Establishing Shot

    Hello there.

    Since you are here, you're probably wondering about me. Who is this guy? What makes him tick? How can I be more like him? What compelled him to compose this blog? Why do I have so many questions? Isn't it kind of rude of me to be so nosy?

    Dear reader, it’s quite alright, I assure you. I don’t mind the questions at all. I wouldn’t be here if I had any issue with talking about myself. Let’s get started.

    My name is Jamie S. Luxton III and I am just your regular, average, everyday kind of guy. I work in sales. A diabetic cat is the only thing I have left to remember my Grandma by. I have all the same troubles on the dating scene as you. My feet hurt frequently, and I don't really know why, but no, I am not going to the doctor. Yesterday on the bus, a fat slob reeking of farts says to me “Have you ever had a shit that looks like a brain, but floats?”

    Alright, I guess it's confession time. None of that ever happened. Some times I make things up, and I do it exclusively for your own benefit. Because if you don’t want me to embellish my anecdotes with just the merest hint of fantasy, my stories are going to get really monotonous, really fast.

    If you want me to tell my stories... Stories that are the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, then you better be prepared to hear a whole heck of a lot about how I am a world famous palaeontologist who just happens to routinely have sex with the most desirable women in the world.

    For example, I was recently in a remote part of Africa, as part of an effort to thwart a plot by the Hutari tribe to steal the world's only complete Tyrannosaurus Rex skeleton. The Hutari tribe is a notorious band of Somali pirates who steal such things in order to sell them on the black market, where they go for big money. Unfortunately, this usually means they disappear into private collections where their scientific value goes undiscovered, possibly forever.

    As if that wasn’t bad enough, the buyer of this particular skeleton was none other than Darby Lockshire, wealthy raconteur and end times enthusiast. He had discovered that placing a perfectly preserved Tyrannosaurus skull upon the shrine in the hidden temple would reignite the local dormant volcano. Its' lava would immolate the villages in the valley, clearing the way for new real estate development. Even the dinosaur guardians of the shrine, who had dwelt within the temple for eons, could not stand alone against Lockshire’s robot army. Only by the timely arrival of my old friend, Captain Rides, and a noble sacrifice by his able manservant, Natooklockclock Levesque, were we able to stop Lockshire's mad plan with seconds to spare.

    Days later, awaiting the plane that would transport the fossil to the museum, I was inspecting the ancient bones and making all sorts of important scientific discoveries, when who should have come along but none other than Angelina Jolie herself. We start talking and, completely out of the blue, she says in an exasperated tone “Brad just doesn’t know how to satisfy me.”

    “Well, in case you hadn’t noticed, I’m not Brad.” I said.

    “Oh, really?” she said, playfully feigning surprise. “I suppose that means you know what to do with these.” she said, suddenly very serious, as she slowly unbuttoned her blouse.

    Sadly, I really wasn’t in the mood that afternoon. You see, Megan Fox had left just a few hours earlier and she, unlike some Hollywood husbands, is quite skilled in providing satisfaction. In my mind, I spontaneously imagined Brad Pitt ineptly fumbling around between my legs until he starts crying and admits he doesn’t know what to do. It was pathetic. I laughed.

     Back in reality, I still hadn’t decided whether to allow Angelina Jolie to seduce me or not. I knew that if I passed up this opportunity, I would regret it for… not that long, probably. It would be only a matter of time before Angie came sniffing around again. But, what if she died or something? Better safe than sorry. I gave in to her demands.

    You’re probably wondering if I was able to satisfy her. It wouldn’t be gentlemanly to tell. What I will tell you is that when I got home a week ago, there were twenty six messages left on my answering machine. When I finally got around to checking them this morning, guess who they were from?

    A collection agency. Not really what I was expecting. I guess truth really is stranger than fiction.