I have the day off (sort of; I still went into work for a little while), so I’m out and about in the world, trying to get some shit done. It’s President’s Day, which used to just sort of mean that banks and courts were closed, and now it means I have to remember our president exists, which makes me supremely unhappy. But I guess it’s no different from any other day, since social media constantly bombards me with pictures of his ugly, stupid face and quotes from his ugly, stupid Twitter feed. I didn’t love everything Obama did, but my god, he was a nice man with a nice speaking voice. He was eloquent and he cared about people. I think most of us can agree on that. Now we have to deal with Cheezy Poof Dump and his stupidity on a semi-constant basis.
Whatever. This post wasn’t supposed to be a tirade about Dump. There are plenty of those to read that are more thoughtful and profound than me just calling him a giant turd from the ass of an ogre (is there a word for that specific thing?). I actually started writing this post so I could get into a groove and work a little bit on my novel.
I haven’t tried to shop out any short stories recently, because I’ve been really busy with my Big Kid Job and also because I’m a lazy writer. More so, though, because I want to finish my stupid book. I’ve been working on it since 2010, although it’s changed a lot since then. It’s time to put up or shut up, McDowell. I’m talking to myself, not you. Unless you’re also a McDowell, in which case hello, and also, get off your ass and do something with your life, for Christ’s sake.
Also, today’s my dad’s birthday. Happy birthday to Pops McDowell, who is 66 today and is probably going to get him some Longhorn Steakhouse grub this evening.
That’s all I got. I’m back at Higher Grounds, which is where I used to work all time when I lived over here. It’s a nice place. Go to it.
2 thoughts on “Happy Birthday to My Dad. Miserable President’s Day to Cheeto Mussolini.”
And no I refuse and you can’t make me.
Yer a bum! A lousy bum!