Let's talk about how bipolar American woman are for just a moment....
Now before you get all pissy with me, I am not referring to some medical condition resulting from a chemical imbalance (no I didn't have to look that shit up!) I am about to say something very in-tune with how chicks think. First, They don't like to be called chicks.
Hold on, I just got a text from a lady friend of mine.... Okay, I'm going out for a while, don't wait up kids, I will pick this up in the am.
Refreshed, or at least as refreshed as one can be after not getting to sleep until 3am. Now before your minds start trying to put two and two together, the only thing that I got on top of last night was a large pizza. What if that wasn't the case though? What if I actually had an ounce of what cool people call game? I get to tell the story to my buddies and receive accolades ranging from jealousy to high fives, man I love me a good high five. That lady has a slightly different experience however. We all know the euphemisms affixed to the female that has frequent relations our of wedlock. We know that there is a negative stigma attached to such a person. Why is that? These women should throw the shackles of sexual oppression aside and then promptly meet up at my place for a discussion on weather they prefer back massage to foot massage. Not going to happen? Well it was worth a shot wasn't it. Now I'm not trying to be a feminist here, but women have a rough go at it these days. I'm not saying that things are all bananas and dancing with toothbrushes for us guys but in the world of courtship, sex and relationships today's woman are faced with a divergence of pretty epic proportions. More is expected from woman than ever before, and in turn, more is expected of the men that they would choose to be with.
The aforementioned female is a perfect example. Now before I start down this road I need to make it clear that this person is a friend. I enjoy her company for many reasons but as far as my knowledge on the subject goes we are simply friends. She is in my opinion a rather successful woman, she has a very good job, her own place and is in awesome shape. She recently turned 30 and to my understanding of things was also recently divorced. This woman clearly does not need someone to open a car door for her. She is independent, well educated and very capable. That being said, it doesn't mean that she doesn't want someone to open a car door for her. This is where we get a little confused and I will admit, a little frustrated ladies. You see, we enjoy opening that door for you. And up until recently it was considered to be chivalrous. Now days certain people look at such a gesture as oppressive or at best unnecessary. We know it is unnecessary, you have arms, but we enjoy doing little things that make you smile. It's okay though, we will figure it out.
So you want a guy to kill a spider for you without hesitation, that seems easy enough. What else? You want a guy who is strong and confident but willing to except indecision, okay. You need to feel like you are in control and independent but you would rather us decide where to eat tonight.
This is starting to sound more like an argument for why guys are having a tough time figuring things out, but really it comes from this power shift in the past few decades. For generations women were looked at like subordinates in our society. They were not allowed to vote, most of them didn't have jobs, much less careers. Women have never been any more or any less important to the world than they are now, the paradigm just shifted. Now that women hold powerful positions in major companies their is a feeling that they have to prove themselves worthy of playing with the boys while all the while maintaining their feminine reserve. If they don't then they are labeled. I'm not saying that shit is right, I'm just saying that is how it is. My female friend mentioned above has a mouth that would make most of my Navy Seal buddies blush. As a result people formulate an opinion of her that they likely wouldn't if I said the exact same things. So now she has a choice, conform to the social mores or do her own thing. Here is the rub though, when we put ourselves too far out of what society deems acceptable then things become difficult. If a woman is promiscuous, the thought is that she will have greater difficulty finding a good partner. What the fuck is that?? It's absurd that's what it is!
Look ladies, the reason why your selection in men is limited to a bunch of skinny jean wearing, indecisive, weak wristed man boys is because you have been giving mixed signals. You say shit like, Johnny Depp is amazing. Really? Fucking really? That guy couldn't fight his way out of a wet paper bag if he had a box full of ninja weapons! So, feeble minded men everywhere mimic Johnny's worst attributes in hopes of getting your attention leaving us with an army of men that sit down when they pee. That's not your fault though. It is a result of you trying to find yourself in this previously man-dominated world. Women are coming into their own and that is a great thing. But just like anyone in their adolescents, you're trying to figure shit out. You have no idea if you want the pizza or the hamburger so you say fuck it, I've been without for so long that I WANT BOTH! and that is how hamburger pizza came to be. You gluttonous little vixen you! You want a man that will hold your hand and give you his jacket when you are cold, yet you still need a man that will beat the shit out of a guy that grabs your ass in a bar. You don't need his wallet anymore, hell most women make a lot more than I do, but you still want him to pick up the check because it says I can support you.... not that you need it, we know, we know.
Ultimately that is what it comes down to, support. Support, warmth and security. Women desire a man that can support them, provide them warmth and security while simultaneously allowing them to be a primary contributing part of the relationship. I for one am up for the challenge. I've already got the part about beating up the asshole in the bar down, now I am working on the holding hands part. I know that we are not there yet ladies but we are trying and if you are patient it will be worth the wait I promise. In the mean time, try getting your shit together like my friend!
Sunday, August 12, 2012
Saturday, August 11, 2012
Valor is not always stolen, sometimes it's plagiarised
Duality, dichotomy, dualism, and diphenhidramine. So I said no to the halucigenetics, I never said anything about avoiding prescription strength antihistamines. Although I'm not sure if taking large quantities of these little fuckers is going to do much more than make me piss myself after falling asleep. No this isn't a cry for help, it's a Friday night and I no longer have the fortitude to endure the bar scene. When did it become cool to drink PBR? If you are at all curious about my current mental state just know that it's as good as it's going to get. I am not here to make people think that I am a bag of almonds but I am not going to walk around answering "Fine" to the bullshit question How are you doing? The truth is I'm not fine and most likely neither are you. Let's put on a happy face kids so that the strangers in the grocery store think that we are a great family. No, it's cool, I'll ring myself up and then bag my own fucking mac 'n cheese, you want me to stock the shelves while I'm here too? No wonder little Timmy is pissed off coming in this Unicorn forsaken place! What am I talking about? Half of you knows. The half that's pissed off. The half that doesn't think that you should ever receive an $85 ticket for not putting on your own seat belt. You're a grown ass man!! You should have the right to jettison through that windshield if you want to! You paid for that windshield! and this is AMERICA! There is another part of you though, the part that is scratching that patch of grass between your ears. I like to call that person, Johnny do what ever the fuck someone tells me just because they said to conformist. No, wait... that's too long. Let's just call that part JC. JC doesn't ever want to rock the boat. I get it, no one likes to get their fancy dockers and boat shoes wet. Hell, I even have a little JC in me. (A very little) but it's still there, it still exists and I still struggle with it sometimes. Not because I give a shit about rocking the boat... Fuck your khakis! Plain and simple, being excepted makes life easier. We have evolved into a species that celebrates easy. I want a delicious peanut butter and jelly sandwich but I don't want to have to open TWO jars. Ruffling peoples precious little feathers, or worse yet telling them that their feathers look stupid with those shoes is a sure fire way to get yourself ejected from the cool kids table. That's where the good ketchup is! PERKS man, I'm talking about perks. Look if I have to explain every time I make an absurd, random analogy with the faintest of connection to which I am talking this is going to be a lot longer than either of us wants to put up with.
So what's wrong with us? Grab your PBR hipsters and let uncle Leroy explain a few things from his twisted polarized world view.
You see, there are these people called bad guys, commonly refereed to as the villain. Now the fun part about being the villain is that more often than not you don't have to wear your seat belt, you do what you want and that is to be expected because after all, you are a bad guy. Or do we have it backwards? Are you a bad guy for doing what you please? As I just said, we gravitate toward anything easy, in turn, things that make our lives more difficult are perceived abominable and should be discarded. The thought of disrupting the herd is terrifying to us. It's not that we give a shit about the herd, if we did no one would spend six grand on a pair of shoes. That's a lot of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for those lazy people in the bad side of town. But uncle Leroy, I worked hard asking for the money for these kicks, and those people don't do anything. So who is the bad guy now? Just because someone is so indulgent (read selfish) to consume such a gratuitous amount of resources on something as trivial as a pair of shoes or jeans while their fellow human beings starve doesn't make them a villain. I would say that their priorities are just a little twisted. But that's the rub, if you were never given the tools to calibrate your moral compus then you wouldn't know that you were being a total asshole buying those shoes. Six grand!! Really??? Fuck!
Focus. Diphenhidramine... who would have guessed it?
Two beers later and we are back on track.
Good and evil. That is an easy one right? Hitler = evil, Mr. Rogers = Good. But wait, even the most extreme characters in history were not all bad or all good right. If someone would have bought some of Adolf's paintings after WWI then WW2 might not have ever happened. It's possible that all the guy needed was some attention. Now I'm not justifying his actions. His actions were the definition of pure, unadulterated fucking evil. Here is where I am going to loose a few of you. Even one of the worst human beings to ever convert oxygen to carbon dioxide couldn't have been 100% evil all of the time right? In turn, I'm sure that good 'ol Mr. Rogers had a skeleton or two that not even Mr. McFeely had knowledge of. I just refereed to him in the past tense with absolutely zero knowledge if the man is still alive. Don't do that kids, it upsets people with formal degrees.
Let's set this up a little different. Let's take someone who is not quite on the shit head level as the Fuhrer but not nearly as saintly as Mr. Creepy sweaters. Let's place one of my favorite subjects in the hot seat and see how they stack up. This is a person of known brilliance, wash board abs and a degree of narcissism that is rarely matched. I'm talking, of course, about good old me.
All things considered I consider myself a good person overall. I've never cheated on or laid hand to a woman. I give money to homeless people even if I am pretty sure they will use it on cheap booze. In fact, I am typically more prone to do so if they tell me that they are going to buy whiskey. The most I have ever stolen was a pack of gum when I was 11. Yeah fact checker, I went to jail for burglary once but they threw that out didn't they! Besides, it was my dog to begin with! Damn it! Now you've got me off track again.....
These Oktoberfest are going down like water....
Where was I? Right, me. So, I'm a pretty decent guy. In addition to the things stated above, I served my community as a fire fighter and my country as a combat medic in two different wars. And now we have some material for the devil's advocate. Without getting too terribly deep into it, there is really no such thing as a good guy in war. There are guys trying to be hero's, there are guys trying to survive, and there are guys who look at war as an opportunity to wreak havoc upon whomever is in their vicinity. I was a combination of the three. I can honestly say that I did not join the Army in an effort to win medals, but I would also be lying if I said that I wasn't envious of the honor that was affixed to them. That is, until I received a couple. I am going to tell a story right now. This is a story that has been told many times. The only difference between right now and all of the other times is that this time it will be the truth.
It was a hot summer night in 2005 outside of Tikrit Iraq. I was a medic on my third deployment. I had three huge stripes on my uniform that screamed "Big dick Sergent" A rather sophomoric rank in all reality. Between this and my other two deployments I had already conducted well over a hundred missions without ever really killing any one. You might be thinking, yeah but you were the medic so... In all reality most missions, regardless of importance or danger should result in zero casualties. The fact is we get more from taking people alive and the group of guys that I worked with were as good at grabbing a guy asleep in his bed as Bernie Madoff is at ripping people off. We were after a high value target, like we were on most nights. We flowed through the house with a precision that an accomplished surgeon has wet dreams about. We found a hoard of women and children on the roof top. That's where they slept when it got too hot to sleep in the house. As we back cleared the house I found myself in a room of particular interest. I made it my personal mission to scour this room.
Here is the first inaccuracy in the way that the story was initially told. As it is known to others, I was looking for any anti-American material, some bomb making material or anything else that could lead us to the next bad guy. In reality I was pillaging, I'm not proud of it and I am certainly not fucking bragging about it! But it is the truth. The threat had been neutralized now it was time to see if I could find something cool. It was easily justified because, after all, our intelligence confirmed that this was the home of not just an evil terrorist asshole, but one of a "High level enemy leader." So here I am, left alone to go through cabinets and drawers without the slightest concern that someone lives in this place. I actually found a great deal of material that connected the occupants to Saddam Hussein. Good for me, pat on the head. So when all of the drawers had been tossed, I focused my attention on a basket of cloths near the window. I knelt down to sift through the soiled white tunics. Just as I did my left ear picked up an odd sound, it was a type of buzzing that I was familiar with but had not heard in a while. I looked left but it was too late, the buzzing was gone. So naturally I went back to sifting. No more than ten seconds later I heard the noise again. This time, I immediately look left and see a glow just above my head. FUCK! That's a cell phone! That is a cell phone in a terrorists pocket!! That is a cell phone in a terrorists pocket in a hidden location less than a foot away from me! I am on my my feet in a fraction of a second, weapon orientated on target, safety off, finger on the trigger! ...But I don't squeeze.
Now the story originally went, He lunged at me and I fired. Not so much.
I actually called for the guy in the other room, we will call him Steve for the sake of the story. Steve was in the room in an instant. I very briefly told him what happened and both of our M4 carbine assault rifles were fixated on the corner. We couldn't see the man because he was hidden very well behind a closet door. That's when it happened. Steve said, "Doc, we should shoot this guy." No sooner did he utter those six words, I let a volley of fire loose on that man's concealed position that would impress any fan of early 90's Schwarzenegger movies.
Fuck, I need another drink. Whiskey this time...
Immediately after that man's body hit my feet, a call came over the radio to determine where the shots came from. I remember loosing my composure a little. My superior officer asked who fired the shots and all I could say was, "It was me." now that seems like a reasonable answer except that there was about 40 of us all connected on that channel. If you knew this guy, you would know that his response was something close to, "yeah, and who are you asshole!" Then I broke another cardinal rule by saying my name rather than my call sign. (for those who don't know, a call sign is simply a number or nickname assigned to help soldiers maintain anonymity) I gave my location and within seconds a good friend of mine entered the room and gave the lifeless man two more shots to the head for the sake of being fastidious. One of my superiors gave me a high five, and like that it was over. I told my story, or at least the slightly modified version of it that I believed wouldn't get me brought up on charges to my bosses boss and then his boss. They were all giddy. I didn't understand. Later I found out that the man that I shot was one of the primary high value targets in all of Iraq. He was a "bad guy" a really bad guy, by our definition. So why should I feel bad, I eliminated a total villain. Here is where the dichotomy comes into play, and a twisted piece of fuck it is really. I get a medal announcing to the world that I am a hero for eliminating a threat to our nation. In reality, I become a murderer while giving this man martyrdom. Or did I have it right the first time? I guess if you ask my family they would say that I am the hero, if you ask his family they would say that he is. But then again my family has never heard the real story... but his probably hasn't either. They likely didn't know that he was responsible for the death of hundreds of people. Does it matter? I don't have the answer to that. All I know is that as I sit here typing that Unicorn forsaken award hangs from the wall over my right shoulder. And if I did not covet honor so much I would burn it like the piece of hypocritical trash that it is.
So what's wrong with us? Grab your PBR hipsters and let uncle Leroy explain a few things from his twisted polarized world view.
You see, there are these people called bad guys, commonly refereed to as the villain. Now the fun part about being the villain is that more often than not you don't have to wear your seat belt, you do what you want and that is to be expected because after all, you are a bad guy. Or do we have it backwards? Are you a bad guy for doing what you please? As I just said, we gravitate toward anything easy, in turn, things that make our lives more difficult are perceived abominable and should be discarded. The thought of disrupting the herd is terrifying to us. It's not that we give a shit about the herd, if we did no one would spend six grand on a pair of shoes. That's a lot of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for those lazy people in the bad side of town. But uncle Leroy, I worked hard asking for the money for these kicks, and those people don't do anything. So who is the bad guy now? Just because someone is so indulgent (read selfish) to consume such a gratuitous amount of resources on something as trivial as a pair of shoes or jeans while their fellow human beings starve doesn't make them a villain. I would say that their priorities are just a little twisted. But that's the rub, if you were never given the tools to calibrate your moral compus then you wouldn't know that you were being a total asshole buying those shoes. Six grand!! Really??? Fuck!
Focus. Diphenhidramine... who would have guessed it?
Two beers later and we are back on track.
Good and evil. That is an easy one right? Hitler = evil, Mr. Rogers = Good. But wait, even the most extreme characters in history were not all bad or all good right. If someone would have bought some of Adolf's paintings after WWI then WW2 might not have ever happened. It's possible that all the guy needed was some attention. Now I'm not justifying his actions. His actions were the definition of pure, unadulterated fucking evil. Here is where I am going to loose a few of you. Even one of the worst human beings to ever convert oxygen to carbon dioxide couldn't have been 100% evil all of the time right? In turn, I'm sure that good 'ol Mr. Rogers had a skeleton or two that not even Mr. McFeely had knowledge of. I just refereed to him in the past tense with absolutely zero knowledge if the man is still alive. Don't do that kids, it upsets people with formal degrees.
Let's set this up a little different. Let's take someone who is not quite on the shit head level as the Fuhrer but not nearly as saintly as Mr. Creepy sweaters. Let's place one of my favorite subjects in the hot seat and see how they stack up. This is a person of known brilliance, wash board abs and a degree of narcissism that is rarely matched. I'm talking, of course, about good old me.
All things considered I consider myself a good person overall. I've never cheated on or laid hand to a woman. I give money to homeless people even if I am pretty sure they will use it on cheap booze. In fact, I am typically more prone to do so if they tell me that they are going to buy whiskey. The most I have ever stolen was a pack of gum when I was 11. Yeah fact checker, I went to jail for burglary once but they threw that out didn't they! Besides, it was my dog to begin with! Damn it! Now you've got me off track again.....
These Oktoberfest are going down like water....
Where was I? Right, me. So, I'm a pretty decent guy. In addition to the things stated above, I served my community as a fire fighter and my country as a combat medic in two different wars. And now we have some material for the devil's advocate. Without getting too terribly deep into it, there is really no such thing as a good guy in war. There are guys trying to be hero's, there are guys trying to survive, and there are guys who look at war as an opportunity to wreak havoc upon whomever is in their vicinity. I was a combination of the three. I can honestly say that I did not join the Army in an effort to win medals, but I would also be lying if I said that I wasn't envious of the honor that was affixed to them. That is, until I received a couple. I am going to tell a story right now. This is a story that has been told many times. The only difference between right now and all of the other times is that this time it will be the truth.
It was a hot summer night in 2005 outside of Tikrit Iraq. I was a medic on my third deployment. I had three huge stripes on my uniform that screamed "Big dick Sergent" A rather sophomoric rank in all reality. Between this and my other two deployments I had already conducted well over a hundred missions without ever really killing any one. You might be thinking, yeah but you were the medic so... In all reality most missions, regardless of importance or danger should result in zero casualties. The fact is we get more from taking people alive and the group of guys that I worked with were as good at grabbing a guy asleep in his bed as Bernie Madoff is at ripping people off. We were after a high value target, like we were on most nights. We flowed through the house with a precision that an accomplished surgeon has wet dreams about. We found a hoard of women and children on the roof top. That's where they slept when it got too hot to sleep in the house. As we back cleared the house I found myself in a room of particular interest. I made it my personal mission to scour this room.
Here is the first inaccuracy in the way that the story was initially told. As it is known to others, I was looking for any anti-American material, some bomb making material or anything else that could lead us to the next bad guy. In reality I was pillaging, I'm not proud of it and I am certainly not fucking bragging about it! But it is the truth. The threat had been neutralized now it was time to see if I could find something cool. It was easily justified because, after all, our intelligence confirmed that this was the home of not just an evil terrorist asshole, but one of a "High level enemy leader." So here I am, left alone to go through cabinets and drawers without the slightest concern that someone lives in this place. I actually found a great deal of material that connected the occupants to Saddam Hussein. Good for me, pat on the head. So when all of the drawers had been tossed, I focused my attention on a basket of cloths near the window. I knelt down to sift through the soiled white tunics. Just as I did my left ear picked up an odd sound, it was a type of buzzing that I was familiar with but had not heard in a while. I looked left but it was too late, the buzzing was gone. So naturally I went back to sifting. No more than ten seconds later I heard the noise again. This time, I immediately look left and see a glow just above my head. FUCK! That's a cell phone! That is a cell phone in a terrorists pocket!! That is a cell phone in a terrorists pocket in a hidden location less than a foot away from me! I am on my my feet in a fraction of a second, weapon orientated on target, safety off, finger on the trigger! ...But I don't squeeze.
Now the story originally went, He lunged at me and I fired. Not so much.
I actually called for the guy in the other room, we will call him Steve for the sake of the story. Steve was in the room in an instant. I very briefly told him what happened and both of our M4 carbine assault rifles were fixated on the corner. We couldn't see the man because he was hidden very well behind a closet door. That's when it happened. Steve said, "Doc, we should shoot this guy." No sooner did he utter those six words, I let a volley of fire loose on that man's concealed position that would impress any fan of early 90's Schwarzenegger movies.
Fuck, I need another drink. Whiskey this time...
Immediately after that man's body hit my feet, a call came over the radio to determine where the shots came from. I remember loosing my composure a little. My superior officer asked who fired the shots and all I could say was, "It was me." now that seems like a reasonable answer except that there was about 40 of us all connected on that channel. If you knew this guy, you would know that his response was something close to, "yeah, and who are you asshole!" Then I broke another cardinal rule by saying my name rather than my call sign. (for those who don't know, a call sign is simply a number or nickname assigned to help soldiers maintain anonymity) I gave my location and within seconds a good friend of mine entered the room and gave the lifeless man two more shots to the head for the sake of being fastidious. One of my superiors gave me a high five, and like that it was over. I told my story, or at least the slightly modified version of it that I believed wouldn't get me brought up on charges to my bosses boss and then his boss. They were all giddy. I didn't understand. Later I found out that the man that I shot was one of the primary high value targets in all of Iraq. He was a "bad guy" a really bad guy, by our definition. So why should I feel bad, I eliminated a total villain. Here is where the dichotomy comes into play, and a twisted piece of fuck it is really. I get a medal announcing to the world that I am a hero for eliminating a threat to our nation. In reality, I become a murderer while giving this man martyrdom. Or did I have it right the first time? I guess if you ask my family they would say that I am the hero, if you ask his family they would say that he is. But then again my family has never heard the real story... but his probably hasn't either. They likely didn't know that he was responsible for the death of hundreds of people. Does it matter? I don't have the answer to that. All I know is that as I sit here typing that Unicorn forsaken award hangs from the wall over my right shoulder. And if I did not covet honor so much I would burn it like the piece of hypocritical trash that it is.
Tuesday, August 7, 2012
You got all my love, Livin in your own hate
Holy hell, I can only imagine that this is what heroine feels like! What an outright rush. Sensations that have been hibernating for what seems like eons brought to life by an unlikely source. Let's call this the prologue.
This nonsense has been going on for far too long with out a direction. A place of platitudinous bloviation that served a purpose for a while, but a weak one at best. My cognitive dissonance is currently a double bass line that would give Joey Jordison a hard on. Self conflict has had me by the throat for weeks and I'm fucking sick of it. I would love to make some comment about how that is all about to end... today's the day... I'm going to attack the world with confidence.... blah blah blah. Nope. I have resolved to embracing the conflicting notions. I've got ring side seats to these shoulder angels going toe to toe in a bare knuckle fight to the death. The glorious part is I don't give a bag of bloody dicks which one wins. I'm just here for the ruckus. So dip your taped fists in glass little shoulder devil, I payed for blood shed and that is what I expect!
What the fuck is he talking about?? If you haven't figured it out by now you should just stop reading now because it's only going to get more tumultuous from here. So far this little shit show of a project has hardly scraped the skin of conscious thought. Well, I've got this axe sharpened and have already resolved to plunging it into the skull of my id. I am going to attempt to do so without the assistance of hallucinogens, but hell, if that's what it takes.... Besides I'm still technically in college and unless I'm off the mark, most of these useless sacks of fuck are on whatever mind altering substances that they can get their liberal little phalanges on.
An immediate reaction to this is, what a narcissistic piece of potty mouthed shit this fellow is. My response to that will never be anything more than nothing at all. Frankly if you think that the word "fuck" is any less expressive than the word Messiah than you haven't been paying attention. I really don't give three quarters of a monks shit if you think this is dribble. Thanks for coming out, you can pick up your free pens and water bottles on your way out. No, I won't validate your parking pass. Don't forget to buckle up before driving yourself into oncoming traffic. And that brings up my first attempt at something poignant. I didn't lose a minute of sleep over this whole theater massacre thing. So some guy went into a theater a couple of miles from my house and shot 70 people, killing a dozen of them. Does that suck? Yes. That is shitty. But for who? Not me. I wasn't effected by this in the slightest. I got to sit and listen to everyone and their mother try to relate this event to themselves. Hearing shit like, "Well I can't even go to work today, I am just too shook up. My cousins friend knew someone that used to work in that theater!" You selfish, slothful prick! Why do people feel the need to make that kind of shit about them. Look, I have been smack dab in the middle of some massacres before so maybe I'm just calloused to it but the fact is I would be pissed if some asshole that was hundreds, if not thousands of miles away tried to gain sympathy for those events. Which brings me to some shit that I will certainly be covering later, stolen valor and indecent piles of toad regurgitation that claim post traumatic stress without a pixie dick of an actual traumatic experience. Do pixies have dicks?
Look, I'm not a bad guy. I don't wish that bad things would happen to innocent people. The events of July 20th, 2012 were no doubt a tragedy. All I am saying is that it didn't keep me from driving to work and making inappropriate jokes. In fact, I recall one of my coworkers commenting about how awful the whole thing is, and my only response was, "Yeah, I mean we all have that one person that we would like to shoot in the head but a dozen... that's a bit excessive!" But that's what we are all about in this country... Let's see how big we can get our value meal, cause it's not REALLY a value until I have diabetes!
It's 2:30 in the afternoon on a Tuesday and I am still in my under ware, what does that tell you? First it should tell you that I really don't care and that my job is better than yours! Now, if someone went directly into my place of business and shot a bunch of people that I know, I would likely get a little upset. I actually like those people, sometimes they bring me snacks (Thanks Kristy!) I would have a reason to react because my life had actually been impacted, both emotionally and financially. The simple truth is that life already has so many moments that are emotionally draining, why in the name of Peter Pan would you waste precious catecholamines on an event that you can have zero influence or impact on? Sure, donate to the families if you feel it can help but don't use the event as an excuse to get out of work or even worse, mope around acting like it is the end of the world expecting others to use up their emotional reserves to comfort your sorry ass. Holy fucking run on sentence! Fuck it, I'm sure that the two people that started reading this have long since stopped.
The entire point of this tirade is don't be a fucking leech. Don't, under any circumstance take something that doesn't belong to you, and that includes undeserved sympathy. Having empathy is one thing but by Unicorn please know the difference. Does it suck when twelve people get killed, sure. On average, 600 people a year are murdered in LA alone and I don't hear people in my class whining that they need an extension on their paper because of how distraught they are. They have about the same level of personal connection with that Crip that took five rounds to his face on his 15th birthday as they did to anyone of the people who were slain in that theater. Foolish hypocrisy and an unhealthy need for attention are two things I just don't have a stomach for, now dollar tacos.... That is something worth finally putting my pants on for.
This nonsense has been going on for far too long with out a direction. A place of platitudinous bloviation that served a purpose for a while, but a weak one at best. My cognitive dissonance is currently a double bass line that would give Joey Jordison a hard on. Self conflict has had me by the throat for weeks and I'm fucking sick of it. I would love to make some comment about how that is all about to end... today's the day... I'm going to attack the world with confidence.... blah blah blah. Nope. I have resolved to embracing the conflicting notions. I've got ring side seats to these shoulder angels going toe to toe in a bare knuckle fight to the death. The glorious part is I don't give a bag of bloody dicks which one wins. I'm just here for the ruckus. So dip your taped fists in glass little shoulder devil, I payed for blood shed and that is what I expect!
What the fuck is he talking about?? If you haven't figured it out by now you should just stop reading now because it's only going to get more tumultuous from here. So far this little shit show of a project has hardly scraped the skin of conscious thought. Well, I've got this axe sharpened and have already resolved to plunging it into the skull of my id. I am going to attempt to do so without the assistance of hallucinogens, but hell, if that's what it takes.... Besides I'm still technically in college and unless I'm off the mark, most of these useless sacks of fuck are on whatever mind altering substances that they can get their liberal little phalanges on.
An immediate reaction to this is, what a narcissistic piece of potty mouthed shit this fellow is. My response to that will never be anything more than nothing at all. Frankly if you think that the word "fuck" is any less expressive than the word Messiah than you haven't been paying attention. I really don't give three quarters of a monks shit if you think this is dribble. Thanks for coming out, you can pick up your free pens and water bottles on your way out. No, I won't validate your parking pass. Don't forget to buckle up before driving yourself into oncoming traffic. And that brings up my first attempt at something poignant. I didn't lose a minute of sleep over this whole theater massacre thing. So some guy went into a theater a couple of miles from my house and shot 70 people, killing a dozen of them. Does that suck? Yes. That is shitty. But for who? Not me. I wasn't effected by this in the slightest. I got to sit and listen to everyone and their mother try to relate this event to themselves. Hearing shit like, "Well I can't even go to work today, I am just too shook up. My cousins friend knew someone that used to work in that theater!" You selfish, slothful prick! Why do people feel the need to make that kind of shit about them. Look, I have been smack dab in the middle of some massacres before so maybe I'm just calloused to it but the fact is I would be pissed if some asshole that was hundreds, if not thousands of miles away tried to gain sympathy for those events. Which brings me to some shit that I will certainly be covering later, stolen valor and indecent piles of toad regurgitation that claim post traumatic stress without a pixie dick of an actual traumatic experience. Do pixies have dicks?
Look, I'm not a bad guy. I don't wish that bad things would happen to innocent people. The events of July 20th, 2012 were no doubt a tragedy. All I am saying is that it didn't keep me from driving to work and making inappropriate jokes. In fact, I recall one of my coworkers commenting about how awful the whole thing is, and my only response was, "Yeah, I mean we all have that one person that we would like to shoot in the head but a dozen... that's a bit excessive!" But that's what we are all about in this country... Let's see how big we can get our value meal, cause it's not REALLY a value until I have diabetes!
It's 2:30 in the afternoon on a Tuesday and I am still in my under ware, what does that tell you? First it should tell you that I really don't care and that my job is better than yours! Now, if someone went directly into my place of business and shot a bunch of people that I know, I would likely get a little upset. I actually like those people, sometimes they bring me snacks (Thanks Kristy!) I would have a reason to react because my life had actually been impacted, both emotionally and financially. The simple truth is that life already has so many moments that are emotionally draining, why in the name of Peter Pan would you waste precious catecholamines on an event that you can have zero influence or impact on? Sure, donate to the families if you feel it can help but don't use the event as an excuse to get out of work or even worse, mope around acting like it is the end of the world expecting others to use up their emotional reserves to comfort your sorry ass. Holy fucking run on sentence! Fuck it, I'm sure that the two people that started reading this have long since stopped.
The entire point of this tirade is don't be a fucking leech. Don't, under any circumstance take something that doesn't belong to you, and that includes undeserved sympathy. Having empathy is one thing but by Unicorn please know the difference. Does it suck when twelve people get killed, sure. On average, 600 people a year are murdered in LA alone and I don't hear people in my class whining that they need an extension on their paper because of how distraught they are. They have about the same level of personal connection with that Crip that took five rounds to his face on his 15th birthday as they did to anyone of the people who were slain in that theater. Foolish hypocrisy and an unhealthy need for attention are two things I just don't have a stomach for, now dollar tacos.... That is something worth finally putting my pants on for.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)