I am suffering a creative draught not unlike the one I went through back in he Nineties that prevented from writing anything new for almost three years. I don’t know where it came from and I don’t know how long it will last. What really sucks about it is that I’m supposed to be finishing a novella so a guy who is interested in adapting it for film can see how it all turns out.
This is the first thing I‘ve written in days. If it is garbage, forgive me. I have no topics or quips for you, only basic and dry description. Here are a few things that come to mind to write about:
- Wouldn’t it figure that my friend Dutch would come during the Swine Flu epidemic? Why does that matter? Oh, I dunno. Maybe because he lives in San Antonio, Ground Zero for the outbreak. Of course, Dutch wouldn’t be Dutch if he’d known anything about it upon his arrival to the Midwest. It wasn’t until he spoke with his family back in Texas that he started taking it seriously. So now, as much as I loved having him back, I have to keep an eye out for any symptoms for the next couple weeks while dealing with someone who’s OCD and germaphobia rival that of Howard Hughes.
- On the morning of Dutch’s departure back to Damnation Alley, I had two back-to-back doctor’s appointments. First up was the sleep disorder specialist who is convinced I have sleep apnea. Some time next month I am going for a sleep test. I went downstairs for a follow-up with my ENT who went over my x-rays with me. They looked pretty good, he said, until he looked inside my sinuses. Apparently I have a nose that is crooked and leaning to the left. My right sinus is practically deviated. “You’re going to need surgery,” he said. Next think I knew I was being rushed from place to place, bombarded with information about the operation and then scheduled for it a week and a half prior to my sleep test. He wants me to take a week off work which is not as easy as it sounds where I work so now I am stressing about that, too.
- Is there anything worse for a man than to be interested in a woman who one day turns out to be pregnant? I emphasize, “interested” because that’s as far as anything ever got. Don’t get me wrong; I harbor no delusions in my current situation. But it’s nice to imagine the possibilities, especially when the female in question seems reciprocal. It wouldn’t be my irony-laced life if she hadn’t wound up being seated next to me during the big seat move at work. Talk about awkward. The only saving grace is the positioning of our cubicles makes it so my back is to here at all times. I guess I should be used to this shit by now, shouldn’t I?
There ya have it. My first monthly recap in at least a year. I seem to remember Green liking these so hopefully I pleased someone. If this dry spell doesn’t go away soon, I don’t know what I’m going to do with myself. Writing is my coping mechanism. Without uit, I might have to check out Craig's List...
(Yep this was post 150)
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Sunday, April 26, 2009
PAYBACK'S A BITCH & HER NAME BEEZ SCRIBE...
I couldn’t believe it when he showed up in the gas station parking lot. At first I didn’t recognize him, but when he started talking, spewing his bullshit spiel, I knew he was the same guy who’d scammed me in front of Walgreen’s six months ago.
I don’t know why my memory of that day is so clear. It was a day like any other, except I guess it wasn’t. I pulled into the parking lot of my local Walgreen’s and got out of the car, shivering as the chilly winter air cut into me from both sides at once. I rolled my eyes as I caught a glimpse of the guy standing in front of the entrance.
Of late, there’d been an awful lot of loitering in front of this store. I’d actually seen a father trying to raise money for his son to fly out for an American Idol audition as the son crooned for our entertainment. This one corner of the world was becoming a living reminder of the bad economy.
But this guy was alone and he wasn’t singing. Instead, he had a prepared speech about himself and his needs. As I approached the door, he grabbed my attention by making sure I knew he wasn’t trying to make me nervous. I wasn’t nervous, just wary.
“’Scuse me, sir.” He smiled. “I’m not tryin’ to walk up on you or nothin’.” He demonstrated this fact by maintaining a respectful distance.
From there, he launched into the tale of a man who’d done stupid things in his youth and paid for them by doing time. Thirteen years in prison, he said. Naturally, he didn’t specify what he’d done. That might cause the listener to recoil in horror or disgust. Vagaries are best in his line of work.
He did have an interesting angle. “I ain’t askin’ you for no money. I just need some food for my daughters. I’m not working. I just got out. I told my wife I’d go out and get some food but lost my money trying to win some more.”
“Really?” I said. I’m sure he could read my body language because he suddenly started speaking even faster.
“I can’t go home without something. Some milk for the baby maybe some food or somethin’.”
“Tell you what,” I said. “I’ll see what I have left over when I’m done an see what I can do for you.”
His eyes lit up. For a moment I thought I was doing a good thing. He thanked me profusely and advised me he’d wait outside.
I took my time in the store. This was during a time when money was tighter than a nun’s ____ and I didn’t relish the idea of an unnecessary expenditure. However, I’d been taught both by my mother and later by my chosen religion not to ignore those who beg. In fact, I was taught to take them at face value because one never knows the real story.
In the freezer section I found a cheaply priced package of corndogs. These, I figured, could stretch to feed his kids. It was all I could do but I was sure he’d appreciate it.
I was a bit surprised to see him still standing outside, shivering as fresh snow blew all over him. He smiled brightly as I approached him. I handed him the corndogs and watched his face fall. A completely different guy took the package from me and thanked me in a half-handed way. I frowned at him for a moment, then walked to my car and pulled out of the parking lot. I glanced in my rearview mirror and saw him again smiling and backing away from some guy trying to enter the store as I pulled into traffic. Briefly considering calling the store manger, I drove home, disgusted and pissed.
Those corndogs had looked delicious.
Six months later, the other night to be exact, at about eleven o’clock I glanced around the gas pump I was using to fill (former EFB’s) car as she waited behind the wheel. Some guy walked toward the station from across the street, a tiny sidekick in tow. As the lights from the surrounding buildings bathed them, I could see an older man a female who looked like she was barely out of her teens.
As I finished gassing up the car, he started yelling, “’Scuse me! ‘Scuse me!”
I didn’t recognize him at first but some instinct told me to ignore him and make him approach me. I looked over as he came closer. He smiled. I knew that smile.
“’Scuse me, sir,” he said. “I’m not walkin’ up on your or nothin’…”
“Uh-huh.” I kept my facial expression neutral.
“I’m unemployed. I was in prison for thirteen years. I’m not askin’ you for no money or nothin’.” He smiled again.
“Oh, I know,” I said.
He paused for a second, as if trying to process the vibe in the air. “Maybe just a can of milk for my daughter?”
“Yeah,” I took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. “You pulled this same scam on me six months ago.”
The look on his face was like food to me; those corndogs couldn’t have possibly been this delicious. He started backing up, his companion making herself scarce as well.
Still smiling, he said, “I’m not workin’.”
“You weren’t workin’ six months ago either!"
Each step he took was a further step backwards, his beady eyes darting around as if seeking the swiftest avenue of escape.
“Pull the con on somebody else, fucking crackhead.”
I got in the car and we pulled off.
It’s funny the small things that make us feel vindicated in life~
(Coming up next: Post#150)
I don’t know why my memory of that day is so clear. It was a day like any other, except I guess it wasn’t. I pulled into the parking lot of my local Walgreen’s and got out of the car, shivering as the chilly winter air cut into me from both sides at once. I rolled my eyes as I caught a glimpse of the guy standing in front of the entrance.
Of late, there’d been an awful lot of loitering in front of this store. I’d actually seen a father trying to raise money for his son to fly out for an American Idol audition as the son crooned for our entertainment. This one corner of the world was becoming a living reminder of the bad economy.
But this guy was alone and he wasn’t singing. Instead, he had a prepared speech about himself and his needs. As I approached the door, he grabbed my attention by making sure I knew he wasn’t trying to make me nervous. I wasn’t nervous, just wary.
“’Scuse me, sir.” He smiled. “I’m not tryin’ to walk up on you or nothin’.” He demonstrated this fact by maintaining a respectful distance.
From there, he launched into the tale of a man who’d done stupid things in his youth and paid for them by doing time. Thirteen years in prison, he said. Naturally, he didn’t specify what he’d done. That might cause the listener to recoil in horror or disgust. Vagaries are best in his line of work.
He did have an interesting angle. “I ain’t askin’ you for no money. I just need some food for my daughters. I’m not working. I just got out. I told my wife I’d go out and get some food but lost my money trying to win some more.”
“Really?” I said. I’m sure he could read my body language because he suddenly started speaking even faster.
“I can’t go home without something. Some milk for the baby maybe some food or somethin’.”
“Tell you what,” I said. “I’ll see what I have left over when I’m done an see what I can do for you.”
His eyes lit up. For a moment I thought I was doing a good thing. He thanked me profusely and advised me he’d wait outside.
I took my time in the store. This was during a time when money was tighter than a nun’s ____ and I didn’t relish the idea of an unnecessary expenditure. However, I’d been taught both by my mother and later by my chosen religion not to ignore those who beg. In fact, I was taught to take them at face value because one never knows the real story.
In the freezer section I found a cheaply priced package of corndogs. These, I figured, could stretch to feed his kids. It was all I could do but I was sure he’d appreciate it.
I was a bit surprised to see him still standing outside, shivering as fresh snow blew all over him. He smiled brightly as I approached him. I handed him the corndogs and watched his face fall. A completely different guy took the package from me and thanked me in a half-handed way. I frowned at him for a moment, then walked to my car and pulled out of the parking lot. I glanced in my rearview mirror and saw him again smiling and backing away from some guy trying to enter the store as I pulled into traffic. Briefly considering calling the store manger, I drove home, disgusted and pissed.
Those corndogs had looked delicious.
Six months later, the other night to be exact, at about eleven o’clock I glanced around the gas pump I was using to fill (former EFB’s) car as she waited behind the wheel. Some guy walked toward the station from across the street, a tiny sidekick in tow. As the lights from the surrounding buildings bathed them, I could see an older man a female who looked like she was barely out of her teens.
As I finished gassing up the car, he started yelling, “’Scuse me! ‘Scuse me!”
I didn’t recognize him at first but some instinct told me to ignore him and make him approach me. I looked over as he came closer. He smiled. I knew that smile.
“’Scuse me, sir,” he said. “I’m not walkin’ up on your or nothin’…”
“Uh-huh.” I kept my facial expression neutral.
“I’m unemployed. I was in prison for thirteen years. I’m not askin’ you for no money or nothin’.” He smiled again.
“Oh, I know,” I said.
He paused for a second, as if trying to process the vibe in the air. “Maybe just a can of milk for my daughter?”
“Yeah,” I took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. “You pulled this same scam on me six months ago.”
The look on his face was like food to me; those corndogs couldn’t have possibly been this delicious. He started backing up, his companion making herself scarce as well.
Still smiling, he said, “I’m not workin’.”
“You weren’t workin’ six months ago either!"
Each step he took was a further step backwards, his beady eyes darting around as if seeking the swiftest avenue of escape.
“Pull the con on somebody else, fucking crackhead.”
I got in the car and we pulled off.
It’s funny the small things that make us feel vindicated in life~
(Coming up next: Post#150)
Thursday, April 23, 2009
NEW FEATURE: The Friendship Series part I
DUTCH IS IMMINENT
Next week, if all goes well, my old buddy Dutch a.k.a. “The Duchess,” b.k.a. Big Daddy Long Stroke will be in town and staying with me for a couple days. For those who don’t know who I am talking about, Dutch is the guy that got me into blogging in the first place, so thank him, praise his name, and nuzzle his soft and yielding back hair.
Dutch and I met sometime in the mid-Nineties when I, desperate to recoup my financial losses after having been rejected by a Bible-thumper who made sure I spent most of my money first, got a job at a department store. Depending on where you live, you may or may not be familiar with Meier; it is a Michigan-based company consisting of huge stores with everything under one roof. Our Wal-Mart, I suppose. Sadly, I had to waste my vast intellect & incredible amount of sexual prowess in that place.
It’s ironic that I met two very good friends there and that only one is still worth a shit. That would be Dutch, in case you haven’t been reading along.
When I first saw him, I swear I thought he was some kind of Eskimo. He looked like a tall Charles Bronson with a Beatles haircut and everybody seemed to know his name. It was only later that I realized his nametag encouraged people to say his name, which no one ever seems to tire of saying, myself included.
Dutch isn’t his real name, of course. His real name is George, but one of his brothers’s mispronounced the name and it came out sounding like…you get the idea. The cuteness factor dictated that he be given a nickname for life. That was good for him, because Dutch wasn’t exactly the most outgoing kitty in the litter.
Okay, he had a SEVERE case of social anxiety. It was so bad his weird friend had to do his ordering for him at restaurants. He had an awful stammer that would become more pronounced the more nervous he became. So he drank. Everybody there did except me. Dutch was five years younger than me (I think he still is but I haven’t checked) so that placed him well below legal drinking age at the time.
As I got to know Dutch, I realized he wasn’t a shy Eskimo at all; he was an emotionally scarred Mex, who’d grown up in Michigan. That blew my mind because, honestly, I’d never met a whiter person. He was into Grunge and he said “Dude” a lot and all his friends were perfect examples of when white met bread.
But there was an inherent coolness to Dutch. It was as undeniable as the inherent hotness of some of my blog readers. Eventually, he and I started to talk, or rather I started to talk and he mumbled and stared at the floor a lot. This could not stand. I too had been painfully shy in high school and could have used someone to pull me out of it. It became my mission to do so for him.
Why, you ask? I hated seeing what I’d slowly come to realize was a very intelligent guy dealing with such an obvious handicap. A guy like Dutch, despite being tall and imposing physically, would get railroaded in life if he didn’t stop being a pushover. Plus, he was an avid reader, and we gotta look out for each other. I don’t include Green in this category, ‘cause all he seems to read are cliché-filled fantasy novels and books about how cool Jesus is. But I love him just the same…just not as much as the fair Duchess.
I seemed to start working at Meijer during a time of transition. Many of the people I befriended were looking to get out and soon Dutch and I were the only ones of the original groups left. That naturally brought us closer as wanna-be’s and youngsters sought us out for guidance into the cool, merchandise destroying, manager-enraging, customer shocking exploits that had made us infamous.
Now that I was hanging out with Dutch away from work, I was able to work on that damn shyness. By refusing to order for him at restaurant, by introducing him to different types of people (i.e. negroes) who seemed to adopt him on sight, he slowly emerged from his hairy shell. We even lived together for a few months when he first moved out of his mom’s place.
During the last days of our shared Meijer hell, Dutch and I were approached by a former manager who was now working for the then fledgling Office Depot. Sensing a way out, we both jumped at the chance and put in our notice. He and I quit on the same day, prompting some to pronounce it the end of an era.
Did I mention I accidentally shut the store down for two hours by striking a gas line with forklift blades? I earned the nickname “Dr. Death” and was hailed as a god…it seemed pointless to stay, especially when my initial two weeks’ notice was written in poem form as a criticism of the way the place was run. I was much cooler back then (Please see cool points post for further info).
Duchess remained at Office Depot for six months while I ran screaming after two days into an office job. Eventually he got a much better job at a gay steel mill (See the Simpsons for further info on that phenomenon).
Apparently, the only thing keeping him in Michigan was the fact that he still had some family here. Slowly, one-by-one, his family members departed for Texas to look after sick relatives and be more Mexican. In 2003, Dutch made the decision to be the last of his people to move down to Texas, a state that frightens me for more reasons than I’d care to discuss. I haven’t seen him since.
It has been dull and gray without him. Dutch’s sense of humor, laid back personality and dependability has been sorely missed. In light of recent developments with at least one person who turned out to be worthless in the friendship area, it will be nice to reconnect with someone who remains consistent.
Dutch is imminent. Let us bow our heads~
Next week, if all goes well, my old buddy Dutch a.k.a. “The Duchess,” b.k.a. Big Daddy Long Stroke will be in town and staying with me for a couple days. For those who don’t know who I am talking about, Dutch is the guy that got me into blogging in the first place, so thank him, praise his name, and nuzzle his soft and yielding back hair.
Dutch and I met sometime in the mid-Nineties when I, desperate to recoup my financial losses after having been rejected by a Bible-thumper who made sure I spent most of my money first, got a job at a department store. Depending on where you live, you may or may not be familiar with Meier; it is a Michigan-based company consisting of huge stores with everything under one roof. Our Wal-Mart, I suppose. Sadly, I had to waste my vast intellect & incredible amount of sexual prowess in that place.
It’s ironic that I met two very good friends there and that only one is still worth a shit. That would be Dutch, in case you haven’t been reading along.
When I first saw him, I swear I thought he was some kind of Eskimo. He looked like a tall Charles Bronson with a Beatles haircut and everybody seemed to know his name. It was only later that I realized his nametag encouraged people to say his name, which no one ever seems to tire of saying, myself included.
Dutch isn’t his real name, of course. His real name is George, but one of his brothers’s mispronounced the name and it came out sounding like…you get the idea. The cuteness factor dictated that he be given a nickname for life. That was good for him, because Dutch wasn’t exactly the most outgoing kitty in the litter.
Okay, he had a SEVERE case of social anxiety. It was so bad his weird friend had to do his ordering for him at restaurants. He had an awful stammer that would become more pronounced the more nervous he became. So he drank. Everybody there did except me. Dutch was five years younger than me (I think he still is but I haven’t checked) so that placed him well below legal drinking age at the time.
As I got to know Dutch, I realized he wasn’t a shy Eskimo at all; he was an emotionally scarred Mex, who’d grown up in Michigan. That blew my mind because, honestly, I’d never met a whiter person. He was into Grunge and he said “Dude” a lot and all his friends were perfect examples of when white met bread.
But there was an inherent coolness to Dutch. It was as undeniable as the inherent hotness of some of my blog readers. Eventually, he and I started to talk, or rather I started to talk and he mumbled and stared at the floor a lot. This could not stand. I too had been painfully shy in high school and could have used someone to pull me out of it. It became my mission to do so for him.
Why, you ask? I hated seeing what I’d slowly come to realize was a very intelligent guy dealing with such an obvious handicap. A guy like Dutch, despite being tall and imposing physically, would get railroaded in life if he didn’t stop being a pushover. Plus, he was an avid reader, and we gotta look out for each other. I don’t include Green in this category, ‘cause all he seems to read are cliché-filled fantasy novels and books about how cool Jesus is. But I love him just the same…just not as much as the fair Duchess.
I seemed to start working at Meijer during a time of transition. Many of the people I befriended were looking to get out and soon Dutch and I were the only ones of the original groups left. That naturally brought us closer as wanna-be’s and youngsters sought us out for guidance into the cool, merchandise destroying, manager-enraging, customer shocking exploits that had made us infamous.
Now that I was hanging out with Dutch away from work, I was able to work on that damn shyness. By refusing to order for him at restaurant, by introducing him to different types of people (i.e. negroes) who seemed to adopt him on sight, he slowly emerged from his hairy shell. We even lived together for a few months when he first moved out of his mom’s place.
During the last days of our shared Meijer hell, Dutch and I were approached by a former manager who was now working for the then fledgling Office Depot. Sensing a way out, we both jumped at the chance and put in our notice. He and I quit on the same day, prompting some to pronounce it the end of an era.
Did I mention I accidentally shut the store down for two hours by striking a gas line with forklift blades? I earned the nickname “Dr. Death” and was hailed as a god…it seemed pointless to stay, especially when my initial two weeks’ notice was written in poem form as a criticism of the way the place was run. I was much cooler back then (Please see cool points post for further info).
Duchess remained at Office Depot for six months while I ran screaming after two days into an office job. Eventually he got a much better job at a gay steel mill (See the Simpsons for further info on that phenomenon).
Apparently, the only thing keeping him in Michigan was the fact that he still had some family here. Slowly, one-by-one, his family members departed for Texas to look after sick relatives and be more Mexican. In 2003, Dutch made the decision to be the last of his people to move down to Texas, a state that frightens me for more reasons than I’d care to discuss. I haven’t seen him since.
It has been dull and gray without him. Dutch’s sense of humor, laid back personality and dependability has been sorely missed. In light of recent developments with at least one person who turned out to be worthless in the friendship area, it will be nice to reconnect with someone who remains consistent.
Dutch is imminent. Let us bow our heads~
Monday, April 20, 2009
LOSING COOL POINTS:
From time to time, as we travel along on this blue-green septic tank known as “Erf,” the human race reaches out to others of its kind for guidance and…um, stuff. Sadly, those we choose to look up to are themselves just as flawed as the rest of us and occasionally let us down in ways both minor and significant.
The best way to monitor these eventual letdowns is through the Cool Points system. For those unacquainted or not cool enough, this is a system by which we are all bound. Everyone is issued a certain amount of Cool Points, the exact amount of which is determined to a lesser extent by lifestyle and accomplishments and to a larger extent by ME.
Inevitably, someone will have his or her points deducted for some reason or another. This list is concerned with those rare individuals who not only lost Cool Points but also caused irreparable harm to themselves to the point where they might never recover them.
Make sense? No? Re-read the previous paragraphs five more times then take a big bite out of the underwear I wore while I was feverish and incontinent! Now let’s get to it:
QUENTIN TARRANTINO: To quote David Byrne, “That man was my hero/Now that name has been taken from us.” He’s still someone to admire when it comes to writing, directing and imagery but what the hell was he thinking being A GUEST JUDGE on “American Idol?” As if that wasn’t bad enough, he then returned during the current season to select the music because he’s known for having such an interesting taste for his films. Why, QT? You’re the outsider agitating all the politically correct numbskulls in Hollywood, not the gosh-O-keen dork-O-matic candy-pop lovin’ doofus!!! This is the guy who once bitch-slapped the producer of Natural Born Killers for allowing Oliver Stone to do extensive re-writes? Can feminine hygiene product commercials be far behind?
STARTED WITH 100,000,000 POINTS
DEDUCTED: 15,000
MEL GIBSON: Where do I start with this guy? Unlike Green, the rest of the universe and I know Mel Gibson to have been one of our finest actors. At one time he was the hottest property in Hollywood. Then he went kinda crazy and started espousing extremist Catholic rhetoric, culminating in an excellent directorial effort about some guy who got beaten up a lot. I laughed off the anti-Semitic criticisms of the film and the man and his Holocaust denying father, but then he proved the old adage, “In vino veritas,” which translates to “Drunk muthafukas tell no lies.” He said it to that cop the way he feels. As bad as that was, his recent infidelity with reportedly more than one Russian babe with the same name has revealed him to be a hypocrite of the highest order, confirming what we non-religious types always suspect when we meet a zealot…they live secret lives.
STARTED OFF WITH 500,000 COOL POINTS
DEDUCTED: 200,000
EMINEM: I’m always on the fence about this guy. He’s from my home state so I have a different, less romanticized vision of him than people in other parts of the U.S. & other countries. I’m not saying he’s fake; I don’t think he is, although he probably exaggerates some of his “life story.” The man has street cred, regardless of what the Insane Clown Posse says about him. But every time he seems like the white Tupaq, he makes some bizarre and often pussy-ish choice. Taking his ex-wife back after she cheated on him, his odd choice to defend overrated cross-dresser with obvious daddy issues Marilyn Manson, and his almost as weird decision to perform a duet with Elton John during a Grammy broadcast. His rating goes up and down like Courtney Love in a pay toilet.
STARTED WITH 80,000 cool points
DEDUCTED: 25,000
BILLY BOB THORNTON: How could the guy who once hilariously referred to Smokey & the Bandit as the Citizen Kane of the South be such a prick? Apparently, like Rick Springfield before him, Thornton wants to be considered a serious musical artiste. I guess that can only take place if he gets everyone to overlook his film career. Recently on a talk show in Canada that is simulcast on TV and on the radio, he acted like such a colossal asswipe to the host as well as insulting Canadian audiences for being like “Mashed potatoes without the gravy” that he wound up angering an entire nation of maple syrup loving pacifists! Upload the interview if you can. He couldn’t have been a bigger, more arrogant slice of shit stew.
STARTED WITH 200,000 COOL POINTS
DEDUCTED: 100,000
CHRISTIAN BALE: Man, that wussy little tirade he threw at the lighting guy was so…Wait! Christian Bale was never cool! He is a sub-par actor with a weird mouth and he looks like he never bathes. Let’s go to the next one.
STARTED WITH…BWAAAA HAAA HAAA
And finally,
SCRIBE: That’s right, your friendly neighborhood blog author isn’t immune to the Cool Points system. Lord knows he’s lost quite a few over the years, especially with the onset of the 2000’s. “Highlights” include losing the love of his life & giving in to the lure of perceived normalcy by hooking up with you-know-who. In-between he lost some lifelong friends, alienated some family members who admittedly need to get over themselves, and stupidly spent his sizable inheritance. Currently he’s a corporate stooge who’s contemplating going back to school to become a teacher because it’s the least of many evils, despite his disdain for that so-called “profession.” Oh, and he supposedly has a novel coming out but he’s gotten the run-around so much that he’s starting to thinks he’s as full of shit as others probably do! Yep, when it comes to having lost Cool Points, the Scribester exemplifies the word, “fuck-up.”
STARTED WITH 25 COOL POINTS
DEDUCTED: 24
I am going to go lie down in a fetal position now. Laterssssssssss~
The best way to monitor these eventual letdowns is through the Cool Points system. For those unacquainted or not cool enough, this is a system by which we are all bound. Everyone is issued a certain amount of Cool Points, the exact amount of which is determined to a lesser extent by lifestyle and accomplishments and to a larger extent by ME.
Inevitably, someone will have his or her points deducted for some reason or another. This list is concerned with those rare individuals who not only lost Cool Points but also caused irreparable harm to themselves to the point where they might never recover them.
Make sense? No? Re-read the previous paragraphs five more times then take a big bite out of the underwear I wore while I was feverish and incontinent! Now let’s get to it:
QUENTIN TARRANTINO: To quote David Byrne, “That man was my hero/Now that name has been taken from us.” He’s still someone to admire when it comes to writing, directing and imagery but what the hell was he thinking being A GUEST JUDGE on “American Idol?” As if that wasn’t bad enough, he then returned during the current season to select the music because he’s known for having such an interesting taste for his films. Why, QT? You’re the outsider agitating all the politically correct numbskulls in Hollywood, not the gosh-O-keen dork-O-matic candy-pop lovin’ doofus!!! This is the guy who once bitch-slapped the producer of Natural Born Killers for allowing Oliver Stone to do extensive re-writes? Can feminine hygiene product commercials be far behind?
STARTED WITH 100,000,000 POINTS
DEDUCTED: 15,000
MEL GIBSON: Where do I start with this guy? Unlike Green, the rest of the universe and I know Mel Gibson to have been one of our finest actors. At one time he was the hottest property in Hollywood. Then he went kinda crazy and started espousing extremist Catholic rhetoric, culminating in an excellent directorial effort about some guy who got beaten up a lot. I laughed off the anti-Semitic criticisms of the film and the man and his Holocaust denying father, but then he proved the old adage, “In vino veritas,” which translates to “Drunk muthafukas tell no lies.” He said it to that cop the way he feels. As bad as that was, his recent infidelity with reportedly more than one Russian babe with the same name has revealed him to be a hypocrite of the highest order, confirming what we non-religious types always suspect when we meet a zealot…they live secret lives.
STARTED OFF WITH 500,000 COOL POINTS
DEDUCTED: 200,000
EMINEM: I’m always on the fence about this guy. He’s from my home state so I have a different, less romanticized vision of him than people in other parts of the U.S. & other countries. I’m not saying he’s fake; I don’t think he is, although he probably exaggerates some of his “life story.” The man has street cred, regardless of what the Insane Clown Posse says about him. But every time he seems like the white Tupaq, he makes some bizarre and often pussy-ish choice. Taking his ex-wife back after she cheated on him, his odd choice to defend overrated cross-dresser with obvious daddy issues Marilyn Manson, and his almost as weird decision to perform a duet with Elton John during a Grammy broadcast. His rating goes up and down like Courtney Love in a pay toilet.
STARTED WITH 80,000 cool points
DEDUCTED: 25,000
BILLY BOB THORNTON: How could the guy who once hilariously referred to Smokey & the Bandit as the Citizen Kane of the South be such a prick? Apparently, like Rick Springfield before him, Thornton wants to be considered a serious musical artiste. I guess that can only take place if he gets everyone to overlook his film career. Recently on a talk show in Canada that is simulcast on TV and on the radio, he acted like such a colossal asswipe to the host as well as insulting Canadian audiences for being like “Mashed potatoes without the gravy” that he wound up angering an entire nation of maple syrup loving pacifists! Upload the interview if you can. He couldn’t have been a bigger, more arrogant slice of shit stew.
STARTED WITH 200,000 COOL POINTS
DEDUCTED: 100,000
CHRISTIAN BALE: Man, that wussy little tirade he threw at the lighting guy was so…Wait! Christian Bale was never cool! He is a sub-par actor with a weird mouth and he looks like he never bathes. Let’s go to the next one.
STARTED WITH…BWAAAA HAAA HAAA
And finally,
SCRIBE: That’s right, your friendly neighborhood blog author isn’t immune to the Cool Points system. Lord knows he’s lost quite a few over the years, especially with the onset of the 2000’s. “Highlights” include losing the love of his life & giving in to the lure of perceived normalcy by hooking up with you-know-who. In-between he lost some lifelong friends, alienated some family members who admittedly need to get over themselves, and stupidly spent his sizable inheritance. Currently he’s a corporate stooge who’s contemplating going back to school to become a teacher because it’s the least of many evils, despite his disdain for that so-called “profession.” Oh, and he supposedly has a novel coming out but he’s gotten the run-around so much that he’s starting to thinks he’s as full of shit as others probably do! Yep, when it comes to having lost Cool Points, the Scribester exemplifies the word, “fuck-up.”
STARTED WITH 25 COOL POINTS
DEDUCTED: 24
I am going to go lie down in a fetal position now. Laterssssssssss~
Saturday, April 18, 2009
FROM THE "WTF" FILES:
As I've ofter scribed on this blog lately, Myspace users are some truly bizarre and fucked up weirdoes. I never found more than a few interesting and worthwhile people to add to my friends list and, although Facebook is becoming disturbingly cult-like, it is by far the best of the social networking sites.
Still, some stragglers remain on Myspace. Think of it as the once hot nightclub where all the cool people have moved on and the drunks and fuck-toys don't realize it's no longer hip.
Those of you who might actually still have Myspace profiles and pages might know about the game/application known a s"Hotties" wherein people virtually purcahse each other like cattle and then sell. Apparently this is some sort of self-esteem builder. I have a hard time even pretending to buy another human being so I never indulged those who are cool with it.
Remember Dude, the slacker aspiring real estate agent and sexist/racist/old country buffoon? Yep, he's on Myspace and so deeply into Hotties that I think he can no longer distinguish reality from the virtual utopia he retreats to on a nightly basis. Recently he posted a bulletin that was so psychotic and so weird I felt the need to copy & paste it here for your gentle perusal. I'm not betraying anyone's trust 'cause I hate this fucker with the intensity of a thousand suns. Besides, Priscilla asked if we could get back to making fun of real estate agents and I don't want her God to smite me.
So, read his post (the italicized comments are mine):
Apr 16, 2009 1:07 PM
Subject: HOTTIE FAKES
Body:
I’ve played this game for a long time now, and met some really fine friends that I will keep always…but like most of you, I’ve also met a lot of assholes. (He isn't including himself, I guess) Tired of the cheaters and the hackers and the fake ass people. If you think I’m mad at you, guess what, I’m not.. or I’d already have deleted you. (so the point of this is what, exactly, since the deleted people can't read it?) Now some a you I do have a problem with and I have your fake accounts added.. (Ah-ha!) I know who you are by the way.. It’s not the fake pics that I have a problem with, it’s the fake people behind some of the real one’s. Came onto this game to make friends and get ideas and dialog for a book I’m writing. (This little bitch wants to be me so badly lol) Met some really cool people on here and enjoyed playing with y’all… but I also met some seriously creepy fucks that I really don’t wanna associate with anymore. (I guess a guy that plans to move in with a chick he met online from Australia is creepy fuck enough for anybody) I’m thinkin’ of that type of person who’s only on here to manipulate people, lie, and take advantage of naive young girls or married women who shouldn’t be playin’ the game in the first place. (Right, because no men could possibly be manipulated, only "helpless" little women)You lied and broke up a real relationship in my life, (a previous online hookup) then you manipulated a bunch a girls who didn’t know any better and still don’t. Deleted your ass a long time ago and still got ur x wife on here, you know who you are T.. your secrets safe with me.. always was.. but I’m sick of lyin’ cheatin’ people. (But didn't he just put him on blast???) I not gonna let this game destroy my relationship with my girlfriend Porcha, (The Australian meat-packer who is still married...lol "meatpacker") because I can see that happening.. and it’s happened to few other friends too.. I have too much class to name your names.. you know who you are ..Too many of my friends have been hacked, and I don’t wanna see that shit anymore. Funny, myspace seems to be overrun with this, don’t see it on facebook or anywhere else. ('Cause facebook isn't for huntin' pussy, you retard!) I do love my country deeply, and I’m sad to say that most these people seem to be from the US.. (But I'm still proud to be an American, where at least my perversion's free, yeehaww) I just don’t see this going on in other places. I’m thinkin’ of a few fine girls I know who played this game with their real pics, they’re pretty and sweet, yet they just sat there.. some ppl played with them, most didn’t .. they never got high up there because they were real.. and they’re still friends to this day or fake ones. (That's right, he must protect the innocent girls of the world) We’ll since I already know the answer to that by your actions, then goodbye my Hottie friend’s …. So I played a fun game with you guys, fought beside you during the glitch wars (What is he, a fucking Jedi Knight?) to get these hackers out of myspace and off Hotties.. guess what.. they’re still there… check hottie shop.. they’re right back on top.. (Ummm, because your "cause" was pointless and absurb?) and all you people I called friends are playin’ with them now.. greed.. as in the game, as in life.. (Dude, that's sp deep! Pass the doobie...) ask yourselves what’s more important: blood or bling. Real friendships Fair Well. If you’re a true friend.. then you’re not goin’ anywhere. blood or bling. (Is he allowed to use a black expression since he's a racist? I'd better check the manual)
Okay, let's see your comments now lol
Still, some stragglers remain on Myspace. Think of it as the once hot nightclub where all the cool people have moved on and the drunks and fuck-toys don't realize it's no longer hip.
Those of you who might actually still have Myspace profiles and pages might know about the game/application known a s"Hotties" wherein people virtually purcahse each other like cattle and then sell. Apparently this is some sort of self-esteem builder. I have a hard time even pretending to buy another human being so I never indulged those who are cool with it.
Remember Dude, the slacker aspiring real estate agent and sexist/racist/old country buffoon? Yep, he's on Myspace and so deeply into Hotties that I think he can no longer distinguish reality from the virtual utopia he retreats to on a nightly basis. Recently he posted a bulletin that was so psychotic and so weird I felt the need to copy & paste it here for your gentle perusal. I'm not betraying anyone's trust 'cause I hate this fucker with the intensity of a thousand suns. Besides, Priscilla asked if we could get back to making fun of real estate agents and I don't want her God to smite me.
So, read his post (the italicized comments are mine):
Apr 16, 2009 1:07 PM
Subject: HOTTIE FAKES
Body:
I’ve played this game for a long time now, and met some really fine friends that I will keep always…but like most of you, I’ve also met a lot of assholes. (He isn't including himself, I guess) Tired of the cheaters and the hackers and the fake ass people. If you think I’m mad at you, guess what, I’m not.. or I’d already have deleted you. (so the point of this is what, exactly, since the deleted people can't read it?) Now some a you I do have a problem with and I have your fake accounts added.. (Ah-ha!) I know who you are by the way.. It’s not the fake pics that I have a problem with, it’s the fake people behind some of the real one’s. Came onto this game to make friends and get ideas and dialog for a book I’m writing. (This little bitch wants to be me so badly lol) Met some really cool people on here and enjoyed playing with y’all… but I also met some seriously creepy fucks that I really don’t wanna associate with anymore. (I guess a guy that plans to move in with a chick he met online from Australia is creepy fuck enough for anybody) I’m thinkin’ of that type of person who’s only on here to manipulate people, lie, and take advantage of naive young girls or married women who shouldn’t be playin’ the game in the first place. (Right, because no men could possibly be manipulated, only "helpless" little women)You lied and broke up a real relationship in my life, (a previous online hookup) then you manipulated a bunch a girls who didn’t know any better and still don’t. Deleted your ass a long time ago and still got ur x wife on here, you know who you are T.. your secrets safe with me.. always was.. but I’m sick of lyin’ cheatin’ people. (But didn't he just put him on blast???) I not gonna let this game destroy my relationship with my girlfriend Porcha, (The Australian meat-packer who is still married...lol "meatpacker") because I can see that happening.. and it’s happened to few other friends too.. I have too much class to name your names.. you know who you are ..Too many of my friends have been hacked, and I don’t wanna see that shit anymore. Funny, myspace seems to be overrun with this, don’t see it on facebook or anywhere else. ('Cause facebook isn't for huntin' pussy, you retard!) I do love my country deeply, and I’m sad to say that most these people seem to be from the US.. (But I'm still proud to be an American, where at least my perversion's free, yeehaww) I just don’t see this going on in other places. I’m thinkin’ of a few fine girls I know who played this game with their real pics, they’re pretty and sweet, yet they just sat there.. some ppl played with them, most didn’t .. they never got high up there because they were real.. and they’re still friends to this day or fake ones. (That's right, he must protect the innocent girls of the world) We’ll since I already know the answer to that by your actions, then goodbye my Hottie friend’s …. So I played a fun game with you guys, fought beside you during the glitch wars (What is he, a fucking Jedi Knight?) to get these hackers out of myspace and off Hotties.. guess what.. they’re still there… check hottie shop.. they’re right back on top.. (Ummm, because your "cause" was pointless and absurb?) and all you people I called friends are playin’ with them now.. greed.. as in the game, as in life.. (Dude, that's sp deep! Pass the doobie...) ask yourselves what’s more important: blood or bling. Real friendships Fair Well. If you’re a true friend.. then you’re not goin’ anywhere. blood or bling. (Is he allowed to use a black expression since he's a racist? I'd better check the manual)
Okay, let's see your comments now lol
Thursday, April 16, 2009
SCRIBE'S LATEST PET PEEVES, PART 2
Hopefully the rest of my Current Peeves list will be more palatable for some of my more politically correct readers:
- REPUBLICANS WHO VOTED FOR OBAMA WHO NOW CRITICIZE HIM FOR DOING WHAT HE CLEARLY STATED HE WAS GOING TO DO: Hmm. I guess the title of this one kinda says it all, doesn’t it? Permit me to add one thing to that:Fucking IDIOTS!!! Thanks. Let’s move on.
- FAKE TITS: I didn’t used to mind them. Some women feel the need to increase their bust size and that’s perfectly understandable. It’s not my favorite body part but that doesn’t mean I am disgusted by them either Ok, I love ‘em. But now entire generations have grown up not being able to tell the difference when it should be glaringly apparent in most cases. Frankly, I reject the notion of “too perfect” when it comes to fake tits. They don’t look perfect at all. They look weird; Gravity defying and artificial. I have known two stunning women who wanted to get them. Sometimes it would be overwhelming for someone that hot to have large breasts. I sometimes think nature or God or something determines that early on and adjusts accordingly. Tampering with that plan is tantamount to blasphemy! Unless they look real…
- HAVING TO HOLD MY BREATH UPON ENTERING THE BATHROOMS AT WORK: Imagine yourself working in a call center where you are on the phone for two to three hours per day without breaks. You have to drink water all day to keep your throat clear but you also have to go to the bathroom prior to your break or lunch time. You can get up and go but you are timed when you do. If your phone logs you out while you’re gone, that counts against your stats. There’s hardly ever a way to reach the bathroom, make a delivery and get back before that happens. So the last thing you want to experience upon entering the only bathroom on your floor is the stench of an ancient horse stall in Hell's sewer system!!! We’re not just talkin’ about a bad odor here, we’re talking about a force so powerful it literally crawls into your nostrils and mouth and takes up residence. This is a living thing that dares you to remain in there with it as your gag reflex kicks in. Now you’re running from the bathroom like a wanted fugitive, bounding down the stairs to reach the next floor in a mad dash to find a bathroom that is stench-free. This is a daily occurrence because some gigantic carnivore decides to set up a nest in the handicap stall.
- CHILDREN: What purpose do they really serve except sending us into bankruptcy and criticizing us for the current state of the world? What possible “joy” could there be in knowing you’ve just created something that will some day throw you in a nursing home? So far congress hasn’t acted on my proposal to outlaw children in the U.S. but I did receive a really nice form letter thanking for my interest, so my hopes are high.
- PEOPLE WHO GO TO CHURCH: What’s this all about? Stupid trends. Put one reality show on the Music Television channel and suddenly all the faux hipsters are praisin’ his name? Whatever! Buncha sheep. MY Bible says there’s nothing holier than sleeping in on Sunday (which I can’t do because I work) and possibly changing one’s underwear upon rising (which I also don’t do because it’s more economical to wear the same ones for three days straight). In fact, I’m not convinced church is a requirement for membership in any religion. But one Dateline NBC story about some guy in church who killed his wife and suddenly it’s the most glamorous fucking thing in the world. Now it’s church, church, church everywhere I go. I thought there were only like three in the whole country but apparently they’re everywhere! It’s an epidemic!!!
There, is that better? Geez!
- REPUBLICANS WHO VOTED FOR OBAMA WHO NOW CRITICIZE HIM FOR DOING WHAT HE CLEARLY STATED HE WAS GOING TO DO: Hmm. I guess the title of this one kinda says it all, doesn’t it? Permit me to add one thing to that:Fucking IDIOTS!!! Thanks. Let’s move on.
- FAKE TITS: I didn’t used to mind them. Some women feel the need to increase their bust size and that’s perfectly understandable. It’s not my favorite body part but that doesn’t mean I am disgusted by them either Ok, I love ‘em. But now entire generations have grown up not being able to tell the difference when it should be glaringly apparent in most cases. Frankly, I reject the notion of “too perfect” when it comes to fake tits. They don’t look perfect at all. They look weird; Gravity defying and artificial. I have known two stunning women who wanted to get them. Sometimes it would be overwhelming for someone that hot to have large breasts. I sometimes think nature or God or something determines that early on and adjusts accordingly. Tampering with that plan is tantamount to blasphemy! Unless they look real…
- HAVING TO HOLD MY BREATH UPON ENTERING THE BATHROOMS AT WORK: Imagine yourself working in a call center where you are on the phone for two to three hours per day without breaks. You have to drink water all day to keep your throat clear but you also have to go to the bathroom prior to your break or lunch time. You can get up and go but you are timed when you do. If your phone logs you out while you’re gone, that counts against your stats. There’s hardly ever a way to reach the bathroom, make a delivery and get back before that happens. So the last thing you want to experience upon entering the only bathroom on your floor is the stench of an ancient horse stall in Hell's sewer system!!! We’re not just talkin’ about a bad odor here, we’re talking about a force so powerful it literally crawls into your nostrils and mouth and takes up residence. This is a living thing that dares you to remain in there with it as your gag reflex kicks in. Now you’re running from the bathroom like a wanted fugitive, bounding down the stairs to reach the next floor in a mad dash to find a bathroom that is stench-free. This is a daily occurrence because some gigantic carnivore decides to set up a nest in the handicap stall.
- CHILDREN: What purpose do they really serve except sending us into bankruptcy and criticizing us for the current state of the world? What possible “joy” could there be in knowing you’ve just created something that will some day throw you in a nursing home? So far congress hasn’t acted on my proposal to outlaw children in the U.S. but I did receive a really nice form letter thanking for my interest, so my hopes are high.
- PEOPLE WHO GO TO CHURCH: What’s this all about? Stupid trends. Put one reality show on the Music Television channel and suddenly all the faux hipsters are praisin’ his name? Whatever! Buncha sheep. MY Bible says there’s nothing holier than sleeping in on Sunday (which I can’t do because I work) and possibly changing one’s underwear upon rising (which I also don’t do because it’s more economical to wear the same ones for three days straight). In fact, I’m not convinced church is a requirement for membership in any religion. But one Dateline NBC story about some guy in church who killed his wife and suddenly it’s the most glamorous fucking thing in the world. Now it’s church, church, church everywhere I go. I thought there were only like three in the whole country but apparently they’re everywhere! It’s an epidemic!!!
There, is that better? Geez!
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
SCRIBE'S LATEST PET PEEVES, part I
AWWwwwwwww yeah! Just when you thought it was safe to go back in the water and avoid getting pregnant, Scribe’s little but mighty soldiers return with a new list of Peeves both petted and wild. Experience!
- WOMEN THAT REFUSE TO HAVE OPINIONS. I thought this was a thing of the distant past, but apparently there really are still some women out there who would prefer to let a man do their thinking for them. Perhaps this would be for the best if not for the fact that the men they chose tend to be utter dumb-fucks! Why did women fight and die and get beaten to advance the cause of a woman’s ability to think for herself and watch Oprah so a new generation of doormats could come into the world? I’ll tell you why: I don’t know! Let’s move on.
- RICH KIDS THAT THINK THEY’RE “DOWN.” I’m not sure when this particular phenomenon began but it’s just about past pathetic. I remember a time when a rich kid wouldn’t be caught dead even looking at someone from the ‘Hood let alone imitating them. The emergence and dominance of hip-hop, gangsta rap in particular, changed the entire landscape of the rich kid mentality, possibly forever. Now they listen to that shit and think they know what the street life is all about. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t see anything positive about the lifestyle, but none of these little bitches would last five seconds there unless they were buying everybody something to eat. AND THEN MAYBE! I see firsthand what these self-entitled little shit-stains do and it is disgusting. Let’s see how “down” they are when they look over in time to see someone body slam another person to the concrete and then walk away as that person starts vomiting clear fluid all over the place. Let’s see how they feel when they’re sitting in their cars with the windows cracked and suddenly somebody grabs their arm and starts trying to literally pull them through the slightly open window. God help them if they witness a shooting! They need to retire to their mansions and listen to Miley Cyrus.
- PEOPLE WHO EXPECT CELL PHONES TO WORK EVERYWHERE. For those who know where I work, it should be obvious this is a peeve that affects me directly. I blame “The X-Files.” In the Nineties when nobody knew much about cellular technology, myself included, it was perfectly fine to show someone in a concrete basement getting a clear signal. However, there’s a reason no cell provider can guarantee service inside a structure: certain building materials disrupt the signal. Doesn’t matter who you use or what phone you use, if you’re in a building made of concrete and steel, your phone might not be able to locate the nearest tower and establish a connection. That’s how the technology works. Line of sight. Your cell phone literally seeks out towers it can “see” and connects with them so the switching stations can carry the call to another tower and so on. That’s why they’re also called “mobile phones,” because the ideal usage occurs when the handset is in motion and able to be handed off from tower to tower. Got it now? Good! Now stop callin’ me about stupid shit!!!
- READERS OF THE “TWILIGHT” SERIES. You know who you are, you purveyors of crap. You make the Harry Potter fans look like lovers of fine literature. If you’re children, I forgive you your interest in this horribly pretentious drivel, but if you’re an adult, me & you ‘bout to get all ugly up in heah!!! The author of this wretched series is on record as having said she doesn’t have to follow the rules of her own universe because it’s fiction and she can make up whatever she wants. This type of psychotic, hackneyed “reasoning” is exactly what distinguishes those with talent from those with ideas. You are supporting a con artist. Even Stephen Long May He Reign King said she can’t write worth a damn. He was too kind.
- FACEBOOK JUNKIES. Seriously, what’s going on? Is this website really the greatest thing to hit the Internet since chatrooms? What is it about Facebook that makes people view it as essential? Are we so isolated in this post-industrial wasteland known as modern society that we feel the need to connect by telling people we like white fluffy clouds on a daily basis? We all know lil’ Greggers wet the bed last night thanks to the daily updates, but does that validate the person writing them? Facebook for me is a networking tool. Sure I post sarcastic things from time to time, but ultimately it’s for whore my writing and meeting other writers and readers. Maybe that’s because I actually have something to talk about! Fucking imbeciles! Nobody gives a rat’s fat ass about hubby’s “shining face” in the morning or the fact that you love goddam tortilla soup! Just sit there, be a non-entity, and fade away like my libido, dignity & self-respect!
More to come, bitches!!!
- WOMEN THAT REFUSE TO HAVE OPINIONS. I thought this was a thing of the distant past, but apparently there really are still some women out there who would prefer to let a man do their thinking for them. Perhaps this would be for the best if not for the fact that the men they chose tend to be utter dumb-fucks! Why did women fight and die and get beaten to advance the cause of a woman’s ability to think for herself and watch Oprah so a new generation of doormats could come into the world? I’ll tell you why: I don’t know! Let’s move on.
- RICH KIDS THAT THINK THEY’RE “DOWN.” I’m not sure when this particular phenomenon began but it’s just about past pathetic. I remember a time when a rich kid wouldn’t be caught dead even looking at someone from the ‘Hood let alone imitating them. The emergence and dominance of hip-hop, gangsta rap in particular, changed the entire landscape of the rich kid mentality, possibly forever. Now they listen to that shit and think they know what the street life is all about. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t see anything positive about the lifestyle, but none of these little bitches would last five seconds there unless they were buying everybody something to eat. AND THEN MAYBE! I see firsthand what these self-entitled little shit-stains do and it is disgusting. Let’s see how “down” they are when they look over in time to see someone body slam another person to the concrete and then walk away as that person starts vomiting clear fluid all over the place. Let’s see how they feel when they’re sitting in their cars with the windows cracked and suddenly somebody grabs their arm and starts trying to literally pull them through the slightly open window. God help them if they witness a shooting! They need to retire to their mansions and listen to Miley Cyrus.
- PEOPLE WHO EXPECT CELL PHONES TO WORK EVERYWHERE. For those who know where I work, it should be obvious this is a peeve that affects me directly. I blame “The X-Files.” In the Nineties when nobody knew much about cellular technology, myself included, it was perfectly fine to show someone in a concrete basement getting a clear signal. However, there’s a reason no cell provider can guarantee service inside a structure: certain building materials disrupt the signal. Doesn’t matter who you use or what phone you use, if you’re in a building made of concrete and steel, your phone might not be able to locate the nearest tower and establish a connection. That’s how the technology works. Line of sight. Your cell phone literally seeks out towers it can “see” and connects with them so the switching stations can carry the call to another tower and so on. That’s why they’re also called “mobile phones,” because the ideal usage occurs when the handset is in motion and able to be handed off from tower to tower. Got it now? Good! Now stop callin’ me about stupid shit!!!
- READERS OF THE “TWILIGHT” SERIES. You know who you are, you purveyors of crap. You make the Harry Potter fans look like lovers of fine literature. If you’re children, I forgive you your interest in this horribly pretentious drivel, but if you’re an adult, me & you ‘bout to get all ugly up in heah!!! The author of this wretched series is on record as having said she doesn’t have to follow the rules of her own universe because it’s fiction and she can make up whatever she wants. This type of psychotic, hackneyed “reasoning” is exactly what distinguishes those with talent from those with ideas. You are supporting a con artist. Even Stephen Long May He Reign King said she can’t write worth a damn. He was too kind.
- FACEBOOK JUNKIES. Seriously, what’s going on? Is this website really the greatest thing to hit the Internet since chatrooms? What is it about Facebook that makes people view it as essential? Are we so isolated in this post-industrial wasteland known as modern society that we feel the need to connect by telling people we like white fluffy clouds on a daily basis? We all know lil’ Greggers wet the bed last night thanks to the daily updates, but does that validate the person writing them? Facebook for me is a networking tool. Sure I post sarcastic things from time to time, but ultimately it’s for whore my writing and meeting other writers and readers. Maybe that’s because I actually have something to talk about! Fucking imbeciles! Nobody gives a rat’s fat ass about hubby’s “shining face” in the morning or the fact that you love goddam tortilla soup! Just sit there, be a non-entity, and fade away like my libido, dignity & self-respect!
More to come, bitches!!!
Saturday, April 11, 2009
IN DEFENSE OF...LINDSAY LOHAN???
Well, kinda. Sadly, I must try to remain as objective as humanly possible in order to bring to you the shite that matters in an intelligent and unimpeachable manner. For that to take place, I must occasionally take positions in life that make me uncomfortable and/or cause my anus to twitch involuntarily. (More on my rectal plumbing issues in a future installment)
One such anus-tingling moment occured when I read the following article on Yahoo! It is here reprinted in slightly different form from my new favorite online newssource, the Indian news site newkerla.com:
Lindsay Lohan can play me only over my dead body, says Stevie Nicks
New York, Apr 11 : Legendary singer Stevie Nicks is not in favour of Lindsay Lohan doing a movie on her life.
She insists that the 'Mean Girls' star can only do it "over her dead body".After learning that Lohan was interested in buying the rights to her life story in order to nab the lead role, the 60-year-old singer said that there's no way the troubled star could play her on the big screen.
"Over my dead body," the New York Daily News quoted the 60-year-old singer as telling the New York Times.
She added: "She needs to stop doing drugs and get a grip. Then maybe we'll talk." Lohan, 22, recently split from DJ Samantha Ronson, and has even had a makeover to return to her trademark flame red hair.
--- ANI
It says "Devil's Advocate" on my driver's license so permit me to fulfill my designated role. I am no fan of Lohan's. I consider her to be a marginally talented actress, a terrible singer/songwriter and the window of her hotness closed about four years ago. But neither am I a fan of that warbling goat called Stevie Nicks so I feel qualified to lend an objective commentary here.
While I am enjoying the current backlash of older, more established musical artists against flashes in the pan with enormous senses of self-entitlement (the recent Radiohead vs. Miley Cyrus & Kanye West incident comes to mind) the person doing the insulting better damn well make sure they are coming from a position of superirority. Such is not the case with Nicks.
Stevie Nicks, simply put, was one of the most skanktified drug addicts in music history. Her coke addiction reached legendary status when she actually eroded the bones in her nose and had to undergo reconstructive surgery! She basically kicked her habit because she was about to die. And this is the person who says Lohan needs to kick her habit before being even considered to play this heroine to gay men over fifty the world over?
WOW!!!
What's next? Ike Turner giving love advice to Chris Brown?
Who the hell is this burned out old strumpet to stand in judgement of someone else? When she spins around on stage like some demented carousel, I imagine some still drug-addled portion of her brain thinks she's going to take flight. I'm not saying Nicks should be honored by Lohan's desire to portray her on film. Far from it. I'm just saying her reaction is as childish and bitter as Roberta Flack's was when Beyonce sang her only signatue song at the Obama innauguration.
I find myself placed in the uncomfotable positon of empathizing with Lohan's skank ass. I'm sure she's hurt right now that one of her idols dissed her in public forum. But if she's reading this, and why wouldn't she be, I do have some advice for her when it comes to a comeback. Instead of saying how upset she is of how mean the comment was, if it were me in Lohan's micro-mini, I'd say:
"It's sad when someone whose reputation for drug use eclipses the national average feels the need to deflect her own shortcomings onto others. Perhaps if Stevie Nicks kicks the hypocrite habit, we can talk as well. Although I'm not sure how interested I am in playing one."
That's probably too many syllables for Lohan to utter at once, so I am willing to write some crib notes if necessary~
One such anus-tingling moment occured when I read the following article on Yahoo! It is here reprinted in slightly different form from my new favorite online newssource, the Indian news site newkerla.com:
Lindsay Lohan can play me only over my dead body, says Stevie Nicks
New York, Apr 11 : Legendary singer Stevie Nicks is not in favour of Lindsay Lohan doing a movie on her life.
She insists that the 'Mean Girls' star can only do it "over her dead body".After learning that Lohan was interested in buying the rights to her life story in order to nab the lead role, the 60-year-old singer said that there's no way the troubled star could play her on the big screen.
"Over my dead body," the New York Daily News quoted the 60-year-old singer as telling the New York Times.
She added: "She needs to stop doing drugs and get a grip. Then maybe we'll talk." Lohan, 22, recently split from DJ Samantha Ronson, and has even had a makeover to return to her trademark flame red hair.
--- ANI
It says "Devil's Advocate" on my driver's license so permit me to fulfill my designated role. I am no fan of Lohan's. I consider her to be a marginally talented actress, a terrible singer/songwriter and the window of her hotness closed about four years ago. But neither am I a fan of that warbling goat called Stevie Nicks so I feel qualified to lend an objective commentary here.
While I am enjoying the current backlash of older, more established musical artists against flashes in the pan with enormous senses of self-entitlement (the recent Radiohead vs. Miley Cyrus & Kanye West incident comes to mind) the person doing the insulting better damn well make sure they are coming from a position of superirority. Such is not the case with Nicks.
Stevie Nicks, simply put, was one of the most skanktified drug addicts in music history. Her coke addiction reached legendary status when she actually eroded the bones in her nose and had to undergo reconstructive surgery! She basically kicked her habit because she was about to die. And this is the person who says Lohan needs to kick her habit before being even considered to play this heroine to gay men over fifty the world over?
WOW!!!
What's next? Ike Turner giving love advice to Chris Brown?
Who the hell is this burned out old strumpet to stand in judgement of someone else? When she spins around on stage like some demented carousel, I imagine some still drug-addled portion of her brain thinks she's going to take flight. I'm not saying Nicks should be honored by Lohan's desire to portray her on film. Far from it. I'm just saying her reaction is as childish and bitter as Roberta Flack's was when Beyonce sang her only signatue song at the Obama innauguration.
I find myself placed in the uncomfotable positon of empathizing with Lohan's skank ass. I'm sure she's hurt right now that one of her idols dissed her in public forum. But if she's reading this, and why wouldn't she be, I do have some advice for her when it comes to a comeback. Instead of saying how upset she is of how mean the comment was, if it were me in Lohan's micro-mini, I'd say:
"It's sad when someone whose reputation for drug use eclipses the national average feels the need to deflect her own shortcomings onto others. Perhaps if Stevie Nicks kicks the hypocrite habit, we can talk as well. Although I'm not sure how interested I am in playing one."
That's probably too many syllables for Lohan to utter at once, so I am willing to write some crib notes if necessary~
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
WORKPLACE POTLUCKS: EVIL OR JUST PLAIN WRONG?
A few years ago I wrote an extensive post on why workplace potlucks had the potential to destroy us all. As you all no doubt know, potlucks are a uniquely American “tradition” wherein workers are pressured to bring in a “dish to pass” during some celebratory function such as a holiday or a meeting that runs longer than a few minutes.
I came to see the true evil of potlucks while working in the public sector. Tax dollars sustain the environment necessary to facilitate this ridiculous concept. For example, during my six wasted years in that place, I probably dropped hundreds of dollars on potlucks and birthday parties.
The rules, both official and unofficial, are fluid in the public sector. Shifting realities is the name of the game, as the agenda is to keep people constantly off balance and unable to form lasting alliances involving change. Groupthink hovers over everything that is said and done, a grim and unforgiving specter whose goal is the withering away of individuality. If I sound like a conservative, too bad. Truth is truth regardless of political leanings.
I am in no way defending the corporate mentality, which is every bit as oppressive but perhaps not quite as philosophically bankrupt only because it doesn’t make any pretenses towards intellectual growth. This would be a laughable fact if it weren’t so frighteningly destructive. You might be laughing at the apparent melodrama of this post and its alarmist rhetoric regarding potlucks, but allow me to place them in proper perspective.
Any good brainwashing technique requires a benevolent activity to be effective. On its surface, the idea of bringing prepared foods for holidays is a harmless one. But when dissected we can hopefully see the true goal. It starts as an idea: “Hey, let’s do a potluck. I’ll make my famous blah blah blah!” Somewhere along the line, somebody appears to decide it was a great idea to have the potluck and starts asking when there will be another one. Naturally, there is another and another until eventually it becomes a staple in that particular office.
I don’t know about anybody else, but I don’t appreciate being made to feel that I have to participate in such an activity at MY OWN EXPENSE while others in the office make two and three times as much as I do, not to mention those who make less than me. This exploits workplace inequity in a way that forces people to feel ostracized if they don’t join in. Now that everybody has responded to the pressure, the frequency and reasons behind the potlucks must increase. Soccer moms are ideal for facilitating this.
In my case, birthdays were used as the excuse. Somehow the director of our department convinced people it was a good idea for each person in the office to finance the birthday of the next person on the list. In other words, if yours was on May 5th, the person whose birthday preceded yours financed it. You financed the birthday of the person whose birthday came after yours and so on. Naturally to be socially accepted, we had to get whatever the person wanted, which in some cases was often quite expensive.
To this day, three years out of there, I still can’t figure out how the hell anybody thought that made sense. If your workplace is too cheap to spring for a cake or, in our case, diverting tax dollars to administrators so they could take trips to Japan and Mexico, then I say screw it. The only other viable choice is to take up a small collection from everyone for each birthday.
Basically, any one person in that office could expect to, at their own expense, take part in a minimum of five or six potlucks per year. Depending on what you bought or prepared, you could have easily spent a hundred bucks during that year. Multiplied by six, you see where I got my estimate of hundreds. There were nearly thirty people in that office. That’s 18,000 dollars per year!
But what’s the purpose of these types of insanities? Certainly it isn’t to make people spend money they might not have. Well, maybe that is part of it, although perhaps not why you’re thinking. The goal isn’t to make people broke, it’s to wear them down to the point where they will take part in things that aren’t smart for them. Much like organized religion, groupthink depends heavily on the willingness of its victims to suspend all common sense in abeyance to the absurd.
I didn’t speak out against the potlucks back then; the politics of that place were twisted and evil, a hive of scum and villainy, to borrow two Star Wars references. I wouldn’t have had any backup and if I had, that person would have suffered greatly when I left. So I remained silent, brooding, but never hungry.
Recently I have noticed a trend toward meeting potlucks where I work. I spoke out this time, refusing to participate and referring to them as evil. Spreading potluck awareness is my latest calling. Join me if you dare~
*After I wrote this stunning piece of commentary, the potluck being planned at my job degenerated into an anger and resentment as people dropped out like flies off shit. See what I mean?*
I came to see the true evil of potlucks while working in the public sector. Tax dollars sustain the environment necessary to facilitate this ridiculous concept. For example, during my six wasted years in that place, I probably dropped hundreds of dollars on potlucks and birthday parties.
The rules, both official and unofficial, are fluid in the public sector. Shifting realities is the name of the game, as the agenda is to keep people constantly off balance and unable to form lasting alliances involving change. Groupthink hovers over everything that is said and done, a grim and unforgiving specter whose goal is the withering away of individuality. If I sound like a conservative, too bad. Truth is truth regardless of political leanings.
I am in no way defending the corporate mentality, which is every bit as oppressive but perhaps not quite as philosophically bankrupt only because it doesn’t make any pretenses towards intellectual growth. This would be a laughable fact if it weren’t so frighteningly destructive. You might be laughing at the apparent melodrama of this post and its alarmist rhetoric regarding potlucks, but allow me to place them in proper perspective.
Any good brainwashing technique requires a benevolent activity to be effective. On its surface, the idea of bringing prepared foods for holidays is a harmless one. But when dissected we can hopefully see the true goal. It starts as an idea: “Hey, let’s do a potluck. I’ll make my famous blah blah blah!” Somewhere along the line, somebody appears to decide it was a great idea to have the potluck and starts asking when there will be another one. Naturally, there is another and another until eventually it becomes a staple in that particular office.
I don’t know about anybody else, but I don’t appreciate being made to feel that I have to participate in such an activity at MY OWN EXPENSE while others in the office make two and three times as much as I do, not to mention those who make less than me. This exploits workplace inequity in a way that forces people to feel ostracized if they don’t join in. Now that everybody has responded to the pressure, the frequency and reasons behind the potlucks must increase. Soccer moms are ideal for facilitating this.
In my case, birthdays were used as the excuse. Somehow the director of our department convinced people it was a good idea for each person in the office to finance the birthday of the next person on the list. In other words, if yours was on May 5th, the person whose birthday preceded yours financed it. You financed the birthday of the person whose birthday came after yours and so on. Naturally to be socially accepted, we had to get whatever the person wanted, which in some cases was often quite expensive.
To this day, three years out of there, I still can’t figure out how the hell anybody thought that made sense. If your workplace is too cheap to spring for a cake or, in our case, diverting tax dollars to administrators so they could take trips to Japan and Mexico, then I say screw it. The only other viable choice is to take up a small collection from everyone for each birthday.
Basically, any one person in that office could expect to, at their own expense, take part in a minimum of five or six potlucks per year. Depending on what you bought or prepared, you could have easily spent a hundred bucks during that year. Multiplied by six, you see where I got my estimate of hundreds. There were nearly thirty people in that office. That’s 18,000 dollars per year!
But what’s the purpose of these types of insanities? Certainly it isn’t to make people spend money they might not have. Well, maybe that is part of it, although perhaps not why you’re thinking. The goal isn’t to make people broke, it’s to wear them down to the point where they will take part in things that aren’t smart for them. Much like organized religion, groupthink depends heavily on the willingness of its victims to suspend all common sense in abeyance to the absurd.
I didn’t speak out against the potlucks back then; the politics of that place were twisted and evil, a hive of scum and villainy, to borrow two Star Wars references. I wouldn’t have had any backup and if I had, that person would have suffered greatly when I left. So I remained silent, brooding, but never hungry.
Recently I have noticed a trend toward meeting potlucks where I work. I spoke out this time, refusing to participate and referring to them as evil. Spreading potluck awareness is my latest calling. Join me if you dare~
*After I wrote this stunning piece of commentary, the potluck being planned at my job degenerated into an anger and resentment as people dropped out like flies off shit. See what I mean?*
Saturday, April 4, 2009
A LETTER I SENT TO MY LOCAL LIBRARY
Dear Library Overlords,
I am and have been a patron of your lovely library for decades now, more than I’d care to specify in this letter. I was there for the original, smaller location and provided my full support for the gloriously huge monstrosity that now sits at the edge of Evergreen Rd. and stares balefully at passers-by. However, I am most upset with some aspects of the internal running of your divine institution, most notably in regards to the borrowing policy.
I am an avid borrower. This horrible economy has necessitated that. I gravitate toward free forms of entertainment and, frankly, I have more than enough financial trouble these days keeping up with my fiancé’s Oxy-contin addiction and the mysterious disappearances of large sums of cash from my jewelry box. Yes, I have a jewelry box, please don’t judge me or view me as less than a man. Your opinions are important to me, as you are the longest-running relationship I have ever had. The second is my dog Ernest, named after Ernest Borgnine and not Hemmingway who was an overrated homo-phobic hack of monumental proportions. He would have delighted in wrestling me! I might hav e delighted in allowing it…
As an avid borrower and a resident of the city in which your palace of media-related enrichment stands, I feel often disregarded and disrespected by your otherwise yummy & scrumptious place of employment. Consequently, I’ve always wanted to work in a library, absorbing the smell of the books and the various patrons, reading on my lunch breaks and laughing with children as they break limbs in the play area and learn about life. Alas, I shall have to content myself with being a patron and avid borrower.
I am an avid borrower. I am there almost daily, exiting the building with armfuls of novels and films and sometimes CD’s when I’m feeling extra-frisky. Lately I have developed an interest in TV series on DVD, especially the ones that aired on cable. Ironically, those shows tended to remain on the shelves for months at a time, rarely if ever being taken out by other patrons. I know this because I am there so often. However, as soon as I developed an interest in a particular show, I suddenly had to start reserving the next installment and then waiting for up to a week for them to be returned! Now, obviously this is being done as a personal sleight to me. What else could be happening? What are the odds of some other patrons suddenly deciding to borrow the very next episodes of DVD’s I am, planning to borrow? Exactly!
What disgusts me is your complicity in this. How can you simply sit back in your ivory towers of six-figure incomes and free books and allow this to continue? I am a taxpayer (most years) and I demand satisfaction!!!
I cannot stomach the idea that atrocities such as this are being perpetrated without some form of oversight. I am losing sleep, rarely eating and my trips to the bathroom are far less frequent. Please address this issue as I do not know how much longer I can last before this cruel universe devours me. I threw out my Bible and copy of the Baghavad Gita the other day because there can be no god in a world with such outrageous injustice.
Sincerely,
-A Faithful Patron
P.S.
I hope you’ll understand why my name isn’t included in this email as I am most certain I have enemies in the Non-Fiction department who seek my destruction at all costs.
I am and have been a patron of your lovely library for decades now, more than I’d care to specify in this letter. I was there for the original, smaller location and provided my full support for the gloriously huge monstrosity that now sits at the edge of Evergreen Rd. and stares balefully at passers-by. However, I am most upset with some aspects of the internal running of your divine institution, most notably in regards to the borrowing policy.
I am an avid borrower. This horrible economy has necessitated that. I gravitate toward free forms of entertainment and, frankly, I have more than enough financial trouble these days keeping up with my fiancé’s Oxy-contin addiction and the mysterious disappearances of large sums of cash from my jewelry box. Yes, I have a jewelry box, please don’t judge me or view me as less than a man. Your opinions are important to me, as you are the longest-running relationship I have ever had. The second is my dog Ernest, named after Ernest Borgnine and not Hemmingway who was an overrated homo-phobic hack of monumental proportions. He would have delighted in wrestling me! I might hav e delighted in allowing it…
As an avid borrower and a resident of the city in which your palace of media-related enrichment stands, I feel often disregarded and disrespected by your otherwise yummy & scrumptious place of employment. Consequently, I’ve always wanted to work in a library, absorbing the smell of the books and the various patrons, reading on my lunch breaks and laughing with children as they break limbs in the play area and learn about life. Alas, I shall have to content myself with being a patron and avid borrower.
I am an avid borrower. I am there almost daily, exiting the building with armfuls of novels and films and sometimes CD’s when I’m feeling extra-frisky. Lately I have developed an interest in TV series on DVD, especially the ones that aired on cable. Ironically, those shows tended to remain on the shelves for months at a time, rarely if ever being taken out by other patrons. I know this because I am there so often. However, as soon as I developed an interest in a particular show, I suddenly had to start reserving the next installment and then waiting for up to a week for them to be returned! Now, obviously this is being done as a personal sleight to me. What else could be happening? What are the odds of some other patrons suddenly deciding to borrow the very next episodes of DVD’s I am, planning to borrow? Exactly!
What disgusts me is your complicity in this. How can you simply sit back in your ivory towers of six-figure incomes and free books and allow this to continue? I am a taxpayer (most years) and I demand satisfaction!!!
I cannot stomach the idea that atrocities such as this are being perpetrated without some form of oversight. I am losing sleep, rarely eating and my trips to the bathroom are far less frequent. Please address this issue as I do not know how much longer I can last before this cruel universe devours me. I threw out my Bible and copy of the Baghavad Gita the other day because there can be no god in a world with such outrageous injustice.
Sincerely,
-A Faithful Patron
P.S.
I hope you’ll understand why my name isn’t included in this email as I am most certain I have enemies in the Non-Fiction department who seek my destruction at all costs.
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