Posts Tagged ‘assholes’

Poem written in ’07, just as true today

Sunday, 20 September 2015

The heart is a retard
on the short bus
with no helmet or pads,
whacking its skull on the glass
for sheer joy.

The heart is a retard
a pin cushion for bent arrows
halos of barbed wire
hair of flames
and blood-dipped cursive names.

The heart is a retard
now and forever
eating sunbeams and shitting rainbows
shedding glitter dandruff
off construction paper
monstrosities
taped to the fridge.

The heart is a retard
and there’s no special class or program to help,
there is nothing to do.
It’s simple like sand
that cuts like glass.

The heart is a retard and
this poem is drool
from its mouth,
grinning like fishhooks,
staring at butterflies with
diamonds for wings

retarded.

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Friendships can die of natural causes

Wednesday, 9 January 2013

I’ve known Dalby for half my life, 20 years. We met on the same job and from there went our separate ways, often for years at a time in separate states.

Now we’re in the same state, although he’s too far away for causal visits.  He’s
lived with the same woman now for about 12 years. I’ve never lived with a woman. He’s into a bunch of stupid shit, I’m into a different bunch of shit, most of it probably stupid to him.

Our friendship is dead. It may surprise one who hasn’t experienced it to have a
friendship die of natural causes. It happens, and why not? Relationships die all
the time, not just the ones peppered with declarations of love and fucking. 

Even before Dalby started seeing a shrink, I knew it was over. Very infrequently did I contact him, nor do I seek his counsel. I cat-sitted at his place while he went on vacation.

The last time I saw him was yesterday and the night before. I drove two hours in horrible traffic and rain but was eager the whole way. I stayed overnight and left yesterday afternoon simmering in anger, anger that only now is beginning to dissipate.

What changed? Well, there’s a core of respect in every friendship, and no longer does Dalby honor it. In every relationship, one person leads and one follows, even if only slightly. The best friendships alternate who leads and who follows, depending on circumstances. Dalby now ignores that equation entirely, meaning even if he’s being passive, he maintains an arrogance too intense for friendship. I’m not the type of person that demands unearned respect, but after all these years I’m not even getting the basics from him.

Those are the long-term problems; the immediate problem is his fucking shrink. I have a feeling she’s full of shit, perhaps no more than the rest of us, except she’s demanding payment for it. It’s not even her that’s the problem, it’s the stink of shrinkology itself.

Have you noticed that everyone who comes in contact with shrinks or shrinkology suddenly fancies themselves studious observers of the human race who automatically know everyone else’s problems and (oh goody!) knows how to solve them? You’re duty-bound to meet someone like this eventually, you might even be that person.

So Dalby is attempting to remove negativity from his life. I would argue that it’s more important to recognize and remove obstacles from one’s path, be they negatives OR positives. A pie-in-the-sky hope can be just as crippling as an automatic sour grapes attitude. Dalby and his shrink’s shadow don’t see this distinction. I was greatly offended by two things he said, the first that he remembers my compassion for others over the years being limited to leaving some quarters behind for the next person at a self-service car wash (although he thanked me for it, I also bought 60 bucks worth of food for us over the 1.25 days I was there).

Dalby also remembers the time I invited him to fly to and from our home state when he was on one side of the country and I the other (we both flew into the home state) and put him up my entire week-long vacation, but apparently fails to remember I paid for all of it  (unless things get extreme, true friends don’t keep running tabs on every kindness and coin bestowed).

An interlude: over dinner, Dalby was being rude with his cell, to the point his own girl told him to stop texting her and enjoy our time together. I actually demanded he give me the phone (to put it out of reach) when he got pissy. From the casual reader’s perspective, and most people today in love with their phones, such a request might seem outrageous. The casual reader misses the point: the standoff with the phone was the moment a 20-year-friendship truly ended. It wasn’t about a phone, it was about respect. My recognition of the end was confirmed shortly thereafter when Dalby went on about the girl he lived with before his current girl. Though she was no saint, he admitted he treated her like shit.

“Why did she stay?”
“I don’t know. She thought she could change me.”

It didn’t paint Dalby in a favorable light.

The second outrageous thing he said was more a recounted cluster of events revolving around his being “lost” in our early years, how he’d found my other friends and me and embraced our misanthropy. Dalby wasn’t recounting these tales of youthful angst with any fondness, he was portraying himself as an innocent and duped victim of the negative influences we all generated. More of the shrink’s stinking shadow in the background.

When I asked if a person who pointed out how things don’t fit together is as valuable to the world as the opposite, he demurred, implying his father had been the former and taken the same negative attitude towards his own kids (apparently the shrink is big on having patients talk to their inner child).

He also mentioned a random girl who was a psychic vampire (a term I taught him 15 years ago) who would come over for a few hours, after which Dalby and his girlfriend would just want to sleep. The implication was that I may be having the same effect on him., otherwise why bring it up?

What Dalby doesn’t understand–beyond the obvious that the friendship is over and done–is that a true psychic vampire seeks others just like an extrovert does. I, on the other hand, would be happy never to see or hear about 99.999% of the human race ever again. I don’t need them or him, the bulk of our shared karma is complete, and since he’s turned to shrinkology, don’t want to be near him.

(Another fringe benefit of being a shrink’s victim is feeling completely justified in being an asshole, since you “put in the work” to rationalize your own behavior).

I know when to be kind or at least diplomatic, but I’ll be a son of a bitch if I’m going to waste any time around people who require everyone around them to keep in line, limiting what they’re allowed to say, and sometimes even think.

It’s a terrible world, or if you want to be charitable, a mostly terrible world. Humor and sarcasm are my sword and shield, and if people don’t like it, they’re free to go off and listen to One Direction or suck a shotgun barrel.

So that’s it for Dalby. What to do about it I don’t know. Nothing, probably. He lives far away enough that it doesn’t matter, I rarely see him, and after this last meeting, have no real desire to see him again.

Friendships can and do die. Of natural causes.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Poisoned by Welfare

Wednesday, 24 October 2012

Zukks quit because gays in California had just received a domestic something-or-other which qualified them for housing loans; since his religion does not condone The Gay, he told his boss he could not continue to work there.

Happily married two years ago with a precious baby son arriving a year after that, he sent out a mass email to friends requesting financial help.  I was more than happy to send him money; he had put me up many a night when I was living in my car in LA.

I didn’t realize Zukks had so many friends, with the donations he was able to buy a 70’s camper and escape from LA to Oregon, where his father had recently retired.

Life in the Pacific Wonderland is pretty sweet for Zukks. He nor his wife have to work to receive welfare benefits, he alone just has to attend certain job meetings to stay qualified, like taking SCUBA classes with zero intention of going anywhere near water.

The last time we conversed telephonically Zukks threw me a new one: it was the gays’ fault for his family having ended up where they were, therefore he was the victim, a claim so ridiculous I’m embarrassed to even type it.

When Zukks recently pestered me via texts (on his obamaphone) I went off on him, reminding him I worked and was therefore not always available.

You do remember WORK, don’t you?

He texted back: Ha ha good luck if im supposed to feel guilty for getting free stuff.

I didn’t answer.

This is what welfare does to once-productive people. Welfare–or rather the condition of non-work it enables–is the most seductive and powerful of all the addictions, more powerful than heroin, nicotine, alcohol, TV and the internet combined. The longer you lie on your back in the social safety net, the more it feels like a hammock. Every working person is a potential welfare junkie. No one is immune to the lure of paid leisure and not having to deal with unpleasant people for whatever length of time they consider excessive (for me it’s 5 minutes).

Zukks still has principles, poisoned though they are. The part of his faith about God requiring work he seems to have forgotten, but when the Oregonian System announced that in order to continue receiving benefits his wife would have to begin the same employment classes, he declined. He wants Wifey to be a stay-at-home mother, a noble goal, if they could do it on their own dime and time.

Just when it seemed Zukks was going to have to take control of his life again his income tax refund arrived, and just as that money ran out the State made him eligible for benefits again. (UPDATE:  More good news, Oregonians, Zukks’ wifey is indeed knocked up; the ensuing hospital care is on your tab)! You people sure are generous with your granola. 

I asked Zukks a while back if he planned on living this way forever. He appears to have no plan for the morrow, and the sobering truth is, he probably could live off The System forever, no matter which political party rules (we’re so far gone that as you’re reading this, you’re already thinking of someone you know who is gaming the system).

When Zukks was working, he always did quite well, making more than me most years, and that’s sans the fake degree from the fake school where we first met. Now he’s being paid by the State to fail.

I’m the first to admit failing to live up to full potential, but I eat the shit, deal with assholes and pay the fucking bills that have to be paid, as do millions of Americans. The law can’t force someone to feel guilty (even as a motivator to do and be better) but it should force welfare rollers to acknowledge, even if it just means checking a box, that “free” means someone else is paying for it.

 

 

 

 

 

American Idol and the unrelated shit job

Monday, 7 March 2011

Why is American Idol even a contest?

In every city they find at least 3 gifted singers with minor vocal “flaws” that are undetectable by 99% of the listening public.

When a winner is “crowned” the rest of the finalists go on an American Idol Tour, and not a few times the runners-up and “losers” end up more popular and  famous than the winners.

No losers, no contest.

Speaking of hapless losers, for some reason, the shit job has grown even shittier the past few days.  The asshole boss came back from a national meeting an even bigger asshole than when he left.  For two days he’s been in everyone’s face, complaining.  One of our best workers, after listening to his undeserving shit, said, ‘What the hell’s the matter with you?”

“I’ll tell you what’s the matter, I’m tired of bad customer service!”

This is a biz that scrambles to kiss the ass of every customer no matter how much they lie, curse and steal from us.  As a fellow worker succintly put it, “Some of these customers are swearing at me from the first word, then run off to Management, which immediately caves in to their demands.  We’re rewarding customers for being assholes.”

I hate the shit job but have nothing but admiration and even love for my fellow employees.  I’m amazed at how much we give in this thankless environment.  It’s our own Vietnam, only instead of battling Charlie and our own government, we’re warring against shitbirds and clueless managment.

Management lives in a vacuum, it’s a univeral constant.  I can understand the need and desire to turn a profit, but they make it harder on themsevles and us by ignoring reality, and right now the reality of the world is it’s shittier than usual.  The jug-eared muslim-lover is busy golfing while the Middle East burns.  Even before gas prices were soaring, no one was spending money and the suckdick libmedia still refuse to tie this to fear of our own unstable government.  People aren’t fools, they don’t invest and hire when unpredictable, lawless thugs are in charge.  So once again, a hearty Fuck You to anyone who voted for The Kenyan and anyone who watches American Idol and still believes it’s a contest.

F*ck off Toyota and f*ck you, little sh;t

Sunday, 23 January 2011

I hate this obnoxious character, “Nathan James” and I hate all kids with “wild” hair.

Image and video hosting by TinyPic

The thrust of these ads is that the new Toyota Highlander is a cool vehicle, as opposed to “dorky”.  Had no idea this was so important to consumers.  Forget quality, mileage, handling and price, what I want to know upfront is if this is a vehicle my 9-year-old son thinks is cool!

As usual, the Father is made to look like a hapless, clueless ass. Is it good business sense to insult one-half of your prospective consumer base?

Do the geniuses at Toyota know that ‘dork’ is slang for prick, cock, penis, lingam, etc?

This is not a case of,  “Back in my day, children were respectful.”  This is a case of Fuck Off, Idiots.

Have you ever wanted to kill someone?

Sunday, 21 March 2010

Some men are alive only because it is against the law to kill them. –attributed, various

Have you ever wanted to kill someone?

I came very close last Friday.

My intended target was a vile old bastard, universally despised, with an unkind word for everybody, summarized in this passage from Henry Miller’s The Air-Conditioned Nightmare: “a man, and I say it calmly and soberly, whom I could kill in cold blood.  I could shoot him down in the dark and go quietly about my business, as if I had just brushed a mosquito off my arm.”

There are no clichés or maxims that will save you in the fiery moment you decide someone must die.  I didn’t give a fuck that the bastard himself probably suffered the most from this cruel remarks (not always true; sociopaths feel nothing).  Once I decided the world would be better off without him, fantasy after fantasy about inflicting a gruesome death upon him played and replayed.

It was the hated job where this all took place (too many cameras around) and I’m wondering if on Monday there’ll be any blowback from the events Friday.  The old bastard now knows I hate him, but not how close he came to getting his head bashed in.  I swear to fucking Christ just typing this makes me ready to kill all over again.

But I’ve said too much. The prisons creak with murderers and the only difference between them and me (and you) is they acted on their impulses.

The rude elderly pissant, a coward who likely was treated cruelly by others, is not worth this many words, or any words, as there are millions like him around the globe:  horrible, failed human beings despite displays of wealth or other outward appearances.

A real human being accepts his own depths of hatred as natural and normal, the monstrous power of emotions over the feeble intellect.  Hopefully society provides enough programming that the deadliest impulses stay suppressed.  Hopefully.

If I see the old SOB again–and I’m sure I will–I can’t tell you I won’t feel this furious.  It’s natural to destroy and even more natural to destroy ugly things.  Right now my hatred remains beautiful and alive.  Something’s gotta give.

Reviews of movie previews I watched with disdain

Monday, 25 May 2009

When I went to see Star Trek, I got hit with the endless stream of previews I’d hoped to avoid by showing up 10 minutes late to Wolverine.

I already knew Will Ferrell is a talentless asshole from his last 10 movies, so why make Land of the Lost? There wasn’t a single reaction from the sizable crowd to anything in the preview. The best “funny” line the morons who made this turd could come up with is, “Matt Lauer can suck it.” That wouldn’t be funny even if people knew who Matt Lauer is/was/whatever.

The preview for the new Terminator movie, now out and given awful reviews, also garnered no reaction from the crowd. I felt silly-assed for ever liking Terminator after seeing it. After the audio of what’s-his-face yelling at some poor shlub on the set was leaked two months ago I lost interest. Hey, Jerkoff: you’re a multi-millionaire actor and beloved Batman. No less than Ivanka Trump called you, “some kind of Adonis”. You don’t need to piss and moan over an honest mistake. People go to the movies to escape from asshole bosses yelling at them.

The only preview that got any reaction at all was the CG movie UP, which should’ve been called “The Old Jew’s Flying Balloon House”.

SkyJew* would also be a badass name for a movie, but it doesn’t yet exist. No one tell Will Fuckface Ferrell about SkyJew.

Thanks.


*(Apparently, the term “skyjew” already exists, as an anti-Semitic reference to seagulls! What a world, what a world).


BIGFOOT, please

Saturday, 16 August 2008

oh, the voice of reason is trying his best to ruin my dream of being alive when they discover that bigfoot is real. bastard. Dirty Howie

.

Got this email from Howington after I pointed out the suit in the freezer recently found was probably a hoax to sell some new movie (or as it turns out, $500 “Bigfoot” tours from the hoax-holes who “found” the creature).

If you think about it, why do they have to test the DNA of this thing? You could just cut off an arm and skin it…no special effects people on earth could fake all the necessary bones, blood vessels, muscles, tendons, etc., as well as DNA.

Anyway, of all the legends and unsolved mysteries, BIGFOOT is the most worthless.

Does BIGFOOT have a spaceship and alien technology that could solve the energy crisis?

Does BIGFOOT have a time machine or live underwater in a cool place like Atlantis?

Does BIGFOOT have the secrets of quantum physics or keys to unlock hidden worlds and dimensions?

NO.

Know what BIGFOOT has? BIG FUCKING FEET. Oh, and he’s COVERED in HAIR at a time every queery-bare-chested, pretty-boy dickweed in media has NO body hair (update Dec 2008: add Obama to the list of dauphines).

BIGFOOT is a REAL man’s legend lost in the 70’s with Burt Reynolds while the mascot for the 21st century is a giant, gay, vegan, non-smoking pink dolphin.

What if we did catch a live BIGFOOT? He can’t speak, draw, write or play basketball. He probably can’t even wipe his ass…the government will just put him on the Endangered Feces list and lo, another USELESS WELFARE ANIMAL Joe Sixpack has to pay for.

BIGFOOT should stay gone unless he’s got a working fusion reactor in his cave.


Fucking Jessica Alba

Thursday, 8 May 2008

Jessica Alba, natural lay

Yeah, she’s hot
and let’s say you somehow got with her.
You stick it in a hole, get off, and you’re still there with her.

Stuck.

Now you have to talk.

About?

I don’t give a shit how hot a woman is,
her asshole stinks.

That’s just what assholes do.  Stink.

I mean, it’s natural.

Let’s not pretend Jessica Alba’s current doofus
who got up in them guts didn’t notice
her asshole stinks.

Before he came, I’m sure he noticed.  And now she’s pregnant.