List of possible book titles

I am currently working on the miscarriage of my first book, a Novel, in the Fiction of Literary. Novella most likely, after I edit out half of it. Then I’m going to take that flaming bag of dog shit, that I presumably will call my life’s work, and do what every other downtrodden creative nut job is doing, every minute of each day. Self Publish, and then pray to Santa Clause that it sells enough copies to take some time away from work. When the reality is, I will probably have to pay people to read it. Back to the purpose of this shameful act of desperation, I finally started brainstorming book titles. In the process of this creative writing session, I came up with one I like, a few that are funny, and several that are hard to read. Now, in a pathetic attempt to gain traffic on my site, so I can shove my book down everyones throat, here is the list I just came up with. Feedback would be gratifying, but do what you will.

Again, the book is Literary Fiction, it’s about the struggles of one man, and his journey through fucking himself. Always doing the well intentioned wrong thing. It’s dark, slightly graphic, abrasive, and touches on several big life issues. For you softies out there, I even added a bit of Love to the story, because deep down…we’re all a sucker for a love story.

So here it is, in no particular order, just as I planned it. Enjoy the chaotic glory of my lazily formatted list. Titles are; Unapproachable/ Dead Birds are all around us/ Damaged/ Addickted/ Frantic Franny/ Transdermal Stupidity/ Distorted Paths/ Terminally Fucked/ Alcohol Plays A Part/ Aborted Hope/ Jumbo Shrimp Is Real/ Agnostically Insane/ Dissipating/ It’s All Fake/ Fake It, Till You Make it/ Courageously Lost/ Loitering In Hell/ Falsely Self Accused/ Fragments of A Man/ Benign Hummer/ Stumbling Through The Race/ Provocative Misery/ Renovating The Bottle/ Restoring Vodka With Water. Fade out…

I might be ill minded, but I think there’s some good ones in that heap of carnage.

What I’ve learned today

Raine Michaels, Brett Michaels 18 year old daughter, makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. She is also competing in the upcoming Sports Illustrated Swimsuit competition, and yes, daddy is proud. They look so much alike I’m questioning wether or not I’d throw a shot into Brett too.

The Eagles re-signed Vinny Curry, who ever gives a shit about that. I’m more interested in plungers, than what the Philadelphia Eagles are doing in there dog eat dog world. The Red Sox and Chris Sale reportedly agreed to a long term contract, now that’s something I can get behind. Go ahead haters, hate. Hate us cause they anus. March Madness is still the same empty bottomless pit of pre madonna’s, and future reality TV stars. Tom Izzo seems a bit passionate, and constipated. So the guy’s a little enthusiastic, so what. You think he’s tense, you should see me at parade’s.

Paul Simon is going to try and cantillate one last performance, again. This time as a headliner at The Outside Lands Festival, in San Fransisco, some time in August. At 77 years old, good for him. Another passionate man in our midst. I just hope he makes it.

The Bronx is burning! Or so it was, a laundromat burst in flames around 1:00pm, or was it a Meth Lab? Trump did things, just to do them. He also learned what day of the week it was, before dinner time. Reverse everything, being his next Ad Campaign slogan.

Did you know that someone out there is named Cardi B.? Their famous for something, and whatever the actual fuck “Okurr” is or means, their trademarking it. My fellow Americans, it shames me to know, that not only do you know exactly what it is I’m talking about, but you’ll also buy the T-shirt. Probably end up making an energy drink called “Okurr,” and it will taste like the Hollywood piss that it is. Lady Gaga and Jeremy Renner, fuck yeah! I’d watch that sex tape. I hate celebrity couples, and the annoying, melodramatic, dick piercing attention they get. However, every now and then I get a little movement down below, when I see potential for a good sex tape. I hope they film it in the same Motel room that they shot Devil’s Rejects in, and I hope the Cohen Brothers pick up the film rights.

The most tantalizing, self destructive, pleasure seeking thing I learned today…DIRT. Motley Crue’s new film, on Netflix. Netflix, you’re my only friend. Apparently it’s just old footage of the band partying like the miscreant rock stars that they once were, breaking every law, and moral code you could possibly think of. I heard a mention of someone drinking urine, intrigued. Why 30 years later? You really have to be hard up for cash, to let the world see your old camcorder footage from the days when you were relevant and thought it was ok to do any fucked up disgusting thing you wanted to. Well some of that shit’s not cool, and I for one am going to watch it as soon as possible.

Work sucks

I am off to do manually labor, changing peoples tires all day long for minimal money. This job makes me want to take a bath with a toaster, and I want it to end. Is today the day I tell my boss to fuck off? Then I’d just have to find another shitty job I don’t like, and learn new faces to hate. I want the string of tedious labor demanding jobs to be over. I have trouble physically playing with my daughter at times, because I cannot move well. I am 39, what the (burnt) french toast is that. Mornings suck, I’m not nice, Lost I am, oh so fucking terribly, damaged, hide and go fuck yourself lost. Should be a good day……..

Thoughts, not sleep

You tease me with your fake yawns, and set time frames. It’s been days, you remain stubborn and free willed. Eyes wide shut, I take a breath, masturbate, then roll to the side on the left. Suffocating from your aberrant ways, your lack of empathy, and your brazen disregard for my health. I do not need you to stay alive, but I’ll go crazy if you don’t comply. I need you sleep, I’d dream of you if I could, instead it’s nonsense through written word, spoken by no one, so it’s never heard. Read by few, cause this blog is invisible, much like my presence. I will sleep someday, after my words become known. Etymology, sleep, smoke, fuck, eat, SLEEP. I’ll live to be awake another day, slaving away for the man, while my dreams fade like my sleep. Hungry for a life I deserve, losing balance a keystroke at a time. Be weary, bed bugs and snipes. Bo Jackson would know what to do

I see you…

I see you over there, using abortion as birth control, adjusting your morals to suit your needs. I see you crouched down in your six year old daughters room, stealing change from her piggy bank to get your next fix. I see you bitching about the bad tip the table next to me left you. And I see you, you cheap arrogant prick, leaving a two percent tip on a thirty dollar bill. I see you, parking in a handicap spot in your lifted truck with mud tires, and a handicap placard hanging in the rearview. I see you, cheating on your wives and husbands. I see you living a life you feel entitled to, but don’t deserve. I see you walking passed me, dismissing my existence when you have no purpose. I see you polishing all your things, tidying up the house for dinner guests, just so you can show off your big house, and all your stupid meaningless shit. I see you smiling, empty inside, dying to be noticed. I see you letting the door shut, while you watch me reach for it. I see you Roku, charging me for channels I don’t have. I see you TRUMP, and I wish I didn’t. I see women, all of them, so beautiful, and elegant. Everyone of you special in your own way, celestial creatures that we should all bow to. I see you chivalry, and you deserve a second chance. I see you little girl, wondering where daddy is. I see you mothers who withhold children from their fathers for spiteful, petty, vindictive, half ass reasoning. I see you, the guy across the street, rolling his own cigarettes and drinking vodka out of a water bottle, face beat red, just waiting for the next state check to come in. I see you and your free rides from the state, paid for by everyone but yourself. I see me, rambling on and on, desperate for someone to listen. One step away from giving hand jobs for blog traffic. I see you fucking cops, rounding up addicts, getting them off the street, making your world a safer place. You think you’re helping, but you’re not. I see you, calling us junkies, saving an addict with a shot of narcan, then saying “see you soon junkie, just as he comes too. I see you bloggers, trying to figure out what the fuck it is I am trying to do with this blog. I’m trying to wake you all up. WAKE UP! Also, in case I was not clear, allow me to further pollute this page, I write, you read, you comment, I reciprocate. WOMENNNNN, I love each and every one of you. You’re all perfect just the way you are, and if your man doesn’t hold the door for you, pull your chair out, open the car door for you, let you sleep in, rub your feet, and tell you how beautiful you are everyday, dump his ass, you are being robbed. I see you shitty boyfriends/husbands, and you don’t fucking deserve her.


Fuck you. You’re never there for me when I need you, you’re always out fucking around with the plush and luxurious. I only want a meal, a small corner with a roof to call shelter. I work so hard for your attention, yet you give so little of it. I will find you, I will write this wrong. I hate you, I miss you, I need you, I fucking hate you. You make me do humiliating things on a daily basis, just to afford a room, and some writing utensils. Well I want more from you than that, I want to buy my daughter things, I want to have the time to raise her. Stop fucking with me, stop making me live in your Yes Man world. It’s bullshit, and I will not be a part of it any longer. Let me be free, let me write the perfect ending, then pay me with royalties, and shower me with my own time.