In a writing rut

I’m in a writing rut. I mean look at that? I just opened this blog by repeating the title. Out of literally every single group of words available, which is probably some really huge number, like infinity or a thousand or something, the best thing I could come up with to open with was just repetition, and there is nothing good about repetition, there is nothing good about repetition at all.

I don’t know what to write anymore. I used to just write without a care in the world, but I have lost my mojo. I have lost my faith. I second-guess myself a lot. I have become a negative nilly, a doubting fucking hater, a shit little fuck shit really, I even second-guess myself sometimes.  

I just wanna be silly please. Use some positivity. Find some joy in something random. I know I will randomly try and think of a word.

Ok, so the word I randomly thought of is this word – kingly.

Isn’t that an awesome word? I could have all sorts of fun with a word like that.

I mean it’s got ‘king’ in it, which could almost be called royal, and I bet there has got to be some decent stories about royals written by other people out there somewhere? I mean nothing famous or anything, but that doesn’t mean its not great writing.  

Oh and it’s also got ‘ly’ in it, which isn’t even a word on its own. How fun is that? It’s like a make-me-up, and make-me-ups are fun!

Like this one time I made up a sloth who could eat panda bears! Like, I mean, this wasn’t a real sloth that ate panda bears, it was completely made up by my brain, just like that word ‘ly’ was made up by someone? That’s fun right? So why can’t I think of anything to write about?

Like think about this – I once wrote about a salamander, and I don’t even know what a salamander is. I mean is that one of those things, like an axolotl? Those half fish, half land animal, almost like a lizard, sort of close to what the animals were like that first crawled out of the seas heading the world in the directions of mammals and intelligent life, so kind of like a history of the world and evolution, with a mix of the possibly majesty of a higher power? Or is it just some stupid fish? I don’t know, so how the hell did I find something interesting to write about it? I didn’t, I just made up that wrote about a salamander before. So yeah, I can make stuff up; I should be able to write something made up using the word kingly then, right?

I even just had this idea – imagine if some guy had a mission to fly all the way to the sun but then rejected the offer of taking on this mission because it was stupid. I mean in stories people are always taking on missions, how come we never hear people say ‘that’s stupid’ and then like watch TV or something. That’s unique, and uniqueness is exciting. Like say a King, he’s unique because there is only one of him, so pretty much any king story would be exciting. Maybe like a king could be offered a mission to fly all the way to the sun but then rejects the offer because its stupid, but then that’s not a unique story because it’s the exact same one as I used for some guy earlier.

Man this sucks. I’ve got nothing. I can’t think of a single thing. This sucks. I don’t know, how can I end this. Maybe I can just repeat something, like a pattern type dealy – I’ll just pick any sentence from near the beginning at random and copy and post it and it’ll seem like a call back, and boom, this blog will have some merit.

There is nothing good about repetition at all.

Yep, nailed it.

Here comes the story of the Biting Man

The Biting Man

Teeth dig into shoulder on a Brazilian afternoon
Screams are let out by two with wounds
One is clutching his shoulder one his teeth
The Italian cries out 'you bit me' good grief
Here comes the story of the biting man
With an overbite and taste for human arm
His biting has definitely done some harm
Now a borderline cannibal but one time he could-a been
The champion of the world.

First time he was playing in Holland you see
Another player was marking him brilliantly
Suarez says "I wanna score a goal you're making it tough"
The defender says 'that's my job, so tough luck"
So on the shoulder Suarez bit him hard
But his career wasn't fatally marred
Because then FIFA went all soft
'They basically let him off?'
And soon he was back on the field

Biting another human is a disgusting act
There's no player good enough to get away with that
But Suarez is one of the best players around
Scores goals so sublime he can excite any town
By now he's been bought by one of the worlds best teams
And Suarez thinks 'I can get away with anything it seems'
In football that just the way things go
Racial abuse and cheating just the way that he rolls
And somehow his value increased

This second time he was playing for Liverpool FC
A team with lots of honor and rich history
Suarez thought 'Fuck this teams reputation'
I'll chew on someone's arm they'll only give me probation
But he actually got suspended for ten games
Suarez turned around and said 'the media's to blame'
Liverpool supported him through it all
They liked the way he kicked them foot balls
And even for 40 million they wouldn't let him leave

When his suspension is over he makes a return
With a point to prove and a bad reputation to burn
He starts scoring goals at such a rapid rate
The media seem to forget about 'he-bit-me-gate'
Here's the story of the biting man
With a rat like face and taste for human flesh
That prick he'll never confess
Now a cannibal but one time he could-a been
The champion of the world.


Holy shit this song is a fucking long one
Oh wait, ha ha, I just thought of an awesome pun
I might have bitten off more here than I can chew
This song is harder than human skin to get through





On to Brazil and Suarez reputation is fine
The biggest clubs in the world are saying he's 'MINE'!
The form he is in Uruguay could win the world cup!
That's unless Suarez seriously fucks up
How can the biggest sport in the land
Let itself be tainted by such a man
The game doesn't deserve this hit
Plus what's the deal with his stupid hand tape shit?
What a stupid little prick

Suarez can score goals that will blow you away
But that's not his favorite part of soccer these days
It's just a chance to get close to other's limbs
So he can salivate up and bite down some skin
That's the story of the biting man
But it won't be over till he gets a life ban
And we take back all his accolades
He's a filthy cannibal but one time he could-a been
The champion of the world.

How to meet me for lunch

Two days ago I did 'how to pay men like that to talk' and it was a very popular episode. I got thousands of people telling me how much they liked it, and from what I understand dozens of men like that have now been paid to talk. It’s really been a society altering episode, maybe even earth changing, especially the parts of earth with societies.

However, it hasn’t all been good news. Yesterdays episode 'How to do impressions', while beloved by the masses, was, as I have been emailed about by many, many angry people, was not 'how to meet me for lunch' as promised. My email box sounds like a damn pinball machine with angry responses, 'where is 'how to meet me for lunch’ damn it?' people have been emailing me, ‘how the fuck am I supposed to know ‘how to meet me for lunch’ if you don’t fucking tell me?’ others have written, and ‘I’m going on a hunger strike until I am dead, that’s because you didn’t do ‘how to meet me for lunch’ you prick, till I’m DEAD I tells you’ has been another common response. And I know, I am sorry. Here it is, it’s one day late. That’s the joy of a daily show, it’s only ever one day late, if I miss something, not that you don’t have the right to be pissed off and threatening life threatening strike type dedications, those are very valid responses, I am not in anyway discounting your acceptable and understandable reactions, just that it’s daily, so, sorry, I won’t let you down again, ok? I promise.

I hope someone brought the butter

 I got a haircut yesterday - and yes, thank you, I wanted to look like a bearded lesbian, I am glad you noticed, approve and more than that applaud me for it. You are all very sweet and generous people, and I will most certainly take your compliments, love, and praise and pack them into the small hole I keep below my left pancreas, which is where I keep emotions that I haven’t had time to cram into my heart yet.

Of course there is a reason why I don’t foresee having time to shove them into my heart, because something happened during my haircut experience which is kind of a little concerning, and no it’s not my once again pathetic attempts to make small talk with someone cutting my hair, but thanks for noticing, I appreciate it, and enjoy your commendations.

Here is the thing, before the haircut the hairdresser washed my hair, because why else get a haircut other than for the opportunity for your one hair wash every year? And as the hairdresser was rubbing my head while washing my hair, she paused for a moment before anxiously saying:

 'Wow you really hold a lot of tension in your skull'.

So yes it is true, the tension in my brain is starting to infiltrate my skull and my head may pop at any moment. Now I am not writing this blog looking for sympathy nor compassion. All our heads will pop one day, it is an inevitable part of life. Some have their head pop way into old age, and some have it pop randomly still young and while their life is going great. It is something that we cannot change. Suddenly you hear a loud bang, and realize that no one near by was carrying a balloon, and see a body on the ground missing a popped head. That is something we all live with as humans.  

But what we don’t have to live with is having random brain parts from popped heads splashing on us ruining our shirts. If you see me coming, please, pull out your poncho and put it on immediately. You will not offend me in the slightest. I carry around a poncho everywhere too, and yet I, like I am sure all of you, have faced the horror of being on a train, or at a crowded party, where a head has popped and your poncho was kept dry and in your pocket, while one of your favorite shirts is ruined, and you’re all like ‘oh come on man, let a guy know if you think your head may be about to pop!’

As I look around the secret webcams I have pointed at most of you reading this, I am seeing a lot of nodding heads. And yet out in public saying things like this is for some reason taboo – ‘we don’t want to offend anyone who’s head is about to pop’ people whisper to each other. And yet every single one of us carries around a poncho at all times supposedly to protect our shirts from brains splashing from popped heads.

Well enough is enough. I am brave enough to say it – I am David Tieck, and according to my hairdresser, whom I see for all my medical needs, hold a lot of tension in my skull, and therefore my head may pop at any second.

Now it’s all of your turns, have you had a haircut lately?

Oh holy hell, as I am looking around the webcams I am not seeing a single hand up in the air. How the hell then do you even know if your head might be about to pop? This is so much worse than I expected! 

Forget waiting for someone to warn you that their head might be about to pop before putting on your poncho. Apparently most people haven’t had a check up as recently as me. Oh my god people. For all we know heads might start popping all over the goddamn place.

Screw it. I wanted to use my immanent head pop to encourage a generous warning period so we could get our ponchos on in time and save our shirts, but it’s useless, so let’s all just all wear our ponchos all the time. I ain’t spending one more night trying to wash splashed brains out of a button up.

So there you go, mines on. And yes, the garbage bag green does look nice with my bearded lesbian looking head. I will take your kindness, affection, and accolades and pack them right in there under that left pancreas right away.

Wait, one more thing, if your head is about to pop, does it matter what your hair looks like?

How to do impressions

Channel Trailer

It's the Daily How to, with David Tieck: Now Semi Daily. There is really no way this should take any time at all to make clear. It's a very simple concept, and it's a concept I execute with a level of excellence and professionalism that it seldom scene in this part of the woods, by which I mean the internet, which counts as woods, because all the storage space needed to file all the stuff people upload, and house all the staff to quickly pop it in the DVD player over at Google's head Microsoft warehouse took up a lot of space, so they cut down all the woods. By the way, remember how hoverboards from Back to the future 2 didn't work on water, well now because of global warming we're all about 6 months away from the whole earth being water, so hoverboards are going to be useless, unlike this show which is very useful, and easy to understand, and get across and easy to explain without a lot of unnecessary beating around the bush, wait another fucking tree metaphor? This is bullshit. I think you get the point, you've all seen the show hundreds of times, if not thousands, like you've probably seen the show at least once for every tree in the forest, which actually explains why I keep accidentally using those metaphors, so yeah, I'll run with that, I won't waste anytime at all, I'll just keep it simple, pointed, concise, and with the fat trimmed, with no needs to paint a picture, or over analyze, it's just very simple, and obvious  - this show is like lots of trees.





trees.

How to pay men like that to talk

Things you might not know about the neck

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I woke up with a fucked neck yesterday. Really fucked. As in I’m in owys and I don’t like being in owys, boo me. Also I went to the chiropractor today, well known as the most trustworthy and honest of all medical practitioners (in stark contrast to the filthy lying pediatricians – they say having kids is a good idea, yeah right!) and the chiropractor says I might not be a hundred percent right for six weeks. Good god, I’m walking around like a fucking rusty robot (which is also the name of an awesome sex move I invented, it’s basically a rusty trombone with flawless math skills).

In better news, while I was at the chiropractor I learned some surprising facts about the neck that most people probably don’t know. Such as:

-       Surprisingly, when you hurt it, it’s owy.

-       Really owy.

-        I’ve been forced to stand and sit with my head hung in shame because it’s the most comfortable position, but it turns out when you put your body in that position all day it can dampen your mood.

-       Being owy can also dampen your mood.

-       Being owy is nowhere near as highly respected as being owly.

-       Being owy is also far less advantageous than being owly in helping you get away with eating small mice in public.

-       Jellyfish don’t have necks and yet are probably the most gregarious thing in the ocean.

-       Neanderthal Man’s neck was often owy, hence why they never figured out complex solutions to problematical issues instigated from the lack of fully developed brain.

-       It’s the bottle, rather than the neck, which create the ‘excitement’ in a traffic bottleneck conundrum (the neck only creates stupid ‘delightment).

-       The word gregarious is fun to say.

-       No one who was born without a neck has ever won the X-factor, although three neckless people have won ‘cutest freak’ at the Bungarra NSW local fair (or as the locals call it ‘cutest local’). 

-       A jellyfish and a woman can create a baby with a neck, but a man and a jellyfish cannot, because clearly jellyfish are sexist.

-       Necks don’t like being whacked with oars, it hurts their feelings.

-       If you can remove a human’s neck with your bare hands without spilling a drop of blood you’re probably a neat freak.

Alright I gots to go, I’m owy. Have I mentioned yet that I’m owy? I hate being owy. Oh man, I wish I was owly :( 

How to read history

Ready to take requests?

All right, all right every body, I've reached the time of the night, and the section of the show, where I am ready to take requests.

Now I know what you’re thinking; you’re thinking that this means that I'm out of ideas, and that I don't have the ability to plan out a full well structured set, and that I'm some kind of fucking loser that needs his audience to plan his show for him, and that obviously I suffer from some sort of lack of confidence in my own artistic output to the point where I need to make up excuses to recite other peoples artistic output, but as requested from you, so it doesn't look like I have any doubts in my mind about what to do, but rather that I'm so happy about my direction in life that I'm happy to give the glory to others ok? I’m right aren’t I? 

Well fuck you, because I don’t want you to think that. Not for one second. I am not that narcissistic. I don’t need to be in complete control all the time. I don't always need to be both the performer and the writer. I am well capable of doing covers while still satisfying by own artistic desires. I mean for example I also like to show off my epic ability to memorize other people’s stuff. Memorization is a genuine skill. So don’t you dare accuse me of taking the easy road by doing something I didn’t write myself. I mean, I want to honor other peoples stuff, and I can’t honor it unless I also perform it brilliantly, which will require me to have memorized it well, there is a lot of skill in these talents, and that’s why this is still MY show, and why it’s still my name on the marquee, even though I am now planning on doing material I did not write, but it’s still mine, ok? So no accusations please? Ok. 

I mean this is live poetry people, and there is no fucking room for insecurity in this game, so why would you accuse me of being insecure about the fact I am going to turn to words written by another. Us poets are blessed with both confidence and respect for our fellow artists, well at least I am. I am very blessed in both those departments. The request part of my show has nothing to do with a lack of confidence or respect, and definitely is not a sign I possess any insecurity, because I don’t.

I mean check this out:

Surprised was the desperate man
Awed by the sweet opulence
Like a handful of virgin sand
He had no lack of self confidence

Yes motherfucker, I JUST improvised that poem now! Or did I? Maybe it's the most famous poem ever written about sand, yet you don't know, because you don't know anywhere near as much about poetry as me - that could be the Mona Lisa of poetry for all YOU know. But I know, cause I know this game.

Just for the record, that was me. I just improvised that; it wasn’t even like a poem I pre-wrote. But you probably, given that I am explaining to you how there is nothing wrong with doing a poem written by someone else, guessed that it was actually the Mona Lisa of sand referencing poetry, so as far as your knowledge of poetry goes I've proven I'm the Leonardo Di Vinci of poetry - so don't you dare judge me on taking requests rather than continuing on with my own pre-planned stuff. And don’t you accuse me of having doubts about my ability. Most poets, as you now know, aren't as iconically brilliant as me, and I'm trying to give a leg up to the strugglers for god sake by performing some of their poems, as requested by you.

I mean check this out:

I was in Iran that afternoon
I never even entered the saloon
But I was parched
Maybe my car was poorly parked

Well known genius who will be honored for ever? Or something I just improvised?

I'll give you a minute to think ...

Wrong!!!

It was BOTH!!!

So fuck you for suggesting I shouldn't take requests – I mean seriously fuck you. Plus, again, that was an improvised poem, right in the moment, so not even as good as I can be, if I have time to structure, and choose my words carefully. And it was still brilliant. So I've already PROVEN that I can improvise epically brilliant poems that will be remembered forever, so why would taking requests undermine that? My stuff is excellent. I am not trying to avoid it at all.

I mean, wait:

Empty like an empty vase devoid of flowers
Or like a powerless man who's devoid of powers
Or like, like an unshowerd man who hasn't had a shower
If I lived up high I’d hope it was in a tower

I mean that's utterly genius, and I literally just came up with it, like on the spot - so I don't need to take requests - I choose too. I think every line of that rhymed too. Did anyone remember exactly what I said? I should record this stuff as I say it into this microphone, you don’t want to forget genius stuff that you improvise in front of an audience. And yet, of course I already have plenty of stuff I’ve written to fill more than a whole show. I am not reaching for material at all.

So come on, yell out a request or two. Not that I need you too. I could fill the rest of this show with my own poems easily. EASILY.

You know what? I’m sensing a lack of enthusiasm from you people, for yelling out requests. You can't think of a poem as good as my poems to request can you? That's what's holding you back isn't it? You’re thinking ‘sure this guy is very secure in his own abilities, and yet also wants to honor other poets by showing off how well he can memorize and then perform their poems, and this in no way signifies that he has any lack of confidence in the poems he has written himself, which he is choosing not to recite, to instead take requests, but I just can’t think of any poems by anyone that are better than the ones he just improvises on the spot, let alone how good they may be if he took the time to sculpt them in poetic perfection?’

Wow. That’s what you are thinking isn’t it? Wait, you know it occurs to me that this means I'm officially your favorite poet! I mean if you can’t think of a poem you’d like me to perform that you consider better than those ones I just improvised, then clearly that means I am your favorite. And not just of this era, but of all time, because I just asked for requests, not even for contemporary requests, or within a familiar genre. Aww man, shucks, that's awesome - you guys rule,

Wait, people. Seriously that makes me happy. You know what? Instead of taking a request now, why don’t I improvise something for you, like special just for you guys:

You are all really awesome
Like a diseases free possum
You all love me so much
I want to drive a car with a clutch

Yes, I did! I just improvised that RIGHT now, for you! You’re so welcome, and you know what? I've learned something today; you people don’t want me to do a request section of my show. You just want me. And I’ll honor your wishes. I may never, even take requests again. Thank you all.

And that’s all the time I have left sadly. I hope you liked my show? You did didn’t you? Come again one day please. Not that I need you too, I’ll sell tickets regardless, I’m sure. So I assume you’ll all rush out to buy them to avoid missing out. Wow. A sell out. Thanks.  

Good night.

Follow the exit light.

Wait, I didn’t even mean to make that a poem. Wow. I AM good.

How to do a first episode of your new brilliant You Tube show

Here's a joke for you

Q- what do you call a shark that's gotten lost and then been saved by you, yet is now epically taking up your tub space AND table salt supplies, while also being a surprisingly good friend?

A- whatever it's name is!

Zing!

And now signs that the bottom of your cannon may need a scrub

I know what your thinking, 'I own an awesome cannon, but how do I know if the bottom may need a scrub?'

Fear not, my fellow canon owners, by which I assume I mean all of you - here are some very simple signs that have the ability to signify to you that it is time to get down and scrub that beautiful cannon bottom of yours:

- it's a really old cannon
- your cannon was a gift from an new foe who was a former friend until you discovered all his gifts had a part of them that needed scrubbing
- your cannon is currently half submerged in a mud-rat riddled swamp
- you're a not currently a clean freak
- you've never sworn your allegiance to the master of the under cleaners, by which in mean you tip your maids poorly
- you have a filthy mind, and your cannon is imaginary ha ha, like anyone has a dirty mind and yet doesn't have a real cannon
- you like to bounce dirty balls on the floor in your cannon room
- you're a believer of the phrase 'smile at a partridge, smell a brown sided tree, never meet a bald witch, and the bottom of your cannon probably needs a scrub' and you've been smiling and smelling when you should have been meeting
- the rest of your cannon needs a scrub - I mean who ONLY scrubs the bottom
- the bottom of your canon looks dirty

How did you all fair? Ya scrubbing or not? I'm not, my canon is spotless. I HAVE sworn an allegiance to the master of the under cleaners, that's right she's real! So you better start tipping your maids right you bastards!