In one of my books, I’m gonna have a snarky lad of Irish descent.

There will come a time in this book when he has to impart some wisdom…some deep secret of his past. And in that conversation will be the following passage…

“Well of course I’ve got demons, son. We’ve all got demons. Every one of us. But I faced mine a long time ago and did what any Irishman worth his salt would do.”

“What’s that?”

“I got mine drunk, told them they could sleep it off until morning, but they had to feck off before the missus woke up or she’d be good and proper pissed and give them what for.”

“That worked?”

“Son, have you met my old lady? You bet your ass it worked.”

I’m not sure when that book will be written, but there’s a good chance it will be autobiographical in nature.

Oh, and congratulations if you actually found this post of your own accord. I don’t always post little pointers on MyFaceSpaceTube to my updates. Sometimes I just like to write shit out here. For a couple of reasons…I don’t always want to seem self serving and needy by saying ‘I wrote something…here, go read it’  But I also wanted to just write for me. And, well, you. It’s like an easter egg on the DVD menu. You have to actually be intentional about looking for it.

And I think that’s what’s missing from our daily lives these days. The intentionality. I didn’t really mean for this to turn in to a rant. I really just wanted to write that clever bit about the Irishman who got his demons drunk and it didn’t really seem to fit in with everyone’s gushing over the Grammys.

I couldn’t give two fucks about the Grammys.

You want an award for making music? Start a band. Play some gigs. Have people other than your immediate friends and family pay money to come see you because they want to. That’s all the fucking award you need.  Fuck all this ego-stroking and posturing. Get out there and make some fucking music already.


Alright, now I am going to bed. I have been avoiding it because I know when I wake up, I’ll have to go to Queens job site. And there’s still no heat. But hey…they flew me out to finish the job. So fuck it all. I really did try to write ‘feck’ but apparently that gives my MacBook’s auto-correct (or perhaps Google’s auto-correct) fits and it keeps trying to substitute ‘deck’ instead.




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