Archive for the 'General' Category

One Hundred Post Retrospective and Important Announcement

August 17, 2012

We all knew there would be a time that this would happen.

Well, I did.

I planned on sticking around for post number 100, and that posted at the beginning of this week. You know, the one about Gary Numan that you probably didn’t read.

It’s no problem. The posts don’t leave. They aren’t on a timer.

What’s up is up till the end of the Internet.

It’s amazing that I’ve kept this thing going for a year. Through public lawsuits and private break-ups, Five Hundred Words On… has been there.

Even when I grappled with personal problems, wrestling my own private writing demons, I managed two posts, exactly 1000 words, a week.

Even when I was in Orlando and Boston, I wrote for you people!

Actually, those were written ahead of time. I cheated a little.

But as all good things do, it feels like this has drawn to a close.

And I suppose that’s the true intent of this post, not just a simple summation of the past posts, but a final one. One with a bit of concrete in its feet.

Effective now, Five Hundred Words On is going on indefinite hiatus.

I truly feel like a parent telling his child of a divorce.

It’s not your fault, dear. It’s just how things work sometimes.

I set out with a small challenge at hand: you throw everything you have at me, and I spew out 500 words (no more, no less) about it.

And as the time has gone on, that’s what I have continued to do. But, after almost a year of it, a year of keeping in practice with these little word games I do so much enjoy, I feel the winds of change blowing harder than ever at my window.

And while no one in particular sent this challenge in, it was more a challenge to myself, to hang up my size 500 hat on a polished wooden coat rack and sit for a spell.

Take a bit of a breather.

Now, I’m not saying that I won’t be back. On the contrary, actually. I just need to put this on the back burner so I can free up a bit of stove top for something bigger, something better.

How can that be? Well, you’ll see.

There are plans in place already. SPOILERS: “WE” have been pooling some resources and have planted our asses firmly toward the drawing board.

So, this isn’t a tearful goodbye, although I have found a bit of moisture collecting in the corners of my eyes through this whole post.

No, reader. It is indeed an unfurled flag of accomplishment. I have not yet overstayed my time, and that’s good. I want to leave before I do.

But you’ll hear from me again.

I’d like to thank all of you for reading. I trust you enjoyed it as much as I did.

Truly ghjr



March 12, 2012

Everything I know about Malaysia, I learned from the movie “Zoolander.”

That being said, Malaysia’s evil prime minister is attempting to crack down on child labor laws. If he succeeds, the prices of materials and clothing will skyrocket, driving prices of designer clothing through the roof.

No one will be able to afford them! They will have to shop at Walmart and TJ Maxx, for the entire fashion industry will be ruined.

He must be stopped. We must kill the prime minister of Malaysia!

Obey my dog!

::snaps out of it::

Dammit. I hate when Frankie Goes to Hollywood comes on Pandora while I’m trying to write. Where was I?

Malaysia is a small island country in the South China Sea. It borders countries like Thailand and Indonesia.

It’s also one of the countries that I really want to visit. Why?

Is it the constantly references in Tom Waits songs that have attained some sort of subliminal success? Nope. That’s Indonesia.

Is it the sex trade, and the fact that 12-year-old prostitutes run rampant in the darkened streets? Nope. That Thailand.

Also, it’s really creepy.

Why do I want to go? Nose monkeys and corpse flowers.


Well,  “proboscis monkeys”.

“Proboscis” essentially means “nose,” so it’s easy to see how they got their names.

Now, these monkeys aren’t really different from other monkeys. They do normal monkey things: pick bugs off of each other, hang out in the treetops, eat bananas, clash cymbals together while wearing silly hats.

You know… monkey stuff.

However, it’s the big, silly nose that draws me in. They kind on look like tiny people. Tiny, ugly people.


So, they probably aren’t as creepy as the name “corpse flower” might lead you to believe, but there is a reason they got the name.

Rafflesia is a genus of parasitic flowers that inhabit, among other places, the Malay Peninsula. The flowers have no real stems or roots. Instead, they grow along parasitic vines.

The blooms can grow to over 3 and a half feet across and can weigh more than 20 pounds. And how did they get the name?

No, they don’t thrive on the corpses in the mortuary. And they don’t randomly burst out of people’s chests when they roam around the island.

So, what is it?

Well, it “looks” and smells like rotting meat.

Not that they look like dead bodies littering the countryside. The petals have a gross, reddish yellow dying flesh color about them. Also, the smell of rotting meat that comes about when they bloom is said to be overpowering.

I can only assume how many times the blooming, disgusting flowers have lent themselves to supposed murder investigations.

And I say “assume” because I don’t really know if it has happened, and I don’t really know what rotting meat smells like.

Damn this anosmia! I’ll never be able to smell the death flowers!




This is not included in the 500 word limit.

Thanks to Sam Jones for the challenge.

I nearly forgot to do this one. I’ve been so messed up on the days recently.

I blame Daylight Saving Time.


Truly ghjr.


November 28, 2011

In honor of today’s post, I have decided not to wear pants.

But… just while I write this.

Thought you’d like to know.

Honestly, I don’t think it will surprise anyone who knows me that I’m not a big fan of pants. Sure, I wear them when the weather turns sour or on the clock at the bookstore, but other than that, I avoid them at all costs.

Yes, I am one of those guys that takes his pants off all the time at parties and would rather just hang out in boxers than get all gussied up for a night on the town.


I just don’t like pants.

It’s that simple.

Pants are constricting. Yes, they are designed to cover all the juicy naughty bits that we have, which is good in most situations. I’m sure a table full of guys wouldn’t want to see most of a hot waitress’s ass sticking out the back of her shorts, would they?

Pardon? Hooters?

Oh, right… bad example.

Still, pants do hold some functionality (like covering your bits and keeping them warm), but I’m still not a fan.

I like the days off that allow me to drop trou, grab a RedPop (don’t get all excited, Juggalos) and watch trashy horror movies on my Netflix instant queue. I’ll be damned if I let pants interfere with those precious (and increasingly infrequent) days.

Frankly, we used to drop our parts a lot more than we do now.

I can remember being at summer camp and hanging of in our boxers all of the time.  We had a motto: No Pants, No Fear.

We even had no-pants jams. We’d find a nook of the campus, set up a drum set and start playing. I carried my guitar everywhere with me back in those days, so I was always ready for no-pants jam.

On one such occasion, we found a small stage and a few girls interested in hearing us play.

I’ll spare you the details of what they had that we were interested in. Suffice to say… it involves pants.

Regardless, we were playing, pantless of course. I was on a small chair on the stage, and the girls were in the audience. This meant that they were roughly eye level with my crotch.

I don’t cross my legs to play guitar, so things sometimes sneak out the side of the boxers. They warned me to close my legs more because… well, the eggs and sausage were starting to slide out of the frying pan.

Instead, I spread my legs farther.

To say they caught an eyeful would be an understatement. Everything flopped out the side of my boxers and was left dangling for the girls to see.

They were pretty young, but so was I.

You don’t need to call Chris Hansen.

I can’t help but thinking that that may have been the first time they had seen male genitals.

If so, you are welcome, and you know who you are.



This is not included in the 500 word limit.

Thanks to Sam Jones for providing me with an outlet to tell a slightly embarrassing story from my past.

I remember the looks in those girls’ eyes.

I can’t help but think that that experience led to a couple more that I had had with them, but alas… that is a very different 500 words.

Also, I had to cut out a vagina joke, mainly for shape issues. It was pretty unimportant to the final piece, so it was the first thing to go.

Truly ghjr