Henry was a young man with no intention to do much of anything with his life. He had a less than mediocre job washing dishes at a small country buffet, and he preformed his duties there in a less than mediocre fashion. He lived in the basement of his parents house. His free time consisted of playing video games, smoking pot, and shooting soggy balls of tissue paper into a twenty dollar Costco wastebasket.
Henry graduated high school in nineteen-ninety. Aside from starting a Nirvana cover band that was mutually discontinued in a smoky garage, he had never accomplished anything "worth a damn" according to his father.
Henry attempted to saved money for about two years after high school. He managed to accumulate over five-hundred dollars before he blew it all on a brand new quadruple-percolated bong; the bong of his dreams.
(Ok I am drunk and getting tired. I will continue the saga tomorrow.)
p.s this will be an ongoing blog that hopefully will develop into something.
It's been a while since I've posted on this forum, but I'm back.... Lol I hope you care. I had a rough bout of writers block, but as I said "I'm back."
I recently ventured out to see if I could find a place to rent in my community. There are thousand of options. Most cost anything from five-hundred to one-thousand dollars a month. I found a great prospect the other day by the river. It was a tan house with two bedrooms and a bath going for only two-hundred dollars a month! Naturally, I found this location on craigslist. I copied the owners email address and sent him a message. My message was this: "Hello, my name is Wendy Wilson." (I am a male, and my name is not Wendy Wilson). "I see that you have a wonderful house for rent down by the river in the valley. I am very interested. I only have two questions: Why is your property so cheep to rent? Is it haunted?" I received an email two weeks later stating: "Hello Wendy Wilson. My name is Mike Wilson. Yes. My house is haunted by the spirit of my dead father. We have had a lot of renovations done to the place lately. My father is not aggressive, but he does get upset if a renovator does a sloppy job. If he thinks a job is done sloppily he will wreck up the place a bit until the renovator’s progress is halted. The only problem is; we cannot get my father to leave. He rented the place from us for three years. He died last month. I've been trying to explain to him that he cannot haunt a house that he does not own. He is only renting. I am giving him a month. Once his month is up, he's got to get the hell out of there. Thanks for your interest, and I look forward to meeting you." I did not reply. I'm not interested in renting a house anymore; I want to own.
P.S. This is a true story... Kind of...
Don’t ever doubt a good feeling. Unless that good feeling is being offered by a bearded stranger in a windowless van; in which case doubting would be encouraged.
Hello grand new view. What brings you to such a dull disposition? Is it the wild unknown? Is it the vast conquered human nature? How have you been summoned? A plague realized you must be, and a faint signal I must send. Just like a child I embrace you; only to feel no brace in response. I miss the inspiration you bring. I miss the statute on which you rest. No laws remain that slip and falter. No cast can pierce the craven spread. As a union we do falter, and bring together what elders mend. It's disconcerting and uninstalling, that you and I are mortal men.
Separate names with a comma.