EvilMister Tries to Write, is Inexplicably Hit on Head with Writer's Block.

You know how it is. You sit here, you think something up that you wanna say, and then you try and say it. In your head, it's the fucking Gutenberg Bible (sadly, not written by Steve), but on the page or on the screen, it's like an exceptionally awful outtake from ALF. Shit, you might even go so far as to find a funny or intriguing pic to upload, and wind up wasting half an hour trying to find just the right one.

So what do you do? Post shit? Pretend it's funny, even though you've developed a bleeding ulcer and a tumor on account of it's atrocious nature? Hell no! My audience, and in my head, there are hundreds of you, deserves more! They deserve the straight shit, penetrating exposes (pronounced ex-po-zays ... I'm way too fucking lazy to drop an accent ague or what-the-fuck-ever) of character foibles in people I meet, biting and acerbic comments on the general state of disrepair of this planet! Also, I got distracted by the pictures and lost my motherfucking mojo.

I had the whole piece set. It was about Japanese Street Fashion. It was awesome. But, as I read it, I saw that my prose kept waffling between the shit above and honest-to-goodness journalistic reporting! WTF?? I can't spend the time to actual report on anything. I'm way too fuckin busy waiting for Half-Life 2 to come out to be intelligent and incisive.

So now I'm gonna go, and when I come back, I'll ensure that we all have a little slice of EvilMister's growing dementia to settle into.