Watching half of Dances With Wolves is like watching two normal movies.
I am under the impression that I have writers block. This is a very scary and serious thing to me because I take my ability to creatively write in the utmost confidence and not having the ability to perform gives me a sort of manly shame. It's kind of like you are naked with your clothes on but your clothes are JNCO jeans and a dragon button up shirt.
It all started not too long ago when I had a rather long two page hoopla wrote up about me being called a plagiarist by my English professor. Let me tell you, it was a sight for sore and well moisturized eyes. Unfortunately my momma, being the energy conservationist she is, turned my word making box off in the middle of the night as I was placing my liquid wastes into a porcelain bowl. Needless to say, I was disheveled as a room that up until recently had shelves. I dare say it was one of my better write ups and it is lost in the void of nothingness. It is lodged in a sticky, consuming, black straight from The Never Ending Story, except with less flying dogs with boils on their heads that I want to pop more than life itself.
My thoughts lately have been drifting somewhere between medieval warriors and thrilling space battles. I have entertained the idea of writing a book about a kid who gets wrapped up into something ridiculously inconvenient and dangerous. Knowing my procrastinatory nature I will never gitrdone. Or at least I will be waiting for the most opportune time to gitrdone and never actually gitrdone. Gittingrdone will probably never be on my agenda, but wearing out a white trash catch phrase is on the top of my gitrdone list.
My parents left me alone at home. This precarious situation has a high propensity to be a feature film! Some dimwitted bandits could assault my home and I could make some asinine traps that should very well kill them but only seem to make cartoon sound effects while knocking them on their bottoms. How in the world will I ever come up with these devious shanghaiing shenanigans? Hollywood!
As of this moment in time I have nothing interesting to say. I could tell you about my yearning for banana ice cream (which I don't even believe is real), maybe about my lack of a job, or my creepy obsession with the happenings and going ons at the Electronic Entertainment Expo but those things are inconsequential to you and your busy lives. You have gossip to drop and drama to bomb. So, bombs away kids.
Kyle Lee Hufnagel
"Sugar in your gas tank makes the exhaust smell like candy."