It's nearly impossible, Highly Improbible, but not hopeless.

Who are you, who are they? It feels like I might break on this ordinary day, why do we need to change, we were perfect yesterday?

Shit, I'm writing a shitton of shit right now...that's a lot of shit. Man Face to Face "ignorance is Bliss" is just hitting all the chords. Anyway, I'm gonna wake up, hungover and soberish....and read what I wrote and post the fixed version. Sorry you don't get the raw version, it's just a little too "feel sorry for me" at this point.

On a funny note, I ran over a squirrel today. It wasn't personal, more wrong place wrong time, but I swear the second before it died it judged me.

end transmission.

The future is now.

Ok assholes! If you can't figure out the god damn check yourself out lanes at the supermarket, just suck it up and let the high school kid or the kid with downs syndrome check you out.

I've seriously had it.

I like the check yourself out lanes, because I shop for food one meal at a time. I don't need a fucking cart to ship my provisions to my car. I want to get in, buy my 3 lbs. of meat, 1 lb. of cheese and 1 liter of Vodka, and get the hell out with as little human interaction as possible.

Drop items, scan, beep, scan, beep, scan, beep, swipe card, get on with life.

NOT

Take 5 minutes to unload my basket, trying earnestly to stack my obviously more than ten items into some sort of stable pyramid on the scale that won't go rolling all over the place, swipe...swipe...stupid look on face...swipe...(why isn't this onion coming up on the scanner?)...swipe...swipe...now I have to act frustrated and get the attention of the attendant and blame technology and him/her for my own ignorance...oh, you need a code...ok duh, no bar code on an onion, stupid nature...scan...beep...scan...beep...scan beep...wait this wasn't the price that I thought it was, it should be on sale...fast forward 10 minutes, "no mam, it's the generic tomato paste that is 62 cents, this is the name brand it's 71 cents"..."well, then I don't want it."

Finally all the items are scanned, and lo, it's time to pay. the total comes to $42.34. First let's search our luggage size purse for $.34. When we don't find the requisite change in that location, we can ask our husband if he has any change, he searches the cargo pants of his pants, finding nothing shrugs apologetically as he scans the US weekly's. Well there's nothing to be done now, but pay. Shit, I only have ones and fives and I don't use a wallet, I just throw money in my pocket like it's worthless, so it's all crumpled. Wait! why is this huge unshaven white guy murdering my wife with a rib eye?!

I'm just saying you should have to pass some sort of proficiency test to use the check yourself lane. You should also have a debit/credit card.

No change accepted.

end transmission.

The dregs of sobriety.

There are no more barriers to cross. All I have in common with the uncontrollable and the insane, the vicious and the evil, all the mayhem I have caused and my utter indifference toward it I have now surpassed. My pain is constant and sharp and I do not hope for a better world for anyone, in fact I want my pain to be inflicted on others. I want no one to escape, but even after admitting this there is no catharsis, my punishment continues to elude me and I gain no deeper knowledge of myself; no new knowledge can be extracted from my telling. This confession has meant nothing.

end transmission.

Like a loaded gun, if it sits too long, eventually you'll work up the nerve.

Ha! Here you go Chris, the blog is back.

So after four years give or take, the Vegas experiment has come to a close. I made some money, had some fun, made some friends. But here I am heading back to Colorado. Have I outgrown the tiny city in my travels across the world, or will I appreciate it more now that I know what the world is like elsewhere? Time will tell, but for now I look forward to being close to the people I have been too far away from for too long.

I will miss the small tribe of kids I have bonded with in Vegas, the simple truth is I have spread my roots over a large area of this country and no matter where I go I will leave people behind. Though this is sad, it is also very cool. I feel very lucky to know that there are people all over the place that can tolerate my fucking presence.

Anyway, Denver will have its hands full with me for a little while at least, I can always leave...make sure you impress me enough not to turn the town to salt.

end transmission.

Abandon ties that bind, there's no salvation here.

Hello. My name is Daub. I am 30.9 years old, and I have been unemployed for almost an entire year. So unbeknown to you, you have all been paying my salary for the entire time. (suckers!) That does not make you assholes my boss! But if you could manage it, I would like Tuesdays off.

Currently, I live in the spare bedroom of one of my best friends and his old lady. There are two very ugly dogs here. They eat my shoes on a daily basis, somehow they are growing on me and that is lucky for them. For a more detailed biography please visit: www.washeduppornstars.com/dickdaubbone.

I do not have a problem with my drinking, but I do have a drinking problem.

Anyway, after a slight hiatus, I have decided to put fingers to buttons and share with you all some things that have been on my mind.

First of all, Robocop is an awesome movie. I remember when my mom took me to see it as a lad in the theater. It was odd, because my parents wouldn't even let me watch Ghostbusters. I don't think my mom expected it to be so graphic, and when the ED209 turned that businessdude into hamburger, I remember her dragging me out of the theater and keeping me outside until the barrage of gunfire silenced. I watched as much as I could before my exile, and after that my mom just gave up and let me watch the rest of the film.

I mention this heartwarming tale of my youth because I feel like that movie fucked me up for the rest of my life. I had never seen anything so fucking amazing in my life, something about the gratuitous violence, sex, and cyborg one liners changed who and what I would become. Kinda like how Linda Carter in that Wonder Woman outfit defined my "type" before my balls even dropped. Black hair, blue eyes, big tits, she ties you up and makes you tell the truth. I'm probably the only person who ever thought she was hot. Also she had an invisible jet.

What was I talking about? Fuck. I guess my point was that if Robocop were here, he and Wonder Woman would fix the economy somehow.

end transmission.

I can't recall the why or when...all I remember is that now we aren't speaking.

A lot of you have asked what happened next in my adventure with LSD in public after the asian chick. I alluded that it was substantial and kept me from ever attempting such a stunt again.

This is true.

For those of you who have never tripped acid, I guess maybe you need a little more description of the experience to understand. After I talked to Kelly I decided to head home to the dorms, which was a pretty decent walk sober, but tripping was going to be a herculean gauntlet, survivable only by the true of heart and strong of faith.

You see, when your this fucked up on rat poison the world is different. It's not like you're drunk, your faculties are intact, you can move adroitly, your thoughts are clear, too clear, almost. But you are also not straight, you are perceiving everything differently, as if you are wearing red sunglasses and asked to properly identify colored objects.

"pick the green apple."

You can recognize the object: apple, and you see a green one, plain as day, but the object you picked looks to everyone else to be a red apple, and to be fair, there is no apple. It's actually a yellow pear. Get it? If not you've never been that fucked up.

I digress. Ar this point I had already forgotten that I had talked to Kelly, in fact that she even existed, i was already contemplating whether or not God had designed Street Fighter ( the arcade was right in front of me) as a way to separate the weak from the roundeye, when a most unfortunate event occurred.

The fat girl from my feminist philosophy class appeared with two of her (i assumed) sexually damaged lesbian friends. There was no escape, she recognized me(most of you have heard the tales of this class....I'm sure I'll include the experience eventually...but for now, imagine me in a class with 30 angry feminists talking about rape).

I, of course, pretended as if I had no idea who she was, ans she walked by without incident. Very anticlimactic.

Where was I, goddammit, this parachute is a knapsack! I'll be back with the rest, fuck! Stupid internet.

end transmission.

I'll love you forever, if I ever love at all.

So due to the immense free time I have at my disposal and my growing lack of enjoyment at the company of my fellow human beings, I have been playing around a lot with internet IQ and personality tests. Low and behold an EHarmony commercial came on and I figured, with that much money for TV advertising, they must be popular, but how accurately could it diagnose my personality.

In a nut shell, it was terrifyingly accurate, and this was the final result:

"Unfortunately, we are not able to make our profiles work for you. Our matching model could not accurately predict with whom you would be best matched. This occurs for about 20% of potential users, so 1 in 5 people simply will not benefit from our service. We hope that you understand, and we regret our inability to provide service for you at this time."

Now, this doesn't surprise me, since I answered every question with 99.9% honesty, and, well, no one is ever going to get a date going that route. It was the actual personality analysis that blew my mind.

"Your emphasis on personal independence and personal responsibility may seem to lack in compassion to some people. Undoubtedly you have encountered people who feel this way toward you. And some may find you to be rather selfish. You do stay focused on your own life, take responsibility for your own problems, and are not always moved by situations in which some people think some action is required. That is part of you and your basic beliefs about life. And some people will inevitably want you to be different, but that is simply not who you are.

Undoubtedly you have met some people who get uncomfortable being around you because your feelings are so close to the surface. They may keep a bit of distance, especially around any subject that might trigger an emotional topic they are uncomfortable with.

Lucky you! You enjoy your own company as much as you enjoy the company of others.

You may occasionally run into problems with other people....They may be more sociable and outgoing, and find you too laid-back and relaxed. They want conversations to be lively and passionate while you keep things amiable and civil. Or others may be more quiet and reserved than you, and when you're in one of your more animated moments they may wish you would back off. You may be ready to put more energy into a conversation than they are comfortable with."

That's just a taste, but you get the point. Have we really figured out how people react to the point that a generic online test can pinpoint such salient features in our personality? Are there really only a certain number of specific personalities in the world that are quantifiable? Or is this test like astrology, just general enough that you can pick out the things that seem right and ignore the stuff that doesn't apply.

All I know is that Eharmony has little hope for me as a person, and that makes me happy.

end transmission.

Slow news day.

So, I have really been shitting the bed on this blog lately, and I apologize. My hate mail has tripled in the past two weeks, people demanding their money back and some even offering me money if I just stop ejaculating this crap on the tits of the internet.

Well, I refuse to cease. As a writer, and a badass, I know that sometimes you must fight through the shit to get to the toilet paper. So here goes.

Since nothing super awesome has happened recently, I have decided to regale you with a tale of yesteryear, when I was younger, dumber and equally handsome. This tale is set in the late 1990's, a time before the internet, cell phones, or that little ring contraceptive device that no one told me about, until I encountered it in the field (that's another story for later, when the kids go to bed).

I was a lad of no more than 19 or 20 years, cocksure and abound with potential and angst. Things were hard for me at this time, working 3 jobs, going to school, and trying to balance a budding alcholic habit with the trials of a newly independent life. It was a fun time, though, and many exciting things were happening to me.

This story is not about any of them, unfortunately. This story is about the time I decided to take 2 geltabs of LSD and go about my day, just to see what a normal day in the life of a Daub would be like while hallucinating and sweating profusely. I remember it as if it was filmed and the footage was recorded on my DNA, a sort of inherited memory that came from an ancestor. I cannot recount the entire 16 hour adventure in this limited tome, but this I think is the most salient and interesting of the experiences (a close second was fucking the blonde hippie girl that lived in the dorms downstairs from me, her name was an "A" name... Anne? I dunno, she was clean for a hippie and had blonde pubic hair, a novelty for sure, though any pubic hair on chicks nowadays is a novelty. Not all change is bad.

I had just left my symbolic logic class, my mind blown away by the concept of changing life into math. It is a fairly "out there" concept even when sober, but we do it on a daily basis, and don't even know it, though most people cheat and have beliefs that are the logical equivalent of 2+4=7. I was leaving the Hellems building and was walking toward the UMC, my eyes shifting under my sunglasses, taking in an incalculable amount of stimuli. I remember thinking that most of our lives we were tripping on something and acid was the antidote, everything seemed so much more real to me, I could see the way the world really was, I realized that day that I was God, I determined reality, my perception was truth, my truth, and in that way I was divine. In the 100 or so feet to the UMC, I also wrote the entire plot and premise of the movie "Tank Girl," as well as finally figured out why rich Dads always have hot daughters (that mental debacle had been plaguing me years, and the answer was so simple).

At this point, I am, of course, just standing stupidly, staring off into space, people milling around me, unaware that the slightest nudge could send me into a rant about the apocalypse building in my mind.

That's when Kelly happened by. Kelly was this cute Japanese Lacrosse player that I met...somewhere, I went to some sorority party with her because she hated all the girls in the thing (her mother had been a DG, so she was supposed to be, that dinner is another nail biting tail, maybe later) and she wanted someone to have fun with. Awesome girl.

"Daub, what's up? What're you doing?" she said.

I remember thinking that I was imagining things, I didn't expect to see anyone I knew, and i was about 3 hour deep in chemical inebriation. The idea that there was a girl's voice in my head was not too hard to fathom. Kelly was pretty short, and I thought she was an elf or some sort of cartoon character, it took me a while to recognize her, but my clouded synapses, running at the speed of light, so quickly that thoughts were thought and forgotten in milliseconds, finally recognized her face and set into motion...a reaction.

"Kelly, I'm glad I ran into you, I need you to hold onto this until tomorrow," I handed her the pen I had in my hand, she took the pen, I didn't see her face I was staring at her feet for some reason, and I walked past her, confident that my actions were justified and completely suited to the encounter.

"Uh, thanks...I guess, are you ok?" she asked.

I had almost escaped, I turned around. Now I wondered why I had wanted to get away so badly, now I wanted to stay, "Hey let's go get a beer," I said.

"I have class," she said.

"So do I," my drug addled memory somehow yanked a fact from the aether, I always passed Kelly at this time, I knew where she was going, "besides, isn't you class that stupid writing class you hate so much? What do you call it? Writing for retards...or..."

She smile, "Basic concepts of essay writing."

"Yeah, fuck it, let's go. I'll teach you everything you need to know about writing an essay. And Step one is beer, or maybe vodka. You may not be ready for the advanced concepts, but I think you'll get a hold of it pretty quick. Besides if you don't come with me, you could get hit by a bus, well you could get hit by a bus either way, but would you rather your last moments on earth be with me and some alcohol, or a bunch of idiots trying to form a coherent thought in written form without colloquialisms."

"I don't have a fake ID."

" I know where we can go. Come on, you owe me for that fucking sorority dance."

"You had fun, you just won't admit it."

"That is a lie, come on, let's go."

She looked at me strangely then, her tiny asian face seemed so far away from my lofty corn fed height, and for just a second I thought she could read my mind, so I stopped thinking about her naked and, grasping at any other thought that I could formulate, I settled on wiener dogs, they’re like little people. People that eat their own poo. If she could read my mind, well I’d be ok. If she did not have that power I would also enjoy thinking about tiny hotdog shaped dogs. Win, win.

“I really have to go to class today, it’s my day to have those retards read one of my papers and tell me what they think, while I pretend to care. These fucking required classes suck.”

They do bark a lot though, seemingly at everything, even at themselves when they chance upon their reflection. How strange it must be to come face to face with yourself, but being too stupid to understand the concept of “I” you think that your image is another “thing like me but not me…somehow.” I suddenly realized that I was just standing there, lost in my own bullshit. I settled on a de facto response that would later in life serve me with such distinction.

“Sure.”

“I’ll call you when I’m done, though, I think drinking sounds like a good idea.”

“Ok, have a good time with the bastards.”

“Bye.”

This would have been great news if the cell phone had been invented already, but alas, in those dark times one would have to literally wait by the phone when one was expecting a call, and I wasn’t exactly sure where my phone was at the moment.

What happened next is why this was the first and last time I did LSD in a public, daylight setting.

end transmission.

Sometimes I wish I was a magician,but then I realize I would hate myself more than I already do.

So I'm still blissfully unemployed, sleeping 'till noon, reading and playing video games, rarely embarking on any outings out into the 104 degree desert heat.

This morning, however, I had to attend to my primary financial drain, my car. I woke up around one o'clock, laid in bed reading emails and trying to figure out how the Hell I got home last night. Anyway, my proscribed task of the day was to do a little car maintenance. It's important when unemployed to give yourself tasks to accomplish, thus feeling like you are still contributing to something, even if it's all really just bullshit.

So I went out to the Daubmobile to add a quart of oil (it leaks oil somewhere, I know very little of these things and hope that if I add more than leaks out, all will be well) and change the air filter. This is pretty much all I am able to do myself, and yesterday's quest was to acquire the supplies necessary for this endeavor, so all was prepared.

Needless to say I am quite hungover, and walking out the door is akin to swan diving into the sun. This does not improve my mood, nor my headache. I open the hood of my conveyance and begin the necessary steps involved in this routine maintenance, when I vaguely sense that there is another human being within 30 ft of me. It is as if my senile hermitude has given me some 6th sense, and I could hear her talking on the phone.

I, of course go about my business, the engine parts were hotter than satan's taint and I was swearing quite profusely. I start to get a strange feeling, like when your fly is down and you're in a crowded room. You don't want to draw attention to the mistake by hurriedly zipping up, but you also need to fix the problem before more people notice. The point is, it is at this point that I realize the girl is no longer talking on the phone, she is talking to me. I'm very focused on my tasks, my head buried in my car's engine.

"Hey! Yeah you," I finally absorb from the air and turn around.

"What?" I ask somewhat disappointed that the girl was very not hot.

"Yeah, finally, have you seen a fucking cat come by here?"

"A cat? No, but I've had my head buried in here so..." Between the heat and the alcohol and the oil fumes my IQ is barely high enough to maintain breathing and heart rate.

"You would have noticed a cat come by here, heard it at least."

Uh....I've been sequestered in my apartment for a couple of weeks, did cats get louder while I was away, or maybe she just had large, very loud cats...and she's kinda pissed off, which bothers me 'cause I didn't do shit, and I don't really care a pig's balls about her pet.

"I didn't hear a fucking cat, but I've only been out here about 10 minutes, sorry."

A short pause. She looks at me as if the F bomb was not only inappropriate, but also preemptory. She launched her bomb first.

"No, not a fucking a cat, have you seen a CAB out here, you know a taxi?" she looks at me like I'm a retard, the whole time her cell phone never left her ear.

"Ohh..." my brain ignites like a tetris game waiting for the long, straight four piece and finally getting it, bam! "A taxi, no I haven't seen shit."

She looks at me like I told her the moon smelled funny today and says, "Well if a cab does come by, just yell out for me, ok?"

I have never seen this person in my life, but in the interest of ceasing this awkward social interaction I manage, "If a cab comes by here while I'm out here I will stop it, with my own body if necessary, and if I escape serious injury I will notify you A-Sap."

I then stared at her until she retreated to whatever banal purgatory she subsisted in, and I went back to my task, singing a face to face song in my head, and realizing it had been a couple days since I had looked in a mirror.

end transmission.

Here is the world they’ll try to sell you, here is the ache, barbiturate...

I just realized! I don't know what the fuck I'm doing! I don't have a clue! I'm growing a beard again, that's all I got, and it's mostly grey.

Also, I am not sure it's wrong for a 27 year old mexican dude to beat his 2 year old child to death on the highway, to the point it takes police shooting him to death to end the affair. Why did he do it? Was the kid crying to much? Did he just hate it? I don't know, but it doesn't bother me either way. I feel like nothing people do surprise, shock, or offend me any more, if things like this ever bothered me. I would never beat a child to death, I don't think, but I also thought I'd never see a girl shoot darts out of her vagina....so, what the fuck do I know.

Bartender? Are you sure this has vodka in it?

end transmission.

When you're falling, you're the only one that doesn't see the distance.

Well it's been a while. I've been without the internet, and they frown on drinking and downloading pornography at the library, so, I've been kinda off the radar. Well I turned 30 years old, lost my shitty job, got a sweet infection in my mouth and had to have teeth literally drilled out of my head, luckily it only cost me 3 grand, I saved $400 bucks by staying conscious through the whole procedure, the smell of your own jaw burning with the friction of a drill is something I highly recommend you all endure, it takes your mind to some odd places.

I quit drinking, got hooked on the fun pills from my mouth surgery, ran out of pills and went back to booze. Ironically I've written more in the past 2 weeks than I have in the past year, and I'm happy with about a fifth of it, which is really good.

Before I forget, go buy the new No Use For A Name album, it's the most upbeat depressing album I've ever heard, Tony Sly has always been good at that kinda shit, but he really nailed it here. You don't even know its depressing until after you're done listening to it...that is a magic that is hard to conjure, and is an inspiration to me. It's like falling in love with a girl, having her leave you, sending you into that downward heartbreak spiral for a year or so, only to realize you never really even liked her in the first place.

Anyway...

I guess I glossed over my 3 week awesome return to Colorado. Not only did I get to see all of the people I miss every day, but I got to see a Trevor Keith show, No Use For A Name and NOFX (and my 2 favorite American Steel songs, someday I'll see a whole set, that makes 3 I've misssed). My humiliating Sorry! defeat was not a high point however, and it may have soured me on the entire board game phenom. I really think video games are gonna overtake that market, well only time will tell.

I guess you all would like some witty insight into life or maybe an embarrasing sex story. I can only leave you with this quote from the master himself;

"If you find yourself in bed with a terribly ugly woman, wishing she was pretty will not get it over any quicker."

end transmission.

Happy Birthday Daub, you're fired.

Well, I got laid off. No I didn't fist fuck anyone rich or accidentally pee on the CFO of MGM/Mirage, I didn't kill a hooker, or get caught fucking a waitress on my lunch hour. The corp just needed to save a few million dollars in order to maintain the corporate jet fleet, or to keep their concentration camps open, or whatever they do. On the bright side:




end transmission

Sometimes those simple things won't turn the trick no more.

Whew! I just spent a half hour whining and complaining, only to have windows shut down internet explorer and "poof!" all gone. Lucky for you I got it out of my system.
I'm in the writin' mood, which means more dead latinas/babies per raped estranged spouses than ever before! I hesitate to give you the link to it's web publication until I sober up and read it over first. 'Till then, just wonder and imagine at the terrible world that shits out of my diseased brain.
These moods are so transitory, yet elationary (is that a word), and it made me think, well wonder, at people who write shit like Harry Potter. That Rawlings bitch is one of only 7 female billionaires on the forbes list of rich assholes. What mood is she in when she writes that shit? I don't make shit from the crap I write, mostly 'cause I can't finish anything and no one really wants to read stories that make them feel like crap just for being alive. I get that. But come on?
The itch needs to be scratched, gotta go.
end transmission.

Everyone Learns Faster on Fire.

Well, it's been a while kids, but I'm back! Through the adverse tribulations of sobriety and back again! Yeah exclamation points!
!!!
What nuggets of truth do I have to impart on you as I slowly trudge the uneven path toward my 30th birthday? Simply put....none. I Don't feel like I've mentally/emotionally grown since around 1998. This is ironically the last time I took one in the nuts (a hell of a streak to be certain, though it does cause some inordinate flinching in order to maintain the statistic).
punk Rock bowling was another glaring high point in a life otherwise shrouded in the gloom of monotony. I have awesome friends, and I'm happy and lucky to know all those fuckers. Lifelong friends who I feel so close to that all I can think of is how I want to be the first to die so I don't have to go to their funerals, and so my funeral is heavily populated. This is a vain wish since logevity is the curse of paternity on both sides of my family for untold generations.
Maybe I'm getting sentimental in my old age, but I think I have all the friends I will ever have...sorry new people you're out, just no room for you. My heart is like a hotel you take your mistress...it charges by the hour and no one ever cleans the sheets. i don't know hwat that means, but surely in the future people will look upon the ramblings with the hindsight colored by my genius. Of course you will all know the truth, but they will have only the text with which to judge.

end transmission.

The Outside World is Closing In.

I just got back from an awesome trip to L.A. a place I've never actually been to. After some initial hardships finding the fucking hotel I was staying in (it is honestly the most confusing driving experience I've ever encountered), the trip rocked.

I went out to see a band called the Playing Favorites at the Viper Room (apparantly a famous club?). It was their very first live performance, though the band is comprised of verteran musicians from many bands, most notably to me is the fact that Joey Cape is in the band. Their album was put out by Virgil at Suburban Home Records, an old college friend of mine. Awesome album, go buy it.

Anyway, the show was rad and best of all, I ended up drinking, eating tortilla chips and bullshitting with Joey in the kitchen of some random dude's house after the second show saturday night. I've already espoused my man-crush on this dude, and anyone who knows me knows I'm a fag for his music, but it's amazing what a normal guy just like any of you guys I would sit around with laughing and talking 'till all hours of the morning with. It was crazy hanging out with these guys, drinking, telling stupid stories, looking at bullshit on youtube...a fucking awesome time.

I'll prolly have more to say about it after I get some sleep and process the whole thing, but for now that's it.

end transmssion.

The Terrorists have already won, at video poker!

Check this out kids! I apologize for the crappy image quality, but I had to snap this picture all stealthy with my phone since I didn't want to get in trouble. I might get in trouble anyway, but it's funny enough to risk.


Also there is an unexpected fat girl doing a superman pose in the background.

end transmission.

Yeah, that's the way things go some days...

Fucking christ! I can't even go to a bar a 2 in the morning after work to enjoy a free beer without stepping knee deep in bullshit!
There I was sitting at the bar playing, playing nickel poker, enjoying my Guinness, contemplating the how I was going to make rape funny in a story that has been keeping me awake, when POOF! Here comes some asshole from LA. Well he's actually from Vegas, but he's back! He knows the bartender and they start talking. the asshole pulls out an Iphone and starts showing everyone pictures of his newborn son.
Wow, a biological miracle to be sure!
Well, it turns out this kid has a serious birth defect. He has Spina bifida (which due to my insomnia coupled with an uncomfortable curiousity for fucked up illnesses, and the fact that I have been watching 3 episodes of House MD a day, which is an awesome show, I highly recommend..I digress, I know a little about this disease), basically the spinal column doesn't completely form around the spinal cord. It can be mild, or super shitty, but it is never good, and the most sketchy points in the disease are right after birth.
This guy kept alternating between "he's totally healthy" and "He's got this really scary disorder" followed by, "he's gonna be fine, we have the 4th best surgeon in all of california."
Something told me a assistant PA in LA was not really on the A list for doctors. I kept my mouth shut. But I thought, "If your new born son is in this kinda turmoil, why are you in Vegas at 2 in the AM drinking budlight with a waitress from PT's. Are you an asshole? or just a complete douchebag lier?
It turns out he was just an asshole, his "baby's mama" was taking care of it for the weekend, he needed to get away.
Wow.
I fucking hate children, and I wouldn't leave that hospital if my dick and balls were on fire and the only estinguisher in all the world was in Angelena Jolie's pussy, which was in the hospital parking lot, prepped and ready ( well maybe then...but my point is easy to see anyway).
Was this guy in denial? Then why did he keep bringing the kid up? Did he just not give a shit? I just don't know, never hving concieved a child with a potentially terminal disease. I can only think that the frailty of every day life both terrifies and intrigues me.
and though I truly hope that child is ok, I got the distinct impression that his dad hoped the kid would die quickly and save him a lifetime of trouble.

end transmssion.

There's a coldest day in every year.

I woke up Friday morning, after five or six hours of turning inmy bed, thinking about everything. I had a dentist appointment at 2:00, so I had planned on getting up at noon. That would give me plenty of time to fuck around and jerk off or whatever I was going to do.
I woke up at 1:15 and ended up going to get some food at Taco Bell. In front of me in line at Taco Bell was a Mexican couple. The girl was petite, attractive, and pregnant. She had a child in her arms, and her "man" was some kid barely 20 years old, with an ECW t-shirt. He had a sweet mullet, and looked like he was one chromosome away from being retarded.
Why is this important? Because after my dentist appointement, I went to Wal-Mart to purchase a notebook, underwear and check the prices on electric toothbrushes. ANd guess who was there?...the smae fucking mexican couple, right there, shopping for tortillas or whatever. Strange, to be sure, but whatever.
After I went to Wal-MArt I went to 7-11 to put some air in the back right tire on my Jeep (it has a slow leak somewhere) I then went inside to buy a slurpee. The mexican couple was not there, but there wa sa guy who asked me for change. I told him no, and he insisted that my entrance into heaven was predicated on my charity. I told him I was terrified at the prospect of eternity in Hell, but I had limited funds and my immidiate frozen sugar needs took precident over my afterlife concerns.
I ran a number of other mundane errands, and ended up at Autozone to buy some new windshield wipers and a new gas cap. I shit you not, the Mexican couple was there, the same family, buying...whatever.
So I ran into these fucks a few times in the same day...I remarked on it, but did not think any more on it, until I went to food for less later that night (8:30) to get vodka, soda, and peanuts.
Those fuckers were there renting a movie from a vending machine! Are these fuckers following me? Am I following them? Are they inept CIA agents passively tailing me? Fuck, how is my life and theirs so similar that we're at the same places at the same time all fucking day long? What the fuck was going on?
I got over it quietly and went about my business. I went out for some drinks at about 11:30, and met up with a girl I had met about a week before. We hung out 'till about 2:00, and as we were leaving, I saw the mexican dude in the bar! Same ECW tshirt, it was him!
I apparantly have a parallel life with a young mexican family, and all I could think about was wether or not they noticed me, running into them all day long.

end transmssion.

If you could hear the dreams I've had my dear, they would give you nightmares for a week.

Something I've been running into constantly lately is the idea that the the same actions produce the same results, or the idea that if you do the same shit, the same shit will happen to you.

That seems logical, and it is an appealing philosophy for change. But what can I change? What is it about what I do (that has caused an outcome I do not enjoy) that I can alter? The problem is not in me, and if it is it is so intrinsic that to aliviate it would destroy me. So what is the njkl;h5tare4uiorfjlk

in the infinite hours between 6PM and 2am.

This is the first blog I have written at work. There are days at this job when I have absolutely nothing to do and so I am left alone, walking in circles, with only my thoughts. My mind Is a twisted and terrible enough place to visit, and to be sentanced to hours within its confines with no distraction is a horror beyond words.

Usually, this type of situation is what leads me to write. Somehow there is catharsis in removing ideas from the aether of my troubled head and chisling them into reality. Without this release, the ideas and arguements bounce around my skull like a handfull of rubber balls thrown into a bathtub, costantly increasing in both velocity and quantity, until I feel like I'm going mad.

It is the focus of the composition that allows me to mute my conflicted musings to a dull roar, and thus stave off a complete mental meltdown for a few more hours.

This silent desperation for distraction in leu of my favored method of management has led to some of the most asinine conversations with some of lamest people on earth.

Just minutes ago I literally had a conversation about dust! Fucking dust! I have rarely had the opportunity to be involved in such an intellectual treatise on, what is truly one of the most fascinating issues facing us today!

Never before have I been so engrossed by the topic of comparative weather conditions; ie in Ontario it is apparantly already getting really cold, but here in Vegas the temperature is quite pleasent!

Currently there are no boobs to oggle at, so I am consumed with the desire to find an ugly old lady so that I may debate the pros and cons of coin operated slot machines, certainly a topic that remains interesting even after exploring its nuances hundreds of times.

End transmission.