blank obligations

It's 2:52 pm on a Monday.

There is an annoyingly-loud Cardinal on my windowsill, yelling at me as she cracks open the sunflower seeds I left for her. It's a schweaty-hot July day, and I'm staring at a line on today's "to-do" list that reads, "blog."

Now, other than my friend the guitar-slingin' blues virtuoso Sam "Ship It" Masterton (see above), nobody's taken me up on my offer to pick an option and tell me what to write. So I'm forced to (ugh!) activate my creative brain-juices aaaaaaaaaaand... nope.

I've got nothin'.

If this was tomorrow, I could write all about how awesome it is that one of my scripts was selected as a quarterfinalist for the Page Screenwriting Competition - or how terrible it is that it didn't, and how it's just one more bit of proof that screenwriting competitions are all scams, or else that I'm a no-talent schmuck who needs to learn a thing or two about making realistic life-goals.

If this was two weeks from now, I could write about how my woman-friend is back from Israel, so go away because I don't care about you, this stupid blog, screenwriting, or anything other than smooching.

But it's not. It's today. And I've got nothing.

Oh, wait! Zounds! You-reek-ah!

I'm feeling a bit narcissistic (Obviously - I am writing a blog, after all), so how about I go make a composite picture of some of my more ridiculous facebook profile pics? Then you can stare at it, laugh at it, or print it off super-huge as a poster for your wall (if, you know, you happen to be a psycho).

Allrighty... gimme a sec.

. . .


Now, don't say I never made you nothin' (because that would be a double negative):


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