I have the privilege of being privy to several literary techniques, you know, because I've been classically trained by Plath, Vonnegut, Hemmingway, and Kerouac.
For example, I had to have a minor, and that sounds terrible but journalism school required that in order to be through the program you had to have a lesser degree in something else. Dolla dolla bills, y'all. So I picked English writing, which should have been a cake walk but it was way more technical that it sounded. I actually had to learn the business side of it and that brings us here: teaching me the inside workings of the whole establishment was the worst thing you could have done.
I know too much now.
One of the classes I took to finish that English writing minor was a science fiction writing class that was held online. The final grade was an original written short story based on the techniques that we have learned throughout the course.
The following is 100% true. I tell no lies.
I wrote the entirety of that short story in a hotel room in Chicago across the street from Grant Park. The room did not have any hot water but I got free porn on the television. That seemed like a fair trade off at the time. I was across the street from Grant Park because that's where Lollapalooza was being held and that's a three day music festival that I traveled to alone in a city that I had never been to before. My cab driver told me a story about how he got so fed up stuck in traffic that he just up and left the cab with a guy in the back seat. He told me this, while we're stuck in traffic, in a city I've never been before on the way to my hotel. No hot water, free porn.
I was there to see the The Shins and some guy named Kanye West that just so happened to be from Chicago. I also really enjoyed Gnarls Barkley.
It dawned on me when I finally got to the hotel that I had not even attempted the final grade for my science fiction writing class. So I sat on the bed, whipped out my trusty MacBook, and wrote an odyssey. Well, it wasn't The Odyssey, but all you could do is buckle up and ride along. It was a parody of Mary Shelley's Frankenstein and it was completely absurd but it was also a deus ex machina.
That's Latin, doll, but it's also a literary technique for basically having something save the day, when all hope was lost, and it was never mentioned before. It's a cheat. But I thought it was hilarious and it made perfect sense in my Frankenstein parody, which was titled The Aardvark's Bane.
NOW, when I tell you, that I use a deus ex machina, purposely, regardless of what kind of porn is going on in the background while I'm writing it, you should know that it's all meant as absurdity! It's fucking called The Aardvark's Bane for Christ's sake! I'm not mocking the class, the professor, or anybody else who took that class...I'm mocking myself? Okay, I don't really know who I was offending there but the professor definitely took offense and that was the day that I almost lost a shot at a minor in Chicago at a music festival. Again, the wording of all this sounds a bit awful.
And now I can't help but think of the Miami Dolphins, dear Lord, why do I think of the Miami Dolphins?!
The Dolphins have traded my favorite Fuzzby in the whole-game, Ryan Tannehill, to the Tennessee Titans. We thought he'd be right at home in purgatory with the rest of the teams that don't ever seem to do anything ever.
With Tannehill gone, the only other quarterbacks on the Dolphins roster were two guys that just got done with their shift at Dairy Queen and said, "eh, whatever." I'm not even sure if I'm shitting on Dairy Queen at this point or if it's the Miami Dolphins. Lines are blurred, factions crossed, and I'm just rambling because what the Hell is the point of all of this? There's just under a month before the draft and I can't see my team winning more than three games next year.
Fuck! I even forgot to tell you that we just signed Ryan Fitzpatrick! This guy might as well be me as an NFL quarterback in that I have no fucking business being an NFL quarterback. Fitzpatrick is the guy that would work for different gas stations and if that doesn't tell you anything, 'cigarette bribes' will. He's the guy you can get to do things for cigarettes. "Hey Ryan, I'll throw you two packs of Marlboro Reds if you help my Sister-in-law move her new couch in next Tuesday."
"Hell ya, brother!"
All of this makes me want to watch that Jay Cutler show that's on tv, and then I quickly remember I'd sooner chop off my left hand, and now we have Ryan Fitzpatrick. And I referenced it as the "Jay Cutler" show but he's just really the supporting role because when can he actually take control of something for once in his life and I feel for you Kristen Cavallari because what the actual fuck..
The fact that we didn't send Tannehill off in a Viking funeral really makes me mad. Fuzzby deserves better than the Titans. I think everybody deserves better than being the back-up to Marcus Mariota. What a weird web we weave.
Float on, graceful swans. By the way, in case you didn't know, the entire first part was a Red Herring. Love ya.
