It’s Monday scumbags.  Halloween is over.  You’ve got a belly full of bad decisions and a little vampire makeup behind your ear.  But since it’s a brand new month, I think I’ll switch it up and have a little heart to heart with you savages.

It’s about seventy degrees in this part of the world – seventy-three – I don’t know, I’m not a weatherman.  It smells like a different season today.  If you still have a pumpkin, today is the day you sacrifice that motherfucker.  Throw it off the roof, find that left over Fourth of July stash, run it over with your Prius, wear it like a helmet and joust someone, do whatever you’ve got to do.  All I’m saying is – today is the day. 

Last year, at this time, I was pretending to be Spanish avoiding eye-contact and what not.  This year, well, I’m still avoiding eye-contact, but I’m here, and I’m not taking any shit.  If you’ve been paying any attention, you know I published my book a few months back.  I hired one of those homeless-esq guys to stand outside of my house and twirl a sign.  It wasn’t very effective.  But to small group of people who did buy it from grant-woods.com or through me in person, I’m truly grateful.

I still have a box of books in the corner of my room.  Sometimes I dress it up with dirty laundry so it doesn’t haunt me at night.  There were no expectations for selling this thing.  Worst case scenario was selling exactly zero books.  In that case, I would have had a bonfire and did some ritualistic dancing.  There are still enough books left to get a little séance going, but I’ll probably do a little more promotion before that happens.

By the way, promoting my own shit feels gross.  I know it’s a part of the game, but fuck.  It’s like putting your erection into a cold mound of dog-diarrhea.  Yeah, exactly like that.  Then, like four of wonderful-assholes asked for me to sign your copy.  That feels equally douchey.  I’ve got handwriting like an epileptic toddler right at naptime.  And it just makes me uncomfortable.  So to balance it out, I had to write terrible little messages to go along with it.  And I’m not sorry for drawing dicks in your books.

In other news, it’s Monday.  You don’t have leprosy.  Donald Trump isn’t your president, yet.  You’ve got another shot at whatever it is you want to do.  It’s your choice to be a bitch about it, sit in the mud and pout, or move those goddam feet.  Write your goals out, pet your cat, let that dog shit in the neighbor’s yard.  Take a chance this month.  If you don’t do it, who will?

I recently got one of those things you guys are always talking about…jobs.  They’re super overrated.  But it has definitely made me more appreciative of my time.  I made an oath with myself and the universe that I won’t let it turn me into a zombie.  If it does, I expect one of you to do some Walking Dead shotgun work on me.

I’ve got some newness coming for you guys in the near future.  Because, why the fuck not?  I’ve decided to make it happen, put in the work, let the chips fall where they may.

A little different this Monday.  A little heart felt message from one degenerate to another(s?).  I appreciate the fuck out of anyone who’s reading this and still has their fire, still kicking, one shoe on, it doesn’t matter.  Don’t let these motherfuckers stop you.

Bang Bang.

-G. Woods