I want to blame someone besides myself and the lack of writing I engaged in since high school ended. But try as I might to find another reason, it's crystal clear that lack of practice has made my mind's fingers too arthritic to turn the water spigot on again. Heck, the dozen bowel-movement euphemisms I have to describe my blocked creativity simply refuse to form a kicky hilarious one-liner. All I've got is crap.
See? That totally wasn't worth it. Letting that out only paints my face all the more foolish.