10,000 Words: 6431-7263
If I’m capable of writing 10,000 words a day, by the way, I could theoretically finish a novel in nine days. I see now why people like that stupid NaNoWriMo bullshit. The write a novel in a month challenge. People are super into that, and they’re really into the (nine times out of ten) useless, unreadable garbage that it produces. I never understood why. But, after I mentioned hypergraphia above (last week for you, dear reader), it hit me: There’s a certain joy in this. The mass production of words that you then dump on the unsuspecting reader. It’s been a bit of work to get to 6431 words, and it’s eaten up this rainy Wednesday as the maids hammer away at the dried cum on the walls in the bedroom. Getting to the end – be it a novel or the 10,000th word – is this awesome sort of goal. Can I do it before I start screaming and throw the computer out the window? Can I beat my deadline? I’m even doing this while my fucking cunt of a boss emails me with his nettling little nothing emails. So between him, the maids, and an increasing sense of guilt as the entire day is turned over to writing articles for a blog no one reads, I’m a champion word producer even in the face of the worst distractions!
One thing I do know is that I’m moving my deadline up to 4pm because I’ve earned me a midweek vodka tonic.
Boy, that’s a sign of age. For the first 10 years of this blog, I was always drinking while ranting. Now I do the sober old man thing, typing away and trying to be responsible. I’ve even cut back on liquor consumption. I try and have two dry days a week, and I only drink hard liquor once a fortnight. Today’s vodka treat will be limited to two. Sad, actually, because booze is fun. I got into it to avoid screaming, horrible pain from a rare nerve condition, but I continued drinking because I found it helped slow me down. Otherwise I’m up at all hours writing weird rants for Great Society! Or yelling at interns and employees to please, please, please just do your job so my company can make money so I can quit my fucking hideous day job.
Finding good help is the hardest part of running your own company. I always knew that people sucked, generally speaking, but come on, dudes. Why does everyone have to suck so much? I’m so disappointed in just about everything and everyone and it gets worse and worse the older I get. I figured, with age, I would slow down. My brain would atrophy (or I’d kill it with midweek vodka tonics). I’d become doddering. I’d be one of those people who was like, oh my god, what are the kids these days doing? What is this thing called in-ter-net? I’m sorry, sonny, I’ll be glad to comment as soon as my 2400 baud modem connects.
But, instead, as I get older, everything is getting slower, and the people are getting stupider. I’m angry about slow download speeds, I yell at spreadsheets that take too long to load, I become enraged when my phone gets throttled. Meanwhile, the people around me are all turning into brainwashed waterhead sheep incapable of even making sense or stringing sentences together. The kids are all braindead, or so utterly simplistic it’s like I’m surrounded by retards. No one has the patience to stop and think about things, or the willpower to form their own opinions. We’ve really lost the thread as a society, in a deeply scary way.
There’s this part of me that doesn’t care. I mean, just give me my cinnamon buns and go away. But then there’s a part of me that’s really worried, because this is the sort of society where people will start to seriously snap. I suppose we’re seeing that with school shooters and other fuckholes of that ilk going nuts. I’m not worried about the victims or the potential victims, I’m worried that I’ll become a potential victim. That all this wasted time and effort spent to be a regular citizen will end with some moron blowing me away. What will I have to show for it? These articles? Three terabytes of porn? My lava lamp that’s so old you can’t find the right sized light bulb to fit in the base?
I guess we all share that fate, whether you die in your sleep or get gunned down on the train. But, still, it’s all just so goddamned pathetic. We’re all so small and silly and dumb and doomed and 90 minutes away from a vodka tonic writing reward. Forever 90 minutes away! Doomed to repeat the next 90 minutes! AHHH!