| Illegitimati me carborundum. |
[Dec. 4th, 2009|04:14 am] |
WARNING: RANT and also TANGENT
Freedom of speech is great. Freedom of religion? Excellent, regardless of how it's misconstrued by idiots. Right to fair trial by a jury of ones peers, right to not incriminate oneself, freedom from unwarranted search and seizure -- all brilliant, the marks of a civilized society. These rights and liberties are important, but the foundation of culture they form is incomplete. There is one important right which I find conspicuously absent from the complement we are given. Unfortunately, it is not a right which could be guaranteed by any government convention or enforced by any legislative body, because this right would be perpetually infringed upon by the frank stupidity of human nature:
The right to Just Be Left The Hell Alone.
I don't like inconveniencing people. I don't like getting in anyone's way or stepping on toes. I don't like the feeling of being an impediment to another human being's thankless trudge through our common cesspool. Human life is nasty enough with its disease, filth, hardship and pain. The last thing anyone needs is some asshole messing with them when they're just trying to live.
I deplore conflict. And confrontation. And competition. If I want something which someone else also wants, I tend to defer and let them have it. They probably want whatever it is more than I do anyway. This is a big part of the reason I did not pursue higher education. Even if my parents had been able to afford it without difficulty, I would have just been filling a slot in the system someone else would surely have appreciated more. It's the reason I'm not seeking to improve my standing in the job market. I have found a comfortable wallow in which I'm not in conflict with anyone else. I'm doing well enough. There's nothing I need gobs of money for anyway since I don't intend to ever own property or (please god no) reproduce. And it kept me out of that terrible, savage, subhuman fray known as the dating pool, thank fuck. Basically, any effort which would require the assertion of a constructed monkey ego has always seemed to me like WAY more trouble than it's worth.
Despite this, it seems no matter how impartial, disengaged and avoidant one's approach to life is, it's impossible to Just Be Left The Hell Alone. Some asshole is always asserting his or her hideous monkey ego and doing the social equivalent of pissing all over someone else.
Case in point: advertising. FUCK. I fucking DESPISE advertising. ALL advertising. There must be a special pit of Hell completely full of smarmy ad men whiling away eternity selling each other dried vomit and banana peels. Advertising is the putrid boil-drain of culture. While I recognize that a company needs to advertise in order to present its product to the market, the more aggressively and/or panderingly a company advertises, the less respect I have for them. Basically, if you're a company, every ad of yours that worms its way into my awareness is a point against you. You could be advertising air and I'd be dead in five minutes from holding my breath out of spite. Coke or Pepsi? FUCK YOU, THAT'S WHAT. Every advertisement is a violation, a company taking a shit into my visual field. The worst are ads for a store being played OVER THE P.A. IN THE STORE BEING ADVERTISED. Jesus Christ, I'm already in your fucking store! I'm there to buy a product! I don't care about your special deals or lowered prices or a new brand of-- oops, you just alienated a potential customer. Way to go. Now I will always think of you as "that store that plays those shitty ads for itself". It won't necessarily deter me from spending money with you, but I will think less of you, you shameless, self-promoting whore.
I find those sponsored ads on Facebook to be especially frustrating. I've got an ad blocker installed and it takes care of almost everything, but nothing seems to get rid of those damned sponsored ads. Facebook gives you the option to close an ad and submit a reason why you closed it, such as "offensive", "repetitive", "misleading" and "irrelevant". I will sometimes spend several minutes clicking through those ads, each time selecting "irrelevant" as the reason. I don't care what the ads are for. They could be for a useful product. They could even be for a product I actually WANT. They could be from a saintly company that's inoculating orphans and pulling kittens out of burning puppies. Or whatever. I will still deem them irrelevant, because they are irrelevant. I couldn't care less what it is you're trying to sell me or what your company's about, if you advertised at me, then you shat in my eye.
Advertising is human waste. Brand names and logos are infectious rashes. Status-seeking and ego-assertion, by an individual or a company, are public masturbation. There is no fucking excuse. If I want a product, I might buy it. Seeing a product advertised makes me want it less. Got that, companies? Fuck you. I am not in your target demographic.
God. I'm going to end up eating moss and toadstools and living in a cave at this rate. |
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| So these two guys |
[Jul. 17th, 2009|12:59 am] |
walked into VIP last night at about 10pm acting as loud and boisterous and manlike as two twentysomething ne'er-do-wells could be expected to act, either fraternity brothers or recently so, or at least of that general bent, and most likely quite drunk and/or high on some cocaine. They informed me and my co-worker that they were in a hurry because they had two girls at home and dinner on the table and they intended to "surprise" them.
These two had obviously watched an inadvisable amount of Jackass and quite possibly built much of their general demeanors around Johnny Knoxville and Steve-O. Soon after entering VIP, they were the only remaining customers in the store.
The surprise they had in mind was actually of the most malign and antisocial variety. I hoped at that moment that they either knew these girls very, very well or had met them recently enough that there would be no protracted conflict in their extricating themselves hurriedly from the company of these fine gentlemen.
After twenty minutes or so of aimless shopping and idle suggestions from their extremely helpful and not-at-all-judgmental sales representatives, they were prepared to make their purchases, though the second (who I will call Steve-O) was polite enough to ask if it was acceptable for him to change into his newly acquired garments in our restroom. It was.
Steve-O left the store clad only in a crotchless fishnet bodystocking and an extremely short black skirt, with a pair of fur handcuffs on one wrist and a three-foot double-dong slung over one shoulder. "Knoxville", with a chin-mounted latex dildo on his face, an inflatable mooing cow under his arm, and a game of Anal Ring Toss at the ready.
We may very well have ruined these young men's relationships, and quite possibly their lives. Or perhaps we simply offered our generous assistance in extricating them from their cramped little closets. Either way, I now have an answer for anyone who asks me about my most interesting experience working at a smut shop. |
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| Just In Case Anyone Was Wondering... |
[Jan. 8th, 2009|01:59 am] |
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... I'm getting really, really tired of fucking "steam punk". Fuck steam punk. Fuck it right up its steam-powered ass. There, I said it. |
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| BEARD OF BEES. |
[Dec. 14th, 2008|02:27 am] |
YOU HEARD RIGHT MOTHERFUCKERS. |
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| Um. Fuck. |
[Nov. 7th, 2008|01:18 pm] |
I've had complete psychotic breaks from reality less weird than this shit.
Great thing to see first thing in the... 12:17 in the afternoon. |
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| I Heart Righteous Indignation |
[Jul. 17th, 2008|04:22 am] |
Just ran across this quote again and thought I'd post it because it's great.
"We have become a Nazi monster in the eyes of the whole world, a nation of bullies and bastards who would rather kill than live peacefully. We are not just Whores for power and oil, but killer whores with hate and fear in our hearts. We are human scum, and that is how history will judge us. No redeeming social value. Just whores. Get out of our way, or we'll kill you. Who does vote for these dishonest shitheads? Who among us can be happy and proud of having all this innocent blood on our hands? Who are these swine? These flag-sucking half-wits who get fleeced and fooled by stupid little rich kids like George Bush? They are the same ones who wanted to have Muhammad Ali locked up for refusing to kill gooks. They speak for all that is cruel and stupid and vicious in the American character. They are the racists and hate mongers among us; they are the Ku Klux Klan. I piss down the throats of these Nazis. And I am too old to worry about whether they like it or not. Fuck them."
-H. S. Thompson, not too long before his death |
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| (no subject) |
[May. 7th, 2008|12:26 am] |
"The most merciful thing in the world, I think, is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents... some day the piecing together of dissociated knowledge will open up such terrifying vistas of reality, and of our frightful position therein, that we shall either go mad from the revelation or flee from the light into the peace and safety of a new Dark Age."
-Howard Phillips Lovecraft, 1926 |
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| La Bella Lengua |
[Nov. 15th, 2007|02:38 pm] |
So, in an uncharacteristic display of academic initiative, I have decided that I am going to learn Italian, in earnest. I intend to be conversationally fluent no later than one year from now. My mother is also learning, and we've already purchased a good number of language guides, dictionaries and novels in Italian. So far, it looks like we're going to have a pretty easy time of it, having had experience with Spanish and Portuguese respectively. The grammar of Romance languages is pretty similar across the board, so it's mainly going to be a matter of augmenting (or more realistically just replacing) my old Spanish vocab. I've forgotten enough Spanish since high school that I have a nice space cleared in my brain for Italian to inhabit.
I want to learn Italian because I have fallen madly in love with the city of Amalfi, which I am not hesitant to refer to as the most beautiful place I've ever set eyes on. I want to go there as soon as I can afford it, which will be a while (more than a year, to be sure), rent a villa for a couple of weeks and get to know the place. It's not just a whim though, it feels very personally important to me to go there. Looking at pictures of Amalfi is like looking at pictures of home.
It's going to be an interesting challenge to learn a language without any sort of formal instruction or guidance, but I'm pretty confident that I'm up for it. One thing I'm excited about is that I get to study in whatever way is most effective for me, instead of in the way outlined by a teacher. I've already got my game plan laid out, now it's just a matter of committing the time. "Goodbye weekends", is what that means. Oh well. I'm rediscovering that it's very satisfying to exercise my brain, an idea that public school summarily rendered false for me. It's good to find out that mental discipline can feel rilly rilly good if it's on one's own terms.
Yay, learning.
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| First Annual Mollusc-Mammal Caucus |
[Nov. 13th, 2007|11:56 pm] |
| [ | mood |
| |  Amused | ] |
Well, in keeping with the theme of slimy, slow-moving life forms from the last entry, I was rather startled to arrive home from work a few minutes ago to find that my rabbit was entertaining an unexpected guest; a large banana slug was keeping her company! It had apparently crawled in through the open window and seemed quite content there in Ms. Thompson's cage. I was actually somewhat reluctant to remove the slug, in case he/she (they're hermaphrodites) and the rabbit were in the middle of a conversation of some sort. The rabbit didn't seem to mind having it there, and grunted indignantly when I went to remove it. If I had moved my bed under the window two days ago like I was considering, I would have found the slug sliming its way across my pillow. As fond as I am of gastropods, that would not have been a nice thing to come home to. |
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| A Beautiful Rotting |
[Nov. 11th, 2007|03:34 pm] |
The rain over the last couple of days brought up a fucking unbelievable mass of mushrooms behind the building in my back yard. It's like a little city! There was also a fat banana slug contentedly grazing on them. I'm not sure why, but I've always had a particular fondness for the sort of wildlife that lives in cold, damp, slime-covered silence. Seeing these mushrooms made me want to become an inch tall and take up residency there.
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| SWEET JESUS, WHAT A SHOCK. |
[Oct. 19th, 2007|07:01 pm] |
| You Are an Alien | 
You're so strange, people occasionally wonder if you're from another world.
You don't try to be different, but you see most things from a very unique, very offbeat perspective.
Brilliant to the point of genius, you definitely have some advanced intelligence going on.
No matter what circles you travel in, you always feel like a stranger. And it's a feeling you've learned to like.
Your greatest power: Your superhuman brain
Your greatest weakness: Your lack of empathy - you just don't get humans
You play well with: Zombies |
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| FIGURE IT OUT, SCHMUCKS! |
[Oct. 19th, 2007|03:35 pm] |
Jesus, people! Fucking restroom etiquette! Are you a bunch of god damned half-wits? If the little window on the lock reads "OCCUPIED", it probably means it. Or perhaps, you are among the <1% of illiterate people in the nation, as well as color-blind, so that the indecipherable scribble on the little redgreen tile is completely meaningless to you.
If you are legitimately baffled by the "occupied" symbol and the door does not open on your first attempt, DO NOT: - pound on the door, thereby arresting the bowel functioning of the restroom occupant
- attempt to force the handle and break the lock
- go and fetch the store manager to unlock the occupied restroom
DO: - HAVE A LITTLE PATIENCE
I swear, these people are walking around in a fucking trance. The modern world has been set up with endless layers of failsafes and idiotproof conveniences. You don't live in a cave. FUCKING FIGURE IT OUT.
And don't even get me started on driving etiquette... |
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| Mah Jongg |
[Oct. 15th, 2007|01:54 am] |
| [ | mood |
| | Unglued | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Zep | ] |
I just realized that for the last decade or so, the game my life has most closely resembled is Mah Jongg.
I started out with an overwhelming, pseudo-random pile of arbitrary symbols, and I've been working to discern patterns in the meaningless data so that I can remove it and pare it down to what's essential. Of course from the beginning I could have just swept the whole thing onto the floor, but the slow and calculated dissection has provided a morbid kind of satisfaction for me.
But now I'm approaching the bottom of the stack, and I'm down to a few straggling pairs of tiles. I have begun to realize that the tiles may in fact have been all there was to the game. There is no essential picture underneath. It was the game itself that was essential, and once the last tiles have been removed I will be left with nothing but a blank board.
Now I'm faced with the question of whether or not the space I've cleared is actually of greater value to me than this game which I've found so incessantly frustrating. If it isn't, then the next order of business is to figure out what to use that space for. My first inclination is to just sit in it and meditate, but I have a feeling that would be idiotically redundant under the circumstances.
It's time for new structure. |
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| Understanding Ludicrous Improbability |
[Oct. 11th, 2007|01:38 am] |
I'll begin this entry with a warning. I'm going to rant. It's going to be angsty, long and self-indulgent. I'll put it behind a cut so as to spare everybody. Feel free to ignore it if you'd prefer. I no longer keep a paper journal, so I may actually start posting content of a somewhat more personal nature here.
I plan on staying up all night tonight. I volunteered to drive my co-worker to SFO at seven in the morning, and since I haven't been able to sleep before 4am lately, I figured I'd just kill a few hours in the mean time instead of getting an unsatisfying amount of sleep and ending up more tired than I'd be anyway. I'm not even sure why I volunteered. I guess I feel like I owe The World about eight years of free rides places, having waited so long to get my license. Of course, I'm reasonably confident in guessing that my boss and other co-workers must think I offered in hopes of ingratiating myself in order to eventually get into this girl's pants... which obviously would explain perfectly why I was so quick to offer to drive her to the airport so she could fly out and meet her boyfriend on the east coast. Well they can assume that, if it lends their lives comfortable predictability to imagine that the motivations of human males universally boil down to mating opportunities. And they'd probably be right in most cases. It's not a matter of altruism vs. selfish motives, either. I'm not doing it for the sake of being nice, though that's a charming ideal. I guess I'm doing it "just because".
( Okay, here we go. ) |
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| Aiding In The Survival Of An Internet Meme |
[Oct. 9th, 2007|12:32 am] |
"If you'd like to play along, let me know. I'll pick 7 interests of yours that I'd like to know more about, and you will write a journal entry about them in your journal and invite your friends to comment and so on and so forth. Don't just tell me about your interests in a comment to my journal...you've got to play fair and put it in your journal, so others can play along."
I stole this meme, illegally, immorally and without permission, from ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) toeknuckles.
Gravity's Rainbow: This is the most intense book I've ever read. It took me about two months to slog through it, reading a bit every day. It's a long book, but so's the Illuminatus! trilogy, and that I've read through several times. Gravity's Rainbow is a completely different experience from any ordinary book. I consider it less a book and more a form of psychic parasite. For months afterwards I found my general mental state skewed markedly toward the surreal, and even such things as my word choices and writing style took on a Pynchonesque affectation. I felt basically like I was married to the book for as long as I was reading it. It was during a very strange and unpleasant period in my life as well. I was psychically raw and vulnerable, which further facilitated its parasitism on my mind. In short, I can't recommend it highly enough to anyone who wants something more than light reading. Especially if you like massive debaucherous orgies on the decks of cruise ships, lovingly-rendered descriptions of sexual coprophagia, characters randomly and unaccountably bursting into song, and a giant Godzilla adenoid which can only be appeased by having shovelfuls of cocaine heaved onto it.
Moral Relativism: I think the idea of inherently right and wrong actions is one of the most detrimental ideas in history. I would call it a prerequisite for complete self-knowledge for one to understand that no such designations exist except as conventions. Not saying I've achieved complete self-knowledge, but as one seeking it, I like to tell myself that throwing out traditional morality was a good move. Of course, once one has rid oneself of the pernicious myth of right and wrong, one can go about constructing a working moral code for oneself, and that is fine and dandy.
Snails: I've always had a particular affinity for snails. I like the fact that when mammals are huddled in their dens to get away from the damp and cold, snails make their way out to attend to their important business. I occasionally let them crawl around on my hands, having made sure to wash off any offending salt. I enjoy the feeling of their feet and their rasping mouthparts as they try to make food of me. Whenever I see them out on the sidewalk, I pause to move as many as I can to safety. Most people don't think twice about stepping on them, so I've taken it upon myself to be their protector. When I was three or four I peeled one, not understanding that its shell was part of its body, and felt terrible about it when I learned I had killed it. Since then, I've been working off my snail karma. This is the reason why I'm such a weirdo.
Forgiveness: I try not to hold grudges. I think it's a bad habit. If I actively have something against a person I've ever been at all close to, or even a person who someone I'm close to is close to, I feel like something is wrong. Most slights simply aren't severe or important enough to harbor animosity about. I see enough social strife between people, and I prefer to stay Swiss about it. Unfortunately I've found that even this preference can get me into trouble. Pain in the ass, that.
General Aimlessness: Everybody seems to be rushing around all the time, trying to stay busy and upwardly-mobile, in order to justify their existence on the planet. I say, fuck that. I didn't ask to be here, more than half the time I'd prefer not to be anyway, and so I see no point in making a space for myself in the world. I think that most ambition is mere ego-noise... or at least, it would be for me. Other people might have good reasons for doing what they do, but I know that if I were doing the same things, it would be out of some vain desire to conform and appear as less of an anomaly. For me, aimlessness is the only sincere option. Anything else would be a damnable contrivance.
Superdeterminism: Put simply: determinism is the stance that the order of things is determined by the order of prior occurrences, and that the current state causally and predictably determines all future states. There was one past, there is one present, and there is one possible future. This is, as far as I see it, a patently idiotic hypothesis. Superdeterminism then, is basically the idea that things are as they are, however that happens to be, because they could not be otherwise. This may seem to contain a contradiction, but it is one easily assimilated. If an infinite set of possible states exists in superposition, then the current observable state is a statistical inevitability. I think it's a very elegant idea. It allows free will and chance to mesh amicably with notions of fate or destiny. It imagines the universe as a clockwork mechanism, but one so vast and complex that its motions cannot be reliably predicted.
Tardigrade: Tardigrades are amazing. They've been around since the Cambrian, they are their own phylum and not related closely to any other extant life forms, they live on all seven continents, they can survive in extreme conditions that would kill other life, and they can be completely dehydrated and blown around as dust, to be reanimated upon contact with water. The fact that they are also known as Water Bears and Moss Piglets only makes them more awesome. There are tardigrades on you now.
Hey hey, keep the meme alive. Let me know if you want to play and I'll tell you what interests to write about. |
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| PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- |
[Oct. 1st, 2007|01:51 am] |
PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- PURGE -- |
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| ... |
[Sep. 29th, 2007|02:40 pm] |
So, in an effort to escape the maddening scratching and digging of the rabbit, I've been sleeping on the couch in the living room for the last couple of nights. I've often found that I sleep better on that couch than anywhere else, and also have more vivid dreams. I wish though, that the dreams were more interesting and/or pleasant.
So, most people have dreams of extreme social embarrassment or discomfort on occasion. I'm pretty familiar with these. Variations on the accidentally-going-to-school-or-work-naked sort of dreams, or finding that the toilet I have to use is out in the middle of a public area. Last night though, my subconscious took this type of dream to a whole new level of anxiety.
I had to use the restroom at a bus station or skating rink or something. It turned out though, this particular men's room was The Gay Tea Room From Hell. It was a large restroom with about thirty or forty stalls. The whole thing was poorly-lit and filthy, and kind of maze-like. Pretty much every stall was occupied, mostly by huge, greasy, hairy biker bears. Every single stall was equipped with at least one glory-hole, but that seemed sort of ridiculous, as the anonymity this consideration would have provided was negated by the fact that the stall dividers were only about four feet high. Most of the guys didn't pay any attention when I walked in, since they were pretty well wrapped up in various carnal exploits. Naturally though, there were a few who noticed my arrival, and they mostly seemed to think that my repeated announcements of "hey guys, really, just in here to take a pee" must have been code for something else. The only unoccupied stall with a functional toilet was in the corner of the room opposite the door, and surrounded on all sides by leering, lascivious bears. But god damn it, I really had to take a pee. So basically, I had figure out how to do so while exposing myself as little as possible and ignoring the filthy erections protruding into the stall from all sides.
Long story short, I don't think I'll be attending Folsom Street Fair this year. |
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| TO DO: |
[Sep. 27th, 2007|06:57 pm] |
| [ | Current Location |
| | VIP | ] |
| [ | mood |
| | Not Surprised | ] |
| [ | music |
| | INXS, Kick | ] |
1.) Have Realistic Expectations.
SWM, quiet, introspective & withdrawn w/ propensity for mystical melodramatic nonsense, seeks SWF w/ similar tendencies. Must be prepared to leave the planet Earth at the drop of a hat if and when the opportunity presents itself. No smokers pls.
Am I fucking kidding me? What fucking century do I think this is? Get a life, fuckwit.
*sigh*... Back to "reality". |
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