The Highs And Lows Of The Mighty Sot

There's More To Life Than This Shitty Little Blog

2006-07-27T18:37:00.000-05:00

For example, there's this other shitty little blog.

A Shrine Shame

2006-07-12T22:55:00.000-05:00

I know I am a little late in commenting on this, but Don "'Lil Bit" Henson was robbed twice. I know I probably should be over this by now, but it was bullshit in mid-winter 2004, and it's bullshit now.

The Week That Was Vs. The Week That Wasn't

2006-07-11T23:18:00.000-05:00

The Wednesday That Was

I get up late for work, hung over. My performance at work is sluggish and subpar. I wear a new shirt but receive no compliments.

After work, instead of writing as planned, I call Kevin. We go to Irish Times. Afterwards, we go to my Aunt Wendy's (She's out of town, and I am watering her plants. If you ever go out of town and ask me to water your plants, you should know that I will get shitfaced there at least 1.5 times for every week that you are gone.) where we split a case of shitty beer and an unshitty frozen pizza. We wind up having a discussion about human existence that might as well have been about fast cars.

The Cubs are a shitty team with no future to speak of.

The Wednesday That Wasn't

I get up with the sun. After deciding to triple my daily morning workout regiment since I am feeling it, I show up late to work. No one cares, because I am wearing a new shirt, and it looks fantastic on me. That is all anyone talks about, and I am promoted.

After work, instead of writing, I am forced to answer questions about my new shirt (where I got it, how much it cost, would it be possible to cut off the sleeves for the ladies, etc.). Kevin kills himself, leaving a suicide note stating: If only Keith had called.

I ponder the meaning of human existence and figure out the meaning of life. This helps me in coping with my friend's death.

The Cubs pick up another game on the Cardinals, raising their lead to 20 1/2 games.

The Thursday That Was

I have the day off and am able to wake up late enough to not feel the effects of my hangover. I water Aunt Wendy's plants before leaving her house.

At home, I nap in front of the TV. I wake up to watch Italy beat France on penalty kicks. I find the ending anti-climatic despite not having watched any of the game.

Instead of writing, I masturbate, and not even God Himself notices the difference.

The Cubs remain a shitty team with no future to speak of.

The Thursday That Wasn't

No need to wake up since I never slept; figuring out the meaning of life takes a while. As the sun comes up I make a vow to find a way to bring my fallen friend back from the dead.

I am immediately sidetracked when an idea for a script hits me. I sit down at my computer (which is not only working, but better and newer than Jonny's) and write. Two hours later, the script which will be come to be known as the thinking man's Citizen Kane is born.

I masturbate for the rest of the day.

The Cubs lead is now 21 1/2 games.

The Friday That Was

Not having drank the night before, I wake up feeling like I have actually slept. Work winds up being about the same as if I had been hung over, and I make a vow to never not drink again.

That night, I write... Well, I rewrite... Fine, I just delete some dumb shit I wrote a couple of weeks ago, but at least I try, goddammit.

The Cubs remain a shitty team with no future to speak of.

The Friday That Wasn't

Rereading my script, I am floored to realize that the first word on every fifth page if read in succession reveals the secret to raising the dead. It's not an easy task, (Hint: The first five words are, "Get Roc to blog about...") but I somehow manage to bring Kevin back to life.

Zombie-Kev and I go out to Irish Times. It becomes clear straight off that Zombie-Kev is not quite the laid-back gentleman that the Kevin That Wasn't was, as Zombie-Kev, upon being told that there are no brains on the menu, smashes our waitress's head into mine, killing us both.

Cubs win!

The Saturday That Was

I plant myself next to the phone and wait for Joe L. to call and invite me along to Hot Doug's. By eleven it is clear that the call is not coming.

I embrace the Hemingway/Kevin Solution.

The Cubs remain a shitty team with no future to speak of.

The Saturday That Wasn't

N/A

The Sunday That Was

N/A

The Sunday That Wasn't

N/A

The Monday That Was

N/A

The Monday That Wasn't

N/A

The Tuesday That Was

N/A

The Tuesday That Wasn't

N/A

A New Beginning

2006-07-04T01:52:00.002-05:00

Jonny is out of town for the next couple of weeks, so that means I have full run at his computer, and that might lead to a couple of actual posts.

Hopefully, the theoretical posts of the future are less sexy than this one, where I simply post a link to a picture of some drunken she-Brits.

If not, may God have mercy on our boners.

An Excuse

2006-05-19T10:32:00.000-05:00

If my laptop isn't broken then it's doing a hell of a job pretending to be. I can't get it to stop freezing up on me every minute or so. Not good.

What is good, though, is that Jonny and I are getting closer and closer to finishing our script (using his computer, of course). Right now we are planning on having the rough draft done by Sunday, at which point we'll take a few days off before going back in and tightening it up. The more we write, the more I like it.

There's a Mersey Buckets show Sunday the 28th at Nite Cap in case anybody gives a shit.

I hate to say it, but I should get back to work...

Correcting The Mistakes Of The Past With The Errors Of Today

2006-05-05T20:59:00.000-05:00

Looking back at what I wrote here the other day, it seems that I failed in my attempt to write a post about not succeeding. I wrote, "One of my favorite ways of keeping myself from being successful is to reward myself for my success in advance with whatever it is that I need to avoid in order to succeed," and then went on to tell a simple (yet crummy) little half-story about procrastination. While I have nothing against procrastination, and would even be willing to die reading a magazine while sitting around drinking beer and putting off fighting for its cause, that is not what I was (at least attempting to be) talking about.

What I was at least attempting to be talking about was something like this:

Every once in a while, I feel the need to trim down a little bit and get back to my fighting weight. It doesn't matter if I am wanting to squeeze back into an old pair of pants, looking for a good reason to shave my stomach, or just trying to get the hookers to quit pinching my belly; I have only one method to losing weight, and that is to stop drinking beer.

This goes swimmingly for the first week. I am not drinking, my pants are close to fitting, my stomach is almost ripe for a shaving, and the pinch marks are starting to fade. I am feeling more energetic, thinner, and better on the whole than not just my former self, but every ugly, fat son of a bitch that has the gall to waddle his colossal ass past me.

And since I am doing so well with my non-beer drinking diet (and can envision myself staying on it for the next several months, or at least until I get in a little bit of stomach modeling), I decide that I deserve a little something for my world beating efforts. That little something turns out to be a potentially dangerous amount of beer. Soon enough I'm back to the elastic waist band, my belly's somehow hairier, and I'm threatening to go home and get my gun if these whores won't fucking stop pinching me.

That's pretty much my favorite way to stay clear of succeeding. When all is said and done, however, and I'm sure I'll make this perfectly clear as this blog progresses, the best way to avoid success is to just do a really shitty job.

PS: I'm not planning on commonly pointing out why my other posts are so bad, but this last one has gotten such a tremendous amount of feedback, that I felt the need to address it.

Success Ain't No River In Egypt

2006-05-02T21:50:00.000-05:00

One of my favorite ways of keeping myself from being successful is to reward myself for my success in advance with whatever it is that I need to avoid in order to succeed. It feels good to get the early reward, and most importantly, it keeps all those goals out there for you. A man needs to have goals, so I don't think it's very wise to go around accomplishing them willy nilly.

During the first half of the Bulls game tonight I was going to figure out how to do some essential blog-related things (things like link to other blogs and put pictures in my posts, etc.), but I told myself that since I had done such a swell job of typing random bullshit and posting it on this blog last night that I was officially a blogger and therefore shouldn't sweat learning how to do these essential blog-related things, because these are things that bloggers (like me) know how to do. So I watched the game, got angry, forgot the rules of grammar, and then typed some more random bullshit on this blog.

Happily, my anger is starting to give way to a sort of irritated sleepiness, but I still don't know how to do any of these essential blog-related things.

I do, however, have a goal for tomorrow.

PS: Does anybody have any other favorite ways to avoid success? I hear that just sitting around smoking pot all the time is pretty cool.

An Introduction

2006-05-01T23:20:00.001-05:00

The first thing a person does when he meets someone new is take the time to explain how he got his name. Sometimes this takes hours, sometimes weeks, it once took a year, but it usually only takes ten to twelve minutes and a couple of good, strong bear hugs to get the point across. In the case of this blog it should only take three or four hugless paragraphs and here they are:

Back in the days before he sold off his pocket thesaurus for a handjob from the cleaning lady, my brother Geoff (I can still remember asking him how the handjob had been. He instinctively dug around his empty pocket for a moment, looked off ruefully into space, and sighed, "Good.") and I decided to publish a zine. It would be a collaborative effort between the two of us and our shared friends. We quickly assigned everyone a subject that suited him: Roc got Men's Fashion, Baumann got Xenophobia, Kevin got Violin Storage, Freddy got Running And Jumping, Jonny got The Society Page, Geoff got Pretending To Sleep, and I got Strength Speed and Explosiveness. We contacted our friends and they were just as excited as we were about the zine.

Several weeks later, I had written twenty three of the finest articles ever on the subject of Strength Speed and Explosiveness, but no one else had written word one on their subjects. I confronted Geoff about this one evening while drunk and shirtless in the front yard. Needless to say, Geoff and I had a little bit o' rasslin' to do. But once we got done doing our violence, we got to talking, and it became clear that no one else was interested in the zine because we hadn't named it yet.

I must have made quite the impression during our dustup, because Geoff wanted to name the zine The Strong Drunk. While I liked the sound of this, I felt we could do better. I suggested that Geoff consult his thesaurus for a moment. He did and came back with The Mighty Inebriate. I told him we were close. Moments later, The Mighty Sot was born.

It died not long after that when it became clear that name or no name, nobody was going to write shit about shit.

This blog lives in its honor.

PS: The Speed Strength and Explosiveness Papers were lost in the Great Wind Gust of '99.