Writer's block is the worst disease a man with a lot to say, can get or have or possibly adopt. I feel like there's a point to what I want to tell you. A vision I want to draw for you and yet I find myself with simple words: hello, um, blah and my favorite...fuck! I don't mean to be empty. I'm just a creative soul that's weary about his own soul. Is it a lack of confidence with the pen? No. Did I forget my extensive vocabulary that I have obtained throughout my teens and 20's? Nope. Are my 30's possibly denying it...maybe. Am I thinking way too much of what I want to tell you people out there? Yes! Well, there it is. Thinking too much. Too many words scattered and not enough brain paper (not power) to separate what belongs and what doesn't. By the way, I just started my first sip of Jack Daniels. Be warned to read shit now. I don't know what to write except for comedy and yet I can't put it on a blog. Sorry you wasted your time. Go away now. Bye. Again,

Fuck.