blogged: A true story

My name is Stan. That is not my real name but I will use it because what I have to say may get me arrested. It is also the name of a friend's dad that i went to hi school with, besides, it's cool. Stan. Yeah, that's me. When I first started this blogging crap i was coming out the gate like a bat out of hell. Post every nite. Spell check. The whole thing. Then it came to me some 6 months later. Ain't a damn soul reading my posts. I had to ask myself, Stan, what the hell are you doing? Nite after nite sitting here trying to make sense out of something i quit trying to make sense out of a long time ago. Make sense? Hell No! se what i mean? 5 months ago i would have added that other e. Now? fuck it. I ain't pleasing nobody but me. fuck, fuck, fuck!!! the whole idea about blogging is it is a lot like logging. you work your ass off for nothing. So, I may as well hav3e fun doing it. where did that 3 come from? where was i? the reason was theraputic in nature. I help myself by telling others of my terrible trauma that has fucked up my head and made me want drugs. lots of drugs. no matter the drug. generic, name brand,i lik'em all. well these drugs caused what we call in the military, collateral damage. you figure it out. i don't care. the question i know must be on the lips of every man, woman, and child that is reading this here post must be, Do I have to pay for this?No. This one is on me. Later, theblogmeister