death surrounds you...partake!

Strange and nervous events have loomed recently, events that have until now remained nameless for the fear that a proper christian name may give foes terrible reserves of diabolical power. Myth dispellation time...

Sabrina and I are no more. That is very strange to put into words and when I forget to think about the events at hand, my mind retraces its steps back to our relationship and I think that I am still there. However, this is best for all parties involved.

I have had the intense delight of venting emotions on a very kind heart, so no suicide attempts will find their berth from these events. I have been lucky enough to find someone to listen to me and not to pressure me into things that I am not ready for yet. Special does not begin to describe Amber.

Plenty of drinking in store, and for this I am grateful. Ferris Bueller is the most famous, but others have said that life moves by pretty fast. I do not agree. I think that life is an arduous, painful, physically and mentally draining gauntlet for the most of us and approaching it without proper preparation is folly. I am preparing for my departure.

Impending danger leers and cuckolds me from beyond the veil of summer. I laugh back and swear a little under my breath, for it has found me and will exploit my will to the furthest extent possible, and perhaps beyond where men do not return. But that is months away and I have no where to be right now except right here.


'My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!'

Shelley

next ten songs on the juke

here they are, for you teeming masses that wish to be me. listen and beware.

Everyday is Exactly the Same - Nine Inch Nails
Amie - Pure Prairie League
Country Comes to Town - Toby Keith
Don't You Forget About Me - Simple Minds
Young Pilgrims - The Shins
The Same Boy You've Always Known - The White Stripes
Beer - Reel Big Fish
Island in the Sun - Weezer
Girl - Beck
The Chemicals Between Us - Bush


no gay jokes or i'll track you down and you'll have your ass handed to you by a gay guy.

willful recruit to the church of alvis

Fighting drunk. Two words that go well together both off the tongue (say them out loud - fighting drunk - sounds good, doesn't it?) but also by way of the effects of alcohol on men with severely fucked brains.

Monday was a prime example of fighting drunk. I was frequenting a drinking establishment with a friend, nursing recently inflicted emotional wounds, when this old guy sits next to us.

Now, when I say "old guy" I don't mean Old Man River or Father Time (although both of those phrase were screamed at the top of my lungs before the night ended), but he was fifty-ish with a drinking problem and a home life that reeked of freshly pressed shit. These dirty little secrets radiated off of him like desperation.

Through the course of our cohabitation, we exchanged a few pleasantries, and when he stood to leave, I shouted drunkenly, "See ya later dude."

The next minutes are a blur...he said something resembling "fuck you" or "go to hell" and when I realized what was happening, my stool was on the floor and I was running to the fight like a butcher walks among sheep. However, my companion had a wrist lock from behind around my waist and another guy was holding me on the front. To top it off, the bartender (a friend of ours, too) was shouting at me to sit down, and that he was not worth it.

I was seething; spittle was flying from my grinding teeth and I moved the whole pile of us toward the old guy, whose girlfriend or wife or who-the-fuck-ever had spoken some words of wisdom and, was backing toward the door.

After he left, the pile fell to the floor and the guys disbarred the holds from me and we retook our seats at the bar. After a couple of minutes, I looked at the bartender and asked, "What the fuck was that guy's deal?"

A new season of 24

That is a television show, I believe. The premise is something silly, surely, but the entire season focuses on a 24 hour day surrounding Keifer Sutherland. It's action packed and suspenseful, and chock full of stress and hazardous situations.

However...

The last 24 hours in my life would make Keifer's day seem like he was stranded on a deserted island with the Hawaiian Tropic Swimsuit Modeling Team, with no provisions except a crate of Ron Diaz, a liter of cola, and three tubes of suntan lotion.

There were no swimsuit models today, or last night when I was awoken by a drunk telephone call and couldn't properly sleep afterward. Nor did I have rum and cokes to keep me company, instead of my soctologizing mantrap of a boss. It was, arguably...no, HANDS DOWN the worst day of work ever in my ten years of working.

Well, suicide is painless and Keifer has fallen sharply downhill since The Lost Boys.

Check this steamy nugget out for your laughing enjoyment

Women are funny. Politicians are funnier. The wives of teetering, reformed Democrats are fucking hilarious. I think that, given this introduction, you can correctly assume that I am introducing Hillary Clinton.

She has some rather fundie words for the denizens of Generation Y (who the fuck started calling us that, anyway?).

Hillary Clinton, Generation Y salutes you, as do my older brothers and sisters of Generation X, as the wife of the third most influential president of the 90s (that says a lot considering his predecessor and descendant). However, we have one thing to say to you: in twenty years, when Generation Z is feeding you pureed crab cakes and changing your diapers for $20 an hour (a paltry sum by that time, considering the slope upon which the American dollar now sits) your shit-filled Depends will not smell any differently than the rest of your Baby-Boomer constituency…and they certainly will not smell like roses.

Happiness surrounds us like the pall of death

Marines in the news again. This time for allegedly killing something like 19 Iraqi citizens, all but one unarmed.

Allegedly.

There are at least two versions to every story that you read in Time or Newsweek (this story defaces the covers of both). One kernel of truth to cling to is that the United States is fast becoming the steward of the world, wiping noses and bullet wounds - and inflicting more than their share - where ever necessary. This is fundamentally wrong, whether you are Demo, Repub, Indy, or Appalachian. It goes against pretty much everything that Democracy stands for. That's where the left's argument ends.

This is true.

What is also true is that Marines have a hard job. And not just Marines, but all of the armed services. They work a thankless job, worse than anything Sam Walton has ever infected America with, and they do it 24-7 for years at a time. Add that to the equation, and when you read about some Iraqis who were gunned down in the phobia-ridden confines of some tiny mud hut, it doesn't seem so god damned appalling, does it? Here ends the argument from the right. It is also true.

The hidden truth behind this story is one that has surfaced ever since the beginning of this war: the "innocent" deaths in Iraq - the unarmed men, women and children - are the faults of the newly deceased themselves, bloated and pussing though they are. They forfeited their lives to Charon or the Reaper or Osiris or who-the-fuck-ever when they let Nazis like Hussein and bin Laden rule them like meat puppets in some sand-circus macabre. And now their lives of uneventful, complacent subjugation are complete: the biggest Nazi of them all has troops swarming like ants - stinging the populace with M-1s and Austria '41s and half-hearted Democracy in a place that will never understand that word.

This is true, but you'll never read it in Newsweek.

A new era is caressing you from behind

The old 10th Circle is no more.

Those spotty and half-hearted monologues on the crap-factor of my life are now located right where they belong: the heaping, stinking, rat-infested garbage can of the Internet. Don't despair, I saved the Captain Blood stories.

Now, as for the future...I have noticed things lately, things that have not sat well with me and my view of things. Also, rather conveniently, I have a newfound interest in fringe journalism.

Call it an experiment on my part; call it a bastardization of Hunter Thompson or Tom Wolfe; call it what you will motherfuckers because it is here and it is now.

Fundies beware.

ST out