Archive for May, 2008

Empty spaces fill me up with rage

Wednesday, 7 May 2008

Hell is other people; never is this more true than at the gym. If there isn’t a flexing jerkoff around, flitting from bench to machine to mirror like a hummingbird on roids, it’s one of the 30 or so idiots that work there, I don’t know how they afford so many employee/trainers.

The other evening a hot girl and I arrived at the same time and shared the same area of the expansive gym floor. (Hotties to me are nothing but commodities to be afforded later in life. Other than ass they have nothing else I need or want except their perpetual absence). Like the other 12 or so hotties that attend the gym, “Tits” either worked there or arrived joined at the hip with some juicehead who had yet to make his appearance.

I got no vibe from her but she was making quite the spectacle of herself, alternating between doing light weight sets then picking up a fucking jump rope. Now jumping rope is a great way to make your heart explode if you don’t have a shotgun, but whipping it around a la Rocky Balboa takes up a lot of space. Why this idiot had to do this in the free weight area…I guess it was just convenient, plus it was just the two of us.

Until her fine young man joined the fray.

When “Crewcut” touched the small of her back in greeting I imagined strangling them both with the jump rope. I’d even have a choice of which rope to use: that’s right, Crewcut brought his own rope and was doing the same irritating routine as Tits: lift, rope, lift, rope. I didn’t like having to walk around the huge whipping spheres of motion they created. They only jumped rope at the same time. How cute!

One of my strategies to reduce contact with the jerks is to select a bench far up the row of free weights lining the mirrored wall. Not many dudes casually pick up any dumbbells over 100. However, Crewcut found a reason to saunter down to my end and pick up the 85s. He then stood in place in front of the rack, dumbbell in each hand, doing a faggoty shoulder-shrug. In doing so he partially blocked my magnificent view of myself in the mirror-wall, where I practiced throwing that same look that Eddie Murphy gives the camera in Trading Places after the “BLT” line. You know the one: the director had Murphy do over 30 takes to get that look just right. It paid off, and I was still practicing mine when Crewcut finally went back to his jump-rope,-baby-dumbbell-titties-spandex-maiden.

Was he fucking with me by coming over to where I was? Trying to be Alpha? The part of me that wanted to kick the shit out of him thought so. Otherwise, to hell with him.

What prompted me to even comment on these two loveturds is that they quit the free weight area at almost the exact same time I did. When I came out of the locker room I found them shooting hoops in the glass fishtank half-court. I felt the urge to kill them both, always do when the timing of life is off. You mean, these two assholes finished their routine at the same time I did, even though Crewcut arrived 10 minutes later than Tits, and now where all 3 of us had been in each others’ way for over 35 minutes there was NO ONE occupying the area?

I felt the same ridiculous paranoid rage I do when waiting in line for something involving a long counter of multiple tellers or clerks and two of them open up at the same time. Not only does this make me mad that I gain no advantage from being one place ahead of the doof behind me, it just seems unlikely that two different people with two different situations ahead of me would finish in perfect synchronization.

The moral of the story is what it will always be on this planet: Hell is other people. If I’m ever a floating soul in front of a judging God or Jesus or 3 Stooges, I’ll tell them the exact same thing, it’s the finest sentence ever written: Hell is other people. I never bothered to make it a quoticle. This sentiment should shine through in all the work I do.



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Product Placement

Friday, 2 May 2008

Some products I’ve recently encountered.


SPIKE energy drink promises no calories, carbs or sugar. It doesn’t say shit about crashes and the warning at the top reads NEVER EXCEED ONE CAN DAILY.

I heeded the warning and chugged only the one can…it gave me rapid heartbeat anyway, all day, plus my blood psi. probably was 300 over 200. Respect the Spike and drink only half a can. Emergencies only!

After buying some test bottles at 7-11’s ripoff price, I found this 2-pack of 5-hour ENERGY at a different “convenience” store. Cost: approx 5 bucks. This shit works as promised, with no crash at the end. However it can’t be good every day.

There is also now a 6-hour Energy out there for the same price. Someone always has a bigger gun.

I first found this new type of milk bottle at Costco. I can’t get enough of this thing. Between Costco visits I buy regular gallons of milk in the old bulky jugs and transfer them to this sexy bitch. Note the helpful label with clearly illustrated instructions. Can life get any better? I submit that it cannot.

Sea Salt is the new black, as far as salts go. I couldn’t care less, but I was intrigued by these brown rice chips which I also found at Costco. They taste good, but any and all chips are fattening crap no matter how healthy they claim to be. A modest blurb at the top of the bag reads EFFORTLESSLY BETTER. That would make a good t-shirt or penis pump slogan.



The opposite of rice chips are these fucking things. Yes, you see correctly, they are french-fry shaped chips dusted with a ketchup flavoring. I was intrigued enough to buy them from a vending machine. Others warned me after the fact they’d been in there for months, hardly a surprise.

By trying these I am indicating to female others that I’m willing to try new things and am a sexual powerhouse.

Armed with this new product knowledge, I expect you to go forth and live for today, void where prohibited, some restrictions apply.


Quoticle – he’s right on the money: $5

Friday, 2 May 2008

“My father taught me to work; he did not teach me to love it. I never did like to work, and I don’t deny it. I’d rather read, tell stories, crack jokes, talk, laugh – anything but work.”

~Abe Lincoln

Quoticle – it is, too!

Friday, 2 May 2008

The lust of the goat is the bounty of God.

~William Blake

Quoticle – Let None Expect

Friday, 2 May 2008

Relentless I forgive no man–whoever sins dies–I will have that man’s life;
Therefore let none expect mercy–have the seasons, gravitation, the appointed days, mercy? no more have I…

~Walt Whitman, “Chanting the Square Deific”

More On Children

Thursday, 1 May 2008

I was mildly stoked to try disc golf (frolf) with “Mac”, a guy from work, until I learned he would have his kid with him.

You’d think from such a reaction and this semi-redundant post that I hate children. Not so! It’s just long ago I had all romantic illusions of childhood stripped away by working with 20 or 30 kids at a time as a glorified babysitter. Not to be a fatalist, but even at ages 5-10 the Lord of the Flies framework is in place; you can already tell who is fucked for life, or will at best have a long, hard road ahead of them. (Years later, I was also horrified/delighted to realize I can legally have sex with any of the girls I once babysat, except that like 99% of the people I’ve met/known, I hope never to see them again).

Not being able to tolerate children is a personal defect as far as this society is concerned, right up there with suspicion at never being married/divorced or a breeder yourself. It’s another way I’ve failed to be normal, one I don’t mind, as I can barely take care of myself, much less another.

I never want to raise another man’s kids or be around them, which is another obstacle to being with the female. I know of a good-looking woman, friend of my friend’s wife, freshly-divorced. She’s good looking, had breast reduction surgery (oh how that pains me) and if she doesn’t already sound like a dream come true, she’s a wealthy heiress to a beer fortune. Seriously. Our slang name for her is “The Beeroness.”

You already know where the problem lies: two daughters, one spoiled and the other who-the-hell-knows.

I just can’t do it.

Problems with children go to far beyond personal ones. These days if someone sees you talking to a child without that child’s guardian close by and you don’t look the part, you’re fucking finished. You are putting your life and reputation in the hands of fate, and if that child decides to lie (or is forced by authority figures to “remember”) you inappropriately touching them…

If this societal paranoia paid off in by actually killing convicted child molesters/rapists/murderers within a week of sentencing, I might support it. But there’s no follow-through there either.

I know many adults that won’t even acknowledge the presence of children for that reason. They’re afraid, with good cause.

And you wonder why the little shits have no respect for anything or anyone.

The greatest mistake this country has made in the past century is allowing federal and state governments to run the schools. How will fucking government, defender of mediocrity and promoter of endless dependency, train future generations to beware of governmental abuses of power? If you have no idea what I’m talking about, you need to take a closer look at your local school system. Why are you barred from knowing your local indoctrination centers’ curriculum? What kind of messages are bureaucrats sending to impressionable young minds about economics and history?

If Mac corners me, I’ll take the hit and go frolfing despite the presence his son, who is 2 or 3 years old. I’m not a shit, or if i am, I’m an observant one: “Mac” loves his kid and having one (and a quality wife) has made him a better, more responsible man.

But all the children everywhere? We have failed them. Drenched in sexual and violent imagery, brainwashed by government schools, “raised” by a parade of moms’ boyfriends (themselves overgrown children) today’s “children” are already dangerous. They are Hitler Youth, only pledging allegiance to the Tele-playstation-Wii-Box and the Next Big Thing. For now.