Everyone get’s a bullshit first post.
I think the first time I heard the word blog, it was a marketing tool and people started spinning up products like “Blogger.”
I predate blogs. I wrote shit for BBSs. Fuck your blog.
But now I have a blog, so fuck me? Sure. And in the world of blogs, everybody gets a first bullshit post. Their first full bullshit, when they are starry eyed, or sierra mist eyed if you are old school, is full of promisses and visions and they cannot wait to have people beat a path to their door.
I’m not that guy. I might not post beyond this, I will on occasion. I have no reason to. I’m write for other things for other places for people more important to me than any of you and in those places I even have to use commas and the ‘casional semi dash colon. I’m fancy like that.
So I’m not here to pump out yet another bullshit post, except that I don’t have an About page, because someone will stumble their ass across my name and stumble across this site and stumble their way to looking for who the fuck I am.
Read the domain name. That’s me. Am I that other guy with the same name? No. Am I the other other guy with that name? No. I’m the doctor one. The one who will call 911, not because I will save you as I’m not that kind of doctor, but because I’m not a fucking animal who will watch you lay there and die. But if you think I’m the one can pull you back from the great beyond — No. Not that kind of Dr. either.
So what do I do professionally? Maybe look for a domain name with a dr, hint hint. Yeah, I’m THAT guy. At least, in my day job.
That is my “office” if you will. This, this is my garage, like my dad had, and his dad before him. There might be a beer in the fridge. There might be a game on the radio. There’s shit covered in grease and dirt everywhere. I put most of my tools away, eventually, and I use pink rags to wipe my hands off until they turn grey, but I don’t wipe on my pants, much. As I pointed out early, I’m not a fucking animal.
But if you came here looking for the Dr., he’s out of the office here. I’m not that guy. I’m the blue collar guy before that guy. The one who came out of some government housing, barely graduated highschool, and worked in factory after factor running everything from a CNC to a forklift to the lab equipment. I’m that guy that don’t wanna hear how goddamn sorry you are about making me work over 4 hours cause the worthless kid they hired called in again to drink wine coolers and finger bang his sister. And if you think I sound like a doctor in MY garage, buddy, we ain’t gonna be friends.
So what is gonna get posted here? I dunno, whatever floats my boat and tugs at whatever Andy Rooney “Ye’ver Wonder” thinking goes on in my head between bottles and game innings here in the cave. And if anyone reads it, neato. And if they don’t, fuck ’em anyways. If ya like it, right on. If ya don’t, fuck off.
This is where I’m supposed to get all kindly and “we’re all in on the joke” and tell you to grab a beer and pull up a chair. Well, I don’t want you drinking my damn beer, and there’s only one chair out here for a reason. Just like, there’s no comments here. Cause frankly, I don’t give a shit what you think here. This is my garage. If you like the tone, you can at best lean against the door. Just don’t go leaning on anything else.