No one ever said creativity grows on trees. At least no one’s ever told me that. I’m pretty sure I’d remember due to that being the type of saying that could lead to someone getting punched in the throat. Having established the non-existence of a creativity tree, one is left wondering where do these creative juices actually come from and can I buy them in bulk from Costco? My stash went dry, and it feels like Omar Little went all stick-up kid on my re-up. It truly is as depressing as it sounds…

I think it’s best that we move on immediately. I’d also like to suggest completely forgetting anything I’ve ever written. Don’t give me that look, this hurts me more than it hurts you. Okay, maybe completely ignore was a bit strong. I’ll also accept mostly, pretty much, or kinda. Right about now you may be thinking something along the lines of, “But, Mike, how are we supposed to forget the gift of words you’ve so graciously bestowed upon us?” The task may seem ludicrous and daunting and intimidating and a bit impossible, but all of that is just a mirage. Don’t believe me, do you? It’s alright. I get it.

Of course, I am the guy who just re-read 10,000+ words of fiction that represented the groundwork for a novel that would have probably sold at least 100 copies to people I may or may not know. I’m the one who was so disgusted by what I read that 3,000 words in I became convinced that some sort of cosmic joke was to blame for the driveling nonsense splashed across my computer screen. At the 7,000 word mark I realized that if I survived the tortuous affair I would have no trouble making it through any future waterboarding sessions. I guess I should be happy that I no longer have to be afraid of Guantanamo Bay…At approximately the 10,348th word I ran out of reasons to continue the intellectual raping of my id and ego, so I did the most logical thing I could think of: permanently deleted that bitch from existence.

It’s like it never happened, and the world may be a better place because of that. What? No, I’m not crying. No I’m not…Seriously, I just got something in my eye. Shouldn’t you be doing some forgetting of your own? Don’t worry about me, I don’t wear shoes with laces in them so there’s nothing to worry about. I’m pretty sure I won’t hate myself much more tomorrow morning than I did this morning…

Hey, how ’bout we pep this bitch the fuck up? Get our cheer on as the cool kids say. I can’t think of anything less depressing or suicide inducing than taking a look back at the year that somehow led me to where I am now. Can you? I didn’t think so. The following are just some of the things I liked, loved, or loathed about 2011. (Side-note: There is no order to what you will read below, especially one of the chronological sort. In fact, I can’t (won’t) even commit to 2011 being the sole year represented in this end-of-year list. Let’s just assume that everything below is probably likelier to have come from the past than the future, and that the present is almost certainly in no way responsible.)

1Q84 by Haruki Murakami is one of the greatest books ever written. The translation from Japanese to English is absolutely flawless according to an unnamed (and imaginary) Japanese source. I’d like to tell you that I hate to call it the perfect novel, but I don’t. It is the perfect novel for crushing the dreams and aspirations of an unpublished author with an unreasonable amount of self-confidence. Thank you Aomame, Tengo, and Fuka-Eri. You can find me in the town of cats.

Odd Future is good. Tyler Comma (aka Tyler, the Creator) is pretty good. But Earl Sweatshirt will be great. The kid’s an absolute fucking monster, and I can only hope that he returns from Samoa with a hunger to demolish all the Drakes and Dom Kennedys of the world. Hip-hop needs you Earl, therefore I need you.

Sandman Slim is my fucking hero! Richard Kadrey is a fucking legend! (Side-note: Skip to the 3:32 mark of that video to hear Kadrey answer my question. MY QUESTION!!)

Lebron James will never be as great as MJ, and that’s more disappointing than anything.

Recently I’ve been accused of being biased against female rappers and white rappers. There’s an underlying truth in there somewhere. However, Azealia Banks is fucking fire. How could I not love filthy verses delivered by a 20-year-old betty from Harlem over British house music?

How is it that Bravo consistently has the worst thing on TV at any given time? If I were in charge of things they would be brought up on charges of treason for trying to kill America through television-terrorism. Seriously, kill yourself Bravo! (Side-note: It’s on right now and the old British lady who belongs to Jiggy just said “cock sock”.)

Kanye West is the most creative person to make music during my lifetime. It was through him that I realized music truly is an art form.

Obama should have saved Bin Laden for like October 2012. Double-tapping him three weeks before the election would have guaranteed a win. You already lived next door to him for months (re: at least a year), what’s another year and a half or so?

Being a Notre Dame fan is as miserable as it sounds. I’m literally convinced they are trying to break my heart. The only upside is that Michael Floyd will be a mid-first round draft pick, and the Falcons could have a chance at him.

Unemployment is a bitch. There is no sugarcoating it. I wish Grantland would hire me, it’s by far the best new website of the year.

You know the mysterious “bandwidth” that is 4G, 3G, Wi-Fi, and phone calls? Where exactly is all this data at? Are we completely engulfed in invisible data at all times? I think we are, and I’m pretty sure in 50 years we’ll realize that there were some unforeseen side-effects.

That’s all for now. Expect more of the same tomorrow. Or it could be completely different. Either way, come back and expect to have your mind blown. You should also be prepared for your expectations to not be met and to once again leave feeling disappointed and a little bit dead inside. Enjoy, and stay thirsty my friends.