Just a quick fantasy

If I were a video game character, I'd have to be Mario's tall brother! Everyone always thought he was gay too!

But ... Was he, though? Those Nintendo graphics were so primitive, you could barely tell if the characters were gay or not. Either way, the comparison holds. Especially if we're talking about Mario 2. Remember how Mario's brother would kick his legs back and forth when he jumped? I do that too! I do it when I jump, in the bath tub, and whenever I sit in a chair that's just a little to tall.

Or ... if I weren't Mario's brother, I'd probably be Kid Icarus. Not because of the wings, obviously, but because of all that trouble with the bow and arrows a couple years ago. Can you spell "bullshit"? 'Cause I can. It's spelled like this: since when is it a felony to sink some arrows into the trees of an assisted living campus if you don't actually hit any seniors? Robin Hood did the same damn thing, but he's called a hero, while me and Kid Ic are considered hazards to society.

I'm not complaining, I guess, I just think it's funny.

This is how art happens: fast, dangerous, and in bullet points

It has been two or three months now since I've written a genius play, and I think I'm getting a little bit ... the opposite of dry. I am wet with drama, if you know what I mean.

Unfortunately, inspiration hasn't really struck. Some writers will tell you that you can't just wait for inspiration; you have to work for it, and if it doesn't happen, it's your own fault. I will tell you now that this is a lie. "Grapes in the Snow," for instance, wasn't the product of weeks or months of hard work and revision. Obviously not. No, Grapes in the Snow was pounded, fully formed, into my head when I crashed my bicycle on the street nearly a year ago today. (To be exact, it was a year plus four days.)

I won't pretend that I woke up in the hospital thinking about orphans and Dickensian factories and shit. No, I woke up in the hospital wondering if I was about to get arrested. But the idea, even just the shadow of the idea, was already in my head, each detail filling with color as I regained consciousness, like a photo negative getting developed. By the time I was released, I wasn't even wondering anymore if the nurse had touched my penis when I went to the bathroom when I was still amnesic. I was wondering which aspect of Grapes in the Snow would reveal itself to me next.

That was awesome in the most literal sense of the word.

But that's not the case right now. I mean, I've got the words inside me, but it's all like Jello without a mold. Give me a mold, Dandy, give me a mold!

I'll try, Dandy, I'll try. Ok ... here. I'm just going to throw ideas onto the page. No editing, no second-guessing. Let's kill this shit and think about it all later.

BOOM

-The extinction of the dinosaurs

-The inception of Facebook

-Two indian tribes go to war

-More than two indian tribes go to war

-The invention of electricity

-Heirs struggle over the control of their ancestral distillery

-Two cats learn to talk shortly before hearing about Jesus

-What's a blog?!

-A man has a pet snake. They rob banks.

-A baker accidentally blinds himself

-Life in a jug

-Pointy ears

-A woman and her husband live in a gully which is slowly filling up with trash

-Three schoolchildren eat bugs off the street, until one of them gets superpowers/poisoned

-My favorite blanket

-A dog finds a hat that takes away his powers of speech

-Santa Claus' funeral

-Santa Claus' funeral—nobody attends

-A man accidentally builds a house

-After inventing the perfect poison, a man cannot bake a cake that will not poison his dinner guests

-A king has sex with his mother, which practically kills his father

-A man bites through his mouth guard while asleep, awakes to discover a mouth full of plastic

Ooooh-kay! Let's have some drama!

Hobo-a-Gogo! Yet ANOTHER blog?!

?!

Ha ha. Not really. Not yet, anyway.

But I've been getting some really good ideas lately (I think it's because I switched vitamins), and some of them are just begging for Internet sites of their own.

First and foremost of the ideas has to be...
The Dirty Bindle:
Tips and Tricks of the Hobo Trade!

It would be exactly what it sounds like: a website for homeless men on the go, sharing the things homeless people care about—recipes for stew, cozy hiding spots, popular new hobo signs, huffable glue, banjo tablature ... that sort of thing!

Obviously it doesn't have to be called The Dirty Bindle, I just think that's the best of the titles. Other potential titles include The Raggedy Cap, Windowsill Pie, The Shakes, The Rawbone Rag, or, of course, Dyin' Alone.

The title's important, of course, but it's the content that will count, and, as you all know, I've never had a problem producing quality content.

The CR and Typecats will remain top priorities, but ... keep your eyes peeled for a little bean stew, if you know what I mean.

PS—I mean The Dirty Bindle. Or, potentially, The Bean Stew Review. I haven't decided yet.

PPS—I swear to god, if anyone steals any of those blog names, I will kill them like a hobo kills a thief. (With an infected bite.)

PS—

Typecats is going nuts right now. Stats-tracking says the President reads it, I think.

Here's your new indie blockbuster, Hollywood!!!

Hey, sorry, folks, but things are about to get just a little meta. I try to avoid that sort of bullshit usually, but the problem here was that I apparently started writing an Internet diary entry for y'all the other night, and then passed out half way through. How did this happen? Hell if I know. I had gone through about three tins of chewing tobacco (I had never even chewed before!), so I was flying from that, and when I woke up I found two broken claw hammers on my bed. If you can figure that out, send me a letter with an illustration of the nights events. (I don't have time to read.)

In any case, I also found this partially completed diary entry. So what we have here is an entry in itself, as well as entry about an entry. Professors call it the "Arabian Nights Effect." (The Arabian Nights Effect is also what you call it when you don't know exactly who you got an std from, but I'm not talking about that here. Not here, and not anywhere.)

Without further ado:

I've been watching a lot of movies and television lately, and I've come to an important—and valuable—realization: you can squeeze a lot of entertainment out of people who are different from you. I've got to do more of this.

By "different from" I don't mean, like, racial people. Or even people who are retarded. I'm thinking more along the lines of a person who is just retarded in a specific way. Someone who doesn't get it when the dance they're doing is inappropriate (they just love to dance so much!), or someone who's good at math, but bad at talking to children and people.

These people, or "people," or whatever the politically correct term is, are walking goldmines! (Assuming they can walk.) Sometimes they're funny, sometimes they touch our hearts, but they're always engaging and entertaining. It's like their entertainment value is inversely proportional to their ability to understand social cues! Ha ha ha! I'm laughing already! Also, I'm touched! Also, cha-ching!

Brainstorm time!!!

Protagonist's name: Um... Dominic. No! something cuter! Mikey!

Mikey is a ... janitor! Duh! But he doesn't just mop and stuff like all the normal janitors. (That's why normal people don't get movies—too normal. This is a movie now, by the way.) No, he mops, but he also ballroom dances with his mop! And he takes it seriously! Ah ha ha ha!

And... he has names for all of his janitor tools: Sarah the mop, Jeff the bucket, Jeannie the knife! But he can't remember his real coworkers' names! Ha ha ha! (Also, why does he have a knife?! Ha ha!)

Ok, what happens to Mikey the dancing janitor? He falls in looOooOOoove! But does he even know what love is?! We're going to find out with the help of ... Sam! Sam is a girl, and she works at the building Mikey dance-cleans! She is a ... an account executive! I don't even know what that is, but it sounds boring and square! How is it that Sam is so young and so funky-hot? I don't care! But how is it that Sam is so stressed out with her account executive duties? Sam, who will teach you how to live? You, who have already accomplished so much in your short, hot life, and yet feel so little?!

We're starting to worry that no one can save you from yourself, as you sit in your office on yet another late-nighter, when ... someone who is just retarded enough to dance with a mop waltzes right by your open door! Literally waltzes! Well this is intriguing!

Except I think Mikey does something that rubs Sam the wrong way. It's probably just because she wishes she could fart around as much as he does, but she tells herself she doesn't like the way he forgot to dust the copier.

Here's where I left off. Both of the claw hammers had quite a bit of my hair and blood on them, so I'm assuming I stopped because of a concussion.

I was on to something though. Something good! I don't think I can finish it tonight, but where do we go from there?

Ok, Sam is angry/jealous at Mikey for his care-free life and thought-free brain. (He's not really thought-free, but we don't care about that. Not more than a dream sequence, anyway.) Sam is angry/jealous. They flirt a little bit (as much as a guy like Mikey can flirt ha ha), but Mikey does something to piss Sam off, like not have gone to college, or paint her car a color that's too fun while she's asleep. (That's it.)

This is probably the end for Weirdo and Juliet, huh? That's what I thought too, but NO! You know what Mikey does? He gets the shit kicked out of him by some toughs, because he was trying to defend Sam! Was he literally defending her, like from a mugging, or did he just stand up for her when some skeezy male coworkers were talking about her breasts? You know, that doesn't matter. Probably both.

What matters is that ol' Mikey just about dies! But not in a way that would make him physically ugly. And Sam realizes what an important thing they have, or could have, and she kisses him and lies down next to him in his hospital bed. It's sweet and sexy! And then she does something whimsical for him, like play him a song she wrote for/about him on the ukulele she is always too embarrassed to admit she owns and plays. And, oh my god, she's good at it! They're meant for each other!

They'll probably have a kid who is practically normal.

$24 million dollars, opening weekend. Good enough, because we spent only 11 million making it.