Fuckfield #9

It’s Too Late

I have no fans, and that’s fine with me. Much has happened since I last picked up the keyboard for more regularly blogged bullshit. As filmed, the story would be minor happy events in an overall tragedy as opposed to some bloodless low points in a comedy. Sounds about right for almost everyone.

I’m slowly dying of some rare blood disease that damages only the kidneys. Really, I wish my kidneys would fail already. I would quietly collect SSD and get dialysis 3 times a week if it meant not having to ever work again, facing the ugliness of the human race every fucking day.

There are still a few good things left in life:  Oreos, cannabis, taking a shit, internets, reading history, jacking off. There are even hookers that will come to your door!

Contrary to what salesfolk are forever claiming, there is a time when nothing you do or try or buy will save your sorry ass. That time is called “It’s Too Late” and for me, it’s already here. I never try to tally up the reasons I have to live another day, there really aren’t any. I’ve abandoned this life…the mp3 player is still counting the song from both ends but the music stopped long ago.

I told the Guru I HATE God, but I told him in an email.  No response.  That was years ago.  When he does answer it’s usually with, “Have you tried meditating?”  He’s not being a smartass.  God is.

Sadly, there is no Satan to worship. Don’t matter who you cry out to; no god—good or evil—returns messages.

I want to get black t-shirts made with IT’S TOO LATE right across the chest in bright yellow. More than any demon, those words frighten people, with truth.

Fuckfield #8

Fuckfield #7

Fuckfield #6

On many days I simply don’t give a shit

Been wandering the web aimlessly lately. I don’t want to get into it now except to say for every murderous muslim cocksucker there appears to be a gang of apologists and appeasers to justify–there’s no more apt word–to JUSTIFY the evil of the death-cult killers. These fools could just have easily ended up in the crosshairs as the next infidel, and yet here they are, defending the shitbirds.

You can be the most vile piece of shit and commit heinous acts, but those deemed insensitive or politically incorrect are treated even more harshly.

It’s a terrible world.

For no particular reason I watched the 12-part youtube docu about mafia killer-for-hire Richard Kuklinski, “The Iceman”, an equal-opportunity murderer. It was not uplifting. Then I watched a docu about Richard Ramirez, The “Night Stalker”, a craven piece of shit the fucking cops whisked away from mob justice. I’ve been an atheist (and now a tepid monotheist) but with these horrible serial killer bastards running around I understand why anyone would doubt the existence of any god, at least a caring one.

My own life is in the shitter. Not really, but it is. Too much shit left untied, unsaid, while other shit is done sloppily. The past weighs like an anvil on my scrotum. I just hate people and can’t seem to shake the feeling that I’m right. I can’t even get the fucking lesbian at work to come eat tacos (ha ha) with me. And no, I don’t want to fuck her, that’s why I can talk to her.

I don’t know if there is such a thing, but there appears to be a dread balance to the world. Things steadily improve but the horrors that counterweigh the good grow heavier and heavier. Smallpox is eradicated, here comes the AIDS. A dictator dies and he’s got 8 bastard sons to take his place. On the rare occasions Good triumphs it’s quickly buried and forgotten so that the next round of fools must needlessly live the same nightmares. I’m so very fucking annoyed with this planet. And there’s work tomorrow, I won’t have another day off till Monday. Work is hell, all work is, but being out of a job is worse (except for the first 20 minutes of waking up).

On many days I simply don’t give a shit. And by “days” I mean “years”.

Life Explained in 6 words minus the ending

“Satan is King!”

“Sometimes He is.”

THE END

“curses”

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.