The Radical Honesty Post

It's 7:12 a.m. and I'm pounding the keyboard loudly with the ferocity of a geeked out wood pecker whose hollowed laurels are fulfilled once humans are annoyed.

I want people to know that I'm working, so I peck like a mother fuckin' character from Willow.

Oh the places you'll go in this mixed media world of mayhem I'm immersed in right now.

This is the honesty post, so I have virtually parked my rear end on the world-wide-web this morning, gravely surfing YouTube in search of really engaging and intense thumb war battles, street-wise bohemians freestyle rapping about the good life as a starving artist in Grenich and how-to instructional content about how to write a thank you note.

In no order of importance here are some truths that I must confess:

I still read Cosmopolitan magazine when accessible

Yogurt has become the sensible baby food of adult culture but I'm still embarrassed when I eat it in public ... do I chew, straight swallow or drink?

I recognize the coffee mug advice that gives me pithy, perky, predictable, trite advice on how to live.

Girls love me because of my low-maintenance style with androgynous shag haircut and simply cut clothes that say, "damn, too much style, coming through .... make way."

I linger at the self-actualization aisle at Barnes & Noble with a book from another aisle in my hand to act discreet. "Self Reliance" by Ralph Waldo Emerson. Tackle that mother fucker with the craziness of a linebacker with a chemical imbalance.

I think everyone needs a good sports nickname ... sincerely, JJ "THE HAMMERIN' HOMUNCULUS"

I say things for sport: Who does that?

I can't swim, only doggie paddle and when required to swim it's a crushingly embarrassing experience.

I twirl the few chest hairs that I have when I'm lying in bed.

There's a feign interest I have in watching older, distinguished men read the back of wine bottles and critique its quality. Once they put the eye-glasses on half way, I'm already taking diligent notes on how to be a man.

I don't enjoy compliments like most people do. It makes me feel uncomfortable because I feel required to return the volley.

I have an uncanny knack at telling a woman's dress size.

Speaking of dresses, I love sundresses. Hot girls + sundresses = amazing day.

Every play-list in which I create seemingly of random songs provide a secret message to one person.

I enjoy delivering eulogies.

No one can beat me at caressing a woman's neck. Back of my fingers, in a slow fan. I'm not joking. Same goes for the lip lock. No one.

That's it for now. back to work.