Hurricane Gustav is on his way to rape, kill, and loot us all

As I write this, Hurricane Gustav is a Cat. 4 hurricane and passing through the northwest part of Cuba, where it will subsequently enter the gulf and strengthen again.

And that means, for the imbeciles in my town, it’s time for:

Destroy your city and self-respect before it's too late.

Check out WeatherUnderground.com’s computer models:

Now, I won’t tell you what city I live in, but I do live in that state, and I am not in the direct path of any of the models you see (I’m sure it’s not hard to figure out where I live).

Granted, this is probably going to be a bad storm. We will likely lose electricity for a day or two if the hurricane continues on its projected path. However, this town is treating the storm — once again — like the apocalypse. I went to Wal-Mart for dog food and some fruit today. Big mistake. It’s the most ridiculous, pathetic thing you’ll ever see. If I happen to need gas, bottled water, batteries, or canned vegetables this weekend for any legitimate reason, I am shit out of luck because the fear-loving hicks have taken it all.

At first, it was just Wal-Mart that was insufferable to be in. Trashy southerners don’t realize that other stores sell things. But then, word got out in AOL e-mail FWDs that hardware stores have batteries and flashlights and even drinking water. People who have no business owning generators are now spending $900 to save $50 worth of food in their freezers. All of a sudden, everyone needs gasoline.

Sure, it’s never a bad idea to overprepare, but people are getting greedy. I witnessed one person singlehandedly wipe out the stock of C batteries at Wal-Mart earlier this week. All of the typical sliced bread is gone, but the “premium” breads like Pepperidge Farm and Sara Lee are completely in stock. No one dare spends an extra dollar on bread. As far as these inbred fucks are concerned, there’s no more bread.

People are going apeshit about this hurricane, and from my experience with hurricane Katrina, we should only worry about the following things:

1. Refugees — New Orleans scum who couldn’t afford to travel any farther north and will contribute to our already-terrible traffic for months to come.
2. Yard debris — picking up limbs and shit. Sucks.
3. Power outage — If you are in a rural area, the electric company will probably forget that you even had power in the first place.
4. Assholes — People who make it impossible for you to go about your normal life because they are panicking about the hurricane.
5. Rumors — Gang shootings, stores being blown up, sharks swimming around the flooded streets. Those who perpetuate and believe these rumors should be euthanized.

When I can afford to live in a place with higher cost of living, I am leaving Louisiana. I am leaving the south. There is too much truth to the generalizations about people from the south.

What’s the cost threshold to save your pet’s life?

It’s been on my mind a lot in the past year.

My wife and I have two dogs and two cats. We both love animals, but I’m starting to wonder if there should be a financial cap to our “love.” My wife would hesitantly say no, while I can’t help but say yes at this point.

Let’s start from summer 2007, when we procured these animals. We bought a small “designer” dog in May, adopted two cats in July, and adopted a 50-pound dog in September. During that summer, we discovered that our small dog had a genetic liver disorder, a shunt, which had to be surgically fixed (or else the puppy would have to be kept on a special diet for 5 or 6 years — after which it would probably die). The vet bill was over $2,000 for this surgery. After contributions from my wife’s parents and a refund from the pet store, I was $1,000 out-of-pocket. It was a stressful time financially and emotionally, but I don’t regret it.

Several months later, the same dog broke his foot. $300-ish later, he was better.

Fast forward a year. My other dog has heartworms, which she’s probably had since we adopted her. This is another $700 to get rid of them. Yesterday, I seriously considered throwing in the towel and not treating the dog’s heartworms. But my conscience (and my wife) got the best of me. It has to be done.

So I ask myself: How much would the heartworm treatment have to cost before I said no way? What if the treatment was $1,000 instead of $700? It’s just another hundred dollars on top of a couple more hundred, right? And it surely doesn’t matter because it’s all going on our credit card, right?

That’s another thing: our debt. After moving, making necessary (and unnecessary) purchases, taking care of the dog’s surgery, etc. etc. etc., we are about $40,000 in debt, including our car notes but not including our mortgage. A lot of this debt was accumulated recently, while other was while I worked my way through college, but the bottom line is that $40,000 plus interest is waiting to be paid off. I’m only thankful that my father is going to pay my student loans (which I have not included in that $40,000 total).

Yeah, it’s a lot, but I will say that we are not struggling. We are not living beyond our means, I am making the payments in full and on time, and I have worked out a system that will have us debt-free in four years. In two years, my wife will be out of college with her master’s, working at a school and we will be pulling in an extra $20k a year. And in four years, when we will no longer have to contribute $1000+ a month to paying off loans, we want to prepare our finances to have a child within the subsequent two years.

Or at least that’s the plan.

Another $1000 in debt to save our dog — whatever. But I just have a gut feeling that it won’t end. I want to be able to afford to have a kid, but we are spending and spending on these animals as if we already have kids. Eventually, we will have reserve cash to take care of these vet emergencies (and avoid more debt), but it will come at the expense of never being able to save enough to raise a real family.

Thus, back to my original question: Where’s the cap? When do I have to say enough is enough?

I think I’ll say it right now. If we are to continue on our path of being debt-free (save for the mortgage) in four years, we need to decide that inflated vet bills have come to an end, with few exceptions.

I’ll pay for their annual shots. I’ll kill their fleas and ticks. I’ll give them heartworm preventative. I’ll even pay to fix their broken bones and cuts and bruises. But there has to be a limit. I can’t save my pets if they get cancer or some parasite from the third world. I just can’t spend the hundreds, if not thousands, of dollars it would take to keep them from dying of every little disease out there. I’m sure I’ll get some shit for this, but I’ve already done more for my animals than the average pet-owner would do. I’m pretty much done.

As for the cats, I won’t even start. They’ve never been to the vet for a checkup, nor will they ever go. They aren’t on heartworm medicine. I’m not sure if I would do much of anything to save their lives if it costs over, say, $200. And even then, I’d only do it once.

I hereby move to be progressive in getting out of debt.

Fun with Search Terms

This blog hasn’t been around for too long, but the search engine referrals are already coming in.

Let’s look at my favorite five search terms so far:

5. ‘never read potter, feel bad’

Don’t feel bad about avoiding global trends, just don’t avoid them for the sake of being unique. I’ve only read half of one book in the Potter series, but I can at least say I gave it a shot. I tried to start from the beginning, and I wasn’t compelled to continue. I don’t insult other Potter fans, because there’s little I wouldn’t do to be a millionaire author of a book series that garnered so much emotional investment.

4. ‘engaged after 4 weeks’

Uh ohz, another idiot got engaged before the new relationship buzz wore off. My question is: Are you searching the Net for advice on how to snap your friend out of this horrible love trance, or are you doing some personal research before proposing to your brand new girlfriend? In case you come back here, let me offer some advice:

If it’s the former scenario, just leave your friend alone and let him/her screw up. Don’t throw any parties or buy any gifts, but feel free to agree to be in the wedding; the wedding probably won’t happen anyway. Don’t put down a deposit on a tux/buy a dress.

If it’s the latter, congratulations! Your marriage is going to last forever.

3. ‘great jobs for married college students’

There’s a site called superspecialmonster.com that lists employers who are looking only for applicants in the special married college student club. These employers acknowledge that you are indeed better than everyone else because you’re married, and they want to offer you a big fat salary so that you can live in marital bliss and still only work part-time (you can even study at work!). When you get pregnant, superspecialmonster.com sends you a check for $40,000 and a golden certificate of achievement for becoming a VIP member of the special married college student club. You also get four years of paid maternity leave.

Seriously, go fuck yourself – AFTER you figure out a way to support your family.

2. ‘i hate that i married my husband’

Are you looking for e-friends who sympathize with your situation, or are you looking for a quick way out? Either way, that’s some funny shit. Sometimes, I wish I would’ve become a divorce lawyer. They must be in high demand, right? Now there’s a great job for married college students.

And my favorite…

1. ‘what’s not to hate about college kids?’

But college students are wonderful! Are you an employer who needs part-time staff immediately? Look no further than college students; all you need is an office environment that allows them to do the following:

1. Call in whenever they want for whatever reason they want.
2. Consistently miss deadline with no repercussions (note: they will become incredibly alarmed if you reprimand them for their poor job performance)
   

   A clean college student, respectfully missing work to take a huge exam.

3. Skip full or partial days of work without notice. It’s also implied that your employee will not work on any days where major sporting events are taking place.
4. Show up to work hungover, drunk, or high.
5. Study at work, regardless of workload.
6. Display sickeningly bad time-management and prioritization skills.
7. Be completely unwilling to accept tangible real-world job experience when it involves working on at least one Friday night.
8. Disappear and break all contact for the entire winter and spring breaks without prior notification (after all, it’s implied that no school = no responsibility.)
9. Expect an eloquently written letter of recommendation that requires more of your time than they ever contributed to your company.
10. Expect a full-time position in your company doing the same work for three times as much pay.

Are you a landlord with too many vacant apartments? College students are ready to move in, as long as you:

1. Understand that the rent will always be late. It’s not that they are low on cash; but all they have is their parents’ credit card, and they keep forgetting how to turn that into a paper check. All in all, it’s your fault for not accepting credit cards.
2. Hire a full-time pool maintenance crew to regularly remove glass bottles and food debris from the water.
3. Understand that your pool rules/hours of operation are too difficult to read, regardless of placement.
4. Are willing to alienate all of your non-student tenants.
5. Have enough parking space to accommodate 12 cars per unit at least twice a week.
6. Have adequate space beneath every balcony to allow for the rapid descent of empty beer bottles, ice chests, and guests.
7. Enjoy all types of music regardless of volume and simultaneous quantity and your other tenants feel the same way.
8. Understand the apartment will be unlivable after the student moves out and expect the student to subsequently wonder where his (dad’s) deposit is.
9. Understand that dozens of the student’s acquaintances will still have keys to the unit after the lease expires.
10. Hire additional general maintenance staffers to answer the influx of calls to deal with completely spontaneous and unexpected oven fires and change light bulbs and A/C filters.

Yeah, college students are the cream of the crop when it comes to facing life head-on.

Keep the searches coming, people!

Leave me alone, I’m retired

For a little over 3 years, I’ve worked for a small entertainment/college magazine (By small, I mean about 40,000 readers). It definitely doesn’t paid the bills, but I pretty much owe my success to that publication, and therefore I can’t leave. About a year into my work there, there were a lot of structural changes. To make a long story short, I became the editor-in-chief. I worked this job for the rest of my days in college. They paid me $300/week to run the paper — not bad considering I only worked 20 hours a week on it. I graduated a few months ago, ran the paper this summer, and then I took a bow as of Saturday.

I had my replacement trained already. I was excited to be relieved of this job. It was stressful. I had to constantly make sure we had a full staff who could produce enough content to meet the quota. I hired and fired and even had to micromanage sometimes because all the writers were college students. I fucking hate college students — honestly, why are so many of you incompetent when it comes to life’s obligations?

Anyway, even though I’m no longer the boss, I still write for the paper, as does my wife. We need the extra cash-flow to help keep our finances afloat while she’s in school. Since I still technically work there, I have this sense of responsibility to keep the paper in line. I still got phone calls today about missing sports articles. People looked at me for guidance at the staff meeting yesterday. It was hard not to instinctively give orders and answer questions.

My boss told me it was my responsibility to find and train my replacement before I resign. I couldn’t help but laugh at that douchey statement. Sure, it’s a good idea for me to get a replacement, but what the hell would he do if I just said “Peace out. Good luck finding an editor to replace me.” As much of a prick as this guy has been in the past, I really was tempted to do just that. Unfortunately, I have to keep writing for them for financial reasons. Since I still work there, I still feel like the boss, though I am no longer being paid to be the boss.

So, should I just keep my mouth shut at the meetings and quit answering the phone when employees call? Why do I feel like I still owe them my knowledge?

Kidney stones and some other bitch is engaged…after 2 weeks of dating

Firstly, sorry I haven’t updated in a few days. I woke up Sunday morning in the worst pain I’ve ever been in. My wife drove me to the ER and it turns out I have a tiny kidney stone waiting to be pissed out of me. It’s still in there, but the pain isn’t as intense because it has made it to my bladder.

Believe me when I say that the pain I experienced for 4 1/2 hours on Sunday was absolute agony. There was no position in which I could sit, stand, or lie to feel better. No relief whatsoever until the nurse brought pain meds at noon. Women who’ve had kidney stones say it’s a toss-up between which is more painful: kidney stones or child birth.

But enough about me. There is some serious shit I have to show you.

One of my Facebook friends is engaged. No big deal there, right? Well, check this shit out.

Figure 1: The New Relationship. The pink paint-over signifies the girl in question, and the blue signifies the guy. Black signifies unrelated bystanders and other non-essential info. Notice that she entered this relationship on July 28, 2008. Good for her.

And now let’s move on…

Figure 2: The Acknowledgment. A couple of weeks later in August, she strikes up a conversation with a friend on Facebook. Red denotes the girl in question. You can see part of the conversation (sorry, the screenshot is cut off). Basically, her friend asks what will happen with her new boyfriend when she moves. She replies that they will go their separate ways and clarifies that it’s what they both want; they get to enjoy the euphoric stage of a new relationship when everything is fresh, hot, and conflict-free. According to her, it’s meant to be a casual fling. I admire her maturity in acknowledging the stages of a relationship and the unrealistic nature of long-distance love.

But wait!

Figure 3: Holy Shit. The girl in question is now engaged. Notice the relationship status change, as well as her most recent personal status update: “[girl] says yes.” Today = August 13, 2008, two days after acknowledging the imminent breakup.

Maybe there’s more to this?

Figure 4: Further Investigation. Now, I realized that it was possible that this guy only recently added Facebook and that they had been together for a long time before that. However, his mini-feed goes back to at least a month before they became “officially” a couple. This, in combination with the wall posts in Figure 2, pretty much tell me that they’ve been together for 16 days and are now engaged to be married.

She demonstrated an understanding of the infatuation stage of all relationships, and then completely fell victim to it in the worst way.

Please tell me this is a joke.

(*Disclaimer: I normally refrain from this level of Facebook stalking, but come on; this is fucked up.)

We need more time

We work too much.

The typical work week is 40 hours, while most employees who make a decent salary are working upwards of 50 or more. You’re at work from 8 a.m. until 5 p.m. If you have to run an errand, you probably have to stay even later to make up the hour or two you lost. When you leave at 5, you might sit in traffic for 30-60 minutes.

At 6 p.m., you’re pretty tired, not just from the fact that you woke up early or that you mentally stressed your brain all day — you’re tired at the idea of having to do it all over again tomorrow. You’ll have to go to bed at a decent hour, which means there’s not much you can do tonight. You have to feed and walk the dog. You have to pay bills, tidy up the house, do the dishes, mow the grass, etc. etc. etc.

Life is too much maintenance. I propose a 20-hour work week instead. I guarantee you the same amount of work would get done. No one admits it, but more than half of the time spent at work is idle time. Why can’t we just use that time to fucking enjoy life? What’s the point of having a nice house when all I have time to do is clean it, fix it, and sleep in it?

Freegans have the right idea in theory, but it’s not the life I want. They search for usable trash and pinch every penny. I, on the other hand, want to be paid the same salary for doing the same job, but I want to be allowed to admit that I can do it in half the time or less. My life right now is preparing, maintaining, rejuvenating, and consumption of mass media. There’s gotta be something more to this.

I feel bad for writers

Have you ever stopped paying attention to something and just assumed that other people followed suit? You stopped watching some obscure cable TV show that comes on at 1 a.m., or you quit going to your favorite hole-in-the-wall restaurant because management changed. A year later, you look back and wonder how that show is still on TV or that place hasn’t shut down yet. Am I alone here?

An abandoned library in Russia

I lost interest in the show “Friends” after three episodes and initially assumed the rest of the country had, too. The show lasted at least 10 years, didn’t it? I abandoned a ship that never sank.

Now I’m looking back at another ship: Written entertainment — novels, specifically. I haven’t read a novel in three years, and that book in particular was only 90 pages long and was for an adolescent literature class. I haven’t read a book for fun since David Sedaris’ “Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim” in 2004. I haven’t checked out a book from the library in six years.

Media consumption is one of my favorite pastimes. Movies, TV, music, Internet videos, etc. are all important to me and have contributed to my lack of success as a writer — but what about books? Why don’t I make an effort to go check out or buy a novel to pass the time? Books are much more engaging to your brain and are generally better-crafted than your average blockbuster. However, no one gives a shit about books. Do they?

I fell out of the habit of reading books on a regular basis halfway through high school. I used to read sci-fi and horror books in favor of TV and school work, and now I’d rather not invest so much time and emotion into something that might suck. Yet, I’ll sit through a 90-minute movie I paid to watch, even if it’s terrible.

Since I stopped reading them, I now wonder if there are any novels around to enjoy anymore. Are there mass-market book series still pulling in millions of dollars in revenue (Besides Harry Potter)? Is there a new R.L. Stine of our time, or a rising author creating a new genre? I feel like the only way to know any of these things — to know what to read — is to actually stay in the loop of the book world. That means browsing Barnes and Noble or some other mega-mart bookstore on a weekly basis, participating in online discussions, and actually going to the library and looking for something that seems worth reading (a.k.a. blatantly judging a book by its cover).

Correct me if I’m wrong, but I get the feeling that I’m one of many who stopped reading novels, and I feel like the drastic decrease in the novel’s customer base has shut the door on the number one dream of all aspiring writers.

Every so often, I see an advertisement for a book on TV. It’s a new Harry Potter release, or a book by James Patterson, Stephen King, Dan Brown, John Grisham, etc. If fiction writing were a corporation, these guys would be the bigwigs in suits who like their coffee black, hot, and delivered by an intern who only has a PhD in literature.

These useless money-makers will outlive novels.

It’s a given that the bigwigs will continue to write and sell books; they’re on top of the food chain and will eat everything until it’s gone. But I feel like novels are done when these guys die, and there’s no more room for anyone else. How does that make writers feel? Do they even realize how doomed they are?

Let me remind you that I am talking about novels — fiction — not just any book. Self-help guides, uplifting new phenomena for weight loss, new rules by which to run your life, and all the rest of those glorified pamphlets will always have a place in the market. Novel-writing guides will outsell novels, because novels — the most honest of all books — can’t survive the underhanded competition.

Personally, I find it daunting that I’m working on a novel right now that — if it even gets published — will never bring in enough revenue to pay for the time I spent writing it. Yes, that’s greedy of me, and I realize that getting rich is not a good reason to write. There’s no fortune and glory for most writers, and millionaire authors have repeated those words time and time again during rare Q&A sessions.

But still, how terrible is it when we find ourselves working toward a goal that isn’t merely impossible, but a goal that actually no longer exists. Wanting to be a successful novelist in the year 2008 is just as depressing as a youngster who wants to be the first crooked politician.

Welcome to journalism. Enjoy your stay.

There aren’t a lot of money-making jobs left for people who are only good at writing. Really, there are two: Technical writing and journalism. I’ve done both. Technical writing is the goal of 2% of all writers. There’s no glory, no fame, no real fun or creativity in being a technical writer. It’s just a steady paycheck and the personal satisfaction that your job exists because it’s the one thing your superiors can’t do better than you. I like technical writing.

Journalism, though, is a black hole for aspiring writers. Next to being a novelist, it’s the closest thing there is to fame. When college students and fresh grads break into journalism, they feel on top of the world. They finally did it. They’re going to be famous reporters like…uh, what’s his name…and break big stories like…uh, what was that huge thing that that guy uncovered back then a few years ago?

Journalism is hell, and there is no fame. When you become a news writer, you have entered a profession where no one gives a shit about you until you fuck up. You have as much chance at being famous as you would trying to publish a novel. Yet, you have not failed. There is no rejection letter in journalism, no finite declaration of failure with a whistle to move on to the next task. Journalism is forever, and you won’t know that you’ve failed until it’s too late. All journalists go into the field with big dreams, whether they know it or not, and 99.9% of them eventually become broken because of it.

So, writers, what are your fall-back options?

I hate married college students

My wife is a married college student, but I consider her an exception to my rule of hatred because she’s married to me. Being married to me automatically places her on a level higher than the rest of the attention whores who love to be college wives.

What is married life like? Well, if you have even a shred of a brain cell, it’s not much different from your previous situation with the fiance (except the planning part is finally over). You aren’t a different person. You haven’t reached some unprecedented level of maturity just because you wore a dress for a day and changed your last name. In short, just because you’re married doesn’t mean you’re worth marrying.

You should tone down the eyeliner for your next wedding.

Over the past four years, I’ve seen the weirdest pairings of tools from my hometown. Baptists and Baptists took a leap of faith and said “I do” at the ripe age of 19. It was a race to the finish to see who — from the class of 2003 — could become a grownup first. These same people went through high school without so much as a kiss, while the other extreme dated someone else every couple of months. But suddenly, these groups of sluts and prudes have one thing in common: they all found husbands immediately after turning 18. Holy shit.

Cue the wedding pictures on Facebook and long-lived posts about being Mrs. Attention Whore Smith who loves her HUSBAND so much! Then we get to read about how she’s “away right now because i’m grocery shopping with my husband” or “picking out curtains with the hubby…hehehe.” A few days after that, I start seeing wall posts about how old they feel — “I’m just an old married fart now.” The expression is simply “old fart,” but the married part MUST be thrown in by the newlywed. Just in case the 32490243 tagged photos of you in an ironically white wedding dress weren’t enough, you feel compelled to refer to yourself as a wife in all conversations.

I just don’t think many of these folks are ready for marriage. Seems to me that most of my high-school classmates started dating their adequately compatible intra-religion partners shortly after graduation and married them soon after. A lot of them even get knocked up somewhere in between. They laugh about being part of a boring married couple and talk about curtains and diapers and lawnmowers as if these things were the most amazing milestones in the history of love.

I’m not impressed, honestly. I don’t care if you’ve amped up your biological clock in time for an early divorce. I offer no congratulations to you and your friends and your sister for all finding “the one” within months of each other. And I’ll spare you the awes and oohs for synchronizing your pregnancies and naming your children “Ayden Gabriel” and “Emma Elizabeth-Rose-Brianna.”

What sickens me is that I had to get married beneath this cloud of evaporated horse shit. The remaining class of 2003 graduated and got their “big-kid” jobs making a whopping $24,000 a year and made a mad dash to get married like the rest of the class did 3 years ago. And so did I, unfortunately. I graduated, got a big-kid job, and got married, too. But here’s why I am superior to the rest of them:

My wife and I were together for more than half a decade before getting married. We were high-school sweethearts, yes, but we didn’t make the mistake of getting married so soon after high school. We know people change. We had to make sure we would change for the better and not grow apart. We lucked out.

We LIVED together beforehand. I realize, in the eyes of the Baptist fuckwits and the ridiculous Catholics in my town, that this is a huge no-no. But I’ll be damned if I’m going to go into a marriage having not witnessed my future wife’s nasty habits firsthand. Everyone has disgusting habits. If you waited until marriage before living together, I have no sympathy for you when you are “disillusioned” a year later. Honestly, all you newlywed, religious pieces of shit really make me sick for overshadowing everything I’ve worked to accomplish just because you made slightly more noise about your imminent failure of a marriage.

Also, I make more than $24,000 a year.

You want the reality of marriage? You want to know whether you’re really ready for marriage? Ask me. I’ll give you an honest answer without gushing about how great you two are together. Honestly, do you even know what his dirty underwear looks like?

UPDATE: I just realized something this morning. After going through a lot of the young, married chicks on my Facebook friends list, I see that 95% of them are Christian and have “very conservative” political views. Which leads me to believe that they got married so that it would be OK to fuck.

Try changing your views instead.

Why this blog exists

I’m glad you’ve decided to read this blog. Welcome. You will know me as “smacksfrog,” or “Dig’em Frog.” Honey Smacks is my favorite cereal, and I eat them dry because I hate milk. My name is not important.

I’ve always written under my own name. Why not? I get paid for it, and I get the exposure I need to one day — you know — REALLY get paid for it.

But this time I’m trying something different. I won’t tell you my name, where I work, or where I live. I’m not going to hide that information, but I won’t say it outright. By that, I mean my future blog posts will inevitably provide massive hints as to my identity, but no real names or specific locations will be used. Google is not my friend.

You might wonder why it even matters. After all, I’m not famous (a few thousand people in my hometown know of me and my writing, but that’s it). I’m not a big, successful novelist or journalist. I’m not even rich. And to top it off, I live in America, where we are free to say what we want.

I’m doing this because my speech is not free, nor is yours. Everything we do or say comes with consequences, and the ones I’ve had a taste of are not worth it — at least not right now. Columns I’ve written for a local publication have put my other job (the one that pays more) in jeopardy.

I wrote a constructive article criticizing a Church-run pre-marital counseling retreat, and it made its way back to the man who performed our ceremony. He never mentioned it; I just happened to see the printed article as he thumbed through our file to find the marriage license. Why was it there? Who sent it to him? What did he plan to do? For some reason, I felt violated.

Posts I’ve made on public forums on the Internet have wound up printed out and sitting on my desk at work — a job I had recently started. Who put them there? I still don’t know, and I guess I never will.

An old boss kept a file on me. It contained articles and posts I had made on the Internet that he did not agree with. I found this file without his knowledge, and it was never used against me. I guess he was keeping it in case he ever needed to get rid of me. The company was failing anyway.

Readers send my writings to my closest friends, family members, and employers in hopes of showing them something I didn’t want them to see because I, in some way, threatened these readers’ opinions by asserting my own. In reality, all I’ve done is put into words what others might feel in hopes that someone is entertained by it — not enlightened, even. Entertained.

Some say I should be flattered by the effort people have made to hurt me and my environment. Perhaps it means that I am making an impact, my writing is effective, and I should go even further. To me, though, I don’t feel like it’s worth it yet.

I’m not paid big bucks to write these little op-ed pieces. It’s not my primary source of income, and worse, it has shown massive potential to affect my actual primary source of income, my life, everything I have to provide a stable environment for myself and my wife. I refused to get fired because someone was miserable enough to find out where I work and fling every piece of negative evidence in that direction.

It’s my own fault. I say things (not necessarily offensive things) that other people disagree with, and I am easily accessible. I have Facebook, very obvious online usernames, and a few ex-friends who wouldn’t hesitate to make every effort to destroy my life. I get my words out, and I suffer the consequences for them. I’m not interested in doing that anymore, at least not until my primary means of sustaining life is via imparting my words on others. I want to be paid to write about my beliefs so that I never have to lose my job as a result of them.

I started this blog because even though it’s in my best interest to keep my opinions disconnected from my name, I can’t not write them. I will always write them. This may not ever make me money, but one day, when that “damned novel” is finished and several contracts are signed, I’ll be comfortable enough to tell the world I’m the one behind this nationally popular blog. Yes, I have grandiose, unrealistic dreams. I hope you do, too.

I want you to read these posts and be entertained (maybe enlightened, but not necessarily) by them. I’d like you to comment on my posts and give me your own input as well. I want to know what other people think about things when they aren’t under the scrutiny of miserable individuals who can’t stand to be challenged.

I want you to leave no-holds-barred comments on my blog with everything you think about my posts. I look forward to writing words that have no bearing on those who sign my paychecks. And I look forward to getting feedback from people who can’t do a thing to hurt me anymore.

Welcome to my blog. Get the words out.