Letters to the Lunatics (continued)

To whom it may concern...
            Welcome back, to yet antoher exciting installment of Paper arrows; bring yer' cricket bats, snack bags, and coloring books kiddies, 'cause you're in for an adventure today. First, a commendation to those resilient few who have braved this blog from beginning to end and lived to tell the tale, you're all beautiful people and you shall remain in my twisted, offbeat lil' heart forever and always. Second, a moment of silence for those who made a valient attempt to brave the fuckstorm of wonderful craziness, but alas, did not survive to grace this moment with the presence of their faceless, internet personalities (we place fresh pancakes on their graves every Thursday). I also believe it is custom to fire off shots from our rifles, so if you could find the time to get on the roof and squeeze off a coupla rounds, it would be much appreciated. And finally, to those who find my writing less than enjoyable and simply had to avert your eyes from the monitor... we really don't have much to say about you.

Now, enough with the ceremonials, let's talk lunacy. I know I haven't been very good about updating this blog as of late, but that can be attributed to a brief state of creative stasis from which I was unable to escape. Fortunately for you dear reader, your humble narrator was rescued from this cognative purgatory by a certain lovable loon whom you should thank, otherwise I would not be typing, and you would not be reading; I assume since you're actually taking the time to read my blog, you have nothing better to do at the moment. So what would you be doing right now without this person? Thant's right. Nuthin'. In other news, the weather is sunny with a pleasant breeze rolling in from the coast, Charlie Sheen is currently biwinning, and my emotions are battling my organs to the point where it feels like my insides have been turned to soup and a live bass is flopping around in the mix, but don't worry, it's a good feeling. What can this feeling possibly be? Well, as near as I can figure out, it's hope; these past coupla weeks have been just one epiphany after the next, and it seems like the lovable little bastards are just gonna keep at it. Recently, I have started many new projects, regained faith in the female gender, and saved the universe from yet another horde of massive space zombies hellbent on the destruction of mankind ( damn, I should really start charging for that kinda thing). Madmen and Lunatics of the world unite, because once you set aside all the assholes, liars, rape wagons, and disturbing 4chan images, this isn't such a bad place after all. So, everyone tells us that we can't do something 'cause it's weird or wrong... Fuck. That. Shit. So long as you're still willing to be a beautiful loon in a mindless society there's hope for the rest of us. Dance with yourself in public, shower with your clothes on, paint EVERYTHING, make a jackass of yourself in the rain, draw on the walls, blow up your kitchen, make waffles, wear your pajamas everywhere, make up your own holidays, climb a tree, make some noise... in other words, do the wonderful nothing that everyone else hates. I was planning to type a lot more, but I just now realized I'm not gonna. Sorry. I was expecting this post to be a lot more epic than it turned out to be... ah fuck it, I'm fine with it. Besides, I'll probably resume this thought process tomorrow. But as of now I'm done here, even if this post was incomplete and anticlimactic; so ladies and mentlegen, for now I bid you a goodnight and a merry Christmas. Feliz Navidad bitches.