United Kingdom

I have six views from the United Kingdom. I want to thank you on behalf of the United States of America for visiting my page. On a less important note, is Lana Del Rey from the United Kingdom? She truly is terrible and a symbol of everything wrong with music today.

The United States would like to thank you, United Kingdom, for visiting McWatty9’s page. We are all thinking about you, and conversing about how great your kingdom is and your princesses are.

Mucho Gracias,

The United States of America


Just conquered my eight year old niece in a game of Chess. She was pretty good, but I used such mental ploys as laughing darkly and tapping my fingers to get her off her game. Several times, I pressured her to at pivotal points, bringing her to rush her moves and play right into my game.

As the game grew closer, the two of us stood up, moving the pieces more aggressive than any competitive nerd gaming you’ve ever seen. Rook to E 6. Queen to F7. Bishop to Z24.

And then, just as she was two moves away from me, I cornered her into check mate, shouted out, ‘Bingo!’ then ate as many oreos as I wanted to, right in her face. She was no match for the master of Chess, as fictional people like to call me. It was a great game, but in the end, I proved the victor, and she started crying.

Was it worth it? Ha. A-ha-ha. Victory is always worth it. Even if it means people start worrying about your mental maturity. Haters always hate, but winners always win. Which one are you??

Dear Self

Dear self,

Don’t waste people’s time by writing any stupid meaningless post. It’s bullshit, unacceptable, and disappointing to those hoping to find something interesting to read.

Keep up the important feeds,

Thomas M. Watt 

Driving Range

Just got back from the driving range. Here’s how it went –

Far on the horizon, loomed trees. Beyond the trees, was a big brick building. I whipped out the six iron. Smash after smash. A couple folks stood behind, gandering in awe at my magnificence. Ten more shots. Killing it. Pull out the three wood.

Wham, bam, thank you mamn. Fucking crushing it. A small crowd ensembles behind me, oohing and ahhing with each of my strokes. Grumpy old man stands behind me. Challenges me to a ‘drive off’.

“Let’s have at it then, old man,” I respond back, intensely.

He rips the driver from my bag, bends it with his wrinkly hand, then smirks as he approaches and prepares to launch. “Here’s how we did it in my day,” he says, in a voice similar to the Grandpa from Hey Arnold.

Whack. The ball dribbles out fifty yards.

I gulp, wipe sweat from my forehead. Old grandpa laughs obnoxiously, then hands me the driver. “Guess I’m not as good as I used to be,” he says.

“Shut it,” I said, shoving him to the ground.

I lined up my golf ball, then gulped again. “Okay McWatty nine, let’s do this thing.”

I take a deep breath, load up my swing, then…. BAM!

Ball goes screaming, out past the wilderness thousands of feet away, over the brick building, disappears off on the horizon. Plane falls from the sky, window shattered, crashes. Huge explosion.

Everyone around me cheers. I do a cool flip with my gold club, then give them a twirl and finish at a kneeling bow. Everyone congratulates me. Several folk ask me for autographs. I shyly respond yes, in a humble manner, but then request fifty bucks per autograph.

I leave the golf course with fifty million dollars cash. Yeah, I’d say it was a pretty damn good day…

To my followers

Dear followers,

There are two of you now. I’m quite certain, I saw it somewhere but do not know how to return to that screen. I wanted to say thankful for your support, be it out of pity or mis-clicking. Also, a note to my anonymous viewers, your two second musings are boosting my confidence in my ability to get people to stare at the words that I make. Thank you, every time one of you looks at my stuff, I feel a little bigger, a little wiser, and a little closer to getting more comments.

I have two comments now, both of which I cherish dearly. Who could forget the line drop from Aaron, which said I was ‘So dope’. And the unanswerable question recently posed to me, after my obvious frustration with the gravator – ‘After all, we do this for ourselves, don’t we?’ 

We do do this for ourselves. I do it for me. Only me. Because I am the best. The greatest. My loyal ‘Watties’ will always attest.

Thank you for your support, and may you always demonstrate your liking of me by your pressing the button called the ‘like button’. You Watties are the greatest, just like me, but not quite as great, but really close, but still behind.

Thank you.


Dear WordPress,

I know we just met. I really do. But it’s been three days now, and I’m beginning to feel like we’re on a different page. I have no friends, only one comment, and every time I try to search for friends, you bring me to some ‘Matt’ guy who likes to surf and already has about fifty friend request from me.

I’ve given you many posts, I have, I have, but haven’t received a shred of feedback. I’m essentially posting blogs for myself to read.

Went to ‘Public Works’ page earlier today. They seemed like a good friend to make. A good connection. But you wouldn’t let me post a comment. You hid the button from me, wordpress, why did you do that?

And then, when I sought out small profiles so that I could connect with human beings, you showed me to a page called ‘Gravatar’. First off, they look nothing like aliens, second off, gravator makes me feel pressured to dress up like an alien for my profile picture. I just want a normal picture, wordpress, just a ‘Picture of yourself’ would have been great.

Well, back to exiting my blog, and waiting for friends and followers… Though I know nobody is coming, and I have spent so much time already trying to get others to come. But you suck, WordPress, because you make it so hard to do the things I try to do.

You suck,

Thomas M. Watt

Pelicans and Sharks: The United Front

*This is a movie script I’ve recently decided to write shortly after viewing another post on a similar topic. Do not steal this idea. The script will be in progress shortly. As for now, its time to brain stew.

Pelicans and Sharks: The United Front

Ext: Ocean. Tiger sharks and pelicans. Seaweed floating. One armed surfer waves hello. Scuba diver pokes head out of water, checks both sides, disappears…


This is our water pelican.


This is our air, you fuckin’ piece a shit.


Whoa. Relax.


No. Fuck you. You relax. Stop fuckin’ eating us. We’re fuckin’ sick of it.


Well… we get hungry.


Fuck you. So do we. You’re a piece a shit.


Well, if we agree no to eat you, what should we eat?


Humans. Eat the fuckin’ humans. They’re scared of you guys.




Fuck yeah. Big time.


Well, we can’t get on land, though.


I’ll fuckin’ take you. Swim on ova, fella.



EXT: Day. Outside, where families are barbecuing sharks and pelicans, laughing obnoxiously and making mocking gestures by way of false wing flaps and pretend shark chomps. Suddenly, all look up, gasping and pointing.

Montage – Three straight hours of tigers falling from the sky. Landing on people, shark teeth first. Humans running. Children crying, asking mommy and daddy why they had to make fun of the sharks all the time. Pelicans move with sounds similar to B-52 bombers. Sharks roar like underwater lions(just go with it). Animals all look on, chimpanzees, orangutans, and the very same gecko from the  Geico commercial.


Ay, those humans are bloody fucked! Looks like they should spent fifteen minutes to save fifteen percent or more on shark/pelican attack insurance!

Movie comes to a close, sharks eating limbs, pelicans spitting on half-living humans, and the animal kingdom all puts their hands on their hips and smiles with great relief. The humans, the greedy, arrogant sons-a-bitches, they are all dead. The animals win.

Ext. – Night – Gandolf, man with long grey beard and cane, walks onto uninhabited human planet, sorrowful to see the land is overflowing with sharks, mating with pelicans like its orgy time.




Baggage Claim

Flew from Los Angeles to New York today. They lost my luggage. Here is how the conversation went upon my arrival:

Airport – Sir, we are sorry to inform you your baggage was lost.

Me – What? Oh no. When will they be arriving?

Airport – I’m sorry sir?

Me – My bags? When will they be arriving?

Airport – Hmm. Let me check…(typing)… Sir, I regret to inform you we don’t yet have any time to report to you. Would you like to be notified when they arrive?

Me – Yes, please.

Airport – Okay… hmm… Okay… Hmmm…. Sir, I’m sorry to say your bags will not be arriving.

Me – What?! You mean never?

Airport – Yes, they will never be arriving. I’m sorry, sir, on behalf of Del-

Me – Wait, hold on! Where are my bags??

Airport – They are in Los Angeles. Thank you for your patience.

Me – Patience? I’m not being patient! What the hell is going on with my bags?

Airport – Well, we can’t truly be sure at this precise moment, you see.

Me – Oh yeah, I see, ’cause I thought you were psychic. Why aren’t they being sent out?

Airport – Oh, well, the baggage claim fellas in LA really liked your stuff.

Me – Wait… what?

Airport – Yes, it says here that you packed shampoo and conditioner which happened to be a favorite of the baggy boys, so they opened up your suitcase and rummaged through for them.

Me – Are you fucking kidding?

Airport – No. In fact, there were several items they thoroughly enjoyed. It says here you had some really nice clothes, an extra large black hoodie, and several good books.

Me – This is bullshit.

Airport – Yes, it is quite unusual. The baggy boys aren’t often fans of literature. Might I ask, what books did you bring?

Me – You might not fucking ask. You might start typing on those keys and tell those fucking baggy boys to send over my shit!

Airport – Sir! There is no need to get angry. You must understand, there’s nothing I can do. They are in LA, and I am in New York.

Me – What’s that mean?

Airport – What it means, sir, is that there is really nothing I can do for you. You’ll have to take it up with the boys in blue.

Me – The authorities?

Airport – No, the Dodgers sir. They are in Los Angeles. It is their jurisdiction.

Me – What? Are you kidding? Is this a fuckin’ joke?

Airport – No sir. The Dodgers are a respected crime fighting organization in that area. They’ve stopped a giant invasion from San Francisco, child molesters from San Diego, and an unlawful importation of jock straps from Oakland.

Me – That isn’t even funny. You are being ridiculous. Just get me my fucking bags.

Airport – We’re terribly sorry for the inconvenience sir.

Me – Fine. I’m fucking outta here. (Walking away)

Airport – Sir! One last thing!

Me – What?!

Airport – It also says here there was a slight mishap when you paid the twenty dollar fee at the Los Angeles terminal. Your credit card didn’t go through.

Me – (Raised Eyebrow)

Airport – I’m going to have to request you pay your twenty five dollar fee here, please.

Me – (Jaw dropped)

Airport – Sir?

Me – (blank stare)

Airport – Sir, is this going to be a problem for you?

Me – (sighing, returning to counter, sadly reaching into pocket, retrieving wallet, paying twenty dollar fee)

Airport – Have a great stay in New York!

Me – …thanks.