Where Is Rants?

Pardon me while I type and eat some Burrito Lasagna, courtesy of my wife, the tiny lady who’s devoting her life to making me epic fat.  Because my portion control issue have absofuckinglutely nothing to bring to this discussion.  End paragraph.

I’ve been dark on the net for about a half of a year.  Calendar, not fiscal.  I know you all have wondered, “Where in the Sam H. Fuck, holy batshit hell is Brainrants?”  When you figure that out, please let me know, because the Google isn’t helping me much lately.

The update goes like this, sort of:  I’ve been hanging out with Waldo, Carmen Sandiego, and Nemo.  They tried to get me to rework my moniker into ‘Brainrantso’ but I told them that was gay and to fuck straight the fuck off.  Nuff said.

So here I am, deep – deep – in the world of being a civilian who wears a necktie, pinchy shoes, and a bowel-disrupting narrow-ass belt to work every day.  In my current toxic environment, I work with lots of good folks kept down by the Fucking Man all day for their nefarious purpii (plural of ‘purpose’).  Fuck them.

Anyway, and you know I always say, ‘anyway,’ I’ve been on a rollercoaster of paychecks-in-the-balance adventures as I acclimatize to my new surroundings.  Actually, everyone around me is getting up to speed, but that’s for another day.  Maybe six months from now.

In the meantime, I’ve been spending 13+ hours commuting between Monday and Friday (inclusive, you dick), and then killing myself in the yard.  This weekend activity has earned me two wasp attacks.  The first stingfest should probably have been an ER visit, because anaphylaxis just sucks ass.  Also, 240 pounds of Rants meat hitting a floor is dramatic.  The second one, my Wolverine immune system showed it’d adapted, so my eye (where the bastard stung) only swelled up to look like I’d lost to Mike Tyson in his prime.  Yay, that shit.

Moving on.  In lieu of entertaining you on some kind of quasi-daily basis, I’ve put a lot of energy into my fiction writing in the past six months.  In fact, this year I’ve tapped out (as opposed to rubbed out) over 300-thousand words, and surpassed the 1.5-million-word mark since 2012.  Call me Stephen.

I’ve submitted a short to a major SF mag, and I have a query in with an agent now.  If you don’t like Sci Fi, you can exhale dramatically now and go:

“AwwwwwwwwwwwfuckyouBrainRantsyoufuckingdickwadbeachballhead.”

Works for me, too.  Just try it.  BTW, I didn’t try to make that fit in the theme’s width space.

So that’s my update.  Here in my… uhm… (uses fingers) fifth (?) year of blogging, albeit sporadic.  At least you won’t be interrupted by a flight and shit to Afghanistan… right?

 

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