uh, what the
fuck ?
This keeps on getting bet
Friday, December 25, 2015
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.}
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. :(
Anyways...
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.
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. :(
Anyways...
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
Spew...
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.
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.
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.
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