Cosmic Pie Filling

This is soooooo wrong. You could have been an amazement in my life; instead, you are far removed and I do not really know you. I never will know you. But aside from that, I am not the amazement I perceived myself to be this year, as seen from a yesteryear. Back then I was excited at the prospect of having that Dick Tracy wristwatch on my wrist, but instead, I have a casio nerd watch which simply tells the world that I am no slave to fashion, a fact that does not shame me in the least. What DOES shame me is that $12 an hour is now a subsistence wage and that's what it seems I will be making from here on out. How I am affording my existence is beyond me.

So, instead of you, I have her, and she is damn glad to have me, for reasons I have yet to fully understand. Anybody could have done much better than being in my presence or even knowing me as opposed to knowing someone much more interesting or perhaps famous for having been important for some worthless reason. If ever I were to become famous I can promise the cosmos it would be for a NOBLE reason. Otherwise it isn't worth the hassle. Yes, as far as I can see, fame is nothing BUT a hassle. I'd rather be dead than be Brittany. Or Dubya.

I'm rather good at writing crap like this. I would much rather be good at writing profitable things so that I don't have to get up at 6 AM for a twelve hour shift smelling other people's shit but there you have it. Would you pay to read what I just wrote? I didn't think so. You'd pay John Grishom or Stephen King handsomely to read exactly what I have just said, which is similar to the fact that people pay a premium to carry around a designer handbag which if truth be told is flat out ugly. But what I write is either too ugly or not ugly enough to the right people so I give you this for free, and you will value it accordingly. No, you will not be telling that guy who knows that guy at Random House of this brilliant unpublished author that needs to be corralled before someone else nails him; no, you will read this, knowing full well in the back of your mind you'd have paid dearly to read this as long as it was sitting there under the New York Times Best Seller LIst at Barnes and Noble. Instead you found it here at the better than bargain rack in Blogville.
You get what you pay for.

On that note, I am going to cease and desist. This has been THE Michael talking to you. Because you're special.