What Angers Me

sometimes, asian culture confuses me.

2005-03-30T01:24:00.000-05:00

i ate lunch the other day at a new restaurant that recently opened in my town. the "old town buffet" is a chinese/american buffet, with a pretty shitty selection of american food. i don't go there for the american food, though. i go for the steaming heaps of americanized chinese dishes such as general tso's chicken, lo mien noodles, etc.
my wife alerted me to the presence of something strange at one of the buffet tables.

she said, "go check out the peach-shaped pocket thing over there."

i'm thinking to myself, what the hell could she be describing? so i make a trip over to the buffet, and i'm looking for something that fits the description she gave me. only, that wasn't her description; that was the actual name of the thing. you know how they label everything at the chinese buffets? well, there was a little white sticker that said "PEACH-SHAPE POCKET", next to the "BREAD TOAST" and "DRY SALT STEAK". i love engrish. anyway, when i looked at what lay in the steaming food tray, i was at a loss for thought. i just stopped and stared at whatever the hell was in front of me. at first glance, it seemed like some kind of cream puff-type dessert. but it wasn't with the desserts; it was with the egg-drop and sweet and sour soups. this was no dessert. cas snagged one of these things so i could take pictures. the unsettling effect this thing had on me can't be conveyed with a simple picture, so just trust me; this thing is fucking disturbing:

i took one back to the table with me, and poked at it for a bit. it was soft, like a firm breast, but shiny and smooth on the outside. it smelled vaguely of rice, or maybe nothing at all. i was curious, and afraid at the same time. i had to know what was inside. my instinct was sending me signals, saying that an alien would inevitably pop out if i bit into it. it reminds me of some kind of alien egg, kind of like the ones that the gremlins emerged from in the movie Gremlins.
unable to suppress the urge any longer, i bit into this otherworldly mass. the exterior did not give easily, and i had to work at it a bit with my teeth. finally, the outer shell gave way, revealing a light, airy, bread-like texture inside. then came the really confusing part. below is a picture of the interior of the one i brought home and dissected:

the core of this bizarre food item was brown, but definitely not chocolate. i'm thinking it was made of figs, or maybe martian shit. perhaps the alien had jettisoned from this pod, leaving behind only the excrement from his long stay inside. yes, this was probably an escape pod....but where were the control panels? the bottle of Lysol kitchen cleaner is there, just in case the thing tried to spray me with some kind of noxious goo. okay, i just forgot to move it. you can see in the picture below where the brown stuff is spreading into the white area, much like a disease....

i ate some of the dense and moist filling, and i still had no idea what it was. it was a little sweet, and reminded me just slightly of what dirt tastes like. i finished most of the...fuck i just don't know what to call it.....the thing, after waiting a bit to make sure i wasn't poisoned. the one i brought home for examining is sitting on my computer desk, not 10 inches from me as i type. every few minutes, i keep thinking i'm hearing some kind of distress signal emitting from it. i'm going to have to put it somewhere secure, because i don't know if i can sleep tonight knowing that it is still here. but i can't get rid of it. i have to know what it is.

DeoxyriboNucleic Acid (cloning......what the hell?)

2005-03-26T01:00:00.000-05:00

the DNA talk will come in a minute. it's come to my attention lately, through numerous resources, that i am a bitter and resentful bastard. after thinking this theory over for a lengthy 30 seconds, i would have to say that i agree. people always ask me the question, "why are you so angry?". generally, the people who ask me this haven't taken the time to read the entries i've made in this weblog. a more appropriate (and easier to answer) question would be, "what aren't you angry about?". now that's a good question. unfortunately, no one ever asks that. and i'm not about to answer a question that i asked myself. that would just be crazy.

after careful consideration, i've decided to conduct an experiment. work with me on this, and we just may achieve some successful results. the experiment is this: i am going to try to be less hateful in my writings. this is only temporary, of course. if, however, the experiment produces favorable results, i may just continue down the road of happy bunnies and general contentedness (yes, it's a word). well, as content as i can be. it is me, after all. in a nutshell, i'm going to try not to bitch and be hateful so much.

an online acquaintance brought up the subject of cloning. i've never gone to great lengths to ponder the subject, as i see my role in the cloning world as rather insignificant. there's not much i can realistically do to effectively support, or oppose the whole thing. but, i started thinking about cloning. it's a multi-faceted subject, really. cloning is done on many levels, from DNA cloning to reproductive cloning.

DNA cloning, which has been around since the 1970's, can make several copies of the same gene for scientific study.

reproductive cloning, which has proven more news-worthy in recent years, is a technology used to create an animal with the same DNA as one that already exists, or has existed at least. this type of cloning is what brought the freakish "Dolly the Sheep" into our world. Dolly lived only 7 years, compared to the average sheep lifespan of 11-12 years. although not in this case, cloned animals often have serious health complications. this should be a red flag for those people that think cloning humans is a "neat idea".

that was a brief science lesson for those of you completely unfamiliar with cloning. i have just come to learn much of this myself. there is much more to the subject than what i have written, but i'm not going to get into all of that. the big thing that's keeping me from taking a firm stance on either side of the cloning issue is the morality/naturality of it.

a question keeps coming to mind when i think about this. "is this really what we, as humans, are supposed to be doing?" regardless of your specific religious beliefs, you have to wonder if the higher power(s) really meant for us to be doing something so unnatural. humanity has been obsessed with preservation of life ever since the thought first popped into some primitive scientist/doctor's head many centuries ago. people have invented (or discovered) so many methods of extending and preserving life. medicine, surgical procedures, organ transplants, the list goes on and on. i have to wonder if we should just let people die when nature determines that their time has come. Death does a lot more on-the-job waiting around than he used to.

should we just accept death when it comes knocking on our door? i'm not sure, but it's something to think about.

my goodness!

2005-03-23T16:17:00.000-05:00

well, that last entry was just plain hateful, wasn't it? i suppose that's what you've come to expect, if you are a regular reader of this blog. i remain steadfast in my opinion that, if there weren't so much to be angry about, i wouldn't need to bitch so much. that being said, if you find a way to put a stopper in the constantly flowing sewer pipe of douchebaggery, let me know. i will promptly close this weblog. i have to use the restroom, but i just sat down to write this. as unhealthy as it may be to hold it in, i will finish the task at hand! i'm having a difficult time learning how to make the color brown from liquid dyes. i know very little about that type of thing, but i would imagine mixing the primary colors in some fashion would create brown. i suppose i could resort to more natural methods of creating the color, and by "natural", i mean shitting and putting it in a bottle marked "brown". but who would use that? why am i so preoccupied with creating brown, you ask? i seem to have forgotten.

you can go to the grocery store, and find countless magazines discussing which celebrity is cheating on their significant other, who is on a diet (and whether or not cocaine is an integral part of said diet), and so many other seemingly important facts. i've stayed away from all that, and i seem to be surviving quite alright thus far. i'm not on life support or anything, so i'm beginning to wonder whether the excessive media frenzy over the lives of celebrities is really all that important. it's about as necessary as the cigarette industry. on one hand, it's negatively impacting society as a whole. on the other hand, if we were to remove it completely, then there would be a sudden, massive unemployment problem. what to do? i'm just going to sit here, and surf the internet. i just hope i'll get by without the mandatory marlbory and the latest issue of National Enquirer.

floored by the stupidity

2005-02-10T04:22:00.000-05:00

oh god. television has removed my hope for mankind. we're all absolutely, and most positively doomed. it began many years ago, and some may say it truly started when the television was first invented. but i won't go back that far. we'll start with what really started hammering the nails into our collective coffin. to the best of my recollection, it began with programs like Survivor. you know, the "reality" shows. no, scratch that, i remember The Real World now. that one was fucking terrible as well. and the talk shows, particularly the sleazy ones. the viewing audience was not meant to see this shit. people airing their dirty laundry for millions to see. we don't really need to know who the father of your child is, and we certainly do not need to hear Sylvia Browne tell you that, yes, your father passed to the other side, and yes he does have a message for you. the message is this: "STOP WATCHING THE GODDAMNED TELEVISION ALL DAY AND DO SOMETHING THAT REQUIRES BRAIN ACTIVITY."

Fear Factor. Extreme Makeover Home Edition. WifeSwap. Nanny 911. American Fucking Idol. Amish in the City. The Bachelor. The Bachelorette. Bachelorettes in Alaska. Big Brother. The Swan. Trading Spaces. The Ashlee Simpson no-talent Extravaganza. Average Joe. the list goes on. here's a particularly trashy one:

Joe Goddamned Millionaire: "hey, let's get an average guy to lie to a group of superficial, snot-nosed cunts about how much money he makes. then we'll see what depths these "women" will sink to for the guy's affection, just to get to his imaginary fortune. yes, it will inadvertently be a disgusting social commentary on today's society, but think of the RATINGS!" brilliant fucking idea.

the worst to date has to be the shows where the producers take two families, and switch the mothers. that is just fucking disgusting. why would anyone do that to their children? we're having a hard enough time raising children properly in this world without turning the whole thing into a goddamned reality show. yeah, put the black mom with the white kids, and stick the white mom with the black family. watch as white mom displays the deep-seated, hidden racism that has been pounded into her head since birth. watch as black mom marvels at the level of articulation with which the white children speak. no, black mom. your children do not have to speak like that. if you would take the time to enunciate properly, you would sound like every other goddamned intelligent person. it has absolutely nothing to do with the color of your skin, or your heritage. you're just too lazy to speak properly. white people do it, too. from now on, if i can't understand someone, and they're not retarded, i'm just not going to bother. why would you do that to yourself? why would you portray yourself in such an unflattering manner? i have black friends who speak perfectly normally. fuck that. this isn't going to be about color. it's about color TV!!!

we're all spiraling downward (yeah, NIN reference, fuck you), and i don't think any of us is going to be too pleased with the end result. and now, i would like to clear a few things up:

toilet is pronounced TOY-LET, not TOR-LET.

the proper spelling is T H E. not TEH. i don't care how much you want it to be spelled T E H, that's just not the way it is. and it's not funny when you repeatedly spell it that way, either.

NUCLEAR, not NUCULAR. who the fuck started that shit? just look at the word, it pronounces itself.

and last, but equally important: JEWELRY, not JEWLERY. the E comes before the L. it's so simple. the word JEWEL, followed by a quick RY. no problems here, but somehow you shits keep screwing it up. learn to speak like the smart people, and the world will be a slightly better place.

more hatred for public places

2005-02-04T00:58:00.000-05:00

in my last update, i bitched and moaned about going to one of the local bars. how pleasant. so if you're in the mood for more, read on:

today, i visited the laundromat. to many people, doing laundry in a public place is something perfectly tolerable. some people even view it as a social experience. not me, though. i can't fucking stand doing laundry around people i don't know. i don't have room in my apartment for a washer and dryer, so don't even start on that shit. it bothers me to think about all the unsavory citizens that have washed their dirty clothes in those washers. especially when i have seen people come to the laundromat, and wash their clothes with NO FUCKING SOAP. that's right, they put their filthy clothes in the washer, pump it full of coins, push start, and close the lid. they didn't forget to add the soap. they skipped that step on purpose. as if the hot water alone is going to rid their disgusting rags of all the dirt, sweat, dead skin cells, food, drugs, whatever. that is just revolting. i'm so sick of all these nauseatingly dirty people walking around in my city. have some self respect, you pieces of dog shit. god, how i wish i could get in my car and just go "GTA" on them all. anyway, back to the subject at hand.

so i'm sitting in the laundromat, listening to my portable CD player, and this sumo-sized woman waddles through the automatic sliding doors. she just oozed trashiness. stretch pants, stretched to the limit. stained shirt with some outdated "bad attitude" phrase on it. you know, the kind that say, "I go from zero to bitch in 4.0 seconds" or some such shit. her hair is sticking out in all directions, and not in that "i'm too cool to care" way. it was more like, "hairbrush? if i bought a hairbrush, i wouldn't be able to buy 40 million lottery tickets with my grocery money!" so this blob of a woman walks over to some unsuspecting laundromat patron. she proceeds to flap her fucking gums for 45 minutes about who knows what. i don't know, because i was too busy trying to block her banshee-like voice with my headphones. i almost felt sorry for the other person, but then i thought, "eat shit. if you don't want her to talk to you, tell her to go stick her ugly face on a hot barbecue grill."

and then there are the stupid fucking crane machines. you know, those godforsaken contraptions that you put coins in to try and win a stuffed toy. i was indifferent to them, before this particular laundromat was built a couple years ago. the bastards who built the laundromat installed 3 of those damned machines, in addition to a few arcade games. i frequent this laundromat, because it has an adjoining gas station. two of the crane machines are in the gas station portion of the building. i can't begin to count how many times i've walked into the gas station, and some piece of shit asshole is standing at the crane machine, repeatedly putting dollars into it. there are dozens of morons in my town who stand at that goddamned machine and spend 5 or 10 dollars at a time, just trying to get a fucking 6-inch tall donkey kong toy. or a fucking spongebob squarepants baseball cap. there is so much useless shit in those machines. you'd be better off giving a dollar to a homeless man and asking him to kick you in the ass. i can't fathom why these worthless scumbags throw their money away in the hopes that they might go home with a fucking piece of colored cloth stuffed with fluff. and i just know that these dicks are the people that sit at home and collect unemployment checks because they're too fucking lazy to get a job. i'm not saying anything about disabled/unemployed people in general. i know life is hard, and it throws you a lot of curveballs. sometimes it just drops a big grand piano on you without warning. but there are way too many lazy shits collecting money from my paycheck. simply because they convinced their doctor to label them "unable to work". the government may as well just level with us all, and make a statement something like this:

"People of America! We, the Federal Government, are going to take a substantial portion of your hard-earned money, and spend it on stupid shit. Some of your money will go to worthwhile causes, but most of it is basically just getting flushed down a toilet in the middle of the ocean. Oh, and you know all of your money we are setting aside for this whole "Social Security" thing? Yeah, ummmm, that's not going to happen. We're just going to keep taking that out of your paycheck, but we decided to squander it on hookers and cocaine."

i'm not holding my breath for that special message from the president.

what is it about the bar?

2005-01-30T02:59:00.000-05:00

I'll tell you what it is about the bar. it's not the smoke, the music, or even the exorbitant prices of alcoholic beverages. alright, it is all of those things. but do you know what it is about the bar moreso than anything else? it's the people. going to a bar would be so much more tolerable, enjoyable even, if it weren't for all the assholes roaming around.

i don't know why i continue to go to these places. i suppose it's some kind of futile effort to connect with the rest of humanity, although i honestly can't think of a valid reason to do that. i won't go alone to a bar; only when i am invited by a friend. it's a nice gesture, i suppose. "hey, do you want to go out saturday night?" thanks for the invite, and yes i will go out saturday night. but i'll be damned if i'm going to go home afterward with a smile on my face. i enjoy playing pool. i would enjoy it even more if i could do it in the comfort of my own home. pool is the sole reason i will go to a bar. that and to "hang out" with my friend. there are others i talk to, and play pool with, but i don't think i would bestow them with the title, "friend". friends are something i've always considered to be optional. i enjoy having a few friends, yes, but i'm very selective about who i call my "friends". i can think of perhaps 3 or 4 people i have that are friends. plenty of acquaintances, but few friends. i'm straying from my intended subject...

so i'm at the bar, and i'm hating all the people. rude people who won't step out of the fucking way when i'm taking a shot (while playing pool). there are countless people at this bar. countless socially retarded imbeciles who can function and converse perfectly well in their own little flock of simple-minded fools. but once they place themselves in a public place, it becomes quite clear how bungling and inept they really are. is it really me who is unfit for placement among other humans? wait.....no, it's all the other assholes. people who think it's perfectly considerate and kind to invade personal space so they can get another beer. it's vitally important that they get to the bartender as quickly as possible, because they might run out of beer! there are a million fucking beers behind that counter, dickhead. goddamned cavemen, the lot of them. and yes, there's the smoke, and the terrible music. the AC/DC live album sounds like shit, and should be solely used as punishment for prisoners of war.

so, if i hate all this so much, why do i continue to attend the watering hole in question? i can't say. i want to say, but i don't know why. i'm a human, and humans do dumb shit most of the time. as much as i hate people, for some reason, i continue to voluntarily place myself in situations where many people are present. it's confusing, and i don't know if i'll ever understand that part of the psyche. probably not. now that i have that out of the way, i can talk about music.

i am currently listening to the new Behemoth album, "demigod". thus far, having listened to the first five tracks, i am impressed. another fine piece of work by the polish black metal masters. Pain's 2002 release, "Nothing Remains the Same" is also receiving heavy rotation in my playlist. a wicked cool album, that one. there is a fantastic cover of The Beatles' "Eleanor Rigby" on the album. there are many more, lesser-known bands that i'm listening to, but this isn't a music weblog, so i won't go on about them all. regardless, mention should be made of the tragic passing of Bloodstained Dusk's vocalist. he died in an automobile accident january 24th. so pay respect, fuckers.

LOLROFLMAODIEDIEDIE

2005-01-23T21:55:00.000-05:00

i just wrote a really long post, and tried to post it to my blog. the server fucked up and i lost the whole thing. i don't even know if i feel like doing this again, so here goes.

i'm getting tired of all these eleventeen year olds running around on the internet. i've just recently decided to put an end to my long-term misanthropy online, and join the forums over at www.crapville.com i love that website. go there when you finish reading this. for a long time, i didn't converse with anyone online. i hated forums, instant messengers, and e-mail. i wanted nothing to do with any of it. i enjoyed the isolation i experienced online. a few weeks ago, i got the itch. the one that says "blagh! the only way to scratch me is by joining the forums at crapville, you hermit bastard!" anyway, i like conversing with the people in the forums there, reading all the humorous/thought-provoking shit that gets posted. however...

as of this post, there are 422 members of the forums, and a majority of them seemingly have no intelligence. not one fucking brain cell amongst them. there are plenty of cool people; it just seems that for every one of the good ones, there are 10 little prepubescent retards. and they believe that it's thouroughly acceptable to post utter shit. i will give you examples:

"hi people watz up talk" --i don't even know what that means. it's completely indecipherable.

"so watz the wors thing u have done" --the worst thing i've done is read your incoherent bullshit posts, ass hat.

"OMG i'm goin shoppin wit gurlz and i think i mite get sum! i need advise!" --i've got some advice for you:

1. join the real world
2. go brush your teeth; it's time for your bedtime story. tonight, mom will be reading a heartwarming book entitled, "shoot yourself before puberty sets in"

"ok, im hngry and cant decide wat 2 eat so help me chose" --i choose that you eat 3 bottles of aspirin, and wash it down with a bottle of toilet bowl cleaner.

"woot woot! anybody hear like hip hop? lets talk bout music!" --if anyone here did like hip hop, they wouldn't talk to you about it because they would need a moron-to-english dictionary. and i don't even think they make those. also, hip hop is not music, fuck you.

"have you ever fancied your mates mum??" --yes, yes. i fancy my mate's mum holding a shotgun to your head and pulling the trigger.

"u ppl r so mean 2 me. y dont you eva ansewr my posts?!" --because we're too busy trying to find your home address online so we can come and punch you in the nose, asshole.

well, that was hateful. why am i so bitter, you ask? because it seems like 99% of people are exactly like the retards i've been complaining about. hey, you saw the title of this blog before you read it. on to greener pastures:

i've been listening to the band "H.I.M." a lot lately. i've had the "Razorblade Romance" album for a while now, and it just fucking rocks. i can't put my finger on exactly what it is about this band that attracts me. i can tell anyone precisely what i like or dislike about any band/musician i've heard. i pay attention to things like that. i like to completely immerse myself in the music i listen to, and really understand all aspects of it. but for some reason, i can't do that with H.I.M. i guess it has something to do with the fact that they write love songs that don't make me want to vomit. i absolutely hate all the sappy, sickeningly sweet pop music shit about love. it's all so goddamned shallow. but H.I.M.'s music is sincere and emotional. so, call me a pussy if you want. just be aware that i will pin you down, carve a heartagram on your chest, piss on the wound, and stomp on your head to the beat of "Poison Girl".

Tripping the light fantastic.

2004-12-19T14:38:00.000-05:00

I saw a seasonal lawn decoration last night. It was an inflatable, illuminated snowman. As tall as a real man, this snowman was, if not taller. The wind was blowing like a sharp knife that had been resting in the freezer, so the snowman was performing this wickedly ominous little dance. Sinful iniquity!!! Redundant exclamations aside, I was horrified by this man of snow. The nerve of the frozen bastard, cutting a rug right there for the world to see! Dancing and prancing, not unlike a skeleton doing a macabre little jig, only much colder. And much more devilish. Odd, how this snowy character could have motives rooted in the tenth sub-level of Hell. I mean, he should have melted right then and there, when he signed his soul over to Beelzebub. You pitchfork-toting scoundrel, you really screwed us out of a Holiday icon this time. But I digress.

I'm seeing entirely too many of these fucking magnetic ribbons. You know, the ones that you see on vehicles EVERYWHERE YOU GO. Oh, this is terrible. I was looking for a picture to link to for those of you that don't know what I'm talking about, and the first website I looked at has 43 million different ones for sale. That's an exaggeration, but my point has been made. There are many reasons that these vehicle ornaments anger me, and I won't begin to explain them here. There isn't enough space on any server for that. I can't leave the house without seeing these stupid magnets. I literally can't do it. I walk out my front door, and there they are. I have seen as many as 7 on one vehicle. SEVEN. That's goddamned ridiculous. Multiples of the same magnet, even. There are magnets for everything. Support the troops. God Bless the USA. Diabetes Awareness. Breast Cancer Survivor. Relay for Life. Various War Veterans. I'm waiting for ribbons that say "My Child is an Honor Roll Student" and "I Can Wipe My Own Ass!!" How about, "I Spent $4.97 at Wal-Mart on This Stupid Fucking Ribbon". Is this really the best way to support U.S. military personnel overseas? If you've bought one of these, find out where the money went. Not everyone selling the magnets is using the money for a good cause.

The wives of cavalrymen wore yellow ribbons as they watched their husbands ride off to war in the 1870's. To kill Indians. How about that...

Retribution (rest in peace Darrell Abbott)

2004-12-10T01:31:00.000-05:00

Anger has taken tangible form, and currently pours out of me at all possible outlets. For those of you not familiar with (or not interested in) the tragic death of "Dimebag" Darrell Abbott, don't bother reading. Wednesday night, DamagePlan and former Pantera guitarist Dimebag Darrell was murdered in cold blood onstage in front of hundreds of fans attending a DamagePlan concert. Three others were killed before a police officer killed the shooter. This man, Nathan Gale, took it upon himself to decide that Darrell no longer needed to live. That was not his choice, nor was it anyone else's. Strangely, Darrell's death occurred on the exact same date that John Lennon died, 24 years later. I will not lie and say I am a fan of Damageplan. I'd never even heard their music before now. But I was a Pantera fan years ago, and have always had nothing but the deepest respect for Dimebag Darrell. An amazing guitarist, and from what his friends and bandmates say, one hell of a guy. Dimebag was nothing short of an artist, and he will never again create. The music world mourns this loss, and I only wish that the killer's life hadn't ended so soon after he killed 4 people. Many people wish that. His fate would have been much worse had the police officer not killed him when he did. On the other hand, who knows how many others would have died. Nothing can explain or justify this terrible incident. An innocent 38 year old guitar legend is now dead, as well as a 29 year old club employee, a 23 year old fan, and a 40 year old security guard. This doesn't simply affect the 5 people killed. All the family members and friends, and fans of Dimebag suffered, as well. Darrell's brother and bandmate, Vinnie Paul Abbott sat at his drumkit, mere feet away from his brother, and watched him die. The void left by Darrell's death will never be filled, and Nathan Gale will never truly pay for what he did. His punishment was far too swift and painless. The best anyone can do now is to try and move on. Easier said than done.

Pancakes go inside the mouth.

2004-12-06T01:55:00.000-05:00

Oh, the clinging reveries of strawberry lemonade! Clinging like school-grade peanut butter on the roof of my mouth. I never liked celery, anyway. I bethink the odd, engaging flavor. It is a pleasing sensation; strawberry-ish, yet undeniably lemony. An agreeable marriage of flavors, as proven by test subjects the world over. Much unlike the discomfort of having your undergarments twist in such a manner that the seam which regularly runs parallel with your penis/vagina, is suddenly errant in a most unpleasant way. There is a great difference, I'm saying, between the flavor of that daydream-inducing summer beverage, and the sensation associated with twisted underwear. I just thought it would prove useful to point that out.

On another note, I'm angry. Angry, you see, because the walls in my home are much too bare. Uncovered and desolate, my walls. Interesting pictures are in demand here. Two paintings in this room, and a clock. Boring clock, interesting paintings, it's just not enough. Posters and magazine clippings just don't cut it anymore. I'm not 15, though sometimes I wish I was. I feel much older than I am, and with good reason. It seems my mind is aging at a much more accelerated rate than those around me. The ice is melting, but it's not that warm. It's kind of like when Ian Curtis sang, "Love Will Tear Us Apart", except that it's not much like that at all. Something is tearing my mind apart, I just can't figure out what the hell it is. I consume absolutely no drugs at all, with the exception of the occasional aqua vitae, and my beloved caffeine. I get enough sleep, most of the time. What, then, can it be? I sometimes think of my mind as a weather-worn structure, built in the days before engineers dreamed up all sorts of preservation methods for buildings. There are no steel frames, no flexible infrastructures to guard against shifting plates of the earthquake variety. In my head there stands a castle, leaning like a grossly exaggerated Tower of Pisa. The turrets loom dangerously close to the shrubs and short trees surrounding it. The foundation has uprooted and become quite visible. Any further leaning, and all will be lost.

That's how it feels sometimes, anyway.

Nobody walks in L.A. At least not without a barbecued iguana.

2004-11-23T04:58:00.000-05:00

Oh goddammit. I was typing a new entry, and my browser closed. But that's okay, because Yahoo is sorry for any incovenience. That, readers, is bullshit. They couldn't possibly care less. At the moment my browser malfunctioned, only one person was sorry for any inconvenience. That was me. Now I must re-type what has already been typed. Damn. Anyway....

It has been some time since I last made an entry in this blog. Taking into account the purpose of this blog, one would make the initial assumption that I simply haven't been angry enough to bother writing anything here. In fact, I have been entirely too angry to write. Much time has been spent in various degrees of the proverbial "bad mood". I'm not one to make little cutesy pictures with the keyboard symbols, but if there were a way to illustrate complete and utter hatred for mankind in general using a series of characters on the keyboard, I would most definitely do so. I hate it when people make a picture of a rose utilizing the "@". There are specific uses for that symbol, and a fucking rose is not one of them. Look what happened when people started using model glue and paint thinner for the wrong reasons. Keep using the "@" for the wrong reasons, and shit is going to hit the fan, mark my words. We've got a bunch of fucking retards running around because somebody, somewhere decided it would be a fantastic idea to risk memory impairment and permanently slurred speech just so they could get high for a few seconds. Things like this greatly reduce the small amount of respect I have for humanity. Years from now, little Susie is going to want to know why Grandpa talks like he has a mouthful of mini-marshmallows. Of course, Grandma will have to answer for him, because no one can understand a damn thing that comes out of his mouth except when he says he has to shit. By then, he will have already made another unsightly brown stain in his recliner. "Well, Susie, it's tough to explain. Grandpa was just a kid, remember. He picked up a can that contained a substance to be used for one specific purpose, and used it for something else entirely. Now he can't even tell you he loves you. Your mother secretly prays to the Dark Lord daily for Grandpa's death."

I'm angry today, because I remembered something from high school. Yes, I know. It does no good to dwell on the past. Piss off. Just today, I recalled exactly how much time I wasted at the stupid damned tennis courts when I was in high school. My girlfriend at the time was a tennis player. A very poor tennis player, but that's not part of the story, really. Of course, I had to go to many tennis matches and practices. Tennis match? Is that correct? Maybe it's "tennis game". I don't know. I hate tennis. Continuing on.... I absolutely hated sitting and watching my then-girlfriend suck at tennis. There were too many stuck-up preppy cunts running around in their short skirts. Eye candy, yes. Bad tasting eye candy? Most likely. But that's not part of the story. With the girlfriend long gone now, I realize how much time was completely wasted watching the tennis matches/games/practices. Many times, you can look at wasted time, and find something that you learned during the wasted time. There has to be something worthwhile in that time somewhere. Not the time I wasted at the high school tennis courts. It was purely useless. Nothing was gained. However, something very important was lost. My time. My time is worth roughly $50 per hour. My employer doesn't understand that, though. What a waste of time it is for me to sit here and complain. But, it may be construed as entertainment for some. So, I will deem this time I am spending here as mostly wasteful. Not completely, though. I'll pretend that someone is reading this and smirking, or laughing, or complaining about me complaining, or something. React however you wish. But don't waste any more time here. Go watch some tennis on ESPN.

The road to mediocrity is lined with globe-shaped pencil sharpeners

2004-09-29T03:01:00.000-05:00

I feel drained. Too much time at work angers me. Today, however, the time spent away from home has simply left me feeling lethargic. And slightly agitated. Mostly just tired and sluggish though. Sentence fragments do not anger me at this time. I have used two thus far, but I plan on stopping. It may soon cause my emotional saucepan to boil over. It's currently simmering. At times, a rapid boil threatens to spill over the edges of the pan. This creates steam and an unpleasant sizzling sound.

Slight discomfort can be a good thing, sometimes. I enjoy music that creates that uneasy feeling somewhere between my mind and stomach. It's difficult to pinpoint exactly where this sensation originates. There is a line between my brain and a spot slightly below my stomach. Somewhere on this line, the feeling of uncertainty and discomfort begins. I feel a little awkward and apprehensive, and I like it.

The aforementioned feeling can be a bad thing, also. In the wrong situation, this phenomenon can upset me slightly. I do not like it, for instance, when a machine makes an unusual sound. The noises that a refrigerator makes late at night when everyone is sleeping are such sounds. These sounds that belch forth from the refrigerator are not meant for human ears. But it is a stupid beast, having little sense of time, and only the most rudimentary physical senses. I can sneak into the kitchen and hear that bastard machine speaking in tongues. Ghastly, terrible noises that are most likely a form of communication, meant for some other kitchen appliance. I believe that these machines can only speak to other machines in the same classification. A stereo, for example, would have no idea what the counter-top rotisserie unit was saying to it. This would never happen, though, because the machines know their limitations, and are quite content in their segregation. An exception to this law is the mighty television. It can speak to any other machine, or living being. In many homes, the television rules over all other appliances with an iron fist. This is not true of doctor's offices and other waiting rooms, though. In these areas, the illuminated exit sign which hangs from the ceiling directly over the door is unquestionably in control. Do not attempt to change this, as it will only result in bloodshed.

People

2004-09-27T04:17:00.000-05:00

People anger me. Just people in general. There are a select few, however, that annoy the hell out of me. Celebrities drive me up the wall, at times. Today, I will create a list of people that anger me:

Ryan Pinkston and his fucking catch phrase, "You likey?"
Nicole Richie
Bob Saget
All Politicians
Televangelists
Blackie Lawless (the exploding codpiece is just too much)
Udo Dirkschneider
Lars Ulrich (do i need to explain?)

The list could go on, until most every person on the face of the earth received mention. There has to be something better to do...

Please refrain from breathing.

2004-09-26T03:59:00.000-05:00

Hypocrisy angers me. No, not the band. They are fine. Sometimes a person just wants to be left the fuck alone. This is quite a reasonable wish, in my opinion. Everyone wants to be left alone sometimes. What pisses me off is when those same people that want to be left alone occasionally don't seem to understand that others have the same desire. Open your eyes, and your minds. Observe. Most of you have existed long enough to recognize the body language and signs displayed when a person is in a variety of moods. If everyone would be a bit more considerate, I would not be so angry about this dilemma. The group I label "everyone", does not exist to keep my potential anger at bay. This is unfortunate for me. A fleet of morons whose sole existence is to please me would be a wonderful thing. This weblog would not be here, if that were the case. Perhaps there would instead be a weblog of happy bunny graphics, cookie recipes, and a list of my favorite flowers, and their corresponding colors and scents. A calendar of which flower is blooming when would be a must. I have no such calendar, nor a list of flowers. In place of that, I will carefully tend a garden of hatred for the common man (and woman). Wouldn't want to discriminate, now would we?

Uninspired creation

2004-09-24T03:49:00.000-05:00

Computers malfunction. There are many reasons for this, none of which I can seem to come up with right now. Something as trivial as my blog not publishing in the font I chose, can cause me to have a temporary increase in unhappiness levels. Damn technology.

Many people make things for a living. They create. I would like to think of creation as, well, creative. This is not always true. In fact, creating can be uncreative very easily. When one creates things repetitively, for instance, it is easy to lose the sense of creativity. Paint a mural, and you've accomplished something. You can be proud of your work. Begin to paint for money, and the Promethean aspect of your work has ceased to exist. Build a sculpture from toilet paper tubes, aluminum foil, and pantyhose. That's very interesting. I think that someone with an unusual taste in art may just have an interest in your little piece of work. Don't sell it to them! Because you will then feel compelled to make another sculpture. Perhaps this time it will consist of burnt matches, an empty bottle of Mad Dog 20/20, and a broken computer mouse. It just won't feel the same, though. Because you have begun to create for the wrong reasons. I have a better idea. Hang on to your sculptures, painted walls, poems, etc. Put them in a box somewhere. Don't put the painted wall in the box though, because I just don't think that's going to work. Physics and all that, you know.

Fraudulent gaiety

2004-09-23T05:27:00.000-05:00

Upon reaching that wonderful valley of weariness and fatigue, one sometimes becomes giddy. Overwhelmed by a lack of energy, a person can find themselves in a joyous mood. High on a lack of sleep, if you will. This is artificial happiness. When I look back on periods of "slap-happiness", I am a bit perturbed. What is this? I specifically asked for the extended waking hours, super-sized with a side order of bleary-eyed agitation. I hate when my order gets screwed up. I must research this phenomenon, because it simply does not make sense. Does the body reach a point where it is so tired, that it expends all remaining energy in a last ditch effort to stay awake, only to confuse the hell out of the brain and nervous system? I wonder if I'd feel any more comfortable being a grumpy bastard when I'm tired. I'm an old man inside my head. A timeworn, wrathful, antique that doesn't want to be polished and appraised on the Antiques Roadshow. I'm like Ben Matlock, The Golden Girls, and George Burns. All wrapped up in a pissed-off, misanthropic sheet of newspaper. If I were a dog, I'd growl all day long. I just might try that anyway.

Polemic as I want to be.

2004-09-21T03:52:00.000-05:00

Yellow angers me. I don't know why, but it has been this way for quite some time. Yellow is not a color that satisfies me in the least. It's not that I haven't tried. Great effort has been displayed on my behalf to find something pleasing about the color. Alas, there is nothing. Yellow continues to anger me. I see no end to this on the horizon. An educated guess, in the form of a little bird, tells me that hope does not lie anywhere beyond the horizon, either.

Where do all the flowers come from?

2004-09-20T01:20:00.000-05:00

I'm angry. Petulance comes to mind, in a grand manner. I'm pissed off about many things, and I intend to bitch and piss and moan and complain and whine and snivel and whimper and scream and yell and lament. Yes. I will tell you what I think, and you can read. Or you can just move on and find a happier place, just pick up your fucking feet when you do it. I'm tired of hearing the shuffling of countless feet. Shoes scraping against the cement, the pavement, the gravel, dirt, whatever. Walk on the grass; it's quieter.

I'm angry because the state of popular music in America is as poor as it has ever been, if not worse. Toilet stall doors in public restrooms don't have functioning locks, and the piss and saliva create an unpleasant stickiness on the floor.

The human body requires sleep. This pisses me off immensely, and there's nothing to be done about it. There are entirely too many things to do. Too many things to have to stop and lay in the bed for hours on end, just so our bodies can continue to function. Upon waking, I question the importance of the things that have to be done. Why? Does it have to be now? I want to procrastinate, and, oddly enough, go back to sleep. This causes a laugh in deep in my chest that brings rising stomach acid to the foremost edge of my mind. It burns, and laughs aren't supposed to burn. I'm a little upset about that, also.

Soft drinks come in various containers. This does not anger me. It's convenient. What angers me is that on the 12 oz. Can, the nutrition information lists a serving as 12 oz. That sounds fair. Most people will consume an entire can of soda without putting it back in the refrigerator to drink the remainder later, only to find out that it has gone flat. 12 ounces. 12 12 12. I want that to stay right there, in your head. Now, the nutrition information on most 20 oz. Bottles lists a serving as 8 ounces. EIGHT. The same soft drink company that tells me a serving of their product is 12 ounces, is now also telling me that a serving of the same product is 8 ounces. 12 and 8 are not the same number, but the soft drink cartel wants me to believe it is. They want you to believe it, too. Or perhaps we're just not supposed to notice that discrepancy. I will tell you what I think they are trying to do. The average consumer who is watching (or pretending to watch) his/her caloric intake will look at a bottle of soda, and read the nutrition information, naturally. Unfortunately, said consumer will see the calories for a serving, and stupidly assume that if they drink the bottle, that they are receiving the number of calories in one serving. Stupidly. So, SODACORP. reduces the serving size from 12 to 8 ounces, creating the illusion that a bottle of soda doesn't really have THAT many calories. I, on the other hand, see this high fructose corn syrup-laden chicanery for exactly what it is. Trickery! Don't pull your carbonated hanky-panky with me, bastard. Do you know what? I could be 100% wrong on this subject. Maybe this is just an oversight that all the thousands of people working for the soft drink companies didn't notice. I'm sure this will be corrected in the next few hours, if that's the case.