I enjoy reading. I enjoy reading a lot. I also enjoy writing. Hey ho (don’t sue me Lumineers), I’m going to redundantly repeat myself and say I enjoy writing a lot as well. Though I read a lot more than I write but I don’t need your judgment anyway random stranger who might have stumbled across this because it was on the back of the newspaper you used to shroud yourself with for warmth as you reluctantly slept on the ground in a snowstorm because the alcohol told you it was okay to do. What the hell? Who’s trying to distract me from the point I’m trying to make? Is it my George from the future? He’s not famous yet, he doesn’t have power yet! As anyone that knows me knows, I have aspirations to have 9 children. Eight of which are named Hank and the final child is named George. Hopefully my betrothed is okay with this arrangement because it’s going to be a lot of work on her part. At points in my life, I’ve spoken of bringing back plantation living for myself and enlisting my own children into a system of indentured servitude and that’s when I realize that Alabama mayhap controlled my mind for a hot minute. Rest assured that is not in the cards, yet it has always been in the cards to make George the runt of the litter. Regardless of his actual size. Regardless of any of his actual abilities. There is no precedent for this, I have no rhyme of reason, I just think it would be funny. Which is probably a horrible reason to raise a child poorly because the mistreatment would amuse you. Though I digress, me talking about my future with nine children, who regardless of their sex would be named Hank and the one George, is not why I wrote this. I wrote this to express my screw you sentiment towards another George. George Saunders. An author that I very much enjoy. An author that I very much enjoy so much that I just finished reading one of his books and I thought to myself “Why even try?” Because there are times when I read books and I think “I can do that,” which is most likely just extremely egotistical of myself and nowhere near the truth. There is no evidence that I could write 300 pages of consistent quality regarding anything, hell, there’s no evidence I could write five. Even the most talentless hacks have to have some talents because when posed against so much competition, you have to do something that sets you apart. Still, I could surpass them if I tried. Just don’t ask how, don’t ask when I will, and don’t expect me to write 300 pages of beautiful prose or even half-decent drivel. Just screw you George Saunders. Screw you for writing books and stories and essays that boggle my mind. It’s not just him, there have been other authors that just are incomprehensible how they have such a mastery of the English language and how they can pour it across a page but I only bring up ol’ Georgie because I just finished him. I just finished a book that included a story that tapped directly into how my mind works, that taps directly into how I think about my surroundings, and that was phrased better than I could ever muster up in my entire life. In just ten pages I went through the entire gamut of emotions and then was begging and hoping for a positive outcome at the end. Except for that it ended. So no, George, I don’t say screw you for only that, for leaving me at a loss. Screw you George for realizing that I can’t be the best. Though to be fair, I know in these blogs I’ve always said “I don’t aspire to be the best, I just like writing things and I just like having people that enjoy reading them.” Well screw you George for even making me second guess that! When all I want to say is “You like me? Well read some damn George Saunders then and stop caring about me, because shit man, he’s great.” What did you do again? You worked at like an oil plant until your mid thirties or something. You worked in hard sciences and rocks and oil and the most boring things I can imagine and then decided “Oh, I’ll just write something and be amazing at it.” Didn’t you just write because you needed some extra money to actually support your family? I don’t even understand it, you just decided one day, “I guess I can put the pen to the paper and maybe something can happen.” I had to travel the world and drink excessively in foreign countries to give myself countless mood swings about my greatnesses and failures before I could even muster the courage to write something online of which maybe 7 people read. So screw you George Saunders for constantly creating amazing creations and inspiring me to do better because of it. Screw you for making me post this random blog when I didn’t think I had anything to say. Screw you for making me want to write about how you suck and instead I included a random 300 words about my hypothetical future home life. Screw you for thinking that maybe I’m not better than everyone out there and I need to keep writing and keep improving and keep mastering the craft because if I don’t then I’ll never even compare to some heroes like you. And uh, if you ever want to hang out sometime, screw you for making me pay for all the drinks because I’m mid twenties college student and you’re a person that is a college professor or something and I shouldn’t be required to pay for your stupid Moscow Mules because you shouldn’t be drinking anyways because don’t you have a kid or two or something and would your wife really like you partying all night with a guy that just posted something about telling you to screw off and like I gotta spend money on like healthy green foods and I can’t just go out to the bar and eat chicken wings and drink pitchers of beer because look we’re almost to a period of sports dead air because all the cool sports are going to be done with and no, I do not want to watch baseball with you but like sure, I’d watch a single game except I’m going to hate it and yeah, I’ll throw in some money but seriously, you gotta fork over the bill because like screw you man. So it goes.