For the past year or more, the vultures have been asking me why EFB is now (former) EFB. And for that time I have avoided answering the question, mainly because I wasn’t sure I knew. After all, she’s still the same person, for the most part. So what has changed?
She’s still a conservative, although she voted for Obama in the most recent election. Apparently, Catholic conservatives don’t feel comfortable with right-wing wing nuts like Sara Palin in the White House. Or maybe it was just her, considering her brother had no problem with the former Alaskan governor turned undeserved successful author.
She still has questionable views on race, especially as it pertains to the American condition and the causes for the issues we face on this side of the world. (Yes, lccb I’m including Central & South America).
She certainly hasn’t stopped believing in the “superiority” of white physical attractiveness. She still get into creaming, swearing, psychotic arguments with her mom both in person and over the phone which often culminate in her screeching, “evil old fucking bitch!” But most of you who have been reading me for years know her mom is an evil, insane old racist filled with more hate than the legal limit allows.
And if you know that, you probably also know that her siblings are a collective hive mind of intolerant, judgmental, superior minded assholes. So, what’s changed? What makes a peon like that no longer a total EFB? Well, it starts with me and my own hypocrisy.
As a left-leaning individual, I often cite environment as a determining factor in one’s behavior and actions. Having met she and her family that argument has grown in intensity; conservatives tend to judge based on moments without context and they are no exception. Well, she is an exception now.
Perhaps it has come from knowing me for so long or listening to what I had to say. Perhaps she’s literally never heard anyone present an intelligent argument to the contrary of what her sainted Libertarian brother said about all things political and social. Actually, I’m pretty sure that’s the case.
Maybe being with a person of mixed race has provided her with an outlook and perspective he never could have achieved with what I like to call a mono-toned person. That is mot likely the case as recent development have shown. (More on those in a later post)
Basically, I realized that in order for me to make my argument about environment, I had to acknowledge that she too is a product of hers. To do anything else would make me a hypocrite, like her family members that deal with their screed up kids then criticize “urban youth.”
So, I took a long hard look at my inner Scribe. Then I looked at her background. Then I watched how she related to her family members as oppose to when I first met her. Then I watched some “South Park” reruns and laughed hysterically and went to bed at which point I forgot about my little experiment for about three years. Or maybe it was three weeks, whatever. I got back to it eventually so who are you to criticize?
I used that objective journalistic training I never received and wound up seeing some disturbingly shocking truths; most notably that EFB was indeed a product of her environment. Without making excuses (and really, why would I?) I considered the type of family from which she’d come. A mom whose every moment is ruled by agenda and emotion, siblings who are of a hive mentality while still insisting they are individuals with their own minds, angered whenever she strays from the mold. In particular, she has two oppressive, incredibly sexist brothers who refute anything they don’t like hearing or that makes the white race look negative. I mentioned the brothers because her sisters seem to see thinking as a man’s game, especially the two married ones. The single, eldest sister has some ideas but spends most of her time garnering sympathy from their mother and turning her against EFB.
Add to this a father that would inflict physical punishment for such horrible transgressions as elbows on the dinner table and you gain a pretty clear insight into just how fucked up she should be.
However, EFB is nothing if not strong-willed. Somehow she has continued to carve out her own identity or at least as much as she can in light of the dictatorship he grew up under. Having finally stopped resisting listening to other forms of thought, namely that which occurs above the brain stem, she has become far more well rounded than those to whom she is related.
I call her former EFB because I no longer believe the “E” is accurate anymore than I would call the angry criminal evil because he succumbed to the often insurmountable bullshit in his environment. It’s easy to judge others when our own lives were far stabler. Yes, my parents also divorced when I was in single digits. Yes, my dad was about a useful in life as a third testicle. But my support system was strong and open-minded and I was never made to feel like a failure because I disagreed with someone or chose a different path. My mother never called me such lovely things as (list a many as possible) when I disappointed her in the name of tough love, which is obviously thinly disguised resentment.
It’s easy to judge someone who, on the surface, had ever advantage in modern American life. But then I look at her nieces and nephews who have even more and realize that doesn’t mean shit.
So, it was fun using the acronym but I can’t in good conscience continue to do so. That’s why she’s (former) EFB~
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
REPLIES TO DEATH POST COMMENTS:
Instead of replying in the comments section of my previous post, I thought I’d write an actual response to all you splendiferous mothafukas that took the time to write such impassioned comments. Y’all is some truly delightful sum bitches.
Okay, enough gooey praise.
I’ll respond to Green first, as he has been my most ardent commenter and loyal reader, especially over the past year as Facebook has taken my Blogger family away from me one by one:
I’m not afraid of death either, I’m afraid of a wasted life. I don’t scoff at your belief in a bright and sunny reward in the after-life, I simply don’t share it. I have my own beliefs about what happens once we’re no longer in our bodies and it isn’t based on a reward system of faith and devout observation. I disagree strongly with the idea that what happens after we die doesn’t matter if there’s nothing after. In fact, I think that’s insane. AG is absolutely right when he writes that it matters even more what we do if we don’t have the luxury of faith in a pleasant reward. In that scenario, we only have one time to get “it” right and whatever we do would have lasting implications on future generations. I suppose if you have no conscience, that doesn’t matter but most of us do. And yes, perhaps I do seek “inner peace,” but easy answers and fairytales don’t provide them.
AG: Yeah, funerals are for the living in most cases, unless you’re former EFB’s egomaniacal Dad. His funeral was very much for himself. I guess if it helps those I leave behind to mourn me in a building with music and flowers and endless religious platitudes so be it, but like you I don’t really care what happens next. I do care about how my body is disposed of, however. I choose cremation, which many Christians frown upon because they believe the body must be intact for when Christ rides down on Pegasus and reanimates corpses and, hopefully, brings lots of Lysol. I guess God can’t reanimate ashes; there they go again, putting the all-powerful God in a box.
Madge: You are absotively correct. My gripe is with my life itself. I do feel that I came close to having lived but I backed away and wound up in some sort of cocoon. Whether or not I have touched anyone deeply, I suppose I have had a definite impact on lives. I know I’ve touched people on Blogger that’s why you guys are special to me and why I tagged you in the Facebook note. The rest of those fair-weather fuckheads will come and go like the fad-chasers they are. You guys are my core and I love every single one of you for it, even those of you who read but no longer comment. Being over 35 doesn’t matter to me, it’s just that I never thought I’d live as long as I have. As far as life being a gift, I would like my gift receipt!
My dearest Autumn: as usual, you hit the donkey on the nail with the head and tail thingee! It is the story that matters. As a writer, I find it to be true for me even more than it is for others. It’s not the peaceful death of the well-lived life that effects me, it’s the tragic ending of the guy everybody loved who died trying to mend fences with a stubborn, arrogant family. It’s the idea of me having made no significant impact on the world being snuffed out like a Roman candle. These are the tales that send me into such deep thoughts of despair. But I am touched that I have served as an inspiration to you. I don’t think anyone has ever said that to me before. I’m also glad to read that some of you find my sense of humor helpful in hard times. If nothing else, I strive for that. Making people think outside their comfort zones (Green is exempt from this ‘cause he’s all righteous with Gawd) is what I’ve considered to be my mission in life. It’s gratifying to know I’ve accomplished this on a relatively sizable scale. Trust me, not having to support anyone does not fill me with sadness LOL
Oh, and thanks for the womb offer. We’ll chat later. Love you, too.
Blanche: I almost posted this without your comment because it came through after I’d written this. I actually attended both the wake and the funeral. Catholics are huge into displaying dead bodies and talking around them so there he was all exposed for everyone to see. And like you said, it has stuck with me for days now. The tragedy of a guy I think I might have liked who seemed to be loved by so many is a powerful concept. I may well die a successful man, but the “good” part is debatable. I am so intensely flawed. And I am writing another book and have the sequel to the one that’s for sale coming out in the next few months, so there!
Okay, enough gooey praise.
I’ll respond to Green first, as he has been my most ardent commenter and loyal reader, especially over the past year as Facebook has taken my Blogger family away from me one by one:
I’m not afraid of death either, I’m afraid of a wasted life. I don’t scoff at your belief in a bright and sunny reward in the after-life, I simply don’t share it. I have my own beliefs about what happens once we’re no longer in our bodies and it isn’t based on a reward system of faith and devout observation. I disagree strongly with the idea that what happens after we die doesn’t matter if there’s nothing after. In fact, I think that’s insane. AG is absolutely right when he writes that it matters even more what we do if we don’t have the luxury of faith in a pleasant reward. In that scenario, we only have one time to get “it” right and whatever we do would have lasting implications on future generations. I suppose if you have no conscience, that doesn’t matter but most of us do. And yes, perhaps I do seek “inner peace,” but easy answers and fairytales don’t provide them.
AG: Yeah, funerals are for the living in most cases, unless you’re former EFB’s egomaniacal Dad. His funeral was very much for himself. I guess if it helps those I leave behind to mourn me in a building with music and flowers and endless religious platitudes so be it, but like you I don’t really care what happens next. I do care about how my body is disposed of, however. I choose cremation, which many Christians frown upon because they believe the body must be intact for when Christ rides down on Pegasus and reanimates corpses and, hopefully, brings lots of Lysol. I guess God can’t reanimate ashes; there they go again, putting the all-powerful God in a box.
Madge: You are absotively correct. My gripe is with my life itself. I do feel that I came close to having lived but I backed away and wound up in some sort of cocoon. Whether or not I have touched anyone deeply, I suppose I have had a definite impact on lives. I know I’ve touched people on Blogger that’s why you guys are special to me and why I tagged you in the Facebook note. The rest of those fair-weather fuckheads will come and go like the fad-chasers they are. You guys are my core and I love every single one of you for it, even those of you who read but no longer comment. Being over 35 doesn’t matter to me, it’s just that I never thought I’d live as long as I have. As far as life being a gift, I would like my gift receipt!
My dearest Autumn: as usual, you hit the donkey on the nail with the head and tail thingee! It is the story that matters. As a writer, I find it to be true for me even more than it is for others. It’s not the peaceful death of the well-lived life that effects me, it’s the tragic ending of the guy everybody loved who died trying to mend fences with a stubborn, arrogant family. It’s the idea of me having made no significant impact on the world being snuffed out like a Roman candle. These are the tales that send me into such deep thoughts of despair. But I am touched that I have served as an inspiration to you. I don’t think anyone has ever said that to me before. I’m also glad to read that some of you find my sense of humor helpful in hard times. If nothing else, I strive for that. Making people think outside their comfort zones (Green is exempt from this ‘cause he’s all righteous with Gawd) is what I’ve considered to be my mission in life. It’s gratifying to know I’ve accomplished this on a relatively sizable scale. Trust me, not having to support anyone does not fill me with sadness LOL
Oh, and thanks for the womb offer. We’ll chat later. Love you, too.
Blanche: I almost posted this without your comment because it came through after I’d written this. I actually attended both the wake and the funeral. Catholics are huge into displaying dead bodies and talking around them so there he was all exposed for everyone to see. And like you said, it has stuck with me for days now. The tragedy of a guy I think I might have liked who seemed to be loved by so many is a powerful concept. I may well die a successful man, but the “good” part is debatable. I am so intensely flawed. And I am writing another book and have the sequel to the one that’s for sale coming out in the next few months, so there!
Monday, October 19, 2009
THOUGHTS ON DEATH & DYING
I’ve had death on my mind quite a bit lately.
That’s a lie. I’ve always had death on my mind. Since I was an adolescent, I’ve always believed my life would be a short one. When both of my parents died relatively young (Dad at 47 from lung cancer, Mom at 54 from type I Diabetes) that feeling became even more prevalent.
Ironically, I never thought I’d make it past thirty-five. Now that I have, I think I’m living on borrowed time, each year a surprise. It’s okay, though. Some people aren’t cut out for this world and don’t do very well in it if they have to stick around past their welcome. But what will I leave behind when I’m gone?
A few swollen eyes? Some genuine sadness? What else? A few books bearing my name that may or may not become considered worthy of mention as the years wear on? Maybe that’s all I can hope for anyway.
I have no children to carry on my name and DNA. I may never have any. There are no foundations bearing my name and I’m not a well-known celebrity. I don’t believe in anything so people of faith won’t look at me as someone of deep, abiding belief that has gone on to a just reward. My family is small and getting smaller all the time and I have no siblings to recall funny stories about me when I was a kid. I have lived a life unseen and unnoticed and when I am gone I doubt there will be very many stories worth telling at my funeral.
That beings me to the funeral itself. What kind would I want? Truthfully, I would prefer not to have one at all. I’ve never considered them to be useful for the living and my ego isn’t over-developed enough to ensure that people cry when I’m gone. I don’t want people looking on in amazement because it looks nothing like me. It isn’t me. It is a suit I wore until whatever was inside could no longer remain there. I don’t want a holy man speaking about me because that would just be hypocritical.
But I can’t help wondering what people would say about me. Would they say I was funny or generous or talented or smart? Would people have a difficult time standing in front of an I’m sure small group of people and lying about what a wonderful person I was? I don’t know. Unlike former EFB’s dad, I’m not megalomaniacal enough to script my own funeral so that a horrible person cannot help but be mourned.
I don’t have much to leave behind, at least not at this point. Without children, I don’t have to worry about the futures of my progeny and that simplifies matters quite a bit. So, the only persons I need to worry about after I’m dead are those that mattered to me while I was alive. That brings me to my will.
I can’t help but smirk a bit as I write this because, honestly, what the hell do I have to leave anybody? My book and music collections? The comic books of my youth and more recent years? A car nobody could possibly want except for the scrap metal and spare parts opportunities? Oh, I know. My unfinished work! There’s a collector’s item. I can assure you there is no family member worthy of leaving my half of the house to. It’s going to be a very succinct will.
I suppose the same could be said of my life thus far. I won’t be presumptuous enough to make the blanket statement that I have had little to no effect on the lives of others. During my father’s funeral, a man whose life was less than exemplary and whose inability to form lasting relationships was legendary, so many people showed up that the priest apologized for not having enough room to accommodate them all.
We have no idea how many lives we touch and change while we’re here and we probably never will. Those of us that think nobody noticed them or took something they did to heart are deluded fools. So yes, there probably will be a few more people at my funeral than I think, assuming there is a funeral at all.
What’s causing such maudlin thoughts to run through my head and spill over onto this screen? I attended a funeral the other day of a man who died of cancer at the age of 49.
I never met him because he is related to former EFB’s mother and there has been a long-standing three-decade feud between she and her siblings. But from what I’ve heard, he would have been the one person in her entire family I genuinely liked. So, naturally he died before I got the chance.
Ironically, he was the one that tried for years to bring his family back together, facing constant ridicule and hostility for the effort. How ironic that his dying wish was to have them come see him one last time. Watching him breathe on his own when he shouldn’t have been able to and hearing his death rattle, lungs filled with fluid, I could tell he was a man with a strong life-force and love for life in general.
I am neither.
I hate life and I don’t much care for people and if I suddenly found out I was dying I would not have the strength to keep doing the things I did and to refuse oxygen when my time came. I would be angry about the suffering and bitter about my wasted time on Earth and would want nothing to do with anyone in my final days.
There would be no celebration of a life lived for Scribe. No packed church with weeping children and an entire town mourning my passing. Call me a fatalist if you must, but I am only being realistic. As we left the service and headed for the eating area, former EFB’s brother turned to me and said, “He’s got some really big shoes, doesn’t he?” Still choked up by the service, I nodded and looked away. If this was coming from a guy whose life could put him in those shoes, what the hell chance do I have of filling them?
Maybe that’s what my eulogy should say: “He did what he could when he thought about it, but most times he just existed.”
What else is there to say?
That’s a lie. I’ve always had death on my mind. Since I was an adolescent, I’ve always believed my life would be a short one. When both of my parents died relatively young (Dad at 47 from lung cancer, Mom at 54 from type I Diabetes) that feeling became even more prevalent.
Ironically, I never thought I’d make it past thirty-five. Now that I have, I think I’m living on borrowed time, each year a surprise. It’s okay, though. Some people aren’t cut out for this world and don’t do very well in it if they have to stick around past their welcome. But what will I leave behind when I’m gone?
A few swollen eyes? Some genuine sadness? What else? A few books bearing my name that may or may not become considered worthy of mention as the years wear on? Maybe that’s all I can hope for anyway.
I have no children to carry on my name and DNA. I may never have any. There are no foundations bearing my name and I’m not a well-known celebrity. I don’t believe in anything so people of faith won’t look at me as someone of deep, abiding belief that has gone on to a just reward. My family is small and getting smaller all the time and I have no siblings to recall funny stories about me when I was a kid. I have lived a life unseen and unnoticed and when I am gone I doubt there will be very many stories worth telling at my funeral.
That beings me to the funeral itself. What kind would I want? Truthfully, I would prefer not to have one at all. I’ve never considered them to be useful for the living and my ego isn’t over-developed enough to ensure that people cry when I’m gone. I don’t want people looking on in amazement because it looks nothing like me. It isn’t me. It is a suit I wore until whatever was inside could no longer remain there. I don’t want a holy man speaking about me because that would just be hypocritical.
But I can’t help wondering what people would say about me. Would they say I was funny or generous or talented or smart? Would people have a difficult time standing in front of an I’m sure small group of people and lying about what a wonderful person I was? I don’t know. Unlike former EFB’s dad, I’m not megalomaniacal enough to script my own funeral so that a horrible person cannot help but be mourned.
I don’t have much to leave behind, at least not at this point. Without children, I don’t have to worry about the futures of my progeny and that simplifies matters quite a bit. So, the only persons I need to worry about after I’m dead are those that mattered to me while I was alive. That brings me to my will.
I can’t help but smirk a bit as I write this because, honestly, what the hell do I have to leave anybody? My book and music collections? The comic books of my youth and more recent years? A car nobody could possibly want except for the scrap metal and spare parts opportunities? Oh, I know. My unfinished work! There’s a collector’s item. I can assure you there is no family member worthy of leaving my half of the house to. It’s going to be a very succinct will.
I suppose the same could be said of my life thus far. I won’t be presumptuous enough to make the blanket statement that I have had little to no effect on the lives of others. During my father’s funeral, a man whose life was less than exemplary and whose inability to form lasting relationships was legendary, so many people showed up that the priest apologized for not having enough room to accommodate them all.
We have no idea how many lives we touch and change while we’re here and we probably never will. Those of us that think nobody noticed them or took something they did to heart are deluded fools. So yes, there probably will be a few more people at my funeral than I think, assuming there is a funeral at all.
What’s causing such maudlin thoughts to run through my head and spill over onto this screen? I attended a funeral the other day of a man who died of cancer at the age of 49.
I never met him because he is related to former EFB’s mother and there has been a long-standing three-decade feud between she and her siblings. But from what I’ve heard, he would have been the one person in her entire family I genuinely liked. So, naturally he died before I got the chance.
Ironically, he was the one that tried for years to bring his family back together, facing constant ridicule and hostility for the effort. How ironic that his dying wish was to have them come see him one last time. Watching him breathe on his own when he shouldn’t have been able to and hearing his death rattle, lungs filled with fluid, I could tell he was a man with a strong life-force and love for life in general.
I am neither.
I hate life and I don’t much care for people and if I suddenly found out I was dying I would not have the strength to keep doing the things I did and to refuse oxygen when my time came. I would be angry about the suffering and bitter about my wasted time on Earth and would want nothing to do with anyone in my final days.
There would be no celebration of a life lived for Scribe. No packed church with weeping children and an entire town mourning my passing. Call me a fatalist if you must, but I am only being realistic. As we left the service and headed for the eating area, former EFB’s brother turned to me and said, “He’s got some really big shoes, doesn’t he?” Still choked up by the service, I nodded and looked away. If this was coming from a guy whose life could put him in those shoes, what the hell chance do I have of filling them?
Maybe that’s what my eulogy should say: “He did what he could when he thought about it, but most times he just existed.”
What else is there to say?
Monday, October 5, 2009
SOME RANDOM SCRIBE SHIT BEFORE THE NEXT BIG POST:
DUDE: Hiatus is over. After all that Dude falderal, I needed to take a blogging break. Besides, like some of you, I was a bit let down by no longer having old Dude to kick around anymore.
Still, that wasn’t the end of the story. There are snippets of further developments from the past couple weeks since she went home. For one thing, that fucking idiot actually misses her. Damn!And I thought I had a co-dependency issue! He actually MISSES the evil, manipulative genius that plotted against him and turned his family into enemies within less than a two-month period.
Dude is quite the study in social backwardness. Nobody likes him, he doesn’t seem to like anybody, yet he can’t stand to be alone for longer than a short time. He wants so badly to be with someone that he is capable of lamenting the loss of a horrible mistake. So much for all that “happy dance” shit.
As you may recall, there is a Canadian woman who expressed interest in his Dudeness while the evil Aussie was here. Somehow, magically, her interest has waned since he became available again. Apparently, she told him that, had he been stronger in dealing with the Aussie, she might not have started to “lose that lovin’ feeling.” First, does that sound like a reference a young chick would make? Second, even Dude wasn’t so obtuse as to not realize she might only be interested in the hunt.
However, he decided to put an update on his Facebook page saying how much he missed “someone.” The Aussie who is apparently still his Facebook Friend wrote back one of those, “Aww, miss you too,” etc replies. The Canuck wrote, “No, he’s talking about me. And you don’t look anything like your profile pic.”
(This one has promise)
ME: I wrote about this a while back but because nothing seems to be changing, I am writing it again. This has been one of the worst years of my life. My next post will provide more details. I can’t believe the same year my book is released is the year I rank as possibly number two in a long list of bad years. You’d think this would have been an automatic great one but alas, no.
Thus my Big Publication Moment has been a mixed blessing, a tiny pinpoint of light in a veil of darkness and, in many cases, the only thing keeping me going. Well, that and the positive reviews I’ve received both professionally and personally.
When I post how my year has gone this year, you will see what I mean.
NEWS STUFF: My former hero David Letterman is a cockhound. Why is he my former hero? Not because of his recently revealed lewd workplace conduct. In the Eighties, Dave was my TV god, the anti-Carson whose show was a study in pure anarchy. Enjoyment of his show got me through some pretty bad times as it always gave me something to look forward to. When he was fucked over in favor of Lantern Jaw Leno, I was the loudest protestor in underwear shaking a grilled cheese sammitch of rage at the TV. And in the beginning, when Dave went to CBS, he was still great. But somewhere along the way he fell from grace and began boring me to tears. He was still better than Leno, but so is an unwiped homeless man's ass.
If I'd known about his sexual proclivities, my opinion might have changed even sooner. How dare he sleep with women who work him...and not brag about it? What kinda pimp daddy does that? Fuck you, Dave! You bastard! I thought you were cool. You ain't bad! You ain't nothin'!
Well, that's the only newsstory worthy of me. When next I post, I'll tell y'allz about my run-in with John Law...(That's the legal system for those of us born after 1947)
Still, that wasn’t the end of the story. There are snippets of further developments from the past couple weeks since she went home. For one thing, that fucking idiot actually misses her. Damn!And I thought I had a co-dependency issue! He actually MISSES the evil, manipulative genius that plotted against him and turned his family into enemies within less than a two-month period.
Dude is quite the study in social backwardness. Nobody likes him, he doesn’t seem to like anybody, yet he can’t stand to be alone for longer than a short time. He wants so badly to be with someone that he is capable of lamenting the loss of a horrible mistake. So much for all that “happy dance” shit.
As you may recall, there is a Canadian woman who expressed interest in his Dudeness while the evil Aussie was here. Somehow, magically, her interest has waned since he became available again. Apparently, she told him that, had he been stronger in dealing with the Aussie, she might not have started to “lose that lovin’ feeling.” First, does that sound like a reference a young chick would make? Second, even Dude wasn’t so obtuse as to not realize she might only be interested in the hunt.
However, he decided to put an update on his Facebook page saying how much he missed “someone.” The Aussie who is apparently still his Facebook Friend wrote back one of those, “Aww, miss you too,” etc replies. The Canuck wrote, “No, he’s talking about me. And you don’t look anything like your profile pic.”
(This one has promise)
ME: I wrote about this a while back but because nothing seems to be changing, I am writing it again. This has been one of the worst years of my life. My next post will provide more details. I can’t believe the same year my book is released is the year I rank as possibly number two in a long list of bad years. You’d think this would have been an automatic great one but alas, no.
Thus my Big Publication Moment has been a mixed blessing, a tiny pinpoint of light in a veil of darkness and, in many cases, the only thing keeping me going. Well, that and the positive reviews I’ve received both professionally and personally.
When I post how my year has gone this year, you will see what I mean.
NEWS STUFF: My former hero David Letterman is a cockhound. Why is he my former hero? Not because of his recently revealed lewd workplace conduct. In the Eighties, Dave was my TV god, the anti-Carson whose show was a study in pure anarchy. Enjoyment of his show got me through some pretty bad times as it always gave me something to look forward to. When he was fucked over in favor of Lantern Jaw Leno, I was the loudest protestor in underwear shaking a grilled cheese sammitch of rage at the TV. And in the beginning, when Dave went to CBS, he was still great. But somewhere along the way he fell from grace and began boring me to tears. He was still better than Leno, but so is an unwiped homeless man's ass.
If I'd known about his sexual proclivities, my opinion might have changed even sooner. How dare he sleep with women who work him...and not brag about it? What kinda pimp daddy does that? Fuck you, Dave! You bastard! I thought you were cool. You ain't bad! You ain't nothin'!
Well, that's the only newsstory worthy of me. When next I post, I'll tell y'allz about my run-in with John Law...(That's the legal system for those of us born after 1947)
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
DUDE- The Final Update?
With the supposedly impending departure of the Aussie from Hell, Dude is quickly finding out who he can trust and who he can’t. As reported previously, the Aussie’s stunningly psychotic and inappropriate behavior resulted in an unexpected (for her) alienating of Dude’s mom who had till then been madly in love with her.
Like any real mom, she drew the line when this relative stranger started insulting her won because he didn’t want her to be included in his niece’s christening. I didn’t know what was said at the tem but now I know what he mom said to her.
“That’s my son you’re insulting,” she said.
“Well, he’s such a horrible person, mate!” she probably said while crying. “He keeps sayin’ g’day to me face like I’m some kinda wounded kangaroo!” (Or words to the effect)
“Well, what have you learned from this?” his mom said. “I need to know what you’ve learned from this experience. Is this something you’re going to keep doing or have you learned your lesson?”
Need I mention she was lecturing a woman who’s probably no more than ten years younger than her?
Most people would’ve taken that experience and said, “Yeah. What the hell is my problem? This guy’s an asshole and a loser. Why am I humiliating myself?”
But most people ain’t the Aussie. She simply switched over to Dude’s evil step-mom and spineless father. His step-mom, herself a psychopathic manipulatrix, has unconditional love for the shaved moose from Down Under. Apparently, whatever this bitch says goes so the dad loves her too…he left his much more attractive ex-wife for this bleach blond whore, so now you have an idea of the kind of guy he is.
Heartbroken over the Aussie’s impending departure, they decided to have a huge going-away meal for her. For some reason, Dude’s dumb (self) went too. This guy makes more elementary mistakes than any guy I’ve seen since I was in my early twenties. Who cares about keeping the peace? There’s no peace to be kept! This is a flat-out betrayal and needs to be dealt with accordingly.
Dude seems incapable of adaptation. He goes along to get along while at the same time alienating the fuck out of every other person he meets. He has an enormous chip on his shoulder and an unconvincing sense of entitlement but when he meets his match, which often happens, he becomes little more than a drone. That explains why he just sat at the dinner table and allowed himself to be ignored, disregarded and disrespected.
Keep in mind this is second hand testimony, but the way it was explained to me is as follows: His father and step-mom basically ignored him the entire night, fawning all over the Aussie as if she was the second coming of Paul Hogan. They went on and on about how much they’re going to miss her and how she better believe they were planning a trip to Australia. Dude’s step-mom went on and on about her own children who are successful and made snide comments about not practicing safe *** in a rather blatant reference to Dude’s single mom sister…IN FRONT OF HIS DAD, WHO SAID NOTHING!
Dude also said nothing. He resents the fact that they throw their “opulent” lifestyle in his face while knowing he’s hurting. Why should that matter right now? What should matter right now is the fact that an insane woman has turned members of his own family against him in less than two months! Oh, you forgot that part, didn’t you? She just got here at the end of July!
Are his familial relationships so precarious and fragile that they can be disrupted and destroyed so easily? This can only mean one of two things: Either his family is comprised of the stupidest people who ever lived, or they really don’t care for Dude very much. I can understand that; he’s not a likable guy at all and even when one starts thinking he might not be so bad, he does or says something to remind us what an asshole he is. But for your immediate family to choose a stranger about whom they know nothing over you is about as bas as it gets. That kind of behavior is only excusable to me if the family member is a murderer, thief, child molster, or prosecuting attorney.
On top of that, she got into his Facebook page and went to work on all the high school friends with whom he’d recently reconnected. Dude wouldn’t specify for EFB what she wrote but she said he blushed a lot and said it was so horrible he actually had to cancel his account! So now the people he knew twenty years ago think he’s the worst person since Genghis Khan and his family is divided as far as its loyalties go.
On the plus side, however, she did find a job for him to pursue and pushed him to start being more realistic about his choice of career. He seemed to be the last person in Michigan to realize that real estate is not the market to be in right now. Still, I don’t think cleaning, cooking and job seeking is enough to wipe out lying, scheming and betrayal.
Naturally I had to know what happened Tuesday. I texted dude at about 12:30p.m. and asked if this was the big day. He texted back that he was at the airport doing a happy dance and would talk to me later. Her flight departed at 3:30 and he already had her there!
I guess she kept saying, “Be nice” over and over as they bid each other farewell. Dude replied, “I’m bein’ nice.” Whatever. I would’ve actually strapped her ass to a wheelchair so I could just push her through the metal detectors on her way to the terminal.
As an added bonus, Dude plans to stay in contact with her, presumably to make sure she isn’t with child. He’s also going to ship back the huge amount of stuff she brought with her, including her PC. It would’ve cost her $2000.00 to have it sent back on her own.
Finally, after almost two months of torturous hell, Dude is free of his online nightmare hook-up. Finally he is free to learn his lesson and move on with his life. Finally, he can go meet this new chick he met online who’s really, really hot and he knows she is because she sent pictures…like…the Aussie. Well, this time it’ll work out because…well, because it will!
Don’t you people believe in true love!?
The story continues…
Like any real mom, she drew the line when this relative stranger started insulting her won because he didn’t want her to be included in his niece’s christening. I didn’t know what was said at the tem but now I know what he mom said to her.
“That’s my son you’re insulting,” she said.
“Well, he’s such a horrible person, mate!” she probably said while crying. “He keeps sayin’ g’day to me face like I’m some kinda wounded kangaroo!” (Or words to the effect)
“Well, what have you learned from this?” his mom said. “I need to know what you’ve learned from this experience. Is this something you’re going to keep doing or have you learned your lesson?”
Need I mention she was lecturing a woman who’s probably no more than ten years younger than her?
Most people would’ve taken that experience and said, “Yeah. What the hell is my problem? This guy’s an asshole and a loser. Why am I humiliating myself?”
But most people ain’t the Aussie. She simply switched over to Dude’s evil step-mom and spineless father. His step-mom, herself a psychopathic manipulatrix, has unconditional love for the shaved moose from Down Under. Apparently, whatever this bitch says goes so the dad loves her too…he left his much more attractive ex-wife for this bleach blond whore, so now you have an idea of the kind of guy he is.
Heartbroken over the Aussie’s impending departure, they decided to have a huge going-away meal for her. For some reason, Dude’s dumb (self) went too. This guy makes more elementary mistakes than any guy I’ve seen since I was in my early twenties. Who cares about keeping the peace? There’s no peace to be kept! This is a flat-out betrayal and needs to be dealt with accordingly.
Dude seems incapable of adaptation. He goes along to get along while at the same time alienating the fuck out of every other person he meets. He has an enormous chip on his shoulder and an unconvincing sense of entitlement but when he meets his match, which often happens, he becomes little more than a drone. That explains why he just sat at the dinner table and allowed himself to be ignored, disregarded and disrespected.
Keep in mind this is second hand testimony, but the way it was explained to me is as follows: His father and step-mom basically ignored him the entire night, fawning all over the Aussie as if she was the second coming of Paul Hogan. They went on and on about how much they’re going to miss her and how she better believe they were planning a trip to Australia. Dude’s step-mom went on and on about her own children who are successful and made snide comments about not practicing safe *** in a rather blatant reference to Dude’s single mom sister…IN FRONT OF HIS DAD, WHO SAID NOTHING!
Dude also said nothing. He resents the fact that they throw their “opulent” lifestyle in his face while knowing he’s hurting. Why should that matter right now? What should matter right now is the fact that an insane woman has turned members of his own family against him in less than two months! Oh, you forgot that part, didn’t you? She just got here at the end of July!
Are his familial relationships so precarious and fragile that they can be disrupted and destroyed so easily? This can only mean one of two things: Either his family is comprised of the stupidest people who ever lived, or they really don’t care for Dude very much. I can understand that; he’s not a likable guy at all and even when one starts thinking he might not be so bad, he does or says something to remind us what an asshole he is. But for your immediate family to choose a stranger about whom they know nothing over you is about as bas as it gets. That kind of behavior is only excusable to me if the family member is a murderer, thief, child molster, or prosecuting attorney.
On top of that, she got into his Facebook page and went to work on all the high school friends with whom he’d recently reconnected. Dude wouldn’t specify for EFB what she wrote but she said he blushed a lot and said it was so horrible he actually had to cancel his account! So now the people he knew twenty years ago think he’s the worst person since Genghis Khan and his family is divided as far as its loyalties go.
On the plus side, however, she did find a job for him to pursue and pushed him to start being more realistic about his choice of career. He seemed to be the last person in Michigan to realize that real estate is not the market to be in right now. Still, I don’t think cleaning, cooking and job seeking is enough to wipe out lying, scheming and betrayal.
Naturally I had to know what happened Tuesday. I texted dude at about 12:30p.m. and asked if this was the big day. He texted back that he was at the airport doing a happy dance and would talk to me later. Her flight departed at 3:30 and he already had her there!
I guess she kept saying, “Be nice” over and over as they bid each other farewell. Dude replied, “I’m bein’ nice.” Whatever. I would’ve actually strapped her ass to a wheelchair so I could just push her through the metal detectors on her way to the terminal.
As an added bonus, Dude plans to stay in contact with her, presumably to make sure she isn’t with child. He’s also going to ship back the huge amount of stuff she brought with her, including her PC. It would’ve cost her $2000.00 to have it sent back on her own.
Finally, after almost two months of torturous hell, Dude is free of his online nightmare hook-up. Finally he is free to learn his lesson and move on with his life. Finally, he can go meet this new chick he met online who’s really, really hot and he knows she is because she sent pictures…like…the Aussie. Well, this time it’ll work out because…well, because it will!
Don’t you people believe in true love!?
The story continues…
Sunday, September 20, 2009
THE BEST DUDE UPDATE YET!!!
Here’s how things stand now: Dude’s Aussie love muffin has been busily turning the female members of his family against him by pouring on the charm with equal parts sympathy and domesticity. Furious, Dude decided to shut down emotionally for a while and just let her be as long as she was out of his hair. Big mistake.
The Aussie successfully got his mom, sister and even hated step-mom to put pressure on him to make things work despite his revulsion at her physical appearance and anger over how she misrepresented herself. His dad, not being in possession of the sturdiest spine in history, eventually caved as well.
Outnumbered and outgunned, Dude turned to his “good buddy” Scribe for advice. But Scribe wasn’t interested in talking for a few days and nearly missed out on all the juice. When I finally returned his call, I heard things that actually shocked me.
Dude basically told his family that is they loved her so much they could take her off his hands. As I wrote previously, she refused to return to Australia early because of the expense involved and Dude has no money with which to call her bluff. Besides, she showed no real interest in leaving. This is gumming up the works of Dude’s roommate ad idea because she is squatting in his guest room and Dude is trying to wade through Hurricane Kangaroo so he can go meet his true love, the hottie in Canada he has never met. He sent me pictures. If that is her, I can see why he is so anxious, but considering what happened with this one…well, you get the idea.
When I spoke to Dude on the phone, he told me something I hadn’t anticipated. The Aussie had come to him and told him she’d missed her period and was concerned and frightened. She then let him know she’d told his step-mom about it.
“What the hell were you thinking?” he yelled. “You know I hate that woman!”
“It was just us girls and I needed to tell someone,” she replied.
Dude’s an idiot, by the way, in case you didn’t know. The fact that there are still guys out there that don’t know this is a typical manipulative female tactic is pathetic. She told the step-mom to garner sympathy and further support while sowing the seeds of a grapevine to achieve further backing from his family. Guys like dude still think women are these delicate little things with barely a brain in their heads that couldn’t possibly conspire against them. Dumb ass!!
I asked him how possible he thought this was considering she’s 46 (she looks 56) and he didn’t think it was likely but was scared anyway. He also reminded me of the fact that she has two daughters back home she claims her ex-husband molested even though they chose to stay with him. They are 17-year-old twins and one of them apparently has the mind of a five-year old. Dude happened upon her cell phone one day and saw the following text message string involving the other daughter:
Mom: But (daughter) I love you.
DAUGHTER: Mum, you know what you did and you know what you’re doing.
This is the point where in the movie the foreboding music cues up and the dizzying camerawork starts. If you’ve ever seen the movie “The Step-father” you might understand what it is about her that’s so creepy. Puzzle pieces are starting to fit now. She’s a psychopath and a con artist and Lord knows what else!
The most disturbing part of all this has been Dude’s family’s apparent inability to see through her. I don’t wanna toot my own horn let alone EFB’s, but we could see she was full of it the one and only night we met her. I told Dude I could see the anger in her and he was surprised. “Funny you mention that,” he said. “She’s an extremely negative person. I didn’t think anybody saw it.”
That’s because he’s surrounded by morons! All they see is that she’s cleaned the house some of them once wouldn’t step foot in and made him more domesticated.
I told him to relate it to his family like this…she is running bait & switch con. What she does is lie about basically everything but present the appearance of a lovable, helpful person who really wishes Dude would just open his mind and his heart.
Following that conversation, something even more disturbing occurred a few weeks later. Dude’s sister recently gave birth to a baby girl. At a Labor Day get-together, Dude said the Aussie kept playing with the baby with a glazed look in her eyes and ate tons of red meat. But when I asked him if he got her to take a pregnancy test, he brushed off my question as if it was no big deal. It’s difficult to feel sorry for a guy who panics one moment then acts like it’s noting the next.
However, the following week was his niece’s christening. A big day in a Catholic family, nobody in their right mind would try to throw a monkey wrench into something like that, right? You be the judge.
The Aussie insisted she waned to be part of the Christening and Dude insisted that she not be present for it. He went and bought a card and forbade her to buy any gifts. The Aussie called his mom and started telling her what a horrible person her son was and how she really wanted to go. This time Dude’s mom didn’t fall for the con. In fact, she grew furious and said, How dare you call on an important day like this and insult my son?” Yes, she actually said, "How dare you.”
The Aussie would not be dissuaded, She called Dude’s dad and turned on the waterworks. Picture this part of the movie:
EXTERIOR DUDE’S HOUSE: Dude exits his home, smiling as his mom pulls up. Her expression is strangely tense as he gets in.
CUT TO DUDE’S HOUSE: The Aussie emerges from the side door, carrying an armful of wrapped packages, also smiling as she heads down the driveway.
CLOSE-UP OF DUDE: Where does she think she’s goin’?
CUT TO SHOT OF DUDE’S STREET AS ANOTHER CAR PULLS UP BEHIND THEM: It is Dude’s dad who has come to pick up the Aussie so she can attend the Christening after all!
Do I even need to describe the tension at the Christening as the Aussie literally dumped all the gifts onto Dude’s sister’s lap as he stood there with only a greeting card in hand?
So now the mom is furious, the dad isn’t too happy, and only the evil stepmother still likes her. The other day Dude supposedly purchased some tickets from Expedia.com and the Aussie expressed her desire to return home.
We shall see if she leaves on the 22nd of September.
Stay tuned, vultures. The Greatest Story Ever Bowled might be coming to a head!
The Aussie successfully got his mom, sister and even hated step-mom to put pressure on him to make things work despite his revulsion at her physical appearance and anger over how she misrepresented herself. His dad, not being in possession of the sturdiest spine in history, eventually caved as well.
Outnumbered and outgunned, Dude turned to his “good buddy” Scribe for advice. But Scribe wasn’t interested in talking for a few days and nearly missed out on all the juice. When I finally returned his call, I heard things that actually shocked me.
Dude basically told his family that is they loved her so much they could take her off his hands. As I wrote previously, she refused to return to Australia early because of the expense involved and Dude has no money with which to call her bluff. Besides, she showed no real interest in leaving. This is gumming up the works of Dude’s roommate ad idea because she is squatting in his guest room and Dude is trying to wade through Hurricane Kangaroo so he can go meet his true love, the hottie in Canada he has never met. He sent me pictures. If that is her, I can see why he is so anxious, but considering what happened with this one…well, you get the idea.
When I spoke to Dude on the phone, he told me something I hadn’t anticipated. The Aussie had come to him and told him she’d missed her period and was concerned and frightened. She then let him know she’d told his step-mom about it.
“What the hell were you thinking?” he yelled. “You know I hate that woman!”
“It was just us girls and I needed to tell someone,” she replied.
Dude’s an idiot, by the way, in case you didn’t know. The fact that there are still guys out there that don’t know this is a typical manipulative female tactic is pathetic. She told the step-mom to garner sympathy and further support while sowing the seeds of a grapevine to achieve further backing from his family. Guys like dude still think women are these delicate little things with barely a brain in their heads that couldn’t possibly conspire against them. Dumb ass!!
I asked him how possible he thought this was considering she’s 46 (she looks 56) and he didn’t think it was likely but was scared anyway. He also reminded me of the fact that she has two daughters back home she claims her ex-husband molested even though they chose to stay with him. They are 17-year-old twins and one of them apparently has the mind of a five-year old. Dude happened upon her cell phone one day and saw the following text message string involving the other daughter:
Mom: But (daughter) I love you.
DAUGHTER: Mum, you know what you did and you know what you’re doing.
This is the point where in the movie the foreboding music cues up and the dizzying camerawork starts. If you’ve ever seen the movie “The Step-father” you might understand what it is about her that’s so creepy. Puzzle pieces are starting to fit now. She’s a psychopath and a con artist and Lord knows what else!
The most disturbing part of all this has been Dude’s family’s apparent inability to see through her. I don’t wanna toot my own horn let alone EFB’s, but we could see she was full of it the one and only night we met her. I told Dude I could see the anger in her and he was surprised. “Funny you mention that,” he said. “She’s an extremely negative person. I didn’t think anybody saw it.”
That’s because he’s surrounded by morons! All they see is that she’s cleaned the house some of them once wouldn’t step foot in and made him more domesticated.
I told him to relate it to his family like this…she is running bait & switch con. What she does is lie about basically everything but present the appearance of a lovable, helpful person who really wishes Dude would just open his mind and his heart.
Following that conversation, something even more disturbing occurred a few weeks later. Dude’s sister recently gave birth to a baby girl. At a Labor Day get-together, Dude said the Aussie kept playing with the baby with a glazed look in her eyes and ate tons of red meat. But when I asked him if he got her to take a pregnancy test, he brushed off my question as if it was no big deal. It’s difficult to feel sorry for a guy who panics one moment then acts like it’s noting the next.
However, the following week was his niece’s christening. A big day in a Catholic family, nobody in their right mind would try to throw a monkey wrench into something like that, right? You be the judge.
The Aussie insisted she waned to be part of the Christening and Dude insisted that she not be present for it. He went and bought a card and forbade her to buy any gifts. The Aussie called his mom and started telling her what a horrible person her son was and how she really wanted to go. This time Dude’s mom didn’t fall for the con. In fact, she grew furious and said, How dare you call on an important day like this and insult my son?” Yes, she actually said, "How dare you.”
The Aussie would not be dissuaded, She called Dude’s dad and turned on the waterworks. Picture this part of the movie:
EXTERIOR DUDE’S HOUSE: Dude exits his home, smiling as his mom pulls up. Her expression is strangely tense as he gets in.
CUT TO DUDE’S HOUSE: The Aussie emerges from the side door, carrying an armful of wrapped packages, also smiling as she heads down the driveway.
CLOSE-UP OF DUDE: Where does she think she’s goin’?
CUT TO SHOT OF DUDE’S STREET AS ANOTHER CAR PULLS UP BEHIND THEM: It is Dude’s dad who has come to pick up the Aussie so she can attend the Christening after all!
Do I even need to describe the tension at the Christening as the Aussie literally dumped all the gifts onto Dude’s sister’s lap as he stood there with only a greeting card in hand?
So now the mom is furious, the dad isn’t too happy, and only the evil stepmother still likes her. The other day Dude supposedly purchased some tickets from Expedia.com and the Aussie expressed her desire to return home.
We shall see if she leaves on the 22nd of September.
Stay tuned, vultures. The Greatest Story Ever Bowled might be coming to a head!
Monday, September 7, 2009
SCRIBE IN REVIEW:
This should come as zero surprise, but Dude drank a giant bottle of Hater-ade the other day.
For those who are unaware, the first professional review of my novel, “Dreamers at Infinity’s Core” came out and it was favorable. (http://www.sfrevu.com/php/Review-id.php?id=9524)
This literally could not have come at a better time in my life. Having been beyond depressed for months, being validated by a review in my field was equivalent to being lifted up by unseen forces before I fell off a cliff. “Great success!” as Borat might say.
Did I provide a link? I can’t remember. Just in case, here it is again (http://www.sfrevu.com/php/Review-id.php?id=9524)
I’ll wait until you’ve finished reading it. (Whistling)
Good stuff, huh? The Scribe would have masturbated to it, but there weren’t enough pictures to jumpstart my imagination. Feeling good about myself is a rare experience that usually involves midgets and a giant vat of Wesson Oil, but this was purer, somehow. Naturally, I shared it with everyone I could think of.
The first thing I done was post a note on Facebook so I could tag as many of my friends as possible. Sadly, my goal fell sort due to Facebook’s baffling limitations but I still contacted quite a few people. People from my personal life were contacted via text message and whomever I didn’t get to was contacted by EFB. Congratulatory messages came in one after the other, with one exception. Apparently, some foreigner named Alfonse Packer who may or may not be me bitterly wrote, “Well, look who is big dammit deal. You not boss of Alfonse!”
I thanked him (me) for keeping me (him?) humble.
EFB showed some of my former co-workers the review before she left work for the night. Dude was one of them. He said nothing at first. Others were glad for me. Dude just kept working. He’s a dedicated little soldier, he is.
I called EFB and told her I wanted to celebrate at a nearby bar, where I could imbibe Blue Moon beer, the best got-DAMN beer ever made by the angels in Heaven and their underage love slaves! She agreed and mentioned it to Dude while he was still diligently working on single-handedly restructuring the department he constantly criticizes. Without looking up, he said, “Huh? Celebrate? Why?”
“Um, the BOOK REVIEW?" she said. “Didn’t you get the link I emailed to you?”
Still not looking up, still working hard, dude said, “Huh? Oh, yeah, yeah…I read it...that review thing.”
“Yeah, that fucking chestnut!” she yelled.
He looked at her as if she was insane, still pretending to work. Later that night, Dude expressed a seemingly reluctant happiness for me and a willingness that it all works out. It must have taken one hell of a toll on his ego to do that.
You see, Dude wants to be a writer…and a doctor, fireman and Indian chief. He has attended school in Spain, a prestigious university for people interested in the aeronautics field in the States and spent years as a scuba instructor. But like so many guys I’ve met, deep down he’s always wanted to write a book because he knows none of those other things have any lasting power in the human consciousness. For those of us without kids, a legacy must often be created through art.
Unfortunately for him, but probably fortunately for the two or three readers left in America, he has never sat down and put pen to paper. That hasn’t stopped him from doing the other thing guys like him tend to do…talk as if they are working on a novel. It’s all over his online accounts because he thinks it impresses women.
Memo to dude: It only impresses women when they get to see prime examples of said writing and you eventually wind up with a novel that receives a positive review.
Take Scribe, for instance. Right now every woman reading this is trying to figure out how to get their panties to him for brief sniff inspections. Such is the life of he that toils and creates.
Remember, I thanked Alfonse for keeping me humble, so I performed my humility for the month. Simply put, I’m the shit and cain’t nobody take that away from me except that old bearded white guy in the sky…but until the guy who played Grizzly Addams takes notice of me, I’m safe so fuck it!!!!
And fuck Dude, too, that candy-ass bitch-boy sack of go-nowhere-in-a-hurry monkey shit!
Oh, I think I forgot the link to the review. How silly of me!
(http://www.sfrevu.com/php/Review-id.php?id=9524)
For those who are unaware, the first professional review of my novel, “Dreamers at Infinity’s Core” came out and it was favorable. (http://www.sfrevu.com/php/Review-id.php?id=9524)
This literally could not have come at a better time in my life. Having been beyond depressed for months, being validated by a review in my field was equivalent to being lifted up by unseen forces before I fell off a cliff. “Great success!” as Borat might say.
Did I provide a link? I can’t remember. Just in case, here it is again (http://www.sfrevu.com/php/Review-id.php?id=9524)
I’ll wait until you’ve finished reading it. (Whistling)
Good stuff, huh? The Scribe would have masturbated to it, but there weren’t enough pictures to jumpstart my imagination. Feeling good about myself is a rare experience that usually involves midgets and a giant vat of Wesson Oil, but this was purer, somehow. Naturally, I shared it with everyone I could think of.
The first thing I done was post a note on Facebook so I could tag as many of my friends as possible. Sadly, my goal fell sort due to Facebook’s baffling limitations but I still contacted quite a few people. People from my personal life were contacted via text message and whomever I didn’t get to was contacted by EFB. Congratulatory messages came in one after the other, with one exception. Apparently, some foreigner named Alfonse Packer who may or may not be me bitterly wrote, “Well, look who is big dammit deal. You not boss of Alfonse!”
I thanked him (me) for keeping me (him?) humble.
EFB showed some of my former co-workers the review before she left work for the night. Dude was one of them. He said nothing at first. Others were glad for me. Dude just kept working. He’s a dedicated little soldier, he is.
I called EFB and told her I wanted to celebrate at a nearby bar, where I could imbibe Blue Moon beer, the best got-DAMN beer ever made by the angels in Heaven and their underage love slaves! She agreed and mentioned it to Dude while he was still diligently working on single-handedly restructuring the department he constantly criticizes. Without looking up, he said, “Huh? Celebrate? Why?”
“Um, the BOOK REVIEW?" she said. “Didn’t you get the link I emailed to you?”
Still not looking up, still working hard, dude said, “Huh? Oh, yeah, yeah…I read it...that review thing.”
“Yeah, that fucking chestnut!” she yelled.
He looked at her as if she was insane, still pretending to work. Later that night, Dude expressed a seemingly reluctant happiness for me and a willingness that it all works out. It must have taken one hell of a toll on his ego to do that.
You see, Dude wants to be a writer…and a doctor, fireman and Indian chief. He has attended school in Spain, a prestigious university for people interested in the aeronautics field in the States and spent years as a scuba instructor. But like so many guys I’ve met, deep down he’s always wanted to write a book because he knows none of those other things have any lasting power in the human consciousness. For those of us without kids, a legacy must often be created through art.
Unfortunately for him, but probably fortunately for the two or three readers left in America, he has never sat down and put pen to paper. That hasn’t stopped him from doing the other thing guys like him tend to do…talk as if they are working on a novel. It’s all over his online accounts because he thinks it impresses women.
Memo to dude: It only impresses women when they get to see prime examples of said writing and you eventually wind up with a novel that receives a positive review.
Take Scribe, for instance. Right now every woman reading this is trying to figure out how to get their panties to him for brief sniff inspections. Such is the life of he that toils and creates.
Remember, I thanked Alfonse for keeping me humble, so I performed my humility for the month. Simply put, I’m the shit and cain’t nobody take that away from me except that old bearded white guy in the sky…but until the guy who played Grizzly Addams takes notice of me, I’m safe so fuck it!!!!
And fuck Dude, too, that candy-ass bitch-boy sack of go-nowhere-in-a-hurry monkey shit!
Oh, I think I forgot the link to the review. How silly of me!
(http://www.sfrevu.com/php/Review-id.php?id=9524)
P.S.
Remember my so-called "friend" Ed who sold me out three eyars ago over his fascination with EFB's tits and eventual romantic feelings he thinks nobody can see? He never acknowledged the text message I sent him about the review but was Julio on the Spot when I told him EFB couldn't make it to the plans they'd made last week. Fuck him. More on that later.
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