First a list of things that smell worse than the fart I just let loose-
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Yeah. Nothing. I could boil a pot of yak scroti in my room and it would be an improvement.

Now that we have cleared that up, I will explain how my year started. My company laid off eight people on the first business day of the year. I was not one of them. Not this time, anyway. Some people were pissed because some other people knew who was getting the axe and didn’t say anything. On the surface, that seems underhanded and sucky, but when you think about it, there is really no other way to do it. It’s life in the big city, and it ain’t always what you want it to be.

I don’t know what I’d do if I lost my job. Oh wait. Yes I do. I’d rent a small office from my friend Justin and make it into my distraction-free funnymill/art studio. Oh, the creative yump that would ooze from beneath the door of that office on a semi-regular basis would be underwhelming, I tell you. I don’t know how this would drive enough dollars for me to continue the lifestyle to which I’ve become accustomed, but I’d be chasing my dreams and stuff, and some people find that courageous. I’d also go fishing more often.

It’s funny how when people are getting whacked from their jobs, everyone in the office knows it and just stays quiet, as if the bossman is going to say “Well, you were going to get laid off today, but you’ve been very quiet. Let’s go get lunch…mister Vice President.”

Doesn’t work like that. For all I know they have me slated for elimination next quarter and are tenting their fingers and chuckling evilly to themselves as they watch me on closed circuit TV from a bunker somewhere while I am at work. By “they”, I mean “the man”, of course, who makes a practice of keeping me down. In any case I’d better polish my cage fighting skills so I can make a living in Q2.

There are still remnants of the New Year lying around my house. I just threw away Crystal’s (or was it Judd’s?) Happy New Year tiara, and that sparkley red dress that Crystal wore made red glitter the only substance in my house more pervasive than cat fur. It is everywhere. Bottles of skull splitter sit empty, having split their last skull, and the laughter and inappropriate comments still echo through the house, faintly whispering things like “fat chicks give better head because they are hungry”, and “Did you check for clitty litter?”

Huh.

If I was on the phone with you right now, I’d say something like “so what’s up with you?”, indicating the void where something interesting to say should be. Truth is, most of the quoteworthy stuff that is happening right now has to do with my dating life, and that’s not something I write about much. I have some great things to say about her (oh, you know who you are), but only my personal diary will record those thoughts.

Yesterday evening I went to a fancy dinner with some folks from work and drank some really good port wine for dessert. If you ever wondered if there is a difference between port and good port, there is. By the time I got home, I had decided to learn how to dance. I popped in my favorite movie in the world, Napoleon Dynamite, and began to practice some totally sweet moves.

Yes, by myself in my living room. Don’t judge me.

I’ve always known that the only capacity in which I was ever meant to dance was for the entertainment and pity of others. I did so a few times at the New Years Eve party to great effect. Some people can be sexy when they dance. I can’t even be sexy when I have sex…fortunately I can be amusing and some women mistake that for sexy. Now that I was practicing my dance craft in earnest, it wasn’t long before I remembered my complete lack of rhythm. Seriously. I can hear the beat, I know when my pelvis is supposed to thrust and my head is supposed to be flung back, but it does not happen at the right time. Watch a Jessica Simpson video with the sound muted (hopefully this is the only way you would ever watch it anyway), and put on Pink Floyd’s “The Wall.” A similar rhythm deficit is almost adequately shown by pretending that Mrs. Simpson is trying to dance to Floyd. Plus, she’s a crappy dancer, merely 487 times better than I am.

The funniest girl I know lives in Tallahassee Florida. If I told you that you were the funniest girl I know, I was probably lying. You are the prettiest, though. You know who you are. Anyway, her name is Slutface, and she suggested I get a new video game called “Dance Dance Revolution”.

I had never heard of it, but it is obviously made in the Pacific rim somewhere, as indicated by the fact that the name doesn’t make any sense. That’s where they make electronic gadgets with names like “lucky time happy maker” that enable you to have conversations with your can of soda. They also write captions for fortune cookies that are not even fortunes. “Be strong of heart and good to nice people” is an advice cookie, not a fortune cookie. Damn hippies.

I’m pretty sure I need to revolutionize my dance dance, and at the same time am under some degree of pressure to create features for my upcoming site that will draw traffic. I finally came up with the following idea to solve both problems and entitled it “Operation: This guy still sucks at dancing”, and I need your help. This is your call to action, and you could change this 32 year old man’s life as it relates to move busting.

I am asking for donations to Pay Pal so that I might purchase a Dance Dance Revolution Extreme activity playset. Sure, I could buy one myself, but think of the children. What’s your payoff, you ask? As if my learning to gyrate my hips isn’t reward enough, I will also be videotaping my progress for everyone’s entertainment, to be posted on the site. If you have ever seen me attempt to dance, you know that this will be comedy gold. Plus I’ll be wearing a sweatband and shirt with no sleeves. Possibly some running shorts, but I’m still examining the logistics and likelihood of injury on that front. I’ll also try to have some 8×10 autographed glossies for the generous souls who help me along the path to dancehood. If that doesn’t move you, you have no heart. Clicking the image below is the first step toward my eternal happiness.

UPDATE: I recieved more than enough donations to the paypal account in the first three hours of this post. My dance dance revolution playset is on its way. WITH TWO DANCE PADS THAT LIGHT UP WITH EVERY FANCIFUL STEP. Thanks madly to everyone for financing my dreams. The remaining money and any other donations will be given to AmeriCares, a charity to help the tsunami victims. AmeriCares donates 100% of every dollar to the cause, not to admin costs.

Thanks again.

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