Monday, January 25, 2016

Get Your Fucking Paws Off Me, You Damn Dirty Fascist

Get your stinking paws off of me, you damn dirty ape!  Them apes fucked with Judah Ben Moses In Space!  Them apes wasn't too bright.  Well, a few of them were.  But not Claude Akins, he was just mean.  Anyways...  What if it was like that, only we're the apes?  Humans, homo sapiens sapiens, modern man, yeah, what if we took over after the gods went home?  We were bred from the hominids, and the gods.  We were bred again from the Neanderthals and Denisovans, and the demigods, or Nephilim, or whatever you choose to call them.  Imagine for a minute, if you will, mad scientists working in some covert government lab somewhere.  They take some human DNA and some ape DNA, they splice and they play.  Their objective is to create a race of workers, intelligent enough to follow directions, but stupid enough to do it without question.  And strong enough to do heavy work.  Stronger than we are...  Now imagine this is what the gods did, how they made us millions of years ago.  DNA mixing in a blender, spitting out little manlings and womanlings.  Now, imagine we rebelled and killed them, or they died off by some other means, or they left in a hurry to escape something.  For whatever reason, the gods went away.  Maybe we rose up and killed them.  Maybe they killed each other.  Whatever the case, they went wherever they went.  Nobody is left from then to tell us the real story.  We ignore the ancient stories, we reject them as fantasy mythos.  But whatever happened...
We found ourselves suddenly free to roam in a paradise, but we had competition, the very Neanderthals, Denisovans, Cro-Magnons, etc. that were our ancestors.  We had to drive them off the best hunting grounds, lest we starve.  But the gods left us na├»ve and innocent.  They took their vast storehouse of knowledge with them.  Man does not know himself.  We had to learn from trial & error.  We had to learn how to survive.  Messengers came among us.  They taught us things.  How to fish, how to make tools...  Who were these messengers?  Who the fuck knows?  Maybe they were gods who stayed behind to watch over us, maybe not.  They taught us of wheels, they taught us of wind and waves...  In many places they were worshiped as gods.  They built great cities.  (Or were the cities built before the gods left?  Again, who knows?)  Nobody lives today who lived then, or if we do, we've long forgotten.  DNA.  We need to learn how to access our genetic memory.
Get your long spindly fingers off me, you damn dirty alien!  Nothing is what it seems.  Scratch the surface.  Dig down a few feet.  See what you dig up.  Everything's there.  Right wherever you put it.

Doo Doo Theory {Shit Theory, Fecal Matter Theory, Etc.}

  One time a bunch of us were hanging out at Shorty's Bar, getting fucked up.  We had been fishing.  We were rowdy, talking loudly, and there was a guy by himself at the end of the bar, by the television.  He was watching the news.  Suddenly he yelled up at the tv, "It's all shit!" "It's all fuckin shit!"  Everybody looked over, but my buddy Howie went over to him and said, "Sir, I couldn't agree more, it's all shit!" ...and raised his glass.  The guy bought him a shot and a beer.  Then he started buying rounds for everybody.  It turns out he was the local Justice Of The Peace.  You know, the guy in the robe that sentences people for public drunkenness and petty thefts all day.  It's all shit.

   So the theory is then, that it's all shit.  Everything is shit.  That's it, Fort Pitt.  Every molecule, every atom, except the ones in space, and the ones very deep in the ground, has been a part of something's fecal matter at some point in time.  Your atoms, my atoms, dog atoms, cat atoms, cockroach atoms... Water molecules... Leptons, Muons, and Quarks, oh my! And the rare & elusive Higgs Boson, even...  Maybe.  All has passed thru something or other's digestive system at some point.  It's just a chemical reaction.  It's all a process.  Everything is shit.

   I made shit in a plastic bag and tied it up and threw it in the trash can on more than one occasion.  Ain't nothing but a thing.  Folks throw poopy diapers in the trash all the time, baby shit, adult shit, what's the difference?  Shit's shit.  Ain't it?  Now I'll admit, one place I lived at, I had no running water, so shitting in a bag was a routine thing, and pissing in jars, coffee cans, buckets, whatever. Sometimes it was crap in a bucket, piss in the bucket, take the bucket out to the railroad tracks and dump it. And I had a girl that would stay over sometimes.  She wouldn't shit in a bag.  She shit on the side of the house, and under the trestle.  Once I lived in this place where they cut the utilities off.  We ran a hose from next door, til they rented it out.  Then we shit both toilets full to capacity, and moved on to shitting in the backyard.  That's what you do when you're dirt poor and on drugs.  Fucks given: Nada.

  So I like to shit at home, where my ass feels comfortable, the toilet seat knows my ass by name, and the occasional cat audience...  But sometimes I'm at work, and I gotta go shit in the woods.  You gotta do what you gotta do.  Once I shit in a plastic flower pot behind a bush next to a house, then I put the pot in a trash bag and it went on the truck with the rest of the trash.  Bye.  Nobody need be the wiser.  Not that long ago I had to shit bad.  I had to go down over a hill, down a ravine, to the stream, to get out of visual range of houses.  When I shit, it was projectile explosive diarrhea.  ...With a big gas bomb fart propelling it.  It blasted the rocks and into the nice pretty little stream.  That right there is why I always grab extra napkins from Starbux.  Gotta do what you gotta do.  It is what it is.  It's all shit.
  So, you shit, it goes down the sewer, it goes to the shit plant to get processed, and gets made into fertilizer, which someone uses to grow tomatoes, which get eaten and turned back into shit.  Or you shit outside, something eats it, something else eats that, on up the food chain.  Eventually it goes back to shit again.  Voila.  Everything is shit.

Thursday, January 14, 2016

Is Everybody Happy?

So I asked the question "Is everybody happy?" and I don't expect a response, it's sort of a rhetorical question, Kinda like "Does anybody give a fuck?"....

Of course not everybody is happy. We live in a world of disparity, social inequality, dystopia...
And the chasm is widening.

So anyways, they're watching this thing on the television in the living room about a congressional task force to combat opioid addiction, (seems like congress never heard of NA, for some reason..) or maybe it was to combat the opioid epidemic, I think that's how they worded it. So I searched to find out what exactly is the difference between opioids and opiates.  I figure, Dilaudids, Oxys, Perks, Vikes, etc. right?  Well, according to  It seems that opiates are derived from opium, while opioids are synthetic, basically synthetic opiates, so I guess they act on the human psyche the same way, and since humans like to get high, they are addictive, and so Uncle Sam considers them to be "highly controlled" or so says the website I pasted the link to above.  So there's this suit on there talking, Senator Whoever The Fuck He Is, and he's babbling about how there are non-opioid alternatives that big pharma could be selling instead, and some gobbledy-goop about how they could profit from it...  And I started thinking about it, how they could profit...   That's all they're interested in, making a profit.  They don't care about helping people, just about profits.  That's fucked up.  That's the reason why they haven't found a cure for anything yet, they don't want to find a cure, because if they did they'd lose money. It's never been about helping anybody, it's all about how some fascist rich fucks can get richer. They aren't even looking for cures for diseases, they're looking for pills that give short-term relief, so you have to keep buying more pills, so they get richer.  They aren't Florence Nightingale, they're the dopeman.  They want everyone hooked on their pills.  If they did manage to find a cure for cancer, or aids, or the common cold, or anything, they'd bury it so they could keep on selling pills.  Power corrupts, and money begets the lust for more money.  That, and then there's the underlying population control, which is far more sinister, because when they say "population control" what they actually mean is depopulation.

They want people to die from diseases, and wars, and anything else, because there are too many people, and they can't seem to get people to quit fucking, no matter how much prudish religious fundamentalism they cram down people's throats, because people enjoy fucking. Woo! Big surprise there, huh? People like to fuck! Imagine that.  See, back in the middle ages people were populating along at a pretty good clip, and then they had the black death, the bubonic plague, and something like two thirds of Europeans died off.  All of a sudden the lords and barons and dukes and kings had to actually work, lest they starve, because most of the serfs were dead from plague.  Needless to say, their royal hind-nesses didn't like this arrangement, they needed more slaves to do the work so that they could sit on their fat asses and feast all day, and have royal cotillions all night.  So they urged the peasants to be fruitful and multiply.  Trouble is, humans can multiply almost as well as rabbits.  That's why we have too fuckin many humans for Mother Earth to sustain for much longer, especially at the rate we're going, taking from the land without giving anything back, poisoning the air, land, and water, eating and shitting, like leeches, or like a parasitic virus, which eventually bleeds its host dry, and the host dies, and in turn the virus dies with it.  I don't want humanity to go extinct.  I'd be, if not happy, at least less upset, maybe even calm and mellow, if all the rich bastards were to go extinct.

Friday, December 25, 2015

Wibbley Wobbely Woo

uh, what the
fuck                                 ?

This keeps on getting bet

Bawhumbug... (Merry Fuckin Christmas)

So... Haven't been here in awhile... Uh huh. Yessir.

Just some weird shit that randomly careens thru my mind:

1) The word homage. If pronounced the way it's spelled, would sound like "Hommij" or "Home-ij", but has always been pronounced with a silent h and short o, like "ommij", well, that is until the phony, pretentious yuppy fucks got ahold of it, and tried to Frenchitize it, like "Oh-Mahzh" which makes the speaker sound like a pompous douchebag, in my opinion, kind of like when they say "Awn-velope" for envelope.

2) The word sugar. Why do we pronounce it "Shooger" and not "Soo-Gar"? Why does Suge Knight spell his namd Suge, which should rhyme with spooge, instead of just spelling it Shoog? Must be a G thing, I guess.

{I was thinking about that while taking a shit this morning.}

3) Andy Kaufmann didn't have a cow in his name, it rhymes with Hoffmann.

4) Yeah, I've probably written about this before, but I can't remember because I suffer from CRS (Can't Remember Shit), and I enjoy smoking pot. They say it fucks with one's short-term, uh, what is that fuckin word again?

So, on account of it being December 25th and all, I decided to make this post half red and half green. Woo fuckin hoo.

I'm going to smoke a li'l nuggy now.

Mmmm... Better! Now where was I at again? Jacob Marley. Aw Bob Saget. (There. There's an homage to Ebenezer Scrooge and Danny the Tourette's Guy.) [Fuck you and every mall santa that looks like you!] {& somewhere in the back of your mind right now is Bob Marley.}

Ah!   There He  Is!!

I'm a man of very little capital this December 25th, thanx in part to the weather, bills, and the InFernal Revenue Service. (Yep, them fucks.) And, as a direct result of being a man of very little capital, I'm also a man of very little bud remaining. :(


Since dragging my fifty-year-old ass up out of bed this morning, approximately two hours ago, I have searched and read about the evolution of the Jeep, studied the local weather forecast [fap-fap], listened to CW McCall relaying a musical anecdote about crossing the great divide in a semi, and perused some interesting pictures and video footage of women with bizarre ink inserting bizarre (sometimes living) objects into bodily orifices... Then I was bored enough to write.

   So.    I'm not a very Christmasy sort of dude. I used to go thru the motions of my upbringing, get a tree, string lights on it, hang shit on it, etc. And no matter how much you water it, it drops needles everywhere, cats climb it, dogs piss on it, and inevitably some drunk motherfucker falls into it and down it goes, along with Grandma's antique family heirloom blowed-glass Christmas balls. Thpbt.
Fake trees don't fare much better. Besides, fake trees suck.

So I have this bag of old lights that I intercepted on its way from a job to the dump. I saved the ones that still work. I was thinking about haphazardly throwing them on the bushes in front of the house, just for the fuck of it, but it's raining outside. Someone dreamed of a wet Christmas.
December 25th, 2015 - It's 70 degrees and thunderstorming. The neighbors were blowing up fireworks last night. Not the drunks across the street either, someone one street over. Maybe I'll build a fire in the yard and throw the rest of the leftover fireworks we have laying around into it. But it's fuckin raining. Coffee beckons. Merry fuckin Christmas.

Sunday, April 12, 2015


I think I'm gonna spew my coffee.  All over my keyboard, monitor, worktable, my lap, everything.  Is it possible to sympathy spew?  I don't know.  I got fat when my ex was pregnant, I grew a sympathy belly, so maybe.  Maybe I'm just sick of the current state of society...

I have a friend who won't stop drinking alcohol, and at least three friends, probably more, currently under the spell of heroin.  And when I look at the world all around, sometimes I can't really blame them.  Who wants to read about war and death and government fascism and police brutality and GMO food products and children starving while bankers count their money and killer vaccines and goddamn politics every day?  ...I've been pondering "What does a nervous breakdown feel like?"

Where is a Bodhi tree when one needs one?  ...Or have the corporate fascist bastards bulldozed them all to build another parking lot?  I'd really like to smoke some pot.  I'd like to hold a little twenty-something girl in my arms and just sleep all day.  There are a lot of things I'd like to do.  I'd like to be an Eagle, soaring high above it all, oblivious to humanity and all its suffering.  But I'm a man, not an eagle.  Not a hawk.  Not a dove.  Not a wolf, or a puma, not a donkey or a prairie dog.  And not a mouse either.  I'm part bear, because my great Grandmother was a Bear, but I'm just one man.

There's a story.  The legend of Jumping Mouse.  I tried to find a version of it that I could copy/paste here, because I don't feel like typing that much right now, but the best I could find was this: The Legend Of Jumping Mouse

Everything is falling apart.  It's not a facepalm.  It's a Flippedysquit.  And it's surely Flibbertyjibbitz.

Monday, February 2, 2015

Fuck the IRS. Fuck them right in the pussy.

Motherfuckers.  Damn dirty motherfuckers.  What more is there to say?  "Get your filthy, shit-stained paws off my motherfuckin money, you damn dirty IRS!"  Damn dirty government.  Yep, yep.

  Damn dirty government thinks they can just rob the working folks of this here land and they expect us to just roll over and spread our cheeks.  Well fuck them.  They have no right to legalize robbery.  And that's exactly what they've done, but not across the board, just when applicable to themselves.  They made it legal for them to rob private citizens for their own gain.  Ha ha, good joke.  You say that it's ok for you to rob me, because you write the stinkin laws, and fuck me if I don't like it.  Yeah?  Well fuck you too.  Fuck you!  You hear me, motherfuckers?  Fuck you and the horse you rode in on, and the bankers whose coat tails you held onto, and the Italian suit and silk tie you got with money you stole from taxpayers, and all the free shit you get as perks of the position.  You need to bend over and assume the position, because you all deserve forty whacks, and I aim to give 'em to you.  With a stainless steel boat paddle.

I'm a dangerous subversive.  Subversive, because I love America and hate government, and dangerous because I have the audacity to exercise my right to free speech.

  The 16th Amendment (above) states that congress shall have the power to tax income from any source.  It does not suggest that they have the right to do so.  I assert that they have no such right.

This rant today all stems from the fact that I'm sick and tired of being taxed into poverty by a bunch of rich bastards who do no actual work, and I'm sick of the funds they rob from me and you going to pay for the enforcement of unconstitutional laws, militarization of police, and into the pockets of the military-industrial complex.  And don't even get me started on the federal reserve bank.  Fuck.

Bottom line is, I signed a blank W4 and trusted the intelligence of a clerk in an office to fill it out correctly.  He/she/they filled it out in a manner which allows me more per pay, but leaves me holding the bag come tax time.  I should have known better.  I've given instruction to change it for future reference, but unfortunately it isn't retroactive, so fuck me.  I shot myself in the foot, and now I have to deal with it.  Have fun with my money, Sam.  But I'm seriously contemplating just not filing this year at all.  I have until April to think about it.  I mean, what are they gonna fuckin do?  Put me in jail?  I've been in jail before.  Take my house away?  Too late motherfuckers, my house went away twelve years ago.  I still have a pot to piss in, but that's about all I have as far as material things.  I have my truck, and my computer, a couple guitars, power tools, chainsaw, etc.  They can't take any of that because they would be affecting my livelihood, and thereby my right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.  They affect my pursuit of happiness anyway, with their standard-issue, everyday bullfuck.