Frustrated, I hear my mom’s familiar words:
"You always make things seem worse than they really are."
I’m staring at a cardboard roll, the anger in me subsiding to a quiet brood.
"Yeah," I mutter-shout, to no one:
"I bet George Zimmerman never finds himself running out of toilet paper in his lifetime… and he killed a black kid!
What was my greatest sin?
Breaking up with a girl because I thought it was ridiculous to still get upset to the point of blubbering tears about the death of her dog who lived a full life who’d been dead going on a year and some odd months?
For that I sit unclean on the toilet and get bupkis on the TP?
Just because we’re governed by the unmanned whims of the universe, and the universe isn’t fair, doesn’t mean it ain’t bullshit.”
Because of the philisophically anarchic tone of his tweets, and his intellectually retarded, but fervered and loyal fanbase, the FBI is looking at Jaden Smith as a possible threat to the nation.
White dude on the left lookin’ like he’s gonna re-create the image of these black people hugging using a couple dead squirrels from his ice chest.
One of the cooks I work with is a part—time drug dealer. A desperately needed new cook started last week. The cook/pusher sold him some yak yesterday. The new hire called off today. Thinking I’m gonna need me some of that cocaine to get me through another night of doing the work of 2-3 people. It’s no coincidence the five years I’ve been able to maintain sobriety from alcohol and hard drugs occurred after stepping away from working in a restaurant. My first day back in a kitchen, during a smoke break, I watched a server duck into the overstock shed outside and reemerge with two miniature bottles of Sutter Home. She giggled after I declined her offer of one. Working in a restaurant is a taxing hell. I guess the only reprieve most employees find after having their psyche rattled during a shift is to place their brains in a paint can mixer with the use of inebriants. I can’t vouch for this as being a healthy way to deal with work-related stresses, but I understand and don’t look down on them for these choices. Most of you designed a life for yourselves so you wouldn’t have to rely on a paycheck through this sort of work — and that’s admirable and I applaud it — but if the bottom fell out and you found yourself resigned to taking a job as a cook or server, most of you wouldn’t last a week.
I never really got along with my father, but I’m grateful he let me watch movies like CADDYSHACK, STRIPES, and ANIMAL HOUSE with him against my mom’s wishes when I was a little kid. In his work, Harold Ramis championed the put upon, and made losers heroes with the defense mechanism of smart assed quips and actions against people with superior titles who take themselves and their job too seriously — something I took note of at my young age and has likely kept me fighting and sane enough against crummy teachers, bosses, and people throughout my life.
REST IN MOTHERFUCKING POWER
Today, the general manager of the restautant I work at called me a “rockstar.” Pretty appropriate title since after manning two stations by myself during a breakfast rush, I fucked a female groupie with the head end of a mud shark at an waterfront inn in Seattle.
After a rash of cooks quitting in the last few months, my boss is worried I might quit. As an incentive to stay put, he gave me a big raise. Keying my new wage into the computer, he muttered, “I hope this doesn’t bite me in the ass.” I’m afraid it will since I can now afford that tattoo of his wife’s face on my forearm.
Martin Luther King Jr., from the video footage inserted into a Burger King commercial announcing that with the purchase of their new Spicy Chicken Warblers, you get a medium fry at no charge
This is the smiling face of singer Shane MacGowan of the Irish band The Pogues. This is also what I imagine Vagina Dentata to look like.
It could be I’m just a natural cynic and downshifting into hatred is my go-to reaction, but really I’m a peaceful man. Love takes work and maintenance because it’s the loftier of the two. Hatred is as easy as breathing and a shortcut to avoiding certain investments. The more I sit and dwell on it- despite having numerous girlfriends, I don’t think I’ve ever been in love. Maybe the idea of the feeling of love sat in me, but not the kind I believe some of my friends are in.
Anyway, I was just aroused by a picture of a miraculous panty-clad ass which turned out belonged to a transexual man. So I guess everything is relative to the moment and we build or destroy from there.