The First One

So this is blogging. I don't see the big deal. Kids today need something better to occupy their time. When I was a kid we were worried about the bomb. Now there's no bomb. Terrorists are running all over, but the kids don't care. As long as they've got their face books and black berries. The whole thing seems like a scam to me. A big government scam. One day I'll be sitting on my couch watching John Wayne shoot some indians and the G-men will come knocking at my door. Big uptight dorks with bulky suits. They'll force their way in, despite the fact that I have certain inalienable rights set forth by the constitution. That's another thing these kids don't care about. Thomas Jefferson would roll over in his grave. Anyway, they'll force their way in. They'll nose around and find my guns, then take them away from me. Snatch them right out of my house. Then they'll take them over to the CIA who'll sell them to some African Warlord for opium or oil rights. Meanwhile, some small village in Africa is getting mowed down with my firearms. Genocide in Africa all over the news. Two weeks later some Amnesty International pipsqueak is coming by my door asking me to donate to save the massacred children in Africa. Talk to your government, I'll say. Those are my guns they took away from me and sold. I just signed up for a blog.

I'm only doing this because I've been seeing this girl. She's twenty-five and three times as flexible as either of my two previous wives. She's a fine kid, but she's always on this damned internet doing something or other. Oh, come on, [redacted] it's so much fun. You can tell people about your life. Well, I don't buy it, but like I said she's a good kid and I don't really want to hurt her feelings. She's still in this stage where she thinks progressive liberal thought can change the world. HA. She'll learn soon enough what a bleeding heart will get you. The heart can't work if it's bleeding. Bleeding hearts are terminal cases.

Shit, my hands hurt. I haven't written anything since grade school. I used to write poems for class until the teacher saw what I was writing. Censored in the fifth grade for being a patriot. Should have been more worried about those communist teachers and their damnable teachers unions. Don't expect too many of these from me. And don't expect me to tell you anything either. You're not getting my name. Anything I don't tell you is for my own protection.

See, I don't do technology. I grew up in 'Nam. In the 'Nam era where all those dope fiends were dropping acid. Magic Carpet Rides and Astral Planes and all that. I'll say it right now, the internet was concocted by some hophead, some acid dropping mama's boy who thought it would be funny to make it so everybody's lives revolved around this plastic box and this cyberspace mumbo jumbo. He thought it would be funny for everybody to be made to feel stupid for not knowing the right sequence of buttons to push to print a damned copy of something. Control Print Delete Alt Whatever. Shit.