"So, Grace, What Are You Going To Do With The Rest Of Your Life?"

Back and rambling;

Sorry for the lag in posting, I've been drowning myself in apathy, and angst. I feel like a real writer now, except for the fact I haven't been doing any actual writing. It's been ages since I've written a short story. Ages. I remember last time I did a short story, the woolly mammoth was rather impressed and decided not to squash me. Then I stabbed him and used him to make a fur coat. Fun. It was him or me, and I had a harpoon gun. I call it the Cullmaster. When I'm alone, I pet it like a cat and tell it stories. But in the long run, I just haven't written any short stories. I've started a few, but in the end I just write clever ways to kill all the characters involving umbrellas, unicorn jihads, and the occasional appearance of large star ships crashing into small east coast liberal towns and liberating the people from the mortal coil in a firestorm of quantum-based probability engines. And one guy survives, to drink all the booze and root beer while participating in Za Zen sitting meditation.

Muahaha.

I'm immortal!

Ahem.

No finished poetry either. All I have are lines that don't properly dance and follow and lead each other around. My typical fumbling erotographomania is in a serious downswing. So now I have a few documents full of clumsy lines, which makes it sound like I have jagged cocaine occupying my computer. Well, **** you, cocaine, my computer is fairly drug-free, unless you count my sweet sweet word drugs. In which case those drug-sniffing dogs are going to stop on by and chew on my *butt* for awhile. To prevent this, I will stop keeping steak in my back pockets.

Don't look at me like that. You never know when you might need some steak. I've had many a steak-related emergency, and having a steak on hand at all times is rather useful. It doesn't make for much of a weapon, but slapping a vegetarian with a steak always results in amusing screams and blood splatters. And god knows, if it screams and splatters blood all over the place,

Why haven't I been writing much lately? I've got no inspiration, BUT I HAVE mastered throwing small children into wood chippers and laughing myself sick.

Interesting events have moved into the realm of nonexistent. I think it's high time I found a job. But what to do? I want something interesting that actually challenges me, but, I've got nothing. What could I do? Mad scientist? I've got the hair for that. Although, I nearly failed all of my science classes back in high school, mostly due to academic apathy, a high level of intolerance for taking notes, and a tendency to throw around beakers full of volatile substances. Also, according to some bizarre and rather stupid law, making a meth lab in the back of class does not earn you extra credit. Neither does trying to sell it to my fellow students. Apparently capitalism never flourished properly in the North Science Room 2A.

Well **** you, Lansing, I can be an adventuresome capitalist if I want. Then, a warlord. Yeah, I said it. Drugs, and explosions. Apparently my science class was like a failed rock career. All we needed was half a dozen trash-talking aliens from some obscure nebula and we could have had a sitcom.

Taking off from that warlord idea, I should run for mayor of Lansing. Of course, I'd have to actually get involved in politics, which means I would go utterly batshit insane, but that just increases my chances of winning. My platform would advocate constant violent interrogation of local hippies, eugenics, unparalleled drug abuse by public officials, and replacing all the local statues with Pong arcade machines. My entire administration would be based around be unproductive and driving people out of this city, until KCCC was forced to shut down and replaced with a weapons factory, in which case we would hold hunts on the Commons for the homeless to test the weapons on. Tell me you can't envision a bunch of drugged-up, suit-wearing lawyers with machetes and sub machine guns and nets tear-assing down the street after a screaming hobo and his trail of urine and booze. That would rock. After we've annihilated the homeless and the hippie problem, it's time we moved on to simple enslavement of the local populace. But not physical enslavement! Oh no, that's too good for the Lansing residents... I'd go with full mental enslavement, which would require hiring espies, and I tend to shoot those *things*, but I think I can hold off my trigger-happy impulses for long enough to have a bunch of hyped-up psychics destroy the minds of everyone in this county. Not that it'd take much work, reading the local paper. If anyone else wants in on this sweet bargain of destroying a town, feel free to give me a ring.

Other people probably won't want to go as far as me, but that's why they're stuck being small time, and I'm the Infamous.

Grace