Hey Dumbass: Segue doesn’t fucking mean what you think it means

grammar, writing

Hey Dumbass! Segue doesn’t fucking mean what you think it means. No, I’m not talking about segway, the stupid little two wheel vehicle that is fueled by sex life or lack there of I’m not quite sure how it works. Either way, people who ride segways either don’t have sex or have such serious game that they enjoy the added challenge of trying to look hot as shit while riding an adult big wheel. No, I’m talking about the word segue, the one that everyone uses wrong. Don’t even bother googling it, I’ll tell you what it means. Just read on.

You see segue originally meant, “An uninterrupted piece of music or film.” A seamless transition from one piece to another. It’s Italian and literally literally* means “follow.”

Sure, it seems plausible that the word could be used to describe seamless transitions in other media and works. Like moving immediately to book two of The Song of How the Court Wizard Stole My Sex Life septilogy after completing the first one.

What it does not mean, by any stretch of the imagination or gerrymandering of the lexicon is to talk about one thing and then start talking about a diff-ucking-erent topic. To talk about a different topic would be a tangent or for the politically correct crowd who are afraid of upsetting people who suck at math, “A break out conversation.”

The only way using segue to define talking about one thing and then changing topics is proper usage is if one means it ironically and doesn’t mean it at all. However, since you’re reading this and I just wrote it, neither of us are all that smart. How ironic could we possibly be?


*Yes, I meant to double up on “literally.” Due to flagrant misuse of the word literally, it’s now necessary to double up when one actually literally means what one is literally saying.

2017 Ate All The Dicks

2017 ate dicks!

All of them. It was literally the worst fucking year of my life. It could be said that most years have been pretty great so that maybe 2017 isn’t all that bad. While the former is true. That latter isn’t. 2017 was terrible. 2017 sucked shit through a silly straw. Hey, 2017, I loathe you. I will look back at 2017 like the festering speed bump made gawhd god-knows-what organic matter – I swear I see severed limbs and a horse’s head sticking out of it – that it was.

There was a prologue to 2017 called 2016. As far as years go, it was kind of fucky. Until 2017 blew the doors off this muth and showed people what a terrible year looks like. From a statistical standpoint, the quality of years seem to be in a downward trend. Good news is, I’m not alone. Ever since that human toilet fire showed up on a debate stage, almost everyone’s quality of life has been trending down. Even if their head’s up are shoved up their racist uncle’s ass. It won’t grant them immunity as it isn’t the ring of protection the nerds are prattling on about. Now having their head up their rich as fuck racists uncle’s ass, well, that’s a different story.

It’s not just the politics though. It’s not the fact that I can’t go on social media without stumbling upon some trash heap post that’s somewhere between smoldering and five-alarm. Whether it’s from a friend or some troll bot 5000, it doesn’t matter. It’s sucked the fun out of social media. There’s a bit of anxiety. It’s like walking around downtown and happening upon a greasy back alley handy-j while someone is yelling “This is my opinion, my opinion is fact!” Let’s say, I’ve muted a lot of people this year.

Take A Break.

I’m sorry, that last bit was kind of gross. On a personal level though, I’ve been obliterated. Bad shit occurred. The kind of terrible real shit that we all eventually deal with and though many have, there’s no good way to deal with it. It’s rough, different. Lives have been forced to change and it can never be undone. That’s why, once again, I’ve vanished for a while. I wish it were because I was working on my novel for nanowrimo, but that has about one days worth of writing against it. In general, I just haven’t felt like sitting in front of the PC and tippy-tappin’ out the words. I’m basically forcing myself to do this right now.

Thankfully, I’m fuelled by rage and the need a laugh. Laughing hasn’t been as prevalent during the last few weeks. Which is too bad because I’m a fairly funny person. Although, since it’s taken me the better part of two months to write this, more laughs have occured. I like to laugh and enjoy making others laugh.

Back to the laughing.

2017 and to that end, life, are like a horse. But not just any horse. One of the big black evil bastards that bites everybody and kicked one of his trainers into a well. Of course that was when he was young and in a good mood. Now he is more days behind him than he does in front of him. The racing days are over due to arthritis. That’s why he started taking PCP*. And to support his cool habit of taking hard to come by drugs he had to get a job. So he hauls trash carts behind him. Basically, that brings him full circle on the hipster scale. Old drug, old job, old technology, in general being a drip with a penchant for black.

At any time did I mention that the trash cart is on fire? No? Doesn’t seem like I did. Well, it goes without saying that fire freaks horses the fuck out and makes them run in the opposite direction. That’s just a regular horse. Not a horse on PCP, hauling a trash cart that is perpetually on fire and four feet behind the asshole, both literally and figuratively.

In closing, 2017 sucked. Drive an oak stake through its heart. Chop off its head. Salt it. Burn it. Bye Felicia.

Can’t wait to see how fucky 2018 is!


Before the Chicken Soup for the Soul demographic get after me, there are plenty of things I’m grateful for. I’m just, pissy.

*PCP ( ) is a horse tranquilizer that was taken off the market in 1965. People took would become dissociative and feel nothing. Case in point, in the original Terminator movie, the police thought that the Terminator was on PCP. Turns out he was a time travelling killer cyborg from Austria.

Constipation: The Choice of a New Generation

My friend, Machismo Wainwright, recently suffered a bout with constipation. Now, I know you may not want to know about it. Hell, I didn’t even want to know about it. The thing is, we both know about it now, so what the hell.

Machismo simultaneously informed myself and several other infirmed souls of his constipation. I guess that’s how to tell that someone really values one as a friend. Telling someone about one’s own bowel movements, or lack thereof, is a level of trust only reached by the best and most trusted of friends. A quick gogel* search states that the only things higher than informing a friend of your constipation are, leaving in Vegas what happened between you two in Vegas and helping each other dispose of a body. Just like Jeremy Piven and Andrew McCarthy in that movie they were in! Now that’s friendship! Wait, or did one of them shoot the other one. Who cares I’m only watchin’ that movie once. Maybe twice in spirit, if I ever watch Rough Night.

Here’s the thing. I’m writing about Machismo’s constipation because I myself, was suffering from a constipation of a different nature. Not that I was suffering from Writer’s Block, it was more of a preparation thing. I needed a post and this topic just seemed to flow faster than the others. Sometimes, some things just percolate faster than others.

Along the way, I had an epiphany. I bet if Writer’s Block were called Writer’s Constipation, there would be a lot fewer MacBook toting, double chai expresso* macchiato, non-fat, extra whip drinking chodes talking about their affliction. Instead of prattling on to their, jealous of the creative lifestyle accountant friends, they’d probably keep it on the down low. Maybe read around for some inspiration. Then again, there’s always the tried and true writer’s ex-lax of adding a gun and killing everyone. Go all George R.R. Martin on that shit and drive it over a cliff.

 


Now, if you’ll excuse me I need to go see a man about a horse. For more Machismo Wainwright check out this post.

*Yes, I meant to spell it like that.

**Yes, I meant to spell it like that as well.

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Arrid Topics

You ever want to write, but you don’t know what about? A situation that is akin to when you open your completely stocked refrigerator only to discover that nothing tickles your fancy? Perogies, pickles, quesadillas, peanut butter and apples. Nothing sounds good. Nothing seems to hit the spot.

That is the snag I find myself in today. No matter what I just come seem to form an opinion or humourous quip that seems to demand being written about. I have scoured the internet looking for any inspiration and there is none to be had. I have a few other ideas, but they either need more time to percolate or I am saving them for the right moment.

Hours pass, like pretty much the entire day.

Oh, but lo and behold what fresh hell is this! I found it, I found my daily muse! Alas, it is too late for today. I have to get back to Camp NaNoWriMo. Tomorrow will be a new day though. And I feel a zinger coming on.

Zingerification not guaranteed They all can’t be zingers.

Birthday BBQin’

Now time for something a little less heavy. I know that many of my recent topics have been about political and social issues. Then I had a few terse words for smokers yesterday. Today is going to be different! [Steps down off of soapbox. Digs index fingers into the corners of lips and pulls up. Although to some it may appear that I am baring my teeth, I am indeed smiling.]

I recently had a birthday. Basically, a trilogy of days filled with back to back excellence. I would say that it all began when I was finishing up a previous blog post, listening to jazz with a tumbler of Glenlivet at my side. Not a double as I don’t want to end up drunk dialling on my blog.

My wife was busy in the kitchen baking an absolutely delicious carrot cake from scratch. She stayed up late finishing it for the party the next day. Even though the cake had cooled, it was so warm in our place that the frosting kept melting. She had to intermittently put the cake back in the fridge.

For the party we had a small group of people over. There was plenty of food, even though the entire day I was worried that there wasn’t going to be enough. Guests brought stuff too so in the end we had tofu burgers, veggie dogs, corn, potatoes, salad, an assortment of chips and of course beer. Plenty of beers from the local breweries. Delicious.

On top of a google play card, my wife also got me a writing journal that at the moment is still blank, but I have been carrying it around with me. Some other friends gave me some beers and some books and in general the gift of friendship. Just showing up was gift enough!

While it wasn’t intended as a gift, being told that Nazareth is responsible for Hair of the Dog also counts. I wasn’t alone in thinking it was AC/DC, although other than the part where he is screaming “ASUNUVBITCH!” it sounds nothing like AC/DC.

The BBQ was a great time! In fact after everyone had gone home I just kept saying, “We should do that again, maybe this time with tacos!” The feature image is of what remains of the carrot cake. In hindsight we should have taken a picture when it was whole, but forgot in the heat of the moment.

A Fist Full of Posts

Did anyone else know that the fist is the unofficial unit for measuring blog posts in a week? Me neither, probably because it isn’t. Yesterday I hit a teeny tiny landmark for blogging. I had a new blog post everyday for a week straight. Heck, one day even had two posts!

I know some bloggers have gone on for years without missing a day. It was after reading one of their inspiring posts that I set a goal to post everyday for a week. I never even intended for my blog to live in that kind of time. I didn’t think I could sustain this kind of output, I guess I still don’t.

Prompts and time to write aren’t necessarily growing on trees at the moment. However, I am trying to squeeze the time in whenever and where ever I can. I am also open to a lot of topics and prompts.

Now with camp NaNoWriMo I find myself to be challenged and stretched in a multitude of different directions. Where do I spend my time at. Can I manage to hit two goals on the same day? Those goals being approximately 1,500 words for camp and a blog post. I am going to continue to try my best.