Shut Up And Listen 62

Dilemma
So, it’s Saturday and I need to write my column. Only one problem: what the fuck should I write about?
	I have no idea what to do this column on. One can only bash Bush so many times before that becomes tiresome. Nothing too interesting happening in Canada. Not too pissed about anything today No, today’s been a good day actually. Had a banana slushy (my favourite kind of slushy), came up with an idea for Chris Dalpe’s writing contest that he’s running (two of the prizes are Authority sketches by Bryan Hitch), had Wendy’s for supper. No, it’s been a nice day. Stayed home from school yesterday, so nothing bad there. 
	I’ve had a few ideas for what to write about, but none really leap out at me. They include:

—A guide to dating done in a similar milieu to my guide to sex. Talk about how to do it, the dos and don’ts, some funny facts. Shit like that. But dating isn’t wrought with hilarity the way sex is, so I’m not sure I could fill up the column with that.

—A column on how America sucks and Canada doesn’t, but that doesn’t seem too original.

—A satirical column about something in society that pisses me off. Been reading Et Tu, Babe by Mark Leyner again and like the idea of doing a fictional satire with me as part of the story. But there’s nothing I really want to make fun of right now.

—A column about something that happened this week that made me learn a profound lesson in life. He problem with this idea is that nothing like that happened.

—A column praising Canada’s military leaders for deciding to pull Canada soldiers out of Afghanistan this summer. See, I managed to fit that in. Only one line, too.

—A column trying to get some hype going about the launch of my upcoming online comic site. It’s called Motherschmucker Comics, by the way. So far, we have two serials and two one-shot stories in production. The serials are my Chad The Christ comics and Jonny Hughes’ Dystopia. The one-shots are my Possibilities story (whose script just disappeared from the site) and another one written by me called Viral Terrorist—both drawn by friends of mine. I might have a couple other things going on there, too. It will launch soon at  <a href="http://www.mscomics.tk"<b>www.mscomics.tk</b></a>. 

—A review of the movie Memento, which I saw last night. Damn, it was a great movie. I’ll have to see it a few more times though to totally understand it. It really got the brain going, and I love any movie that can do that.

—A column written in a combination of the storytelling methods from Memento and Chuck Palahnuik’s novels. A non-linear style that I really dig. Currently trying to write some prose in a non-linear way. Very weird and interesting.

—A column about those damn Leafs, who are playing a game tonight. They damn well better win. Who wants to see Carolina in the Stanley Cup? No one, that’s who.

—Providing an except from the prose piece I’m working on right now. Okay, I’ll do that. Here’s a short part:

I came hard and she never did. Not that I cared, mind you. My goal had been accomplished. The missile had been launched. The cargo transferred. Wham, bam, thank you, ma’am. 
	The clock said nine forty-seven.
	“My husband won’t be home until ten or so. He had to work late,” she told me as we made our way up the spiral staircase.
	The sweat on my forehead began to roll down my face as I climaxed. My breath was erratic and sharp. I was stuttering using the intake of oxygen and the expulsion of carbon dioxide. My pulse was fast and speeding up.
	And then it all stopped for one brief moment.
	Her name was Emma. Emma Miller she told me. Wife, mother, and bored stiff. On a girls’ night out with other bored housewives. She was in a low-cut, strapless dress and looking very much at sea. I noticed her right away.
	In magic, a way to charge a sigil is to picture it right at the moment of climax. For that moment when your mind goes blank, that must remain and be projected out. I’ve charged this sigil forty-six times now. Once each time. Sort of like making a wish on a birthday cake.
	I don’t do foreplay. They never want it anyways. They just want it fast and hard like their husbands never do. Or just never do to them. They want to feel attractive and wanted. They want to be lusted after. They want to be a whore for a night. They want to be the high school slut again. They want to be back where all the boys got hard-ons when they walked past. Where they had fun every weekend. Back in the glory days.
	The “E” put me in the zone. The music was charging through me and I couldn’t fail. The line from me to her was straight and nothing was in the way.

—A column about myself. Answering questions that I’ve been asked and such. Stuff like “What’s London like?” and “Are you on drugs?” The answers are: nice, I like it here and no.

—A column about how I write or something. A “how to write a column” column, maybe.

And those were all my ideas. Oh, gee, I forgot one:

—A column of pure bullshit where I talk about how I have nothing to talk about.

I like that idea; maybe I’ll use it.