It is frequently said that a writer’s job is to show, not tell. As such, if I were to tell you that Write in the Kisser‘s primary reason for existence is to make you laugh (with crying, vomiting, and questioning the very notion of a kind and just god a close second), I would not only be failing as a writer, but potentially undermining the very results I hoped to achieve. Instead, I should show you how funny I am by, you know, being funny and shit. Unfortunately, if you’ve spent any time at all perusing this site, your reactions to such attempts have likely involved mentally sinking to your knees and begging me — compassionately, sincerely, rhetorically — not to quit my day job.
And rest assured, your pleas are not falling on deaf ears — though you may be astonished to learn that the word “writer” does make an appearance in the formal title of said day job. Granted, the word “humor” does not precede it (yes yes, “Praise Allah” and all that), but still, I imagine such a confession can’t help your already sour opinion of corporate America.
So rather than dwell upon the intended humor value of my proffered verbal detritus, allow me to offer a small — though hopefully revealing — glimpse into the ultimate impetus behind my comedic promiscuity: At any given time, there are approximately 16 different topics of varying degrees of fatuousness floating around in my head, ranging from protracted poop jokes to poorly conceived audio parodies to edgy, high-minded political invective. I don’t actively pursue their genesis and I don’t condone their existence, but in the daily course of my fairly routine life, such ideas tend to propagate like rabbits in a Viagra warehouse. Whereas before I would simply ignore them or scribble them down on a piece of scrap paper for future reference (or, more likely, disposal), eventually it reached the point where sanity and an alarmingly Pisa-like tower of tiny ruled notebooks required me to begin exorcising them on a regular basis. And since nobody can pull off vanity like a man who fancies himself a riveting smither of words, this site was born.
Say what you will about my penchant for petty pith, puerile postulations, and prepubescent punch lines (not to mention my ardent attraction to alliteration), but remember this: it’s not my fault that the world is a giant ball of preposterousness wrapped in a juicy layer of crazy and sprinkled with a generous dose of insanity. I’m just a guy with an oddly wired frontal lobe, a ubiquitous internet connection, and way too much time on his hands.
In other words, you’re welcome.