Does this shit happen to anyone else?

Well, I have the internet again, and it turns out that I can live without it for four days. Though technically I had it on my phone, so maybe not.

So, a lot of weird shit happens at the super market. I think it's 'cause it's really the only place on earth that everyone has to go. Whether you are a lawyer or a janitor, eventually you need toothpaste, and oranges, and pizza, and beer. So you get a lot of people that normally don't mix in society, mixing it up.

As a digression, you should all know that I live my life by a morality that is popularly known are "relativisistic morality." Simply put it's the theory that morality is relative to the person in any given situation. Stealing is wrong...but not if your kids are starving, that kind of shit. I determine right or wrong based on what I would feel and/or do if I was the person in any given situation, I think it's really the only way to make judgment calls on hypothetical situations.

So retards. I think a child that is going to be retarded should be aborted. If it is too late for that, it should be humanely euthanised after birth. I only say this because, I would rather be dead than retarded. Life sucks bad enough without a handicap like that, and if i was in the womb, about to be born retarded, I would not want to live. Now that is not to say that I want everyone to kill their retarded babies, luckily for a limited time we still get to make choices like that for ourselves, I'm just saying what I would want/do. I think it is the only humane thing to do. Same goes for if my baby was black. (come on, that's a little funny.)

This is all relevant because I was at the local Albertson's buying provisions for the day. The bag boy was retarded. The "check yourself out" lanes were down for maintenance, and I had to shuffle along with the rest of the idiots. This is pretty much how it went down.

The retard put my beer in a bag (it maybe a slight bit ironic that we use drugs to feel like retards feel all the time, maybe I'm wrong, maybe I should hope that everyone is born retarded..hmm...);

Retard: "I'm going to put this in three bags so it doesn't break."
Daub: "Thanks, dude."
Retard: "My mom says beer makes you fat and dumb."
Check out lady is slightly embarrassed.
Daub: "Your mom's probably right."
Retard: "How come you're all wet?
Daub: "I just finished working out."
Retard: "You should take a shower."
Daub: "I think that's a good idea."
Retard: "My mom says you have to exercise or you will get fat."
Daub: "Yeah, that's true."
Retard: "I don't think Sarah exercises too much."
Sarah is the uncomfortable check out girl, who is slightly obese. At this point I make eye contact with Sarah and it takes all the will power I have not to laugh in her face and say, "the retard called you fat!"
We go through the normal bullshit, I sign my receipt and I grab my shit from the retard.
Retard: "Don't forget to shower, you stink."
Daub: "Thanks, you have a great day."
He moved on, bagging someone else's groceries.

end transmission.

I wrapped regret around the chance I'll never take..discarded dreams, far too much time awake.

I was writing a story about a girl who killed herself and I was researching suicide notes. This page is awesome: http://www.well.com/~art/suicidenotes.html. I don't know if it's real, but it seems genuine enough, or else the author is a badass. I love the idea of using your own death as revenge to someone who obviously hates you. THe guy who says he can't think of 45 days he would ever want to relive...awesome. I love the sense of humor these people exude in their final words, I also love the numerous type-o's. You'd think you'd want your last written work to be flawless, but apparantly who fucking cares.

I also found a rondom suicide note generator, this is what it made for me:

(Try it out http://www.porkjerky.com/suicide.htm)

February 26, 2007

Listen Up Dumbfucks:

Most people kill themselves because of a mental condition. This is true in my case too. The condition I suffer from is that I am not normal, I am not like everyone of you "sane" people.

I am not normal in the sense that I am not like every other one of you brain-dead zombies. I can think. I can reason intelligently. I can observe and learn from life. I can make my own decisions and follow through on them. And I can do these without any aid from celebrities, T.V. or radio. Unfortunately, every one of you shit-brained lemmings seem to lack these skills and I can't fucking take it any more.

Since everyone else in this world is a fucking retarded drone who revels in their ignorance and unintelligence, I must put an end to my misery. I truly wish I was normal. I wish I could be a fucking retarded sponge like all of you. I wish I could have the same conversations day in and day out about sports, politics and "how about that weather huh?". But I can't.

Sure you'll see this note and say Daub's the crazy one. You have to it's the only way you can go on thinking you're sane and your pathetic life is meaningful. Go ahead, call me the weirdo like everyone else surely will. Then return to your happiness of everyday mindless monotony.

My only wish is that the bullet I put into my brain doesn't kill me but only leaves me brain dead. For if ignorance is bliss and everyone of you fuck-for-brains is truly happy, then living a life without a brain stem in a coma, devoid of any cognitive ability must surely be utopia.

Leave My Machine Plugged In You Fucking Retards,

Daub

P.S. I superglued all my orifices shut so you coroner pricks can't steal my fillings or sex up my corpse.

It's a little too good. I better up my game before I kill myself.

end transmission.

Don't Call ME White.

So the NBA all star game came and went, with only 6 or 7 gun related deaths, almost 1,000 arrests, countless cocktail waitress molestations, and a general stench of anti-black people sentiment throughout the city to mark its passing.

By my count 98% of the people out this weekend were black, and about 75% were fucking assholes, on a scale I cannot even express. Absolutely no respect for anything or anyone, demanding free shit, throwing shit at people who didn't hop to fast enough, just loitering around and being loud, and obnoxious.

Now as a white man, I most certainly have never tried to scam free drinks from a casino, or acted like a jerk in public when under the influence of drugs and alcohol! Truly offensive!

A lot of people say a lot of shit to/around me because I am white. Things they may hold to themselves if in certain company, it's shitty that they assume I will be empathetic to their bullshit, but there it is. "Those people are animals," or "I'm not racist but this is why no one really likes black people."

Wow. Actually, these people are the reson why people don't like assholes. They just happen to be black, but I've known some assholes who are not black, quite a few, actually.

I even had a co-worker tell me that they were "embarrassed to be black," this weekend. Finally, someone who knows what it's like to have a whole demographic of your race embarass the fuck out of you by there behavior, and to feel somehow akin to them because of your DNA. I'm embarassed to be white everytime some ignorant motherfucker takes time out of his busy quality time in his trailer finger banging his daughter, so he can go out and beat up a gay guy or some black dude who has the audacity to marry a white girl. Fuck, I'm embarrased that our President is white.

Anyway. On a positive note, I was walking around with a clipboard at about 4 in the morning. I had to write down some numbers from a machine that was directly in the middle of about 6 black people sitting around bullshitting. I said excuse me, walked in the middle of them and started writing. One dude said;
"Look at this shit, what are you writing down how many niggas you got up in here? Just walk right up and start writin'! No shame at all."
I replied, "YEah, but on the sheet I'm supposed to call you guys "Neegros.""
I thought this fat black lady was going to choke on her drink she started laughing so hard. Her friend said (I swear to christ) "You did not!" about 5 times at the top of her lungs, and everyone laughed at me.
The guy who had spoken first said, "You're an alright dude(black people say dude?), What's your name?"
I said, "My name's Daub."
They introduced me all around, took my picture with the group and before I left, the fat lady said,"Now you make sure you don't get shot this weekend."
I said, "I ain't trying to get killed at work."
They all replied, "I heard that."
and I went on my merry way.

end transmission.

Alone Amognst the Heathens.

Alright! I get it, no more existential laments of my senescent fears. No more rants about boring ass celebrities. Today I'm back to my wacky adventures and the often embarrassing results of my life and times.

As a preface, a short history lesson. When I started working at Mandalay Bay, I was a little sad to be returning to Graveyard hours, and I was drinking very heavily, lamenting my nocturnal prison. Those of you that know me, know that I cannot really hide my internal emotional state from showing on the outside. If i'm pissed, or happy, or whatever, you can see it in my face. My disdain and contempt was apparent to my supervisors and I got the non-surprising "do you like working here? You don't seem to. You're attitude is unacceptable."
Now usually when someone tells me they don't like my attitude, I would say,"I don't like anything about you, so why would I care what you don't like about me." but I needed money and a lot of people went out of their way to help me get the job, so I bit my tongue, and thus the most brilliant coping mechanism my evil genius has ever hatched came about.
When George Costanza realized every decision he had ever made had led him to failure, he decided to do the opposite, and everything would have to logically succeed. Well everything I thought or felt, resulted in the people at my job thinking I was a bitter, angry, relatively uncontentious individual who hated everything about the small minded hampsters he had to work with and under.
Since these feelings were not likely to abate, I just reversed how they were expressed. If someone asks me how I'm doing, I respond (Life is Shit, and you are the asshole.) "I'm doing super awesome! How are you doing!" Shit eating grin on my face. If some high school dropout tells me I have to comb the entire casino for chairs covered in piss, I would say (The fact that someone as stupid as you is my boss makes me want to kill everyone who ever met you, including myself) "Of course boss! Sounds fun!"
You get the idea. The more pissed off I was, the more psychotically cheerleader-like ecstatic my outward demeanor would appear. This had the added bonus of my inwardly laughing my ass off at mocking this life they all take so fucking seriously, thus relieving my own boredom and stress levels. I was using a modified anti-sarcastic sarcasm technique, pioneered (or at least introduced to me by) Justin and honed to a razor edge by hours of practice at the sub shop. That was a little different, since everyone but Bruce was in on it. My new approach worked and in less than a week I got the, "You have made a noticed improvement in your attitude, we've seen it, and we like it."
Anyway that leads into the second part of my trials this day. The first has something to do with a little hurdle I face everyday called "professional sports." I don't give 2 shits about any pro sports. If it wasn't for Nike I wouldn't know any of their names, if it wasn't for video games I wouldn't even know most of the rules. That is a small problem in most social situations, I usually surround myself with people that have more to talk about than that shit. Don't get me wrong, I have friends that are sports fags, but they can talk about other shit with me, and sports with their other friends. But at work, i don't get to pick who I interact with. And let me tell you I exaturate not a whit when I say that every male employee of my casino has no opinion, or interesting commentary on anything other than sports. That and all the things they would do to chicks that wouldn't piss on them if they were on fire, but that's pretty much all dudes everywhere. Their vapid diatribes of homosexual awe make me almost want to hear about what color Carrie is thinking of changing her fingernails to.
Anyway, this also goes for most of the customers. And this is of course, the weekend of the superbowl. On the 435th time I was asked by some drunk asshole, "Who you got on the game tonight?" I decided to have a little bit of fun. Usually I just pick whichever team the inquiring mind is advertising via hat or jersey. This results in massive amounts of high fives and cheering. This time, however, I told him the truth. This is how it went:
"I don't follow football."
"Why the fuck not?"
"I just don't care about sports."
"No sports?"
"I like girls volleyball."
"What are you gay?"
"No. I think watching a bunch of sweaty dudes root around in the dirt wearing tight pants and slapping each other on the ass, bending over in each others faces, is kinda gay. Getting such a vicarious thrill through the triumph of total strangers, is...I just don't get it."
"So, since you're a fag, you must be a Colts fan."
How does one argue with such insurmountable logic?

Still with me? Here's number 2. I was unloading off my slot gear waiting to clock out. I was waiting for this amazingly jubilant old man. Now, when someone is genuinely excited about coming into work, I instantly put them on the danger list, though it does help to feed my faux gusto.
"Hey! How are you today," I asked.
"I am doing amazing," the old man said, not a stitch of irony. Maybe I have met my match, maybe this old man has taken my technique to a level I can only aspire to. I must test him.
"Amazing? That's pretty good for nine in the morning! Why so amazing, what's your secret, I'm barely awesome right now!"
"Well I just got out of the hospital."
"Yes, always a cause for celebration."
"Yes they had to kill me for ten minutes and then bring me back so my heart would beat correctly. Now every minute of life is wonderful."
Damn! I knew it!
"Yup, life is pretty sweet, I have to agree with you! It could be worse!"
"Yes, that is how I feel. You know, you could go at any time. One minute your here, the next...you just don't know."
Yes. That is true. I agree, "Well let's just hope it's not too soon for any of us, am I right?!"
"That's why it's important to be prepared."
? what the fuck does that mean ? Prepared like, have a will in your pocket, or maybe make sure you paid your insurance so your family won't starve? No, being prepared for death means everyone you love knows you love them every minute!
"Prepared, like how?
"You have to make sure you have the love of Jesus in your heart at all times. It's what I tell all the young people in my bible study group."
At this point I would like to iterate that this kind of brainwashing is as evil to me as the Hitler Youth or teaching your children that black people are all criminals. Wasting space in young fertile minds with superstition and magic is quite possibly the most heinous thing anyone can do to the intelligent, useful development of a child's psyche. To teach them to focus more on the consequences of a life after this one, instead of making the most of this, their only one true shot....aghhh!
"Oh great! When are those meetings, sounds like you've got a lot of good ideas!"
"They're every Wednesday night. I can give you directions to the church."
"That's ok, but I'm gonna look into this Jesus thing. Have a great day!"
"You too, God bless."
"Awesome!"

So the third and final straw is a somewhat more common occurrence, but in light of my day I was in no mood for pleasantries. I had just got home from the gym. I was getting some shit out of my car, wearing what I always work out in, pink short-shorts and a black muscle shirt.
This little mexican dude comes gerbiling on my six. this is what transpired;
"Hey man, can I talk with you?"
"Uh, yeah, what's up?"
"Uh, my friend, got like pulled over by the police...and they uh took him to jail."
"Shitty."
"Yeah so, I was-"
"I'm not going to give you any fucking money."
5 second pause.
"Not even a dollar?"
"How the fuck is a dollar going to get your friend out of jail?"
"Well, I just have to-"
"Nevermind, fuck off."
I turned to walk away, and I swear this is what he said to me.
"Can I bum a smoke?"

end transmission.

Murder By Life.

Well some of you might know that I have a Grandma. She is drunk almost all the time, and is quite close to insanity. She can be very annoying, and petulant, but she has a special place in the hole where my heart used to be, so I can't help but have sympathy fot her. To her, I will always be that chubby, sweet little boy she knew me as long ago, and while this is sometimes problematic, it is also somewhat endearing. She has no idea what a massive pile of useless I have become, nor what an asshole I can be. She was also the only adult in my life that did not react with that pandering, "he'll grow out of it and get a real job" when I said I wanted to draw and write for a living. That always stuck with me and so I try to help the poor old lady.

That being said, I wish she would die.

She has lived a long time, and had her run at things. She had a pretty good life, but the good times are done. Everyone in her family, her husband of 40 years, all her friends, they're all fucking dead. Her life is as lonely as I can imagine is possible, with me her only friend (certainly a fate worse than death) Add to that the fact that the world has completely left her behind (she was born before electricity for fuck's sake!) and it's no wonder she's constantly wasted. She's trying to kill her self daily with piulls and booze, but because of some fucking ancient religion bullshit about suicide, she can't just off herself. "Why won't God let me die," she has often lamented. Maybe God is just a serious asshole.

This whole situation makes one thought surface in my skull. I do not fear death. I fear getting old. I don't mean turning 40 (though I do not relish that inevitability) I mean outliving your life, your body and mind failing, and watching everything you know and love change and disappear. Think about it, every person you ever made laugh, every person you ever fucked, every bastard you ever met on myspace, your mom and dad, brothers and sisters, all the people you remember, no longer exist, and you will never make new memories with these people. No one even knows what a Playstation 5 is, and all your favorite actors and bands are dust. No one wants to hear about life bfore cybornetic limbs and computer chip brain implants. You have nothing to look forward to and the past only brings pain. Existance is a painful limbo were all potential is lost, and thanks to the Republicans, you have to work at Wal-Mart just to have enough cash to stay drunk.

Hopefully, I'll get hit by a bus or a falling meteorite soon. That way my funeral will be full of grieving people, lamenting my untimely demise. You don't wanna be the last one to go with no one left to carry your coffin.

end transmission.

I am sooo sorry.

It has come to my attention that I am an insensitive, intolerant hate monger, with anger management issues. Man, I apologize to everyone for my injudicious views on, what are very truly, super important world issues.

I will be checking myself into a social sensitivity rehabilitation center. Hopefully they will help me care more for people I don't even know and allow me to avoid my terribly incorrect, yet surprisingly funny over generalizations, about people and their bullshit. Hopefully my blog will soon reflect my personal progress in the upcoming months.

Thank you all for sticking with me in my most dire time of need and weakness.

end transmission.

I'm not gay, but you are.

Wow. First of all i got suckered into watching Grey's Anatomy, once. I am a sucker for medical shows, and this one qualified, but it is the shittiest TV show I have ever seen, and labeling it a pandering, "chick" show would be very insulting to chicks. (PS if you watch and/or like that show, I will hate you, I promise).

That being said, I can't escape this "controversy" about the black dude that called someone on the cast a fag or some shit, i don't even know who he said it to. It doesnt fucking matter, really. The entire situation is ludicrous. Like I said I don't even watch it, but I still know about it, (aren't we at war or something?) and that angers me greatly.

They're actors people! COME THE FUCK ON! They are not the characters they play. Who cares if Dr. Dreamboat hates fags in real life? Apparently everyone but me. His job is to pretend he is someone he's not, if your gay and you like his character, well that just tells me he's good at what he does.

And what kills me is that this poor bastard is going into counseling over this shit, to change his obviously incorrect views on the gays. What the fuck kinda bullshit is that? If i was that guy I would have said, "You know what. Eat shit. I called him a fag, and he is a fag. And fuck you for telling me what I can and can't say, or what I can't and can't believe. I might have said it at the time just to hurt him, with no real anti-homo sentiment behind it, but now, fuck you all."

but that's just me.

end transmission.

Coping with Insignifcance.

This weekend was a very good time indeed! I got to hang out with some of my oldest palls, drink until sickness and tell stories about shitting and make fun of stuff. I got to go see NOFX (which was amazing, It's been almost 4 years since the last time?) and hanging out with real punk kids, both old and new, people who share a love for sarcasm, PBR, and being assholes to everyone. No dude make-up either. Finally hanging out with good music everywhere, not a DJ in sight.

I had almost forgotten that there were any of these people left, but be assured they thrive! I haven't laughed as much as I did this weekend in many moons. Kelly and Chopper were out here, as well as Scott Kaplan, and Virgil and a veritable army of Suburban Home/Denver Punk peoples, drunks, nerds, and losers all around. We had an amazing time, and I'm now loathe to return to my normal life.

I haven't had that much fun in a long time. I would like to thank all of you, (even Fat Mike, who was a dick to me, just like always) even the new people I met whose names have faded in a beer inspired amnesia. Sorry for the unusual lack of vocabularic pinache, but my brain is literally exhausted, and elated for the pain. I have to get some fucking sleep now.

end transmission.

Finally, I know who gave the best onscreen BJ in 2006.

So last night was an excitig night at work. The AVN convention is currently taking up the floorspace in the convention center of THe Mandalay Bay. For those of you who don't know what that is, it's the largest Adult Video/Product convention in the U.S., and last night they had their award show. A kind of Acadamy Awards for porn, if you will.
When the show was over, the party spilled into the casino, and you can just imagine what that was like. Strangely enough, porn stars do not feel the least bit shy in a public setting. I haven't seen so many topless hot girls making out and finger fucking since my Grandma's 73rd birthday back in '92.
Honestly, all you had to do was look for a big crowd, and in the center of that crowd was any number of hot girls, tearing their clothes off and making out. Not to mention girls just standing around topless, gambling, drinking, all that shit. It was an eye candy bonanza.
Of course, the women I work with were all very confounded and noteably snooty. "Why do men have to be such idiots over tits?" or "Stop looking at those three girls practically fucking and get back to work" or "they're just tits and most of them aren't even real."
Their pleas fell on deaf ears and their attempts to ruin the spectacle were in vain. I mean, I might have been just as apprehensive if the casino had been overcome with statuesque male doctors from some kinda underwear model/mensa convention, but that kinda thing just doesn't happen in Vegas, or anywhere, who knows?
I also got invited by some dude to audition to be in porns on his website. Apparantly the interview is as follows:
1. Daub walks into room. Room has a few dudes and a camera.
2. Daub strips.
3. Daub achieves erection by manual means.
4. Daub masturbates and must be able to cum on command.
3. Success = a call back and I get to fuck some random girl and have it webcast throughout the planet.

I said I would consider it, took the man's business card, but declined to shake his hand.

end transmission.

I hate Bono.

So we're sending 20 something thousand more poor highschool dropouts to the middle east. I try to avoid politics in this thing because I like talking about myself more, but I watched that speech good 'ol George gave on the TV and it made me want to fucking assassinate him, well more than I already did.

You hear that secret service! I want the President of the United States dead. If I dissappear suddenly in the night you guys know what happened.

Anyway, fucking fuck! That asshole talked (well, sounds came out of his mouth in stuttering stream) for so long but he basically only said one thing. The fact that that anus sniffing fuckface told us with a straight face that sending more soldiers over there was the first step to getting them all home...well I was pretty drunk and now I have to buy a new TV. How stupid does he think we are? How does that even make sense? I might not understand all the nuances of American politics, but this makes no goddam sense. Fuck that guy. It's so frustrating.

end transmission.

The Rejection of Salvation.

The human being who is condemned to death is, at least, magnificent before he disappears, and his magnificence is his justification. The Daub creates his own unity by aesthetic means. But it is an aesthetic of singularity and of negation. The Daub is, by occupation, always in opposition, He can only exist in defiance. He can only be sure of his own existance by finding it in the expression of others' faces. Other people are his mirror. A mirror that quickly becomes clouded, it is true, since human capacity for attention is limited. It must be ceaselessly stimulated, spurred on by provocation. The Daub, therefore, is always compelled to astonish. Singularity is his vocation, excess his way to perfection. Perpetually incomplete, always on the fringe of things, he compels others to create him, while denying their values. He plays at life because he is unable to live it. He plays at it until he dies, except for the moments when he is alone and without a mirror. For the Daub, to be alone is not to exist.

end transmission.

Don't confuse your truth with your pain.

Well I've taken a break from my Tiger Woods 2007, I double bogey'd the last hole putting me at +6 for the Tour, which is really shitty. That game is like crack. I wonder if real golf is that much fun? Hm..

So 4 days deep into 2007 and there is really nothing to report. A funny anecdote...

I was working, well I was standing around at work wondering what would be better to be burned alive or to have a white hot copper wire stuck in my pee hole, when a cocktail waitress came up to me and said,
"Daub, who is that guy, he's famous isn't he?"
She was indicating a real tall skinny black guy, his hair mostly grey, and he had a cane.
"yes, that's Dr. J." I told her.
"Oh he's a doctor, I thought he was an athlete or something."
Then she walked away. Now I'm no sports freak, but I know who Dr. J Erving is. I went over to him (me and the Doctor kinda bonded earlier talking about how cool it was being so much taller than everyone else...I told him about how men over 6'2" are the largest minority in the world, we got to talking about all kinds of other shit, he's a real cool dude) and I told him what the girl had said, and he almost choked on hs beer laughing. When he recovered he told me that such a misunderstanding made him feel old.

Welcome to the club Dr. J.

end transmission.

Scream when you burn.

One more day and this year will be over. The earth has been traveling around the sun at 67,000MPH for 365 days and so, he we are back were we started, ready to do it all again, though this time somehow optimistic that something will be different this time around.

I think it would be cliche and boring for me to talk about New Year's resolutions and regrets of times passed. I would like, instead to tell you all about something I that is probably the furthest thing from your mind, but should be closer to the forefront.

You know when you get a new roll of toilet paper, and you are too lazy to put that little spring loaded rod through it and attatch it to the rack? What do you do with it then? You set it somewhere...on the back of the toilet, on the floor next to the toilet...or you set it on top of the rod in the fixture and you get on with your life.

This seems a perfectly acceptable solution, and after all you just had a very pleasent, if not stressful bowel movement, and the achievement has left you euphoric and slightly unaware of...certain physical truths. Namely, that the new roll of ass wiping paper has too large of a circumfrance to actually stay on top of the rod.

You stand up, go to flush your effectuation straight to Hell, when lo! The brand new roll falls right into the tiolet! No fucking way did that just happen. No fucking way!

But it did, and now you have a problem. Your toilet is full of shit an any part of the fecies that was in any way liquid is no quickly absorbing into the massive lump of paper. You can't just flush it away, that would most certainly clog and make a bigger mess. So you have two options, A. You can fish out the shit soaked toilet roll with your bare hands and then try and figure out where to dispose of the dripping stinking mass or B. You can commit suicide.

end transmission.

Some Bullshit Escape.

So, today I got in a big fight with some woman that insisted that suicide rates increase during the Christmas season. I know that's not true because I thought it was true at one point, but as I am prone to do, I did the research and found out it just isn't fucking so.

Actually, more people kill themselves in April than any other month. I find that interesting since it was the month I was born in, so if you believe in any sort of reincarnation or that kind of shit, I probably have the soul of a suicide--er. I refuse to call them victims...but it makes sense when you think about it. Winter time is a bleak, shitty period of the year when depression seems almost inevitable. Everything is dead, it's cold, the days are short, a lot of time with no sun, and there's no fucking way your parents are gonna buy you a $185 GI Joe Aircraft Carrier for Christmas, even though it is over 5 feet long (That's barely $37 a foot) and comes with Admiral Flagg AND a special edition ACE. Where would I put such a thing? I'd find somewhere...

I digress, Uh...oh yeah, but in April it's all sunny and the girls are wearing less and the air smells like life and sex and vitality, and there you are, still feeling like shit, but the rest of the world walking around with a boner and you can't go anywhere without seeing it, mocking your pain. And your puppy that you named after your dead grandma got hit by a semi truck that was shipping tampons to the local safeway, and that "rash" you got from the girl you fucked six monthes ago still hasn't gone away, and they canceled Firefly, which was on its way to being the best show ever, and there's that fuck Jared still making money with his stupid glasses, telling you how good subway is for you, but you know it's a lie, they started a new season of the Real World, George Bush got re-elected, your job sucks, somebody got a hold of those pictures you took of yourself with your dick tucked back between your legs and posted them on the web, gas is over 3 fucking dollars a gallon, they stopped making almond joy ice cream, Pennies still cost 2.3 cents to make, and it doesn't seem to make any sense that there are no girl terrorists, and you can't stop watching that stupid super sweet 16 show on Mtv, and you ordered that Rueben with NO thousand island, just like always, and they still put it on, "I said make it Dry bitch! Dry!" and no one else seems the least bit depressed about any of it so BLAM!

This all seems moot in the face of the fact that this poor woman's daughter killed herself 6 years ago, on Christmas. I never said the suicide rate was zero over the holidays, I just said it didn't increase. In all probobility the poor girl was so fucked up she had other things on her mind more important than Jesus's birthday.

So, if you want to kill yourself, for God's sake wait 'till April. We'll all understand, and I won't have to stand in silent, awkward disbelief at my incredible misfortune at choosing when and who to debate on the topic of Yule tide self murder.

Merry Christmas kids.

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Even Grey Suits have their day.

I was thinking, whatever we may do, excess will always keep its place in the heart of man, in the place where solitude is found. We all carry within us our places of exile, our crimes and our ravages. But our task is not to unleash them on the world; it is to fight them in ourselves and others.

Egg nog was originally named after drinks called "grog" meaning anything made with rum. I drank a lot of it and this is the outcome.

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It's sad when someone you know becomes someone you knew.

So a lot of you might be wondering, where was Johnny Knoxville last Thursday night?

I'll tell you where! He was at the Double Down Saloon watching a girl shoot darts out of her twat at a skinny dude with balloons taped to his chest. How do I know this? 'cause I was there too!

It just goes to fucking show that there are things in this world still left to surprise and wow me. Just when I was sitting at home, lamenting that there was nothing this world had to present to me that would ever again fill my body with tingling veneration, behold! Las Vegas surprises me yet again!

This woman could not only fire blowdarts out of a tube inserted into her pussy, she could do so with enough force to lodge the darts in the human target, (better still, she could do it from two different positions!) that's right flesh piercing vagina darts! Add one more terrible weapon the the pussy's already lethal arsenal. The darts were not terribly accurate, though I blame the girls skirt for the interferance. Ian has pictures of this somewhere, I'll give you guys a look when I can get to them.

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The politics of starving.

The present paints the past in gold. The past paints the present in lead.

Murder in the key of F.

A homeless woman farted on me today. I feel as if maybe she was just farting and I walked by, but that is not the truth. She expelled fecies in a gaseous form straight into my nasal pasasages, the airborne shit sticking to my white t-shirt and blue jeans, both now brown with her insolence. And she did so with predjudice!

Why do I tell you this?

To brighten your day, of course. Hopefully, if you were farted on today the person was lying next to you, naked, or it was in the context of ribald humor, expelled for a laugh. At the very least the person who farted on you had a place indoors to sleep. Even better, you walked through the ass-cloud of a stranger, and it only made your lunch taste faintly of shit.

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Cry for mercy and you will die crying!

I did it! After four years of brutal open warfare, with countless, intermitant guerilla skirmishes, I have done the impossible! I have defeated an enemy more terrible than any other foe known to the American people. I stand triumphant over the iniquitous and always unpropitious avatar of perniciousness on our mortal plain!

I, of course, speak of the DMV. Though the fight was arduous and spanned two states, I have finally won! Eat shit Boulder DMV, suck my ass Las Vegas DMV! You must now go on fucking everyone else in holes far too small for your cock of execrable injustice with the painful image of my well won vicotry, buring in your soul! Thus forever ruining your foul ejaculation, decreasing the elation you once felt so clearly knowing that no one could stand up to your rancorous might! Know that every asshole that waits in a 3 hour line in the early morning hours on a fucking Wednesday will be slightly bolstered by my tale and smile slightly through gritted teeth as you dispense your languid writs and permits!

I share this triumph with you all.

Fuck you DMV, I win, you loose, I fooled you you fucks, I won!

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I'm a single succesfull guy.

The Bouncing Souls show was fucking amazing, as they always are live. I heard some of their new songs live and maybe I'm willing to admit their new album is not all bad. The Acoustic version of "Say Anything" was surprising and very cool to hear. I am jealous of all you fuckers in Denver 'cause they're playing two nights, the second night they're playing Maniacal Laughter the whole way through, that should be sweet. I can't believe it's been 10 years since that album came out, it seems like just yesterday I was a young punk in my freashman year at CU drinking and getting into trouble.

That's the good and bad about a band like the Souls, I have so many memories tied to those songs, even those guys in the band, I've seen them so many times they seem like family, which is something i really miss, that "scene" of kids (most of whom I never really liked anyway, ironically) but it reminds me of a time before punk was cool, and only the losers liked it and if you put on a punk cd at a shitty party people got all mad and had no idea why anyone would like that kind of thrashing guitar and too-fast drum beat, with bad vocals and songs about peeing in ice cube trays.

This show had those kind of kids, even punkers my age with their kids, little 5 year olds and shit (maybe their is hope for the future of america) , the contrast to say, the Alkaline Trio show was astounding and not a little sad. I'm old, what I think is cool, oddly enough has finally caught on, and now, it has been destroyed by mass media and trendy bullshit. They sell ripped tshirts for $30 at hot topic, and it's cool to have a fucking FAUX Hawk! (I swear to God it takes all the restraint in my robust frame to refrain from killing anyone with that haircut, bloodily dismembering them and feeding them their own limbs) You can have a godamned mohawk at work in a fancy restraunt! It's socially acceptable, but only in it's new "fagged"up metrosexual form mode. There is something fundimentally wrong with that, and absolutely nothing punk about it..

Punk rock and the mohawk, the New Punk and the Fauxhawk, it's easy to kinda see what I mean, huh?

But most of the music hasn't changed, it has just been dulled somehow. Punk rock has been Fagged up mtreosexualised just like our hair, We sold them our revenge, and now what do we have left?

There are still a lot of good "punk" (now they have all just been thrown into the alternative rock bin of history, and that lack of distiction makes me sad) bands in the scene, most of the older bands keep making good music and playing it for these eyeliner fags, (I even like some of the eyeliner fag bands, Taking Back Sunday, My Chemical Romance, and some others, they have some balls I even if they do wear women's jeans) and the Bouncing Souls are still strong, they're one of those bands that just make you happy to rock out with, even their sad songs are upbeat and there is just such a rediculous positive energy surrounding them and their music, it's impossible to resist, you can't help but have fun listening to thier shit.

Mostly they make me think of days of yore, of Kap, (who got me into them) and all of our adventures as lads at the sub shop (the First Planet Sub crew, before the Half Fast team.), and Evan and our Bad Religion bonding that ended in a black out and severe injury on my part handing out flyers for a show at a frat party. Mr. Charles Livingston and Medieval Madness, Rats in the Hallway, Hallett Hall and all those fucking assholes. That all seems like a lifetime ago, I miss those days, those kids. At least I still see most of those guys every once in a while, there were a few of those kids who didn't survive (figuritively and literally), and some of those people I'm glad I will never see again.

Worse than all of it, I am the whore I never wanted to be, and it makes me sick, working fulltime at a job that does nothing beneficial other than fill my wallet. Watching Fight Club agian, sorry, that movie always makes me feel like a hypocrite. My things do own me and I am helpless in the face of their seduction.

On a happy note, one of the opening bands was this group of black dudes called Whole Wheat Bread...and I must say they were awesome, I was blown away, i haven't heard/seen a punk band with that much talent, attitude, and heart in a long time. I highly advise any of you in CO to go see them at the Gothic, they will surprise the shit out of you, I promise. They even have T-shirts and bumper stickers that say "I love black people."

I also need a new mouse, my left clicker is gummed up with beer. It makes computing difficult at best.

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