Brand new readers maybe want to know about me.

I’m the Gloomy Boomer, a Booze Sample Dude.

This is my Pal. I forget his name.

I like this Old Broad. She’s happy-go-lucky, like me.

This is Ralf. He’s one of my regulars. NIce guy.

This is the Nazi Dude. He’s not a nice guy.

This might be my favorite meal. You can’t go wrong with black beans, pork ribs and rice.

This is my toilet. The lid is propped up. I don’t know why.

This is Scruffy. My boat. A burden and a refuge. Give me some money and the boat is yours!

This is where I’d like to go and get away from the human race.

This aint no personal essay type blog I’m writing

I despise people. Especially people who write about their problems and experiences and feelings. It’s all shit. The VACANT DUDE has the right idea. He sits in a chair over there in the corner with his coffee drink and he just sits.

For hours.

All day.

Every day.

I admire the Vacant Dude.

He’s right up there with Mother Teresa in my estimation.

Mother Teresa spent her life helping people.

The Vacant Dude helps nobody.

But he’s not hurting anybody.

He’s not making waves.

He just sits.

Dead quiet.

That’s almost as good as helping people. Better even, if you figure how much shit helping people often generates…unless your good at it like Mother Teresa was.

Here’s another one that just sits.

This cow and the Vacant Dude have a lot in common.

I admire cows.

They don’t cause trouble.

So what the fuck am I blogging for?

I don’t know.

I honestly don’t know.

I’d just as soon sit here all day and do nothing like the Vacant Dude.

Or espouse my philosophy to a stone wall like the Lobotomy Dude does.

The Lobotomy Dude has no agenda.

I have no agenda.

Nothing I want to change.

Except maybe start over.

One thing I’m for.

I’m all for World Peace.

That’s right. I’m an advocate for World Peace.

How do you achieve world peace?

This lady has the answer.

What I write is all made up shit

A Personal Essay is about a real person facing real problems or experiencing real events. The real person wants to share with you his or her experience. The result is cathartic.

I despise catharsis.

Everything I write about is made up.

This is all made up shit.

It is and it isn’t. I’m me. But I give myself a fake name. All my characters have fake names. Why would I want to be me? I’m kind of a shit head if you want to know the truth. What could you say about the real me worth putting on a gravestone?

“He always landed on his feet…until he didn’t.”

I have friends who actually think I’m a decent caring even terrific person.

Nothing could be farther from the truth.

I’ve spent my entire life looking out for number one.

While achieving very little.

Do I have any good qualities?

None that I can think of.

Except one.

I feel sorry for people. Even certain rotten people I know. I feel sorry for them. I don’t know why. I’ve always felt empathy for others. Even while despising them!

So what’s that get me?

Put all my empathy with a nickel and you got a five cent cigar.

The real me

He’s in here somewhere. But who cares?

I don’t care, actually.

I start thinking about me I could lose my stomach. Which is why the lid is up.

I’d rather imagine other people.

Make them up.

Amuse myself accordingly.

Maybe amuse you a little.

Here, I’ll share with you a bit of wisdom texted me by The Awning Man, a dude I made up 45 years ago.

Oh, and one other thing before I sign off for the day.

Here’s a song recommended to me by my old time pal, Duck. I didn’t make up his name. It’s origin goes way back to a time when we all had made up names.

In the bad old days of our youth!