Anecdotal Excuses

Oddly enough, I have nothing for you this week. However, I have produced some explanations regarding the absence of content for the week. Excuses are like assholes: everyone's got them, and they stink.

Here now, for your viewing pleasure, please consider the following assholes excuses...

[Excuse Number One: The Ghostwriter's Dog]

Gupo, an Ecuadorian native with an affinity for wellingtons, ghostwrites for this blog.  He has a dark, smooth complexion, hazel eyes and jet black hair.  Contributors of ShavedGolf are paid handsomely - fifty cents American for every page (single-spaced, 10 pt font, Times New Roman).  Gupo excels.  He has a strong command of the English language and a vibrant future in writing.

Gupo has a dog.  We chose him together at the local animal shelter.  Black and tan fur and a mutt in every sense.  After a very logical argument, Gupo and I settled on a name for the mutt - Syllogism.

Ill tempered with a mean disposition towards Americans.  Once, on a brief visit, Syllogism laid a turd in one shoe and puked in the other - my Doc Martins have never smelled the same.  Perhaps it is Syllogism's bigotry that led him to devour some of Gupo's manuscript for ShavedGolf StoryTime.

Unfortunately, for this reason, I have nothing for you this week.

[Excuse Number Two: The SWG Strikes Back]

The definition of "screen" has become very loose over the years - the word now covers all luminescent projections of entertainment.  Sadly, this blog is a victim.  The Screen Writers Guild demanded that I cease and desist my blogging or face dire consequences - solitary confinement with piped in reruns of Mad About You.

My days are now spent picketing local movie houses, and not only am I on strike from writing but from food as well.  A hunger strike until the SWG gets what it deserves: better pay, more control over content, and a submarine fortress...Aquaman style.

Unfortunately, for this reason, I have nothing for you this week.

[Excuse Number Three: Smart Phone Carpal Tunnel]

Carpal tunnel from furious games of Words with Friends has resulted in a smart phone ban by my primary care physician and seven specialists.  My weekly wordsmithing allotment was totally consumed by the game and my friendships began to suffer.  Sleepless nights were common and I began drinking heavily. Much of my days were spent perusing thesauruses and dictionaries for the perfect letter combination.

The stress of games with all consonances or all vowels finally caught up to me.  Police escorted me to a detox cell at the local precinct for allegedly rolling naked in a pile of books in a Barnes & Noble while simultaneously attempting to roll doobies out of the pages of Howard Zinn's A People's History of the United States.

In addition to the WwF breakdown, the smart phone's auto correct had become the bane of my four-letter word existence.  Expletives were constantly being altered: fuck, shit, piss would become duck, shot, loss.  Blog content severely suffered.

Unfortunately, for this reason, I have nothing for you this week.

xoxo,
ShavedGolf