Sunday, March 23, 2008

Normal Service

Normal Service has been restored. The asshat that sullied the blogwaves has been duly punished, and new and improved passwords and security has been installed. However, I decided NOT to delete his/her vandalism of my site because free speech is just that free. The post did have some valid points which are worth, at least in passing, exploring. Perhaps, the failure act has been going on for years. However, I think it is because I measure myself against the wrong people. Not really going to dig deeper than that, because I quite simply do not want to. The last thing I want from anyone is pity. Pity is for the weak. Those of us that know me well (and there are quite a few) know that I am not generally weak. I may be a lot of things, but weak is not one of my major flaws. I may have weak moments, but even while having them I am working out how to eliminate their recurrence. I certainly do not need attention, dear, sweet Donna of all the people on this planet, I had hopes that you would know that. That is a bit of a letdown, but nothing I will not forgive you for. Do not feel bad, the vandal (for that is what I will call him/her) should have known better as well. However, he/she is a perpetual disappointment to me, so his/her inability to understand the nature of my post is no great surprise. As to his/her invitation to join the human race, like brother Ivan from the book which I stole my name, I quite simply return my ticket.

Friday, March 21, 2008

Sorry dear readers, but this is NOT the jackass that owns this blog. Though he knows me, knows me quite well as a matter of fact. So well does the fool know me that he allowed me to figure out his password, and here I am. I expect I will not be here for long, so I will have to have as much fun as I can before the "GI" comes back. I read his last post with utter disgust. The pity party that this moron is throwing himself makes me want to puke. Worse yet, is the fact that his readers feel sorry for this fuckstick. Do not encourage him to feel anymore sorry for himself that he already does. He is nearly insufferable as it is. His "I am such a failure" act has been going on for years, and is wearing thin. He is a failure because he is a lazy, lazy, lazy bastard. Life did not screw him over, he was not dealt a bad hand. He is quite simply too fucking lazy to get his ass in gear. He whines and cries about how bad his life is. That is horseshit. His life is better than a very large population of people on this planet. If he is broken it is because his is brittle. Do not allow him to sucker you into feeling pity for him. He is beneath comtempt for his obvious attention seeking behaviour. Tell him to grow up, grow a set, and join the human race. I for one, am tired of hearing his wailing like a Jew at the wailing wall. Welcome to the human race "GI."

Monday, March 17, 2008

Who Wants to Live Forever

I just want to stop. I want to stop being myself, stop existing, stop having an effect (good, bad, or otherwise) on anyone or anything. Granted, I am not so arrogant to believe I have much of an effect, but I am tired of having even a minuscule one. I want to disappear completely. I want to be able to say (like Radiohead) I'm not here, this isn't happening. I want to walk through that final wall, and not be me, or anyone for that matter. I understand this is not really that hard to do in theory. All one needs to do is screw their courage up to the sticking point, and it is done. The problem (besides a lack of courage) is that despite my sincere lack of belief, I just can not be sure that I will not be trading one level of existence for another (possibly worse) level. I suppose it solves my immediate problem, but who knows (answer NO ONE!) what I get in return. Perhaps, this is my Kierkgaardian earthquake, an existential crisis of my unfaith. Perhaps I would kill for just a little bit of faith, even if it is a negative faith. At this point, I am willing to take a negative anchor, any anchor will do. I had (yes at my age it is time to admit HAD) such potential, and I have bottled it completely. The time has passed where any hope remains that I will manage to get my shit together and accomplish anything. Failure is not an accomplishment. Pissing my limit talent(s) away is not an accomplishment. There is little to no chance that I will accomplish anything worthwhile in the remainder of my life. This is not a pity party or a cry for help, it is a simple, logical, inescapable fact. Also, it is (as far as I can tell) entirely my own fault. I have to stand at the bar, and plead guilty to a wasted life. Guilty! Guilty! Guilty! Ship me off to my own private Devil's Island, and close the book on me. Perhaps before I go I can make a few Public Service Announcements on the pitfalls of failure. I do not wish to see or been seen. Don't take a picture, don't make a scene, and for pity's sake don't follow my example.

Friday, March 07, 2008


No need for a key for this post, plain English (or at least my English) will suffice. My lack of posting, for once, has a valid reason. I managed to spend about 5 days in hospital last week/weekend. It was a lovely experience. Bit of a plumbing problem that, in my opinion, my doctor made worse with his "treatment". Either way I will have to go in for surgery eventually, get my oil changed and hopefully will be as good as new, or as good as a stocky, near-sighted, 38 year old former drunk can be. The hospital is the WORSE place in the world to get rest. I have gotten more sleep at a Ozzy Osborne concert. People coming into your room drawing blood at 4 a.m., taking vital signs at 4 a.m. here is a newsflash for you people, at 4 a.m. I DONT HAVE vital signs. Piss off, and let me try to get some sleep. The great part was I didn't have solid food for about 3 days, that was lovely. Fat people don't like missing out on solid food even if it is hospital food. I did make one observation while flat on my back in the hospital bed. Try watching TV for one hour and notice how many commercials deal with food. No wonder America is a nation of Homer Simpsonquese lard asses. Every third commercial is about some sort of food. After a couple of days of no solid food that became torture to watch. It was just plain cruel. I would like to thank the people that visited me (one in particular was a total shock, you know who you are, and i was/am very grateful) and to the ones that did not bother even to call to see if I was alive, you can piss off. Though it is my belief that being in the hospital is like being an animal at the zoo. People come to see you, and all you do is lie there scratching yourself, they gawk at you, they cannot feed you, and off they go. Although, I did manage to have a little fun while I was bedridden, my "doctor" (who is younger than me which is scary) let slip that he can not tell when I am being serious or not. That came in handy when he came to visit me, and in my fevered anger I threatened to make him pay for the "day and a half of pain he caused me." The look on his face almost made it all worthwhile. Almost, but as the bills have not come in yet, not quite.