The good, bad, and the ugly

Like most people I have my good and bad days. More often bad than good, but that's probably because of my temperament, or my disposition,  depression, bi-polarism, the fluctuating mania, anddrug use along with the general wear and tear that 50 years of life can put on a man. After a while it adds up on you, and sometimes I let it get me down. Not that my life is truly all that "bad." It's not like I'm a refuge in Ukraine.

So you see things really aren't that bad. I guess they are just bad in the 'modern sense'.   

But I can't help what year I was born in.  I can't help the fact that I ain't got to invade Normandy and face real Nazis shooting at me with guns who need a real ass-kicking.  Instead I get khaki clad and Tiki torch carrying mother fuckers who just shopped at Target©, or a step- dad being a jerk to me on Thanksgiving about Obama's birth certificate and the Republican party slowly destroying our democracy. 

I can't help the fact that the science people already solved most of the problems that people have faced in the past, but the technocrats and capitalist elites won't let them do anything about it.

I can't help that the wealth this country produced is going to be left to a bunch entitled kids who think this world was created by magic. They like to complain about the drudgery of work and low pay, but you'd never see them organize a Union. 

So like you I focus on myself.  Maybe to the detriment of our species, or maybe just to the detriment of the rest of the pre-homeless population.  But it is what it is.  And their ain't no sense in complaining to me about what I really should be doing with my life. 

Frankly, I ain't gonna listen to you.  If I was, I surely would have listened by now. Instead I am just spend my time thinking a lot about Bath Salts.  About how maybe they ain't as bad for ya as people tell you they are.

Also, I Got an app on my phone where I listen to all these podcasts and news reports.  They go on for hours and keep me informed about stuff I really need to know about.  Like the virus, reports on Feminism, red pill conspiracies and such.

But I'm always doing a lot of stuff like that. Drinking, gambling.  Anything to keep my mind occupied and growing.  I'm learning new stuff constantly.  I am on the Internet and YouTube everyday.   I check out sites that inform me about all kinds of things.  Though I won't bother believing anything that I can't find on Reddit.com or in some antiquated secondary literature on social theory. 

That's because I'm done reading. Maybe if I could get my leg to stop shaking, I'd sit down and read the old fashioned way.  One book, one idea at a time.  No hyper threads linking me to conspiracy theories.  No engaging in the frenetic masturbation of the schizoid. 

But like I said, that shit's old fashioned. Kindle, internet, twitter, TikTok, I get my information the way the new generation does.  My WHOLE brain is connected via the Internet! Faster.  I see connections everywhere.

Connections are not like Karma though. Karma's a bunch of horse shit.  I see real solid connections based on informed guestimations. Old people don't get it.  But I'm not like most old people.  Shit, put a hat on me and I could pass for 27.  Give me some E.  My face goes all soft.  I look early teens.  My facial transformations scare the Bejesus out of the teenagers I rave with.

They started calling me RAVE. Like in all capital letters.  Pretty cool nickname if I say so myself.  And you can't give yourself nicknames, otherwise we'd all call ourselves Max.

Sobriquet.  That's a fancy name for nickname.  Bet you didn't think I new that.  Well, I watch TV shows like NEWSROOM so you know that I am practically a pseudo-intellectual.  I watched it on the YOUTUBE.  Sometimes HBO airs previews of their TV shows on YOUTUBE for free.  Bet you didn't know that!  But I did. That's because I am two steps ahead of you! You old fucking dinosaur!!!  Hahaha rarrr

But I love that about you. How you're always behind. I love that I get to teach you stuff.  In fact I love you and part of me is secretly thinking about fucking you right now,,,ya...RIGHT NOW.

Don't get soft or wet just yet.  I'm probably not going to make my move anytime soon.  But it could happen.  If you get lucky.  Just think about it.  Think about me having my way with you.

WAIT A MINUTE

I think we got off track.  I am trying to explain today's universe to you.  Then we got all crazy.  HAHAH  Sorry, man.  But don't fret.  We got plenty of time.  So long as the circulation goes back to my feet. So long as the hair grows back on my legs.  So long as I stop drinking soda. Then we could have a few good years.  I think I got ten maybe 12 years left in me before I kick the bucket.  Before my kidneys shut down.  Before my job gets canned.  Before the robots take over. Before the Amazon has everybody doing slave labor.

I'm glad I'll be dead before all that. When America is no longer #1.  When all we can do is get out kicks from watching hand ball or water polo tournaments.

"OH YEAH!!! WELL OUR WATER POLO TEAM FINISHED IN 17TH PLACE IN THE WORLD CUP FINAL, SO TAKE THAT URGUAY!"

Naah.  That shit is for you younger generations, instead me an your Mom is just gonna play finger-pony in my ass while this fucking bath salt mania keeps me unnaturally high.

You Gen Z's can handle sucking.  You can handle coming in second.  My generation, well...we didn't handle that shit too well.  That's why we slack. I mean sure we wrote Heather's and Clerk's. Two damn good movies.  But after that, it was like eating PEZ candy, after the nostalgia runs out you realize you've just been eating shit candy and go hunting for something like a Magnum Caramel Ice Cream Bar.  Wayyyyy too fucking extravagant, but fuck it as the food stamps are paying for that shit.   And fuck the looks the guy driving the Mercedes gives you when you go to pay and have to count out your rolled coins, the three gift cards with the store credit you got for returning that spoiled meat you forgot you left on the counter to pay for your shit.

Fuck that dude.  Find his car later, and let the air out of it.  You'd have stabbed that tire a few years ago, but have you seen the mountains of tires located on urban centers that get set on fire each summer? Sending mad caps of black smoke into the air.  That shits for real, y'all.

Sorry for making this so long, I was going to keep this shit tight.

You know real short and all, but then I had today's poop watch and it was clay colored, which is a heck of a lot better than yesterday's green poop, you know what I am saying?  So things were on a spiral up.  My digestive track was getting better, so I thought I'd bring the energy. That is until about two minutes ago when I let loose with some juicy, green, almost chunky diarrhea.  Shit burned my ass chaps.  

So now I am thinking... that shit mostly don't change, if you know what I mean.

Oversharing is what blogs are for

I've been oversharing at work.  I talk to my customers about my life in the minutia that bloggers do, like the people at work really give a crap.  Example.  I tell my customers that, "I just bought a used car."

"It's a 1990 Volvo 760 turbo." I say.  "I bought it for only $1300."

The Volvo 760 has that amazing turbo whine.  I just love the sound of it! 

"Oh, how nice for you."  They reply.

Then I tell them how I took the car around several repair shops to get an oil change.

"It turns out that you can't take a Volvo to Walmart for an oil change.  They don't stock the necessary parts to do an oil change.  I had to go to Midas.  Midas charges $39.99 for an oil change."

And sometimes my  customers will agree with me that the price seems "a bit high."  But that just encourages me to tell them that the mechanic I took it for the oil change found an oil leak.

"Might be something, might be nothing.  But I am going to have the undercarriage power washed and the shop is going to add some dye to the engine to determine where the leak is coming from."

"If the leak isn't important they can just add a valve cover or something and the cost will be a few hundred dollars and everything should be okay.  But of course if the leak is from someplace important it could cost quite a bit more money and the engine or the turbo may be in danger or already ruined."

If that IS the case, then I am fucked.  A new turbo could easily run a 2,000 bucks.  A new engine just as much.  I don't have nearly enough money to fix those things if they go wrong.

I go on like that all day.  Same story to hundreds of customers.   I also engage my fellow workmates in my oversharing.  I talk and talk.

Afterwards I  feel like shit, like a druggie after getting high, huffing paint and then waking up in a puddle of my own piss and swearing to myself, "Never again!"

But the next customer comes and I talk about how the car has air conditioning.  And how I just bought new seat covers, and how I am thinking about getting a new stereo so I can play my phone or an mp3 player while I drive.

Not that I have driven anywhere since I have gotten the car.  That's the question I have gotten the most.  "Gone anyplace cool since you got the car.  "Nope."  I answer.  "Just the MVD, Dairy Queen, and work."

So now I have to overshare with you.  Aren't you lucky?

Summer time fun

It was hot outside today, somebody turn off the toaster oven, because it's baking me at a hundred and ten.

Took the bus to some run down apartment house to buy a car.* Before I could do that though I had to poop in a girl's bathroom at Shlotsky's Sandwich Shoppe.  I waited for ten minutes outside the men's only stall to no avail.  Dude was simply not budging.  Right as I get that loose shit out of me some girl comes barging in.  I screamed out "someone's in here!"

I gave the girl a shock I bet!  And she was a total cutie.  I bet she regretted the day she walked in after me...

ProTip:  If it takes you twenty minutes to poop, you don't have to poop!  If you have to shit diarrhea in the girl's bathroom you have a MEDICAL CONDITION.

So I finally get to the apartment and the damn bitch forgot to tell me that the car didn't have a battery.  So there was no way for me to start the car, check it out, or even take it on a test drive.

Did I mention that I took the bus to see her?  Well, I told her.  You would think she might have mentioned the battery situation.  It's not like I was going to go back on the bus, then look for an auto parts store and ride back on the bus to maybe fix her car for her.

The world is senseless.

The world is fucking with me.  Still.  After all these years.  Like the same stupid joke god never gets tired of hearing.  Why?  Why?  Why you no get tired of same joke, God?

On the ride home

I got to talking to a fellow bus rider about my situation.  The rider offered to give me their number, "so we could hang out sometime."

Pretty sure that dude was gay.

I downloaded a few books from the library.  One of them is After Shock by Robert Reich.  Talks about how the 1% is fucking us over.  The other book is A First Rate Madness by Nassir Ghaemi which talks about how crazy people are the best leaders.  It gives weight to ideas like how depressive's see the world, "study after study has shown that those suffering depression are better than "normal" people at assessing current threats and predicting future outcomes."

So they seem like really good books.  I thought I would share with you guys how things are going since it has been too long since I have written.  I might start writing a little more often.  So stay tuned.

*How the fuck can I afford a car you ask?  It turns out I have a 401k from the old Self Help Center job.  It was just sitting there earning me interest and shit.  So I took it out.  Got a couple of g's yo!  So I am in the market for a crappy used car that will cost me too damn much of my beer drinking money, will probably break down on me in the first few weeks, and leave me crying to myself the next morning after huffing on lubrication.