When I was eleven years old, I shot myself in the face.

This was with a gun. It happened when I was eleven and I may have said this already but that is not important, the when isn’t.  What happened after was. What happened after, what happened right after I shot myself in the face with a gun when I was eleven was that I decided that I would never, ever again not have a blog. 

I know.

This raises some questions, and by some I mean three.

One would be what is a blog. I don’t know. This? Something like this? Something like this. My friend Trevor has a blog. So does everybody else on the planet. One time I thought I was going to start a blog called Bag Of Cobras. That is a solid name,  for a blog, for a band, for a anything. Just for the record, the a in the last sentence is pronounced like ah and just for another record, I never did start Bag Of Cobras although I probably could have if I wanted to. 

The second question, the question that would be labeled with a #2 if I was or were the kind of guy who numbered things, is what kind of gun I shot myself in the face with when I was 11 and the honest answer is I don’t remember; I forget, I forgot, and I have forgotten. I had lunch with a girl today. We had wraps. On her bachelorette party she had a penis gun. The gun I shot myself with was a different gun. I am almost positive about this. 

There is a third question that I know I should be answering right now but I don’t know if I can right now. It has something to do with the book Red Hot Dogs, White Gravy. It has something to do with An Evening Of Romantic Love Making. I wrote one of those books and am writing the other one. The question that I can’t answer right now is why Chinese Kissing Machine. There is probably a good reason for this. There almost has to be.