I am pasting my stats below:

Blog Stats Summary Tables

Total views: 56,406

Busiest day: 17,050 — Saturday, February 6, 2010

Views today: 515


Posts: 556

Comments: 94

Categories: 13

Tags: 33

TOWNSMAN “What do we do now?”

CLINT FUCKING EASTWOOD “Now?  Now you live with it.”

Yesterday in the afternoon my blog went viral.  I think that means it exploded.  It exploded, anyway.  If viral doesn’t mean that, then it didn’t go viral.

That quote is from High Plains Drifter.  Eastwood’s character is called, “The Stranger”, and this or similar characters are all he plays, when he’s in a Spaghetti Western.  I’m no special Eastwood fan.  It does not work like that.  People like me, born in 1952, …Americans, and they could be born any time, and our folks knew that, so, they gave us the name Baby Boomers.  Without it, paragraphs can come out sounding cumbersome and self-important, stupid actually, like this one.

The stats above, short for “statistics”, are there because I can copy/paste.  I woke up in the Klondike in an arctic afternoon and had a brainstorm.  Among my thoughts were that I was missing the IRS 1040 2009 W-2 facsimile from my lender.  I haven’t been opening their letters lately.  It is depressing and such letters are called “dunning” letters.  However , I forgot about needing the tax statement on the interest paid, to get a deduction.  Then, I remembered.  I knew that my last sober moments before I got high were my only opportunity to make sense of my life, so, I took advantage of it.

There are three lies in that one.  I’m not in the Klondike, it is not called a W-2, and I don’t use.  The first lie is one I heard, as a word, klondike, which I then proceeded to incorporate into a sentence for my own entertainment.  Wait a minute.

“You heard, Steve?”

Yes, test the water (before you go swimming).  Try remembering about six facts and get them down on the screen.  That’s all, just memory.  While I was writing the first one, I heard another one, which was messing with you.  Before that, I had a notion to explain which book I was looking for in the 300s when I found the drug books I have.  Before that, I had become infamous overnight.  Yesterday, I described dreaming and left out the relationship between browsing the stacks in a library and the images you see in a dream.  It’s quiet, there are rows hypnotically passing by, whether you are walking or they are on a conveyor belt, and, it’s just a place you love to be.  Sometime after I started this paragraph, the word, boring, came to me.  That I take literally.  Earlier still, I was cringing with the weight of my life’s burden.  Added to the event of becoming so well-known, all I could think of was that it wasn’t ESP.

“The internets are real.”

“Yes, and you are merely a splinter of myself, Steve.  You don’t really exist.”

Both speakers in my dialogs are me.  I can’t carry on as a splinter of myself.  I should stop when I am me.  I don’t know how to do that.  I do not know how to capture the “Blog Stats” graph and display it here in a blog post.  It is in an embediment of Adobe Flash Player.  But, I do know that excessive effort on my part to achieve and exploit notoriety was not in my outlook.  I’ll be sitting here at my computer when they come to foreclose on the house.  They’ll carry me out like they do Granny on The Beverly Hillbillies, in her rocking chair.

“I ain’t a gonna leave this chair, Jed.”

“Come on, Granny.  We’re movin’ to Californy.”

“I told you I ain’t a-gonna leave this chair.”

See? I got fifty-six-and-a-half-thousand total views, and 17,000 of them were yesterday.  I am tempted to employ a calculator (base jump), but let’s just sit here and use our wits, or, why don’t we recognize the computer for what it is and get back to basics, where we can (travel), …

I thought I heard footsteps on the stairs.  People like me don’t share the space with others if we are doing something we shouldn’t.  It is the cat.  I got the idea (mother or mud) from a cat, named Kiki.  It trips on the threshold of a sliding-glass door and I am there.  It doesn’t like to be seen to be clumsy.  It gives me my mother’s typical look of disgust, which is often the exact element of dynamic tension I do receive.  When somebody hates you, others utilize the individual’s opinion and adopt the hatred as their own.  I started writing above, where I ask what to do, because, now that I have pasted text from my backstage page, maybe the links take you (no spoiler “Q&cir”), to my inner domain.  I was afraid of hacking myself.  Of course, this fear is unwarranted.  That would be a bug in the program.  When there are bugs, such as, when you ban someone, your name is taken off their friend list, or else it’s a bug.  The writers, who are programmers, soon fix it.

Much of the original burden of this fame was removed, originally.

“What fame?”

“Well, when you pulled me backwards off the bench all the eighth-graders saw my panties.  Now I’m going to kick your ass, Steve.”

I mean, I know I have my anonymity, and that’s asinine.  I don’t remain anonymous on the internet.  You can’t handle the truth!  It isn’t what the fuck I say marked “true” or “false”, it is who is (masturbating) saying it as well.  I thank you for supporting law enforcement.  You aren’t going to alert the FBI on a key logger for reading my blog on a click through fucking a (knothole) glory hole.  Thank you for … I wish to thank each and every one of you 17,000 (Irish dancers) and I am sure you can have five minutes apiece and we’ll slam some sausage—Snausages—whatever they feed us in jail.  Of my time and I am only glad to give it (x, cross); to come across with the goods, as it were.  And could you please tell me about the fifty ways?

I am a Christian and I believe in Jesus Christ as my personal savior.  Us and Indians, feather, made a to-do on this continent.  And (strapped),

no matter what happens from here forward, and, sincerely, no matter how badly they want to kill us for what we did, we are more than willing to repeat the experience.  Have a nice day.



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