Some blogs begin with a bang...

and some begin with a whimper.

Since I have no delusions that any more than 4 people will read this -- 3 of those being other personalities of mine (currently, I'm particularly partial to Chastity, an asexual Lebanese prostitute cum dolphin trainer) -- I'm not expecting a bang.

But just in case, to be perfectly clear, this is not just a hobby for me.  I'm not a happy soccer mom using her blog to celebrate these moments of our lives, nor am I interested in blogging about anything that has any real relevance to your life.  You won't find pictures of my two-year-old nephew on here, or intellectual ruminations on Goethe.  I'll just come right out and say it:

I want to be famous.  

And not just rock star-famous.  I'm talking monuments.  I'm talking shrines.  I'm talking Popemobiles.  I am a fully self-aware narcissist.  And I have no problem with that.  Narcissism is the most underrated psychological disorder.

But I'm also a realist, which is basically the same as a pessimist with a less negative connotation.  I know that there are millions of blogs on here, and doubt that anyone of any importance (probably including you) will ever read this.  Plus, I'm Jewish, so I'm genetically pre-disposed to half-empty containers.  If I wasn't a realist they might sew the foreskin back on.

So basically this whole endeavor is pointless, except there's a little part of me that says, well, it has to happen for somebody, doesn't it?  Maybe I deserve it.  I give up my seat for old ladies on the subway.  I don't kick puppies.  I even volunteered at a soup kitchen once.  That last one was mostly a resume padder, but the homeless people didn't know that.  They don't care if I was helping them just to get into a good law school.  Better to be a benign sociopath than a malicious one.

And before anyone comments on it -- should anyone actually ever read this -- yes, I use humor as a defense mechanism.  I don't have a problem with that either.  It was either humor or drugs, and I'm too cheap to shell out money for shit you cram up your nose.  I spend most of my day trying to get shit out of my nose.

If all you see is humor in my stories, though, you might be missing something.  The best jokes leave a modicum of truth in their wake (except for the ones that would get me arrested in Oklahoma).  Read between the lines.  Sometimes a cigar is really a tear.

But at a minimum, Chastity and I hope you will find these tales entertaining.  The worst compliment you can give me is a platitude.  The best compliment you can give me is a smile.

So enjoy, and come back often, if only to find out how much my hairline has receded since the last post.  I have a special measuring technique that involves a magnifying glass, three mirrors, and an extension cord .  (Sometimes I use the same technique on another body part.)

And if you do have any connections to the publishing world, let me know, and make me famous.  I deserve it.  I volunteered at a soup kitchen once.