By my count, you and I have now completed day number 60 of my elaborate scheme to commit ambitious acts of fraud and deceit on the worldwide blog reading public.
No that’s not right. I’m committing the acts and you’re most likely part of the worldwide blog reading public named as complainants in the court documents which outline the charges against me.
As bald as I am, it’s hard to believe such a hair brained scheme could even be pulled off.
With this particular posting, I’m now in the process of writing post number 61 in this 2012 endeavor to publish something daily during the year.
I picked the year 2012 because the Mayans predict that I won’t have to publish all 365 posts.
Lazy. I know.
I’d like to think of it as “effective time management”.
So why am I writing this particular piece to call out that i have 60 in the hole for the year? Could it be that I’ve hit a milestone with this endeavor? Or is it that I’ve just run out of material, and in the panic induced rush to follow through with my goal, I’ve just written a blog to talk about how the ideas haven’t flown freely through my head with the toll road like expediency as of late like they’ve been known to do.
After all, I did post a pretty lame poem the other day.
Pause for lamentation.
Number one, Davy wasn’t supposed to be the first one to go. Peter Tork or Michael Nesmith had him beat on that one. In the late 80’s when the Monkees reunited, I was ruthlessly and relentlessly subjected to them by a roommate who had no problem with idol worship. That time in my life taught me to hate flashes in the pan.
Number two, I don’t have a celebrity death pool short of the fact that I predict Russell Brand will be gone before the end of this decade. Predicting when people will die is morbid.
RIP Davy Jones. We hardly knew ye.
RIP TharpSter poetry. We should have never been introduced.