Thursday, February 10, 2011

THIS is the end of "THIS"

It's been a while since we last spoke. I apologize for that. Sometimes life bends you over, begins thrusting, and loses track of time. I'm still bent over, mind you, it just seems life took a water break.

I know the title of this post is "This is the end of 'THIS'" but don't think it means it's the end of this, it's just the end of "THIS." Got it?

Yea, I thought it was clever to start all the titles of the posts with "THIS." It worked for a while until I got tired of working so hard to come up with fitting titles that started with "THIS." So this is the end of "THIS." After this, of course.

So, since it's been so long, instead of a rant about how retards are useless or government is inefficient or people are generally stupid or any other 30,000 foot view from my pedestal, how about I just level with you and talk about what's new?

I spent all of last fall/winter in a drunken stupor because I hated going home and bars stayed open late. Come New Year's Eve, I made up my mind I was going sober. Surprisingly, I did.

I promised 30 days. I made it 14. But c'mon, sobriety is fucking boring. I don't know how people do it. Alcohol has been the only thing that has ever made this life tolerable. When I was sober, I spent my time waiting to sleep.

But that was only the first few days. After the newness wore off I began to find new hobbies and old responsibilities to fill my time. After 14 days I was not the old lush of 2010; no, I was the slightly-less-lush of 2011. I deserved a drink.

So here we are, a month forward from that time, and I drink far less than I work. That's definitely a 180 from last year. But I forgot how much work responsibility was.

I had to buy one of those day planners. Not just the standard, week-by-week, or even day-by-day. I had to go for the one broken down into 15 minute increments. And I cried a little when I saw the one that ran from 8-5, because I knew I needed the one that ran from 5-8.

It's come to the point now where I write things like "clean," "laundry," and "sleep" in empty time slots with question marks beside them.

It is my sincere belief that I could rise to be one of the world's most successful people, Time's man of the year, if I could have the following three things:

1) a secretary

2) a staff

3) blowjobs upon request

With these three simple things, I could free up my time spent scheduling, free up my resources spent researching, free up my hands spent masturbating... To think, the things I could be!

Unfortunately, I don't have these things. And why don't I have these things? Because I don't have money. I don't have money because my parents didn't have money. They didn't have money because their parents didn't have money. And so it goes...

Until me, of course, because I'm not a parent. I'm entitled to not have money. I'd like to have money and have many plans to have money, but don't we all...

I've considered saving some money but I realize that I spend most of the money I have pretending I have money I don't. And if I keep spending money to maintain a facade of having money I don't, I won't. But I know I will, so I can't. Because if I do, then I won't.

And there it is. I need money to have a secretary and staff. I need a secretary and staff to get the money I need to get the secretary and staff. So alone, with no money, no secretary, no staff, and no blowjobs on-demand, I dream of what could be.

Wednesday, December 1, 2010

THIS is why I'll never front a revolution

I love idealists. "Oh, what's wrong with the world is corporations. People are too greedy. The government doesn't care about the people." Way to state the obvious, Jack. Any solutions? "Y'know, if people would just start caring about each other..." And that's where you lose me. See, we're all victim to this thing called the human condition. And the human condition shows a long history of people killing other people for suggesting that the world might be a better place if we all just set aside our petty differences and worked together.

Then, before you get the last nail in the coffin, someone is there to capitalize on the message. Jesus! How much money has been made in his name? And all because a small group convinced the powers-that-be that non-Jews were easier to persuade.

I couldn't imagine living in a world where all our social issues had been solved. One, I like that some people have it harder than others. It keeps the competitive nature alive. And we need it, seeing as the remaining meat eaters of the human race have to go no further than Ralph's or Vons for their kill. And we don't exactly live in a jungle of man eaters. The only time I have to move at a quicker-than-stroll pace is any night I see a group of three or more black guys. I do greatly respect the individuals that have the balls (or ovaries) ((It only seems fair that I follow a seemingly racist comment with an overtly P.C. one. I like to be well-balanced and appeal to all)) to fight against the institution for what they believe is right. I just hope the assets are in order and the will is hashed out.

Yes, there is injustice in the world. A lot of it. And it sucks. But take the small victories my friend. Enjoy that you can have cheese wrapped in cheese thrown in a deep fryer and served up with tasty marinara. You get out there and start stirring the pot, you get a few things: you get a file with the FBI, you get chapters in history books, and you get dead before you ever experience the humiliation of erectile dysfunction (or vaginal... vapidity?).

There seems to be a recurring trend with these people who think they're never going to die. They think they're never going to die. And I don't mean in the physical, earthly world sense. They all know they're going to die. But they all cling tightly to this imaginary god fellow and his promises of eternal sunshine and puppies. My problem is, I've got the good sense to believe that this life is it. So I'm going to try my best to die on my own terms. Shot in the face? No thanks. Alcohol poisoning and drug overdose with three Vegas hookers? Now you're speaking my language. "Oh, how terrible. Who could do such a thing?" Well, a lot of people actually. John Belushi, Judy Garland, Billy Mays, Sigmund Freud, Lenny Bruce, Jimi Hendrix, and Wiki lists over 100 more. I don't have time to wait around to find out if this heaven thing exists. So, like my predecessors, I hope to get as close as possible as often as possible until my heart just can't take it anymore. Or I choke on my own vomit. Poor Jimi.

Do I think drugs are good, wars are bad, hate is exhausting, the government shouldn't be run by the wealthy, kids should have a good education, profiling is okay, invalids and retards (not Rainman, I mean eating-through-a-straw, can't-tell-up-from-down, never-learned-to-walk retards) are a waste of space and resources, rain forests are cool and shouldn't be destroyed, teachers should make more than mayors, cops don't need guns, and Rocky Horror Picture Show was one of the best films of the last 50 years? You're damn right I do. But I'm not going to start marching in the streets. Well, I might march for Rocky, but dressing in drag rarely gets you shot. 

Monday, November 29, 2010

THIS is love; baby don't hurt me


Let's get to it. Romantic love is the superficial comfort created by convincing yourself you have succeeded in eradicating the fear of rejection. Too many big words? Let's break it down.

What encourages us to get into relationships? Isn't it that moment when some cute thing stumbles in a presentation, pauses in embarrassment, and you see through to the weakness that you so easily relate to? Then it takes another two-and-a-half years to gain the courage to say "hello" and follow with some witty comment that shows your uniqueness.

I'm obviously not speaking of myself. I'm one of the few that realize sex is not connected to emotion and is simply a by-product of attraction. Yes, I'm one of the few who get laid regularly. But this bit is regarding the medicated masses. 

Relationships were never meant to last a lifetime. They were simply meant to last long enough to overcome the dependency issue that got you involved in the first place. The fact is, all of us, no matter where we come from or the road we've walked, have some kind of mommy issue to contend with. Some stayed on the tit too long. Others not long enough. Some were "Daddy's special girl," or boy; the degrees of fucked-upedness that come from childhood are astounding. For some reason we feel the need to shower some unsuspecting soul with all our dramatic vomit and expect them to care. We seal that mutual neediness and codependency with a diamond ring and an overpriced celebration of the death of our souls. And I find it ironic that this soul homicide is sanctified by an agent of god.

Really, our desire for long-term relationships is simply an acknowledgment of our fear of awkward situations. Why meet new people on a regular basis when you can just find someone you can tolerate for more than ten minutes and inundate them with your bullshit? Funny how you can have so many good times with an individual until you overcome your own shortcomings and discover you hated the asshole from the get.

By now you've probably come to the conclusion that I'm the long-time sufferer of a broken heart. I wish I could say that's true but the fact is my heart has been black and cold for far too long to be impacted by some woman's strike to my ego. It's simply that I'm tired of trying to enjoy the company of someone and that company coming in a bundled package of expectation, jealousy and guilt.

Romantic love is for the weak. It's for those who so dread independence and autonomy that they must latch onto whatever caring prospect errs by showing them attention. The problem is I have to weed through these black sheep of the human condition to find something worth my time. The short and the long is, it's easier to just pay for the goods.

Tuesday, November 16, 2010

THIS is the plague of man

                   Photo by: Hardcore Shutterbug

Did you know that velociraptors, one of the smallest of predatory dinosaurs, could coordinate to attack and kill beasts over 50 times their size? I say this to say children scare the shit out of me. And I am at a loss as to why so many people my age and younger seem to have kids.

Well, I understand why they have them; God says condoms are from the devil. My real confusion is why they are happy about it. I find it hard to believe I could be excited about a shitting, puking, screaming pint-sized mutant who will take up a good portion of my time, resources and money for at least 18 years. Yet, somehow, these people find a void outside of rationality to think this soul-sucker is the greatest thing to ever happen and they have plenty of pictures and stories to bore you with.

But since there is no reasoning with such people, I have come up with a couple rules to be implemented to deal with young parents who have not yet learned common decency. First, walking, speaking one syllable words, and waving "bye" are not talents, they are part of the evolutionary process. If your kid manages to do these things before turning two he has simply proven he's not retarded. If he's taking his first step at 27, then I'm willing to listen as I enjoy encouraging stories of hope.

Second, If you choose to get on a plane with a child under the age of 12, it is your responsibility to buy drinks for everyone on the plane. And don't be stingy. It is open bar for all passengers who have to deal with your "little angel" screaming incessantly as though his oxygen is provided from some unseen source.

Third, do not say "please" and "thank you" to your child when he is being a little shit. Respect is reserved for those who respect you and, unfortunately, you cannot kill him with kindness so it is a lose-lose.

Fourth, and probably most important, if you have not yet had a child but are giving it some consideration, take a look at your most recent paycheck. If your salary ends in the words "per hour," maybe put it off a while, Jack. And if you are unable to properly operate a condom, diaphragm, or daily pill, take a day's pay down to the free clinic and purchase a year's supply of morning-after pills. Grind them up and hide them in your cheese.

I know everyone has their own agenda and plans for life. I simply try to take a more pragmatic approach. As I see it, the world is over populated, humans are polluting at an unprecedented rate, and everyone is talking about going green. Well I'm doing my part; I'm not having any kids.

Thursday, November 4, 2010

THIS is why I don't fly anymore

I arrived at the airport nearly two hours before my flight. My buddy was kind enough to share some fresh harvest on the ride over. Airports. These god damn places embody more stress than waiting on an AIDS test after an exciting trip to the Philippines. I gave a pound of flesh for a quart of water. I can get a gallon for 37 cents. A quart at the airport cost $3.97. I gave her a $5. She smiled. She gave me a dollar and 3 cents. I glared.

I got my bags checked by a lovely young computer named Terminal 2 and headed for my gate. Flight delayed. That's convenient. Especially when my arrival time and boarding time at my layover are less than 30 minutes apart. No cigarette for me today. Time to board the plane. We get three or four steps through the hatch when the fearless leader of our boarding group, henceforth to be referred to as Group 12^4, stopped at the first stewardess she saw and said in the most painfully cancer causing voice, "Is this flight going to land on time? Because I know it's running late and I've got a connection with a very short layover. I need to know that I'm going to make it on time." The stewardess reassures her that children's laughter and marshmallow sprinkles will overcome all evil of delayed flights and missed connections. The woman smiles and continues her journey to the back of the plane.

But a chord must have been struck deep inside because, though the answer satisfied for a moment, the young woman was overcome by fear once again. She stops in the middle of the aisle, turns to the stewardess behind her and says, "You're sure I'm going to make my connection? I just can't miss my ne--." I couldn't take it anymore. "Look lady, no one can guarantee you making your next flight. Hell, we might just crash on the way to Houston. And at this point I think it's the only thing that will get your voice out of our collective heads. Now, whether or not you make that connection is irrelevant as you are already on this plane. But if it so appeases you to manufacture the drama, how about you step into a row and let your fellow travelers standing here with heavy bags listening to your incessant bullshit pass by and get comfortable. I would assume the time we take off is directly related to the moment all the passengers have boarded." She glared. I glared. She asked what appeases means. I laughed.

THIS shouldn't be necessary

Let's make this simple. What you'll find on this site is a series of true stories. These are stories of stupidity. Stories that the above average American can relate to. Generally, stories that just piss you off. It becomes frustrating to know that we've had all this time to evolve yet we still have millions of chimps without the foresight to see beyond their next meal or nap. I wish I could say this site was for them, but there's no cure for stupid and I've lost the energy and will to try. Enjoy what's to come. You can enjoy the previous blog at