It was funny at one point. At least I thought it was funny and really that's all I care about. I think I carved a nice little niche with that whole "Vandelay goes to concerts that only chicks and homosexuals go to and has a good time and then blogs about it" schtick and if my self-deprecation can inspire a few laughs then I figured...why the hell not? I'm certainly past any point in my life where I'm trying to impress anyone (the curve ball is still fucking nasty though). Unfortunately, I think this is going to just about do it because I need to be beaten like a rented mule for what I've done and I'm pleading to a nation of Grievers to take care of business for me here.
Now, I don't want to beat around the bush and I certainly don't want to say the wrong thing or mislead you in any way. I need a good old fashioned ass-kicking. I can't do this anymore and there's really only one solution: unfathomable amounts of pain inflicted upon me for a long time. I don't necessarily want to die but I know the risks going in. Bring Chuck Norris if you must. Bring Clubber Lang! Bring the Gimp for all I care! Bring torture devices that will make Barry Manilow music seem like Jimi Hendrix while tripping on acid!
It's become clear that I don't have the will power to turn this around without assistance. I'm asking, begging, pleading...save me from myself, Grievers. I got nothing left. I got nowhere else to go!