Live From The Grotto


With Nothing To Lose, Suggested A While Back That I Start A Vlog – Let’s Give It A Moment – After I Launched This Unnecessary Mess Of A Blog.

He Also Thought I’d Be “Awesome-As-A-Lollipop” – My Exact Words – Expanding My Kuched Brand Into The Shallows Of Motivational Speaking.

He’s Listened To Me Speak In Public (And Watched In Horror) Many Times Since I Was A Late Teen.  He May Be Confused, Or Flat Wrong.  Probably, Pranking Me.

“Because What The Planet Needs Is Another Smarmy, Smackable, Resting Prick-Faced, Self-Inflated Blowhard Telling Them What They Already Know.” 



Said It Laid The Guilt Best – Just Do It – A Trillion Times.

What More Can I Possibly Add To That Sugary Note Than A Snappy Prefix, Like: 

“Get The Fuck Off Your Fat Ass …” 

Which Is What The Swoosh Tribe In Beaverton Have Been Cha-Cha-Chinging About For Years.



Slackers.  Lovers Of Apathy.  Low Energy Individuals.

May Propagate The Daily Mantra:

“Sometimes Doing Nothing Is More Than Enough.”

Never Under Estimate The Importance Of Doing Nothing.  Like Sleeping.  Breathing.  Writing.  Yes, These Are Something’s, But Really Not Much Ado About Nothing, Too.  I’m Not Going To Argue About This.



Meh-Be A Podcast.

Kuched.  Live From The Grotto.  Nice?

Problem Is, Put A Camera In Front Of Me And Clip A Mic On My Ear Lobe

“… The Result Is Akin To Supplying An Arsonist With Kerosene, Matches And Dry Kindling.  With Worst Results.  I’m A Walking, Breathing Catastrophic Shitstorm.  Habitual Mis-Interpreter Of PC … Deflective, Contradiction, Uberized Hypocrite.  Hyperbolic, Pretty Train Wreck.  But, In A Good Way.  Like An Unavoidable Adorable Disturbance: Sure, You Can’t Wait For Me To Leave, But Miss Me The Moment I’m Gone.  You’ll See …”



I Think I’m Cool And Funny – Simultaneously, In Person Or On-Demand, Your ChoiceBut I Can’t Prove It.  Not Quite Yet.  Still, It’s A Theory.  And, For Now, Enough.

“Also, I’m Refreshingly Modest.  Nearly, Aw Shucks.  Humble Pie, Sunshine A La Mode.”

Peaches & Cream.  Strawberry Dream.  People Like Me, Is What I Think.  

Though It’s Hard To Distinguish My Version Of The Truth With The Universe’s Slant On It Through The Ego Swell Of My Bulbous Melon.  



Don’t Always Translate Well Beyond My Inner Dialog … 

My Only Filter Is The White Plastic Contraption I Change Regularly In My Brita Decanter.

All My Lies Are Underlined, Italicized, Bolded With A Black Sharpie On My Forehead.

“My Heart.  Tattooed On My Sleeve.  Rarely A Good Thing, Because It Hasn’t A Clue What It’s Saying Most Of The Time.  Trust Your Heart?  How’s That Actually Work?” 



A Tinny Voice Rant A Pretzel.  Stray Out Of His Lane.  Hopscotch In Disdain.  

It Might Be Worth A Laugh.

“See The Cookie Crumble.”

Kuched: Live From The Grotto.


Image by Nikolay Frolochkin from Pixabay

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