I wrote, "Mike Wilson: Bizarrely Honest or Honestly Bizarre?" Skeeter circled the second, bless her heart.

A Lot of Whining
My brother once said (actually, he has said this several times), "Being The Last Angry Man means never having to say you're sorry." Oh, how I wish that were true. In reality, being The Last Angry Man means making one never-ending series of apologies, because I am both a fucking jerk and not a bad guy. I say and do these horrible things, but then I feel bad about them. I didn't do anything specifically, I've just meant to post this for a long time.

I guess right now I just feel like I've given up on myself. Or maybe it is just that tomorrow is going to be a really bad day. Or that Dan the Man called tonight and I didn't bother to call him back, even though he is probably my only friend left in Grand Blanc. I've known him since we were both two, it seems fitting we should end up as losers together. (For you trivia fans out there, I was born fourteen days after him.)

Maybe I just miss Never Girl. We haven't spoken in three weeks. Why? Because it's her turn to call. Childish? Yes, but I called twice in a row and am entirely comfortable with being childish about this.

Maybe I'm just depressed because I watched "His Way" and now I'm indulging in self-pity. Boo hoo hoo, woe is me.

"I used to work in a record store,
Now I work for my dad,
Scraping the paint off of hard wood floors,
The hours are pretty bad."
--Fountains of Wayne, "Hackensack" from Welcome Interstate Managers

Maybe I'm just frustrated and angry with myself because I have so much potential and I'm fucking squandering it.

Maybe I just wish the cat would shut the fuck up. Sam, there are three things I can do for you: I can pet you, I can feed you, and I can let you go outside. I can't pet you if you walk away from me, you have food, and there it a winter storm advisory tonight; so, you aren't going outside.

Maybe I think the best days of my life are behind me, or maybe I'm just using that as a fucking excuse.

Maybe nothing's sacred.

Or mayb I'm just using that as a fucking excuse.

Maybe I'm happy when I think about the old days at Ottawa Hills Cabana Club and the time I freaked everybody out by spelling out in rocks DEATH. Oddly enough, everybody was fine with it the next day when I finished spelling out DEATH IS A GIRL. Why the hell is that okay if DEATH wasn't? What the...?

Maybe I've been more lucky in this life than any man has a right to be and I just need to take a moment to sit back and realize that.

Maybe all the world is my oyster.

Maybe love is a lie.

Maybe I should take the advice of my prophet, Denis Leary, and "Shut the fuck up!"

Maybe I should try to have an original fucking idea, you hack.

Or as I've said for years, you don't need are original idea, you can do what's been done before as long as you do it well.

I should go to Ann Arbor and just walk around. Go to Sam's Store, where they specialize in Chuck Taylors, Swiss Army Knives, Hawai'ian shirts, and Levi's jeans.

Maybe I've never had a girlfriend, but I want to get married.

Maybe I'm tired of all the lies.

Maybe nothing would make me happier than to be found out. Or maybe that's just another excuse.

Maybe I just feel bad about skipping Mass week after week after week.

Maybe fake breasts aren't as bad as I've said all along. Naw, I was right, fake boobs suck.

I know I made the right decision about ending my relationship with Q-Girl before it got off the ground because all these months later, the only thing I miss about her is her boobs. (In light of the previous line, I feel I should add they were real.) Boobies!

We all get our comeuppance. It may be tomorrow, it might take a lifetime, but in the end we each of us get our comeuppance. Not to be predicable, but that's going to be one really shitty day.

Maybe I stay up so late because I know that as soon as I fall asleep, I'm just going to have to face tomorrow. I fear the future; I had fun today, I felt comfortable in today. Bog knows what fiascos await me in tomorrow.

Maybe I just wish I wasn't afraid all the time.

Maybe I'm fishing for compliments and I thought that might elicit sympathy.

"I'm gonna to get my shit together,
'Cause I can't live like this forever,
You know I've come too far,
And I don't want to fail,
I've got a new computer
And a bright future in sales."
--Fountains of Wayne, "Bright Future in Sales" from Welcome Interstate Mangers, the soundtrack for this crappy post

The three best words in the English language are not "I love you," but "Science run amok."