Almost Heart

First time this week I have woken up without a hangover.  I got up a full 36 minutes before I have to jump in the shower and run off to work.

Work is lame, but I only have six hours shifts this week.  Not so bad.  I do have to work Sunday which is Valentine's Day.  That sucks as I was supposed to go to the Communist Picnic Sunday.

I requested the day off, but alas it got changed because all of you dick heads need to run to the grocery store on the day of the holiday and pick up a box of chocolates, a dozen droopy red roses, and a $5.99  Hallmark card that tells her all kinds of squishy things you never feel about her.

This is done so that you don't have to be nice to her the rest of the year.  At least that was told to me by my friend the Girl Robot.

Girl Robot is mechanical and cannot feel human emotions, so she gets pissed off when humans try and feel things even though we all know you  guys are mostly incapable of feeling things.

"Tell me one couple who has a good relationship."  She offers me as proof that humans are incapable of feelings and good behavior.

I list a few couples we know.  None of them are happy.  I then suggest she adopt a life of monkism like myself.

"Nobody wants to fuck you."  She replies curtly.  "That's different."

Her cruelty will not go unanswered in the next life. 

Her unpleasant words still ringing in my ears, I saunter off to the customer service desk where a girl offers me a tip for printing her money order for her.  Then she offers to double the tip if I show my tits.

I undo the top button on my shirt in a faux strip tease.    She suggests that my strip tease would earn me 4 dollars. 

She giggles and tells me it was nice to meet me even though we never exchanged introductions.  Though she knew my name because I wear a name tag.

Do you remember my Valentine's Day Post from a few years ago?  If you don't here is the link.  It was somewhat funny.  Go remember it.

Regret is never enough

It ended with regret.

Like most things I do in my life. But at the time I had no idea that it would end that way. I never do. I just plunge straight into things without thinking.

"At a certain point you get used to things not working out for you." I lament to the drunk next to me.

Shane is shit-faced and leaning to close to me. The black derby styled hat perched on his head looks ridiculous.

"This is a fucking dive bar." I tell myself. "No way in hell a guy should be in here wearing a hat like that."

I am going to tell Shane my darkest thoughts. I am going to tell him the things that make me ashamed to be alive. I want to choke him on my perversity, my demons.

"We all think things like that, man." He breathes at me.

The air around me is now toxic with stale onions and vomit.

"I want to tie a woman up with masking tape, and douse her in ketchup, and wrap her in plastic lawn bags and give her so much alcohol and pain killers that she doesn't wake up for a day or two after we start to fuck."

I pause just long enough to gulp down what's left of my beer.

"I want to fuck her only through the drunk daze of chemicals. I want her to wake up feeling violated. I want her to beg for me to do it again." I let my voice soften and drift away.

"Man that ain't nothing." Shane says.

Shane takes off his hat and wipes his brow with both of his pale skinny hands.

"I mean…" He stutters.

"I've done stuff I regret." He adds.

I look over at Rhonda the bartender. Her face is grinning at me. I think she loved every minute of my little soliloquy.

"You're one CRAZY ass mutherfucker." She tells me. "You know that?"

"I think I do."

Dear Diary. Nothing Happened.

Dear Diary,

I've been drinking a lot lately.

I've been drinking almost every day this week.

I drank yesterday. I drank two days ago, and I am even drinking right now.

Now Diary, I've only had two beers so far tonight. So I am still of sober mind. So don't go thinking this blog post is one of those rambling drunken posts with no connection to reality.

Even though I am sure I am going to ramble a bit.

I just cracked open my third beer. The third beer was a can. Bud. The second was a bottle of Bud, and so was my first beer.

I bought a six pack of Ultra just before closing time. I need to get fewer calories in me as I am eating chocolate gold fish from Pepperidge Farm.

(They are delish!)

I know that last comment was a little gay, but fuck it.

A word to the wise man, Dear Diary. Drinking Budweiser and chewing on graham crackers goes well with Eric Clapton. I am thinking specifically of the live album he cut on MTV.

My beer is warm.

I think I need to keep drinking it though.

At least the drinking will keep me from thinking about Detroit.

Though sometimes drinking leads to Detroit. And drinking and Detroit lead me to public masturbation.

People are against public masturbation.

I ate some Whataburger tonight.

Diary, did you know there were lots of hot chicks at Whataburger around midnight?

Well, there are.

I stared at one of them while watching the latest episode of 24 on my mobile phone.

The girl I stared at was very pretty.

And she was sitting with her boyfriend and it seemed to me that the guy was not all that special.

Actually, I noticed almost all the girls who had boyfriends had boyfriends that were way below what you might expect those girls to be able to get.

It's strange when you notice people.

The more you pay attention the more things you see.

Most of those things make you feel weird.

I was looking at the boyfriends for a while. The thing I noticed most about them was how unselfconscious they were.

Even though (it seemed to me) they had plenty of reasons to worry.

I've read that ignorance is bliss.

I think at one point the girl I was really digging noticed how brazen my staring had become.

(I was just thinking how nice it would be to have such a pretty girlfriend. Plus when you have a gf you can stare at her all you want. You can stare in her eyes and trace her freckles and chicks just think you are being sweet and all and not creepy or weird like.)

So the girl notices me and points me out to her boyfriend (who doesn't really even look over) and I just turn my eyes away and start paying more attention to Jack Bauer.

Jack's friend is being raped by some Russian asshole who acts tuff by throwing a glass against a wall.

I think about throwing my plastic cup half full of Sprite. I think about bouncing my Sprite off the trash can. I wonder what the group of college kids would do if they saw me do that.

There's a lot of them.

[College Kids]

I think they would call the cops on me.

{college kids call the cops}

The girl I am staring at has nice hair.

Her hair is up in some killer swept up hair do. She is broad smiling and sharing parts of her burger with her boyfriend.

It seems to me she is really playing up the whole, "I've got a bf so you can stop staring at me" thing.

There is another girl at Whataburger that would knock your socks off. That is if you saw her, Diary.

She is tall.

Skinny in her tight jeans.

She had amazing curly hair that was frosted blond.

Her hair was REALLY frosted at the top. I think the stylist may have fucked that part up. Somehow she worked it and it made her look older and more sophisticated as she tossed french fries at dinner companions.

Her dinner companions were two Asian girls and three "surfer" teen boys.

The teen boys were studded with acne and large flat rimed hats. The boys cocked the hats that sat on their heads sideways.

Most of the fries tossed by the pretty blond missed their target and ended up on the ground.

The Asian girls weren't that pretty.

But I would have fucked them.

Absurdistan

Can I tell you guys about the book I am reading?

Of course I can.  It's my blog and I get to do what the hell I want on it.

Go fucking read ABSURDISTAN.

This shit is the bomb!

Think Confederacy of Dunces, but from the style of late decaying 1980's  Soviet Union.

I found the book looking through the electronic resources of the Tempe Library.  I listen for free on my Env3 at the bus stops.  It almost makes me glad it takes me 90 minutes to get to work now!

Detroit is aka the precious which is aka for the shit

Dr. Detroit is the name of my coke dealer. Naturally, I make all kinds of references about "Detroit" when I talk to my drug friends. I say things like, "I am going to Detroit" when I am going over to my drug dealer's house.

My drug dealer does not have a house. My drug dealer lives at one of those Resident Inn's or Traveler Motels. For a motel the place is pretty nice. His room comes with a small kitchen and a 20 inch TV.

My drug dealer is straight up ghetto. He has jerry curls and walks with a limp because he's been shot so many times.

You may wonder why I am doing drugs. I will tell you. I just spent 2 hours editing the whataburger on the road post.  (Was it worth it?)

I was reading over that blog post in hopes that I could get a book out of it. Either that or I hoped I could see some talent or good writing on it. I was looking for anything that would give me hope. Hope enough for me to hang on to this crappy life and keep trying.

What I found caused me to take a road trip to Detroit.

So what we have here at this blog is what we have always had.

A Chronicle of decline. (If I were ever up.)

So that's why I am doing crack, Meth, mushrooms, and whatever I can get my hands on.

I text my friend (she hooks on the side) and I ask her if she wants to rent a motel room with me and buy some coke. I tell her I want to buy the stuff on my day off and hang out with her and get drunk & fucked up in the middle of the day.

"It has to be in the middle of the day." I tell her. "I don't want to get high at night, because then it just seems like we are partying."

I want this drug taking to be seen as obscene not glamorous by her.

I tell her, "I want to snort as much cocaine as we can buy."

I don't tell her that I am really thinking about buying her meth. Meth is way cheaper. Meth is also way more dangerous. Meth is gonna fuck us up real soon, because I can't stop thinking about Meth.

I have Meth on the brain.

I text:

I want to rent a motel room so we can keep all the Detroit to ourselves.

She agrees with me. We should keep all the shit for ourselves. Anyway my roommate might be a cannibal. It's better if I stay the fuck away from him as much as possible.

My new life of drugs promises me a quick burn out. At least I hope it does. When I am gone you will forget that I am loser.

I just want to feel good.

Her text says.

Don't we all baby-doll. Don't we all?

A serious WTF moment

Can someone help me out with this? Why is my roommate collecting wishbones and drying them out on our window frame?

p.s. This is not the first time he has done this.  He had 3 before I threw the last bunch out.  Is he getting a taste for cannibalism?

On the Road to Whataburger

I have this idea to write today's On the Road without ever going anywhere.

I was talking to an old woman at the grocery store and she told me that it is not safe to go hitch hiking anymore.

"You'd probably get raped or killed by one of those serial killers." She deadpans to me.

"Either that or nobody would ever stop for you."

I nodded my head to her and agreed.

"You'd just die of thirst out in the middle of the desert with your thumb up in the air." She added.

I guess she is right. You can't go on the road anymore. Anyway that's been done before. Plus think about all those serial killers. Jack never had to face anything like that.



I figure the only experiences left in America go something like this…

SUNLIGHT

My alarm clock is blaring at 12:45 p.m.

I need to get to work by 2:30. Not a terribly difficult task, if the city of Tempe wasn't fucking with me.

The Tempe City Council altered bus routes and discontinued bus lines near me. Now I have to walk to a bus stop that's a quarter mile away from my house.

When I get there I stand around waiting.

The internet says the bus should be here. The bus book distributed by the city of Tempe says it won't be here for another 20 minutes. I try my cell phone for the automated bus info, but I am placed on hold.

On the Road.

I decide to ditch the bus stop and start walking to Whataburger.

It's good walking weather. Late January and the sun is out. The sun makes it a warm day, but there is enough of a breeze to keep me from sweating into my underwear.

There's a nice working class vibe here at my favorite Whataburger. All of the fast food workers are "lifers." They don't wash their aprons. They toss the burgers with more onions and lettuce than is necessary.

Most of the workers are Mexicans. But at Whataburger you also get young mothers. I wonder why these young mothers went and got jobs. I guess their food stamps ran out.

I check out the girls because I've always liked skinny moms. I think skinny moms must be genetically programmed to have kids because they slim down so quick from their baby weight.

Even though the Whataburger girls are skinny you can see how late nights and single parenthood are having an effect on them. Babies never go to sleep when you want them to. The girls don't have time to wear makeup anymore, so you can see the dark circles burrowing below their eye brows.

I dig in my pockets to look for change. All I need is 6 dollars and I can get a burger, fries, and "all you can drink" soda at Whataburger.

My Whataburger has the greatest soda fountain in the Valley of the Sun. It can take 2 minutes to fill up a 32 ounce soda. When I press down on the lever to top my pop off the fizz spills over the side of the cup. I take a big whiff and smell all the carbon dioxide in the air.

I text my friends Krystal and Candy and tell them I am tired of work. I tell them since I am late for work I am taking the day off.

At my work if you are six minutes late you get docked a quarter of an hour's pay. At my work if you are six minutes late you are in as much trouble as you would be if you'd called in sick. Six minutes late? You might as well call in.

I find some cash and order my meal. Then I call in sick six minutes late.

I text Candy and Krystal. I tell them that I am eating fries and burgers, and I think we should get stuffed on fast food, and buy a few 12 packs, and head back to my place and get drunk.

They agree.

Candy and Krystal show up all smiles.

I used to want to fuck Candy. But Candy just had a baby and she looks like she might hold on to the baby weight. Also, I have a sneaky suspicion that the only reason she agreed to meet me at Whataburger was because she loves fast food as much as I do.

I order the girls some food with the remaining dollars on my debit card.

"I am trying to figure a way out to get us beer." I tell them.

Krystal ain't had a job for a few weeks. But she is flush with cash she says. She offers to buy us beer on the way back.

"We will stop by the gas station." She says. "They have cheep 12 packs for 7.99."

I tell Kristal that I have an idea and the idea has something to do with us having sex in the mop closet.

Kristal lets off a big guffaw of a laugh. Food spills out of her mouth and she wipes the lettuce and onions up in a paper napkin.

"What the fuck is a mop closet?" She asks.

I look up from my burger at her and try to decide if I think she is being serious.

"A mop closet is a closet with a mop in it." I tell her.

"And we should have sex in it." I finish.

The girls giggle at me and tell me I am the craziest mother fucker that they know.

"But I have a feeling that won't get me laid in a mop closet." I tell them.

When Candy gets up to go to the bathroom Crystal tells me, "If Candy gets drunk she might fuck you."

"Then we should get her home and get her drunk as fast as possible." I tell Kristal.

Kristal agrees.

I should tell you that I wrote all this down a lot after it happened. I should also tell you that I write better in the shower. If you were in the shower with me when I wrote this you might understand a little better some of the things I am talking about.

I forgot to mention my attorney in this story.

My attorney is a sociopath who likes to beat stray animals to death with two liter pop bottles.

My attorney is always asking me to go to Van Buren with him to go hooker spotting.

Hooker spotting is one of our favorite games.

I spotted Kristal working one night after my attorney ran over a stray kitten with 4x4. The cat wasn't dead, but it wasn't moving either. So my attorney got out of the Jeep to take a look at it.

The cat is pissed and hissing at him.

My attorney decides he needs to get something out the Jeep in order to prod the sick animal off the road.

"The damn thing has rabies or something." My attorney complains.

"Is that why you need to the 2 liter?" I ask sarcastically.

"You know, you really are obtuse. You know that?" My attorney chides me.

I hate when my attorney uses big words on me. I think my attorney thinks I am stupid or something.

"Is that a fat joke?" I ask. "Because I want to know if that is some kind of fat joke." I tell him. "Like I'm all more than 90 degrees or something."

"I forgot you took Algebra II in high school." My attorney says.

"Just give me the fucking 2 liter!" He snorts grabbing for the 2 liter.

I hand the 2 liter over to him and watch as my attorney holds the 2 liter high over his head with two hands and brings the bottle down over the stray cat.

At the last second the cat jumps up and takes off for the sidewalk. The 2 liter explodes in front of my attorney in a splash of foam.

I laugh at my attorney as he walks back to the Jeep wiping his hands on his dress slacks.

"Had enough fun yet?" I ask him.

"Almost." Came his laconic reply.

My attorney and I climb back into his Jeep. He guns the engine and we head home over the Mill Ave. Bridge.
**Who can afford to travel in a recession? Maybe I can! I hope to make a trip out to Cali with some Detroit. Live blogging event of course!**

More at the end of the road

I was telling my friend Leif (you call him Lester) that:

"I liked everything about the movie The Road except for the ending."

A new pair of tits is slinging beer from behind the bar. The new tits are wrapped in a wife beater t-shirt. New tits has tats up and down her shoulders. New tits hair is crew cut short and slicked back.

"But I liked the movie." I say.

"The movie is one of those post-apocalyptic Sci-Fi movies about a boy and his father. Only this movie gets a lot of it right."

"I mean the movie is completely fucking depressing."
 
New Tits pours me a beer. She slides the beer over to me. She gives me a wink. New tits checks me out in that I am not being discreet I am checking you out but you aren't supposed to see me checking you out way. 

But only I know she is not really checking me out she is only pretending to check me out because she has sized me up already. She has figured out how I like attention from women. Because she is a fucking genius, New Tits is.

She has this idea that being friendly, but not too friendly, is going to earn her some tips tonight. And since there are only 5 or six other people in the bar and most of them appear to be asleep or dead she might as well hang out near me and Leif.

"Bad things are happening in this movie. Really bad things." 
I say.

I am talking really loudly. I am talking loud enough for the whole bar to hear me. I am being dramatic. I am using body language. I am using all kinds of vocal intonations and arm gesticulations to get my point across.

"People are dying. Everyone is hungry. There are cannibals everywhere."

I throw my hands up.

"People are committing suicide."

People would rather kill themselves than live in this movie and that makes a lot of sense to me.

"In the movie things are always getting worse. Every time something bad happens and the father and son escape to a new situation, the next situation is even worse than the old one."

I can see the bar is not convinced.

"At one point the father/son team escape from a group of cannibals and finds a cabin. You think to yourself. Nice, a cabin! Maybe they will be safe for a second." I pause for dramatic effect.

"But not for a second." I deadpan.

"The cabin is home to a bunch of cannibals who plan on feeding off a bunch of people they have locked in a cellar."

I look over at Leif who looks like he wants to throw up.

"Jesus." New Tits says in disgust.

"Some of the captives have had their arms or their legs amputated and eaten." I tell New Tits.

"Christ." New Tits finishes.

"The best part of the movie is how there is no hope. Things are only getting worse. No matter how much people try, no matter how noble their efforts at survival are, they just can't catch a break."

Leif interrupts me.  "If you plan on killing yourself…I want you to tell me first."

I laugh at him, "Okay, man. I promise."

Remember the poster of the little girl eating cheese I talked about? Well here she is!

Remember how I hated her?  How she pissed me off?

I sank into a pit of despair so low that I flicked my finger at a cardboard cut-out of little girl eating a Triscuit that stands at the front of my register.

"Why'd you do that?"  The grocery clerk to my left asked me nervously.

"Because that BITCH doesn't need anymore cheese."  I barked at her.

"Look at her."  I pointed to a picture of the most adorable little girl eating  a cracker you have ever seen.  "You know she just wants more cheese!"

*I'm gonna take a picture of it at work.  You'll see.

That little kid has enough cheese.  But a kid like that is never satisfied with good enough. She just uses her cuteness to get her way.

I guess you think I should just ignore that kind of shit.  But I can't any longer.

"I'm sick of people like her getting what they want."

I must have said some other stuff that I don't remember, because for the rest of the night that clerk avoided me and did not talk to me.

Well they brought the little bitch back.  I think they are just fucking with me. 

What do you think?

At the end of the road is the guy you left vomiting in the toilet stall all by himself

And he gets all mad at you and says things like:

"Hold my hair back."

"Why didn't you hold my hair back?"

"I can't believe you didn't stay with me while I puked on you, and I can't believe you didn't hold my hair back as I puked into that smelly ass toilet."

"Why did you bring me to this shit hole dive bar?"

"Is is just because you want to score with the fucking EMO chicks?"

I remind Leif there is no such thing as a 30 year old EMO chick.

"There are only 30 year old hipster chicks, or fastly approaching 30 year old hipster chicks."

The only EMO's I know are 14 year old girls.

Splashing sound.

I am holding his hair back as he pukes.

The sound I am hearing is like the sound you hear when you pour a pitcher of kool aid into a bathtub. Only the purple splashes hitting your feet in that case would not frighten you.

Leif says, "Are you holding my hair back?" His hair is full of puke.

"I am holding you stupid fucking hair back." I tell Leif.

I tell Leif. "I am keeping your highlights from getting damaged by the powerful stomach acids that are shooting out of your throat."

Leif is drunk. Leif is deranged. Leif insists I am not there. Leif is angry that I left him puking his guts out in the stall of The Tailgate Bar.

Leif has never been to a dive bar. Leif wants to know if he is pretty. Leif wants me to be his pimp.

I tell Leif that all that puking is going to make him thin. I tell Leif that I wish I could puke like that. Then I would have tight abs like he has. I tell Leif that the $10,000 dollars he has been offered by the GENTLEMAN is not enough.

"You are going to be rich and skinny forever." I tell Leif.

I need to get some cocaine. All this hand holding is getting on my nerves. I'd rather be drinking what's left of my beer. The dyke lesbian bartender in the other room is probably pouring my beer out as we speak.

"I look like shit." Leif slurs. His throat is dry and course from all the puking.

I have no idea when my puking sympathetic reflex is going to kick in.

"Your fucking sexy, Leif." I lie to him.

I tell him how I have a semi hard on and I suggest that he make a grab at my dick if he doubts it.

He says it would make no difference.

"Your cock's too small to know the difference." He says suddenly feisty.

I let go of his hair and his head hits the porcelain lid of the toilet and bounces off it. I catch his head before it hits a second time.

"Shut the fuck up!" I scream at him.

"My cock is big enough." I tell him.

Leif is suddenly sorry. Leif is sobbing uncontrollably.

"You've got to pull yourself together man." I tell him. "I am not going out there with you if your lipstick is all smudged up."

"I thought we were friends." He says.

"We are." I tell him.

"I'm gonna take care of you." I say.

"Who do you think is gonna drive you home?" I ask him.

He looks up at me.

"That's right."

"Me."

I'm risking 6 years in jail. I have 4 or 5 DUI's. All depends on the way you want to count them.

"I am going to drive through Tempe drunk as hell." I say to him. The cops are everywhere I am sure.

"First we are going to pick up Krystal." I tell Leif. "Then we are going to get some WhataBurgers."

"We have a plan." Leif sighs, relieved.

The Underground Man Visits The Oliveo Grill

I am not normal.

It took me a long time to come to realize that.

My friends get angry with me when I do things that are not normal.  When I do not have normal reactions to things.

When my friends tell me what's wrong with me I just shrug at them.  When they offer solutions to my problems, I just shrug again.

I have built up an impressive upper torso from all this shrugging.

I say again to my friend,  "I am not normal."

We are eating.  We are seated at one of the few places open at 2 am that serves gyros.

I've tried eating at this place a few times.  I eat way too many gyros. I eat out too much at Mediterranean food places.

Each time I visit the cafe I try the gyro combo meal.  Each time the gyro meat is dry.  I hate when my gyro meat is dry.

The gyro does come with cucumbers and a decent sauce.  The veggies are good.  I like their cucumbers.  I like the their tomatoes.  I don't normally eat tomatoes, except in chicken gyros.

"Chicken gyros must have tiny diced tomatoes."  I tell my friend.

Overall the gyro is edible.

The best thing about the cafe is that it is open very late.  3 am.  The next best thing about the cafe is the staff.  All very pleasant and quite helpful.  I have a crush on the blond working the cash register.  I don't think she knows.  I am certain she does not remember me. 

I think one reason my friend gets angry with me when we discuss life and philosophy is that I don't share his motivations.  When I tell him I don't have any reason to do anything he suggests  motivations to live by.

He believes his motivations are rational, but I beg off.  I am not affected by the rational.  That is not to say I am irrational.  I can see the logic they offer.

What is it they think I don't understand?


I am the underground man.

I am a patient man.  I don't know a lot of people who could stand to be lectured by my friend.  The guy talking to me.

I don't let the fact that the logic comes from a man standing over a table full of dirty dishes bother me.  I do not allow the fact that the logic only pours out of this fellow when he is high on Marijuana.  I don't let that fact alter my reception of his logic at all.

I tell him, "I think your logic may be reasonable.  But it is still not compelling to me."

When I tell him this I am drinking ice tea through a straw from a styrofoam  cup.

The ice tea is brewed.   The iced tea is passion fruit flavored.

If you want to know anything about me you need to know that brewed tea is important to me.  I can't stand drinking that imitation tea that flows out of the soda fountain.

The cafe crowd is full of ASU students.  Lots of cute girls.  If you like that sort of thing.  Which I do.

Strange thing about the girls.  Every one of them had a touchscreen cell phone.  They all look like they 'are using MyTouch's from T-Mobile.  They look like they are using the latest Google Android Phone The Nexus One.

Maybe they were Sprint's Hero.  I can't be sure my memory is correct.  I am sure none of the phones were Motorola Droids.  Nothing square or industrial looking in the bunch.

All I can say for sure is that my Env3 sitting on the table next to a bunch of rolled up napkins was jealous of the round lines, brushed silver effects, and vibrant touch screens I saw.

No one in the cafe is talking except me and my friend.  All the girls are too busy texting to enjoy their food.  Everyone is strangely mannered like in a Science Fiction movie.  The ASU girls pick at their Greek salads with plastic forks in unison.  No one talks to their dinner mates.  Maybe ASU people only text each other now.

There are two flat screen TV's in the cafe.  Only one of them is turned on.  Somebody turned on the captions, so you could read what is being said.  Glenn Beck.  He is interviewing a very pretty looking soccer mom.

She seems as confused by Glenn Beck as my friend is about me.

The french fries in this place are quite poor tasting.  They are shoes string french fries with curly fry seasoning.  I dislike that kind of seasoning, though if you like that seasoning, I suppose you may like the  fries enough to give them a pass.

"I am the Underground Man."  I tell my friend.

I think this is all I should have to say.

I tell him, "I think this explains why I believe in inertia." 

My friend looks at the bill.

"For the quality I think it's a bit much."  He says.

"We should really only come here for The 6.44 lunch special."  He adds.

I tell him that the late night $5.00 fries and gyro deal isn't too bad.

"But I have to have a drink and feta cheese on my gyro, so the bill is going to be bigger."

My friends asks me what I am waiting for. 

I pay my bill.  $8.44 for a gyro with feta, fries, and drink.

"I am the underground man."  I tell my friend again.   "And what I await is my first act of tyranny."

"I did get a coupon for a free gyro that could be used next month."  My friend says.

"They give them out to everyone."  I give a smile to the girl at the counter with the coupons.

"I think Oliveo's allows the meat to sit out too long and get dried."  My friend whispers to me as he gets up.

"But I will be back again to give them another try."  I snap the coupon with a flick of my finger and place the card into my wallet.

We both walk out the door into ample parking.

Happy Fucking New Year

I am out of decaf tea, so I pop a stick of grape bubble gum in my mouth. I just need something to fool my mouth into thinking it's not dry. Dehydration is so 2009.

2010.

Cliché about how time flies. About how time presses forward. Maybe I noticed kids playing basketball in the street. Maybe I noticed a gang of hipsters keeping warm at the coffee shop.

They look so young and energetic. They look like Christmas presents. So neatly wrapped in jackets and hoodies. Bright colored scarves dance around their necks. Each of them sipping carefully on chocolate lattes.

I think they notice me watching them.

I am walking quickly home. I am listening to music. I have my sweatshirt on. I have my earphones in. I alternate staring at the pavement and checking out the girls congregated at the outdoor coffee shop.

The guy stares back at me. I wonder what he is thinking. He has a scarf on too. He is drinking some kind of coffee. He is blowing on the lid to cool it down.

I am changing songs on my phone. I am carrying a large soda. The straw is sticking out of the cup. I take a sip when he takes a sip. I am walking past him too quickly to make up my mind about him and his friends.

They are loud group. They all look like they are having fun.

I am having fun too.

I just ate at WhataBurger. I listened to the Atheist Experience Podcast.

It is 10 pm.

I could have taken the bus, but I decided to walk. I feel the exercise is good for me.

I feel young enough.

I can walk to fast food. I can skip the bus and walk in the cold. My toe does not hurt too much today. I am wearing brown socks that soak up the blood from my ingrown toenail. I am sure this is all psychological, but not seeing the blood congealing around my toes is nice. I feel whole again.

That is an exaggeration.

I don't feel that good.

But I won't lie. I only feel pity for the group of college kids. They are so naïve. They are sure that youth lasts forever. They are sure they will remain cute and stylish. People will check out their washboard stomachs. They sneak jealous appreciative glances at the spiffy scarves they wear.

They are so funny to me.

I am laughing as I walk past them.

Some of them stare over at me. And I point at my headphones. I tell one of them that I am listening to a Bill Cosby CD.

"That's why I am laughing so hard." I tell her.

I take my earphones out.

She says that she loved Ghost Dad as a kid.

Suddenly the kids stop milling around. One of them laughs at the girl that loved Ghost Dad.

The girl looks down at the pavement. She has on a purple scarf. She has long, straight brown hair. Her hair wisps around her face and sticks to her lightly colored lips.

She says now she thinks that Ghost Dad is a terrible movie. She says she loved Titanic and Avatar, and says she loves how James Cameron is the D.W. Griffith of the 21^st century.

The boy who laughed laughs again at her.

He tells her to stop trying to use Film 101 on us.

"But we all love Avatar." A voice I can't see says.

The girl must have a friend.

"3-D is awesome!" I say.

I don't care what they think.

I think 3-d is awesome.

I think 3-D is the wave of the future.

I am walking away. I am putting my earphones back in. I am remembering that I think all those kids will be dead one day. One day these kids will get old. I am thinking I don't want to be them when they get old.

Being old will be such a drag. Not for me.

Futility is something like an old friend to me. A friend I no longer want to see. But one I stop by now and then, and I try to remember what we had in common before we stopped hanging out.

My So Called Happy New Year

2010 is the last year of my life.

At least I won’t have to write in this blog anymore.  I won’t have to come up with new ways to describe how urine puddles around my feet at public restrooms.  How when when I am done pissing I shiver and my feet do a tap dance and splash dirty, yellow piss on the cuffs of my pleated khaki pants. 

How I don’t notice it, or how I pretend not to notice it.

I think I am going to start acting differently.

I am thinking about not washing my hands after urinating anymore.  I am thinking I will talk to the homeless girl that asks for change from me.

I am thinking I will invite her to get a coffee.

No.

I will invite her to my house for a beer. 

“A beer and a warm bed.” I will tell her. 
She will tell me all she wants is change.  That she does not want to get a beer with me.  That she does not need a warm bed.
Where does she get off looking at me like that?  Like I am going to cut her up and throw her body parts in a dumpster and set it on fire?

She is not model pretty.  She is not even aspiring model/stripper hot.


I should scream at her fucking face or something.

“You’re not gonna get my fucking money, whore!”

"You are not even pretty enough for me to leave your burning corpse in a dumpster, you dirty faced slut!"

Something completely inappropriate like that.

I know just because I plan to off myself that doesn’t mean I need to become a dick.  It’s just that I am never am the dick.  Just in my head.

Now I am going to be something out here.

It’s still your fucking world and all.  I know that.  But I might just say hi to you.  I might just take back all the defective shit sitting in plastic bags in my bathroom.  Receipts stapled to the bags.  Bags just sitting around waiting to get a refund. 

I just might do it.

But I have an idea that all this liberation people say they feel when they kill themselves is bullshit.  How when they talk about the peace it brings, or about how it gives them a sense of purpose they are fooling themselves.

Maybe peace comes later.

Maybe I just have to get used to the idea.

When I get to 100,000 unique views on this blog something dramatic has to happen.  I have to go out in a blaze of glory.

Did any of you read the note the guy on the plane left as a comment card and how it made the plane get diverted and how he is now facing like a 20 year sentence?

The guy is a fucking awesome writer!

I thought I was going to die, we were so high up, I thought to myself: I hope we don’t crash and burn or worse yet landing in the ocean (?) through it, only to be eaten by sharks, or worse yet end up on some place like Gilligan’s island stranded, or worse yet be eaten by a tribe of headhunters, speaking of headhunters why do they eat outsiders and not the family members? Strange…and what if the plane ripped apart in mid-flight and we plummeted to earth, landed on Gilligan’s Island and then lived through it, and the only woman there was Mrs. Thurston Howell III? No MaryAnne (my favorite), no Ginger – just lovely! If it were just her, I think I’d opt for the sharks, maybe the headhunters.

He should be writing vanity cards for Chuck Lorre or something.  Not sharing a cell with terrorists.

This world is so BULLSHIT!

It's your last post of 2009, Charlie Brown

On the internet there is a report about oil prices.  Oil has reached 79 dollars a barrel. It must be true.  I read it on the Drudge Report.

I am stuffed.  My belly is full of Mexican Rice, refried beans, tostadas, tacos.  The tacos were full of beef, lettuce, onions, and cheese.

I must have had 4 of them and now I am so full I can cannot concentrate on the news that oil prices are spiking again.  I am sure some trader at Wells Fargo is laughing his ass off at me.

I hear the noises my stomach makes.  My stomach makes the creaks and groans of a piñata right before it bursts, unloading its gifts of candy and cheap toys.

Only my stomach is full of tamales and cupcakes. 

After it breaks open it rains buckets of decaffeinated tea down on the children.  Soaking them like the dirty whores that appear in German watersport videos.

It is the last day of 2009.

I am so happy to see it go.  I will look back at this year and it will depress me to remember any of it, except that on the last day possible I read the quote of the year, "This cockroach-like existence is cumulatively intolerable even though on any given night it is perfectly manageable."

Wanna get depressed?  Go read the story.

Don't go reading anything into this post

"It's not imaginary." I told her.  "I don't just make stuff up."

She took one look at me.  She looked at my bald head.  A few stray hairs standing around alike the last survivors at the Alamo.

"We surrender! We surrender!"  I could imagine them saying.

"No quarter!"  The little Mexican Banditos would say.

She looked at my bald head with the few stray wisps of hair and my fat jowls and laughed her vicious little laugh.

"You're just a fat Piggy!" She giggled.

"You do not have swollen noids!"

She was doubled over with laughter.  She was pointing at me with her index finger and brushing the hair out of her face.

"Quit it!"  She bellowed.  "You're killing me!"

"Fuck you!"  I thought to myself.

I thought about last night when I came in her.  How she let me get on top of her.  I thought about her getting up and turning around and doing 'reverse cowboy' on me.

I laughed a little myself.

"I am glad you are not going to be so serious."  She said.  She must have thought I was laughing at myself the way she was laughing at me.

"You don't know."  I said solemnly.

We sat down in the kitchen at the breakfast table.  We did not have a dining room table in the 1 bedroom apartment.  So the breakfast table doubled as the dining room table.

"I guess it triples as the lunch table too!"  I thought.


Great.  I am being snooty to myself.

"Why do people put themselves out there when all they get is ridicule."  I asked her.

"Hell if I know."  She said.  "I am gonna be alone forever."  She said in a mocking tone.

"How do you plan on doing that?"  I asked her a little indignantly.

She looked at me crossly.  She picked up the napkin ring that was sitting in the middle of the table.  She tossed it violently at the living room wall.  It smashed against the wall with a crackle, exploding into a million shards of plastic wood.

"That was fucking crazy."  I looked in the eyes.

"It was a bit dramatic."  She agreed.

Then she shrugged and got up out of the chair.  She walked over to the bedroom and checked on the kid.  He was still asleep.  Apparently he had gotten used to living with his crazy ass parents.

"At least he can sleep."  I said glad that something good could come out of all this.

"No fucking shit."

Teri plopped down on the hide a bed sofa that doubled as our living room sofa.  We got tired of putting the cushions on it so the sofa stayed in bed form most days.

William was stretched out on the sofa watching TV.  William was in high school and I was sure his parents were wondering where he was.

I was not sure how Teri knew William.  I just knew they were "friends."

"Don't be so fucking jealous!"  Teri would tell me whenever I asked her how she knew Will.

"Anyway.  I am allowed to fuck other dudes."  She told me.

"Remember?" She asked referring to our little agreement.

"So are you fucking him?" I asked my cock tingling a bit.

"Not yet."  She answered.

Teri ran her hand under the sheets.  I could tell she was holding hands with William under the sheets.

"I need to get to bed."  I told them.

William looked up at me worried.  "You don't want to drink a few more beers?"  He asked like a scared puppy.

"We're out of beers."  I informed him.

"I wish we had some weed."  Teri added.  She looked over at William and his eyes got glassy.

"Me too."  He whispered.

I had enough.  It was a long walk to work and I had to get up at 6 in the morning.

"Only 4 hours for sleep for me."  I said to no one.

Teri snorted and snuggled up against William.

The TV was blaring Montel Williams.  Some woman going off about her baby daddy.

I got off the sticky fake leather chair.  I walked to the bedroom and opened the door.  I walked in and closed the door softly.  The room was pitch black.

I kicked a toy and stifled a yelp.  The kid stirred a little in his crib, but did not wake up.

I laid down on the bed after peeling myself out of my jeans and underwear.  I kept my t-shirt on to protect myself from the chill in the air.  My nipples were hard and rubbed the cotton t-shirt uncomfortably.

When I got under the blankets I noticed I had a hard on.

I could hear the Montel Williams show go into a commercial.  It was one of those long 2 minute informercial style commercials.  A magic bullet blender.

I tried to imagine what William and Teri were doing on the sofa together.  I could not hear any squeaking from the bed, nor did I hear any moaning.

When Teri came to bed her she smelled like she had given him a blow job.  But she said nothing happened because William said he was afraid of getting caught.  He also said he wanted to smoke some weed and wasn't in the mood to fuck unless he could get some.

"We're out of fucking weed!"  Teri whispered harshly at me.  Her breath coming out at me like a copper penny.

"I know." I reminded her.

"I need to get some fucking sleep."  I reminder her.

"It's already 5 am."  She said with a little too much glee.

"Great."  I told her.  "I am going to be dead at work."

"Call in."  She advised.

"And just what the fuck do we do when rent comes around?"  I snap at her.

"I don't know."  She replied.  "I was just offering."  She added lamely.

"Offering to get us kicked out?"  I turned around to face her pulling the blanket with me.

"Oh, fuck me!"  Even in the dark I knew she was rolling her eyes.

"Are you hard yet?"  She asked grabbing for my dick.

"Not yet."

She put both hands around my cock rubbing furiously to get me hard.

"I am so fucking wet."  She announced.

"I thought I heard the baby move."  I close my eyes and try and will a faster hard on.

"Shhh."  Teri warned me.

She pulled me on top of her.  I slipped in easily.  She let out a quiet moan.

"Did you jack off while I was out there?"  She asked.  Her voice gruff with desire.

"A little." I admitted.

"You better have not cum."  She said sternly.

"I didn't!" I said quickly.

We fucked for a few more minutes and then I let out a squirt of ejaculate on her belly.

"Good Boy."  Teri praised me.  "Don't go getting me pregnant again"

Things would be different.

"Things could have been different."  She said.

"Yep." I answered back.

"Things would have been different."  I said.  I was leaning back against the concrete wall.

"You need a woman to make you do things."  She looked at me and took a drink from the long neck beer she had resting against her waist.

"I do." I admitted.

I looked down at my feet.

"But you would have treated me right."  She said in between drinks of her Bud Light.

"I would have."  I agreed.

"You need a good looking woman to keep you interested."  She accused me, rightly.

"I do."  I told her.

"But you're a different kind of man."  She said.  She took one of her legs and crossed the other leg with it at the knee.

She was still a good looking woman even though she was pushing 38.  She had thin legs.  She had on those snow boots that had become fashionable with all the teenage girls.  Her Levi's were skin tight and tucked into her boots.

"But,"  she continued "You aren't the kinda man that gets distracted by beauty.  You only need one good looking woman to keep you happy."

I don't know about being that good of a person.  But I think I knew what she meant.

"I would-uh treated you well."  I told her.

"I know you would-uh."  She smiled back at me.  Her long dark hair was moving in the breeze like a sail on the most magnificent sail boat you had ever seen.

She dug out a cigarette from her purse and put the cigarette between her chalky white fingers.  Her pink nail polish gleamed in the moonlight.  She lit the cigarette and took a long, deep inhale.  She blew the smoke out of the mouth.  A little of the smoke escaped from her nose.

She shook her head like she was disagreeing with herself a little.  Then she smiled to herself and looked up at me.

Chemistry.  We had it.  I never even had to try with her.  Words came out when they needed.  Actions around her seemed fluid.  Natural.  Everything slowed down to super slow motion.  I just sat there and counted her breaths.

We looked at the pavement a lot when we talked.

"It's funny."  I said.  And we both laughed at the inside joke.

"It is funny."  She said back to me. 

My mouth was dry so I got myself another beer from the six pack we were drinking from.  The six pack was sitting on the asphalt.

After a long while I decided to break the silence.  "I wonder how things would have been with us."

"I do too."  She said softly.

She uncrossed her leg.  She put her hand behind her head and stretched her back out a bit.  She smiled shyly over at me.  Self-conscious.

"You ever kill anybody?"  She asked me.

"Sure."  I told her.  "Why do you ask?"  I wondered.

She did not answer my question. She just asked me another one.

"How did you dispose of the body?"

"Medical waste."  I answered.

"So who do you wanna kill?"

"Marty."  She said.  "I am sick of his shit."

I swallowed a big gulp of beer.  My heart was beating pretty fast.

"You still got that GAT in your glove department?"  She looked over at my truck.

"Yep."  I said as smoothly as possible.  "I still got it."

The gun was not hidden very well.  Everyone knew about my gun.  They knew how I kept it stashed in my glove department and how I never needed to bring it out. 

"I'm serious!"  Her pretty little head was full of pout.

"I'm gonna have to borrow it."

She quit looking over at the gun and the Ram 1500 and looked back over at me.

"A body can be pretty heavy to move."  I said matter-of-factly.   "And it can be pretty difficult to bury by yourself."

She took one final puff off her cigarette and tossed the bud towards the gutter.  It landed a few yards away from the water and burned into the grass, innocently enough.

"You're gonna start a fire."  I told her and laughed.

"I don't give a shit."  She said with an edge to her voice I had never heard before.

"You shore sound pissed."  I told her.

She shrugged her shoulders at me.  Then she headed over to the red colored cardboard carrier and took out another beer.  She bent down to pick up another beer and her sweater opened up at the neckline.  I made no real effort to divert my eyes and I got a look at her bra.  It was black and real lacy.

She looked up and saw me staring at her.  She rolled her eyes a bit at me.

"I forgot what a boob man you are."  She smiled up at me.

Then she brought herself to her full height in her boots.  She stood real close to me.  She was almost as tall me as me in those boots.  I could smell menthol  and lipstick on her breath. 

"You should help me, you know."  She said it to me like she was asking me to help her with the dishes.

Doing the dished is the kind of chore a woman always wants you to help her with.  But as soon as you do she starts fucking the next door neighbor, or your brother.  The she tells you how it's all your fault and how you were never really man enough for her.  She tells you how she hates the way you smell of axle grease and dirt when you get home.  And how you don't ever wash your penis enough and how she always hated the taste of your foreskin.

"That's some bullshit."  I said a little harshly thinking about my ex.

Her eyes looked surprised and she took  stepped backwards from me.

"I didn't really mean it."  She said.

Only I knew better.

"I think you did."  I took another drink from my beer.

We both stood there staring at each other for a second.

Then she smiled at me the way she smiled at me the first time I saw her walking towards me.  Back then she was the accounts payable girl at the mini lube where I worked.

She was walking towards the copier machine.  She had on a short skirt with flat shoes and when I saw her I would swear to you that her hair was blowing just like in one of those shampoo commercials.

I'd never seen a girl as pretty as her in real life.  She had pale skin and dark eyes.  She was dressed so professional.  It was cute because there was no reason to dress so nicely at this job.   The last girl who had her position always wore jeans to work.   On Saturdays the other girl would wear sweats and she would always keep her hair in a ponytail.

"Maria."  I said.  But all I could get out was her name.

She ran her fingers through her hair.  She looked so angry.  Her eyes were steel.  Her jaw was clenched.  She fingered the bottle of beer.  I could tell she was just counting the seconds to make a get a way from me.

"Marty's gonna be expecting me soon."  She said through clenched teeth.  Her eyes drifted out to space.

"I bet he is."  I said evenly.  I did not want to give away my disappointment with how things were going.

A shiver went through her and she tugged at her jacket.  She zipped her jacket up and drank the last half of her beer down.  She looked around to find a place to get rid of the empty bottle and settled on putting it back in the six pack.  That meant she had to walk over to me again.

I backed up so as to let her put the bottle away and as to not let her get any funny business going on.  I had a feeling I could not let her get too close to me. I figured for just another whiff of her perfume I might go in to the cab and grab my pistol.

Before she left me she gave me a last look over her shoulder.  Her long dark hair blowing in the wind again just like the first time I met her.  But this time her pink cheeks were rosy for all the wrong reasons.

Bus Ride With Homeless Guy

The bus ride home should not be this eventful.  I got a homeless guy taking a piss at the bus stop.  Homeless guy is chugging a 40.  Big green bottle of Malt Liquor.  Homeless guy claims to have a job.  Homeless guy just got off work and wants to get his drink on.

"Back in Tucson where I roll we drink and piss like this, it ain't no big deal."

But homeless guy can tell I am not feeling him.  It's not so much that he took a piss in the middle of the bus stop that is in plain sight of a major street.  It's exactly how close he took the piss to me.  Like I could her the splash down.  Like I felt like I had to look down at my shoes for run off.  I dared not turn my head for fear of jabbing something in my face.  I'm protected by the metal barricade bus shelter otherwise I'd of really been pissed.  (haha sorry)

His watery eyes are looking over at me.  He tries to apologize.  He is saying he is sorry.  He says it like 39 times. More exactly he starts saying it like 39 times, but never finishes through an entire apology.
 He stammers and gets some of the words out but not enough of them to make sense or enough of them in order to keep my interest.  The only other question he has for me is when the bus is coming.  "Do I know?"

"The bus is coming soon."  I tell him. 

But he is 75 cents short of a one-way fair ride into downtown Tempe.  I hesitate to ask him what is downtown.  I just hand over 75 cents after I get on the bus and he sits there looking stupid drunk digging in his filthy pants for change and spilling assorted orange Tic Tacs on the bus driver.  Now he is offering to collect them before the bus starts.  He starts to touch the driver but the driver freaks out a bit and yells at the homeless guy.  Homeless guy shirks back like an abused puppy.

I sit at the back of the bus so as I can listen to Miley Cyrus without anyone catching on to what I am listening to.  I don't feel like answering questions today.

Some girl is sitting next to the driver.  She is leaning half out of her seat.  She is telling some story abut how the cops are fucking with her.  They are asking if her car is abandoned, "because it sure looked abandoned to them."

She fights back with lawyer words and tells the cops to suck it because her car has a license plate and her tags are not expired.  "Suck on that coppers!"  She says like we live in the 1920's or something.

I smell something fishy about the whole thing.  Something don't make sense to me.  Like why are you riding the bus if your car got tags and a license?

I ama gonna scratch my head about that one.  All because I might be gettin' some rash on my forehead or something, all this stuff coming down on me making me think I can't put off seeing no doctor no more.

Homeless guy starts paying attention to the girl and fake grabs her ass.  I start laughing my ass off.   The shit was funny because you can see her giant mom purple underwear.  Even though she is like 20 pounds over weight you can see yourself fucking this chick.  Even though she is clearly a crack head.  A fat ass crack head on the bus instead of driving her car.  It must be broke down or something.

I shake my head at the homeless guy as he looks over at me laughing with my headphones on.

"Don't do it." I implore him with my eyes.

I don't know why I'm always stopping myself from having fun.

It's almost Christmas, so let's start spreading the cheer fuckers

It's almost Christmas.  The weather is playing tricks on me.

It's cold and raining.  Raining bullets like we are at Columbine.

Those guys had the right idea.  Don't just kill yourself.  Kill all the fuckers that start shit with you.  Kill all the fuckers that make your life miserable.  Kill all the people who have it better off than you.

I had an idea for  Suicide Christmas Cards and it went something like that.  Which is why I guess I don't work at a Greeting Card Company writing sappy cards that will tear up ol' Grandma.

I say fuck Granny.  She spent all day shopping for gift bags that have pictures of cute kittens on them.  She does not know how to use the gift card you gave her.  She can't figure out all this modern technology she sees in front of her.  Her fingers run over her cell phone trying to find the slot to put the quarter in.  She gets pissed off when she can't find the privacy booth to talk in.

We weren't supposed to live this long.

I have proof of that in my bowel movements.  The daily dumps all my readers keep telling me to stop talking about like if they were shitting yellow for a week and it suddenly turned black again because they had spent the past few days hibernating in a alcohol coma they could ever shut up about it.

I guess I should not tell you that I got a bruise on my arm.   All I know is it is yellow and squishy like cream corn living under the surface of my arms.

I've got some kind of rash. I think that is making my neck red and bumpy but that could just be the nasal infection I have had since the 8th grade when I moved here.

But some asshole at work told me that my kidney might be failing and I can't stop itching now.

I have a second toe trying for an ingrown toe nail, but I am searching for laptops on craigslist instead of saving money for the doctor.  I still need a monitor and a bigger hard drive and a DVD player on my computer so I think it makes sense to go ahead and "invest" in a laptop that has all that stuff.  I have no idea why that seems like a bad idea.  Really.  I bet I can get a list of podiatrists from my union that work for free.  I bet they can clean all this MERSA.  I bet they fix degrading organs.

I don't want to do that.  I got this flash of inspiration that people like me think about rational shit the same way you guys think of impulses.  Nobody takes impulses seriously.  Every one wants to shoot their three year old in the face.  Everybody wants to tell off their boss.  But nobody does that.  Same with me.  Only the opposite.  I can't seem to think of rational things as anything other than a flash or an impulse.  It all moves so fast.  Good decisions are just a blur for me.  I live some place slower than all you.

Cold, dark, gray light.  Weather playing tricks with me.  I listen to a loop of the first three songs of Foreigner's Very Best and Beyond.

People tell me at work that they don't believe that I am depressed.  I laugh at them when they talk to me like they know me.  I smile at the fuckers in my line to0, and when I notice my voice gets too monotone I adjust it.  I pick up a few decibel levels and I flash a toffee popcorn grin at the cute girls with tarantula eyes.  I love when hot chicks can't figure out the simplest shit like how to apply fucking mascara.

Call me Scrooge.  But this fucking computer types 23 words a minute and I type 34 words a minute.  I have to wait for the god damn thing to catch up with me and we are supposed to be living in the 21st century.  Well all I know is technology is fucked and it ain't getting any better for us on the sidelines.

Today is one of those days.  All the loneliness.  All the panic.  Nothing is here but the itching and the smell of rotten fish.

You know the only thing more annoying that people telling me I am not depressed?  When people think they have a clue as to why I write this blog.  Like I am some kind of suffering Narcissist who can't get enough attention.

Like I want your fucking attention.  Trust me.   If I wanted your fucking attention I would get it.  I am smart enough to get through a few physics and chemistry classes.  I might not get A's.  But you don't need to get an A in BLOWING shit up to BLOW shit up even if that BLOWING shit up would be ME getting BLOWN THE FUCK UP.

I like the company out here on the internet.  Even with all crazy ass bullshit most of you don't call me on it.  You don't sit around fixing me.  You're as curious as I am at exploring the shit you see on the screen.  Maybe it doesn't make sense half the time for you.  But that's okay. The German's have a word for it. We are just exploring 'lifeworlds'.  But I am going to pretend you are smart enough to quote Habermas naively and pretend you have access to big ass dictionaries and Google so I am not going to insult you and mention that word.  I think it brings us together.  How I project you with intelligence.  Maybe dark hair, that you feel the need to nervously finger behind your ear.

God.  You are so fucking gorgeous.

Beauty is the one thing that keeps psychopaths human.  That's why every psycho loves beautiful women.  That's why he shoots them up at L.A. Fitness.  That's why he carves them up in his basement. That's why he stalks them on their way to the bookstore and peaks in their windows when they take a shower and that's why he stares at you across the aisle while you use the self checkout line even though he heard your friend tell you about the open line at the express lane and he saw you brush your hair in front of your face to cover up what your beautiful mouth was saying, that the guy in the express lane gives you the most intense stares you have ever seen and maybe you think he is some kind of Vampire all because he has red, itchy earlobes and it would just be better if you two stayed over at the self check out and try not to stare back at the guy because that kind of shit just encourages him.

You can wonder at me.

But I wonder at myself sometimes.

I wonder why I got through it all.  I wonder when I am going to start waiting for the raindrops to fall on me.