KUCHED – the Blog – is hatched.
Born of A Simple Promise (Almost) Made Good:
- Create A Life Beyond Self.
- Live With Purpose.
My Discoveries Along The Journey.
The Experiences I’ve Curated (and Plagiarized).
A Circuitous Path To The Edge Of Redemption.
Epiphany-inspired Wisdom (Finding The Lost Sanctity of Uncommon Sense).
Satire Cultivated For The Soul (Savvy With Sarcasm).
Big Fat Lie True Story Has A Great Beginning.
KUCHED is it.
Michael A. Kuch
(By The Guy With The Biggish Melon In The Smug Selfie Below. Yeah, It’s The Same Guy Who Didn’t Shave Because It Was Saturday or Tuesday, And Although He Clearly Knew It Was Picture Day – He Scheduled It – Irreverence Was All He Could Muster For The Big Occasion. Makes You Want To
Kiss Wipe Peel Slap The Smirk Off His Smarmy Face, Doesn’t It?)
WHO AM I?
Depends, really, who you ask.
Don’t expect a straight answer.
If you ask anyone who claims to know me.
DISPUTABLE DNA TESTING ASIDE
Courtesy of the Wonderful Storytellers and Cracker Jack Purveyors Of Smarty Pants Genealogy at Ancestry.com:
“I’m < 1% North African.”
Plus 99% other awesome things I didn’t know.
How cool, right?
Certified 100% Pure Mongrel.
No pedigrees – or Royal Bloodlines – to romanticize over.
Its not like there’s an inheritance to scrap over.
I’M THE LAST GENUINE BASTARD
Sired by a once anonymous Italian
Lothario Cowardice Cad with a Svengali complex …
… and an incurable penchant for conveniently skipping 21 years of child support payments.
“Oh, no you didn’t say, ‘Fiduciary Amnesia’, Papa?”
… Along with my duplicity-enabling mother – stricken by a rare strain of Stockholm Syndrome inflicted upon marginalized women empathizing with their misogynist captors – entrapped by an insatiable appetite for prophesizing grandiose misinterpretations of an altered reality and partial truth’s.
The imperfect union of co-conspirators created a hodgepodge mosaic of ethnicity so skewered with diversity and uncertainty to form dubious kinks in My Dysfunctional Family Tree.
I’M ONLY BEGINNING
To explore my curious genetic origins.
And, embrace my pseudo roots.
Remind me again, why I dropped $149 on a saliva test to learn,
“I’m a little bit of everything, but not much of anything.”
FUN FACT CONFESSION
I’ve been labelled a couple of things almost worth mentioning.
A few not.
Muddled in a myriad of polarizing opinions by those who matter – and a few pathological haters, who frankly, don’t – everything from:
The innocuous, “Never heard of the bum …”
To the predictably vague, non-defamatory, “Sorry, no comment …”
And, the acerbically ridiculous, comically slanderous, “The gutless swine still owes me money …”
Is my Pretty Little Alibi:
“AM I A RECOVERING NARCISSIST (*) ?”
There, I said it.
Under nominal self duress.
Like it mattered.
With an asterisk (in brackets), which gives me immunity from prosecution – and judgement – according to a little known clause in the Narcissus Convention of 1962.
And, some explaining to do.
THE 12,000-LB. PACHYDERM
With the swinging trunk and ivory tusks?
Oh, that guy, my friends, is Big Alfonso, an African elephant.
Wearing his dapper, charcoal gray birthday suit.
Leaving the room.
Jumbo’s work is done.
Nothing to see here, except:
KUCHED IS THE MANIFESTATION
Of My Self-Prescribed Therapy.
Wrapped in a fancy magazine-style format on-line.
“The World Wide Web, now.”
It helps if you say it with a Fargoan dialect.
ITS ALMOST LIKE, MY
Antithesis of Ego.
Penance of Choice.
Antidote for Narcissism (*).
SPOILER ALERT (IT MAY RUIN YOUR APPETITE)
The world doesn’t revolve around me (anymore).
It never did.
Sad little man, please don’t cry.
“The fetal position isn’t good for your posture, honey.”
I get it.
I’VE ALMOST GOT THIS
Down to a proper science.
If I’m going to breath air and drink fresh water, and plunder our planet of its limited, precious resources – being an insipid dink and cavalier opportunist along the way wasn’t helping Humankind – it’d be nice to give a little something back.
Put a few biscotti back in the jar.
Feed off the crumbs – or not at all – for a change.
It’s a humble start.
Learning to serve.
IT’S GOT ME
Helping others …
More than myself.
There’s a high ceiling here with plenty of untapped potential and room for improvement.
Going to the back of the Conga line.
Not being a self-indulgent, insensitive asshole.
I Love (in order of alphabetical randomness):
Books and Films.
Beach and Poolside.
Cats and Dogs.
Chocolate and Vanilla.
Company and Solitude.
Salty and Sweet.
Anything with wheels.
I’m all about diversity, choices … and chilling.
I USE ‘SIMPLE MATH’ TO EXPLAIN COMPLICATED THINGS
I’m Incapable of Understanding.
A Typical Dumb Example:
I’ll occasionally profess to being a 5-Day Vegan(ish) + Strict Weekend Omnivore = 7-Day Reducetarian.
It’s a thing.
Okay – Flexitarian – if we’re splitting microfibres.
It’s not a cult.
But, you knew that.
THE BEST PART ABOUT BEING A SIMPLETON?
I’m witty. When I’m not re-telling unoriginal, unfunny jokes.
I’m a morning guy. Until noon.
I type right-handed. And, use my left for punctuation, which I can’t explain.
I dance alone. Not well.
I argue with myself. Just to prove a point.
WHY I REMEMBER TO GET UP
The next 12,775 days.
Sleeping is over-rated.
Compared to a great life waking up early.
So I can make the bed.
BREAKFAST IS A SANCTIMONIOUS RITUAL
Eating oatmeal is transcendent.
When you add fresh berries, walnuts, chia seeds and hemp hearts.
Drizzled in Flax Oil.
And, give a big:
“Hey, Man, Thanks.”
HOW’D I GET HERE (FROM THERE)?
I’ve been scribbling insensible jargon in various forums of obscurity since …
… well, I learned all
21, 23 20-something letters (anyway, its only a rough estimate) of the Roman Alphabet, and could hold a half-chewed Crayon – Orange-Red #FF5349 is my favorite – between my toes.
Bastardizing the tenets of proper grammar along the way was never an insurmountable obstacle that neither ignorance nor arrogance couldn’t overcome.
See what I mean?
I’M A SURVIVOR OF INEPTITUDE
Despite enormous odds of surviving all false allegations of talent and unrequited promise of greater things to come.
With dubious evidence mounting to the contrary, I remain a half-Century Work-in-Progress.
I am unfinishable.
Like a Lola.
If commitment to an uncertain fate – mixed with displaced indifference and derisive ambivalence has redeeming merit – I’d be wealthy in unnecessary accolades.
MY BIO (HAZARD)
Draft Edited For Believability Version:
Educated (to the point of passable literacy).
Entrepreneur (success deferred to future reincarnated state).
LIFE CRACKED ME
Smack in the cojones, once, twice …
Mea Culpa, baby.
Epiphany. Stumble, fall, fail.
Epiphany Sequel. Stumble, fall.
Epiphany Trilogy. Stumbling, stumbling …
The Big Reboot morphed into The Big Redux.
AFTER A LIFETIME BATTLING:
Delusions of Adequacy
The Great Denial
Apocalyptic Failure-Loss-Hurt-Sorrow-Remorse-Repent-Forgiveness Repeat Cycle
Sycophantic A$$holes …
I said, “Phuket.”
Now, there’s a place in Thailand I’ve never been and would like to visit.
I promise to stop using nonsensical puns (and asterisks in brackets).
Enough of me.