Posts Tagged ‘hatred’

More stand-up comedy?

Thursday, 22 January 2009

I did stand-up again last night.

It’s only been 1 year, 4 months, 17 days since the last time I went up.

I rehearsed the most for this one and even got a few laffs.

I realized something last night about stand-up comedy:  I genuinely hate it, yet it’s the only thing I have any talent for doing.

Please take what I have to say next lightly:

I hate crowds, I hate bars and bartenders.  I hate booze, it all burns and tastes like rubbing alcohol and is overpriced.  I hate barmaids and their big or small tits.  I hate tipping.  I hate single women, married women and those in between.  I hate single mothers.  I hate other comics. I hate weakness.  I hate memorizing lines. I hate driving to the club.  I hate not knowing what to wear.  I hate drymouth.  I hate the crowd for being dumb, lapping up the same old shit.  I hate black comics for getting a free pass for being black and loud, not funny.  I hate female comics getting laughs cause some guys might think they have a shot.  I hate couples.  I hate the microphone.  I hate the brick wall.  I hate the spotlights.  I hate the dumbass names of comedy clubs.  I hate the cheesy music.  I hate saxophones.  I hate the MC.  I hate the headliner.  I hate 99% of jokes.  I hate relationships and “just broke up with my girlfriend”.  I hate married humor, fat humor, black humor, drug humor, trendy humor, liberal humor, gay humor.  I hate your sex life.  I hate the PA system.  I hate the front row.  And the back row.  And the middle. I  hate the food runners and club food.   I hate hecklers.  I hate heavy silence.  I hate cheap laughs.  I hate going home alone but more than that I hate leaving home.

I hate comedy and I hate God for only giving me half-a-gift for it.

I hate that this rant is over but it’s time to take a shit.

That’s my time, good night.

Fuck off, Pickle, I don’t like talking to machines!*

Friday, 24 October 2008

No one reads these non-porn posts, but I have to keep my typing skillz up, which means nothing because I don’t type the “correct” way, never have. I’m not fast, but with spell-check and no deadlines, speed has never been an issue.

Like so many who don’t know it, I’m waiting for the perfection of the Orwellian “speak-write” so I can just talk (in)to the damned machine.

I tried Dragon NaturallySpeaking 9 but my comp proved too old and slow and I felt like a fool adding the punctuation: “Quote…I went to the sex market…period.” Also no matter how many times I tried, I could never get the damed program to print the word “sing” on the screen. I must’ve looked like a madman furiously growling, “SING! SING! SING!” into the headset (“Sing” by Travis was jammed sideways into my brain the whole time).

My 13-yr-old car had some work done today and looks better. I feel better about it and myself because of this. More on that later.

I should get back into blogging regularly even if I have nothing to write, like now.

Hatred never dies so they’ll always be something new to write about.

Period.


* Quote from Hamburger: the Motion Picture.

Fuck you, I work for the aliens

Saturday, 10 May 2008

I figured the Beeroness, first mentioned somewhere in this post, would eventually find a stunt cock.

Unfortunately for me, it was her freshly exed-husband’s meat. I’m just bitter she ended her dry spell (what a ride it must’ve been) with the very turd that cost her almost a million dollars to divorce. “What the fuck is wrong with women?” is a question God extra-pretends not to hear.

I swore to the guy relaying this information: “I GUARANTEE you since the divo he’s fucked at least one of the bitches in her circle.”

“I don’t think so. He’s ugly, and they can all find better-looking stunt cocks elsewhere.”

With apologies to my friend, if/when the aliens invade I’ll be the first one to defect to their side, as long as they kill me last after taking over. Aliens may have the tech for me to unscrew the skulls of certain ugly but sane broads and plop their brains into the bodies of other, more desirable women, the off-the-rack nutjobs. Tampering with Ma Nature? Bullshit. Nothing is unholy that works in your favor.

The human is such a predictable, despicable piece of shit. The only thing worse than living among the beasts is knowing their depravity is bottomless. Every fucking day.

“curses”

Sunday, 2 March 2008

I once performed
a Satanic ritual
in order to
kill a man,
appealing to the
Forces of Darkness to
make fast work of him.

I burnt a toy motorcycle
in the flame of a white candle.

My target was a drunk who
rode the real bike.

It would be a short matter of time
before Satan helped him
kill himself.

The target had a Gift with the ladies
and being, I suppose, a charming drunk
he scored pussy at the bars
as needed.

Unfortunately his steady hump
was the woman I loved.

His charm was real.
He was more likable than the
woman I loved,
who was
stupid.

I liked him even as I wished him
dead.

The plastic parts
of the toy motocycle burned and melted,
the die cast metal smoked black and grew hot.

But the target
didn’t die,
and later married
the woman I loved.

This made me feel slightly better:
I was the loser but at least he
claimed his prize.

The woman wrote me years later
apologizing for the way
she had treated me (another story).

After
marrying him
she’d finally realized he was a mean, selfish drunk
(strange, I’d never witnessed him mean)
and divorced him,
hardly a victory for me
who never got to
fuck her.

I’m unashamed of the old hatreds,
of having wanted to
kill
another human being.

In that way I guess curses
do work.

Craving for extermination

Sunday, 17 February 2008

“All they do is take.”  My voice is weak like someone found near death in the desert.  I speak to his gold-rimmed glasses more than his swimming, frightened eyes.

He’s higher up on the food chain.  At night he fucks a hot divorcée who used to work here.

‘We’re all just numbers,” he says with sympathy.

He is right, but when they fuck him it’s with more and better lube.

The whole thing is a joke.  This isn’t a real job, he isn’t real, the walls aren’t real.  When I tell Glasses morale here is non-existent the HR cunt sticks her ugly mushroom head out of her windowless office.

“We’re having a meeting about that.”

I want to throw her against the cinder block wall which isn’t real.

I can’t hate Glasses in the manner he deserves, he’s so sympathetic to the eternal screwings of the dead-end job.

Bullshit, of course.

I am getting fucked with a dildo of sand and grit.

Our meeting ends.  In the restroom I piss in the sink.  In the mirror is the only motherfucker who will fight for me.  He has to get me out of this mess, no one else can or will.

I have a craving for extermination like the Buddha warned I would.

Will it be them or me?

Women are like chimps who trade sex for bananas

Wednesday, 30 January 2008

There’s a part-timer at work I’ll call “Roids” who gets all the girls wet.  I’m older and wiser than him but those things don’t matter with the ladies, only money, looks and “attitude”.

Even if I were Roids’ physical clone the ladies would still treat me with indifferent indifference, just like they do now.   I can be just as risqué as Roids and a hell of a lot funnier, but my weirder thoughts can and do ruin the moment.  Because I don’t use my brain to make money it brings only pain and isolation, so I hate people and that’s what shines through.  “Life is a tragedy for those who feel”.

Observing Roids has taught me that women are just as sluttish and shallow as any man, drunk or sober.  It’s not a female weakness but a human one.

Do you think I take delight in pointing out that at heart, women are all a bunch of filthy whores?

Do you? 

If you answered “Yes” then you are wrong.  It rips apart my heart like those fish hooks on chains in the Hellraiser movies. 
“There’s no such thing as a good woman.  Not in France.  Not in Philippines. Not in America.  Not anywhere.”

–Pinoy who’s doing his sister-in-law; from a short story by John Fante

Ban blessing

Wednesday, 16 January 2008

There are internets message boards on which I’ve created an alternate identity (which isn’t saying much).

Sometimes this ID is a harsh comic who will exploit the absurd and motherwreck the stupid, other times it’s engaged in impassioned arguments for this or that.

It’s a total waste of time, but authentic.

The ID has inspired a lot of hatred and bad will, and true to human form, sometimes I enjoy this, as I really do hate a lot of these other posters for their ignorance, as they hate mine. Other times I would rather be respected or even loved (you can’t be feared as an anonymous handle).

Recently I was “banned” for a few weeks for doing what I do best there.

I view this as a blessing, since posting at length is writing for which I don’t get paid or credited (I’ve also deliberately not posted there for weeks at a time to regain my sanity, so I’m not missing anything).

Either way I’ve generated a fair amount of controversy and discussion just by being ruthlessly critical and a total motherfucker who trusts only his own voice, just like any polarizing figure: Ann Coulter, Howard Stern, the Olbyloon, Dennis Miller, Kucinich, Nader, Henry Rollins…people either loved or hated but few feel anything in-between about.

Trust your voice.

A preemptive rant

Sunday, 25 November 2007

Might as well get this in early, since the closer we get to X-day the less relevant the rant:

 

 

FUCK XMAS.

 

Hell yes, I’m one of the Xmas haters! If you’ve read my stuff you already guessed this rant will be harmonious with the overriding hatred-of-everything theme around here.

Xmas is just buying crap for yourself through other people. Too often it’s crap you would never buy for yourself, so you have to pretend you care about the lack of thought that went into it. I hate wrapped gifts, cause then you have to feign surprise on top of disappointment. Give me a portable x-ray machine this year so I can be prepared.

Xmas is unnecessary. Living in America, we can get just about anything we want at any time, including non-seasonal fruit. To counter this obvious point, stores on Black Friday have been slamming prices to the mat like pro-wrasslin’ midgets, turning Best Buy parking lots into wealthy squatters’ camps.

December is my favorite month. It’s cool and cold but usually not freezing where I’ve lived most Decembers. Even if my birthday was hidden in some other month, I would still love the word “December”. I’d name my daughter December if I was ever going to have kids (I won’t). But Xmas vomitus overshadows the glory of the month itself.

The whole fucking thing stinks. If you hate Xmas as I do, you agree. If not, so what. Most people cherry-pick what they like about the hellidays, just like they do their religions. I’m not condemning them, it just is.

FUCK XMAS SIDEWAYS! Asshole Santa agrees:

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