l,000 Followers – A Thank You

Well, hells bells and cockle shells.  1,000 followers.  1,000 real, genuine funny, ornery, thoughtful, and real live wire dimwits.  Time to break out the good stuff.  I usually only reserve the good stuff for when I have to sit through three hours of my sister’s ballet recitals, but this is a real cause for celebration.  It’s time to break out the $12 bottle of Kessler.   Salute, bottoms up, all that good stuff, and a big cheers to you all.

So you’re maybe tired of hearing it, but I think it’s important to say thanks.   It’s a nice word to say:  thanks.  It just kind of rolls off the tongue nicely, so thanks again to all you dimwits.  It really means a lot, and I’ve appreciated all your comments, likes, and nude photographs that you’ve sent to me.  I read all your comments, but I don’t always get a chance to respond.   But I do try my best, and if I’ve missed one, a thousand apologies.  Make that 1,001 just to be safe, and 1,002 if you are a siamese twin.   I’m sorry about your luck, but hoping all goes well for you and you.

Check this out, dimwits.  By now, we’ve weeded out the kittens from the tigers.  And those of you that are still hanging around here are clearly the tigers.  Those of you that don’t mind a little cursing, a little jousting, some poking, a little sparing, a lot of madness, and the occasional mention of wiener tucked vaginas.  But always in a good, fun way, and always with best intentions, as best an intention a wiener tucked vagina can have, I suppose.

So this is my thanks to the 1,000 followers.

To the tigers, the dimwits, the dingalings, the ding dongs, to the tingleberries.  Thanks for having a good old, rip-roaring time with me.  It’s been a lot of fun, I hope.  Maybe even a few other things that you might’ve needed at that very moment.

So how’s about an autographed African Safari photograph of myself posed as a tiger, wearing Randy Macho Man Savage sunglasses, with a few gents in the background trying to snap off a good shot of the old, ding dong, dingaling, dimwit himself in action.   Don’t say I never gave you nothing.  You dimwits.

Turned out kinda nice.  Perhaps a good one for the high school lockers or the fire place mantle.  Anyway, I wanted to give a few plugs.  In the rapper community, we lyrical gunslingers like to refer to them as “shout outs.”  So here they go.  I’ve made the links in separate pop-up menus, so there’s no excuse not to click.

1.  The Real Housewives of Lancaster PA – If the title doesn’t do it for you, than the video surely will.  Written, acted, and produced by a dear friend, who at one point was my intern on a little, old movie starring  Jake Gyllenhaal & Anne Hathaway that you mighta heard of called “Love and Other Drugs.”  My talented friend’s real name is Susan Rankus, but I sometimes still like to refer to her as “Hey Intern,” which is what I called her the entire course of the 4 month shoot.  And we’re still friends.  Check out the video, it’s hilarious.  *Spoiler alert* – Amish girl packing dildos in her suitcase.

2.  Cancer:  My Journey Back to Health-Kicking & Screaming the Whole Damn Way – Yes, well by now the gig is up.  It’s true.  I’m not a dimwit.  Not in the traditional sense of the word, meaning that I’m a dum-dum.  I mean, I am a dum-dum.  I spend hours writing reviews about unicorns and Ting Tings.  Beautiful words, poetic even for a lousy review of an online product on Amazon that nobody will ever see, when I should be penning a classic instead.  Who does that nonsense?  Dimwits.  Dimwits do it.  But I also have enough sense to know that when someone is willing to bare their soul for the benefit of others going through a similar struggle, well you’d have to be a true dimwit to pass up an opportunity to give that person a plug.  A shout out to you, beautiful, bald-headed Laura Lynn.  Kick some ass and take some names.

3.  The Boy Hero –  Meet Jason.  He likes cats, long walks on the beach, orange flavored Gatorade, miniature putt-putt golf, and sculpting totem poles out of western red cedar wood on the weekends.  Ladies?  Totally just kidding.  Made that whole thing up.  Told ya I like to tell tall tales.  But he does seem like a general, all around good dude.  And he’s in the process of writing a few screenplays, so I have to give a nod to a fella’ working in the biz when I can.  Go read his stuff pretty please with an orange Gatorade on top.  (You better hire my ass, Jason, and make the $50 for the plug made out to CASH.)

Welp, that does it for shout outs this round.  If I make to 1,500 maybe I’ll do up another super sexxxy photo.  Lord knows I have a million of them lying around.  I’ll throw up some more shout outs too, cause I know most of you are trying to get your stuff seen just the same as the majority of us bloggers.  I can’t promise, but if you’d like a special Dimwit shout out, send me a link, shoot me a message, and we’ll see if we can’t make it happen.

I do appreciate this whole community aspect about blogging.  Scratch my balls, I’ll scratch your balls, or however that saying goes.   I appreciate all the shares, reblogs and reading my stories to your poor sap for husbands.   It’s really sweet and humbling to me, because I’m just some messy haired guy sitting in his apartment wearing his Tweety Bird boxer briefs, with the shades drawn open nice and wide for all the neighbors to see, writing fictional stories about the Baha Men, ect., and it’s cool when you write words, if you’re able to somehow choose the right ones, they can mean the difference from someone having a sour day or a nice day.  I hope you all are having a nice one.

Cheers to ball scratching and to dimwits.  I bid thee tigers farewell for now.  Go make some noise and wake up those darling kittens.  Give the world a shake.  Give it a rattle.  Have a ball.  You might as well.  You’re not here for very long.  So go have some fun, tigers, and I will do the same….thanks again.

ROOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAARRRRRRRR

A Letter To My Mother – Free Spirit & Wieners

April 20, 2013
Saturday, 1:31 PM

771 Dimwits and counting…

Mother,

I didn’t know which of the 16 email accounts of yours to send this to, so I decided to post it here.   Hopefully it finds you, and hopefully it’s during a time when you just got back in from the warm sunshine and time spent admiring your flowers that you enjoy more than anything.

750 new followers in just over a week.  This is crazy, huh?  I’ve got wives reading my stories to husbands, and mothers reading my stories to daughters.  Stories about wieners and Sally Jessy Ralphael’s feathered hair.  Can you believe it?  It’s wild.  I don’t know what’s happening, but of course what’s new. I never know what’s happening, and that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.

You know how your free spirited, kind hearted, adventurous, and yes, your rather mischievous son of yours just seems to go along with life.  It’s gotten me this far, so there’s no use in changing it now.  Well, remember that time you and Dad sat me down right after I graduated college?  You might not remember it, but I do.  It was in the living room, and it was quiet.  If I didn’t know any better, it might’ve been my own funeral that I was attending.

You and Dad wore somber, stern faces.  You told me to sit down, so I did.  On the couch directly across the room, not far away from your somber, stern faces.  I had an idea of what was coming, some sort of boring lecture with me having to say a lot of uh-huhs in between.  I’ve gotten my fair share of lectures from you, and from others, so I kinda get a sense of when they’re coming.

It was a lecture all right.  I know you meant well, and I’m not here to put you down or anything like that.  Mothers do the best they can – well hopefully.  The good ones do anyways, and you’re a good one.   But here’s what you told me.  You and Dad told me to cage my free spirit.  You didn’t say those words exactly, but what you meant was to put my free spirit inside a box, and put him up in the attic with all the other dusty toys.  I was to be a man now.  Stop playing games and get some direction in life.   Some goals, a job, a career, maybe a wife, some kids, and all that other sorta stuff.

Well, I didn’t want to be a man.  From all I saw at the time, being a man meant cheating husbands, divorced dads, drunks, liars, punchers, spitters, and those that like to give lectures about how I’m to play life by the rules, and become a man.

I was 21.  I knew more about being a man than the asshole telling me I had better be a man, after I knew flat out that he had just beat his wife senseless a few nights ago.  My friend told me.  He was in tears.  And now that man had the gull to tell me I had better become a man.  Well, I had the gull to shut my mouth and say “uh-huh.”  I knew more about being a man than him, and sometimes as a man you gotta know when to shut your mouth and say uh-huh, because it’s not worth the fight at the time.  There are other ways to go about winning a fight without shouting, and cursing, and more fighting.  So I left it at that:  Uh-huh.

I guess this is my usual, long-winded, rambling just to tell you this, and then to follow it up with a little more rambling to wrap things up.  I never put that free spirit in a cage.  I never boxed him up.  I kept him free, and I guess that’s why people like my stories about wieners and Franzia boxed wine, and all that other stuff.

They’re free spirits too.  They’re dimwits.  There’s a whole mess of us out there, and they enjoy someone who can spin a good tale, tell a whopper of a story filled with craziness and madness, but also full of love and hope.  Those are the two most important ingredients to a story, because without love and hope, you might as well just read from the dictionary.  The thing with telling a good story is you gotta have a free spirit to be able to tell it, so that’s why I kept him free.  That and it just never made all that much sense to me why anyone should keep anything in a cage.

Thanks for being a good mom.  I usually never tell you that, maybe even never.  Probably because I’m too busy telling tall tales instead, but I was just thinking it’s probably nice and important for a mother to hear that from her son.  It’s a lot of hard work raising kids.  Not a lot of credit, late nights, no sleep, and lousy sons who make you cry when they send you letters.

I know you’re crying right now.  Just like when I can sense a lecture, I can usually sense when someone’s gonna cry, too.  I can sense a lot of things.  Some say it’s a gift, but sometimes it’s a curse too.  It can take a lot out of you with all the sensing going on all the time, and no way to turn it off.  Rather than whine about a gift that others would kill to have, it feels nice to make good use of it finally.  Wieners!  HA.

So stay tuned.  Your son is going places that only a free spirit can lead a person, and he’s taking a TON of dimwits along with him!  It’s going to be a fun ride.  It will be interesting at the very least.

Love,

Your son.  The dimmest of all the dimwits.  The dunce.  The doofus.

Chris

PS.  Sorry to include this photo of you with a scrunchy face, that looks like you just caught a whiff of a dog turd, but you didn’t really think the Dimwit was gonna end without a good laugh, did you?  Toodles.