Confessions


My name is Fred and it’s time to atone for what I’ve done. In past lives I’ve been a stagecoach robber and a Stalinist gulag administrator. I’ve been a Mongol horseback archer in Genghis Khan’s cavalry who shot flaming arrows into the soft bellies of innocent young Turkish boys. Sent them into the afterlife with their intestines hanging out and their blood staining the clouds.

This time around I’m a white American male (which is actually perhaps my worst incarnation yet) who has fled to South Korea because a life of responsibility horrifies me. I’m a writer, but then again who isn’t. I might as well tell you I breathe oxygen. This time around I occasionally slam an irresponsible amount of vodka tonics and paw at loose women so I can have something to write about. More on that here.

But this time around I’ve smothered the demon and don’t kill anybody. This time it’s different. It’s about salvation and fulfillment and counterbalancing my chaotic karmic debt. So what can I do. Build wells in Africa maybe.

Or how about this. I’ll start a new blog; the Internet seems like it needs more of them. That should work. Finally, the denizens of the web will have content to enjoy on the toilet. Finally I’ll have done something for the good of mankind.

I can’t do it alone. I’m a hack and I need more depth on the roster. After a fast spell of recon I found a squad of clever scribes to join me. Then today I went to a random phrase generator online and conceited crusade was the first thing the program served up. The moment felt destined. That phrase was something the universe wanted me to have. Seemed an achingly perfect description for the writer’s journey.

So welcome. Stick around the Conceited Crusade for the newest pieces from myself and my fellow hacks. We’ll update as often as we can. Which will keep you on the toilet for longer. Wash your hands.

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