A brief spike in traffic

For 3 days running I had over 100 views to the site, akin to a miracle.  I’m not that interesting, so it must’ve all been for recent Jeopardy! contestant Rachel Lindgren.

It’s my duty to warn you thirsty nerds AGAIN that smart women are not a solution to anything and being a sapiosexual is a road to nowhere.  If she’s smart while you’re enamored (subtract 25 IQ points for each boob and asscheek) you’re in QUADRUPLE the danger of being manipulated.  Not that I overly give a shit what happens to you, you’re probably better off than me.

I believe this blog is now 10 or 11 years old, which means little because I rarely posted after 2009, was it?  It has brought me neither joy nor grief, certainly no money or gavina.  I don’t read my own shit so I’ve forgotten most of it, except to remember impassioned movie reviews about Batman (pointless) or politics (far more pointless) and cussing out my wage slave job while doing nothing to improve my lot in life.

Two things happened in the last 5 years which changed the entire arc of my  inclinations, I got out of the shit job and I “discovered” whores.  Also, my father died  at 73 of natural causes, if you count lung cancer as natural.

The whores saved my life.  Once I was getting laid fairly regularly all the Mysteries of Womanhood evaporated, which was bittersweet, but poetry is either written out of your system or it burns you from the inside out like drinking bleach.  Poetry IS drinking bleach, usually for the reader. 

The women’s humanity made me less of a misogynist, and it even seemed a few of them enjoyed the ride beyond getting paid.  (I haven’t been laid in over a year due to health problems so that’s on pause.)

I’m closer to 50 than 40 now.  I’m not better than I was in 2006, but like to think I’ve learned much the last 10 or 11 years.  I wouldn’t trade my scant “life’s work” of writing for falling in love.   

Here are the final lines from a long ago poem.

I know it’s coming, death or a balloon.

The slitted eyes of a petted cat.

Product Review: Sharpie Gel Highlighter

Bought an (expensive) 2-pack of these Sharpie Gel Highlighters because of intriguing claims: no smearing or bleeding of ink and will not dry out even if you leave the cap off for days.

I was thrown off guard, I think, because gel ink pens have been around for decades and write like regular pens.

Gel Sharpies, however, aren’t like regular highlighters only with gel as a medium…what you get are pen-like sticks that advance an oval-shaped “Slim Jim” of clear, neon-yellow gel  when you twist one end like a deodorant stick.

The Sharpies live up their claims, the gel is odorless and silently glides over the page, leaving a bright, waxy line that won’t smear, but because the slab changes shape from being pressed like a crayon, you never know where your next line will appear.

I found myself coloring blocks of text to the point it was taking away from the source material.

Per the Amazon reviews, these new gel highlighters have their fans, but I’m in the other camp. I don’t think I’d buy them again.

 

Struggling for second place

“I have found God, and he is insufficient.” -Henry Miller

Henry, I feel the same way. Earth is just a giant waiting room and I’d feel better as a ball of energy than a meatsack human being. This body is nothing but trouble, a festering cesspool for the ego to roll around in.

The mind is a crumpled paper airplane in a hurricane, but the ego thinks it’s a fighter jet.  The capacity for self-delusion is bottomless.  The mind is its own worst enemy; why it throws fear at itself I understand, it’s a survival mechanism. But why does the mind attack itself with doubt?

Life was brutal for the caveman but far simpler: at any given moment he was either alive and afraid or unaware and eaten. Attempts at poetry or deep thought were ended by saber-toothed tigers.  Now there’s nothing to stop bad poetry.

Sorry God, but I’m ready to go back. I won’t learn anything else here, life is all reruns now. I’m too lazy to meditate, I’d rather sleep.

I’m having trouble remembering why I didn’t commit to suicide when I was an atheist.  If it was all meaningless, why didn’t I end it?  The Satanist proclaims pleasure the greatest virtue.  I couldn’t extract pleasure out of anything except being an observer and surfing over others’ hypocrisy.  Obviously I survived.  But lived?

I was alone then, before then, and now.

My pal Hal swears if he won the lottery he’d build an underground house and never leave it.  Everything would be ordered and brought to his door.  I don’t blame him.  “Hell is other people,” is the greatest line ever written.  Everyone else with a pen or keyboard only struggles for second place while the moon shits cold fire and the women sleep with other men.

TV Redux

The lazy-assed writers of Smallville are counting on fans’ loyalty to the Superman mythos. 

That’s why most weeks they churn out crap.

Supposedly this is the last season, and so the long-suffering will endure.

During last week’s show, Chloe (the only hot chick) says to Clark, “My (insert automobile’s name here) gets great gas mileage but blahblahblah.”

I stopped the Tivo, froze the expression on my face and walked into the bathroom to see what a fucking idiot looks like (the show’s producers must think I am to pull that kind of stunt).

I wouldn’t mind such blatant ad-placement if there were NO commercials at all, but that’s not the case.

There were even more shameful episodes the last two seasons where ad-placed cars should’ve gotten acting credits.

Of course, the final crime comitted against Smallville fans never seeing Tom Welling’s Clark Kent as Superman.  The excuse, aside from all the lawyering problems, will be the producers of both the next Supes movie and the TV show don’t want to “confuse” audiences with two Supermen (never mind the long list of pre-Reeve actors who’ve played the Big S).  If Superman Returns wasn’t such an unwatchable turd I might agree with the producers’ “logic”.

I don’t feel like writing an essay about “What Superman Means to Me” right now.  Maybe later.

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Bionic Woman is officially a cyberturd.  NBC tried, and failed.  Whatever its problems I don’t care anymore, it’s unwatchable.  Michelle Ryan is not as hot as I once thought she was, and after Smallville being on the air for almost a decade, why would anyone care about the (weak) powers of someone with only 3 rechargeable limbs?  The younger sister is a real asshole too, I would pray for a sniper cannon to take her out.  If I cared.

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Cavemen isn’t a total flop, more like a hairier My Name is Earl with no chemistry between actors and 1/4th the laffs.

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I’m a big fan of Satan but haven’t seen Reaper, primarily because a fat fuck with a faux-hawk is the lead, secondarily because the Devil looks like a fake-tanned used car salesman.  Fat Fuck with a Faux-hawk is a much better kickass show name.

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As with “norpography” I’m mostly over TV.  There’s just nothing out there to hold my interest, it’s all geared to ADD youngsters Ages 4-34.

Fuck ’em. I’ll dream my own dreams.