2015 was the last good year.

But wow were my concerns trivial, no wonder no agent would take this book. So I’m playing film studio because my wife works long shifts and I can only watch so much TV. Having a bit of a dumb existential crisis over, “Why am I bothering to do all this when it’s not important, practical and who cares?” Perennial artist question, esp. as my lie is empty other then my wife and cats. Here’s the next three chapters:

Before Trump drove America to ruin, I used to be able to write books about taking nice little California train trips , trying to decide about marrying and even still care about becoming famous (HAHAHAHAHAHA right?) Yeah, I have real problems now.

But for what it’s worth, if this story is amusing you? Thanks so much for watching.