I'm about to make a literary three martini lunch

Today in a clear bullet point format I'm going to grant you digital access to more of my opinions

Politicians just need to have a press conference before they run for office.  This press conference details all of the bad things they've done to prevent ad hominem attacks in electoral races

All you have to do is have one big press conference with all of your best friends so no one heckles you.  Shit you can hire me if you want, I only heckle when I see people exhibit negative insecurity patterns.  No one is going to hate you for owning up to shit here, my friend.

So then you come in like your birthday suit or something.  And it's like a Catholic Confession...for the public.  Shit you might even do a crazy stunt at press conference to solidify how cool you are.

Anyway, you tell everyone all the bad shit you did in the past and don't do it anymore because you've grown as an individual.  Or you prove to us by fake apologizing or half apologizing so I know now to not vote for you.  Tomato, toe-mato.

Either way, then everyone can make their decisions so then I don't have to watch these ridiculous attack ads in the news.  If you are running for public office, then we should know what we are signing up for Dan Strassuermann.

Wow I'm so good with coming up with fake elected politician names.  

 

Jojo's Bizarre Adventure is just British Dragon Ball Z fan fiction.

There is a TV show called Jojo's Bizarre Adventure that features an archetypal devil Dios and hero Jojo fighting each other, but the twist is that they are fake brothers.  There's some fake British drama about this guy tricking this old rich dude that shady guy saved the rich dude's life, but he really didn't.  Then he dies and his son comes to claim his fake inheritance, yawn, I know.  Classic case of I deserve this because someone told me once vs. I actually deserve this.

And all Jojo says is "DIO!" in this fake old timey British accent.

ALL LIKE GOKU AND VEGETA.  Because Goku - Jojo and Vegeta - Dio.  Damn I just need to find a tv show I like and then template it into my own cool version.

Like Dragonball Z fan fiction in a world dedicated to knitting.  Imagine if I add true crime into that mix. 

Wow that's a zesty meat-a-ball.  And before any of you can get pissed, I'm Italian, so take that biscotti full of hatred and dip it into any coffee of your choice.  You will be pleasantly surprised when you take a bite of that biscotti, you are welcome. *insert anime girl wink*

The best superpower to ever possess would be instant replay.

Ok, so think about if about if I ever wanted a superpower like Goku, I'd pick instant replay.

Basically the person has to repeat everything they said and did when I yell instant replay.  But it only works back the last word I just uttered.  

So if we were having ourselves a little conversation over here:

You: Dragon Ball Z and Jojo's Bizarre Adventure are totally different.

Me: Can you please pass me the pipe that you smoke so I can be on the level that you are to think these two shoes are completely different.

You: Jojo is clearly a religious symbol for a hero, not a creator.

Me:  Do you think Nike and Adidas would ever do a collab where one shoe was Adidas and the other shoe was Nike, but they just loved each so much that they had to match.

You:  *suddenly possessed by KFC man* Well I do de-claaiire, that this here girl-y, has some sort of...mind terror...that causes her to compaiire two quality tennis loafer brands in an ath-letic lovers embrace.

Me:  INSTANT REPLAY!

You: *stuck saying the same thing again but midway see me escape with your family bag of peanut butter m&m's*

See, it's a great profit margin by selling people's stuff I steal while they are stuck in longwinded conversations.  Imagine if I can get a billionaire to talk about themselves for like 30 whole minutes without stopping, I'd deposit so much money into my bank account.

I love when I come up with some great tactics.  The word tactic reminds of me of a castle, that I'm probably going to buy with the profits I get from flipping people's stuff during instant replays.  I'm just a modern day mobile pawn shop.  Pawn shops need some disrupters in their industry, so I'm going to create a modern day bar brawl in the pawning religion.

I think you probably need a nap after drinking the above literary poison that's mixed with fruity hints of passion and my naive idealism of how rational human society should exist.

why am I not allowed to write in the second person?

According to the first result on Google, aka semo.edu, 

One of the main rules of writing formal, academic papers is to avoid using second person. Second person refers to the pronoun you. Formal papers should not address the reader directly. However, it can be difficult to write without second person because the word you is such a major part of our speech. Fortunately, there are ways to avoid second person without sacrificing the meaning of the text. Below are some suggestions for ways to avoid second person.

Why can't I address the reader directly, Southeast Missouri State University?

In today's modern world, we have individuals who direct manufactured people traffic for rich euro trash bars.  So if those popped collared suited assholes tell me that I can't enter their dimly lit 60% occupied bar that's definitely a front for the Ukrainian mob, then I should be able to fight back. The blatant eye rolls I give the bouncer as I leave should give the message of "At least I don't have a job that's hellbent on being aggressive and manufacturing lines."

So if those assholes can manipulate lines, I should be able to manipulate my stories and direct messages to my readers.

Hey you, make good life choices.  Also avenge me and my pocket potential.

It's very likely I will never get a response from you.

But what if one of my friends is reading? 

Or what if you and I really jive...in the sheets. Of paper.

But we haven't gotten the chance to meet. Physically.  

Enter into my literary time travel machine to STAR DATE: 2030.

Your eyes open.  You smell sandalwood, generic female floral fragrance, and vodka. You suddenly realize you are at a posh New York rooftop party.  A bunch of cool posh people are all around you like a stereotypical white women in a comedy written by a man in 1990.  The lyrics, KNUCK IF YOU BUCK BOY are uttered.  Majestically, I happen.  We talk about our plans for pocket-con: a potentiality until midnight.  Then you forgot you were Cinderella's horseman. Boom, you are a mouse now.  And then I hold up at a "THE END" sign, there's not much more I can tell about that story.

Maybe it's because my writing style is that it's literally me sitting here talking to myself about things I'm passionate about and I don't give a shit if anyone is listening to me talking to myself.  But I'm going to put my thoughts out there.  And you can pluck whatever golden nuggets of information I'm going to give to you.  Hopefully you laugh at least ten times but no more than 20.  If you laugh 20 times I know you are ridiculing me.

Which if you are ridiculing me, hey at least you are getting something out of it.  The punishment of never getting the time back that you spent reading this.  Muahahahahaha. 

I think of writing in the second person like talking during a terrible movie.  Life is going to be a joke anyway, why the hell can I not add some color commentary that will make everyone else laugh or give people some good ass background wisdom about the whole mockery.

What if my babbling about what is unfolding before our very fucking eyes makes the scene like twelve times better?  I'm a literary tour guide.  I am feeding you a manufactured story line or plot.  While I am spitting my manufactured beats I give little side notes that make the other beats way funnier or cooler.  Did I just equate my literary perspective changing to a rhythm in a rap song?

Maybe it's more like a written director's commentary.  Haha, man, nerds love that shit.  They eat that director's cuts like it's an all your can eat breakfast with their mom*.  And before you shit on me for making fun of nerds living with their moms, I don't just mean mom.  I mean mom* as female figure either the girlfriend, wife, or actual mother that takes care of geriatric male baby.

Soooooo, society.  Rules are made to be broken.  I think we should tell the first person and third person bouncer to stop being so insecure, so we can go party with the second person bouncer in the club.  You think he could start getting us in here for free though?

Love,

Courtney

Donald Trump Fan Fiction

Today I was going through my bag of tricks

My fingers stumbled upon a crumbled up shamble of a note saying

"Die Hard, but in a haunted house"

I threw that idea back in there

that's a Saturday gig

So I shove my hand back in and I feel something slimy

And I'm like fuck what the hell leaked in here

So I pull the gelatinous goo out of my bag

And then it was sitting there

All in it's naked glory

DONALD TRUMP FAN FICTION.

Is this a thing?  Like for real, is this a thing?  I kinda want to look it up but then I'm scared.

If I had to place myself in the shoes of a sweaty Donald Trump fan fiction writer, I'd go find an air-conditioned safe space to express my feelings.  Then knowing humans and our obsessions with heroes and villains, I would write some shitty David and Goliath-esque smut that's full of cherry-picked religious allegories.  And all of that symbolism will perpetuate the systemic racist beliefs of christian evagelincals.  Can you evalegneicals find an easier way to spell your name?  Do you know HOW annoying it is to have to always incorrectly type evangelical...

oh shit I got it right this time!  

I want know who Cult-45's fanbase ships him with, for real.  Him and Melania are eh together, but I don't really see too many chemical reactions going on there.  It's probably because Melania is squinting so hard that she can't see Donald.  Which girl, I get it, I would squinting like that all the time if I was married to your husband, cause I'd be trying to gaussian blur his existence out of my sight.

Personally I'd like to ship him with USPS.  But I'd send him to a deserted island with enough supplies to last for roughly four weeks.  But little does he know that there's a camera crew watching his every move.  *insert dramatic music and slow motion clip show of Donald doing ordinary things on the island, like struggling to pick up a stick from the ground and trying to sit down but almost falling over*

Returns Thursdays, this fall on NBC.

Shit I would write the shit out of that novel.  All it would be doing is writing an old senile grandpa character doing weird shit, living 20 years in the past, then being bitter about it not being the good old days.  Then karma aka time kicks him in the ass.  Then he has to learn some life lesson, bada boom, bada bing, add a lovable animal character like Ronald Reagan's ghost riding a velociraptor.  Each episode has a 5 minute segment of him telling us why "He's the Best".  And at the end of the series Ronald Reagan's ghost and Donald escape the island.  But before they escape, they look at each other and say "Together we take down crooked Hilary and Sleepy Joe.

So then it keeps available for me to write a sequel series that might include some other Presidents.  I'm thinking about signing Andrew Jackson with a brief cameo by Rutherford B. Hayes.

Love,

Courtney

what do old ladies gang about?

 if I was in an old lady scooter gang with shutter shades skating about the suburbs in our jumpsuits, what would I gang about?

Why are gangs even a thing in the first place?  It's like a tribe of people protecting themselves and trying to gain assertion amongst a location.  So as a geriatric lassie, I want to hoard or save something old people like.

Old people like Matlock, Backgammon, and Wii Sports.  

Oh my god, imagine a world like Matlock but they have fight all of their battles using Wii Sports!  And if the person doesn't have a charged Wii, then they have play backgammon!  And it follow this one grandma that's like oh vey, I am so good at backgammon, but my Wii Bowling score is only a 45.  I can't even get a spare!  dun dun dun And then queue an epic anime beginning sequence dun dun dun

Then we come to find out that grandma's sick of Georgette Hinkle always stealing her spot at Crafts!  She always gets the best flowers for her vases.  This is unorthodox!  So Grandma is like hey Georgette I challenge you to a duel.  Then they duel it out on Wii Sports.  Grandma picks Wii Tennis.  The game is tough and full of cliche sitcom hijinks, including Grandma losing her hearing aid.  Grandma wins.  But then they play Wii Bowling.  Round after round, Georgette hit those bowling pins like battleships.  So, hit, hit, hit, miss.  

But remember, Grandma only bowls like a 35.  So in the most boring game of Wii Bowling, Grandma loses.  It's 1-1!  What shall we do?

Backgammon it is!  They begin to start playing backgammon.  And midway through the game, all of a sudden, a wild Matlock appears holding a hot dog,  He says "Matlock, Matlock, wait ahem, Grandma Witherton, He then takes a bite of the hot dog.  There's an awkward silence while everyone is waiting for his old ass to chew this damn. hot dog.  What sane person starts a sentence and then takes a fucking bite.  Rude.  So Matlock is finally done chewing, then he's like "Grandma Witherton, do you know a man named Grandpa?  And Grandma is like no bitch, I don't know no Grandpa.  Do you think that because my name is Grandma that I'd be with a guy named Grandpa.  That is so namist.

And then Matlock grumbles a little because he remembers that Dan Knotts is neighbor, and is like "Grandma, I know about your associations with the BGG."  And Grandma is like "I don't associate with their likes so much anymore."  And then Matlock is like, I know you orchestrated Grandpa's death.  If you don't find out who did it then I'm reporting you the authorities.  What a fucking dick, after he wasted all of that time...chewing.  Ewww.

So Grandma has to call one of her associates, Dolores, to figure out a plan.  Her and Dolores meet at bingo at 5PM on the dot. They find seats in the back and notice another friend at bingo.

At bingo, Dolores and Grandma discuss the death of Grandpa.  They talk about how the feel when they saw the dead body.  Before they can talk further, the other friend shows up.

whew that's it I'm done being creative today.

Award Shows

 How do people get an award named after them?  Why do we celebrate men named Oscar?  The only Oscars I know are grouches.

Also one more thing!

 This material all on this website, EVERYWHERE, is patent pending of Courtney Up which with a *asterisk can be said the owner of this domain who's name is not mentioned on this website but in the domain registry is the owner of this material so if any piece of scum wants to come here and steal my material be warned I have this shit registered and I will come for you if I find you taking my stuff.  Give credit due, I'd credit you if I thought something you said was thought provoking.

I'm looking at you, middle aged white man feeling sorry for himself because he doesn't have any self-esteem because society is all one big son of a bitch.  Why the fuck should we all just sit here and endlessly show off to each other?  Who fucking cares?

You know what ruined everything, people realizing what time is.  The only reason why we measure ANYTHING in this world is because of time.  Because we live in this limited construct, we have to gaggle and babble every fucking inch of everything.

Because we all have our own fucking priorities.  If I had to describe my saga in the terms of a nordic long epic poem, it would be becoming a traveling comedic bard like that dude in "The Witcher".  And he's always hanging out with Geralt and they talk about video games.  And the bard dude is always giving Geralt shit for like being awkward and making terrible life decisions that still to this day do not understand but you do you Geralt.

On this same subject, why the fuck does everyone want to be a princess?  That would be the most boring job ever!  You have to marry some guy who's genetics are so inbred...on purpose...for 1000s of years...imagine connecting your genetic code with an old crusty ass chromosomes.  And the helixes are all touching each other....yuuuccckkkkk.

OMG I need the mental image out of my head.  

Let's go back talking about Cour-ten-ney.  It's my nordic epic poem saga that doesn't suck like Beowulf.  My way better version has some epic duckwalk battles featuring the House of Balmain.   And less toxic masculinity.  And the dragon gets to eat the King.  And then I get to transfer all of the dragon's money into my bank account.  We have a massive party but it's for non-hoarders only.  Then Jeff Bezos shows up.  Then I'm like "hey Scrooge McLuther, get your Amazon Basic ass out of here! It says Non-Hoarders Only."  Then there's a musical number when Jeff Bezos and I have a duet to talk about sharing in which by the end of it he ends up malfunctioning because the thought of sharing is just preposterous.  Which then all of his money is then taken by the US Government to be used for military spending.  The End.