Rerun


hey, hey, hey!

No, not that Rerun. I was referring to my slacking lately, which a friend informed me was reaching “Moonlighting” like proportions.

No, I didn’t get the reference either, so let’s just roll with it.

Fact is, I am afraid that after 680 some blog postings I’m running out of material. I mean there are only so many ways that teenage girls found to break my heart. Eventually the stories all start to sound the same. Not that I only post about unrequited teen age love. I also post moody, overwrought pieces of visual poetry. (That’s meant to be one of them paradoxes, like silent music.)

Oh, and then there are the self conscious posts where I blog about blogging. Very Meta.

I think that all men reach an age at which they run out of new material, and just begin repeating themselves. If you’re lucky, the men in your life will realize this, and just decide to sit quietly and keep it to themselves. If not, you’ll soon know their stories by heart. Each little anecdote of the 50 year old male is like a Tom Shane radio commercial. You’ll never be able to get it out of your head. (Now YOU have a friend in the Diamond business!)

Women never seem to run out of material. They just run out of tact. Around age 50 the filter gets taken off, and they begin to speak their mind at the most inopportune times. Call them on it, and they will just shrug and tell you “It’s my turn honey. Someday it’ll be yours and then you’ll understand”.

What’s different about our generation is not the stories lies we tell. All generations have their stories lies that they repeat over and over to themselves, and anyone else that is willing to listen. (Please Baby Boomers, no GOD DAMNED MORE STORIES ABOUT THE SIXTIES!) No, what is truly different about our generation is that we are the first ones to consider these stories lies to be so important that we felt obliged to type them into the world wide interweb and share them with all of humanity. Because really, in another 2,000 years it won’t be ancient rolls of papyrus that scholars consult for the meaning of life, it’ll be that blog I wrote last Thursday about the date I had in 1983.

Which is my way of saying, this is serious folks. Pay attention. There will be a quiz later.

4 thoughts on “Rerun

    • The sun blazed red, setting the horizon on fire. Stewart grabbed the reins of the large Mastadon, and guided it out out of camp and into the wild. There would be no rest tonight. Not as long as he knew that she was out there somewhere, in need of help. In the distance a wolf began to howl, until at last there was a whole chorus of canine voices resounding through the woods. “Hold on Kelly!” he screamed, as he raised his battle axe, “I’m coming to save you!”

      How’s that? I call it “The Clan of the Foofy Bird”

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