Here's the thing....

This is a test .... I'm unplugged and pushing myself. It's sometimes a bit difficult for me to get motivated to put forth on paper, or screen, what is rumbling around inside my head. I have the words, I have the idea, I know how I want to convey my thoughts on whatever idea I'm pontificating on but inevitably something will distract me from my intent to settle into my un-cushioned, ass-rock chair. Be it Game Show Network, 80's hairy midget porn or a disappointing romp through my unsold items on eBay, something always looks better than sitting down and expounding on whatever it is that seemed noteworthy just five minutes ago. So, I have unplugged my computer and am attempting to write this before the little yellow, exclamation-filled triangle warns that, 'Hey, dickwad, I'm dying here'. nothing like death to provide motivation, and let's face it, in these days of life being sustained by technology and Twitter updates a dead computer battery is nearly as bad as testicular cancer or the cancellation of "Jersey Shore." I can dream, can't it?

I think now that I know why my procrastination is such a thorn in my side... despite the resulting seconds of pleasure provided by it's short, furry and often tattooed internet distractions... ahem...

Michigan J. Frog sent me the answer. he and I are kindred spirits. Actually, we are all kindred spirits with Michy ... he permits me to call him 'Michy'. Please don't ask why and do not ask why I have warts around my mouth. Some things are just better left unsaid. In any case, my leapfrog, talented-tongued buddy provided some very valuable insight to the seemingly fractured mechanics of my thinking. Let me elaborate ...

If you have never seen the Looney Tunes cartoon featuring Michigan J. Frog you need to stop reading right now. You are either too young and overloaded with Spongebob to understand or are way too stodgy and need to put the computer aside and remove the stick from your ass. In either case, and after removing said lumber from the anal canal, go online and find the cartoon or visit your local Blockbuster and rent a Looney Tunes compilation. Don't worry, if the clerk knows his shit about animation, he or she will think you're pretty damn cool. It might even score you a Big Mac and a blow job after the store closes. Who knows?
Then, when you're back at the crib, watch the whole damn thing ... Looney Tunes are cool... and funny. But, when you get to Michigan J. Frog, stop, clear your mind and think of what I'm about to propose ...

As much as I hesitate and hate to admit this, I believe that I'm too conscious of what those who read my ramblings might think. What will they think of me? Will I be reviled (Hi Kids!)? Will I be looked upon as just another lost voice, a victim of life's cruelty? Will I fail?.. the ultimate kick in the balls. You see, I believe that I have something to say and a talent at being able to convey thoughts and ideas with relevance. I believe that my purpose here on this lovely, screwed up planet is to enable others to think for themselves while presenting that opportunity through humor... usually poking fun at others but putting my own insecurities and flaws at the forefront of my fun-poking (self-deprecating humor, for the brainy bunch).

And, so does Michigan J. Frog. He was pretty freakin' happy just wilin' away his days in that box before the caterpillar-lipped construction dude took him from home to the tenement. You see, Michy knew he had talent. He knew that he could sing Robert Goulet and Babyface under the table but he chose to keep it to himself ... in his own little world he was silent, happy and croaking. Literally. He had his chances to shine, to inspire, surprise and amaze people who thought his only talent was sitting idly by and pissing in a box. He was promoted, believed in and given every opportunity to show the world that, 'Hey, I'm more than a frog with unbelievably slim limbs and an ability to live for years in a box buried under the foundation of a building.' Yet, when given the opportunity, even with throngs of people clamoring to hear what he had to offer, he shrank and failed to deliver.

Now, I don't know Michy's motivations. I don't know if he reverted to meekness out of fear, stage-fright or an inner belief that he was unworthy of success. He had the talent, surely. I mean, check out his coordination with the top hat, cane and dancing while singing "Hello, My Baby, Hello My Ragtime Gal"... not since Peter Boyle's monster in 'Young Frankenstein' has anything come close to that level of talent. Sorry, Lady GaGa ...

However, we can all learn a lesson from Michigan J. Frog... we all get chances to shine. Many of us get multiple chances and we all have talents and voices to share. Sure, we can't all bellow like Michael Bolton or explain the origins of the universe in a robotic monotone like Stephen Hawking, but we each have a talent or two. Mine is to inspire chuckles and a rogue thought here and there. Yours might be cooking the perfect grilled cheese sandwich. It doesn't matter... if you make a mean cheese sandwich and you know it, make one for someone who might appreciate it. Don't croak without the world knowing you add mayonnaise in just the right spots to bring out the zestiness of the cheddar.

Me? Well, I've been blasted and battered by those I considered close simply because I have begun to exploit my talents. But I've made the decision to not let anyone, again, anyone, deny the world of seeing what I have to offer. The alternative is crawing back into the box and possibly being rediscovered, a la my buddy Michigan J Frog, some day in the future. The other alternative is to croak. Neither of those options are appealing to me ... nor should they appeal to anyone. When the curtain rises, tap the can, sing out loud, piss on the stage and tell the world, 'Yeah, I have warts and a bloated neck when I speak but here I am!'

Off to watch Elmer ... he's gonna catch that damn rabbit this time, no doubt.