Wednesday, March 29, 2017

I'm Fuckin Human. We're All Fuckin Human.

So...  You're born into this world.  If you're fortunate, you're born into a loving family.  Some are not.  Either way, you are exposed to the immediate environment around you.  You grow and learn.  They expose you to the television.  Some parents use it as a babysitter.  When I was a child it was Romper Room, Mister Rogers' Neighborhood, Sesame Street, The Electric Company, and Zoom, interspersed with Loony Toons, Pink Panther, and Tom & Jerry.  Now they get Teletubbies and Barney, I think, or has that changed? ...  The Wiggles, that's right... They're creepy. They creep me out.

Little kids are like sponges, man. They absorb everything. Even the shit you might think they don't. If Mommy is sucking somebody's dick in the house, and the kids are in the house, trust me, they know about it.

If Daddy is banging the babysitter, they know about it.

If somebody is shooting dope, they know about it.

Daddy beating the shit out of Mommy, (or vice-versa)...

Booze, drunks all thru the house, that shit they see and interact with, it all depends on the environment, which itself depends on the parents, neighbors, friends, relatives, neighborhood, etc.

Middle class kids growing up in the burbs might only encounter that behavior on weekends, or not at all. Or, Mommy might be a meth whore. You never know.

Rich motherfuckers' kids in big fancy houses tend to be little narcissists, but they are also prone to depression, among other issues.

My parents both grew up in row houses in the city of Monessen, PA. I grew up in a brick house in Pitsburgh, a block down the hill from a main drag with stores. It wasn't a row house, it had a yard, and there was a vacant lot next door, with a big maple tree in it, that we all kinda shared, us and the immediate neighbors. It was a decent sized house, not a mansion by any imagining, but it accommodated my parents, Grandma, my two brothers, and me. I grew up in the late 60s, 70s, & 80s. (I was born in 65, I was 18 in 83. Do the math) It wasn't a bad neighborhood. If there was criminal activity, it was usually me or my brothers and our friends committing it. It wasn't the inner city ghetto, but it wasn't the burbs either. My parents both went to college, my mom went first, my dad went after he came back from the war, and they both worked office jobs downtown. She was a secretary, and he was an accountant. We weren't dirt-poor, but we were far from rich. Mom didn't work for a few years when I was a little kid, so Dad must've brought in enough, but he worked all the time, and went out after supper almost every night. He died when I was 13. Mom went back to work shortly thereafter, but she couldn't afford the taxes on the house, and had to sell it and move into an apartment in a big complex. After getting in trouble several times and going to juvey, getting kicked out of a few different schools, and running away to other states twice, I dropped out of school and got my GED, and moved out when I was 18. That's the basic outline of my environment growing up.

So.  .. You come into this world a helpless wiggling thing that must be cared for, there must be a tit for you immediately, you must be mothered, lest you perish. But from toddler on, you learn from your environment, whatever it may be. My parents didn't buy me everything I wanted, so I learned how to steal it instead. My uncle gave me beer when I was eight, and I liked it. My Grandma gave me coffee, and then her Valium, when I was five, and I liked that too. I don't blame them. I loved them both.

The school said I had an extremely high IQ in the 4th grade. They didn't realize that I had an aptitude for theft and vandalism. They soon found out that I had a bad attitude towards "authority" and was stubborn and headstrong and reckless and bored. Basically, I was a mean little fuck that liked to break into cars and steal things and break things. With a MENSA-level IQ...
 Couple that with the reputation of two older brothers preceding me, and by the time I got to 6th grade they went, "Here's another one. Watch him." ...  Shit got blamed on me that I had nothing to do with. But, to balance it out, I did a lot of shit that I didn't get busted for.

So what's the explanation? Am I a product of my environment? Or am I just a bad human being?
My daughter would tell you that I'm a good human being. My friends would say the same. I work. I pay bills. I wash my ass. I don't drink alcohol, or shoot dope, or smoke crack or meth, or snort anything, or pop pills anymore. I smoke weed. It's all I need. It's my antidepressant and my anger-manage-mints. It keeps me from wanting to shoot heroin.

I haven't stolen anything in a minute either. I eat meat, but I love aminals. Humans are aminals, though most refuse to acknowledge it. I hate rules and regulations, I feel like it's my mission to be the thorn in "authority's" side. I'm like Don Qixote, but the windmills I tilt at are the pillars of society. I would see the international banking cartel toppled and trampled underfoot. I would see the ground stained with the blood of the illuminati. I would see the rise of the common man, true democracy, one individual=one vote, with a 2/3 majority needed to ratify all important decisions. No politics or politicians needed. Every decision is weighed by an informed public. I would see the end of the idea of any form of racial or religious superiority. I would see the end of the American class system, wherein the suits view themselves as somehow superior to those of us who actually work for a living. I would see it abolished for good. Nobody's better than anybody else. We're all fuckin human.

Does Anybody Want To Know This? 0.0

Filed under the "Does Anybody Want To Know This?" category:

  I just dropped a 14" X 2" monstrosity of a deuce.

The one end of it was sticking up out of the water, stinking.

        Dog jenkem.

I thought it was going to take two or three cups of hot water added to the flush to force it down the pipe, but it slid right down on the first cup. Must've been really greasy. That would explain how it was able to poop right out of my asshole all at once like that. I shoulda took a picture. 

     But anyway...
                       the bathroom stunk,
                                            Like shit and
                                                         ass funk.

Facepalming yet?

I left the fan running...


Tuesday, March 28, 2017

Cat Viscosity Theory

Ever seen a melting cat?  I don't mean when you're tripping, either. I mean a melting cat.
                     I mean like this:

Cats are viscous.  The way they move.  Like they're made of a non-newtonian fluid.  Example:

Slow motion cat...


See What I'm Talking about?

Liquid cat.

See, one could theorize that cats are in a semi-flux between a solid and a liquid.  There's a cat melted on top of the cable box right now. But the webcam's not connected. Sorry, no pic.

But cats melt into/onto things. Ever had a cat melt into your lap? And you absentmindedly pet him with one hand while you mouse with the other hand. And you forget he's there. And then he gets up...

And you go "Aaaaagh!"  "Fuck!" ..."Why?!"

Ever had that happen?

"Of course," you say, "Hasn't everybody?" 

Never happened? Ever?
Well what a sad sorry existence you must be having. I pity you.
  And people say sarcasm doesn't translate well on the internet.

       I have three packs of smokes open at the same time. It makes perfect sense, because I'm trying not to smoke as much.  o_O
  There's a pack of Winstons, a pack of Pall Malls, and a pack of Kamel Reds. When I smoke one, I smoke it out of the top pack, then I rotate that pack to the bottom. That way I think about how many I smoke.
Sometimes I butt it out halfway and light it back up later. Some people would call this crass. Those people didn't grow up in my neighborhood. They probably wouldn't run into me at work either, unless I was installing a new desk or cabinets in their office.

 Neighbor with a flat shovel scraping up a pile of dogshit from off the street in front of his house. That's what I see out my window. Beats what I used to see out my window a few places ago, nine, maybe ten years back, I'd reckon. Crack dealers on the corner... Used dopeworx in the gutter by the curb... You can probably still find that shit there. And the same old assholes on the same old bar stools, talking about the same old shit.

 Miles away from anywhere... Lost in thought, with a thousand yard stare... I'm the long-haired dude in the corner, under the television. I'm minding my business, drinking my shots and beers. But I'm about fixing to be a loudmouth fuck in a minute, because some jagoff just said something ignorant about my favorite band.  ...Don't miss it.

          Nobody's reading this fuckin blog anyways.

Monday, January 9, 2017

Shishka Bob, Soap soup, and Allen Dulles

Good morning,

Last night at 2:30 am in the morning
I stopped at McDeath on my way home.

The drive-thru speaker wasn't working.
I had to pull up and knock on the window.

Two fillets of fish later,
I'm sitting in the parking lot,
eating my breaded fish squares,
and I look across the way,
and there's this place called Flame Kabob.
And I thunk about shishkabobs.

Not the kind you get in a fancy Greek restaurant.
Those are shsh kababs.
I'm talking about what people call city chicken.

Little cubes of pork,
breaded with shake-n-bake,
skewered on a stick.

When I was a kid
that's what we called shsishabobs.

I wouldn't pick them as a first choice
or a second choice.
For me they conjure up vivid mental images
of dry, overdone meat
with nasty breading on it,
and Grandma (God bless her, may she rest in peace)
washing the little wood sticks
to use over (& over) again.
['scuse me while I puke up my coffee.]

When your coffee tastes like pencil shavings
It might be indicative
of the fact
It sat in the pot all night
until you heated it up
at the crack of dawn.

Once upon a moment
I had a button that said
"I'm so horny, the crack of Dawn isn't safe."
I gave it to a girl named Dawn.
Imagine that.
Who'd've thunk?

So anyways...

I'm sitting there
in Chantilly Virginia
over near Dulles Airport
looking at a sign that said Flame Kabob,
and I thought
"Who the fuck is Shishka Bob?
Maybe he was Allen Dulles

Allen Dulles,
the man JFK fired,
who was later appointed to lead the Warren Commission.
No conflict of interest there, buddies...
Just like so many things about government
It's soap soup.

They sell it to you as a nutritious bowl of slop,
but it's really made out of soap,
and it tastes accordingly.

Not quite as disgusting as "Woofies."
Never heard of woofies?
They're chocolate-covered dog turds.
Looks like chocolate on the outside,
but bite into one and you find out it ain't
what you thought it was.
Just like everything the government says or does.
So how much stolen tax money does Uncle Sam
spend per anum
on turd polish?

They scrub that motherfucker,
buff it to a high gloss,
package it up real pretty,
false advertize the fuckin hell out of it,
and sell it to you at a premium.

And motherfuckers just gobble it up.

...Like it was Mayor McCheese.
What a fuckin life.

Monday, December 19, 2016

"I Don't Know..."

Who is the idiot that first said I don't know isn't an answer?  If you don't know the answer to the question, then it's the only honest answer. Ask a roomful of people how the electricity gets from one end of the wire to the other. Unless you're in a whole room full of electricians, the obvious answer, from everybody in the room, should be "I don't know."  But it won't be. Instead, you'll get a lot of people giving their uneducated opinion of how they think it works. "The electrons jump from atom to atom..." (Ok then, smartass, why is copper a better conductor than steel?) The truth is, unless you've read a detailed explanation, and comprehended it, or had it explained to you in a manner you can understand, then you have no fuckin idea! The correct answer would be, "I don't know."

A girl asked me a question one time, I don't remember what it was, but we were in the middle of an argument, so it was likely an argumentative question, but anyway, I answered her, "I don't know." To which she replied, "I don't know isn't an answer!" ... ... Well, yes... It damn well certainly is. Not only that, but it's the only correct answer, because I don't fuckin know. What part of I don't know don't you understand? I don't know means I don't know. (Women just love it when you throw their own logic back at them.)  o_O  She continued to insist that I actually knew the answer that she wanted to hear, whatever that might've been, and that I was fucking with her. Right about then I just tuned her out, so the rest of her end of the argument might as well have been, "Blah. Blah blah blah, blah blah..."

Whatever. She was probably trying to blame me for all her problems, not wanting to admit that she was wrong, that whatever it was was her own fault, et cetera, since nobody wants to admit that they were wrong in the heat of a verbal battle. She's human. She was young. She probably thought she knows everything about everything, and is infallible. That, and she was high at the time.

So what's the fuckin point, you might ask?

                                                                         ...Wait for it...

I don't know!

But the whole insisting that I don't know isn't an answer sounds suspiciously like something somebody's mother said to them when they were a kid, and it stuck with them. It makes about as much sense as other 'Mommyisms' such as, "Do as I say, not as I do." or "Because I said so." So how does a nonsense statement like this continue to survive? A quick google search will give you links to numerous pages concerning this topic. Three of those are from Reddit, (Why is "I don't know." not an answer) The Muse, (What leaders say when they don't know the answer, What to say instead of I don't know) and Forbes magazine (Five alternatives to saying I don't know.) People must really hate to admit they don't know something. I mean, nobody wants to look stupid, right? But for it to become so pervasive it must've been some societally "respectable" douchebag, like a judge or a politician or some other suit that said it. Forbes is a magazine for suits, isn't it? Most suits tend to be windbags who think they are experts on everything; They got a degree, (Which only means that they sat in a stuffy classroom being bored to death and daydreaming out the window for a few years longer than you did,) they wear ties and sit behind desks pushing paper, and can't you just tell how important they are by the car they drive and the cut of their suit?! {These are the douchebags that cut you off in traffic in their Lexuses and BMWs.} How the fuck can someone go to four years of college, get a piece of paper for it, and still be a clueless moron?

I don't know.

If you don't know how to change a tire or a spark plug or your own oil, if you don't know the difference between you're & your, there, they're, & their, where, wear, & were, etc. If you don't comprehend that you are human, that you are not magically better than others just because your parents are rich, or your skin is a different shade of human than theirs, or your brand of religion is different than theirs, you shouldn't even graduate high school, let alone college.

But, this is America in 2016. Welcome to idiocracy gone wild.

And who gives a fuck what "leaders" say? They mostly talk out the side of their faces anyway. Whether it be politics as usual, legalese, banker babble, scientific jargon, etc. They all speak their own language exclusive to their profession, and they tend to look down their noses at everybody they don't consider to be their peers. (Which is precisely why I look down my nose at them, they've earned my contempt by their actions.)  Granted, every trade has its own particular set of skills, and its own lingo, but one trade is not any better or worse than any other, though some folks are better or worse at one particular thing. Why does the janitor get paid the least when he or she does the nastiest job? Why do executives get paid the most when they do the least work? That's ass backwards. I have the skills to build an entire house from the ground up, dig the hole, pour the footer, lay the foundation, frame it, wire it, plumb it, drywall it, paint it, install windows and doors, brick up the outside, and put a roof on it. So why does some suit who drives a desk for a living and never does any actual work get paid more than me? Can anyone explain that satisfactorily? I didn't think so. Paying suits more only serves to artificially inflate their egos so that they erroneously believe that they are more important than those of us who actually work for a living. Placing them in positions of so-called "authority" over others only serves to give them delusions of grandeur.
News flash - they take stinky shits just like everyone else. 
They can find themselves drunk and wallowing in a shit-filled ditch just as easily as you or I can. And one day their corporeal bodies will die and rot. 
In short, they're human, no better, no worse, but equal.

See, I learned early on to question "authority." I could see right thru their bullshit. They aren't gods. They're mortal, fallible, and imperfect humans, just like you and me. They have no actual authority over anyone. When I was a kid they tried to force me to obey, they tried to make me fit into their conformist mold, so I resolved to push back with equal or greater force, or in the event of an inability to push back for whatever reason, to get even. I spent my formative years mostly getting even in whatever way I could. Vandalism, theft, and whatever means of rebellion I could muster. Why? Mostly because my dad was one of those obedient tax-slaves who does what he's told without question, and then takes his resentments over it home with him and abuses his family. He was one of those assholes who says, "You do as I say, because I say so." (And my immediate response to that attitude is, "Fuck you. I'm gonna do the exact opposite just to spite you and prove you wrong, and flip you the finger while doing it, because I can, because fuck you.")

In order for one to have any hope of attaining wisdom and understanding, one must question everything.  Question existence, question religion, and especially, question what right any individual or group thereof thinks they have to give orders, to oppress others, to impose their will and their opinions upon any other individual or group thereof. [Spoiler Alert: They don't.]

Picture being in a courtroom, on the stand, and the persecutor (Yes, I meant persecutor rather than prosecutor, because it is a more accurate term.) asks you a question you don't know the answer to. What do you say? "I don't know." And if the pudgy judgy tells you to answer the question or be held in contempt, you inform him that you already answered the question correctly and honestly, and if he doesn't like it then he can lump it, and you find him utterly contemptible as well. Might be a nice touch as they're dragging you off to jail for refusing to be intimidated if you tell him to go take a flying fuck at a rolling doughnut, and then spit in his general direction.

Therein lies the underlying issue at hand here: Intimidation. I refuse to be intimidated. I'm a dissident. I'm an anarchist. I refuse to recognize any so-called "authority."  They can abuse me, imprison me, even kill me, but they can't make me obey. They can't take my pride and dignity from me. I'll spit in their faces with my dying breath, if necessary. And that's not to say that I have no humility, I do. I realize that I'm human, same as everyone else, and therefore equal. I would run into a burning building to save an innocent child, with no regard for my own safety. Not to try to be a hero, but because it's the right thing to do. I'll make sure that the innocent around me have all eaten before I feed my own face. If everyone felt this way, we'd all be better individuals.

I can't say whether or not I would fall on a grenade to save my enemy, because that situation hasn't happened yet, and it probably won't, therefore.... I Don't Know.

Sunday, December 11, 2016

Pee pot smasher / Tooth gnasher

Pee pot smasher
Tooth gnasher
Grab a chunk and run past her
Two lame mules
Empty of promise

Run for cover
Terrible tunnles
Steel teeth of death
Bone crushing motion
No rabbit left to witness
The tall grass prairie

All alone
Toothless Puma

Two bits
Won't buy
A cup of dinner

But it's nice
To be loved

The ocean is grey
The ocean is grey

All fall down and
Break the monotony
Two bells tolled
Shattered windows
Pieces of what seems
Bag of smithereens

All the way to  Houston
For a sack
Of golden dreams

Chocolate covered
Coffee beans

Friday, September 30, 2016

Where Did My Fuckin Videos Go?!

I took four or five videos with my phone.  I plugged the phone into my computer, running windows 8. I proceeded to make a new folder, name it, and cut/paste the videos from the phone to the new folder.  I go to look for the folder, and it's gone.

What the fuck?!