I have it. Something I've been hoping to avoid, but my defenses are down, and damned if it didn't sneak right in and knock me flat on my ass. No, it's not the Swine Flu. It's something worse.

The Block.

The Damned Block. I haven't posted anything for a few days, but certainly not because I haven't wanted to. I've started several pieces, and stopped midway through and deleted them because they simply weren't working, weren't speaking to me. Seems even I'm bored with me. Don't get me wrong - they all started off well enough, but within a couple of paragraphs, I could tell they just weren't going anywhere. I've started a couple, only to realize, "Oh, I've already written about that." Seriously, you can only take so many stories about Chainsaw-Wielding Maniacs and sweater-wearing pimps.

I started one about my friend Jodi. We went to college together, and some 20 years later she's just as hilarious, obnoxious and opinionated as always. She has one of the most contagious laughs of anyone I've ever met, and will always gag on a banana because of "texture issues". She's semi-addicted to tanning, and admits to having feet like Fred Flinstone (I shit you not, they look exactly Fred's. Odd. Eerie.). She also has this uncontrolable habit of farting in bookstores. I'm not talking about a little squeeker. I'm talking loud, clear-the-room, run-for-the-door, letters-melting-off-the-page farts. When asked about it, she simply says there's something about the smell of a new book that makes her fart. I'm just waiting for the day she tells me she shit herself at the local Barnes & Nobles.

I toyed with a post about names, stemming from the birth of Pokey, aka Squirrel Jr. Some names have pretty much been ruined: Adolf, Atilla, Darth. I knew a couple of guys named Bart during the heyday of The Simpsons. They pretty much hated life for awhile. I guess my dad wanted to name me after him, but my mom vetoed it. That was quite possibly the best thing she ever did for me. I'd hate to have to go through life as a Norman. Pops Wonderhorse is definitely a Norm, and as such, has plenty of Norm qualities. Me - not so much. Norman is a fine name, yet it tends to conjure up images of cross-dressing, mother-worshiping serial killers. I have enough problem making new friends, I don't need that hanging around my neck as well.

I was going to write about how I penned a one-man show and actually have a theatre that has expressed some interest in producing it, even though I kind of can't stand one-man shows. I think, in general, they're pretty egotistical in a "Hey, look at me and how great I think I am" kind of way, yet, I wrote one that I fear is exactly what I hate. 

Even my beloved Bea Arthur has been letting me down.  Trust me, it's a sad day when I can't even count on a good Bea Arthur sex romp to liven things up.

So, I got nothing. The well is temporarily dry, and no signs of rain on the horizon. I'm not worried though. As they say, it's a spell, and spells eventually wear off. I'm sure there is a douchebag out there ready to do something stupid and make my day (Like Maine, for example. Yes Maine, I'm talking to you. You're a douchebag.). To paraphrase Tom Joad, Wherever there's a douchebag doing douchebaggy things, I'll be there. Wherever there is a starlett getting out of a car without wearing underpants, I'll be there. Wherever there is a Glenn Beck spouting nonsense like a mental patient, well....

I'll be there too.