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?" 

...No?
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.
                                      Right?


Monday, January 9, 2017

Shishka Bob, Soap soup, and Allen Dulles

Good morning,
Motherfuckers.

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
that
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
incognito.

Allen Dulles,
the man JFK fired,
who was later appointed to lead the Warren Commission.
Hmmm...
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.