100th Post. Hot Damn, I’m Heroic.

For that small minority of readers who haven’t been counting, breathlessly, the Captain Picard post was my 100th all-time Old Road Apples post.  All-time meaning since this summer, when I started prepping for my vow to write a post a day for a year.  So: boo-yah.

I admit that I wasn’t prepared–like one of those people who refuses to rush out to the storm to load up on milk and toilet paper before a big snowstorm. I sort of knew this post was coming (Okay, I knew very much: WordPress tells you every time you publish an entry…”you’ve published XXX posts”) but it still snuck up on me. Sneaked up on me?  Snook?  Hiccup.

One hundred posts is a pretty cool milestone–even if a lot of those posts are lame. (can we still say “lame” or do we need to say things like “alternatively ambulated” or “Limping American”?)  So far, so good.  I’ve never come close to sustaining nearly-daily content for so many months.

Merry Yikes-Mass!

I’ve been wondering how to celebrate. The obvious answer was to write something that would give me a context for posting pictures of scantily clad young women–but that would just be coarse, and a google search for applicable content might actually misfire and terrify, if not scandalize, the innocent.  And besides, my family reads this blog.

So I need something better.  Six-Million Dollar Man-better.  Better, faster, stronger…arms and legs creak like they need oiled when I run fast better. Ever notice Steve Austin makes more noise then the Tin Man when he runs?  Maybe that’s what I’m looking for.  Noise.

I’ve been looking for an excuse to post this video of my favorite college-era band playing on The Tonight Show with Joan Rivers as host.  This is a mind-blower.  What do you think, Steve–the awkward, but well-meant, interview is a blast.

So, yeah.  That’s good enough.

By JunkChuck

Native, Militant Westsylvanian (the first last best place), laborer, gardener, and literary hobbyist (if by literary you mean "hack"). I've had a bunch of different blogs, probably four, due to a recurring compulsion to start over. This incarnation owes to a desire to dredge up the best entries of the worst little book of hand-scrawled poems I could ever dream of writing, salvageable excerpts from fiction both in progress and long-abandoned. and a smattering of whatever the hell seems to fit at any particular moment. At first blush, I was here just to focus on old, terrible verse, but I reserve the right to include...anything. Maybe everything, certainly my love of pulp novels, growing garlic, the Pittsburgh Steelers and howling at the moon--both figuratively and, on rare occasions, literally.

3 replies on “100th Post. Hot Damn, I’m Heroic.”

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