Clown Porn

Writing on the log has been and continues to be an amazing experience for me. It helps me to process and express my thoughts and emotions and is instrumental in defusing the endless amount of bullshit that runs through my brain.

A brief history of Corky’s log:

When I first started in 2006 maybe 10 people read the thing but we had a lot of fun. I wrote almost every day and it was extremely cathartic and intoxicating. About six months into blogging I started connecting with other bloggers from all over the world and the log took off. 07 was a ratings beast and 08 was a fucking ratings orangutan.

In 2009 posting dropped off significantly due to family, work, television, Farmville, and chronic clown porn masturbation.

In the beginning of this year I would dump a post here and there, but wasn’t sure which direction I wanted to go with my writing and for a very brief moment I flirted with the idea of deleting Corky’s log and running away to join the circus. But in my frown of frowns I know that I could never be half the clown Emmett Kelly was.

So instead of joining the circus like I wanted to when I was a kid, I asked the Lord to let me be the vessel to deliver the world from the thoughtless, disturbing, ever-amassing cesspool self-will has turned everyday existence into .

“Oh Lord my God, I dwell in Kentucky for close to ten years patiently and humbly waiting for your divine guidance and instruction.” It was a really hot prayer and it’s even sexier when spoken in Hebrew, Latin and Klingon all at the same time.

And by golly, the Lord answered my prayer the very next morning and this time I didn’t have to dig it out of an episode of Star Trek or Happy Days. This time the Lord contacted me through facebook. “Ronald Wilson Reagan! Not you too, God…” 

Yes my friends, this time the Lord of Hosts bitch slapped me with his answer. Sitting in my inbox was a friend request from Patrick Peter P. Murphy, A classic catholic Mic genius with an inferiority/savior complex. Just what the Captain ordered.

I was living in Washington, DC and earning a modest living as a Tenleytown house painter. It was around 10:45 AM when Peter arrived at the job site. I was definitely talking shit as Peter sat back and diagnosed me, for about all of fifteen minutes. Then the dog circled me twice, sniffed my ass, and proceeded to pick an argument with me, and from 6:30 AM to 3:00 PM Monday through Friday this was the routine for the next three years or so. From 3:01 to the time we passed out you would find us drinking arm in arm at one of two local bars, hanging out with the local neighborhood lepers, or fishing in Georgetown pulling five pound channel cats out of the C&O Canal.

The customers that we painted for ate our shit up. The boorish rednecks that we painted with formed another crew so they could go back to listening to classic rock and resume reminiscing about the coke habits they had during the Disco Era.

The answer to my prayer was crystal clear. I had to show Peter that 10 years later Captain Corky was keeping the faith. So I revealed Corky’s log to 255 of my closest friends on facebook and I set my privacy setting so that all the friends of those 255 friends could view the log as well. As soon as I saw Peter’s Charlie Brownish face I knew I was going to ask him to join the cause but I had to circle around the Irish Setter for a few days, sniff his ass, and pick a fight or two. “Just like old times, Peter.”

But The Supreme Being isn't done with his Grand Design for Corky’s log just yet...

On the first Day Captain Corky created Corky’s log via facebook. And before Peter, Paul, Mary or Joseph Giudice became a fan, a woman who I only knew years earlier as a quiet little girl with a beaming smile became the very first facebook fan of Corky’s log and this touched Captain Corky’s heart.

Truth be told, I’ve been eyeballing this woman for a while now and after reading her updates on facebook I had to ask her to become a contributor. I don’t want to giveaway any of this broad’s story, but her strength, courage, and wit are going to blow your fucking mind.

Through our recent correspondences I've learned that she can recite MLB Box scores from two decades ago, “I also remember that Dwight Gooden's record in 1985 was 24-4 and Willie McGee batted .353."

But this here is the line that sealed the deal for me, "I'm so full of useless I squeak."


She's decided to adopt the moniker Lt. Ilia for the purpose of writing on this blog.

From Memory Alpha:

"Deltans were identified by their bald scalps. They had pain-relieving abilities that manifested during tactile contact. This ability did not, however, heal injuries. Deltans believed Humans to be a sexually immature species. Because of their high sexuality, Deltans had to swear an oath of celibacy upon entering service in Starfleet, as a promise not to take advantage of any fellow crewmember."

Any sexually superior bald Deltan woman willing to prance around the bridge of the Enterprise in a bathrobe three sizes too small with the ability to make my knees buckle just by looking at me is always appreciated and welcome here at the log.