Why Must I Listen To You Evil Monsters?

Right. Well. I don't know. You know what is fucked? This. This whole fucking thing. Sometimes it isn't about you. Fuck it. It's never about you. I don't even know you. You don't know me. What do you know about me? You know that I am in the Army and I like women. I like to write about random women I see, figments of my imagination or women from my past. I interject shit. I listen to music and write to wherever it takes me. The monsignor is getting the point. Stop it. This is not a polite suggestion. This is a core of behavior. I don't care what the fuck you think of me. Let me save you the time, I am an asshole. So go the fuck away. Do not procreate. Do not Pass go. Just sort of, go.
Who the fuck are you people? Thatgirlwhooncecravedyourcock? What? Lies. I don't know you. I don't even know who you are, but I doubt you thought more highly of me than I do myself.
If Manning plays Manning in the Super Bowl, I will never watch another NFL game as long as I live. I promise.
I saw a good man this weekend. He doesn't read this nor know about it, as I don't tell many people about this. Sam is a good man and apparently, a cheap drunk. We drank on empty stomachs or empty minds. We had a good time and his girlfriend puked on my car. Thankfully she used my Kevlar helmet when she puked inside my car. So I had to wash my car and it looked great, then it rained. He is going to the same place I am, so we decided that it is imperative we live together. I was hoping to live alone, but I can make extra money this way. Which is key. Money is good. I also have to start saving for my boat.
I am moving back to Boston after my time in the Army. Bet. I miss that place.

You'll Be Okay

Right. Pistol-whipping is about to be on. Word. I will flow a river forth to Thee, and teeming with souls shall it ever be.
So what do you need? You came here for a reason. Have we met? Did we fuck? I'm sorry, but I see a lot of people in my line of work, I don't remember you. What do you need? Of course you need something, people don't just come around here for shucking and jiving. So put it out there. Yes I can do that for you. Yes I will do that for you. Don't worry about the cost. We will discuss payment later. Tell me why you want this act done. I should pay you if what you tell me is true, I will enjoy this.
What is pinkish, bulbous and extends past my boxers? A rash. I wish it would go away. Also I don't wear underwear, so that riddle is a little misleading in more than one-way.
The Taste lost a bet to me. Now he has to send me 100 dollars American and paint his balls powder blue, photo his ball bag and post it on his blog. I'll bet that fucker renigs. Fucking reniger. I didn't mean it to be racist. Unless all people whom renig have their own race, which would explain nothing. But it would cause for a new box available to check off on all government forms.
The shitty thing about being in the military is that everyone and their fucking brother wear pea coats. At least I have plenty of leather. I am making plans to visit Los Angles with a couple of guys I am going to Washington with before I head to Germany. But like most my plans, I will probably end up in a Canadian brothel.
I remember the way she moved through the shadows. The light from streetlights or passing cars coming through the bedroom window always managed to backlight her. Angelic. She glowed as she walked naked from the bathroom to the hall and back to the bedroom where I waited. The clock seems to illuminate brighter as she lay beside me. I would pretend to be asleep as she would lie back down and grab at me to make sure I hadn't left. I would watch her breathe. Her skin reminded me of a liquid. He ribs shown through like the cube dividers in an ice tray as you fill it up. Her jaw would make subtle movements while she slept, a slow, light grinding of her teeth like she was rolling candy in her mouth. I would stare at her for hours and watch her wake up. I would pretend to be asleep; as she would sit up and scan the room for the place we dropped her robe the night before. She would sit at an angle, resting herself on her elbows playing with my hair with one hand gently enough to not wake me. She would spot her robe and sigh; it was always too far for her desire. She would rise from bed and ashamedly cover herself with her arms. She bent at the knees to pick up her robe and put it on quickly. She would then sit on the bed and smoke half a cigarette. She would try to go back to sleep, but the nicotine affect her too quickly. Finally she would go and make a glass of ice water, bring it to bed and dribble it down the front of her as she tried to drink and lay with her head slightly elevated. She would roll her eyes and wait for the alarm to wake me up. She never knew I memorized her routines. She never knew I knew them. She never knew I was awake. I never knew how thirsty I could be until I thought about that water.

Get off My Elevator

Right. So I watched Troy last night, again, because it puts me to sleep. Except for last night. When it didn't. So I watched. Here is the main thought I have every time I watch it: is this the best we can do? I mean I understand that if they were to work in the Gods it would be dumb, so I am not talking about that. I am talking about Paris. More specifically, the guy playing Paris, is this the best that Hollywood has to offer me? For the love of fuck. Every asshole I've ever met has aspirations of being in movies and this ass-hat is the only one who took an archery class? I had to watch him suck in Lord of the Rings, but there was so much other shit going on that ruled, so I could ignore his lame ass. But I am forced to watch this clown dick up Troy. Remember in Return of the King when, for no reason other than a need to meet a quota of ass head camera time, he says, "A diversion." God I wanted to shoot myself. No shit? A diversion? See I did not pick that up from reading the book, paying attention to the movie plot or the fact that three other characters just explained it. I needed ass lips to clarify.
I am about to do something terrible. I am about to buy a handgun. I am about to buy a 50 caliber Desert Eagle. That is a lot of calibers. I don’t plan on buying any bullets, as the idea of shooting it doesn't appeal to me. No, it's more the idea of pistol-whipping fools across the face that tickles my fancy. Or fancies my tickle. Or tickles my tickle. I hope it doesn't fancy my fancy. So if you are ever like, about to be raped by a guy, or are about to rape a girl and I am in a four block radius and I have the weapon handy and weather conditions help conceal my movement and I am wearing something cool and My Name is Earl isn't on and I’m not about to make out with Famke Jansen or some really hot girl or even an average looking girl, then you have a 34.278% chance of me saving you or foiling your plans via a good old-fashioned pistol-whipping. That's a long sentence there boy.
Let's add Maria Bello to the list of women I need to give a mustache ride to. Sans mustache.

Read Finger Or Die

Right. It turns out violence is the answer. But the question is the real surprise.
So the crack whore who hangs at the 7-11 and offers head for a ride to the strip club, where she can jerk off fat guys for crank money, went and got herself a tattoo. It's some angel wing bullshit on each of her wrists with some Asian type letters above the wings. Yes, she is spiritual. The last time she even thought about God was when she prayed no one would find out about the seven-man cum dump she took for 60 dollars and a pack of Newport's. Listen, we must accept the fact that God probably doesn't like half of us and most probably doesn't want to be associated with a woman using her face as cum sock. But I suppose that the Asian writing makes it okay because you don't see too many Buddhist monks walking around middle Missouri and correcting people's views of the religion. But trust me, even Buddha doesn't want you.
I am out of soup.
I am really confused as to why everything I say isn't regarded as pure literary genius. I need to be winning awards here people. I haven't won shit. I got the flu, but it won't kill me. Aye, there's the rub.
Every morning I wake up, pray Armageddon has started, look out my window and become disappointed it hasn't. I'm going to be really pissed if I got the fu and miss the whole thing. I also guess, I'll be somewhat terrified if it is happening. They say be careful of what you wish for, but fuck it. Go for the Gusto.
So ass hat disappears and doesn't want to play. Well fuck that.
Took care of business today. Even while sick. I don't deserve the gong. I don't deserve the praise.
Other than that I spent all day taking quizzes online. I am bored. Though I think it is apparent that I rule, based upon the results. It also seems that there is an inordinate amount of people believing I am someone named Tony, who I believe recently went into hiding. I am not him.
I really think you should read the Parthenon Code it is quite interesting.

We Just met

Right. Tomorrow we should burn it all to the ground. It is quite the procrustean argument to say that Oscar lived in a trashcan because he was a puppet. Maybe it was a creative decision, decided upon by the deciders of such decisions, based on the fact that sometimes a man must watch a dog fight four chickens. Then the man must throw money at a fat mustached Mexican man letting him know the enjoyment level derived from the show and that the man expects the dog to win. The dog never wins...the dog never wins. In that scenario, everyone wins but the dog. However, since the dog is an integral component of bringing such joy to everyone involved, the dog must win in a metaphysical sense. Why would someone go to the point to say someone is especially not a genius?
When I am done with my time in the military, I am going to pull robberies of priceless antiques, which I will place prices on and the prices will be high. If you want what I am selling, you best bring cash because I don't take American Express. I am going to rob the entire Louvre. The entire building will be gone. The windows, floor tiles, fake security cameras and louvers will all be stashed at my secret underground base in North Dakota.
I love tomato soup.
Her lips shine like the illuminating North Star in the skies above the Atlantic Ocean, a beacon ushering travelers to follow. Instilling the desire to visit the glossy tenderness by all who see. We build better ships, we fashion metal and steam engines and we develop better tools and turbines and rockets in an attempt to reach her lips. We fail. No matter how much we build or better ourselves the lips will never be close to ours. No matter how deep our desires are we will never feel the lips pressed against ours. We fail to realize it is her decision. She will visit us. So a few of us, who have such patience and knowledge, wait. And wait we will, because she has better things to do and is drawn to those building the turbines, and she thirsts for rocket fuel. She may say she wants something else, but all actions prove her a liar. She may say she's tired of those building better equipment to try to impress her, but it still goads her to hypocrite herself. She cannot understand that once the rocket can reach her, it is in the very nature of the rocket to try and visit other systems. Yet the ones who wait will wait eternally, because no matter the scores, incomes or privileges, we are all plain, stupid and filthy.

Seven

Right. The hospital is a funny place. Funny isn't the word. Horrible, yes, that’s the word I should use. I hate going there but I had to, as I can't even stand up. My body just aches, my stomach is killing me and it hurts to move. The shitty thing is when you go to the hospital in the military, they try and make you feel like you're getting over. I don't remember the last time I was actually sick and not just faking it. So leave me alone.
I wish some serious shit would happen. No I don't. That's a lie. I really wish I had won that Power Ball jackpot. When I first heard that some dude from Oregon won it, I first thought of how it is probably Nate. Nate is this dude who sucks. He is living in Oregon and probably won the friggin Power Ball. It would be like him to do some shit like that.
I'd like some help. No I don't. That's a lie. I'd like a shit-ton of money. That's what I want.
I watched this movie yesterday, and it was pretty good. The thing I kept thinking was how I always hear that you can tell who is a good actor because the good actor makes the other actors around look better. So why the hell didn't the deadly mutaba virus win an academy award?
I hate being sick.

But The Horses

Right. It's nice to know that not everything sucks.
Have you ever spent all your cab fare getting drunk in a bar, resulting in you having to ask some dude to drive you home whilst your best friend makes out with his girlfriend? No? Well then.
Have you ever come out of a week long training exercise, having not eaten, received a four-day weekend but taken Thursday and Friday to help run a Special Olympics at your work, even though it meant you were behind in everything else you had to do? We then.
Have you ever proven, to everyone whom knows you, that if the price for victory is your own death, that you are willing to give that? Well then.
Have you ever carried a 40-pound weapon in addition to all your gear, for 11 miles, because everyone else was tired? Well then.
Have you ever been so tired that you just accept the fact that you may never sleep again? Well then.
Have you ever spent every Thursday for a year at the same bar, with the same friends, spending money you didn't have, having nights you can't remember but knowing that was as good as it will ever be? Well then.
Have you ever spent night after night at a diner drinking coffee, talking nonsense and feeling superior in your inferiorities? Well then.
Have you ever worn the same thrift store shirt for two weeks straight, the same tattered pants for a month and felt clean? Well then.
Have you ever had a steak eating contest and ate 32 ounces of rare steak, winning the competition but paying the price later when you vomit for five-hours? Well then.
Have you ever been mean to the really hot girl who is a total cunt, and by the end of the night she wants to fuck because no one is mean to her because she is that hot, and you don't even bother with her? Well then.
Have you ever sent love roaring past your teeth creating sounds and startling to babies? Well then.

Fuck

Right. I'm out of the field and my blog doesn't seem to be working. Shit.

Just Throw Strikes

Right. So tomorrow I leave for the field for one week. I am looking forward to it. Today on the other hand, well, we all have these days.
I get the worst cell phone reception in the history of mankind. It might, I say again, it might have something to do with the fact I live in the middle of a forest. But that is neither here nor there. Except that it is here. I am getting side tracked. I need to focus. Okay, so today I started receiving a shit ton of voicemail messages without receiving a phone call. I started to call these people back and it turns out that they left these messages like a week ago. So I have that going for me. Then, for the first time in about two weeks, my phone rings. Hooray. I look at the number and the area code is from my hometown. I think nothing of it and answer the call. The English language has not yet evolved to describe how bad of an idea this was. It turns out that somehow my old tumor got hold of my first ever cell phone number.
We exchanged greetings, you know, we talked of the upcoming plague and rivers running red with blood of nonbelievers, and, in my shocked state, I decide to continue the conversation. She informs me that she has her whorish little hands on some upcoming Cardinal tickets. Not in those exact words. She asks if I want to go. Now, I can't on account of my job and all. But I mean damn. It might be worth it to see a playoff game the last season at the stadium. Let me paint you a picture of how wrong this is for me to think. The last time I saw her she tried to stab me. "No one breaks up with me." "Well it looks as if that's not the case." And then came the knife. To be fair, it was nice to see her as for the year we dated I saw her for maybe six hours. The rest of the time she spent committing numerous felonies as she had/has a penchant for running drugs. Of the six hours I saw her, she slept for damn near five and a half, so really, it was nice to see her that fateful night. Did I mention that this was the second time I gave the old girl a go in my life? I am not too bright. We dated when I graduated high school for a bit and she left me on our one-year anniversary because, "I would rather do drugs than hang out with you." She lied a lot to get in there a second time, but I am sure I turned quite the blind eye to her horrible lies. She asked me if I am in fact driving an Acura these days and I told her the truth, that she must have me mistaken with someone else. As I think it's clear I drive a 92 LeSabre.
Anyway, I have a new fear. See, tomorrow I leave for the field for one week. This morning when I entered my car, a small moth accompanied me unbeknownst to me. I cannot find him to get him out. Now here is my fear. I have this bottle cap sitting in my car with my chewed fingernails in it. I fear that the moth will live off of my proteins for a week and become super smart and extra strong. Like a man-killing moth. Like me, only in moth form. Yossarian manifested in a moth if you will. All he needs to do then is read the instructions in my glove box, wait for me to return, konk me on the noggin, snatch my keys with his moth mouth hose thing and take off in my ride. Now you try explaining to a police officer that a giant moth stole your car and racked up parking tickets at strip clubs. Ha. Yeah. You fight that one. Good fucking luck. I have a better chance of inventing aluminum. Man, I hope this doesn't happen.
Have a nice week. Or not. Whatever blows your hair back.

Plus Two

Right. Summer is dead. I will not attend its funeral. There is frost on my car in the mornings. The grass crunches as I stretch. The air burns my lungs when I hit the second mile. Soon the sun will not bring life to anything here. I love fall.
I leave for the field Wednesday and will return one week from Wednesday. One week. No big deal. I can do one week all day baby. All day. It amazes me that people in the Army don't like going to the field or desire not to go to war. That is your job. Well, our job. Like if you're a hooker and hate getting pissed on, it's par for the course.
So lately, serious thoughts have crept in my head about trading in the old car. I think I should get a motorcycle. I want one and I think I could save gas money.
So apparently the reason for my upcoming interview is that I impressed some Colonel at the dining in the other night with my answers to his questions. Great. Now I have to figure out which lie impressed him. I'll let you in on a secret of mine. I lie about damn near everything. I'm good at it too. I will lie about shit I have no reason to lie about, especially if I knew you in the past or I have never met you. I see someone from high school and conversations go like this, "Hey Yossarian! Man, what are you up to these days?" I reply with something like, "I am a monkey trainer for the Brooklyn Zoo." Or, "I roof houses in Flagstaff." Or, "I am a key grip for Soul Train." Or, "I am an accountant in a little town outside of Gary Indiana called Chicago." I meet people through friends and it pains me to no end the my friend will inevitably tell the person some truth about me, I hate telling people what I do or the reasons for my actions. Fuck off. I think the Colonel asked me why I joined the Army, as it seems to be an area of interest to people. Why would a kid who isn't prior service or ROTC join the Army? Well fuck off I did. So I told him something and he liked it and now I have to be interviewed. Shit. I am sure I will make an ass of myself. I'll let you know how it goes.

You Must Respect It

Right. What day is it? Who cares? I don't. How long do I have left? I don't remember. Is it worth it? I believe it is. I heard the Pope died yesterday. I wonder if they will let me go to church on account of it. It doesn’t matter. Sucks though. Only two left. How long have I been here? It's confusing right now; I haven't slept in a while. I haven’t eaten in longer.
The good news is it stopped raining today. The bad news is that there isn't a cloud in the sky and the sun is beating down upon the area. All the moisture that accumulated over the past...however long we’ve been out, is creating a nice haze. The real news is that I am pulling a 12-hour security shift in a swamp. There is an alligator not ten feet from me, sunning his back. Snakes all over. I hate snakes. Fuck the serpent. Though I am a descendent of Hephaistos.
I miss things. Strange things. I miss beer. I miss sleeping on a mattress. What will tomorrow bring? I don't care. I learned something yesterday. I forgot it though, but while I was trying to remember it, I realized something else. I realized it, learned it, taught it to myself and now I know it. I know it for what it is. True. I learned it in a way that the hundred thousand I spent on education couldn’t teach. I learned it in a way boarding schools are unable to provide. I know it. Living in the intellectual towers only clouds this knowledge. It was inside me. Therefore it must be inside all of us. We must search for it. We do not like the answer. We don't want to know this shit. So we hide. Discard this knowledge as lies. We look down upon those with it. I cannot convey this knowledge to you. You would not understand and I would forever change in your eyes. This I learned. This is what the training gave me. Peace.
Will this alligator kill me? No. It will not because I stay in my lane. Am I the only one who speaks English anymore?
Word is that they might bring us in early because of all the rain. I hope not. I, we, will live like this soon. Rapid change. There is a reason for this, for me being here. The reason isn't simple. It isn't good and evil. It isn't governments and resources. The reason is me. It is you. It is the reaction and the stance we take. This is the reason for these events.
The thing I love about training is the silence. It's how much time you have with your own mind.

I Am Of The Line Of Kain

Right. Reasons why my 24-hour shift I had to work Saturday till Sunday sucked ass are many. It sucked because I was working with a female sergeant. It sucked because she wasn't attractive. It sucked because my balls itched for around 23 hours 45 minutes and I couldn't scratch on account of the female sergeant. It sucked because I couldn't sleep. It sucked because my long weekend is void on account of stupid assed brigade staff duty. It sucked because I finished my book with 10 hours left. It sucked because this one real cute private was cleaning the building and clearly wanted to fuck but officers aren't allowed to hit skins with enlisted. It sucked because the sergeant watched the worst crap on TV and would talk to the TV. It sucked because by the end of my shift I wanted to bone the unattractive sergeant. It sucked because instead of watching the Cardinal game I was subjected to Sex in the City for the first time in my life. It sucked because now I have to sleep and I can't watch football all Sunday.
I am the subject of an upcoming interview for the paper here. I have never been interviewed before. I hope I don't dick this up.

Intensified Festival 68

Right. Fucking fickle people out there people. So I had this whole thing planned out where I was going to spiral into a pit of despair and kill myself. Well not my actual self, but my Yossarian self. It was going to be hot. I was going to draw it out over months and have comments on my posts about how I need help. I was then going to have a guy named Otto Quirk take over. He was going to recant apocryphal stories of the greatness of Yossarian. It was going to be hot. But I gave it the old 86. So now you will never watch, or read, the implosion of one man and the retold gory of his existence. Bummer.
Tonight we had our Dinning In. Which is all pomp and ceremony. We get dressed up in our dress uniforms and go through this ceremony and it's al a lot of fun. We are supposed to get all wasted on this crap we make. We have these rituals and procedures we go through. It is fun. I didn't drink and the food was terrible, but it was fun. I usually don't toot my own proverbial horn, but in my dress blues, I looked like the proverbial bomb.
So when she gets drunk she isn’t so snooty. She is nice, touchy. Feely. She hangs on me and breathes slowly around my face. She reeks of gin, which is how I like my women, she begs. She pouts her eyes in an attempt to get me to go out. Her hair is not within Army regulation. I want to fuck her hair because it is rebelling. The diamonds in her ears are worth more than my car, master's degree and the house I grew up in combined. She is flirty. I dig it. She makes herself available. I opt to go home to blog and sleep. Then I got it. Because she just lost her mystique. The vibe was there, but she has no vibe when sober. None. She wants nothing to do with me then. But now, it's a different story. The tempo has changed; this song is unfamiliar. This DJ sucks. How can a change like this come? It was the fact that I knew, I KNEW she wanted nothing to do with me. But now it's not true. She does, at least for the moment. Maybe I want more from her. Maybe it was just what I couldn't have before and now I can that changed. Maybe it is something else. Maybe I can't put my finger on it. Maybe she wanted to go slumming. Maybe I know that. But look at what I knew ten minutes ago. God her eyes are big. I love that shit. You want to know what does it for me? That's it. Big eyes. I love that shit. Big whites in the eyes, I don't know. I live for that shit. Fuck it. I'm going to the bar.

Grilled Cheese

Right. Is the phrase, "Just Deserts," or, "Just Deserves"? This is something I will never know. Ever.
1. What is your full name now? Yossarian Fitzgerald Imansash
2. What color trousers are you wearing? Blue I suppose
3. What are you listening to right now? Mozart
4. What was the last thing you ate? Shrimp Chips (Honestly)
5. Do you wish on stars? No. That's retarded. And queer. (That was from the Clerks cartoon)
6. If you were a crayon, what color would you be? Black, I always thought I was blue I always knew I was wrong.
7. How is the weather right now? We have neutral wind conditions, dropping temperatures, possible thunderstorms and increasing humidity.
8. Last person you spoke to on the phone? My Captain
9. Do you like the person who sent this to you? No one sent this to me. I forged these questions from my own mind.
10. How old are you today? 27
11. Favorite soft drink? I don't really drink soda, but I like scotch and soda.
12. Favorite sport? Hockey, but I am fascinated by curling.
13. Hair color? Black, like my heart.
14. Siblings? 2
15. Favorite food? Veal.
16. What was the last movie you saw? Like in the theaters? Four Brothers. It was the bomb.
17. Favorite day of the year? St. Patrick's Day.
18. What was your favorite toy as a child? The Millennium Falcon
19. Summer or winter? Winter. Fuck the sun, Long live the fucking beast.
20. Hugs or kisses? Is "High Five" an option?
21. Chocolate or Vanilla? Chocolate.
22. Do you want your friends to email you back? Yes. All four of them.
23. Who is most likely to respond? Montgomery, because if he doesn't I will kill him.
24. Who is least likely to respond? K-Luv or cocainehitshomeruns because his punk ass doesn't get down with the blogosphere.
25. Living arrangements? A hotel apartment type thing.
26. When was the last time you cried? I get the man tear during stupid movies.
27. What is under your bed? Nothing. The carpet maybe.
28. Who is the friend you have had the longest? Jesus.
29. What did you do last night? I watched the best journalism ever. That dateline on OJ was the bomb. They framed a guilty man. I read some more of my book and I went to the gym.
30. Favorite TV shows? Rome, My Name is Earl, Sportscenter
31. What are you afraid of? Jesus
32. Plain, buttered or salted popcorn? Tons of salt.
33. Favorite car? Mine.
34. Favorite Flower? Blue Flowers
35. Number of keys on your key ring? Three, house, car and valet.
36. Favorite vacations? Grad school was a great vacation for me.
37. Three Bloggers who don't blog enough: Fingers, K-Luv and Touchy
38. Six friends who you are tagging: I tag everybody. I meant that in the most sexual way possible.

Wifeing

Right. Fucking I tunes is on the blink again. Shit. Anyway I found a fun thing to do is to tell your acquaintances to make you a CD by putting their I tunes on random. You get to know people that way. So if I were to do that for you, here is the cacophony of bliss that would flood your eardrums like an 18-year-old boy floods his freshman girlfriend. It's random now. Don't cheat your friends. Don't do it. For the love of God don't do it.
The Gambler by Kenny Rogers
By The Time I get To Arizona by Pubic Enemy
Two by John Broaddus
Nobody Move, Nobody Get Hurt by We Are Scientists
Sugar by Five Deez
Number One by John Legend
The Dirty Glass by Dropkick Murphys
14 Years by Fat Jon
The Man Comes Around by Johnny Cash
Speak Slow by Tegan and Sara
Delta Dawn by Tanya Tucker
Got by Mos Def
Depths by Fat Jon
Bitch Gets No Love by Kool Keith
Clifton by Kool Keith
Kissing In Secret by Riddle of Steel
Freedom by Jurassic 5
That's it. Go buy them and listen to its glory. Baseball playoffs start today. Pay attention. I am calling for a Cards Yanks series and I got the Cards in seven. I love the Yanks. Love them. I want to marry the Yankees and have like 10,000 of its babies. But, the Cards rule all.
Go and leisure your life away.
After work yesterday I decided I needed to skew my perspective again and decided to go over to another LT's house for dinner. It was just him, his son and myself. His wife took off a month or so ago for no reason. She lives in an apartment she can't pay any rent on because she has no job. She sleeps on a towel she put on the floor and has nothing. She eats pepperoni, grapes and lettuce. Anyway, enough about her. This kid, he just loves me. Most kids do because I can play with them and talk to them about cartoons and slightly corrupt them and I don't have to punish them or anything like old dad has to do. So we were eating and all and the kid is all playing with me and climbing on me. I liked it. It was nice to have this being that just liked your presence. I don't think I could be a parent because in like 5 or 8 years, this kid will want nothing to do with his parents or their friends.

Anvil Of Crom

Right. I just wanted to apologize to two special people for my actions over the weekend. Some times you're just someone else. It's like where do I end and the other guy start.
With certain jobs, I would imagine all jobs, you sort of have to take on a role. With any job you sort of have to become the job. You ever talk to a drummer? Do you know a salesman who is always trying to sell you something? You know a lawyer who is a little too much? You know a construction worker who is a construction worker? You tracking? My role is dependent upon me being outgoing, a bit of a risk taker and most importantly I must believe that I am invincible, which I am, but that is a different topic.
So I usually try to come down off that high and do things that bring me back to the person I am. I usually am very quite. I don't really like people. I don't like talking to anyone. I would prefer to sit around alone and play video games or read than do anything. But sometimes, I bring that person to the party. I hate when I do because I usually make an ass of myself. I do things I have no business doing and offend every sense the people around me have. I don't even know why people would consider hanging out with me again after I act like this.

Sounds Fun In Spanish

Right. Some days suck. Some days you just wish you were someone else for a day or two. Some days you need not wish such wishes. Some days you are with the 99. Some days you are someone else.
This weekend was good. I guess. It a started Friday, as most weekends do. I was at a bar with a friend. Some guy waked past our table and set his beer down on our table as he proceeded to dance. I hate that shit. So I slyly took the bottle to the bathroom and pissed in it. Just a little bit. I dried off the mouth of the bottle and set the beer back down on my table. Dude came back and drank it down. Ha!
Saturday I got out of a speeding ticket on account of me being in the military and all. Then we met these two girls at a bar and convinced them to go to a strip club with us. We got to the strip club and the two girls went to the bathroom. Then we left. Ha! It's cool though because they had a car.
Then we went to a different strip club where I paid some ugly tattooed stripper for sex in the private booth thing. Ha! I don't fee too well. I am unhealthy. I despise my actions. I am all that I hate.