That's what one 'Gabbi Colette' said in a video entitled Interior Semiotics.
You can find it here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I9lmvX00TLY ... Shit.
It's all shit. Everything turns to shit eventually. Nothing lasts forever in the material. Not even the seven wonders. I couldn't finish my supper, because it tasted like shit. {Actually, it tasted like vomit, but shit works in this context.} It even smells like shit. I can still smell it. Smells like dukey.
What's brown and runs down your leg? Dukey! So that's basically it - it's all shit. From the time I was a little kid, all my shit breaks, I can't never have nothin' nice. It's like they made it all for someone with a light (or gentle) touch, not for me. If they'd've made it for me it would've been heavy duty, but it wasn't. Toys didn't last very long around me when I was a kid. Neither did other stuff around the house. Seemed like everything I touched either broke, or wore out, or became unusable in a very short time. (even a puppy!) Tonka trucks were the only thing that lasted a good minute. Matchbox cars couldn't stand up to the rigorous gas stove test (or to a redbrick, or being thrown out a two story window, etc.) Clothing didn't last very long either. Anything I touched, it died. Neighbors' cars were fair game if they were parked on the street. I got in and pulled every knob, knobs came off in my destructive little hands, antennas bent or broke off, turn signal levers snapped, mirrors twisted right off their mountings, things of that nature. It was the same in school, pencils snapped, erasers came off, paper tore, pages came out of books, toilets backed up and overflowed, teachers screamed...
...As I grew, it was the same, things just followed suit. Dirtbikes blew up. Firearms misfired. Plastic models wouldn't cooperate and go together the right way so I'd get mad and smash them. Games I couldn't win got thrown across the room. Sports I wasn't any good at only got played a couple times, then forgotten about. [If there was no immediate gratification, then I lost interest very quickly.] Cars broke, or engines blew up, or transmissions shat the bed. Seems like they just don't make stuff heavy duty enough for the abuse I put them thru, except maybe Ford trucks. Volkswagens make good woods-buggies, but they break too easy, and when you hit a concrete wall head-on, they kinda smash.
(You may think I'm exaggerating, but I'm not.) Apartments break. Houses break. Windows don't stand up to cinder blocks, and furniture doesn't stand up well to drunk humans. Neither do walls, appliances, or sinks and commodes. Girlfriends can break too. Maybe they break emotionally, but it still amounts to the same state of broken. It's like a long trail of destruction in my wake. It's gotten better over the last ten years since I stopped drinking booze, but shit still breaks sometimes, or doesn't go my way, doesn't cooperate, and I get mad, and I yell and cuss and smash things... Hulk Smash! Hulk Smash! .... But my name isn't Bruce Banner. I don't get it sometimes, why can't inanimate objects just cooperate? Can't they see that I'm Human? I'm supposed to be the one in charge here, not some inanimate object. Toaster doesn't wanna cooperate? Burn my toast? Eat my tortilla and don't wanna give it back? Fuck up my waffle? I'll unplug it and smash it with a baseball bat! Pow! There, I showed it who's boss. Goddamn motherfuckin toaster. But then I had to go get a new one. If it woulda just cooperated with me to begin with, then none of that woulda happened. Why can't shit just work like it's supposed to? Fuck. If everything would just go my way, it would be cool.
Motherfuckingoddamnmotherfuckinfuckingoddamnmotherfuckinshit, fuck. Fuckin, if fuckin shit would fuckin just fuckin, fuckin, do what it's fuckin made to fuckin, fuckin do, fuckin everything would fuckin be so fuckin, motherfuckin smooth, man. What the fuckin fuck. Why fuckin can't fuckin shit fuckin just fuckin do fuckin what it's fuckin supposed to fuckin do? Why fuckin the fuckin fuck does fuckin shit fuckin have to fuckin be such a fuckin challenge, man? Why can't it just work right the first time? Then I wouldn't fuckin have so fuckin much motherfuckin stress, shit would be all good, man. My stomach wouldn't hurt. My blood pressure wouldn't be so high. I wouldn't want a cigarette. And if I could hit the lottery for like a million bucks or more, then everything would be cool, man. No more worries. Just move to Colorado and smoke reefer all day, and build race cars. Mmhuh. Fmpf.
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