Animal Porn To The Rescue! (Also Known As, My Internet's Back Up).

The thing about writing a blog based mostly on humor and personal life experiences is sometimes nothing interesting happens and you're left with a black hole of garbage as you await for magic to hit your brain surfaces once again. It's possible you didn't notice, but I haven't written anything in over ten days (last post doesn't count).

My internet died as a result of some wiring issue last week, unfortunately zapping all my inspiration and making me more depressed than any human being should be over their blog being down (I seriously have no life). So when you feel uninspired -truly uninspired- it's kind of hard to get out of that funk. And I didn't want to submit you to a bullshit post just for the sake of getting hits and upping my internet rankings so instead I chose silence.

Well there's a funny thing about silence: it sparks odd behavior from those used to you constantly opening your mouth when not invited to do so.

Then things happen over the course of ten days when you're not living your life through a demon machine we call computer:

You cook (canned tuna counts). You watch too many movies.

You get a parking ticket.

You go to Key West. You accidentally walk into someone else's suite thinking it's your own only to realize your mistake after finding dirty underwear in the bathroom floor minutes later.

Your mom says you curse too much. You feel mildly guilty. You hardly sleep at night. You clean. A lot. You discover Lil' Wayne in the trash heap behind your house. You take a picture against his will.

You develop new methods of being useless. You complain to your friends about lack in mojo. You have the following conversation with one of them.

Ryan: What the bitch, yo! I'm dying at work and you haven't updated your blog in like, seven days.

Me: I know... (sigh). Totally uninspired.

Ryan: Well get inspired. Do a line of coke or something. This is Miami, after all.

Me: I don't do drugs. I oddly have nothing to say.

Ryan: What about that time you ran through your parents' garage door with your car?

Me: Boring.

Ryan: Or the time you went to Amsterdam by yourself and met some guy from match.com there.

Me: Boring. And it wasn't match.com, it was virtualtourist.com, buddy.

Ryan: Same shit. Write about animal porn.

Me: Animal porn?

Ryan: Yeah, man. Shit's crazy. Animal porn is the new gay porn. Just put some sort of disclaimer because PETA will come after your ass, and them peeps are vicious.

Me: There's something inherently wrong with you. Really. Gotta go.

Ryan: Me too. It's weekend time and there's no money to do anything interesting. At least there's liquor in them there hills. And by hills, I mean my house.

The weekend comes and goes. Your internet works again. People wonder where you are. A male reader wants to know how to break it to his girlfriend that he doesn't like anal sex. You wonder how you ended up here. You write back anyway.

After all, you feel your mother would be proud. And at least you didn't curse (that much).