How I Write – a drunken, violent, yelling-filled guide to the aspiring writer

Legend had it Hemmingway kept witty comebacks and bon mots in his moustache just in case he'd need them.

As a tremendously successful novelist (and beloved personality), I have a very specific routine for when I to write. I’ve often found a routine helps trigger the “artist’s mentality” in one’s brain. I’ve transcribed the lecture I normally give on this subject alone in my bedroom and offer you the text version here.

I begin my routine early, ‘round 5am. It’s the early bird that catches the massive book deal and multi-media royalties package plus international rights. After rubbing the sleep from my eyes I sit at my massive writing desk hewn as a single piece from a 150-year-old oak I fell myself. You see, this was the tree under which my (original) wife and I first met. This tree held a lot of sentimental value to me, which is why I killed it and now write on its dead hide. That wife and I are no longer married, but true to our first meeting under that mighty oak, I still keep her under the desk.

A Special Environmental Message from Mr. T

I Pity the Fool Who Wastes Paper

Hey sucka. That’s right, this is Mr. T. Yeah, I still exist. Mr. T’s taking a break from pitying fools and looking for paying work to yell at you about sustainability. What, you don’t think Mr. T knows about sustainability? Then you don’t know Mr. T. Here is some other stuff you don’t know about Mr. T:

• Many folk believe Mr. T’s name “B.A.” on the A-Team stands for Bad Attitude. It doesn’t. It stands for “Bees and Ants.” Mr. T thought his character should have the secret power to control bees and ants. NBC didn’t go for it, which is why Mr. T thinks NBC stands for “Never Be Considering” Mr. T’s suggestions.

• Mr. T has a lovely baritone singing voice.

Super Bowl XLVI Commentated by 19th Century English Dandy Lord Horatio Byron Fluttersby.

My word, what is this, my good fellows?  Could this be a game of footsieball?  Well, well.  Why I could watch footsieball for a fortnight.  Ee Gads!

Tonight we have an especially raucous convergence of masculinity and heroism as the Green Helmeted Gentlemen host the Red Helmeted Gentlemen, two teams so disparate as to have been carried here by the four winds.  Now a representative from each squadron is approaching to determine which phalanx of stout warriors shall have at the desired ball first.  Each of the representatives will be asked to recite the Magna Carta backwards whilst traversing the field, pants drawn down, and clenching a ladle between their legs from which an egg will be balanced, just like we did back in my preparatory school days.  What’s that?  They’re just going to flip a coin?  Well I guess some brutes have no patience for aristocratic tradition.

And there’s the kickoff.  But what is this at the bottom of my field of vision?  Women in a dearth clothing dancing upon the field?!  Don’t they know this is a game of men for men?  This is no place for these hussies.  Shoo, little girls.  Shoo and leave the business of jumping and grunting to the lords.

The 5 Most Common Time Travel Mistakes

Ever since time travel was invented in the mid 1980’s, man has enjoyed the pleasures and stress-relieving benefits of bopping along the time stream. What better way to unwind after a hard day at office than to spend a few hours in that mystical land of “the past” where every day is a Renaissance fair?  Time travel, however, is not a right but a privilege, and with that privilege comes great responsibility. With that in mind, whether this is your this is your first time “trippin’” or your 1,000^th, we could all do well to refresh ourselves on the 5 most common time travel mistakes, the potential damages they pose against the space-time continuum and what you can do to avoid them.

Things People Won’t Say to Me Once I Own a Dragon

I don’t know my way around a dragon

I am limited to only one sample at Costco.

That my Canadian coins won’t be accepted as currency.

I can not have a to-go box at the all-you-can-eat buffet.

That I don’t have a dragon.

That I haven’t totally recovered in a kick ass way from the divorce.

The Post in Which I Save the Environment

Saving the world is something Will Smith and I have in common. That and denim hats.

I’ve been driving about aimlessly in my SUV a lot lately, which has got me thinking about America.

There is much I love about America.  I love watching baseball while eating apple pie in my Hummer on route to a peace rally where I’ll stomp the hell out of a flag burner.  I love the red, white and blue.  That there is just a kick-ass color scheme.  You do need one of those queer-eye dudes to tell you that.

But I’ve been confused lately.  I bought my SUV because I thought that was America.  My Sport Utility Vehicle is American Made (built in Texas by Mexicans). 

People Who Make Terrible Things – Birth of the Cubicle

Life is full of awful, terrible things. Things worse than the atomic bomb, like the McRib. Most people believe these things exist as punishment from the gods for not creating/ritually sacrificing enough children. But as unbelievable as it may seem, some of the most horrible stuff ever was actually invented. Intentionally. By people. And though you’ve never heard of these people before, it’s always been your life’s mission to punch their face in the balls.

Robert Propst – Inventor of the Cubicle

Like a Movie Scientist, Robert Propst began with the best of intentions. In the early 60’s, Propst, a young and talented designer who helped create such life saving devices as heart pumps, sought to improve the modern workplace. His intended solution: to promote the productivity, privacy, and health of workers everywhere. Also like a Movie Scientist, Propst’s creation became a monster.

Jokes My Four Year Old Recently Told Me

What did the giraffe say to the sky?

A: Get lost, buddy!

“Smear the Queer” and Why I Don’t Play Sports

When I was young I rarely engaged in sports. A fat kid who bruised easily, the only time I broke a sweat is when I leaned too close to the toaster oven waiting for my pizza bagels.  I was so fat my parents had to rub Vaseline on my thighs to keep them from chaffing.  I wish I had not just written that.  But I have a Lithuainian computer so there is no “Delete” key and instead of “Enter” it says “You Like?”

At Christmas, as I sat holding the brand new baseball mitt I knew I’d never use, my greedy, coveting eyes trained on my sister’s freshly unwrapped Easy Bake Oven.  Oh the brownies I could make with that, I thought.

A Touchy Subject -or- Don’t Fear My Son’s Penis

A newborn child brings many wondrous firsts: the first steps; the first laugh; the first word. As much as new parents sit perpetually hunched forward–eyes unblinking, hours of video rolling–waiting to bear witness to that next great first, there is one first that parents are never quite ready for: the first time baby discovers their genitals.

When my wife and I learned our second child would be a boy, we were relieved. Not that another girl would be unwelcome, but having a boy meant we would now have one of each, a boy and a girl, and that’s good because we like to collect things. More importantly, having a boy meant we could stop having kids. Another girl would have left the door open to temptation–to roll the dice and try for a little dude with a third kid. I don’t think you should gamble on babies, unless you’re baby is caught up in an underground Ultimate Baby Fighting circuit and has a wicked left hook. When Dalton arrived, we closed up the baby making shop. Nicole got her tubes tied and I hung an “out of order” sign up on my own spawning equipment, sending my seed off to a well-deserved retirement.  I think they reside in Florida now.

Having a baby boy, we’ve come to find, is different than the demands of a baby girl. Adding that XY contribution, Dalton has brought a certain special brand of maleness to our home, especially lately for Dalton has taken to grabbing his junk.

A lot.