Okay, who shat in the sink? This kind of atmosphere is really interfering with my attempts to stay positive, especially because I have a weak stomach and so I threw up on the feces and now I'm just avoiding the bathroom completely. I did turn on the faucet, of course, but the job was hardly thorough and I am concerned that I cannot go back to clean it without triggering horrible sickness and panic attacks.
There is good news, though. I have been trying to come up with some all week, so here it is: I've vacuumed all of my clothing and I've ironed the carpet, even stepped into the shower (in the other bathroom) to have a nice rinse, and by George, I am feeling clean as a whistle. Like the sort of whistle that your dalmatian plays with repeatedly throughout the afternoon as it hopes to discern which category of food the whistle falls into. The sort of whistle that they find in a dead guy's rectum who is found alone in their apartment, hanging from a rope and clearly engaging in distasteful, lustful activities at the time of their unfortunate demise. Well, maybe a little bit cleaner than that. I am skeptical, since giant chunks of black shit keep falling out of my hair, and there are strange lumps all over my forehead which have made me reevaluate the wisdom of hats. No amount of scrubbing and brushing can provide the solution to this particular malaise.
Maybe I need to change the routine. I realized I was going blind shortly after my driver's license was revoked, and the deafness has been at bay for years, manifesting itself with an incrementalist approach which fucks with me constantly, since I can barely hear anything at all now. The hand shakes are so debilitating that I am unable to hold stable employment. Doctor Gregory Ross says there is nothing I can do, and suggested that I increase my alcohol intake. Now, I pay Dr. Ross a handsome fee for his salient medical advice, but I think I am going to try something else. In fact, I have reached my decision. I am going to be an Olympic swimmer.
The first problem, of course, is going to be not drowning. I am going to get some swimming lessons to start with, and then work my way up the ladder until I am competing in the greatest of events, barely staving off the total blindness and deafness, and I don't think the hand shakes will really matter, although I guess it is kind of embarrassing when you receive the trophy. This is only a minor nuisance, and I will certainly be 'saying cheese', in a ridiculously enthusiastic pose, as the photographers blind me further in their vicious flash attack. Finally, something to look forward to.
The newspaper suggested a number of teachers, and I chose the one with the funniest name (Yolanda Hollandaise), who to my surprise had extremely poor English, which was not really what I had been expecting. I brushed aside my concerns only so temporarily, learning that her fees were not enough to cover entry into any respectable community swimming pools, and we would be learning in the Essex-Hudson Dumpster River; one of the isolated spots where the beavers engage in their role playing of Civil War battles. It is a pretty creepy place, and it smells worse than my sink. Three hours and one rejected pass later, we drove back to Starbucks to enjoy a couple of decaf macchiatos, and then called it a day. The Olympic swimming thing? Damn, I'll have to think about it for a couple of weeks, while I explore some other, more potentially feasible options. It looks like someone else cleaned up the shit-puke, which means I can wash away the traitorous Confederate fur from my filthy likeness. It is going to be a long night.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Saturday, September 25, 2010
Untimely Entitlement
Are you focusing on Christmas yet? In heaven, and the North Pole, and in Oklahoma, folks are already getting pretty rowdy at the prospect of the trees and the presents and the roast turkeys and the carols and the rolling good times. But... oh, it hasn't even occurred to you, has it? Here are a number of things you should be worrying about right now!
What are you going to get your boss? Your boss cares about you a lot – after all, they enable your lifestyle like few others ever could, by directly or indirectly providing you with your income. Now is the time to show your appreciation by giving a little bit of that income back to them, because they have truthfully earned it, through their own spirit of generosity (which lasts all year, and not just Christmas). Your boss has feelings, too! Make sure to incorporate these feelings heavily into your holiday planning, lest your workplace relations sour and your life becomes an unbearable clusterfuck of barely restrained incivility.
How are you going to decorate the exterior of your home? Christmas lights blazing from the outside of your lovely suburban home can become a giant competition, and you can win not only by having an outrageous lights display, but by putting it up and blasting the electricity every night starting a good three months early! If you live in the 'right' kind of place, you will have already been beaten by someone in your neighborhood before reading this column. Fuck global warming – this is Christmas we're talking about.
Where are you doing your holiday shopping? Have you even begun scouting out for the best prices, or do you simply not care about saving the most money you possibly can? You will probably care a lot more when you have to pull your kids out of private schools and start cooking at home. Imagine the shame as you walk to your car from the grocery store carrying baked beans and pasta, which you then have to prepare in your kitchen. People will see you from out the windows of their fancy restaurants, enjoying top grade food and relaxing in comfortable chairs, and at best, utilize you for a passing thought of pity. At worst, you will inspire them to ignite their own prejudices against the poor by becoming active in their local chapter of the Republican-Tea Party. Prevent this by collecting coupons excessively, and bargaining your way into lower prices (see 'Making Compelling Arguments').
When are you going to kick your kids out of home? Okay, let's get serious for a minute here. Before you can put up those impressive lights, which no one would even begin to assume you are using as a method of compensating for deficits in other areas of your personal life, you should probably have a conversation with your adult children, who are still leeching off you in ways that you never envisioned when you were their age, and who will be expecting gluttonous amounts of food, alcohol, and presents when the season begins to roll around. Simple solution. Kick 'em out. If they start to get bitchy about it – expecting some kind of hand-out, or acting like they are entitled to something – threaten to get a restraining order, and then do so if the threat is not enough. My twelve year old was unwilling to leave at the prospect of a restraining order, so I had to simply get one. Their life is a lot more difficult now, but not everyone gets to learn things the easy way.
What are you going to get your boss? Your boss cares about you a lot – after all, they enable your lifestyle like few others ever could, by directly or indirectly providing you with your income. Now is the time to show your appreciation by giving a little bit of that income back to them, because they have truthfully earned it, through their own spirit of generosity (which lasts all year, and not just Christmas). Your boss has feelings, too! Make sure to incorporate these feelings heavily into your holiday planning, lest your workplace relations sour and your life becomes an unbearable clusterfuck of barely restrained incivility.
How are you going to decorate the exterior of your home? Christmas lights blazing from the outside of your lovely suburban home can become a giant competition, and you can win not only by having an outrageous lights display, but by putting it up and blasting the electricity every night starting a good three months early! If you live in the 'right' kind of place, you will have already been beaten by someone in your neighborhood before reading this column. Fuck global warming – this is Christmas we're talking about.
Where are you doing your holiday shopping? Have you even begun scouting out for the best prices, or do you simply not care about saving the most money you possibly can? You will probably care a lot more when you have to pull your kids out of private schools and start cooking at home. Imagine the shame as you walk to your car from the grocery store carrying baked beans and pasta, which you then have to prepare in your kitchen. People will see you from out the windows of their fancy restaurants, enjoying top grade food and relaxing in comfortable chairs, and at best, utilize you for a passing thought of pity. At worst, you will inspire them to ignite their own prejudices against the poor by becoming active in their local chapter of the Republican-Tea Party. Prevent this by collecting coupons excessively, and bargaining your way into lower prices (see 'Making Compelling Arguments').
When are you going to kick your kids out of home? Okay, let's get serious for a minute here. Before you can put up those impressive lights, which no one would even begin to assume you are using as a method of compensating for deficits in other areas of your personal life, you should probably have a conversation with your adult children, who are still leeching off you in ways that you never envisioned when you were their age, and who will be expecting gluttonous amounts of food, alcohol, and presents when the season begins to roll around. Simple solution. Kick 'em out. If they start to get bitchy about it – expecting some kind of hand-out, or acting like they are entitled to something – threaten to get a restraining order, and then do so if the threat is not enough. My twelve year old was unwilling to leave at the prospect of a restraining order, so I had to simply get one. Their life is a lot more difficult now, but not everyone gets to learn things the easy way.
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Knocking on Heaven's Door
Treating paralysis: Position person on bed if they are not on one already. Pour one tall glass of sarsaparilla, seasoned with fresh ice cubes. Splash on face, then pull person to the ground, begin stomping them in the loins, and then drag them by their hair or arm, whichever produces more pain, across the floor and out into the concrete steps (where you will hear a number of satisfying thumps) until throwing them into the nearby dumpster for the ambulance and/or garbage collector.
Obscuring mosquito bites: Create a solution that is one part water, one part virgin's blood, and one part emu oil moisturizing lotion. Add two tablespoons of brown sugar as well as the finely crushed leaves of gypsophila paniculata, which should be handled with bare fingers at all times until placement into the solution. Stir thoroughly and let sit for three minutes. Take two drops of the stirred solution and pour over bite, before rubbing gently. Repeat for any remaining bites; drink what is left of the solution as it cannot be left out.
Kicking the habit: Remove everything in your home that reminds you of your addiction, preferably by flushing these items down the toilet, unless you regularly succumb to the hedonistic pleasures of psychedelic toad licking, in which case you should probably contact your local animal shelter. Delete dealers and users from your phone, stock up on good books and movies that you are comfortable watching, and then pre-heat your oven to 230 degrees. Set your timer for thirty minutes. After you have enjoyed an episode of a familiar favourite television program, and maybe snacked out a little on a piece of fruit (although this is unlikely), you will return to the oven. Open it and place your body in the oven, slowly and carefully so as to fit comfortably. If you are unable to fit, or close the door on your own, you may want to have a friend to help you.
Buying a home: Ask your real estate agent if you can take them out to lunch, insisting if necessary. Place laxatives in their beverage; when they return from their resulting bathroom visit, insinuate to them that they have been seriously poisoned and that you will only cure them if they are willing to lower the price of the home that you have nearly been conned into purchasing as though you were just any random idiot from the streets so desperate to buy a home that you would settle for any ridiculous deal. If he is not game, take him back to the bathroom and give him a wedgie; make sure to leave him in a positioning which renders him astounding difficulty in getting up, so that you have enough time to leave the restaurant without paying.
Obscuring mosquito bites: Create a solution that is one part water, one part virgin's blood, and one part emu oil moisturizing lotion. Add two tablespoons of brown sugar as well as the finely crushed leaves of gypsophila paniculata, which should be handled with bare fingers at all times until placement into the solution. Stir thoroughly and let sit for three minutes. Take two drops of the stirred solution and pour over bite, before rubbing gently. Repeat for any remaining bites; drink what is left of the solution as it cannot be left out.
Kicking the habit: Remove everything in your home that reminds you of your addiction, preferably by flushing these items down the toilet, unless you regularly succumb to the hedonistic pleasures of psychedelic toad licking, in which case you should probably contact your local animal shelter. Delete dealers and users from your phone, stock up on good books and movies that you are comfortable watching, and then pre-heat your oven to 230 degrees. Set your timer for thirty minutes. After you have enjoyed an episode of a familiar favourite television program, and maybe snacked out a little on a piece of fruit (although this is unlikely), you will return to the oven. Open it and place your body in the oven, slowly and carefully so as to fit comfortably. If you are unable to fit, or close the door on your own, you may want to have a friend to help you.
Buying a home: Ask your real estate agent if you can take them out to lunch, insisting if necessary. Place laxatives in their beverage; when they return from their resulting bathroom visit, insinuate to them that they have been seriously poisoned and that you will only cure them if they are willing to lower the price of the home that you have nearly been conned into purchasing as though you were just any random idiot from the streets so desperate to buy a home that you would settle for any ridiculous deal. If he is not game, take him back to the bathroom and give him a wedgie; make sure to leave him in a positioning which renders him astounding difficulty in getting up, so that you have enough time to leave the restaurant without paying.
Monday, September 20, 2010
Blind Spot: Black Hole
W.R.T.: Don't go blaming President Bush for the War on Terror when we were clearly attacked by the forces of terrorism on September 11th, 2001...
L.S.A.: You know, you are right. And Bush was just as much a victim as anyone else – a depressing person leading a depressing life who just wanted to go home to his depressing family at the end of a depressing day. He couldn't truly have been expected to seriously consider all of his options before choosing the path that he did. Decision making in these kinds of circumstances is fast and usually based on instincts and inherent values – a quality the nation voted for in overwhelming numbers in 2000.
W.R.T.: That's true, although I do have to question the logic of some of his policies in the second term, to be honest. Bush got very unpopular near the end there and I think there is a pretty universal consensus that this was largely caused by dissatisfaction with what appeared to be his willingness to employ socialist techniques to manipulate the markets. By straying from his fiscally conservative principles, he lost the confidence of the general public.
L.S.A.: Yes, and he facilitated the culture of Obama bail-outs.
W.R.T.: Such as the Troubled Asset Relief Program, where Obama was bailing out banks and insurance companies left and right because they were “too big to fail.”
L.S.A.: That's absolutely correct, and there is quite a lot of confusion as to who is technically responsible for TARP. Communists tend to point to the fact that Bush's Treasury Department requested the relief package, that it was championed by Bush and passed in a bipartisan vote (with Obama, Biden, and McCain in favor). Realists note that Obama is currently the President and thus must be responsible for everything bad that has happened in recent memory, and as far as bad things go, bailing out the world's largest banks is pretty horrendous.
W.R.T.: It's no surprise to me, Leo; no surprise at all, that Obama has shown reluctance to consider bringing back the registration of communists. Instead, he wants you to register your rifle collection. I don't know anyone, personally, who doesn't own at least five guns. Around here, well, heh, I'd just like to see them try to show up with a clipboard, asking to have a look around.
L.S.A.: Another thing Obama doesn't want to register is the ever growing cohort of illegal aliens, unless it is by giving them all citizenship, so that they can start draining the welfare system and vote Democrat in monolithic numbers. It makes me sick when liberal communists try to grant people extra rights just so that they can increase their voting prowess.
W.R.T.: Yes – you can see it repeatedly throughout this nation's history. Whenever a group claims to be oppressed, the Democrats jump in and make them ideological martyrs before passing a bunch of over-reaching civil rights and voting rights bills that make it illegal for minorities not to vote. This is the only way the Democrats can win, because, and I don't want to put it like this, exactly, but they simply don't represent the will of the American electorate unless they alter its make-up.
L.S.A.: Be careful, Thomas. If Obama manages to force his fairness doctrine down our throats, you might just get arrested for saying stuff like that!
W.R.T.: I'm not sure that's how the fairness doctrine works, but actually, you're probably right. The over caffeinated generation of government dependent, amoral deadbeats that swept Obama into office are only just beginning to think that maybe they should have given John McCain a more reasoned look in 2008... So many people voted their emotions in that election, and this year we will only be able to slightly repair some of the damage.
L.S.A.: Couldn't agree more. I think the public is not distracted by phony diversions like Iraq, so we are in a very good position for these midterms. People are catching onto the fact that their vote matters, and that we need to vote the foreign born Muslim's enablers out if we are to make any progress in instituting a fundamentalist theocracy and free market paradise.
W.R.T.: Yes; perhaps we could follow the Vatican model.
L.S.A.: We probably aren't ready for that, but I like where you are going there. Forward thinking, Thomas!
L.S.A.: You know, you are right. And Bush was just as much a victim as anyone else – a depressing person leading a depressing life who just wanted to go home to his depressing family at the end of a depressing day. He couldn't truly have been expected to seriously consider all of his options before choosing the path that he did. Decision making in these kinds of circumstances is fast and usually based on instincts and inherent values – a quality the nation voted for in overwhelming numbers in 2000.
W.R.T.: That's true, although I do have to question the logic of some of his policies in the second term, to be honest. Bush got very unpopular near the end there and I think there is a pretty universal consensus that this was largely caused by dissatisfaction with what appeared to be his willingness to employ socialist techniques to manipulate the markets. By straying from his fiscally conservative principles, he lost the confidence of the general public.
L.S.A.: Yes, and he facilitated the culture of Obama bail-outs.
W.R.T.: Such as the Troubled Asset Relief Program, where Obama was bailing out banks and insurance companies left and right because they were “too big to fail.”
L.S.A.: That's absolutely correct, and there is quite a lot of confusion as to who is technically responsible for TARP. Communists tend to point to the fact that Bush's Treasury Department requested the relief package, that it was championed by Bush and passed in a bipartisan vote (with Obama, Biden, and McCain in favor). Realists note that Obama is currently the President and thus must be responsible for everything bad that has happened in recent memory, and as far as bad things go, bailing out the world's largest banks is pretty horrendous.
W.R.T.: It's no surprise to me, Leo; no surprise at all, that Obama has shown reluctance to consider bringing back the registration of communists. Instead, he wants you to register your rifle collection. I don't know anyone, personally, who doesn't own at least five guns. Around here, well, heh, I'd just like to see them try to show up with a clipboard, asking to have a look around.
L.S.A.: Another thing Obama doesn't want to register is the ever growing cohort of illegal aliens, unless it is by giving them all citizenship, so that they can start draining the welfare system and vote Democrat in monolithic numbers. It makes me sick when liberal communists try to grant people extra rights just so that they can increase their voting prowess.
W.R.T.: Yes – you can see it repeatedly throughout this nation's history. Whenever a group claims to be oppressed, the Democrats jump in and make them ideological martyrs before passing a bunch of over-reaching civil rights and voting rights bills that make it illegal for minorities not to vote. This is the only way the Democrats can win, because, and I don't want to put it like this, exactly, but they simply don't represent the will of the American electorate unless they alter its make-up.
L.S.A.: Be careful, Thomas. If Obama manages to force his fairness doctrine down our throats, you might just get arrested for saying stuff like that!
W.R.T.: I'm not sure that's how the fairness doctrine works, but actually, you're probably right. The over caffeinated generation of government dependent, amoral deadbeats that swept Obama into office are only just beginning to think that maybe they should have given John McCain a more reasoned look in 2008... So many people voted their emotions in that election, and this year we will only be able to slightly repair some of the damage.
L.S.A.: Couldn't agree more. I think the public is not distracted by phony diversions like Iraq, so we are in a very good position for these midterms. People are catching onto the fact that their vote matters, and that we need to vote the foreign born Muslim's enablers out if we are to make any progress in instituting a fundamentalist theocracy and free market paradise.
W.R.T.: Yes; perhaps we could follow the Vatican model.
L.S.A.: We probably aren't ready for that, but I like where you are going there. Forward thinking, Thomas!
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Recyclable Misadventures with the Gang
We don't want to focus on these things too heavily, at least not with the incorrect emphasis; after all, it is the 'little things' which make life shine its most bright, but if we seek to over analyse, we run the risk of obscuring the real lesson. Nor is it wise to remain in a nostalgic mindset for gratuitous periods of time, for it is a natural cause of long-term unhappiness, but nonetheless, some of these tales will bear repeating here, with a disclaimer that they are told from an exaggerated lens with an incredible sense of personal bias in perspective.
Ricky was not having a good day. He was pretty much broke, felt isolated, and all he had left was his miserable 1995 Volvo, which used to have seat belts. He went for a search around the house for any remnants of booze – there had been a party there a couple of nights ago, which he didn't remember that well, except that his girlfriend broke up with him, or something like that – but the quest was increasingly difficult, given that Ricky had already spent the last several days fiendishly consuming what had been left over. He had a collection of 4-litre wine bags, all of them mostly drained, and poured what was left in the seven bags into a gigantic glass, mixing red and white, and topping it off with half of a shot of what he could only presume was really cheap vodka.
This could have been why, honestly, everyone else was avoiding Ricky like the plague. Roger wasn't interested in tennis. Olga wasn't up for coffee. Sammy Calamari had to cancel their jam for “other plans.” Ricky had planned to go through some more contacts in his phone, but then he drank the glass of wines. Halfway, he pondered that he wasn't sure he was in a state to socialise in the first place. Once it was finished, he had forgotten about the issue completely.
Meanwhile, over at the fish store, where Ricky was supposed to begin thirty-five minutes ago, Tucker was getting terribly frantic. He was under slept, nervous, and shaking, and although he always sought to avoid confrontation, he felt that he had no choice but to call up this Ricky fellow and explain that he was not about to cover his shift for him.
…
But I can't come in, dude, okay, Tucker, I'm sorry, man. I forgot to call. I'm so fucking sorry. Shit. Can you please call someone else? Okay? I really can't come in.
Where are you, Ricky? Are you at home?
Yeah.
That's a five minute walk. You tell me this all the time.
Yeah, but, like, between the solicitations of sympathy and rapid consumption of jelly shots, I can't really hold it together right now, bro.
I will bear this in mind the next time we converse.
…
Everyone else agreed that it was a good thing that Ricky lost his job. Nobody liked working with him, because he never took showers. This was another thing nobody liked about him: the inherently awful smell. We theorise that he last took a shower some time in 2006, and employment in the sales of fish is the kind with a lingering, unpleasant scent. We would all stop inviting him to parties, and saying hello when we run into him, or even hanging out with him every so often – but even though we all agree on these things, we have decided that it would not be very nice to say anything about it.
For his twenty-second birthday, we all chipped in and bought him a Stradivarius. You should have seen the look on his face.
Ricky was not having a good day. He was pretty much broke, felt isolated, and all he had left was his miserable 1995 Volvo, which used to have seat belts. He went for a search around the house for any remnants of booze – there had been a party there a couple of nights ago, which he didn't remember that well, except that his girlfriend broke up with him, or something like that – but the quest was increasingly difficult, given that Ricky had already spent the last several days fiendishly consuming what had been left over. He had a collection of 4-litre wine bags, all of them mostly drained, and poured what was left in the seven bags into a gigantic glass, mixing red and white, and topping it off with half of a shot of what he could only presume was really cheap vodka.
This could have been why, honestly, everyone else was avoiding Ricky like the plague. Roger wasn't interested in tennis. Olga wasn't up for coffee. Sammy Calamari had to cancel their jam for “other plans.” Ricky had planned to go through some more contacts in his phone, but then he drank the glass of wines. Halfway, he pondered that he wasn't sure he was in a state to socialise in the first place. Once it was finished, he had forgotten about the issue completely.
Meanwhile, over at the fish store, where Ricky was supposed to begin thirty-five minutes ago, Tucker was getting terribly frantic. He was under slept, nervous, and shaking, and although he always sought to avoid confrontation, he felt that he had no choice but to call up this Ricky fellow and explain that he was not about to cover his shift for him.
…
But I can't come in, dude, okay, Tucker, I'm sorry, man. I forgot to call. I'm so fucking sorry. Shit. Can you please call someone else? Okay? I really can't come in.
Where are you, Ricky? Are you at home?
Yeah.
That's a five minute walk. You tell me this all the time.
Yeah, but, like, between the solicitations of sympathy and rapid consumption of jelly shots, I can't really hold it together right now, bro.
I will bear this in mind the next time we converse.
…
Everyone else agreed that it was a good thing that Ricky lost his job. Nobody liked working with him, because he never took showers. This was another thing nobody liked about him: the inherently awful smell. We theorise that he last took a shower some time in 2006, and employment in the sales of fish is the kind with a lingering, unpleasant scent. We would all stop inviting him to parties, and saying hello when we run into him, or even hanging out with him every so often – but even though we all agree on these things, we have decided that it would not be very nice to say anything about it.
For his twenty-second birthday, we all chipped in and bought him a Stradivarius. You should have seen the look on his face.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
This Update Was Written by Somebody Else
The guy who we usually get to write the stuff on here, who manages to drag himself in after lunch maybe a third of the time, if we are lucky, has decided that he has what is referred to in the business as “writer's block,” which means that he has been sitting at home and drinking beer compulsively for a minimum of thirteen consecutive days, so we have farmed out the rest of the content for this entry from a source of unknown credibility.
This Update Was Definitely Not Written by Somebody Else
The pricks that are in charge of this trash heap are trying to obscure the information provided in this article in the hope of discrediting the analysis which it offers, which indicates a total lack of testicles. I mean, these cowards are scared absolutely shitless at the very thought of any opposing viewpoints at all, so they go out of their way to make it sound like this was written by a vociferously eager asshole with no basis for their information except their own bullshit (editor's note: this is unequivocally the case). Anyway, here are a few of my special hints and suggestions on how to get ahead in this world, which is a pretty good one, if you know how to game it properly. It is all about playing the game...
The Game: Step One
There are a number of other things which are called 'The Game' also, and they are likely unrelated to the advice that I am presenting here. The Game, in this context, is a lifestyle choice that you must make if you are to commit to advancing yourself at the expense of all others. This begins by acknowledging each day that you are striving to be the best that you can possibly be, and that you are an amazing person with unique abilities and talents. Do not waste time praying, for prayer is a sign of weakness, and a cry for help to someone who is not listening. The only person who can help you is yourself.
The Game: Step Two
There are generally three types of people: the dumb, the evil, and the insane. You want to achieve a balance in your relationships with others, with a preference for the dumbs, who are the easiest to manipulate and also the most amicable in general conversation. The evils are your gateway into the world of fun, but you should not get too close with them, because they are inherently untrustworthy. The insanes are to be dealt with sparingly. They serve a purpose, of course—not many people are willing to rob houses, sell drugs, defecate in public, etc., and you need a sprinkling of that sort of shit in your life when you need a reminder of just how normal you are (even though you aren't really). Incidentally, the number one cause of being associated with an insane is reproducing. The number one cause of being associated with a dumb is, of course, marriage.
The Game: Step Three
Your possessions are dragging you down. Get rid of them. I read an article a while ago about some hippie couple in Oregon that manage to live with less than a hundred items in their house. Is that crazy or what? So, I gave it a shot, and I tell you what: I was robbed the next month. Fuckers got away with my razor!
The Game: Step Four
There is no step four, technically, since by now you should be basking in the angelic glow of your blissful nirvana, much as I do, living in an apartment which is literally empty, and starting each day with an hour-long conversation with myself to the mirror, where I consult notes and come up with strategies for implementing self-empowering goals. My friends are closely controlled, carefully classified, and universally distrusted. (Pro tip: the dumbs will trust you regardless.) What are you even doing still reading this? Grab some paint and get to work on signs advertising your garage sale! You have utensils to throw out and memories to make – and remember, only you can make it happen.
This Update Was Definitely Not Written by Somebody Else
The pricks that are in charge of this trash heap are trying to obscure the information provided in this article in the hope of discrediting the analysis which it offers, which indicates a total lack of testicles. I mean, these cowards are scared absolutely shitless at the very thought of any opposing viewpoints at all, so they go out of their way to make it sound like this was written by a vociferously eager asshole with no basis for their information except their own bullshit (editor's note: this is unequivocally the case). Anyway, here are a few of my special hints and suggestions on how to get ahead in this world, which is a pretty good one, if you know how to game it properly. It is all about playing the game...
The Game: Step One
There are a number of other things which are called 'The Game' also, and they are likely unrelated to the advice that I am presenting here. The Game, in this context, is a lifestyle choice that you must make if you are to commit to advancing yourself at the expense of all others. This begins by acknowledging each day that you are striving to be the best that you can possibly be, and that you are an amazing person with unique abilities and talents. Do not waste time praying, for prayer is a sign of weakness, and a cry for help to someone who is not listening. The only person who can help you is yourself.
The Game: Step Two
There are generally three types of people: the dumb, the evil, and the insane. You want to achieve a balance in your relationships with others, with a preference for the dumbs, who are the easiest to manipulate and also the most amicable in general conversation. The evils are your gateway into the world of fun, but you should not get too close with them, because they are inherently untrustworthy. The insanes are to be dealt with sparingly. They serve a purpose, of course—not many people are willing to rob houses, sell drugs, defecate in public, etc., and you need a sprinkling of that sort of shit in your life when you need a reminder of just how normal you are (even though you aren't really). Incidentally, the number one cause of being associated with an insane is reproducing. The number one cause of being associated with a dumb is, of course, marriage.
The Game: Step Three
Your possessions are dragging you down. Get rid of them. I read an article a while ago about some hippie couple in Oregon that manage to live with less than a hundred items in their house. Is that crazy or what? So, I gave it a shot, and I tell you what: I was robbed the next month. Fuckers got away with my razor!
The Game: Step Four
There is no step four, technically, since by now you should be basking in the angelic glow of your blissful nirvana, much as I do, living in an apartment which is literally empty, and starting each day with an hour-long conversation with myself to the mirror, where I consult notes and come up with strategies for implementing self-empowering goals. My friends are closely controlled, carefully classified, and universally distrusted. (Pro tip: the dumbs will trust you regardless.) What are you even doing still reading this? Grab some paint and get to work on signs advertising your garage sale! You have utensils to throw out and memories to make – and remember, only you can make it happen.
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Getting to Know You for the Real You
Victor A. Foley: Hello everyone, and may I just send our warmest welcome to all of you guys and gals who are tuning in with us tonight. We have the pleasure of interviewing Hubert F. Dettmann, who is presently homeless but is famous enough yet to agree to be subjected to our notorious set of 'Twelve Questions.' How are you, Hubert? Do you have a nickname, since Hubert sounds kind of dumb?
Hubert F. Dettmann: Thanks, Vic, it's a pleasure to be here. I am doing really well, thanks for asking. You can call me Hubert, but my friends call me Hugh.
Foley: Okay, Hugh-bag, let's start with your personal background. Would you describe yourself as wealthy in friends? How about in finances? I need to stress that there is no cash prize for your participation in this program, but you can of course take solace in the free publicity, and in fact it would be advisable for you to use this rare opportunity to make a statement about who you are and what you stand for, but perhaps I am just ranting. But hey, the people watch this program to see Victor Foley and his amazing hair (motions towards head), so let's be realistic. If you haven't shot any crushed up methadone tablets in the last couple of hours, maybe you'll even be able to remember what the questions are.
Dettmann: Well, Vic, I would certainly say that I have a lot of acquaintances, and even a number of friends, who can call me Hugh, or any derivative thereof, of which you do not qualify as a member of this classification and thus are not accorded the privilege to engage in the activity mentioned prior. I don't really go for crushing up methadone, since it's not the best bang for my buck, and in the case of my own financial situation, you could say I am not doing so well, and I am well aware of the strict “no-prize” policy of your delightful night-time entertainment. Your polite clarification is always appreciated, Vic Foley.
Foley: What an eloquent little spiel, and you made me feel a little upstaged, to be honest, so I am probably going to make no attempt to hide my disdain for you at all now. But let's try to not let that interfere with what will otherwise be a highly informative and entertaining interview! What can you tell us about your parents? What was your first job?
Dettmann: My parents are both deceased; casualties of the Waco tragedy, which I am not really at ease discussing at length. My father was a very caring man who probably lost his mind due to the constant alcohol consumption and stressful job from which he pretty much never took a vacation until he snapped completely, joining the cult. My mother was a zombie from about 1984 onwards, and I still have no good theories as to what caused it. I think she just woke up one day and decided she didn't care anymore, and she was just going to exist; to go on autopilot until her tragic death. My first employment was washing dishes at a Korean restaurant. It was okay.
Foley: And is there any reason—not to be curt or anything—that you don't just pick up and get a job now, instead of moping around the streets, soliciting coins and pity? Do you attend any religious services on a regular basis? Have you tried anything to possibly upgrade the status of filth and degeneracy in which you claim to thrive?
Dettmann: I am not religious, Vic, but I do believe that people have an ethical responsibility to be true to themselves. That being said, I don't vote. I have no interest in your pity, and similarly hold little interest in attaining stable employment. Every so often I take a shower, or get a new jacket, or replace my toothbrush, if those are the sorts of things you were trying to get at in your last question.
Foley: Uh-huh. Well it is certainly fascinating that you lack any substantial views on an afterlife. A lot of people come on here and explain that they are fully aware of the rewards system in place for those who behave with merit and honor in their earthly life times. I can only lament that it is regrettable, yet utterly unsurprising, that you do not subscribe to similar values and the impact this has on your lifestyle is morally abhorrent and visually repugnant.
Dettmann: Right, so that wasn't a question, Vic, but I'm sure your loyal viewers appreciate that you have lodged a spirited defense of traditional family values.
Foley: They sure do, those self-important rednecks (winks at audience). You tell us that you don't vote. Do you hold any political beliefs? And to perhaps expand on the ninth question just a little bit, do you hope at all to stop abusing alcohol and pornography? These degrading materials are creating a black hole in your life that prohibits you from advancing further in society. There is a rehabilitation center down the street that will be open until November 24. You should probably check in now to secure a spot in that fine, yet tragically underfunded, facility.
Dettmann: You know, Vic, I guess you could describe me as a 'green', although I use that label sparingly and with hesitancy. What I am quite sure of is that all of the mainstream politicians are content to keep screwing us over so that they can keep working with the banks and big businesses to fatten their paychecks. I don't pay much attention to the daily aspect, but I do follow the elections, perhaps in the same way you might follow a sport, except that I don't care at all who wins. I made a decent amount of cash betting on the outcomes of races during the 2008 Democratic nomination contest, which was pretty swell. I think I bought a guitar with some of that money. I'm not really sure; I don't have the guitar anymore.
Another political value I hold dear is that pesky values voters types should mind their own business, and that certainly applies to the constant discrimination that I face as I attempt to harmlessly, rapidly consume generous portions of tequila in public playgrounds at night. There sure as hell aren't any kids there, so why don't you and everyone else just back off? But hey, I'm a reasonable guy. If they asked me to move somewhere else, perhaps suggested a suitable location, then I would be willing to negotiate. At best, they pour it out; at worst, I spend a night in hell. The answer to your question is no.
Foley: Well, Hugh-bun, it's been absolutely wonderful to have you with us here this evening, so I have one final question for you. What is your favorite color?
Dettmann: I appreciate your willingness to tackle the truly controversial burning issues of the day. The rigorous questioning has been, I hope, highly informative for your audience and I have certainly relished the thorough soul searching that I have had to conduct in answering your hard-hitting and objective queries. Thank you so much for having me this evening, and thank you for the free publicity, which is almost as satisfying to me as a cash prize may have been in the ridiculously unlikely scenario where I would receive one. My favorite color is brown, a dark tint of which I have smeared lovingly throughout the disabled and female audience toilets. I really appreciate being on your show, have a great night!
Hubert F. Dettmann: Thanks, Vic, it's a pleasure to be here. I am doing really well, thanks for asking. You can call me Hubert, but my friends call me Hugh.
Foley: Okay, Hugh-bag, let's start with your personal background. Would you describe yourself as wealthy in friends? How about in finances? I need to stress that there is no cash prize for your participation in this program, but you can of course take solace in the free publicity, and in fact it would be advisable for you to use this rare opportunity to make a statement about who you are and what you stand for, but perhaps I am just ranting. But hey, the people watch this program to see Victor Foley and his amazing hair (motions towards head), so let's be realistic. If you haven't shot any crushed up methadone tablets in the last couple of hours, maybe you'll even be able to remember what the questions are.
Dettmann: Well, Vic, I would certainly say that I have a lot of acquaintances, and even a number of friends, who can call me Hugh, or any derivative thereof, of which you do not qualify as a member of this classification and thus are not accorded the privilege to engage in the activity mentioned prior. I don't really go for crushing up methadone, since it's not the best bang for my buck, and in the case of my own financial situation, you could say I am not doing so well, and I am well aware of the strict “no-prize” policy of your delightful night-time entertainment. Your polite clarification is always appreciated, Vic Foley.
Foley: What an eloquent little spiel, and you made me feel a little upstaged, to be honest, so I am probably going to make no attempt to hide my disdain for you at all now. But let's try to not let that interfere with what will otherwise be a highly informative and entertaining interview! What can you tell us about your parents? What was your first job?
Dettmann: My parents are both deceased; casualties of the Waco tragedy, which I am not really at ease discussing at length. My father was a very caring man who probably lost his mind due to the constant alcohol consumption and stressful job from which he pretty much never took a vacation until he snapped completely, joining the cult. My mother was a zombie from about 1984 onwards, and I still have no good theories as to what caused it. I think she just woke up one day and decided she didn't care anymore, and she was just going to exist; to go on autopilot until her tragic death. My first employment was washing dishes at a Korean restaurant. It was okay.
Foley: And is there any reason—not to be curt or anything—that you don't just pick up and get a job now, instead of moping around the streets, soliciting coins and pity? Do you attend any religious services on a regular basis? Have you tried anything to possibly upgrade the status of filth and degeneracy in which you claim to thrive?
Dettmann: I am not religious, Vic, but I do believe that people have an ethical responsibility to be true to themselves. That being said, I don't vote. I have no interest in your pity, and similarly hold little interest in attaining stable employment. Every so often I take a shower, or get a new jacket, or replace my toothbrush, if those are the sorts of things you were trying to get at in your last question.
Foley: Uh-huh. Well it is certainly fascinating that you lack any substantial views on an afterlife. A lot of people come on here and explain that they are fully aware of the rewards system in place for those who behave with merit and honor in their earthly life times. I can only lament that it is regrettable, yet utterly unsurprising, that you do not subscribe to similar values and the impact this has on your lifestyle is morally abhorrent and visually repugnant.
Dettmann: Right, so that wasn't a question, Vic, but I'm sure your loyal viewers appreciate that you have lodged a spirited defense of traditional family values.
Foley: They sure do, those self-important rednecks (winks at audience). You tell us that you don't vote. Do you hold any political beliefs? And to perhaps expand on the ninth question just a little bit, do you hope at all to stop abusing alcohol and pornography? These degrading materials are creating a black hole in your life that prohibits you from advancing further in society. There is a rehabilitation center down the street that will be open until November 24. You should probably check in now to secure a spot in that fine, yet tragically underfunded, facility.
Dettmann: You know, Vic, I guess you could describe me as a 'green', although I use that label sparingly and with hesitancy. What I am quite sure of is that all of the mainstream politicians are content to keep screwing us over so that they can keep working with the banks and big businesses to fatten their paychecks. I don't pay much attention to the daily aspect, but I do follow the elections, perhaps in the same way you might follow a sport, except that I don't care at all who wins. I made a decent amount of cash betting on the outcomes of races during the 2008 Democratic nomination contest, which was pretty swell. I think I bought a guitar with some of that money. I'm not really sure; I don't have the guitar anymore.
Another political value I hold dear is that pesky values voters types should mind their own business, and that certainly applies to the constant discrimination that I face as I attempt to harmlessly, rapidly consume generous portions of tequila in public playgrounds at night. There sure as hell aren't any kids there, so why don't you and everyone else just back off? But hey, I'm a reasonable guy. If they asked me to move somewhere else, perhaps suggested a suitable location, then I would be willing to negotiate. At best, they pour it out; at worst, I spend a night in hell. The answer to your question is no.
Foley: Well, Hugh-bun, it's been absolutely wonderful to have you with us here this evening, so I have one final question for you. What is your favorite color?
Dettmann: I appreciate your willingness to tackle the truly controversial burning issues of the day. The rigorous questioning has been, I hope, highly informative for your audience and I have certainly relished the thorough soul searching that I have had to conduct in answering your hard-hitting and objective queries. Thank you so much for having me this evening, and thank you for the free publicity, which is almost as satisfying to me as a cash prize may have been in the ridiculously unlikely scenario where I would receive one. My favorite color is brown, a dark tint of which I have smeared lovingly throughout the disabled and female audience toilets. I really appreciate being on your show, have a great night!
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