"I don't want to permit that opportunity to happen and I'll tell you why. You go up to Bethesda Naval Hospital, Marines are up there with no legs, none. You've got Marines at Walter Reed with no limbs." -- Sen. John McCain, at the conclusion of the Senate's debate on a measure to repeal the 'Don't Ask, Don't Tell' policy of the U.S. military.
Now that Mr. McCain has won his re-election, he is simply being true to himself. When he said that he was willing to repeal the ban on open homosexuals serving after the military studied the issue, prior to the prospect of this becoming a reality, that was the actual pandering.
It is absolutely wonderful to watch a man who committed adultery, left his disabled wife, and married into a booze-fueled fortune to finance his political career still retain the audacity to question the ability of homosexuals to not entirely corrode the military's morale and effectiveness.
Maybe he should leave the Senate and go back to the military to crash some more jets and not get in any trouble for it.
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Monday, December 20, 2010
House Tricks
If I have learned anything from watching television, the holiday season is about being thankful, so here is my list of things for which I am thankful (to no one in particular).
[1] Television. Without it, I would be hopelessly unentertained.
[2] Junk food. Without it, I would be hopelessly famished.
[3] Freedom. Without it, I would be helplessly coerced.
As you can see, there is much to be appreciative for, and the existence of entertainment, sustenance, and free will in my decision making is a cause for celebration. I go on to share my list of thanks with the strange creatures that inhabit my home, through the most simple method of communication possible (the classic 'sticky note on the refrigerator' routine). Could you believe that they would respond simply by setting fire to the backyard? My vegetable patch – ruined.
I am trying to determine what, exactly, would possess these people – or maybe it was just one of them, acting alone – to react to a positive “fridge note” in such a destructive (not to mention expensive) manner. Sure, I knew about the psychopaths when I signed the lease, but I thought they were relatively cool... you know, the sort of folks who wouldn't just go setting fires to deliberately placed piles of trash all over a meticulously nurtured personal garden. Like many unsuspecting hard workers who are foolish and desperate enough to trust hipsters, I got burned.
Well, I have made up my mind. I will not be buying these ungrateful, unreasonable people any Christmas presents at all. Nor shall I put up any decorations, and I certainly will not prepare my annual fresh vegetable stew. Instead, I will level with them: if they are to trash my patch, I will invite my old 'friends' from 'school' over for a 'few' carefree drinks.
That didn't turn out to be the best idea, although the first thing the landlord noticed was the evident fire in the backyard, which I explained clearly was not my fault, unless perhaps indirectly if my happy fridge note inspired the violence, but the landlord did not seem interested in the finer details. I did not get the bond money back. Right before I was evicted, the eggnog in the fridge went off, but I drank it anyway, and threw my guts up all over the streets as I wandered around asking people for spare change. Merry Christmas.
[1] Television. Without it, I would be hopelessly unentertained.
[2] Junk food. Without it, I would be hopelessly famished.
[3] Freedom. Without it, I would be helplessly coerced.
As you can see, there is much to be appreciative for, and the existence of entertainment, sustenance, and free will in my decision making is a cause for celebration. I go on to share my list of thanks with the strange creatures that inhabit my home, through the most simple method of communication possible (the classic 'sticky note on the refrigerator' routine). Could you believe that they would respond simply by setting fire to the backyard? My vegetable patch – ruined.
I am trying to determine what, exactly, would possess these people – or maybe it was just one of them, acting alone – to react to a positive “fridge note” in such a destructive (not to mention expensive) manner. Sure, I knew about the psychopaths when I signed the lease, but I thought they were relatively cool... you know, the sort of folks who wouldn't just go setting fires to deliberately placed piles of trash all over a meticulously nurtured personal garden. Like many unsuspecting hard workers who are foolish and desperate enough to trust hipsters, I got burned.
Well, I have made up my mind. I will not be buying these ungrateful, unreasonable people any Christmas presents at all. Nor shall I put up any decorations, and I certainly will not prepare my annual fresh vegetable stew. Instead, I will level with them: if they are to trash my patch, I will invite my old 'friends' from 'school' over for a 'few' carefree drinks.
That didn't turn out to be the best idea, although the first thing the landlord noticed was the evident fire in the backyard, which I explained clearly was not my fault, unless perhaps indirectly if my happy fridge note inspired the violence, but the landlord did not seem interested in the finer details. I did not get the bond money back. Right before I was evicted, the eggnog in the fridge went off, but I drank it anyway, and threw my guts up all over the streets as I wandered around asking people for spare change. Merry Christmas.
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Tips for Avoiding Holiday Disaster
When engaging in yuletide festivities, people often neglect basic protocols of safety in lieu of acting like completely uncivilised wankers. Today we will be examining a few hints and suggestions to prevent anything from ruining your Christmas celebrations.
COOKING
Everyone loves an extravagant holiday feast, but we can be fairly confident that people enjoy their livelihoods more. It is definitely not unheard of for an oven's contents to spontaneously combust, causing your meal to turn into ashed shit. Even worse, your house could be completely enveloped in the flames as well, ensuring the loss of your precious possessions and a hefty increase in your life insurance premiums.
The most obvious solution, of course, is to simply get take-out, but many people insist on a traditional homemade dinner. If you do feel that this is a necessary part of your holiday ritual, you would be well advised to cook as much as you can outside rather than inside. Sure, turkey tastes great, but is it really worth not having a kitchen anymore?
INEVITABLE FAMILIAL CONFLICT
Potentially even worse than your house burning down is the prospect of your family hating you forever because of the inappropriate comments you had the audacity to bring up during dinner. For example, take note of the following conversation:
Your Uncle: Wow, it's great to see you! How have you been?
You: After a long period of heavy soul searching, I have finally come to the conclusion that religion pertains very little relevance to my life. Last week I had an audition for a pornographic film, which I thought went quite well.
Your Uncle: Perhaps you will enjoy burning in the lake of fire for all of eternity, you blasphemous little shit.
For most of us, it is easy to see where you went wrong, but it might not be so easy for you. So, to summarise, when your uncle asks you how your life is going, you definitely do not mention your recent deconversion and subsequent foray into the sex industry. Instead, try this:
Your Uncle: Wow, it's great to see you! How have you been?
You: Great! Between my volunteer work winning souls for Christ at First Baptist and my role as financial director for the downtown soup kitchen, I hardly even have time to look at women lustfully!
Your Uncle: Well, at least they're keeping you busy then.
Crisis averted, and the best part is that your dipshit uncle will never come visit the soup kitchen to see you in action at your alleged place of employment, because he hates poor people far too much to ever enter an area so urban. It's a win-win situation.
DRIVING
It should go without saying that driving and alcohol do not mix. In the spirit of harm reduction, however, if you must drink and drive, you should preferably stick to hard liquor. Beer and wine may leave you feeling bloated, causing you to make unnecessary driving stops to urinate on the side of the road. Nobody likes to see that.
SETTING UP YOUR CHRISTMAS TREE
It's probably best to not bother with a Christmas tree at all, as they often attract wild animals with extremely contagious and fatal diseases. Rather than give you advice on how to prevent these animals from finding your house, we will jump straight into how to treat your guaranteed rabid infection after you stubbornly insisted on having a Christmas tree.
Your tree will be covered in cheap plastic decorations and candy canes, all while providing a sweet scent which is totally irresistible to badgers, squirrels, mad dogs, and so on, all of which definitely have rabies, herpes, and influenza. You will get all of these things.
Rabies: foaming at the mouth, a faint and dizzy feeling with the inexplicably overbearing suspicion that something terrible is about to happen - and it is, because there is no way to get to the hospital in time after a rabid skunk breaks into your beloved home and begins infecting your children.
Herpes: normally this would be a devastating diagnosis for anyone, but when you acquire it from the crazed small animal which is presently nesting underneath your Christmas tree, your situation is especially hopeless. The only cure is suicide.
Influenza: consult your physician and/or have a delicious fruit smoothie.
That's all for today. Join us next time for more tips on how to avoid an entirely horrendous holiday season!
COOKING
Everyone loves an extravagant holiday feast, but we can be fairly confident that people enjoy their livelihoods more. It is definitely not unheard of for an oven's contents to spontaneously combust, causing your meal to turn into ashed shit. Even worse, your house could be completely enveloped in the flames as well, ensuring the loss of your precious possessions and a hefty increase in your life insurance premiums.
The most obvious solution, of course, is to simply get take-out, but many people insist on a traditional homemade dinner. If you do feel that this is a necessary part of your holiday ritual, you would be well advised to cook as much as you can outside rather than inside. Sure, turkey tastes great, but is it really worth not having a kitchen anymore?
INEVITABLE FAMILIAL CONFLICT
Potentially even worse than your house burning down is the prospect of your family hating you forever because of the inappropriate comments you had the audacity to bring up during dinner. For example, take note of the following conversation:
Your Uncle: Wow, it's great to see you! How have you been?
You: After a long period of heavy soul searching, I have finally come to the conclusion that religion pertains very little relevance to my life. Last week I had an audition for a pornographic film, which I thought went quite well.
Your Uncle: Perhaps you will enjoy burning in the lake of fire for all of eternity, you blasphemous little shit.
For most of us, it is easy to see where you went wrong, but it might not be so easy for you. So, to summarise, when your uncle asks you how your life is going, you definitely do not mention your recent deconversion and subsequent foray into the sex industry. Instead, try this:
Your Uncle: Wow, it's great to see you! How have you been?
You: Great! Between my volunteer work winning souls for Christ at First Baptist and my role as financial director for the downtown soup kitchen, I hardly even have time to look at women lustfully!
Your Uncle: Well, at least they're keeping you busy then.
Crisis averted, and the best part is that your dipshit uncle will never come visit the soup kitchen to see you in action at your alleged place of employment, because he hates poor people far too much to ever enter an area so urban. It's a win-win situation.
DRIVING
It should go without saying that driving and alcohol do not mix. In the spirit of harm reduction, however, if you must drink and drive, you should preferably stick to hard liquor. Beer and wine may leave you feeling bloated, causing you to make unnecessary driving stops to urinate on the side of the road. Nobody likes to see that.
SETTING UP YOUR CHRISTMAS TREE
It's probably best to not bother with a Christmas tree at all, as they often attract wild animals with extremely contagious and fatal diseases. Rather than give you advice on how to prevent these animals from finding your house, we will jump straight into how to treat your guaranteed rabid infection after you stubbornly insisted on having a Christmas tree.
Your tree will be covered in cheap plastic decorations and candy canes, all while providing a sweet scent which is totally irresistible to badgers, squirrels, mad dogs, and so on, all of which definitely have rabies, herpes, and influenza. You will get all of these things.
Rabies: foaming at the mouth, a faint and dizzy feeling with the inexplicably overbearing suspicion that something terrible is about to happen - and it is, because there is no way to get to the hospital in time after a rabid skunk breaks into your beloved home and begins infecting your children.
Herpes: normally this would be a devastating diagnosis for anyone, but when you acquire it from the crazed small animal which is presently nesting underneath your Christmas tree, your situation is especially hopeless. The only cure is suicide.
Influenza: consult your physician and/or have a delicious fruit smoothie.
That's all for today. Join us next time for more tips on how to avoid an entirely horrendous holiday season!
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Arguing with the Powers that Be
It is the one who is without fault who should throw the first stone, and despite having never actually done anything wrong, ever, I feel the need to examine the decision to execute cautiously. The scriptures mandate this penalty, and though I agree it is just, my opinions should have no bearing on the will of the mighty deity that reigns from above. This being noted, however, the person in question happens to be a good friend of mine, and as the only sinless person presently alive in Precinct 76, I cannot recuse myself from this application of justice due to an alleged conflict of interest.
The reflection does not cease, however, and more and more I begin to question the divine plan, potentially jeopardising my own sinless status. You see, Richard, or Ritchie, as I called him, was more than just an old school buddy; no, we had deep conversations about philosophy and stuff, and he was very capable of processing the most boggling theological questions and holding his own in an impassioned debate. Throwing rocks and shards of glass at this guy seems kind of messed up.
So what did Richard do that warrants this ultimate penalty, you may ask? What heinous crime did he commit that justifies such a harsh reaction? It all started one day in 2007, when Richard was taking funds from others' investment accounts he managed, in the hope of turning them into quick profits so that he could restore the accounts to their original balance, unbeknown to his clients, while capitalising on the successes. This alone would warrant five years in the county jail, but Richard was also eating a sandwich. A human sandwich.
Now, in a community like this, it doesn't matter whether you bought that stuff on the black market or if you killed someone just to eat their flesh; no, that is a really messed up, punishable offence and the Lord would have none of my protests were I naïve enough to lodge them. What is a sinless executioner to do? I was provided with the opportunity to have lunch with Richard before the execution, but I declined. I felt it inappropriate to humanise him further when I knew that I could not carry out the wishes of anyone but the heavenly father.
The execution was a solemn event, and only his older brother showed up to mourn his loss, and to nab half of the remaining funds in Richard's bank account, as well as estate and asset related money, the other half of which went to the local government, as is customary with executions. I signed off on the stoning, certifying that it had been performed according to standard procedure with no problems, without breaking a sweat and then went back to my shack to enjoy some iced tea.
The reflection does not cease, however, and more and more I begin to question the divine plan, potentially jeopardising my own sinless status. You see, Richard, or Ritchie, as I called him, was more than just an old school buddy; no, we had deep conversations about philosophy and stuff, and he was very capable of processing the most boggling theological questions and holding his own in an impassioned debate. Throwing rocks and shards of glass at this guy seems kind of messed up.
So what did Richard do that warrants this ultimate penalty, you may ask? What heinous crime did he commit that justifies such a harsh reaction? It all started one day in 2007, when Richard was taking funds from others' investment accounts he managed, in the hope of turning them into quick profits so that he could restore the accounts to their original balance, unbeknown to his clients, while capitalising on the successes. This alone would warrant five years in the county jail, but Richard was also eating a sandwich. A human sandwich.
Now, in a community like this, it doesn't matter whether you bought that stuff on the black market or if you killed someone just to eat their flesh; no, that is a really messed up, punishable offence and the Lord would have none of my protests were I naïve enough to lodge them. What is a sinless executioner to do? I was provided with the opportunity to have lunch with Richard before the execution, but I declined. I felt it inappropriate to humanise him further when I knew that I could not carry out the wishes of anyone but the heavenly father.
The execution was a solemn event, and only his older brother showed up to mourn his loss, and to nab half of the remaining funds in Richard's bank account, as well as estate and asset related money, the other half of which went to the local government, as is customary with executions. I signed off on the stoning, certifying that it had been performed according to standard procedure with no problems, without breaking a sweat and then went back to my shack to enjoy some iced tea.
Friday, October 8, 2010
To Forget Everything, For a Little While
He is trapped in the haze, compulsively answering to its whims and firmly establishing each day the nature of the grip. Innately aware of the damage it is doing, he continues, resiliently, creating justifications to remain in the hold so that he may forget everything, for a little while, for just a little bit longer. It is not an especially productive pursuit, but it is time consuming, usually to the detriment of his surroundings and the things that are important to him. If only, he dreams, he could finally run away from everything completely, and then there would be no need to block everything out. Little can he even comprehend the excuses that will begin to flourish should such a radical idea ever be enacted into reality. Little could he imagine just how badly he wants to forget everything, no matter far away he gets from it all. If he has truly forgotten one thing, it is that his problems are bigger than the mere fact that he is trying to escape from them.
No longer remembering the things that really matter seems to be the most prolific side effect, but sometimes he gains a slight nudge in the right direction, recalling what this is really all about. Such epiphanies are short lived and their mere mention out loud only further contributes to his long, steady decrease in credibility, as he is always the first person to forget them. The trust begins to evaporate, and as a result, so does enjoyment; the expectation of looming ostracisation becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy, and then nothing begins to matter at all – other than the pressing need to forget about everything, straight away... if only for a little while, for just a little bit longer.
What about people with real problems – extreme poverty, lack of access to medical care? He knows that others in the world face these issues, and he can forget about that too, as he indulges and listens to songs that he has heard hundreds of times before, in their own way functioning as a comforting distraction from whatever it was that seemed to be ailing him in the first place. Soon, nothing else is left, as the time passes quicker and moments of fortune are mere blips, positive things that may or may not have happened. He feels there is nothing left to do but continue his vain effort to throw it all away, and so he will.
More and more, he realises how detached he has become, and continues to go purposelessly through the motions, lamenting on all of the possibilities of a content existence that he threw away with one reckless decision or a careless thought. He amuses himself, passing time considering at which exact moment he fucked everything up completely, examining the ever-growing list of recollections and ranking them by severity. As his memories return, he only feels angry; angrier than he has felt in years. He considers all of the suppressed emotions, a trait he picked up in his youth, and how anger seemed to be the only one which was capable of passing through his rigid filters, wreaking havoc without regard for potential consequences. Now the anger seems to be unreasonably intense, and he wonders what he was trying to achieve. In no substantial period of time, things are back to normal, and all of the lists torn up and thrown away; the thoughts pushed away such a distance that they might never return. The whole exercise has taught him a valuable lesson: he had royally screwed up his life eons ago and possessed no choice but to remain a deadbeat. And so he would be, and if he was lucky; if he tried hard enough, maybe he really could manage to forget about everything for a little while, and then, hopefully, forget about it forever.
No longer remembering the things that really matter seems to be the most prolific side effect, but sometimes he gains a slight nudge in the right direction, recalling what this is really all about. Such epiphanies are short lived and their mere mention out loud only further contributes to his long, steady decrease in credibility, as he is always the first person to forget them. The trust begins to evaporate, and as a result, so does enjoyment; the expectation of looming ostracisation becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy, and then nothing begins to matter at all – other than the pressing need to forget about everything, straight away... if only for a little while, for just a little bit longer.
What about people with real problems – extreme poverty, lack of access to medical care? He knows that others in the world face these issues, and he can forget about that too, as he indulges and listens to songs that he has heard hundreds of times before, in their own way functioning as a comforting distraction from whatever it was that seemed to be ailing him in the first place. Soon, nothing else is left, as the time passes quicker and moments of fortune are mere blips, positive things that may or may not have happened. He feels there is nothing left to do but continue his vain effort to throw it all away, and so he will.
More and more, he realises how detached he has become, and continues to go purposelessly through the motions, lamenting on all of the possibilities of a content existence that he threw away with one reckless decision or a careless thought. He amuses himself, passing time considering at which exact moment he fucked everything up completely, examining the ever-growing list of recollections and ranking them by severity. As his memories return, he only feels angry; angrier than he has felt in years. He considers all of the suppressed emotions, a trait he picked up in his youth, and how anger seemed to be the only one which was capable of passing through his rigid filters, wreaking havoc without regard for potential consequences. Now the anger seems to be unreasonably intense, and he wonders what he was trying to achieve. In no substantial period of time, things are back to normal, and all of the lists torn up and thrown away; the thoughts pushed away such a distance that they might never return. The whole exercise has taught him a valuable lesson: he had royally screwed up his life eons ago and possessed no choice but to remain a deadbeat. And so he would be, and if he was lucky; if he tried hard enough, maybe he really could manage to forget about everything for a little while, and then, hopefully, forget about it forever.
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Pieces to the Puzzle
Polling Services Incorporated
After a careful consideration of the opinions offered by fourteen participants, we have been able to deduce a shocking result for the question, 'Does this beard look like a desperate attempt at trying to be Amish?' (All fourteen participants were shown different pictures of beards.) With a margin of error of 35.3%, 77% of respondents said yes, while 23% were undecided. In an even more stunning result, 53.7% of respondents suggested that they held a favorable view of late Iraqi dictator Saddam Hussein. This could be a result of confusion with the United States President, B. Hussein Obama, suggested R. Lithgow, who is an undergraduate at the Community College of Boise, Idaho.
Five Ways to Cook a Trash Bin
1. Fry it
2. Grill it
3. Oven that shit
4. Eat it raw
5. Who the hell contractually obligated us to come up with five ways to "cook" a trash bin? This is bullshit.
How to Ruin a Perfectly Fresh Pair of Socks
And no, we are not discussing the most obvious and literal solution to this conundrum, which is to lose one sock: wear them ten days in a row, or until they develop dark brown-gray crusting on the entire underneath, and then wash them. You can even wash them again, and it won't matter!
Ode to the Devil
Throughout my many crises, it had been to you whom I turned for affirmation. Removing the fog, I can now see how this was a friendship of placation. Unable to consider interests other than your own, you sought animosity and strife; the actions of yours, not worth mentioning, make me wonder how you sustain your own life. Surely people of such arrogance could not wield influence or command respect. Surely creatures of such transparent degeneracy would, rather, be treated as a lowly insect. But I look around and I consider the people who appear to be in control; they bear strikingly similar characteristics, and then I just want to crawl into a hole.
The Radical Alternative Lifestyle
Pdiddy85: LOL, I called Freddy and asked if he wanted to come to the library, and he said “yeah, I just have to finish breakfast.” ...It's nearly 1pm.
Jhostile06: hah
Pdiddy85: Seriously, I mean even if I slept in that late... I would still call it lunch.
Jhostile06: well you do seem to like things the old fashioned way
Pdiddy85: What's that supposed to mean?
Jhostile06: oh, nothing
Jhostile06: have you tried energy drinks yet?
Pdiddy85: I had three sips of Red Bull last week, but it was so sweet. Ick.
Jhostile06: thats ok, the coke isnt as sweet
Pdiddy85: Come on man, this is only my junior year. I haven't even tried to make a move on that girl in chemistry yet, and you expect me to start dabbling in that rubbish?
Jhostile07: look, pete, buddy
Jhostile07: im from the future
Jhostile07: and you are gonna get pretty messed up... pretty shortly
Pdiddy85: Not only do I not appreciate your online trickery, I am offended by the sentiment that I would feel the need to abuse my body in such a way as you suggest.
Jhostile06: oh brother, im finishing my breakfast and then going back to bed.
After a careful consideration of the opinions offered by fourteen participants, we have been able to deduce a shocking result for the question, 'Does this beard look like a desperate attempt at trying to be Amish?' (All fourteen participants were shown different pictures of beards.) With a margin of error of 35.3%, 77% of respondents said yes, while 23% were undecided. In an even more stunning result, 53.7% of respondents suggested that they held a favorable view of late Iraqi dictator Saddam Hussein. This could be a result of confusion with the United States President, B. Hussein Obama, suggested R. Lithgow, who is an undergraduate at the Community College of Boise, Idaho.
Five Ways to Cook a Trash Bin
1. Fry it
2. Grill it
3. Oven that shit
4. Eat it raw
5. Who the hell contractually obligated us to come up with five ways to "cook" a trash bin? This is bullshit.
How to Ruin a Perfectly Fresh Pair of Socks
And no, we are not discussing the most obvious and literal solution to this conundrum, which is to lose one sock: wear them ten days in a row, or until they develop dark brown-gray crusting on the entire underneath, and then wash them. You can even wash them again, and it won't matter!
Ode to the Devil
Throughout my many crises, it had been to you whom I turned for affirmation. Removing the fog, I can now see how this was a friendship of placation. Unable to consider interests other than your own, you sought animosity and strife; the actions of yours, not worth mentioning, make me wonder how you sustain your own life. Surely people of such arrogance could not wield influence or command respect. Surely creatures of such transparent degeneracy would, rather, be treated as a lowly insect. But I look around and I consider the people who appear to be in control; they bear strikingly similar characteristics, and then I just want to crawl into a hole.
The Radical Alternative Lifestyle
Pdiddy85: LOL, I called Freddy and asked if he wanted to come to the library, and he said “yeah, I just have to finish breakfast.” ...It's nearly 1pm.
Jhostile06: hah
Pdiddy85: Seriously, I mean even if I slept in that late... I would still call it lunch.
Jhostile06: well you do seem to like things the old fashioned way
Pdiddy85: What's that supposed to mean?
Jhostile06: oh, nothing
Jhostile06: have you tried energy drinks yet?
Pdiddy85: I had three sips of Red Bull last week, but it was so sweet. Ick.
Jhostile06: thats ok, the coke isnt as sweet
Pdiddy85: Come on man, this is only my junior year. I haven't even tried to make a move on that girl in chemistry yet, and you expect me to start dabbling in that rubbish?
Jhostile07: look, pete, buddy
Jhostile07: im from the future
Jhostile07: and you are gonna get pretty messed up... pretty shortly
Pdiddy85: Not only do I not appreciate your online trickery, I am offended by the sentiment that I would feel the need to abuse my body in such a way as you suggest.
Jhostile06: oh brother, im finishing my breakfast and then going back to bed.
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
High-Speed Trials and Tribulations
Germaine walked out of the restaurant having lost, once again, his body in a slump as he kicked dirt, scuffing his way to the car. He was looking for something better than all of this; an avenue of recreation that brought about true satisfaction. He drove home, and got down to his knees on the driveway after he closed his door. Looking to the heavens above, he sought forgiveness for his transgressions and pleaded for mercy.
That is when the Angel Radcliffe appeared before him, and calmly explained that the Lord's benefits had been capped due to excessive demand, and that there were not enough members of the heavenly staff to facilitate the full-scale operations that some civilians have been demanding. “We'll put you in for the best slot I have available, which means I might be able to get back to you next week.”
Poor Germaine waited four long, depressing weeks before he heard back from the Angel Radcliffe, who said that a cheque in the mail was forthcoming and that “everything is going to be fine, although you should probably be looking for a new source of income, to be honest with you, since we cut off the money after four weeks.” Four measly weeks of spiritual assistance, after a lurid wait of the same length, where Germaine actually had to begin eating his cat litter?
Those four weeks flew by pretty darn quickly – a lot faster than the four prior, needless to say – and then Germaine was again on his knees, and this time the Angel Radcliffe was even less sympathetic to the noble cause. “Look, buddy, we can only help you out for so long. Now, if you behave, and start earning some of your own freakin' cash, and donate at least ten percent of it to the church, you can start living like that again after you die, all right?” Germaine felt a little confused, and decided to sell his car, which he was not able to legally use in the first place.
After pulling a so-called 'runner' on a taxi to the casino, Germaine pulled his usual trick of what essentially amounts to robbing old, drunk men for money to buy his way into high-stakes games. The drinks are plentiful, sometimes supplied by stolen funds, and often conveniently provided by other, friendly gamblers who are hoping to intoxicate the competition. The exhilaration of nearly winning seven grand in some ways beats the sensation of actually winning it, until we start rationally considering the financial ramifications of such a victory. Such cynicism is hardly helpful in a lifestyle such as this; 'easy come, easy go.'
That is when the Angel Radcliffe appeared before him, and calmly explained that the Lord's benefits had been capped due to excessive demand, and that there were not enough members of the heavenly staff to facilitate the full-scale operations that some civilians have been demanding. “We'll put you in for the best slot I have available, which means I might be able to get back to you next week.”
Poor Germaine waited four long, depressing weeks before he heard back from the Angel Radcliffe, who said that a cheque in the mail was forthcoming and that “everything is going to be fine, although you should probably be looking for a new source of income, to be honest with you, since we cut off the money after four weeks.” Four measly weeks of spiritual assistance, after a lurid wait of the same length, where Germaine actually had to begin eating his cat litter?
Those four weeks flew by pretty darn quickly – a lot faster than the four prior, needless to say – and then Germaine was again on his knees, and this time the Angel Radcliffe was even less sympathetic to the noble cause. “Look, buddy, we can only help you out for so long. Now, if you behave, and start earning some of your own freakin' cash, and donate at least ten percent of it to the church, you can start living like that again after you die, all right?” Germaine felt a little confused, and decided to sell his car, which he was not able to legally use in the first place.
After pulling a so-called 'runner' on a taxi to the casino, Germaine pulled his usual trick of what essentially amounts to robbing old, drunk men for money to buy his way into high-stakes games. The drinks are plentiful, sometimes supplied by stolen funds, and often conveniently provided by other, friendly gamblers who are hoping to intoxicate the competition. The exhilaration of nearly winning seven grand in some ways beats the sensation of actually winning it, until we start rationally considering the financial ramifications of such a victory. Such cynicism is hardly helpful in a lifestyle such as this; 'easy come, easy go.'
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)