The fallout from my latest bonfire, not sure how I’m going to explain this one to the authorities!
I’ve seen the tabloids, read the WikiLeaks emails, hell, my eight-grade math teacher even inquired. “Where the hell have you been Skipah?” has been the recurring question for the past week. Local graffiti artists have been adorning area overpasses with “Skipah you sell out!!” Quick question—is there a graffiti artist’s hall of fame? Can I get a vote on this? Also how freaking flexible must one be to become a graffiti artist? I’ve seen graffiti in places that I couldn’t reach with a high powered rifle and scope that can spot a bruise on a gnat’s ass from a mile away. It has been quite a while since Mr. Skipah actually wrote from his big bulging heart instead of cashing in on a few opportunities to stock away some more savings in my ultra-secret 1964 Chevrolet Sting-Ray slush fund. Donations are always accepted by the way!
What! This has to be posted? Someone actually tried this? Is this person allowed to vote?
Back in July of 2014 when this all started if you told me I would be getting opportunities to earn money from well respected Los Angeles ad agencies, I would have looked at you like you told me you were sleeping with a feral mole. Throw in that Plumbtile wanted to also contribute to my future life visiting Barret-Jackson auto auctions in search of the perfect specimen to make me feel young again, and last week you can chalk up to “getting paid to blog.” Not earth-shattering or groundbreaking, but dammit, I’m in a mid-life crisis right now. I just turned 40!
Other recent milestones happened to pass by in case you didn’t notice. In Major League Baseball before everyone began taking Flintstones vitamins laced with bull semen and other great chemistry experiments that would make Louis Pasteur blush, the number 500 meant something if you were able to successfully hit a baseball over the fence that many times over the course of your career. It was a sure-fire path to Cooperstown and a life of immortality. Not sure how that translates in the yet to be built Bloggers Hall of Fame that is being erected in Walla Walla, Washington (I saw the WikiLeaks document…trust me) right now, but hopefully I’m on the first ballot!
NO!!!!!!!!!! Let me get my pumpkin cravings out of the way before I have to put up with Jingle Bells and Bing Crosby!
This post put me in the exclusive WordPress 500 club! I was hoping for a personalized set of Levi’s 501 Jeans (but they said it made my butt look too big) when I wrote my 501st post. Instead I chose to pay a little homage to Zambezi for that anti-climactic number. I thought about dropping the mic and retiring after hitting publish for the 500th time, but when I dropped the mic it bounced back up and hit me in the forehead. Like Ace of Base I saw a sign and it opened up my eyes, so here we are banging away on post number 503 with no plans to quit anytime soon.
Why would I retire, this is too much fun! The crack research staff at Skipah’s Realm with the help of my friends at some little hick company known as Google had a little fun over Mai Tai’s and autograph requests to actually break down Skipah’s Realm’s history wordsmith style. To date Mr. Skipah has worn out two laptops and currently working on a third waxing poetic to the tune of 476,679 words.
Paging all the single ladies, these two are ready to rock your world!
I’m aiming to make this post 23,000 words and change so I can hit the half a million club tonight, but more than likely it will be a few months. To put that many words into context, my favorite Google employees and I re-read some of the earth’s most famous books cover to cover and documented every word. Or I just did a simple internet search, but that’s so 2016 I wanted to go old school on this project.
Random picture of the sky, I liked it so I took it. It’s my website not yours, feel free to “pin it” though!
The King James Authorized Bible has 783, 137 words. So while I’ve use the word “biblical” a staggering amount of times over the life of this website, I’m actually nowhere near biblical…. yet!
Did you know Gone with the Wind only comes in at 418,053 words. Take that Margaret Mitchell! You wrote an epic tale of the South during The Civil War and all, I wrote about a little bit of everything. We will revisit this in a 100 years, but my money is on me for literary immortality.
Herman Melville, eat a turd! So you took 206,052 words to let everyone know about a freaking whale that launched an overpriced fast food chain. It would take me less than 100 words to let you know about the whale I cohabitated with in a former life. Yours chase of mighty Moby may be more epic, but I guarantee you mine is funnier!
The Mouse and the Motorcycle is one of the first books I can remember reading as a child. C’mon Beverly Cleary 22,416 words to let us know about Ralph? I spent close to 150,000 words on Hammy! Great minds think alike though because they threw away the mold of these two rodents after their passing!
For long time readers, that book and a love of the spy novella genre…hello Tom Clancy, was the creative spark anything that ever involved Hammy came from. It’s been a wild ride getting to 500, unlike Ralph though I’m hoping to ride in my ’64 Sting-Ray and not a motorcycle for the next 500!
About it for now, I made the mistake of turning on the Vice Presidential debate last night and still recovering from the epic coma it induced, plus I have to start needling my Chicago Cub brethren. Buttholes haven’t been this puckered across the country over a baseball team since the advent of time! Mr. Skipah isn’t going anywhere, and I can’t wait to tell you about the time I killed a grizzly bear with my bare hands!