but she had turned things around, who would have ever thought we’d find her in a crackhouse?” More like….in the pantry of an all night diner in New Mexico. Or in the pastor’s private chambers at a church six hundred miles from home. Maybe the mayor’s bedroom. A teepee in Nevada. Something like that. The victim would be found dressed in something completely out of character. Ceremonial robes or a burlesque costume, maybe a kimono or spacesuit. And their hands and feet would be tied up so that it didn’t even seem suicidal, though a note would be left out in the open which read, “I came back to where it all began.” Friends and family members would insist on the deceased’s depression and suicidal tendencies, though no evidence, even circumstantial, points to suicide. |
Day 23 Prompt: Creation Saturday! Happy Birthday to someone you never expected you'd have to celebrate. Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday Husband A’s wife #2, Happy Birthday to you. [Embed For Use By Upgraded+] I met a boy one day; we didn’t need to be that way, We could’ve been a little bit kinder. Now, we don’t give a shit, like it was all a joke We didn’t even try to find love Well, that’s too bad, too bad Too bad on your birthday I said it’s so sad, so sad Sad he’s there on your birthday He was my pain once, it lasted hundreds of months And I grew mentally blinder When it was over I cried, and my tears haven’t dried Soon you’ll be fried like we were. Well, that’s too bad, too bad Too bad on your birthday I said it’s so sad, so sad Sad he’s there on your birthday And now you’re the girl with the dick in your face And yeah I laugh while you’re cryin’ Blow out the candles and make a wish But if you need a drink, bitch he’s buyin’, yeah. Too bad, too bad Too bad on your birthday I said it's so sad, so sad Sad he’s there on your birthday Woe, too bad, too bad Too bad on your birthday I said that's so sad, that's so sad So sad on your birthday Too bad, too bad Too bad on your birthday I said it's so sad, so sad Sad he’s there on your birthday That's too bad *Disclaimer due to the nature of all my other posts.....there is not a Wife 2, nor a potential one. Husband A is way too lazy for that shit.* |
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