Smivey's Journals

Blatant Self-promotion

I'll generally be using this journal to rant about meaningless crap. To read about my fictional life, please visit my two-year-old blog "Everything Sucks."

I thank you.

Smivey

David Letterman

Remember back when David Letterman was funny? He'd walk out onto the stage and tell a simple one-liner and before you'd know it, you'd be laughing. It wasn't necessarily the material--though David had some of the best writers working for him--it was the way he delivered it. He had that snarky attitude that nobody could match.

He'd go out into the audience and make an ass of himself, pretending to be dumber than he actually was. Then he'd improvise a line and we'd laugh some more. The guy was unstoppable. He even got the local merchants involved in the act, giving them more camera time than most aspiring actors would ever see in their entire lives.

And that interview style of his, it was second to none. Of course, he was no Johnny Carson. He was David Letterman. He was the new talkshow icon, the one everyone would attempt to emulate--and fail.

Yes, I remember when David Letterman used to be funny. I remember when he used to be cool. In fact, I can remember it like it was yesterday. But it wasn't. It was last Friday. David Letterman is still the king of late night. I just wish i could stay up to watch him more often.

Test Entry

Since this is a test, I'm just copying and pasting my last entry from my blog:

A lot of you have been writing to me and asking about who I am and why I started blogging. Well, rather than spend all the time replying to every email, I thought I'd address you all at once:

Fuck off. Why are you so goddamn interested in who I am and what I do? Don't you have your own life? I mean, come on. Can't you just enjoy the stuff I write?

Ahhhh that was a load off my chest. I feel so much better now. Anyhow, here's my life story, in four paragraphs:

I grew up as a moderately poor child. I mean, we weren't totally poor. Sure, we ate cat food for breakfast, cat food for lunch and cat food for dinner. But it was Fancy Feast, not that Nine Lives crap. Of course, there were other kids in our neighborhood who weren't as poor as us. They got to eat Sheba, the cat food favored by Pharaohs.

As you know, the ancient Egyptians used to consider cats sacred. This might have had something to do with the feline's mysterious nature, or perhaps it was because the ancient Egyptians had brains the size of unripe tangerines. Does this count as one of the four paragraphs? I sure as fuck hope not.

Anyhow, my father would occasionally save up enough money to pay the water bill and then mom would whip up a batch of Kool-Aid, creating a slightly more flavorful water with vitamins and minerals, kind of like your modern-day Vitamin Water.

Then my Uncle Romona died (used to be Uncle Roland until a horrible chainsaw accident) and we suddenly become filthy rich. And I mean that literally. We lived in a big fancy mansion in the Hollywood HIlls, but we hardly ever bathed. Why? I'm not sure. But I was just glad to be living in a place with four walls and roof. Our previous home only had three walls. Dad was always saving up for the fourth.

Speaking of fourth, this would be the fourth paragraph, unless of course you consider that stupid paragraph about cats and Pharaohs to count as one of the paragraphs. Then this would have to be the fifth paragraph and I would be a liar. In any case, assuming this is the fourth paragraph, I should use it to wrap up my life as best as I can. In all honesty, it's really quite boring. Our neighbors burned our house down, a "computer glitch" made all our money disappear and then I got a job in advertising. The end.