Don't Forget to Write

I tend to blame the outside world for my out-of-season hair and shabby clothes.
When I was a wee lad, shitty at basketball, I stumbled upon a word processor in Robert's house.
A word processor, for anyone born this side of Y2K, is (was) an electronic typewriter.
What a satisfying device!
Just like a regular typewriter, but it weighs twice as much and can't be used in a log cabin.
And it used to make that satisfying click-clackety noise as I typed along.
I used to write stories I called Murder, He Wrote.
Little stab stories about my buddies.
After the death scene, I'd pen, "That's the murder part..." 
Mostly, I just loved showing off my typing skills to my buddies, but they're not the only stories I've written for kicks.
I could be a gymnast, sure.
Or a teacher, I suppose. I'm actually qualified to do that.
However, I'd much rather be a writer.
Here are some of the perks to being a writer.
I know this is the 21st century, so I'll keep them nice and short, in bullet form.
Comin' at ya!

• Sleeping in is normal and, in some cases, encouraged
• Rampant alcoholism, though sad, is seen as okay by your friends and peers
• You're expected to wear large, comfy sweaters all day
• When people see you at your laptop in Starbucks and they think, "What a dick," you don't care because you're at work in a coffee shop, rather than being on a coffee break in a coffee shop
• Flexible hours, loose women
• Unkempt beards and hairstyles are fine
• People assume you're insightful, allowing you to talk over others at parties

The list goes on.
They say, "Everyone needs a writer."
I've found little proof of this.
Mostly because I never bother looking for work beyond the mailbox.
So today, I got on Twitter and hashy-hashy'd #bloggerswanted.
I'm a blogger. You want me?! Come n' find me!
Can't get paid that way, though.
So I went to them.
People just want bloggers for new fashion magazines that are never going to get off of the ground.
As it turns out.
None of them seem to be paying.
I can't live on sweaters missing a button, you dig?
I wrote a maid-of-honor speech for my former manager once, and I didn't know anyone who would be at the wedding besides her.
Everybody loved it.
In an episode of Curb Your Enthusiasm, Larry David asks a doctor to look at a mole on his back.
The doctor is in a hurry and refuses.
Impatient, the doctor eventually asks Larry David what he does, and Larry says, "I'm a writer."
It just sounds so beautiful.
That's all I want to tell people. 
So, if you need something written, let me know.
I'd love to finally fulfill my destiny.
Until then, I'll keep polishing these gems for you fine tacticians.
Maybe the blog will catch on after I die.
#deceasedbloggerswanted