I don’t have a deadline, technically. Rather, I have a sinking, depressed feeling as the end of the month draws nearer and I realize The Last Gaffe will have gone nearly a month without my wit, charm and pictures of me eating things (next month I plan to write an article about eating an entire wedding cake by myself.) It is now nearly two weeks after the beginning of the month and Malcolm is threatening to kidnap and kill my Tamagotchi if I don’t deliver an article, the problem? My article failed.
I won't let the bad man take you, Tamagotchi.
The development of my article didn’t begin until the last week of January when I began to get that sinking, depressed feeling again. I desperately ransacked my old blogs to see if I had written anything funny in the past that I could use, but unfortunately Malcolm (A.K.A. Captain Hardass M.D.) didn’t think poetry dedicated to the cute girl who doesn’t even know I exist and long, depressing posts about how lonely Boulevard of Broken Dreams makes me feel were up to par for The Last Gaffe. “Good Lord!” I told him, “You let a woman and an Irishman write for you, don’t talk to me about standards!”