Um, no.  Actually no fucking good news at all.  To be honest, what I got doesn’t even qualify as “news” in any way, shape or form.  I was taking Scout out for his morning dump today when we were approached by two lovely and pleasant African American ladies.  We wished them good day and they reciprocated.  Then the most handsome of the two asked if I would like some good news?  Well obviously I want some good news.  Sign me the fuck up Senora.  My mind was spinning at the possibilities.  Did they just bake some kick assed cookies and were handing them out?  Did one of them just win the lottery?  Was my neighborhood being rezoned as a giant sports bar and chicken wing emporium and they were going to compensate us for the trouble and give me a lifetime discount on wings and beer?  Come the fuck on lady, I cannot bear the suspense for one more second.  And then she dropped a giant, poorly-formed, spinach-green turd in Scout and my morning punchbowl: A fucking Jesus newsletter.  Scout tried to lift his leg and piss on her on general principal, but I advised him against it.  Why is a pamphlet full of very poorly-written horseshit about a guy I never met, somehow good news for me?  That is really fucking far from good news lady.  Certainly not horrible news, like someone I love just got maimed or Kriser’s discontinued selling Scout’s preferred brand of sweet potato treats.  But good news it ain’t.  Here are some examples of good news:

-The more-attractive-than-you girl you went home from the bar with at 2:15 a.m. after your 7th round of tequila shots wakes up in the morning and decides she actually wants to have sex with you again
-The office building you work in burnt down overnight (and no one was injured in any way)
-You just took a huge dump
-”Roadhouse” is going to start on TBS in 3 minutes, and your pizza has already been delivered
-Your team just scored it’s 101th point of the game, which ensures you get a free Dunkin Donuts coffee in the morning
-WHAM! is getting back together

Here are some examples of bad news:

-Your HIV test came back “Inconclusive”
-You just sharted, and it is only the top of the first inning
-You are being audited by the IRS
-You find out the morning after a drunken blackout that you agreed to go to a Nickelback concert
-You think someone is about to tell you something really awesome, and instead they hand you a fucking pamphlet about a guy that died 1,979 years ago for your right to go hang out in a cloud village after you die and have ZERO fun because everything fun is outlawed there

Good news my left nut.  I felt so damn bad for Scout that I actually gave him some good news shortly thereafter, which was that I was adding a dollop of peanut butter to the top of his whitefish breakfast.  I don’t want him to be disillusioned as well.  I told the ladies that next time they set foot in my fucking hood, they’d better be packing brownies, minimum. 

About Zach

Male homo sapien. Warrior poet. I live in Chicago with one wife, one offspring, and Scout the dog. I enjoy various stuff. Besides skinny skiing and going to bullfights on acid, I also enjoy running, reading, drinking, eating and procrastinating on many things, such as starting this blog. I have a mom, a dad, and a younger brother who recently produced a sister-in-law. I'm the only person in my family, sister-in-law included, who doesn't have a post-graduate degree. I guess that makes me special. I grew up in a small to medium sized town in the middle of Ohio. In fact the even smaller town next door has a sign which reads "The Geographic Center of Ohio". Given this is what they choose to boast you can only imagine how exciting that town is. My town is infinitely cooler. For example on weekend nights people from my town and the surrounding villages and hamlets converge on the public square to "cruise" in their souped-up mini trucks, some bearing Confederate flags, despite growing up and living rather safely north of the Mason-Dixon line. This is high-minded stuff we're talking about here. I graduated sometime during the Clinton presidency from the local high school where I played football and participated in absolutely nothing else. This strategy paid huge dividends when I applied to numerous colleges on the eastern seaboard which were highly selective. When you show up to the admissions table with "HIgh School Football and Nothing Else" on your application, you get respect. After graduating from Ohio University with a degree in Economics that I've used for absolutely nothing, I moved to Boston. Boston is a lovely city. I was doing things I'm not proud of for beer money and I left after 16 months. My next move was to Chicago and 10+ years later there I still reside. I write this blog for therapeutic reasons. Much like some people paint to relax or smoke crack to unwind after a stressful day, I record my thoughts on Al Gore's World Wide Web for 9 friends, 4 family members, 1 person who accidentally clicked through after an unsuccessful Google search for something else, and a guy named Patriot1 who lives in a silver Air Stream in the Nevada desert and broadcasts his own radio show. Is there a point to all of this? I doubt it. Years ago and in a galaxy far, far away (College Park, Maryland, then Athens, Ohio) I was toying with the idea of being a journalism major. I enjoyed writing so it seemed the obvious fit. Then I attended career day and learned that journalism majors could look forward to a salary of $EA,TSH.IT per year with the promise of a fatal heart attack at 47 years of age. I'm not falling for that trick, I told them (them being no one, and told being saying it in my own mind in the shower). Approximately 15 years later here I sit declared the big winner in that battle: I never made any money doing anything else and now I'm writing entirely for free. So suck balls, journalism career day. The views expressed in this website are mine and mine entirely. I don't wish to be an even bigger black eye to my family than I probably already am. As a result of this I will never be able to run for public office and I accept that reality. But this website is a very dignified, well-dressed skeleton full of witty retorts and honorable deeds compared to the disheveled, stenching, staggering and loud skeletons who would come marching out of the closet to White Zombie's "Thunderkiss '65" if they ever unearthed the college years. So enjoy your train ride, your hangover day at work, your AA meeting or your dump. I'm here to serve.
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