I've got something to say

Let me start off by saying that I'm well aware that there are way too many blogs in the world. I also know that it's downright irritating that I'm adding to the pulsating mound of unwanted opinions and tiresome diatribes that (rightly) go largely unnoticed. Believe me, I'm as bothered by it as you are. In fact, what I’m writing right now makes me very angry. So, so angry.

Granted, there are the few voices that stand far above the rest and deserve to be heard. Out of the thousands and thousands and thousands of blogs, I would guess that there are probably about, at most, three that bear mention. At the moment I can't think of what any of those three might be. I’m sure they’re out there. I think I might have even read one of them at some point. Mostly, though, it's a big, leaking Tupperware bowl filled with smelly poo that's best left ignored to fester by the wayside. Nobody cares what anybody else thinks because we're all too busy making our own noise to hear anybody else make theirs.

With that being said, I present my blog, to be added to the many other blogs that nobody can really bother to find the time to be indifferent about.

I don’t expect anybody to read this (that means you, me), but I feel compelled to vomit the inanity that fills my head on a semi-regular basis. It’s gotta go somewhere, so it might as well show up here.

If someone does happen to read this, such as business associates or family members who may disprove of certain topics or crude words, I’ll apologize in advance. I’m sorry. I don’t want to offend you, but there’s no point in doing this if I can’t be openly blunt, annoying, stupid, ignorant, offensive, trivial and boorish. If I’m going to bother having a blog, I may as well go all in.

Be warned: I sometimes use foul language in my writing. I won’t admit to using such words in real life, but I will say that my inner monologue is composed of nothing but profane, four-letter slang. My thoughts are entirely blue, and they admittedly make absolutely no sense at all. How could they? You try forming so much as a single sentence using only a series of curse words, let alone live an entire lifetime filled with thoughts consisting of nothing other than expletives, and see what you come up with. Asshole.

I’d like to touch on a few topics to get things moving.

Let’s start with the name. The title of this blog is Bombaxing. It’s a word I made up after hours of pointless research in an attempt to come up with something memorable. Having failed that, I chose Bombaxing. It originated from the word “bombastic”, which commonly means “high-sounding language with little meaning, used to impress people..” Makes sense, doesn’t it?

Bombast, also known as “fustian” is also a term for a woven or twilled fabric that was worn by workers in the 19th century to display their allegiance to the British working class. Those working class types were “bombastic” in their puerile blather.

Bombaxing, in turn, is a word meant to connote the idea of contrived misanthropic speech,which is composed primarily of platitudes that go largely unnoticed and are immediately disregarded by anyone that happens upon them.

I know. I don’t care either.

The word can also be used as a verb. For example, you could say, "Bob, you're irritating the boils right off of my backside by endlessly bombaxing about the political leanings of red wattle pigs. You clearly don't know what you're talking about. If you continue, I'll tear off your arms and eventually learn to play the bag pipes for unrelated reasons."

The deeper, more meaningful purpose of this blog is to share my travels as I ebb ever closer toward my final years on this planet and die of old age, having lived a long, inspirational life that motivated so many others to moderate, comparable success and well-timed advantage.

I’m only 32, so you’re going to have to stick around for a while to get to the wisdom and death part. It’ll happen. Just be patient. I already have a very small assemblage of gray hairs on my head to prove it. Death and sound judgement (mostly death) are only many decades away. The End will either come from wise, old age or my propensity to forcibly inhale fist-sized gobstoppers into my throat, letting them melt by their own accord. Either way, I’ll probably impart or depart sooner or later.

Stay tuned.