It’s a good thing I love what I do.

My parents always told me to work hard and party hard, but never to overdo one or the other. So to balance out the number of hours I worked this week, I will spend my weekend funneling grain alcohol and doing huge amounts of heroin off of a nineteen year-old stripper’s ass while supermodels feed me caviar and light my cigars with hundred dollar bills dipped in breast milk holy shit where did that come from I need help.

Not really. I’ll be working this weekend. But I can honestly say I am happy.

I think that was my way of explaining myself to the people who sent me e-mails and left messages for me to write again. Thanks for reminding me. And for making me feel loved or whatever mushy crap I’m supposed to put here.

The first time I talked to my now friend Brett Butler (check me out dropping the names), I was asking her how one would go about getting on with a television studio writing for a show or whatever you’re supposed to do. She also gave me a valuable piece of advice which I will paraphrase to the best of my ability. She said, “well, Dusty, you are a shitty no-talent douche and a horrible person. Therefore you should lower your sights to something more realistic, like trying not to get the death penalty.” Just kidding. She said, “I am a big believer in unintentional consequences. This whole writing/creativity monster thing you have created was not planned. Why do you want to staple a business plan to it now? Your only concern should be to saddle up and see where it takes you.”

So right now I am in my bedroom/office/studio/saddle, spending increasing amounts of time wondering just where that will be. Let’s hope it takes me somewhere with good fishing, but I’ll wait and see.

None of what you just read is very interesting unless you are me, and I doubt any of you are. To remedy that, I will follow it with something even less interesting. See how this works? The above paragraphs will shine by comparison.

It’s really neato when some big website like phatfree links this diary. Even when the owner/writer of said site describes me as “wack” (if anyone here is wack, it’s me. Color me wack.) Whatever. Thanks for the gazillion hits and consequent dollars the link created for this embodiment of wackitude. His fans even took time out of their busy days of tongue-mopping peepshow booths and raping orphans to leave me a bunch of hate mail- I try too hard, I suck, my style sucks, I can’t write, I need to get a life, I am gay, I am homophobic, I am racist, I am an asshole, and most importantly…

I don’t give a fuck.

Keep ‘em coming, jackwipes. It only makes me stronger.

Do you know anyone who simply boggles your mind with their apparent inability to make a single good decision? People who just don’t get it but somehow continue not to get themselves killed every day… like the broad I dated for a short time who was so offended by my bumper sticker (”doing my part to piss off the heathen left”)that she couldn’t continue to see me. Sorry sugarchute- you must be at least this capable of rational thought to ride this ride. Since then, I have noticed commonalities in people who are actually angered by that (or any) bumper sticker, and I call it my idiot filter. Quite handy.

We all know people who have had abusive relationships and still claim that “a part of them will always love” the person who repeatedly did them wrong.

Holy dear sweet baby Jesus in a blender, that is agonizing to hear. Cut the cord already. If anyone in your life isn’t making your life better or having their life made better by your help, they should drop like a box of doorknobs back into whatever steaming pile of non-achievement they have created for themselves. Seriously. I understand human compassion (and am told I was even capable of it at one time), but you have to draw the line somewhere. If you don’t, there is a 100% chance that you will end up like them. Keeping them around so you can observe their lives like some kind of industrial disaster is okay, though. Just keep a safe distance.

So everybody think right now to that one person who has caused you nothing but inconvenience and/or pain. Now call or e-mail him or her and tell him or her that you will no longer be needing them to suck your soul dry. You’ll be much happier.

Wow. This thing seems to be taking a negative tone.* I’m sure people will complain that I sound angry, but I’m not. Just been thinking about stuff for a few months, and writing it down is therapeutic. Posting it for the world to read is just stupid, but I do it anyway. Now I remember why I don’t sit down and type without an idea. Maybe you say I should stop being negative. Maybe you should get out of my life and shut up and/or eat a decroded piece of crap. I have work to do.

Most people loosely define work as “stuff they definitely wouldn’t be doing if they weren’t getting paid to do it.” Screw that logic. I was writing in this diary for three years before anyone started reading it, so this is officially not work. I also drew pictures for about 20 years before I got paid for that, so that doesn’t count either. I guess graphic design could fall into the whole “making pretty stuff” category, so that doesn’t…

Holy crap. I just realized I am retired.

And working harder than I have in my entire life.

I guess it all comes back to loving what you do. I’m a lucky piece of shit.

*tune in next week when the bulk of the work is finished for your regularly scheduled dose of whatever it is that I usually do here.

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