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This is old, but I figured I would post it for your reading pleasure. Enjoy!

Join me in my ashtray appetite suppressant, in order to resuscitate my breathing pattern. The Marine Corps march that my heart has become so acquainted with keeps us both from speaking. Watch the trails of light pass by through our glazed eyes as we uncork our hearts and clog our throats from releasing anything worth making sense of. My heavy heart outweighs your brain in love, and life, and knowledge. So I burn my way through this choking cave just to catch my breath. To slow the pace to a two step waltz, and you refuse to partake in any of my merry ways. Black like my lungs is the color of this song that has painted me redundant. The few words spoken have pushed softly by your ears and sent chills down your spine. I sit listening to silence and the crackle of the fire at my fingertips. Your touch is enough to make me cough and stop focusing on my habits. I dispose of this disease in order to meet your need for my loving arms. This tandem act of partial steps continues all the way, running to that marching beat that haunts us once again; with swinging arms that pause alarms of your escape to someone. Stuck in a moment where you and this pain don’t exist. Trying to escape and waiting for you to graciously accept my invitation.

Dear Network Executives

This post is a part of Blog Battle '07 that I am competing in with Adam Hammer. We will periodically give each other subjects to write about. You can read all my posts here. Please read his blog as well. You can view it here.

Todays Subject: I want you to write a piece explaining why your favorite game show Double Dare should come back on the air, including a short biography on your hero, Marc Summers.

Warning: I really half-assed this one.

November 21, 2007

NBC Universal Inc.

30 Rockefeller Plaza

New York, NY 10112

Attention: Network Executives

Dear Mr. and/or Ms. Executive:

Hey there, Marc Summers here, writing in to say hello. I bet you are probably wondering what I've been up to. I turned my efforts more towards the producing side of the industry. I do a couple things with the food network. I'm sure you have seen my hit show "Dinner Impossible". Is Robert Irvine crazy or what? He can cook anything, anywhere. They don't really let me on the set anymore though. Not since the wheelbarrow incident. Robert was mashing potatoes for a hundred starving Amish kids in a wheelbarrow when I ran out of my seat to jump in the potatoes and find the hidden red flag. Man that was a bad day. The Food Network has been great though. They even let me host "Unwrapped" sometimes because allegedly no one watches it. Way to go Marc!

Anywho, I wanted to see how you were holding up with this WGA strike going on. I'm sure it is pretty rough on your right now trying to find new ways to entertain. I hear you have some cool new reality shows you are about to debut. I especially like the one with the girl and the guy stranded in the house with all the money that isn't really their money and they are really broke, but they can't leave for a year. That sounds awesome!

I thought maybe I could help with some new ideas. I have a game show idea that I think would blow the minds of your television audience. It's kind of like "Smarter Than a 5th Grader", but less rednecky. We take two teams of children and pit them against each other in an all out battle of brains and brawn. We ask the kids trivia questions that they can either choose to answer to or choose to pass to the other team. The trick is that the other team can pass it back to them, so everyone must be careful when choosing when to pass. If the team can not answer they question, they can opt to take part in a physical activity in order to obtain points, such as trying to catch pies in oversized pants. (I know, I nearly busted a gut when I thought of that one). We will go through a couple rounds of this and the team with the most points will be able to go through some sort of sloppy endurance test for the Grand Prize.

This can all be done for a low cost to the network as I have been working diligently at my house creating a set to use. All I have left to do is mop up the tears from the black and white tile floor and we are good to go.

I don't want you to take this as a pitch. Being the edgy network that you are, I would like to make it more of a dare. Nay, a double dare! I would like you to accept the physical challenge.

Thank you in advance for your cooperation.

Sincerely,

Marc Summers

Cc: ABC Studios

FOX Studios

CBS

Nickelodeon

Walt Disney Corporation

HGTV

A&E

Anyone who will listen.

My Run-In With a Cat

This post is a part of Blog Battle '07 that I am competing in with Adam Hammer. We will periodically give each other subjects to write about. You can read all my posts here. Please read his blog as well. You can view it here.

Todays Subject: I want you to write about the time you ran over a cat.

Driving without distraction is unfamiliar to me. I never pay attention to the road. The usual diversions consist of smoking, eating, text messaging, singing, and the occasional rubbing of my crotch to the thought of exchanging insurance information with a beautiful woman I have just collided with. Internal dialogue is usually enough to make me ignore my surroundings altogether.

My most recent bout with distraction occurred while driving to meet my mother and sister for dinner. I can’t pinpoint what caused my attention to stray, but I ran over a cat. I looked in my rearview mirror to see the cat pick itself back up and dart into a nearby park. I assume it went away to die. I hear that’s what cats do.

I felt bad. Don’t get me wrong, I hate cats unless they are used for punting, taxidermy, or attaching strings to their paws in order to create a homemade marionette. My guilt was fueled by the pain I more than likely caused the cat’s owner. I imagine the worry in an old lady’s voice as she asks her twelve other cats where there brother is. She will stay up late staring at a litter box labeled “Muffin” as tears dropping from her face causes her to slide off her plastic covered sofa and onto the floor. She will fall asleep there, in the spot where Muffin’s pungent odor lives on.

To top it all off, the cat was black. I had just (allegedly) killed someone’s bad luck. A superstitious man now has one less excuse. He can’t find a job and he can’t feed his family. He just lost his unemployment check on an exacta in the third race at Hollywood Park. Where’s the black cat that crossed his path; the reason that all this is happening? Lying by the side of the road tattooed with the tread marks of my Bridgestone.

So long, Muffin. My disservice to those you encountered on a daily basis is deeply regrettable. This is my tribute to you. It would be longer, but I don’t think it’s safe to continue writing this while driving.

You're up, Adam: Review the movie Snow Dogs. You aren't allowed to watch it.

The Missing Link

I haven’t been making enough time for the little things. The intricacies that build upon each other to form my joyous existence have been neglected. In a search to find what may be missing I have realized an important factor; I don’t take the time to be depressed anymore.

Things used to be so much different.

Gone are the good ol’ days of imagining how long it would take someone to discover my cold, lifeless body hanging from the exposed piping of my apartment. I miss those thoughts. They kept me balanced. I replaced them with material goods, such as a sixty inch plasma TV that distracts me from lying in bed and pondering such things.

I have fond memories of drinking Tecate and eating Cup of Noodles while filling out imaginary jobs I “applied” for on my unemployment forms. Now, my time is spent counting the dividends on my mutual funds and depositing a paycheck every two weeks. Dollars and cents will never fill the void of being drunk before lunch.

My love life isn’t what it used to be. I frequently find myself having sex with beautiful women who are way out of my league. It fails in comparison to the inability to reach completion while masturbating because “Careless Whisper” by Wham! plays on repeat in my head. Lately, when I pleasure myself, all I get is “Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go” and I find myself finishing with a smile.

I can’t take this anymore.

I need to bask in the world of depression that has been eluding me for so long. I want to contemplate my existence while washing the tears from my pillows. I need a rope, a bullet, or a razor blade. I yearn to wash down a bottle of something with a bottle of something. I need a girl who will leave me without giving me a reason. It has been far too long since my brain was numb and my heart felt empty. I never want to dance again.

Wait.

ESPN Classic is airing a re-run of American Gladiators. This depression thing is going to have to be put on hold.