Blogs Have the Right to Children

Slit Throat Check Mate

2010-01-20T14:02:00.000-08:00

I am over.

Trees Produce More Than Me

2009-12-16T06:35:00.000-08:00

Right. There are things we know, or at the very least, I know. Some are mediated, some are experienced some are just known.
For instance, I know, having never been there that the South Pole is cold. I know this because I have seen pictures and all.
I know what it is like to drive on the autobahn, because I have.
I know, having never seen the movie that “Slumdog Millionaire,” is “Aladdin” without Mork and probably with a dance routine and an offensively pretty girl. I know this, because I am not stupid.
There are things we, or again at least I, will never know.
I will never know what it was like to be in a Fraternity, play sports in college or bone a 17 year old. I will never know these things because these opportunities have passed me by.
There are other things I don’t know. I will never know why Akon sells records. I will never know the appeal to those “Twilight” books. I will never know how to freefall. I will never know these things because I just don’t get it.
It recently occurred to me that I was born about 80 years too late. Then it occurred to me that being born too late is better than too early. If I could only figure out how to manage survival, I’d be square.
The Mighty Quinn wouldn’t have tolerated this shit. Chad McGreevy would have succeeded. Yossarian just breathes. Barely.
I hope next year is better than this one. But to be truthful, it doesn’t matter.

In Thy Mercy

2009-10-01T23:38:00.000-07:00

Right. When I go to hell, Claire Danes wouldn’t look at me if I were using the only water in hell to put her flaming flesh out. When I go to hell, sports won’t air on television. When I enter hell, I am sure I will be looked over and not receive as much torture or pain as everyone else, because I can keep my mouth shut. As I rot in hell, I will carve a small corner out and remember old books I read and smile. When I escape hell, no one will notice or care. When I exit hell, I will be met by God and his Angels and they will return me to hell for the bounty on all escapees because heaven needs new highways and they don’t believe in taxes. Heaven would rather have the money than me. That is what I am getting at.
In case anyone is keeping score, I am losing. But to be fair, I haven’t met a winner yet.
I have successfully become invisible. I am unsure if this accomplishment was accomplished on purpose or by fate or by unfortunate luck, but I am sure people can see through me. I am mostly not there anyway. Part of me is there, but most of me is caught in the ether between this realm and a billion planes of existence where my life is dramatically different. So, while invisible, people cannot walk through me yet. However, if the eyes are the physical manifestation of a representation of the soul, and everyone looks through me, then it only stands to reason that the only part of everyone that will carry on upon their inevitable deaths walk through me.
I am giving 12 to 1 odds that I never own a couch.
Mark Strong is my new favorite actor.
Actions write the words other speak. Reality is mediated by everything. Truth is needed. Unfortunately, the truth isn’t funny. Unless it is funny. Which it isn’t. Except I find it funny. I went around town today, and in five hours I saw 200 signs telling me what I cannot do.
I never wanted to wake up and be 60. But tomorrow, I will and I won’t be able to tell anyone a single thing about my life. Partly because nothing worthy of memory happened. Partly because Tennessee Whiskey kills my brain cells. But mostly because it is pointless to talk to people who can’t see you.

No. Wrong. Or Left.

2009-09-09T22:26:00.000-07:00

Right. I used to gorge myself at this taco bell in Boston. I would eat like 40 tons of food. I puked after.
As soon as possible XTX. I promise. I am sorry.
It isn't my fault...I cheated.
This isn't good. I could recycle crap for old, and you would have ate it up and sucked from me like I was CNN. But I won't.
This will not fill. I could have bought products from TV or ate eggs or ran today. But I didn't.
This isn't what you expected. I could have done nothing. Your proprietors could have been more cautious. But we weren't.
I assume you are going to tell me that a bagel is choice and cash is duty is right. I will not argue. I don't care. i don't plan on being here that long to actually make any difference.
Dead people owe nothing.
Alive people owe only their actions.
Newborn people owe their life.
Borne people owe their soul.
Think about it.
Fuck you. It isn't a choice if I have to have it.
Fuck you. Throw a moody anytime I am not with you.
Fuck you. Throw a moody anytime I am with you.
Fuck you. I did not do that.
Fuck you. Not your problem - not my problem.
No one born homeless ends homeless. In fact, I, having not looked up any statistics, would be willing to bet that if a person is born homeless, he/she is more than likely to wind up awesome and not homeless. Mostly because homelessness is already felt.
Some people wind up homeless because of drugs. Some of booze. Some of opportunity. Others chance. I hate being regulated to chance.

NASA Can't See Shit

2009-08-24T21:59:00.000-07:00

Right. Pray for me while you molest me. Save me while you cut me. Show me the light as you shred yourself. Cut yourself in front of me so I can watch God pour out of you. Degrade yourself so I can see the limitations pragmatic dogmatisms foster. In life, some people are born, others created and some are just here.
Jack Daniels has never lied to me. It never promised me anything. It never gave me anything I hadn’t asked for. It never, not once, raped my relatives. I’ve asked for verification. I have documentation. It is verifiable.
Life is funny. It really is. It is one giant joke.
There is this house down the street from where I live. Every time I drive by it, be it noon, nine in the A.M. or three in the A.M. it is shady. People hang out, the doors are open, packages are handed off and booze is drunk out of African-American bags on the stoop. I thought about bombing it to shit. Pissing on the ashes. But the truth is, I can’t get paid. And the betterment of the neighborhood isn’t as important as my landlady’s bank statement.
I am sure there is some sort of law against that too.
In a thousand years, no one will care. None of this will mean shit. God will evolve with our understanding of him. Science will ostracize new demographics. People will care with passion. Children will grow and scoff and forget and never learn. All of that will mean new understanding for those, but for us, we will be the butt of the joke.
My watch sits lower than it used to.
What if it is true that once in a while a little pain must be endured in order for satisfaction to be felt? What if it is true that one in a while a little silence must be heard to enjoy noise? What if it is true that once in a while you should not placate your own bullshit?
So as it stands, I am a murderer. I kill. Human life means little to me as I have no regard for it. That is fine. I can be that. I can do that. I don’t care because I have no passion. I have no insides. I have no feeling. I have nothing that you want so why can’t you stay away from me?

All You Can Eat Shrimp Dick

2009-08-17T08:50:00.002-07:00

Right. I once tried to do things. People said jump and I jumped. People said to tread lightly, and I watched myself. People said to respect my elders and act mindful of other people and always keep in mind humanity and to be decent. I did all of these things. I do all of these things. And to be honest, I enjoy these things. And to be even more honest, being and doing all of these things has gotten me absolutely nothing.
Not that life is about what you get. No. Life is simple – you do shit and then you die. Up until I left the Army, I don’t think anyone could say I wasn’t doing shit. I did shit. I did a lot of shit. And one day, I, along with all of you, will die.
Then I left the Army.
Good times.
I don’t ask for much. I don’t feel entitled to anything. I try my best at most everything I do. Eight months. No work. Nothing. No one even seems remotely interested in letting me work. I am 31 years old. I have a Master’s degree; I was an Army Captain with combat experience. I can’t get a job waiting tables. I had jobs and internships and awards won in college and graduate school and the Army. I can’t get a job as a part time janitor at the fucking church down the street.
The church says they save those jobs for people who “need” them. I don’t know how much more I could need work.
The restaurants say they don’t see me working there very long. Wouldn’t it stand to reason that if I am applying to wait tables that I can’t find work and will be there until I do and since in 8 months I have gotten exactly zero interest mean that I will be waiting tables until I am killed in a tragic boating accident?
I know it seems hard out there. But every idiot I know makes money. Every douchebag, self serving fuck has a job.
Everyone shits. Every single person on this planet takes shits. Some just do it differently. Some people shit in the wild for their life. Most people shit on toilets. Some people shit in a hole in the floor. Some people shit on solid gold toilets.
"History did not demand Yossarian's premature demise, justice could be satisfied without it, progress did not hinge upon it, victory did not depend on it. That men would die was a matter of necessity; which men would die, though, was a matter of circumstance, and Yossarian was willing to be the victim of anything but circumstance. But that was war."

I Hate Security Cameras On Public Property

2009-08-04T19:31:00.000-07:00

Right. Sometimes I kill children in my dreams. Before I go on, I want you to know that I deliberately chose to write that sentence that way.
I am trying something new with my hair.
Sometimes, but not often, there are leagues, or scores, or plagues, or what-have-you, of children in my dreams. I burn them. I watch them die. I take solace in knowing somehow the world is better. Sometimes I have a sword in my hand. Sometimes I have a remote. Once I had a chicken. A toy motorcycle has been there on occasion. Last night, there was a flower.
I will never do much with my life.
The children always die the same way – fire. They bathe and play in gasoline and run and chase one another and giggle. I then ignite one, and all die. I watch them, searchingly, until all are dead. Then I exhale and focus to breathe in through my nose so I smell what I have done.
I am enjoying the book I am reading.
The dawn comes in and ushers in a sense of peace; of accomplishment of the unattainable. The dawn comes and I walk through the football field size of burned youth. I am met on the other side by their parents. They all thank me, and offer praise and gifts and cry for Holy Communion.
I understand your argument; I wish you could see it my way.
I ask the mothers and fathers why they asked this of me. Why did I have to kill their children? Why was it a good thing that these children are dead? They explain over one another, that the children are not dead. I turn and look at my mass murder and see children playing over the corpses of themselves.
I need to lose weight.
I turn back to the parents and express my disbelief. A small hand then grabs what is in my hand and takes it back to the other children. The children adore it. They thank me for it. They use it and all the knowledge they glean from it to usher in their generation.
I wake up and want pancakes.

I Am Not A Flotation Device

2009-07-19T21:26:00.000-07:00

Right. I am a terrible friend. 10 years ago you were the age I am now. I am sorry I missed it. I would have been 21. I was a shot of life.
I should write something about an elephant for you. I should play Tiger Woods on Wii with you. I should make you a sandwich and make sure the mustard is in perfect amounts on every bite. I should turn back time a couple weeks and tell you hello. I am sorry.
I am disgusting.
There was a time though.
I am suddenly the go to guy for advice. Everyone is pulling. Everyone wants. Everyone asks me for something. I give, and nothing is heard. I give and nothing is returned.
I have a thing with the FBI again in a day or so. I am not even sure I want to do it. But I do need a job. No one else seems interested in me.
I like grilled cheese.
I am going to quit drinking.
I am going to try to run again.
I can take beatings.
I saw an elephant once. He was big and grey and looked at me. He lowered his head and we held eye contact for a minute. We starred at one another. I expected a noise. I expected movement. I expected something. Instead, he just walked away. His eyes looked familiar.
People are funny. We care about things that I do not understand. We seem to like things I do not. I understand though, it is me not everyone else. I am fucked up.

I Need To Piss

2009-06-09T00:28:00.000-07:00

Right. When the rapists of the rivers bathed in clear water, we should have paid attention. When the sons of the privileged were coveted by perceived salvation, we should have paid attention. When freedom was defined instead of theorized, we should have paid attention. When knowledge was quantified – we stopped paying attention.
I fail to see how silencing anything is freedom.
I loathe the homogenization of people.
I am constantly amazed at how I cannot understand concepts you have such a firm grasp on.
How are you? Is everything okay? I hope so. Some people get married. Some people get divorced. Some people destroy boundaries. Some people build walls. Strikes and gutters. Don’t sweat it.
What is your greatest fear? Mine is how few “decent is the highest form of patriotism” bumper stickers I have seen lately.
What is your greatest weakness? Mine is math.
What is your greatest strength? Mine is the ability to wade.
What was the last book you read? I just read a Daredevil comic that I enjoyed.
Where do you see yourself in five years? I see myself dead.
What separates you from everyone else? My ability to leave.
Some of us met in 2004. I was leaving or maybe I had left graduate school. Some of us met before, and I told you about my blog. Some of us have met in the consequent years following the inception of my blog and you have maybe left, or disregarded or grown sick or not understood.
Some of you like certain things. Some of you like everything. Some of you worry. Some of you spit praise like my ears grow wax. Some of you say nothing.
Some of me writes. Some of me wrongs. Some of me is a product of my environment. Some of me is all DNA. Some of me lusts. Some of me is satisfied.
Some of you support the old boss. Some see something different in the new boss. Some of us care. Some of us don’t. Some of us believe. Some of us have faith.
None of us know. None of us have been there. None of us are what we ought.
You will never get it.
I will never understand.

Lights Will Be Shining

2009-06-03T01:32:00.000-07:00

Right. I forgot how much I miss being heartbroken. It is nice. It is quiet. It is how I imagine it is to live in a house after your parents died in it. Things still get done. You still do things. You function and clean and you aren’t sure how. The Gods must not realize this is starting to feel like home. It is no longer punishment, it is simply life. I will never make my way to that island. I don’t speak the language. I am not wanted there it seems.
I like ribs. I could eat ribs like 48 times a day forever.
I know this kid, he will always be okay. If I were to guess, he just may live forever.
There is this other kid. I don’t know him. But I hope he is square - as in the good way not the lame way.
There is yet another kid whom I will likely never meet, and I am fairly certain he will be dead soon.
I wish my keyboard had a .com button. That would make shit easier.
I assume someone read it and I think it is fair to assume it isn’t very good. It is God’s will.
I fell once about six years ago. Maybe longer. Maybe shorter. I couldn’t tell you. I fell and when I fell, I hit my head. So timelines are fuzzy. But the point is, is that I haven’t fallen since because I learned to walk drunk. That is a skill they should teach in school.
Space aliens freak me out.
One day I might tell someone the truth. But by then it will be a lie.

Borinquen

2009-05-25T23:39:00.000-07:00

Right. Some things have worth. Some things are worth more than other things. Some things have no worth. Some things are free.
This isn’t new shit I am learning.
Some things are free. So you don’t really want them. Or you are stoked to find that you now have more junk. Some folks like junk. Some people collect it. Some people spend every waking second scheming new inventive ways to collect more free shit. I never figured that game out.
Take it and discard it. Bums need shit too.
Some things have no worth. Zero. Some things are just worthless. Most things have no worth. But in a bind, when anything is needed, something worthless is at least a thing. Again, these are at least something and needed, like cough drops, when needed. In fact, something worthless can be very useful and have a semi-permanent station in life. Sometimes it can even be permanent.
Get all you can out of it, because it’s free.
Some things are worth more than other things. Who knows why? I sure don’t. Gold isn’t rare, I mean we still dig that shit up, but it seems to be worth more than topaz and I think I remember someone telling me we have about found all the topaz in the world. So someone puts a nice arbitrary value on things and now everyone must live with those costs. Some people believe in this shit and work hard or lie and cheat and steal their way to attaining the higher valued shit.
Get yours. No one is stopping you.
Some things have worth. Some things are just worth more. Some things fit in a hole in your soul. Some things understand the amebic boundaries that we are and change with us. Some things are eternal in, the very least, our own eyes.
I meant every word I said to her. I meant every word I wrote about her. I meant the promise I gave only to myself about her.

7 Rules Revisited

2009-05-18T07:37:00.000-07:00

Right. I have never trusted a cop in a raincoat. That said, I am not so sure raincoats are even fashionable to people in my generation.
I have never trusted enthusiasm or love, because each is temporary and quick to sway. That said, it seems my generation cannot discern between the two.
I was once asked if I cared about the world’s problems, I looked deeply into the questioner’s eyes – he never asked me again. That said, my generation cares more about identifying problems to make a joke of them rather than a solution.
I never give my real name, and when told to look at myself – I refuse. That said, my generation only asks for numbers and email addresses, and if I did look at myself, I wouldn’t be seeing the same man.
I have never done or said anything the person standing in front of me could not understand. That said, my generation hasn’t the attention span to watch or listen to me long enough to get it.
I have never created anything, for it will be misinterpreted. It will chain me and follow me for the rest of my life. And it will never change. That said, my generation hasn’t created anything. We remake things. And I am just as big a phony as the rest.
I am sorry Bob Dylan, Joe Strummer, Bob Marley, J.D. Salinger and Nikola Tesla. We have failed you all. We have listed without hearing. We have preached evolution and invented the copy machine. We have made you rich and bankrupted your ideas. Please, allow me to issue a formal apology on behalf of everyone born after 1975, we were simply trying to have something new.
This person, who is a fixture in my life through no desire on my part, believes me to be a murderer. She has said it. She believes it. And when I see her, it is as clear in her eyes as her cocaine pupils. Because of this, I sleep in the street a lot. I find it amusing people think the war fucked me up. I am just trying to be Barry White.
I hope I am close to finding a job. Life is better when there is something to do.
I really like whiskey.
I don’t believe in second hand smoke, gravity or evolution. I don’t have to. I don’t tell you what to believe. Leave me alone.
I have a dream of the future. It is a humble dream. It is mine, and it is safeguarded behind muscle, rib and blood. I don’t need much for this dream to come true. Some dreams come true. Maybe this one will. Maybe it won’t. I could really care less to be truthful.

I'm Forever Blowing Bubbles

2009-04-06T21:53:00.000-07:00

Right. If I have a problem, it is just that, my fucking problem. Not yours.
The away colors appeal to me.
I smile a lot. I am learning to make the same jokes. I get the same laughs. I was telling new jokes to crickets. I guess when a farmer cleaned the crickets out of his window sill every spring; he looked forward to growing the same crops.
I am bored. Discontent. There are zero opportunities. Zero help - none taken, none given. The same as empathy.
I have strange thoughts, almost hallucinations of odd topics. Nothing violent.
I am pretty unwelcome in most places, houses, homes, bars and groups. I am the youngest looking 30 year-old I know. I am unafraid, to the point of recklessness. I am amazed.
No, I am not amazed. I am astounded. Maybe. I’m not really sure. There is a camera on ever corner. I had a 70 year-old woman tell me I was killing myself as I paid absurd money for a pack of cigarettes. There is a gate around my old high school keeping me out.
I have to laugh at it all. It is amazing. This is what we want.
I must have everything, because I get nothing.
I had a conversation with this girl once. She might have been on to something. She said something to the effect that I don’t really feel anything, I just recognize which feeling ought to be felt and fake it. She said that. I disagreed.
I had another conversation with this girl once. Well, it was more me listening to a diatribe of unimportance. She said something about how one day, I’d be sad she was leaving. She said that. I still disagree.
My mother once told me a myth that one day I’d be sorted out properly because I was decent. I only half agreed.

You Will Never Bring Me In

2009-03-18T22:02:00.000-07:00

Right. Once, I was a boy. There was a time. I was young. I felt good. More importantly, I felt. I don’t really feel anything anymore. I don’t like things I ought to love. I can’t stand the thought of having sex. I loathe not being drunk. I wasn’t always like this.
I used to think great things were possible. I now only wish that complete ruin of every system is possible. Destruction. Ground zero. Reset.
Every government abandoned.
Every economic system and transaction obliterated.
Every God worshipped and burned.
Wreck it.
Make it bleed.
Watch it gasp.
Send it on its way.
This is my fucked up dream - to live in a world where everyone fends, wildly and primitively, for themselves.
I want it to die.
I like soccer.
I like sports.
I need a job.
I don’t even desire things. I simply recognize things must happen.

No Muse

2009-02-25T06:34:00.001-08:00

Right. Right now things aren’t as you’re thinking. Things are different. Nothing is the same with me, with you or with them. Nothing is as it was, ought or seems. Everything is a joke or a lie.
My eyes are real because I am flesh.
I can’t say things anymore because people know of me. But what they know of me, be it from here or in the world or both - everything they know of me is a lie. Maybe they realize that, and it is because they realize it that I am a joke to them. Maybe they don’t realize it is a lie, but that then makes them the joke.
My hearing is sound because I listen.
I should have things. Certain things should be afforded to me. I earned a couple things. None of those things manifest themselves. None of those things are tangible. And none of those things exist. I have to laugh, because it is a joke. The whole thing was a joke. Jokes are best when the butt of it has no idea and I am not a very smart man.
My touch is electric because I want it.
I live so much inside my head; I have no idea if what happens is reality or my imagination. I don’t remember things. I cannot discern between what is real and what I pretended, wished, thought or dreamt. I can’t remember any faces anymore. Five seconds after I see a face, it is gone. I am always in constant surprise. I don’t even try to remember anymore. I just consider everyone a needle on a record as it plays and I don’t know the tune. I see the joke. I laugh.
My taste is delicate because I savor.
There are things I need to say. But I cannot. Because then people will know them.
I am cold.
There are places I need to go. But I cannot. These places are closed now.
I am sick.
There are people I need to meet. But I cannot. I forgot how to speak.
I am lonely.
There are ideas I need to have. But I cannot. Because my brain doesn’t work like that anymore.
I am scarred.
I keep telling jokes though. I’d rather laugh or be laughed at than the alternative.
My smell is clean because I shower.
Some people think some things about me that I will never understand. Other people say things about me I do not deserve. A few people sit with me and laugh as jokes are told and women pass. No one is willing to go emotionally and psychologically snow-blind with me.
My future isn’t what it used to be because I laugh without understanding how it’s funny.

Except For The Smell

2008-12-09T14:31:00.000-08:00

Right. There is a place inside me I do not want to show you. There is a place inside of me I found that I can go, when needed, or when I feel necessary. This place is not good. Good things do not occur when I go there. I like good things.
This place. This is a place, we all have. I am sure of it. It is simply a matter of needing to reach it. So one day, if ever, you need to, you will have it and you will be fine. I like good things.
I like good things I swear I do. You wouldn’t know it to look at me. You wouldn’t know it to read my mind. But I do. I like good things.
Barbecues. Little league. Dance recitals. Reunions. Parties. Parades. Dance halls. Holidays. Dinner. The circus. The spa. Bars. Brothels. Testing centers.
I like good things.
There in lies the rub. Because I like them, and there was a time I loved them. Now, because of the place inside, I am unsure if I love the place or the good things more. I want this place to go away. But I want to watch the good things die in a fire so hot and raging the demons can fuck with them. This place inside, it loves me.
It loves me more than the barbecues, little league games, dances, parties and all the good things combined. It protects me. It makes me like a man I admire. It is going to get me arrested.
I went to Dresden last weekend and I hated that I missed the bombing. I stayed in an above 5-star hotel. It was an, “Elite Hotel of the World.” Wow. I got so drunk I slept in a doorway in an alley. I woke up in the morning. I stumbled to the hotel and showered in a 24 karat shower. I am rock and roll.

Miene Deutch Ist Kaput

2008-12-01T11:39:00.000-08:00

Right. I am way too into documentaries on old rock bands. I also think things are cool I once thought sucked. I am a Jack’s sense of selling out.
I was drunk today, like in the middle of the day, and I tried to trade this Turk my jacket and my Chapstick for his girlfriend. He said, “No.” The fucking Turkish have no business sense. With the way she was looking at me, that Chapstick will stick around longer than she will.
German girls say I look like, “Elvis died.” I assume they mean “A dead Elvis.” I am not dead. I am not Elvis. I am just one guy who likes to drink beer for breakfast and booze for lunch.
My friends say I look like a junkie. I protest that statement. I just think I look a bit maniacal and bloody.
I bought records today. Like LPs. Vinyl. I don’t have a record player, but if you do and you want to listen to Bob Marley live in 1975, then call me.
Here is where I am at in my life:
Obama is President. I find that groovy. I mean, I voted for him man. However, now that he is the President, it means he is the man. And I have sworn to fight the man for all eternity. See? This is a problem.
I am leaving the Army soon. I think that is dope. I mean, I hate the Army man. However, once I am gone, I start over again. And I think I am too old to start over. I also miss Iraq. See? This is an issue.
I am already restless. I think this is scary. I mean, I want a challenge and something to do that is fun and exciting. And I don’t know what my future holds and I am afraid I will do something rash like become a Merchant Marine or some shit. See? This is an obstacle.
I keep getting harassed by the Gestapo. I can’t walk five meters without some clown asking for my papers. I didn’t know it was a crime to be me. But alas, it is. So I just fuck with them. I got punched once. I love it. I am doing nothing wrong, so nothing is going to happen to me. See? This is awesome.

Killing Bees And Wondering Where The Honey Is

2008-11-24T12:48:00.000-08:00

Right. If I were an Angel, I would show up in a 1949 Buick when you least expect it. I would drive into your life. I would demonstrate how to do it better and leave. I am no Angel. I know this because I don't have a 1949 Buick.
I wish I could have met Martin Luther King Jr.
If I were rich, I would show up in a 1955 Porsche Speedster 3 hours after I said I'd be there. I would drive up, smile and pay for things. I would embody how not to live, yet you would see the rewards for such behavior. I am not rich. I know this because I am not rewarded.
I wish I could have met Bob Marley.
If I were important, I would show up in a black SUV in a motorcade. I would drive up when needed. I would show up and quickly solve your problem, leave no impression and leave. I would show you nothing but results. I am not important. I know this because you won't tell me your problems.
I wish I could have met JFK.
If I were who I wanted to be, I would show up in an 2009 Aston Martin. I would pull up on time and have the appropriate clothes on to compliment yours. I would say witty things and funny jokes. I would show you an enjoyable time and leave you wanting more. I am not who I want to be. I know this because you don't want anymore.
I wish I could have met Jane Austen.
If I am who I am, I would show up on something grey. I'd have no idea how it gets off the ground. I'd have no idea when it comes in. I'd have nothing to show you. I'd have nothing to do. I am not me. I know this because I have things to show you.
I wish I would meet Shakira.

Lay Me Down And Let Me Sleep

2008-11-11T12:05:00.000-08:00

Right. People think leaving Iraq is easy. It goddamn isn’t. Firstly, you want to stay because it is home. My hatred of moving outweighs my loathing of being in the Army and being part of the Iraq war.
Secondly, the climate change sucks. I am back in goddamn Germany and I am freezing. The guys from Alaska who replaced us (complete with Governor Palin’s douche son) must have had it worse, but I am cold as shit and I miss the heat. Also, since all my belongings are in storage, my mom sent my “clothes” to wear until I am out of the Army. She sent the thinnest sweater known to man, a short sleeve soccer jersey, a pair of jeans and a pair of socks. Bless her heart.
Mostly leaving Iraq sucks because of the people. For 15 months, I lived a very Spartan life, and I loved it. Despite late at night, when things would go bad and I would get too much involved in my head, it was great. Problems come and go and at any given time, I have 700 people on a tiny piece of land I can talk to. I can help them. They can help me. We can smoke cigarettes and sunbathe. We can shuck and jive while we blow things up. We can place bets on how many outgoing rounds we will fire. We function.
You get used to the 12 – 18 hour days 7 days a week. You get used to no time to yourself, no hot water for showers, no food worth eating, no escape from the heat, Hadji, explosions, arrests, the smell, the dirt and being gone. You accept life went on without you. That people grew and changed and won’t give much of a fuck about your stories and experiences. And you know that those 700 men will always understand what we did and where we did it.
Then you leave. No more job. No more mission. No more operations. Just time. All that time you wanted, now you have and you don’t know what to do with it.
It took me 4 days to get a DUI after coming back from Iraq. I was hanging out with my bodyguard, the Squadron Sniper, and when we left the bar, a fight broke out, we won and he disappeared. I walked to a mutual friend’s house to try to find him. He wasn’t there. I walked to his room on post and he wasn’t there. Then I walked back to the friend’s house and upon seeing he wasn’t there, I decided to drive the path to town to see if he went there. I simply wanted to make sure this kid who is dangerous and on anti-psychotic medication which he hates taking didn’t go crazy. Then the goddamn Gestapo pulled me over.
I don’t know what will happen as far as punishment, but I know that it looks like the Army will keep me around just to get punished. This means I won’t be able to travel, take leave or take my terminal leave and be out of the Army soon. It looks like I won’t be able to spend Christmas anywhere except for my room again.
So now I walk everywhere.
I am living with my buddy. He is Mormon and has a wife and four small boys. His wife is assaulting me sexually. I feel like goddamn Jodi Foster in The Accused. Then she twists it all around and is kind of blackmailing me. I am sorry. I am using the present tense. I ought to have been using the past tense here as it is now over as she told her husband. So now I am homeless. He knows nothing was my fault. His wife told him the truth that she did everything despite me telling her numerous times I want nothing to do with it. He hates his wife. We run together most mornings. But I cannot sleep in his basement anymore.
In summation, I just kind of want to go home. I want to spend the holidays with my family and friends. I want to find a job. I want to leave. I want to download this Essential Bruce Springsteen CD from Itunes, except it is being modified.

By Request

2008-10-17T10:23:00.000-07:00

Right. In a few days I leave Iraq. In a few days I will leave a chapter of my life behind. It has been a very long 15 months. I need to clear something up.
Iraq was fine. Iraq bothered me sure. Kind of like a gnat. It was an annoyance. I laughed a lot. I worked with some great people. I did some great things. I am glad I did it. That said I am looking forward to December 15th when I leave the Army for good.
I come here, when I can, and I complain. I come here to vent. I use certain mediums in my life to vent and place things in perspective. So please know that I am fine. I feel great. My mind is sharp. My smile is bright. My hands are hard. I really cannot complain.
I had a hard couple months, but that was more over some broad than it was Iraq. Iraq just added to it. See, in Iraq, you never leave your head. That is sometimes a dangerous place to be. My mind is more dangerous than Iraq ever was.
So if you came here to worry about some guy in Iraq. Sorry to have wasted your time. I never needed or asked for your worry. If that sounds harsh or unappreciative, I apologize but it is true.
I earned a few awards being here. I made some money. I blew up a lot of houses. I blew up a lot of shit.
Iraq is stupid. We have no business being here. None. It is the fleecing of America right here. I will have to answer for that in my own time. I know that to be true. I also know that I myself, saved one dog’s life, created 137 jobs, supervised the construction of one Pepsi plant, dropped so many bombs I cannot even remember them all and saved one little orphan girl’s life. I will leave her in a few days. She won’t. She has to stay.
I do not know what I will do next. I know I will go back to the soul-sucking hell known as Army garrison life. I know I fear garrison more than I fear anything in Iraq. I HATE garrison life. I know that once I leave Iraq, I will be in Kuwait for a few days. I know I have a number of days of debriefings I must attend. I know I will out-process the Army and I know that by 15 December 2008, I will just be Yossarian. Not Captain Yossarian. Not Sir. Just Yossarian.
I do not know where I will work. I don’t know whom I will bone. I don't know if anyone wants to hear these stories I have. I don't know if my car still runs. I don’t know how much I can drink. I don’t know if anyone wants to see me. I don’t know when I fly to the States. I don’t even know if I really want to live there anymore. But I do know this.
I know that no matter how old that little Iraqi girl is when she dies, she will always know that she lived because of me, the green-eyed devil.

I Am Going To Be John Wayne

2008-09-09T08:52:00.000-07:00

Right. Despite it all. Despite my efforts. Despite my accomplishments. Despite my actions. Despite your words. Despite the praise. Despite my prayers. Despite my heart. I am insignificant, replaceable and expendable. Thank you for showing me that.
I am a heathen. I am a rebel. I fear no evil and see no good. I am dead inside. I am more free than I thought possible.
It took me 30 years to realize that I was the fucked up one. I was the one who needed to realign my perspective. I have no right to see what could be, and like you, should see what is. I have no right to expect you to stand up and fight with me, when the real war I fight is against what you are.
There was a time in my past when I tried to be nice. That effort turned into nature. Shortly after, I saw people and events differently. I no longer do, and for that I deeply thank you. You showed me reality. I am in your debt. I can never show you what could be. I hope your marriage is as empty as your soul. I hope I always remember how immaterial I am.
On the brighter side of things:
I am on month 13 in an environment which I have come to associate with normality and therefore call home. Soon, I will go on my way. I will go to Germany, out-process the Army and go back to life as you know it and hopefully, as I remember it. But nothing is as good or bad as remembered.
The sad truth is, had the Army been more challenging and dangerous, I would stay forever. I can look past being owned. I cannot look past being praised for accomplishing menial tasks. I can look past the rules and regulations. I cannot accept the hardest job in the world was this easy. The sad truth is I wish I had been pushed harder. I wish I had found my limits. I wish the hardest part of war wasn’t also the hardest part of peace.

Best Guess Against Reality

2008-08-22T10:37:00.000-07:00

Right. I would like to find a shore hosting a beach so calming the only people who can tolerate the silence are the dead and me where we would play in the water and see the true colors of one another's eyes as our pupils are so small from the brightness of the sun. I would like this. Instead I will fight weekend wars for the rest of my young adult life, making makeshift bombs in snifters and decanters.
I would like to crush leaves and plants making paint to cover the walls of the house I built myself while talking with the spirits I met on the beach. Instead I will make plans of attack and develop courses of action on how to capture my enemies in the weekend wars.
I would like to only leave the beach with the dead and walk through the wilderness where we harvest our meals or stalk and kill our celebratory feasts. Instead I won't have to love or think too much as the living will call me Evil but will grow fat off the spoils of my victories in the weekend wars.
I would like to show the dead what I know of life and the world while they placate my desires for interaction and smile warmly as I talk of perspective as I build a night fire to warm my flesh. Instead I will be too lazy to bathe, paint, write or change because I am the weekend warrior.
I would like to learn from the dead how to change the world while we amplify the light of love which would bore the world of its dependence on computers. Instead I mass along the western front fighting and killing my way to the only beach that exists. The beach where the woman with the heart of gold stands naked with electricity in her palms offering to teach me how to swim. Her shock will reduce my aspirations to ambition and I won't try to fight in the weekend wars.
It doesn't matter anymore.

74 75

2008-08-01T07:53:00.000-07:00

Right. I am here. I am alive. Life is fine. Confusing. I am in Greece on R&R. Women are beautiful. Small, declarative statements.
As it stands, I am no different. As it stands, I am the same. As it stands, booze still loves. As it stands, friends still laugh. As it stands, money still spends. As it stands, I still think of her.
As it stood, she was important. As it stood, war was normal. As it stood, hate and war. As it stood, walls were needed. As it stood, friends were absent. As it stood, I made a decision changing lives.
The future is unwritten. The best we can do is to walk in like we own it, as the future isn't set in cement. The future is without her. Or her. The future is as murky as the Mississippi. It is as veiled as an arranged bride. The future cannot be told by anyone, and those who claim they can see it are lying. The future holds Iraq for a couple months, then Germany, then home. The future is the same as I envisioned. Alone.
The present is torn. The past is done. The future is uncertain. If this is what every empire is destined to become, then count me out. If America is done, then let's get a front row seat. If this is my time to shine, then I am sorry for failing. If my time is yet to come, then I hope history doesn't repeat itself.
On the positive side, I miss both. In different ways. I plan on running. I plan on hiding. I plan on working. I plan on making you laugh. I plan on making you smile. I plan on you watching me melt in the fire I started to purify the collective conscience.

Dungeoneering

2008-06-10T10:53:00.000-07:00

Right. I simply have nothing to say. I feel truly dead inside. I know for a fact I am not dead though. I went to the medics today on account of sinus pain and leaking. What should have been: "Here is some Sudafed," turned into a goddamn physical.
Height: 5'10"
Weight: 159lbs
Blood Pressure: 108 over 63
Pulse: 71
What is important to note is that I have a pulse. I did not think I had one. I apparently also have a form of Anemia and I have a cold. I was hoping for malaria. I am sure I have some sort of nerve damage as my legs from my thighs to my knees are numb as I am laying in my bed at night or sitting in a chair. So I will have to go back.
I go on leave soon. God I cannot wait. I wanted to be in Greece for my 30th birthday, but made a promise to someone I would spend it here. So I will go mid-July instead. I hate broken promises. Almost as much as I hate broken bones. But all can be fixed with the right cast and setting.
I saw this kid today, he is about seven years old. All he knows is war. He smiled and I gave him a Pepsi. Then he pointed me in a direction where there were some old Russian rockets rigged to blow up. I had a playground and a broken arm at seven. He has a Pepsi and a bomb. It is God's will. Not mine. It is my job. Not who I am. I keep telling myself these things anyway.
Some people think I am a negative person. I cannot understand the difference between negative and being honest. If something is wring, how is it negative to say so? If something will fail, how is it negative to recognize it? Positivity and negativity are relative. Thinking in a certain way has no influence on an outcome. Only work and desire do. Even then, it isn't enough.
I am having trouble sleeping. I am alone. I am tired. I am in bed. I stare. I think. I imagine. I wonder. I argue with God. I am in the Army. I am in Iraq. I am in a complete state of an emotion I do not know. I smoke cigarettes and I whiten my teeth. I am false. Everything about me is wrong and out of place. I cannot sleep through the imagined screams of rape.

Brohymn

2008-05-15T13:04:00.000-07:00

Right. His name was actually Sean. He was a decent guy. He had his quirks, but we all do. He bothered people, but it was always very endearing. He annoyed people on purpose, and made them laugh at the same time. Sean was a funny man, but that is not all Sean was.
Sean was a brother, son, uncle and above all else, Sean was a friend. One thing I think all who knew him would agree upon is that Sean always had someone else's happiness in mind. He would have done anything he could for anyone.
What very few people know is that Sean loved. He saw deep meaning and love in most things. Despite this, he still complained a lot. But in his heart, his complaints were out of love. He loved each and every person in his life, and he loved as deeply and as passionately as any being ever has.
It was because of this love that Sean is no longer with us. It wasn't any bombs or bullets or a foreign country. It was love.
You must understand something about him - he never let anyone know of this love. He never told anyone, he never asked for it back and he never let anyone close enough to him for them to even know what was inside of him. Because of this, Sean protected himself from being hurt and was still able to love without fear.
In recent months, Sean let go this fear he has carried and let someone close enough to hurt him. He confided in me that he was confident in this because he had never prayed for anything for himself in his life. When he prayed, it was for other people's needs. He recently prayed for himself for the first time and was positive that whichever deity grants prayers would take note that he actually wanted something for himself and would grant his request. Without fear, condition, hesitation or reservation, Sean opened himself up to allow himself being loved.
This was how Sean died.
The demons exorcised to allow him to be able to accomplish this feat were all creatures of his own invention. To no one's surprise except for his own. The demons were vanquished, and in their place a light filled exposing himself to himself for the first time in his life. This light was then shown to another, and it was appreciated and wanted.
Without warning, the person Sean had shared himself with, left. The light was simply not warm nor bright enough. While this may seem codependent, Sean chose to never allow this to happen again.
Sean turned the light out himself and invented new skeletons in his closet to haunt him. Fearsome ghosts he has an understanding with. They will never allow the light to return and he will succumb to every base desire they wish. He made a conscious decision to never again allow himself to be loved. He can still love in secret, but he will never place another in front of the monsters he exists with.
This is how Sean lives.

A Chronicle Of Early Failures

2008-05-06T10:01:00.000-07:00

Right. It is now May. My tenth month. Were this a hockey game, we'd be entering the last period. Were this a hockey game there would be ice and rest and some sort of end state to work toward. But this is not hockey, this is war. More importantly, this is my life. This is a part of my life which will forever be defined by words I did not intend. This is a part of my life which will haunt my memory regardless of how many beers or bullets I put into my brain.
It is a funny thing being here. Hilarious even. See, if you don't laugh at how absurd everything is, then you might start to believe it is reality. And believing this is reality is far worse than any hell I can be placed in. This simply cannot be real. This is just a story, being told by someone as an allegory to some point he has thusly not yet made clear to the audience. Which calls into question the sanity of men and women who volunteer to be bit players in this story.
So maybe I am crazy. Maybe I am fucking insane. Maybe I have always hated myself so much that I joined to die. Maybe I couldn't find any worth in myself and therefore no worth in the rest of the world. Maybe I believed people telling me things I knew to be untrue because I couldn't accept the truth. Maybe I was looking to test the proverbial mettle I had heard about.
Maybe, in some way, each of these is true. It is quite possible. I was told all of these things by a smattering of people a while ago. Maybe they knew what they were talking about all along. Hindsight being 20/20, I wish I had considered these things when I first heard them. Recognizing this fact would mean I am not crazy. Meaning I either never was or have been cured.
If I never was crazy, then where is the problem? If war cured me, then how crazy was I? If this is what it took for me to see clearly, then maybe I was better off living in the fallacy I was living in?
I only say this because it is true. It is too much for too long for me.
I believe I am one of the fairest people alive. I believe I try harder than anyone to be fair when I speak or judge things. I am telling you this as a fact. I wish I could live for a million years bleeding from my eyes and being tortured rather than live out my remaining days knowing I am simply still not good enough for what I want.

Give Me Whiskey When I'm Thirsty

2008-04-20T11:48:00.000-07:00

Right. And give me a headstone when I die.
I am tired. Exhausted. I had recently redefined the word exhausted to mean something entirely different. However, in this context, the word means the same is always has. Tired. I looked at myself in the mirror today for the first time in months. I use an electric razor and dont try to shave very well, so I never really see myself. I am tired. It shows.
I have scars on my face of which I am tired of seeing.
I have scars on my life of which I am tired of being.
I have veins on my hands and I am tired of them pumping.
I have scars on my soul of which I am tired of feeling.
I have scars on my heart of which I am tired of concealing.
I have a curve in my spine because I am tired of slumping.
I have scars on my body of which I am tired of hiding.
I have scars on my advice of which I am tired of providing.
I have scars in my brain and I am tired of them not healing.
I have scars in my eyes of which I am tired of revealing.
I am tired of everything. I am tired of getting the shit kicked out of me. Mentally. Emotionally. Physically. I am beaten and tired. I do this to myself. It is my fault. I make bad choices. I make horrible decisions. I am too considerate. Everyone feeds off me, and I just give. I have endless energy for others. I have nothing for myself. I am tired of getting the shit kicked out of me.
Seven months left. Seven months seeing apparitions who ignore me.

Unify The Rebel

2008-04-06T13:49:00.000-07:00

Right. I feel like an Indian. Feathers not dots. A few hundred years ago, before the white man, a young Indian on the plains of what we now call Iowa, explored westward. He climbed mountains. He got rained on. He saw animals he never knew existed. He kept walking. He hit the beach. He had no word for it. he had no idea of its existance. He stood in awe of its beauty. He listened to the waves crash against the rocks and basked in the sun. At times it was too much beauty for his heart, and he had to close his eyes or look away. Eventually, he walked back home. He told his family and friends of the beach. He ignored the journey. He tried to explain how pretty the ocean it. How it felt like he had come home. But his people had no words for it. He had no way of describing the sight or feeling of, or the ocean itself. I feel like that Indian. I will never be able to describe this. I had, and you have, no idea as to the beauty in this world. Amongst the pain, suffering, lies and hatred that make the world the miserable place that it is, there is true beauty. Beauty of which there is no description. Beauty of which I cannot express. I can only feel, look at, listen to and absorb at random times which are temporary and fleeting. This beauty makes claims of being around forever with me once the Army is over. If this is true, I will always have to close my eyes at times because nothing has ever been so perfect and beautiful that it makes me feel like my heart has a lump in its throat.

The Day After Is Darker

2008-03-25T17:07:00.000-07:00

Right. I cannot sleep. I hate it here. I am tired. I want this to be over. It's not going by fast enough. No one is leaving anymore. No one escapes. This is eternal. This will last forever. No retreat. No withdrawl. No peace. This is life now. It is acceptable. It is necessary. You are safe. Where is the money going? I miss things. I hope I didn't fuck this up too bad. I hope my lie is forgiven. Small declarative statements.

She

2008-03-02T22:53:00.000-08:00

Right. I have no idea what jacket size I am. I just thought you should know that.
SO there is this prick I work with and I will kill him. I swear to God himself that before I die, this man will die by my hand.
I am at work and I meet my new best friend. This yellow lab thing. I take him for a run. I play with him. I go get meat from where we eat to feed him. I give him water. I name him Spike. Spike has had a rough go of things. You can tell Spike has been beaten. He limps. He cowers. He has burns all over him. He eats dirt. I am helping this dog out. Well while I was sleeping, this piece of shit fuckstick cocksucker I work with give Spike a bunch of small bones. The thing fucking swallows them and is really sick and shitting blood.
So I take care of him. I ordered heart worm medicine, a flea collar, all sorts of shit. The doctor (who is also an asshole) is sleeping so I can't get him an operation right away. Spike is sleeping in the hall, peacefully I might add, when theis piece of shit comes in and is all, "Well. Better call people to fix this."
"Fix what asshole?"
"We have to kill that dog."
"No mother fucker. You ain't killing shit you dickless fuck. Kill him yourself and then let us see how far you walk when I cut your fucking legs off."
"Sir. I just talked with the PA."
"Yeah fucker. The 'PA.' Meaning he ain't a real doctor. Leave the dog alone."
"Sir it's for his own good."
"Yeah because you gave him small bones to eat you fuck. I swear to you, that if that dog dies I will beat your fucking children in front of you."
Then the piece of shit started shaking and I think he started to cry.
Fuckhole. What kind of an asshat kills dogs? The guy has clearly got fight in him.
So I go see the PA, and he starts giving me shit. I stole a bunch of medicine and scaples and shit and told him I would fix him myself. He stopped me and now we are flying in a vet tomorrow.
See. One man can make a difference.
Funny how we can fly in a vet for one dog that one Captain likes, but can't seem to fly in enough of anything really needed. Inshala.
If I do go to jail...it will be worth it. I am very happy.

I'm Glad

2008-02-10T13:42:00.000-08:00

Right. So this new place I am at is even better than before. It is awesome. I'm not sure if it is the no laundry or showers or the snakes and spiders, but it is awesome. I am happy. I'm not even mad about it. In fact, I like it so much, that when I get out of the Army, I am thinking of moving here to spend the rest of my days. I gave up sarcasm for lent, and it's working out really well.
So, I am going to jail. Not so much jail as prison. But why split hairs at this point? I am not going to jail for any evil or wrong doing. Just following my heart. Which the Army believes it can dictate. But which it can't. But which it can dictate where it will live. And that is dependant upon the sentencing I guess. Please don't worry. It's going to be a really funny story in like 20 years or so.
Real funny.
In even better news, I have been here 7 months now, and I am no closer to going home than when it started. This is great. I love it here. I especially love it when a house explodes on your friends and you get tiny pieces to remember them by blows down your throat and in your pockets and down your shirt. The most wonderfull feeling is showering after that because tiny pieces of them wash down the clogged drain.
But Iraq is freer than ever and it's totally worth it.
Fuck lent.

Friend Of Mine

2007-12-07T01:49:00.000-08:00

Right. Menthol hits my lungs now instead of the morning dew. Both burn equally. One weakens and one strengthens. I cannot discern between the two. Merry Christmas. If you partake in the event. If you don't, then happy holidays. I'm unsure of the trouble there.
I still have green eyes. No worry there.
I don't really speak anymore. I just grunt sounds through my throat and make hand gestures. Very primitive. Very unfulfilling in conversation.
When I get back to Germany, I will do many things. I will fuck prostitutes. I will leave the Army. I will travel to Amsterdam. I will get very very high. I will fuck more prostitutes. I might buy a watch. I will get new tatoos.
I am unsure what to write. Things blow up. It is very simple. There is an ignitor. A fuel source. Something that explodes and a detonator. It is just that easy. Do not let anyone tell you it is more complicated. Things blow up. And in its wake it will rip. It matters very little how much armor a man wears. He will be ripped. Flesh is rippable. As in it has the capacity of being ripped.
It is Christmas time, my favorite time of year.
I'll see you in heaven ring the bells of the 97.
You owe me a party say the bells of Mata Hari.
Not right this second sound the bells of Saint Desmond.
I am a pillar peal the bells of Sienna Miller.
You only come to leave us chime the bells of old Saint Jesus.

16x5=80

2007-11-15T10:59:00.000-08:00

Right. I dont know when I will get to post anything again. This might be the end of the child of the blog. I can't really say either way. But where I am going, we have no need for the internet, at least one which isn't edited. Life seems an absurd compromise sometimes. And enough "sometimes" seems to make up the fulltime. Trade your youth for freedom. Trade your freedom for no barriers.
Trade your time for money. Trade your money to waste your time.
Trade your heart for lust. Trade your lust for the television.
Trade your heroes for a street. Trade your street for a rocking chair.
Such is life.
En Sha La. or Inshala. Whichever.
God in fact isn't willing anything anymore.
But it is good to have faith.
Sometimes I get discouraged. But then I remember my heritage and your empire is a figment of imagination. Sometimes my heart feels heavy. But then I remember that all prophets spoke of a time when money will have no value. Sometimes I am afraid. But then I remember that despite my actions, I am still a heathen. Sometimes I feel like dying. But then I remember that only liars speak of purity. Sometimes I don't feel anything. But then I remember that power always turns to hunger. Sometimes I have hope. But then I remember that those who fuck Nuns always join the Church. Sometimes I feel truely happy. But then I remember the price I sold my soul for. Sometimes I get angry. But then I remember my leaders burned the home I grew up in. Sometimes I desire to be free. But then I remember your Bible is soaked in petrol.

Up In The Canyon

2007-10-29T01:14:00.001-07:00

Right. Due to 15 month deployments, in one year I will be preparing to leave here, and then as quickly as is allowed I will be leaving the Army. This is of course all dependant upon various results of various decisions decided by those who decide. This is also dependant upon the various possible ends of various possible means of which none are allowed to be discussed, written about or thought of.
A lot of people, including most I work with, ask me why I joined the Army. I have always, and still do, take great exception to this question. I joined because I felt a civic duty. A civic duty to an establishment that is now quite clearly no longer concerning itself with its constituents.
I know what these people are really asking, or more accurately, implying. "Yoss, you question and think. You laugh. You are laid back. You have not only a personality, but an intrinsic 'light' that makes you above this, even though you do not see it that way." These traits are not only frowned upon in the Army, especially among the Officer ranks, but are almost forbidden. I still take offense, because aren't these traits of the ilk you would want in the Army? Only if the Army that serves the Government serves the people.
I do not know the reasons for many things. I do not know what makes an airplane stay in the air. I do not know what keeps electricity in the socket. I do not know how to fix anything on a car. I do not know why Princess Diana died. I do know that the government of which I once felt embodied ideals that stood for something right and good outside of myself no longer believes these ideals to be practical.
And yet still, I serve and try my best. It is my job, not who I am. That's what I keep telling myself anyway. Some part inside clings to hope that I am now wrong and was right. Some part inside grasps to a belief that people can and will make a difference.
This isn't about me being here. Me being here only set the conditions for the manifestation of these thoughts.
This isn't about me being lied to. Me being lied to only changed the rules by which the game is played.
This isn't about the war being right or wrong. Reasons for it have changed, reasons to continue it have evolved and reasons to abandon it are not taken seriously.
This isn't about me wanting to leave. Were I anywhere else, rather than here, the future is still happening, with or without me.
This is about 12 months from now I will try to place the time I have spent in the Army in the rear view mirror. I only hope there is enough road to make it disappear.

Techno D-Day

2007-10-21T23:31:00.000-07:00

Right. This is the story of the best Christmas in the history of the world.
I returned from graduate school one evening. My brother was in town and picked me up from the airport. He drove me to this place and I bought a salad. Then he drove me home and my mother cried because she was so surprised that I came home for Christmas. The salad was a most superb blend of lettuce, pimentos, onions, cheese, dressing and artichoke hearts and it tasted like a thousand angles put their titties in my mouth.
Next I went over to my friend's house. K-Luv was there with his then girlfriend, the Elizabeth Shue clone. Our friends Steve and Safia and Cocaine were also there. So we go out drinking. And on account of it was my first night back and the only solid food I had consumed since the third day of the semester was that night's salad, I was well on my way to an epic night.
We were at some bar. I am sure something funny happened.
Then we went to another bar where I am sure more hilarity ensued.
I think we may have either stayed at that bar or gone to another. I am not sure.
Anyway, we ended up running into someone who knew Safia and invited us to a Christmas party when the bars closed. If memory serves, free alcohol was implied if not explicitly mentioned.
So we went to the party. I remember booing some people who missed a pool shot, i believe he was trying to sink the 3. I remember laughing when they said there was no beer. What the fuck kind of Bush-League party doesn't have beer? Lame ones.
So I start walking around shucking and jiving with people until I spot some bottles of alcohol. I, and my memory is very clear here, stole that shit like a jedi. No one saw that shit. I hurried K-Luv out the front door and we walked around back into the alley and drank a bottle of whatever the fuck. Maybe it was wine. Well that shit didn't last long. So I entered the house again and stole the LAST bottle of alcohol in the house. Absolute Peppar. Nasty. Filthy. Kenny and I were taking swigs of it in the alley when the party thrower lets his giant dog outside and the motherfucker keeps barking at us.
Well fuck that.
So I climb the fence and start to pour the bottle into the dogs mouth as it barks at us. Then the dog owner/party thrower/guy who didn't have enough alcohol decides to run outside and starts yelling. K-Luv ran, I said, "Damn. We're in a tight spot." Then I ran.
It was around the time we met back up on the side of the house when we realized it was like 5 in the morning and close to 400 below freezing. We were trying to figure out how to get back into the house to gather our friends and leave when K-Luv said, "Let's just take out coats off." Genius idea man.
So we did.
I think we buried them in the snow actually.
As I was walking to the house our friends came out and Safia was all mad that I ruined the party. Excuse me? Ruined? Hello? I am the party. I run shit son.
We all piled into my car and Safia drove. As we were driving back, I recall delighting everyone's ears to me singing, probably some Christina, when Safia swerves the car and my face bounces off the window it was peacefully resting on as I tried to pass out.
Good times an noodle salad.

Koka Kola Advertising And Cocaine

2007-10-13T23:53:00.000-07:00

Right. I dated this girl in grad school who had a thing for knives and scissors. She would get off on her clothes being cut off and then the blade dragged across her skin. Weird. I watched a grown man fuck a goat yesterday to celebrate the end of the holy month. To praise God he shoved his dick up the ass of an unwilling goat. Normal.
I used to drink massive quantities of alcohol. I used to go out with friends and drink to the point of blacking out. People act like blacking out is fucked up, but as far as I understand it, blacking out only means you don't remember stuff that happened. But I always felt guilty for blacking out. Odd. A few days ago, I watched a man wearing an Atlanta Braves jersey run as the ground swelled up underneath us. Spewing forth debris, rock, fire and a wave of sound that my heart heard. Status quo.
I used to watch sports center in the morning three times in a row. I would watch it, memorize scores. Then throughout the day, when I would see a number I would think "Avalanch score times Yankees score plus the difference of the scores in the Packers Colts game." Strange. I was thinking about sex a week ago when I noticed that my hands are more vein than hand and remains of men werecarried on a plane and flown to what I only hope is called home to someone. Sane.
I used to wear dry-cleaned sweaters and leather jackets, get into my car and drive, listening to the Boards of Canada and hoping some MILF would force herself on me. Bizare. I had a dream last night that I lined up Hope Solo, Gwen Stephani, Kate Beckinsale and Jenny McCarthy and boned each of them and as the came they morphed into my mother. Pleasant.

It's True

2007-10-02T12:50:00.000-07:00

Right. Look at the way the palm trees blacken up against the sky at dusk. As you drive away from them they do like everything else, they vanish. People ask me a lot what Iraq is like. It's hot. People ask me all the time if this is the right thing to do, or if my perception has changed since I've been here. I don't know. I don't really want to change your mind. People ask me what I need. Booze. People ask me how I am. Fine. People ask me to write more. I am, just not here. People ask me where I am in Iraq. People ask this as they sit in air conditioned brick homes with loved ones around and drinks being poured. I ask God a lot for peace to fall on these people. God answers every prayer, in his own time. While we wait, if you don't believe in good or evil, come to Iraq and tell the devil why. I ask you for only one thing. But my wireless connection fails everytime I email you.

Dancing With Your Mother

2007-09-23T02:22:00.000-07:00

Right. We all know this sucks. That's fine. It blows. Whatever. But let me tell you this. When Alexander entered Babylon, there was a reason he didn't enslave the people. Any people who can create cities like these, will never be enslaved. Beautiful. Amazing. Were it not bombed to shit, Baghdad would be prettier than Paris. It is leaving though. And that is disturbing. Because while I don't trust a single Iraqi I have dealt with, I imagine if left alone and left in peace, and if peace can be achieved amongst themselves - Iraq would be the hub of the world. When people this shady are this creative, there is no stopping them. But en sha la.
Another thing...it is fucking hot. Lindsey Lohan hot. Like searing. It is a shite side of insine. Ramadan blows. No eating or drinking in the hot assed sun makes people go crazy. My job still sucks. Send booze. But hide that shit prison style. Like in a scope bottle.
I work out a lot. I can now do 98 handstand pushups before I collapse. I am done running though. It's too fucking hot to run. I sweat my nutsac off every fucking time I step foot outside.
What the fuck is with Notre Dame sucking? Fuck that.
Go Yankees.

Operation Manute Bol

2007-09-09T01:35:00.000-07:00

Right. It's still hot here. I sweat close to 50 gallons a day. I miss beer and Gin and drinking massive quantities of it. I miss it a lot. I made friends with this Iraqi the other day, he is funny. The Iraqi people are funny. At least the ones left. It all seems unnecessary though. We are putting all of these barriers up and blocking off neighborhoods and all. It's crazy.
Anyway, I am fine. I can't wait to be done though. Like seriously. I don't know. I'm tired. Bombs. Guns. Blood. Screaming. Airplanes. Helicopters. Orders. Complaints. Bills. Friends. Fires. I need a Lindsey Lohan poster. I need Copenhagen. I want a shower.
I miss my dog. When I am done. I think I might go back to drinking for lunch. Stop screaming at me. Look over there. Keep your mind off the war. Even if you're here. No report given. No change in anything. More. More. More.
We have a better mass transit system in Baghdad International than there is in Miami and St. Louis combined. We will never leave this place.

Right As Rain

2007-09-02T05:34:00.000-07:00

Right. This is the dumbest shit ever. If you, or any of yours, actually believes in their hearts that is this is the right thing to be doing...then I am sad for your souls. Being here has taught me one very important thing, and that is violence will drop when people are dead. Insurgents are people who do not want what America wants. Iran has every right to influence the type of government its neighbor has and America has no intention of bringing peace or ending the war. I watch people fight us with sticks. I watch children throw grenades like Nolan Ryan throws baseballs. I watch men die. I watch men kill. I watch men lie. I watch men cry. I watch walls crumble. I watch barriers be emplaced. I watch politicians debate. I watch the military create illusions. I watch people protest.
I won't see my nieces graduate high school. I won't see another holiday season. I won't see my mom turn 60. I won't see my friend return from his adventure. I won't see the national championship, world series, super bowl or the cup, twice. I won't see my nephew learn to speak. I won't see the news you see. I won't see the hope, the fear, the tears or the love. I won't see an end. Neither will the next guy who replaces me.

Minus Two

2007-08-26T02:57:00.000-07:00

Right. When you get off the plane at Baghdad International, no matter the time of day, a well lit American Flag flies above everything. At first I wondered what George Washington would have thought to see the flag waving in a foriegn country, but then I just thought what the farmer thought when he was suddenly under Greek rule. Then I saw the base.
It is clear that we are here and we are not leaving. Ever. Just look at how much we have built up for us to be here is staggering. There is a fucking Pizza Hut here.
But other than that, things are fine. It is hot as a mother fucker. Everything smells funny, and the wireless internet thing I bought takes close to 4 hours to connect, so I won't blog as much as I had hoped. My boss esentially told me that since I am planning on leaving the Army, he will work me like a pig while the Army has me, so it should make this an interesting 15 months.
I brought plenty of books, so when I am "off" I will be reading. I still don't have an address, so no mail for me. Also, there is like no porn in this whole fucking country. And with Yossarian having no internet, then how will 13 fluid ounces live up to its name? The world will never know.
I am fine. My dick trippled in size last night. We are doing the right thing. If I say these things enough, they are bound to be true.
Our Colonel today said, "We can change history men." I take that to mean that he is an idiot because history cannot be changed, that's why it's called "history" and not "the future." But if we are to change history, wouldn't that mean he believes we already lost considering his speech was about how we are going to win? These are questions.
Whatever.

Shit

2007-08-16T02:58:00.000-07:00

Right. It is hot. I never thought 101 degrees would feel cool but it does. Sandstorms suck. 15 months. Please God no war with Iran.

We Could Build A Fire

2007-08-08T12:38:00.000-07:00

Right. Fucking deceitful evil fucks. The lot of you. I didn't bother to count, but I imagine there are at least 13 people there, put them in any order you wish and it will finish the list. How do we tolerate this? I don't know. I say we. I fell for it to. I joined them because of an immediate promised monetary gain, a promise never fulfilled, but I sold them my beliefs and soul anyway. Bottom line is the only people who want to be here are commanders, and they only want to be here because they want to say they commanded in combat.
Whatever. En sha la.
15 months is a prison sentence.
I remember when I really liked my job. 2 years ago I loved it. Gradually, it wore me down, I'm not the biggest conformist and the military doesn't like that. I have, or I should say had, a personality, and the Army hates that. I overlooked a lot of things because I wanted them to be right. But mostly I wanted my student loans payed off. I remember taking some drone oath to bray it up with the sheep and to defend our constitution. I shouldn't complain. I got to see Rome. I got ripped in Paris. I ran. I met some good people.
I used to watch the History channel in amazement scoffing at the Nazi soldiers who fought despite claiming they didn't believe a word Hitler said or in the Nazi cause. And yet they fought. I scoffed. Weak pathetic fucks I thought of them. God will punish the weak I was sure. I now understand. I am a weak pathetic fuck, and I hope God shows mercy.
There is a girl I've known forever. Inside. I miss her. I miss the man I am when I am with her. I really just miss her. Everything about her. I hope to return to her one day. In the 15 month eternity. Or 6 months according to those asshats. She isn't the only one I miss. But she is the only one I think of as much. I hope everyone will be there when I get back. I hope everyone forgives me. I hope when my time is done in the Army I can live a long life with all of them.

Desperate Times

2007-08-06T11:44:00.000-07:00

Right. These two asshats come in at 13 on my list of people I hate most in the world. It's bad enough to lie, but to tell the same lie again and again is plain despicable. 6 more months? That's the 3rd time you dumb fucks have said it. Shills. Oh but it's working. My dick tripled in size last night. Not really, but if I keep saying it it's bound to come true. I thought reporters were supposed to have an obligation to inform the public not lie. But you're keeping it real for the administration, when you should try keeping it right.
Things look different in the light. The color, shape, balance and depth are there. Without the light it is the same thing, just not so alive. Not so real. But we can stay in the dark. We must like it. The cell phone minutes are free and the best reality television shows are on when it's dark out. We hide from the light but see with the artificial glow of a soft watt halogen. We hide from the light and scoff at the people outside the window laying about in the grass. They will never have what we have. But we won't smell the grass.
Come outside with me. It's nice. The sun shines. The rains come. The snow falls. It is harsh and unforgiving. But it is real. I would give anything to be back right now.
I hate this. When I ever leave this place I will have wasted 5 years of my life. Wasted. Nothing will be shown or remembered. Everything ventured, nothing gained. Worthless.
Why are people like this? People. People can change anything they want to. Fuck sexy. I'm bringing humanity back. I give a fuck about Anna Nicole and her being a whore. I care about the governments of the world forgetting that without people they are nothing. I do not agree with a single thing going on in the states anymore. I have no interest in fighting for that place. I have no interest in returning to that place. It's a great place, possibly the greatest place ever. I'm not saying the grass is greener anywhere else. I am saying that sometimes you have to clean the manure off the grass to see how green it is. I would imagine that applies to every country. But mine, the one I call home, is so far gone I don't know if it can be saved. Governments have no right spying on people. Governments have no right denying medical coverage to children. Governments have no right to hide the reasons a soldier was killed by one of his own. Governments have no right to continue to fund illegal activities in the name of peace. A lot of talk of peace. Peace at home. War everywhere else.

Love Don't Believe In Me

2007-08-05T11:21:00.000-07:00

Right. I fucking hate the sun. Long live the beast. You are number 14 of people I hate most. And if your not people and really are a giant nuclear furnace, then there are a few people I wouldn't mind sending your way. Some will follow on my list and some won't. I can't be 100% honest here.
When I was a boy I often would play this game where I would imagine myself doing something extraordinary. I would go in my backyard and not really play or anything, just imagine. I would incorporate these massive landscapes and plot twists. I would suffer and I would rejoice.
As I got older I would play the same game. Except the backyard was replaced with school and heroic deeds of courage and sacrifice were replaced with the thoughts of girls. I would include passionately deep feelings and exceptional acts of consideration. I would give and receive.
I now play a game called life where, unlike the board game, nothing I dreamt before has come true. The end results are reversed. Now when I do something extraordinary, I give and receive. Now when I love I suffer and rejoice.
Years from now I will play a game called despise. I am a bitter young man. And I'm not that young anymore. I will be the guy who sits in his house and screams at kids who walk through his yard. That will be me. The old guy who buys a tall boy and a pack of smokes at 8 A.M. and then later screams at the bank teller for moving to slow, that will be me. I will hate and I will live.
After that I will play a game called self pity. I will drink and cry and whine about my station in life. I will recall days of youthful strength and wisdom beyond my years. I will remember and I will lament.
We have all met that man, and part of us hates him. We hate him and for good reason - his life never was as bad as he thought it was. But since I have yet to become that man, I need to ask you a favor. The next time you see that man think of me. Think of me and look at that man. If you look closely, you can see the day he lost his soul. It is written in our eyes. Because that day is all we think about.
Please do not pity him. Please do not offer assistance. Above all, please do not ask to hear his story. He will never tell you the truth, because the truth is too painful for him. Just know that once where the fragile shell of a drunk stands, once stood a mountain of love. And one day it stopped snowing on the mountain, so she stopped skiing. Or she stopped skiing so it stopped snowing. That is what he will never remember. And something I have yet to discern.

Inside

2007-07-31T11:37:00.000-07:00

Right. Jimmy Carter is annoying as fuck. I mean, shut up already. Go away. It's time. Exit stage left. Time now. You freak.
I am rather miserable. Come on Congress. Flex that muscle and get us out of here. No business. No need. But maybe Cheney needs more money.
I write things about her. I enjoy writing things about her. I say things that women come here and enjoy reading about her. I write about her, because it is easy. I can string words together and speak of things you find beautiful. And I can say them about her. I can write a river of thoughts expressing love, beauty, lust, infatuation and attraction. I can sit here and write these things forever. And it is easy. It is easy because she isn't you. Every time I think of you, I am overwhelmed with emotion that I can write nothing. Speechless. Me. Every time. That is why she is written and you are inside. Forever.

Ships That Pass In The Night

2007-07-10T08:36:00.000-07:00

Right. If you have ever, will ever or are currently driving in front of me, I hate you. Seriously. Like I want you to die. Because no matter how fast you are going, you are in my fucking way. Die cunt rag die. Get the bloody hell out of my motherfucking way. I don't care if motherfucking is one word or two. Fuck it. Sod off you bleeding time rapist. Drive faster. Life moves fast and I move faster, so buckle up and change lanes asshat. Driving in front of me lands you at 16 on my list. Bint.
Guess what today is? A magical day. A day of wonderment. A day of the coming, the shinning and the anguish. Anguish inflicted on the self as well as others. But the shinning shone to those rather than the self. Today is that day.
Today you met a girl at the gas station and you will never see her again. Today you drank beers with a woman at a bar and you will never kiss her clavicle in an alley. Today you crossed 3 lanes of a highway to exit early to follow a woman who will outrun you on the side streets.
Yesterday you were aware but not appreciative. Tomorrow you won't forget but won't know what needs to be forgiven. Today you swim in the spirit of the most beautiful day ever. The day the lottery was born. The day you popped your first zit, shot your first load, drank your first beer and placed your first bet.
Today cannot be defined, because today is eternal. Today breaks the time and space continuum as those in the know agree that today should be eternal. Today history began. The only history that is important.
Today the sun beat through my windshield and faded the leather in my car. Today I watched myself in every reflection of every mirror, picture and window as I passed. Today I made a conscious decision to learn to swim as I drown. Because drowning today is better than breathing tomorrow.

Ghostwriter

2007-07-05T11:02:00.000-07:00

Right. I fucking hate Richard Perle. Probably more than I should. I mean, to be fair, he is just sort of dumb, not malicious. En sha la. And by dumb I mean I think it is clear that Richard Perle is a total douche of ape like proportions and suitable only to bounce from one job to another portraying confidence and leadership only to be fired when he has to answer for recommendations he made. Putz.
It's July 5th. It won't be long now. Fuck.
If I ever start a band, I'm going to call it, "Dead Pervert Kangaroos." We will play the most awesome music known to man, with backwards messages for the masses. I will need a triangle player. And a guy to dance around while he beats on an empty Yoo-Hoo bottle with a drum stick. I have the drum stick. You just need to bring the funky dance moves and Yoo-Hoo bottle and if it's full, all the better because I'll drink the hell out of it. I also need one person to work the lighting.
Despite how much I run and work out and don't eat, I continue to get fatter. I am a marvel to modern science.
You're friggin Gone With the Wind.
When I think of you I think of:
Waking up and it raining outside and I don't have to go to work.
Eating oatmeal with extra sugar.
Running through the woods on dry trails.
Opening a new can of Copenhagen.
Reading a book for 7 hours a day.
Putting on brand new socks when you get out of the shower.
Listening to Boards of Canada while half drunk.
Eating clam chowder outside in the cold.
Watching dolphins jump in the wake of your boat.
Turning on the TV and a movie being played that you always liked but never bought.
Drinking cold beers in freezing weather outside with thousands of other people.
Watching UFO documentaries on TV followed by a My So Called Life Marathon, that was like the best day of TV ever for me.
That's all.
So therefore, you are no consolation.
You are comprised of the greatest things on earth.

How About You And Me We Go Get Wasted

2007-07-02T08:21:00.000-07:00

Right. Next on my list is the person who is the owner/operator of that ass. I hate you. I don't know why, but I think it's because I mean damn.
My small pox shit fucking hurts. I think my arm might fall off.
So, the greatest thing ever happened this weekend. If you aren't in the know, well you've come to the right place. JUST CLICK HERE. This is like the biggest story in the history of the world. I mean ever. Aside from the second coming, whenever he gets around to it, I mean. This only proves that we are not alone and that it may yet be possible for me to hijack a spaceship, snatch up some friends and tour the galaxy. We will boldly go where we haven't and bone exotic species of intelligent beings. It will be glorious. If you read this, you are invited. And if you read this and have the ass pictured above, then I mean damn. Call me.
I was all hopped up on medication this weekend on account of the pain in my mouth and jaw. To pass the time, I watched videos on you tube. I decided to only watch videos that were long and I could watch/listen like it was TV while I played POGO. I watched like 14 hours worth of videos explaining the Mormon faith, and I must say that upon learning what these people believe, I might have to fight Paul my Mormon friend whom is actually my only Army friend. Let's just say Mormons are fucking strange. And if you are a female and Mormon, then I have no respect for you at all where your entire ambition is to remain eternally pregnant and populate a world. Mormons are fucked three ways towards the weekend.
At this point in my post I would like to take a minute and have everyone move their eyes to the above shown ass. I mean damn. Reflect on that.
I had this zit on the side of my nose over by my left eye. I went to pop it, and I'll be damned if the thing didn't turn into a GIANT scab covering half of my face. It is gross. I told my boss I fell and hit my face. My excuses for my injuries are getting ridiculous. My boss must either think that I am a battered wife or really am in the Fight Club. My boss is stupid.
I like to drench my french fries in malt vinegar. That's how I roll.
I sat awake smoking cigarettes in bed. I sat awake watching her sleep. I inhaled a long pull from a Marlboro as she moved her left hand across her pillow closer to her face. Her face. Her face resting on her pillow like an angel in the clouds. Her face that made me close my eyes because it was too much to take in. I prayed the sun would come up. The sun would bring her inhibitions up with it. The sun would dry the mortar in the bricks we laid the night prior in our hangover. The sun would shed light on the mistake she made and the luck that befell me. But for now the moon was still lighting the streaks in her hair that matched her bedding. The flaming red streaks which lived vibrantly in my soul. Flaming red bedding that abrasively clashed with the rest of the room. She slept and I smoked. Thoughts raced through my head. I thought of cutting off her eyelids so I could look at her blue eyes forever. But that was when I realized that the eyelids took them away from me making the times when her eyes were open special. I also realized that when she slept and the sight of her eyes was taken from me, I felt less alive. I closed my eyes and put out my cigarette and tried to envision her eyes. I couldn't. I couldn't even imagine eyes so beautiful. I got dressed and left. I saw her later that week on the subway on the way to school. She said she felt used. I was trying not to look at her. It was raining. She was wearing grey. I looked up into her eyes and it was as if the subway took flight and lifted through the clouds above the rain. I exited the train 4 stops early and walked to school.

Where Are Warren G And Nate Dog These Days

2007-06-28T12:48:00.000-07:00

Right. My goddamn IPOD is a piece of shit. I hate that fucking thing. I have to reset the bastard every other day and that process never works the first 5 million times. I am always flipping the goddamn switch and trying to hold down the menu button and the white circle and it is this long process which I would prefer never to do. I'm not sure I hate you more than say, space aliens, but I hate you right fucking now and that lands you number at 19 on my list of top 50 people I hate. I know an IPOD isn't a person. Just forget it.
It is going to be a long 15 months with these people.
I had to get a bunch of shots the other day. Dumb ass Army. I fucking hate the Army. I had to get a small pox shot, an anthrax shot, my 4 billionth TB shot and a few others that I don't remember the alleged purpose for.
Since I am a HUGE fan of conspiracy radio, and I believe the shit that spews forth from my radio speakers when I listen to conspiracy radio like it was Jesus speaking to be over the AM waves, I think these shots might either, A - cause me to turn into a superior being and savior of mankind, or B - kill me.
I went to the doctor because my fucking jaw hurts so badly and you know what the fucker gave me? Drugs. GOD FUCKING BLESS DRUGS. Percoset. Vicodin. Valium. I'm fucked up. My favorite thing to do while being fucked up is to go onto you tube and watch videos of the Illuminati, or backwards messages in songs, reverse speech and unidentified flying objects. I love doing this because it frightens me to the point where I lock myself into my room and do push ups until I pass out so I can fight the Illuminati and the aliens and Satan and everything else that terrifies me when I am hopped up on goofballs. I am a weird dude when I am fucked up. As opposed to the normal grown man I am while sober.
They tell you not to mix drugs with alcohol. They tell you this for a reason. Becaues when you wash down your pain killers with Budweiser, then you start to see how the man (and by man I mean the Illuminati) runs all aspects of our lives. No wait. The alcohol and drugs had nothing to do with that. You tube did. I don't know why they tell you not to mix them shits. It's the proverbial bomb.
I decided that the next girl I fuck, while we are hitting skins, I will call her Nancy. If she calls me Sid. I will know she might be the one. Then after the origami sex death match, if in post coital glow I slap her and then say, "I'm sorry Tina." If she says, "It's okay Ike," I will marry that broad.
Did I tell you who is my myspace friend? Billy Idol. You know who is not my friend on myspace? XTX. Because she hates me.
I had a dream last night that I was having nightmares. I wasn't having any nightmares, I was dreaming that I was waking up all scared and shit. It's actually pretty funny. Who dreams that? I do.
I am also dreaming a lot lately that all my teeth fall out. I don't know what that means.
I was shucking and jiving with this girl on the phone the other day. She had the sexiest voice ever. I like it when a woman has a raspy voice. Like that broad from that shitty movie about a surfer gang whom rob banks. She was also tank girl. Anyway, this girl sounded like her. As we were shucking and jiving, I got to thinking about how weird I am and how I am attracted to weird things in women. I was thinking of that all day until I drove into town after work to go get some pasta. I saw this girl from behind and fell half in love. I saw her from behind and she was amazing. Since I was still thinking about how I am attracted to weird things in women I thought, "See. Again. Why am I infatuated with girls built like 12 year old boys?" Then as I got closer to this woman she turned around and faced me and she was in fact a 12 year old boy. That does not make me gay. The moral of the story is that girls built like 12 year old boys are hot. 12 year old boys built like 12 year old boys should not have long hair.

The Other Half Fell

2007-06-25T09:21:00.000-07:00

Right. How corruptible can one man be? Just ask Paul Wolfowitz, putz extraordinaire. Start a war and get promoted to the head of the World Bank, and then fuck that up too. Nice job asshat.
If you ever have your jaw wired shut, please do not try to make popcorn into a smoothie. It tastes horrible and also the kernels clog up the ol' straw.
Other foods that suck in liquid from include but are not limited to: Doritos, Subway, Bologna, raisins, pizza, beef jerky, shrimp chips, asparagus and spinach.
It is also important to note that with most of those foods, some type of liquid is required in the blender. I am not sure what to use, but water, Gatorade, Gin or Budweiser are not acceptable nor do they bring anything to the table in the flavor department.
I tried ordering an ice machine for our deployment, it was denied. Other people got ice makers for the office, but when I try to order an ice machine, it gets denied. Apparently the Department of Defense doesn't believe that a 5 inch sheet of ice should be placed in a airplane hangar for hockey. The Zamboni was also denied.
I tried to order stupid shit because I was hoping on some level someone higher than me would read it and realize how stupid everything is in not only the war but like, the whole Army is in fact operating.
I seriously hate everyone in my office. Like, I take pleasure in the fact that one day they will die. They are such obnoxious assholes. And for fuck sakes do they waste time. I can do everything I have to do and then some by 11AM. But they have to discuss and debate everything. It took me 45 minutes to explain the Harvard comma and why it wasn't necessary. In retrospect, I should have just put the fucker in. Then for the rest of the 8 hours I sat in a meeting the other day, I thought, "Wow. If it takes 45 minutes to discuss the Harvard comma, then due to time and level of complexity, it must take 60 years to convince higher that what we are doing isn't working.
If you ever have a boss and you hate your job, then I do not suggest you ever say, "I'm not doing this because I no longer work for you. I now work for a higher power. And you sir, are no higher power." Only bad things happen.
Conversely, if you are a boss and your underlings hate you and one says, "I'm not doing this because I no longer work for you. I now work for a higher power. And you sir, are no higher power." Then I think you should refrain from screaming your head off until you have to take blood pressure medicine and rest until you commence the yelling again.
I am concerned about the amount I shit. Both numerically and the quantity of shit that falls from my ass. I haven't been eating any more or less and my amount of exercise has not decreased or increased. However, I haven't shit in like a week. This is odd. Usually I shit a good 5 times a day. I mean good healthy fat assed logs that hurt and end with a gratifying plop. Lately...nothing. I sit there and grunt and nothing. I hope this doesn't mean anything.
We are putting all of these packets together for the deployment. They are a pain in my white royal Irish ass. I mean for Christ's sake I think the goddamn Army had my social security number. But I need to write it around 4 billion times on these forms.
Anyway, I decide to have fun on these forms, because I like to have fun. So on one form I have to write my burial instructions in case I were to die in the war zone. I will have you know that I requested NOT to be buried in any military clothing. This pissed off a few people who consider themselves my boss.
Then I requested the ENTIRE book of Revelation to be read at my funeral. This also upset some folks. But I'm dead and I always wanted to read it and now that I got the time, you'll read it and I'll listen.
Next I requested the song, "Straight to Hell" by the Clash to be played at my funeral. A song the Army finds "bad."
Then after I am laid out, I said I want to be cremated. How cool is that? Cool. I requested my ashes be spread at Fenway Station in Boston, because I love that place. The inscription on my urn will read: "Died Bravely Saving A Group Of Orphans From A Burning School Bus." This caused the most commotion.
"You can't have that written on your fucking tombstone Yossarian."
"I'm not getting a tombstone. I'm being cremated. It'll be on my urn sir."
"That's not the fucking point. We can't lie"
"You don't do the inscription"
"Look fuck-stick. That's not the goddamn point."
"Sir look. I'll be dead. I won't care. To tell you the truth, I don't care now. Fucking figure it out. I'll be dead and I do not want to be known or remembered as some guy who got iced during this occupation. If I am going to die for a lie, I will be remembered for mine."
That pretty much ended it.

Let It Come To You

2007-06-20T07:52:00.000-07:00

Right. I can't find a person with a brain who likes this guy. So I will just say he is number 21 and mostly for the same reasons as you. I will also say that Carl Rove is a total bag of ass.
I would in fact kiss you differently.
Juicing food and drinking that shit through a straw sucks. This is horrible.
It's like a million degrees here. As hot as I am now, Iraq will make me hotter.
I was going to renovate my apartment with pocket material. Only, I need my pockets. Dig? Precisely. I really wished you liked laughing right now. Do you hear me and know what I am saying? Because I hate being ignored, but I love the abuse. As it stands I am fucked up from trespasses past and it is affecting the manifest destiny laid before me. As it stood I was wanting what the flood brought but was unprepared for the generosity of the volunteers. As it stands my hair curls in ways it never did previously.
He has never met anyone like me. Or maybe he has, and that man bested him too and that explains his animosity. She has never met anyone like me. Or maybe she never will because she took the best deal offered. I can't blame her today. I would have wished I were dead had I been there when she made the decision.
The angels have retreated in order to regroup for a final onslaught upon the wicked. The wicked rally around the leader and claim victory is at hand. Temperatures drop as the rest of us think of the missed opportunity of peace we had, had all we done was danced with the one who wanted to dance with us, not with the one we wanted to dance with. Aye, there's the rub, because no one would ever have danced.
The beauty of it all, is that inside the door, not on the other side, but inside the door, rests the scales of the reptilian engineer. The tragedy is that despite my best effort, she refused to come when I asked and needed her most. The moral of it all is that when an agenda is confronted by an abnormal situation the Sheppard is led to the flock. The crux of this is informing the material of the inspiration and the subsequent degradation of self as identity is destroyed by one innocuous choice.

I Am Big In Japan

2007-06-18T11:50:00.000-07:00

Right. Holy fucking Christ how I hate Aliens. I mean what the fuck? I want to meet you. I want to see you. I want to hang out. I want to go for a ride on your spaceship. But you fuckers seem to visit everyone but me. Well fuck that. I mean, I like space. Why not me? I'd like to be the first one to go public with a hot Alien girlfriend I am boning. But if the Aliens don't come down to abduct me, then how am I going to do that? I can't that's how.
This weekend was wild. I decided that I was going to go to Prague again, by myself, that means without the Mormon crew. I had been paid and been training so much I hadn't spent a whole lot of dough, so I wanted to do one thing and one thing only: bone paid whores as if it were my job to bone paid whores.
Now with the exchange rate and the going price for female companionship, I figured I had enough grip to lay into no less than 76 paid whores. I really wanted a MILF. Because as everyone knows, I love MILFs. Love them. I can't get enough of them. I seriously love them. They are the greatest thing known to man.
Anyway, I am walking down the blocks and blocks of paid whores hanging out of windows enticing me in every language known to man. I saw this one South American girl who was fucking hot as shit, but she wasn't 40 so I made a mental note to make my way back, because my first nut was for a MILF.
I walked about 8 of the 10 paid whore blocks when I saw this one entrance had fire lighting the door into the brothel. Superhero Yossarian kicked in and I thought, "I am going to bust in and save the paid whores from the clear inferno and maybe get laid for free. I hope there's a MILF up in that bitch." I drew closer and the fire was clearly a marketing tool. This very tall and lean woman covered in tattoos and wearing a latex body suit tells me to come in. Damn it. I wanted a MILF and this girl was like 20. Fuck. What is a fella to do?
I stood there debating boning hot latex tattoo girl or saying, "No. I want a MILF." But then I remembered all the older dominatrix chicks I see on the Internet are not hot, so I didn't say anything in fear that she would leave and be replaced by some fat old skag I am forced to bone. As I stood there, another woman showed up with red hair and even more latex. Less tattoos though.
In unison they tell me to come in the fucking door. They even said fucking. I had no choice now.
I enter. I get the both of them. Have I mentioned I was drunk yet? Because I was. I was hammered. Wrecked. Bombed out of my tree. To say the least, I had imbibed some drinks before hand.
Maybe it was the drinks, maybe it was my own sadistic nature, but I paid for what i can only describe as "The Bomb Package." Because it was in fact the bomb. In fact, I think the only device of torture that wasn't there was the bomb. Everything else was used liberally across various parts of my body.
So as one woman burns, whips, scratches or punches me the other is either blowing or boning me. I did very little of the boning as it is impossible to be the boner when you are chained from the ceiling and have your feet shackled to the floor. You're more the bonee in that particular situation. And I was getting the proverbial wreck put on me.
I have to tell you before I go on. This was the greatest thing that has ever, will ever happen to not only me, but anyone on the planet. Ever. Period. Except for maybe using a hollowed out plastic Jesus as a flask. But that is more the coolest thing, not the best thing.
The two paid whores continue taking turns abusing me and trying to get me off. They even brought out the amyl nitrite, which I was told brings on the orgasm. Amyl nitrite is the jet. Everyone should do that whilst boning. I, however, was finally on the same page with Jim and the twins as I fought off the orgasm because if I came, they would have stopped, and I never wanted them to stop. So now, before one would start boning me she would shove this bottle up my nose and then get to work while the other would use various devices to inflict harm.
It was about this time that without letting anyone know, the redhead loosened the chains and I fell forward as the tattoo girl thrusts back her head and slams it into my jaw. They apologized and finished me off.
I was going to go find a MILF, only I couldn't move my mouth. My jaw hurt. So I went to my hotel and put some ice on it. I woke up and tossed my plans of more paid whores away as I drove home to see the doctor. Jaw is broken. Wired shut. 3 weeks. No food. Everything through a straw. It hurts.
So when I see my boss and I am clearly busted up and bruised and cut up and I have my jaw wired shut he says, "What the fuck happened to you Yossarian?" I can't tell him I was getting boned by paid whore dominatrixes when they broke my jaw. So with a wired jaw I say, "I'm part of the Fight Club sir. I'm in the Fight Club. I can't talk about it." He laughed. I left. This is my life.

Dear Dear Friend

2007-06-14T09:52:00.000-07:00

Right. Yes security guard my windows are tinted. Yes that means I am a terrorist. I fully plan on blowing up buildings. Have you seen my attic? I have bombs there with the names of elected officials on them. You make my day better security guard. Thank you for not letting me bring any booze onto the plane or into the ball game. Now I have to pay your obnoxious prices to pay for your salary when all I really wanted was to drink cheaply. I fucking hate security guards.
Short post today. I just want to say something I find disgusting.
Today I was speaking with this captain about Iraq. He was all happy to be going again and real proud to serve and all. I dig it. Good for you. You like the Army. I dig it. You believe in the cause. Say word. But he said something I find troubling. He said, "You know Yossarian. I really believe everything happens for a reason. My first time in Iraq a mortar went off and my friend standing right next to me took shrapnel and died. I didn't have a scratch. I believe everything happens for a reason."
What the fuck does that mean? That guy deserved to die? You are a better Christian? What the fuck? I appreciate that you are trying to tell me that me going to Iraq will have a purpose. I really do. But what the fuck. That was your friend. And I guess you just wiped his brain off your helmet and went about your day because you lived for a reason. I assume that reason was to bother the piss out of me. Mission accomplished. You can get blown up now. Your reason to live has been fulfilled.

Take The Train Take The Train

2007-06-13T08:40:00.000-07:00

Right. Rush, you silly fat bastard. If Mr. Tuttle from Saved by the Bell and the fat kid from Teen Wolf had a baby, you would be it Rush. I hate you because of all the obvious reasons. You know, your demagoguery and all. But also because you are plain annoying and furthering a failing system in which the only difference between the parties is the reason each wants to take our freedom. You suck and I hate you and when America decides to scrape the manure off itself to see how green our grass is, you will be the first dung heap to go.
I hate the bloody Army. I go out and give my blood, sweat, tears, saliva, sperm snot, shit, piss, throw-up, everything I got and it simply is never good enough. So I have a whole new stratagem - never try.
Billy Idol is my myspace friend. That doesn't say a lot for him, but it speaks volumes for how much cooler I am than you.
My friend, the one with cancer, he died today. My grandmother, before she died, told me that people die because God needs soldiers for his Army. I suppose he needed a General this time. That is if you believe in my grandmother's theory, which I don't, because it's dumb. God kills us because he can. He has killed way more people than I ever will, or can. He just does what he wants and then rewards douche bags for date rape and punishes dudes just trying to make it honest in the douche-rewarded society. Way to go God. I sometimes think the reason you refuse to come back is because you can't look people in the eye for your actions.
In other news, German food blows. That's not new news, if you read this ever, but if today is your first day in the world of Yossarian, then breaking news, German food blows.
I have a sudden desire to bone every woman I see. It matters not her age, weight, or level of attractiveness. I just want to bone. It is pretty much the greatest feeling ever.

I Was Taught

2007-05-31T10:18:00.000-07:00

Right. If I have ever, in my life, stood or waited in a car behind you at an ATM, I truly, deeply, straight hate you. With all of my soul. You are fucking dumb. How about you check your balance one more time before you withdraw 20 bucks? How about you ask for a receipt, only to waste valuable seconds of my life by waiting for it to print, only to not even look at it as you throw it away? How about you forget your PIN a few more times? How about you scale down the amount you wish to withdraw in increments of 5 dollars until you tap your bank account? How about you just sac the fuck up and be a man at the ATM. I treat ATM visits like I am the SEALS. I am in and out in seconds. But don't fret asshole. You are only 25 on my top 50 people I hate. You are center mass. Take comfort that I aim for the head.
Bint.
There are things in this world that make me smile. Things like an unexpected email from an old friend. Things like fall coming early. Things like beers with friends. Things like an unassisted double play. Things like finding a sentence in a used book someone underlined because it meant something to them. Things like a 40 year old with a tit job forcing a 28 year old man to fuck her hard. Sadly, I haven't experienced all of these things.
Someone should kill me.
I don't care what you say, you love my blog and want to read more of it daily.
Am I the only one who misses giving advice to the masses?
When I was a boy, I had this friend Derrick who had this anorexic and really hot older sister, who once caught me jerking off and watched me for a few seconds before screaming at me. I tried finding her on myspace, but she must not have an account. She was hot.
That story sound weird when it's not put into context. However, the context would require context for the context and it's a big whoop-de-do that I would not prefer not to get into right now. Just know that as a 13 year old, a really hot 17 year old watched me jerk off for a bit before she screamed at me.
She caught me, I wasn't doing it like in her room when she was supposed to be out or something. I was in my home. Just forget it.
My favorite aphrodisiac is Gatorade and a pack of cigarettes.
My least favorite aphrodisiac is yard work.
If we could pretend you were single and I were attractive for a few hours, would you go get consider eating pears with me while we watch the winter tide come in at the pier? Because if so, we should think of hiring a black and white photographer to record it.

This World You Must Have Crossed

2007-05-30T11:16:00.000-07:00

Right. Rosey you are the only woman in Hollywood who doesn't turn me on. That's saying a lot. You're dumb. Ugly. Loud. And all in all gross. I hate you because for some reason you make the news about you running off at the mouth instead of what you are saying.
There is this giant statue of the Blessed Virgin Mary staring down at a mile wide crater. Flood lights illuminate her sullen features at night. A few hundred years ago half of this thriving civilization fell into this hole when the people tunneled under the city. Now, everyone here lives life upside down, because everyone is dreaming about the treasures and artifacts underground.
I would jump that mile wide pit if it would get me out of here.
They hid all their restaurants a hundred years ago, after they dug up all of the town's gold, when they began digging for silver. In the hometown of evil, I will order exotic drinks. I have a lot of great stories to tell the people I drink with and amuse old friends. So what if my life sucks?
Something just occurred to me. Something far dumber men have known for centuries. That is, if you can't live well, you should die fantastically. If I were to strap plastic explosives to my spine and bathe in gasoline, then tried to jump this mile wide hole on a motorcycle, if I live or if I die, people will applaud.

I've Lost

2007-05-29T10:47:00.000-07:00

Right. I fucking can't stand people who ride bikes. I appreciate you think you are doing the environment a favor. I can look past your stupid outfits. I can even ignore the fact that your pansy ass wears a helmet. But you shit asses think you can ride in the middle of the fucking road, making me slow down so I don't run your stupid ass over and I hate slowing down. You make me break when I should just kill you and be done with it. Ergo, you are number 27.
Germany is starting to rule. The further out of Bavaria one gets, the hotter the women become. I found a radio station that plays the dopest shit imaginable. Beer is served in the mornings. And brothels rule. The people are still lazy sods and the food is horrible. But on the whole, things are turning around.
I went to Berlin this weekend and saw some seriously dope shit. There is a museum in Berlin that puts the everything I've seen to shame. Complete statues of every Greek God. Seriously some of the best antiquity shit around. I got my picture taken with Apollo.
I plan on stealing all the cool shit soon.
I went bungee jumping for the first time. That is some fun shit. They wrap that shit around your ankles and raise this bastard crane to 300 feet and tell you to jump. Yeah fucking right. I ain't doing that. But then the dude says, "3, 2, 1." And I don't like looking like a bitch so I jump. Swan dive. Sit up and go straight up. Holy Christ that was fun.
I saw the Wall and checkpoint charlie and some other history type shizzle. Berlin is cool.
I went to the holocaust museum. Sad.
I went to a concentration camp. Even sadder.
Fucking Nazis.
I've been dissed. Hard.
If there is anyone in hell who is watching the events on earth, I wonder if they ever laugh because heaven doesn't know what it's missing by staying so far out of the affairs of man.
When a man faces war, he goes through 3 stages. First he thinks of loved ones who will not share this hardship, and who if he should fall, will carry on his memory. Second, he thinks of loved ones already dead who will greet him on the other side of the river. Lastly, he makes his peace with whatever God he worships or believes favors him. The man then comes back to reality and faces the war or battle before him.
Different men go through these stages at different times. Some at the battle sight and some upon news of the impending struggle.
I went through that today.
First I thought of my family, my mother mostly, and of my friends, unkind, cocaine, J and the Wall. I thought of my dog and wondered if she would even remember or recognize me if she were to see me now. I thought of Jillary and a couple people I met because of the blog. I said goodbye to each one's soul and told them how special they are to me.
Then I thought of Joe, Mike and my grandmother. I saw them smiling at me as I walked toward them. Joe could walk and see. Mike seemed content. My grandmother looked so young and healthy. I said hello to each and noticed how I felt ashamed to be in the same place as them.
I then thought of God. I could not make peace with him. I saw the path he laid out for me and accepted it. I saw the man he made in me and came to terms with him. I saw the prayers he denied me and understood why. But I saw how limited his power was when I realized that of everything I have seen, the most beautiful my eyes beheld was her and I thanked her parents for making her as I scoffed at what God never accomplished.

Sample Some Email Bitch

2007-05-23T11:16:00.000-07:00

Right. I cannot stand Oprah. What the hell has she done to help anyone named Yossarian? Nothing. I'm sure she helps other people. But I can give a frog's fat ass about other people. I care about me. And she refuses to pay off my student loans. So this is how I repay her generosity. Bitch.
This explains so much.
This scares the piss out of me.
Want to read a story about global warming? Good. Today it was close to 5 trillion degrees. And I am sitting in the office when I say, "I'm sweating like a stuck pig." This dipshit staff sergeant says, "Pigs don't sweat sir." I reply with, "Thanks Bill Nye." Everyone got really upset that I called him the science guy.
Really? I mean? Seriously? I call the guy ,"Assy McFergusson" close to every 12 seconds and no one complains. Most even laugh. But I call the guy Bill Nye and it was like I had kicked the shit out of his kids.
The point is global warming is bullshit and hot weather makes people insane.
As an officer and leader of men, as a man who loves his job so much, I live by the belief that if I do not piss off at least 3 Non Commissioned Officers because of my uniform a day, then I failed that day in the Army.
NCOs love to correct shit and know regulations because they can't think for themselves. I love pissing those guys off. Yeah I wear my fucking hat wrong. Yes, I wear my hat inside. Sharp eye I have my hands in my pockets. Fuck off. I do this because I do what I want.
I think we were born in the wrong time in history.
There was a promise once believed in. A promise I will write about later. I promise.

It Was Just One Cat

2007-05-16T10:27:00.000-07:00

Right. Chavez is a twat. No need to elaborate there.
It's hard out there for a pimp.
I'm pretty sure I will be buying a house in St. Louis soon. Because I am cool like that.
They should stop making and producing food and replace all nutrition with alcohol. The world would be a better place.
Kate Moss is still hot. I seen her naked. German magazines will print anything.
This whole deal between the aristocrats and the demagogues is upsetting. I mean, they both like to present themselves as looking out for my best interest. They both portray themselves as opposite in beliefs. But having the opposite beliefs does not mean the ultimate goal is not the same. And I know what is in my best interest. But if one wants to take away my freedom out of mass fear and the other wants to take away my freedom out of a need to protect children, then don't I lose my freedom either way? And don't I want that freedom? It doesn't really matter though does it? Because while the Gods give with one hand and take with the other, men only take.
Men. The species that would melt the gold from temples for whore money. The species that has driven numerous Gods away with his actions. The species that destroys only to create what it destroyed. The species that panics and pays tribute to anything can causes fear.
Fear for the children. Fear for ourselves.
Man has lived for thousands of years to produce nothing we can't erase or distort. Man has fought since his dawn and only established temporary borders, laws and cultures. Man created reason, and we celebrate the trivial. The greatest invention of man is evolution.
We evolved from work to sloth. We evolved from discipline to tolerance. We evolved from slavery to the matrix. We evolved from standards to moral relativism. We evolved from walking upright to walking upright.
Half of us hate us. The other half think us better than we are. Right or wrong. Left or right. Life or death. When I die I will thank every man and woman who ever lived to bring us to this point and for allowing me the opportunity to be here with you in the light of the moon with a light rain fluorescing from the light of your eyes.

I Know It's Not Thursday

2007-05-15T13:29:00.000-07:00

Right. The tour guide told me that this fortress was built well over 2,000 years ago. In 1983, a man named James carved his name in it. Congratulations James. Now you are a dick for eternity. You are number 30.
I killed a cat the other day with my bare hands. I twisted its neck and body in opposite directions in a fiercely swift motion and it lay lifeless in my hands. I tossed it in the front yard. My landlord thinks I am psycho. I know that cat will never walk on my car again and claw the paint up.
In my defense, there is no dead cat recycling can in our yard.
We have had many roles for one another. Throughout time, we have played parts in each other's lives with varying degrees of time and importance. We have been brother and sister. Father and daughter. Teacher and student. Employer and employee. Queen and royal guard. Friends. Lovers. Mentors. Throughout time, we have woven a tapestry of relationships with one another that blanket our senses to the reality of our existence. Our history reveals how blind time is and how weak memories are. Forever teaching one what we previously learned from the other.
I knew this.
It wasn't until I realized the most important role you have ever played in our history that I came to understand the man I am today. You stood there with your bare, athletic, tanned leg showing through your long white robe as I marched off to die. You. My mother, who taught me courage as you shed no tear and showed no remorse that your son would soon wet the earth with his blood. That image of you as I left was etched into my consciousness and stayed with me across every life I led. Inspiring me to be as strong, wise and beautiful as you were at that moment. You are now, as you were then - my Spartan mother.

Here Comes The Question

2007-05-14T10:50:00.000-07:00

Right. I hate, with most of my heart, Eli Manning. He is a bitch. You know it, I know it and the American people know it. He was drafted 1 overall, and threw a hissy fit about it. What a cunt.

Dear Yoss,

I am thinking of getting married. Or rather I was wondering your advice on marriage. Maybe I just want to get this blog back to where you wrote and people read and all was well in the world. So, should I get married?

Your Friendly Neighborhood Cocaine

(As paraphrased by Yossarian)

Cocaine,

I say this to you. I don't know, get married. If it was good enough advice for Tyler Durden's dad to say, it's good enough for me.
Getting married has advantages. Like non-stop poontang and crazy three way action with her hot friends.
But holy matrimony also has disadvantages. Like not being able to drink with your friends every night, especially when one returns from war.
It's really 5/6 pick 'em.
Let me tell you, this past weekend I went into a little place known to the world as the Czech Republic. But it is known to me as the land of the tang. Poontang. Seriously. Every woman there is hot and flirtatious. It is nice.
So I meet this girl Saturday. First we decided to get real drunk. I was rolling with gin and tonics, because Europe hasn't heard of a 7and7. She decided to drink whiskey sours and the way she tossed them back would have given me a heart attack, but as it is I let her drive my car. All good decisions so far. Then we decide to bone. Superb.
Then the girl is all weird and demonic and refuses to let me wear a condom. Now, a rational man would exit stage right, but there hasn't been a man who has accused me of being rational and lived.
So we hit skins. And it was nice. Like 3 times. That's how I roll. But the best part is, when I was sneaking out of her house in the morning, I decided to put the picture we took together up on myspace. Which is admirable.
So I think it's clear I am marriage material. Moreover, I think it's clear that I am going to marry this crazy broad.
I also bought a suit this weekend. But that is neither here nor there.
Wait.
You can get married as long as:
1 - I am invited.
2 - The reception has an open bar.
3 - Your wife has a lot of single hot friends who are at the wedding.
4 - Instead of a band or a DJ we roll karaoke style and your first dance is to me singing Billy Idol.
5 - Things like the PTA, date night, your wife, kids and anything else stupid does not interfere with hockey season.
There you have it my friend. I expect to see my invitation soon.

Yossarian

He Who Fucks Nuns Will Later Join The Church

2007-05-07T09:49:00.000-07:00

Right. Oh Lord how I am grateful you took Janis Joplin from us before her time. I hate her. She is number 32 because every time I hear her voice a little part of my soul turns against me and plots my demise.
What the bloody hell happened to Cate Blanchett? A better question would be, Who the hell is Cate Blanchett?
I did some research and as it turns out, Kate Moss is fucking hot. I was shocked too.
For whatever reason I have Dio, as in Ronnie James, on my Itunes, I would like to thank that reason with oral sex. Because Dio rocks.
If you are ever in the Army, and a full bird Colonel is trying to buy your soul for a paltry sum of taxable income, and he asks something to the effect of what else you want to do with your life, you shouldn't say, "All the drugs I never did growing up." That's not the right answer.
I made two grown men puke yesterday on a 3 mile run.
I was on my back on a beach falling asleep to the sound of the abandoned railroad. I started laughing out loud. People were staring at me. Those people looked gentle and serene. I realized at that moment that everyone I hate is fine. I saw how many words we use to only say "fuck me" or "feed me."
Have you ever tried to unpop a balloon? Have you felt our awesome reach? Have you ever wanted this? Have you Been faxed at the beach? Have you ever felt incomplete? Have you seen our logo on the moon. Have you worshipped at our feet? You will. And you will not be scared.
I have always wondered what makes a 14 year old girl decide to be placed on the pill over a pedestal. I have always wondered why 14 year old boys would rather keep the girl they want to place on the pedestal as close as the payphone. I have always wondered why the junkie washing windshields doesn't offer advice to the 14 year olds. But then I remember that 14 year olds can't drive.

Long Way Home

2007-05-06T10:14:00.000-07:00

Right. Hard Spun you are a fucking asshole. You have won 5 of your previous 6 races. You are a stud. And then I go and bet a sum of money on you to finance a job to Cairo and you fucking lose. I hate you so fucking much right now you asshole horse. You lost by like 2 lengths. Come on asshole. Run. Daddy needed to go to see the Pyramids. I fucking hate you you fucking stupid ass slow horse. Fucker.
Now that that is out of my system.
Good news abounds this week.
Ol' stabby is now on myspace and is asking to be my friend close to 100,000 times a day. Great.
The dentist refuses to remove my impacted wisdom tooth. He has also said he has never heard of a zit on the underside of your tongue. He suggests it might be cancer. I popped it anyway.
I ran 7 miles at a 7 minute pace Friday. I was happy. I would have liked to have run faster, but it does seem I am fucking the rotation up. And rotation fucking up is strictly prohibited. I miss unkind and cocaine. I am sorry fellas.
The good thing about Iraq is tax free income for me. Which means my car will be paid off here shortly. Good times. It's like a game show. Avoid getting blown up and shot and you win a car. Am I in Japan?
What the fuck was that horses problem?
I don't blog much anymore. Mostly because I don't have a single thing to say.
How does one move to New Zealand? Is it hard, like is there a lot of paperwork involved? What kinds of women are there? Can I find a job? Do they have booze?
I will live in New Zealand if the answers to those questions are: show up, I've already done it for you, hot and sex starved, only as Prime Minister and shit tons.
Man, if those answers are right New Zealand must rule.
This book I am reading rules. I will send it to you. Because everyone should read it.

Don't Back Down

2007-05-01T12:24:00.000-07:00

Right. How the fuck does being unfunny on Saturday Night Live make anyone a political expert? I mean, being unfunny in general makes you a douche, and being unfunny on a funny show must make you a moron. Or in this case number 34 on my top 50 people I hate in the world. In addition, Al Franken's voice makes me want to skin children alive.
Grampa is officially my jam and will be regarded as such henceforth.
In a completely sterile environment, I would like for you to start ripping apart my flesh because I would like to study my own muscles. I would do that myself, but I don't want dirt and all to get in there. So you should maybe think of cleaning your bathroom.
I cut the piss out of my thumb knuckle during the water gun fight as I unscrewed the sprinkler from the hose. How? Because my stupid hands are friggin huge. One might question why my hands are so big. But the real question is why my thumb knuckle has piss in it.
I remember the first time I saw the Ramones. I was small and scared of the crowd. I stood in the back. I couldn't see them but at least it was loud.
I don't want to work out anymore. I don't even want to run. I just want to drink and smoke cigarettes and be a very unhealthy person. I was a lot happier when I was unhealthy. But then again, I don't give a baker's fuck about being happy. I care about poontang. Neither has payed off in the poontang department. Maybe I should become a rapper who raps about how he doesn't get laid and can't afford jewelry and gets beat up a lot. I think more people can identify with that. I'll be a bazzillionaire.

I'm Thinking Of Frosting My Tips

2007-04-30T11:29:00.000-07:00

Right. I am not sure the name of this bitch, I think it's Eunice or some shit. I read about her a couple weeks ago. I hate her. She adopted 4 kids or was the foster mother of 4 kids or some shit. Anyway, she beat and tortured the kids until they were like 19 and shit. She made them eat their own puke. All in all I hate this woman and consider her more evil than most. I hate her. I'd like it if you killed her for me.
What kind of a coach lets little league practice turn into a 3 hour water gun fight? I suppose one might think the answer to that question is the reason we are 0-8. But the real reason is because the kids I coach suck at baseball. I mean, what kind of a baseball player brings a friggin water gun to practice for Christ sakes? Moreover, who organized it so that all 13 players all brought super soakers? I sure the hell didn't.
The Army still sucks in case you were wondering.
What the fuck? Why won't my old audio pasts load up? That's bush league. That shit was funny.
DVD You should click that link and buy me stuff for my birthday. Like Spiderman. Or the X-Men.
I get 200 readers a day. However, 180 of them only come here to look at pictures of art. My blog sucks.
Another thing that sucks is me apparently. I have thusly been rejected by 8 celebrities to be myspace friends with. What the bloody hell? These bitches are friends with everyone who sends a request but me. I must really suck if people who can't make friends being themselves so they make money being other people don't want to be my myspace friend.
It's a good thing I click that button on my blogger dashboard to remember my username and password every time I try to post. It is doing it's job very well considering it doesn't remember shit.

Keep Me Immortal

2007-04-26T11:54:00.000-07:00

Right. I can't stand this asshat. Chad McGreevy just shouted, "nuff said." Because he agrees. We all hate him. I'm the only one with balls big enough to say it. Number 36, you are Nick Cage. Asshat.
I promise you this will be the last post about this, but I have nothing else to write about today.
You know how like in 7th grade you sat in class and day dreamed of what life would be like in high school? Then in high school you sat around talking about what college was going to be like. When you were in college, in between keggers and finals, you got pretty excited thinking of job opportunities. Then, instead of taking a job you went to grad school and you sat around thinking of how great it was going to be to get on a schedule and make some money and wear a suit and have a job finally. Then instead of getting a job you joined the Army and you spent all day thinking of what to do when you got out. You remember that?
Ever since I got stop lost, I can't picture ever returning.
I don't know. Han Solo would have said he had a bad feeling. Only, I don't have any feeling. I just know that come August I will be gone for 15 months. I can't think of life after. It's weird.
I'm sure I will come back I guess. I just don't think of it. All I think of is sand and blood. And titties. But I always think of titties.
Part of my job is to think of courses of action the enemy might take. I look at the battlefield and pretend to be the enemy and tell the boss what I think the enemy might do. Today, when I was briefing everyone what I think the most likely 6 courses of actions are during our time in Iraq (and it's all based on history, man power, weapons etc.) one course of action I said made everyone shut up for once.
I simply explained that never in the history of the Army, has such a large percentage of its fighting force been concentrated in one city. So, if I were the enemy and I had it at my disposal, I'd nuke the city.
That pretty much ended the briefing.
I can't think of a word that rhymes with fifteen.
I had just gotten used to new blogger and it reverted back to this old blogger bullshit. Lame.
I think it's clear that I do not browse myspace profiles and look at hot women and keep said hot women in my secret favorites file and look at them thinking of scenarios where we meet and I end up boning or marrying an arbitrary one I pick that minute. Clearly. That does not happen. Losers do that.
So I have been wanting to get married as of late. It's because everyone I know is married and I coach all these little league sports. And my best friend here has 4 boys. And aside from constant ball kicking, kids are fun.
I still promise that if I ever win the powerball all I will do is coach little league sports. That and buy cars and a house and build a church and shit.

Or A Can Or A Pie

2007-04-23T11:17:00.000-07:00

Right. Dumb ass Pink. For the love of God. Hi I'm Pink and I would annoy the piss out of the baby Jesus. And him being the son of God and all, rarely uses the bathroom.
Was your life hard Pink? Did dad not love you? Did mom and dad argue? I'd sulk on that now if I were you. I mean, a mother of 4 who is on welfare because her husband just died in Iraq and she can't depend on her crack whore mother for help can simply buy your CD and see how trivial her problems really are. Because you were scared as a child. Cunt.
Unbeknowst to you, I coach little league baseball. If you can call the sport the kids play "baseball." I might be the worst coach ever. I coach the kids aged 7-9. In case you aren't a parent or a little league coach, that is the perpetual age of the devil.
This is the first year the kids are pitched to, so if they played last year it was all t-ball and shit. So this year the coaches pitch and the kids swing and fun is had by all. Except me. Because I am the coach. And I know what I coached in practice. But the goddamn kids don't remember shit.
Not a single kid on my team can stop at first. They hit the ball deep to the pitcher and try to leg out an inside the park home run. What the bloody hell? I have to pick them up in order to get them to stop running. But their feet don't fucking stop running, so my balls get kicked 800 times a second by tiny feet.
One kid I coach, and I shit you not, broke his friggin' leg on the way from the dugout to the batter's box today. We had to call an ambulance for Christ sakes. It was the funniest thing I ever saw in my life, and I couldn't laugh because "they" say it's inappropriate.
I dreamt of an Orca Whale last night. I'm not telling you the truth. I dreamt of running my fingers through her hair while she sings. She was wearing a dress. I had on a french cuff shirt. She sang and I listened. Her feet danced to the words she put forth. My mind thought of how at peace I felt. My fingers ran across her scalp and through her hair at a different tempo and melody. She smiled as she sang and I looked at her teeth and my heart stopped at she smiled as she looked up at me. She continued to sing and my hand stopped with my heart. I closed my eyes and knew it was a dream. I prayed never to wake up and as I opened my eyes, I saw that the sun rises through my window 43 minutes earlier than it did 3 weeks ago.

Everything Right

2007-04-22T13:22:00.000-07:00

Right. I can’t stand the fact that Frank Sinatra led his life and I lead mine. Ergo, number 38 is ol’ blue eyes himself. I mean sure, I really like his music. And yeah, I like his movies. And we all know I enjoy the culture he and his friends created. But I hate him because it was him and not me. In summation, I am only making sense when I say Frank can suck it, even if he is dead. Suck it dead guy. See you soon.
It’s late and I can’t sleep. I just keep thinking about things. Mainly I continue to think of lies. I estimate I’ve been lied to an average of 17 times a day since I was born. I am going to be 29 in a few months, so without the extra day for leap years, I’ve been lied to an estimated 179,945 times. Give or take.
But I also figure I’ve told, on average, 12 lies a day since I was born. So on July 6th 2007 the year of our lord, I will have told 127,020 lies. That is a difference of 52,925 lies.
I was debating, in my head of course, how to make up the lost ground. I’m getting shafted here. And the shafters seem to have a better life than the shaftee.
At first I thought I should up my lie output. You know, increase the production rate, lower the price and then profits increase. All that good shit. But then I did some math and I figured I’d have to increase the lies I tell a day to 200 in order to get even with the world in one year. I simply don’t have that much time on my hands.
Then, I thought, “How does a brother (a brother being me) tell enough lies to make up for all the shit I’ve been told and bought.” And then it hit me. It’s not the amount of lies; it’s the lies I’ve believed that angers me so much.
Most lies I see and call out. But the ones I believe are what really piss me off. Now, this placed me in a jam because I am a terrific fabricator of truth and all the lies I’ve told, I figure to have a 80-90% success rate. Meaning, the world believes more of my lies than I do of the world’s.
Well fuck. But then I realized that close to 99% of my lies are stupid lies, like what I ate for lunch, or that I think your shoes are nice. But the lies I have believed are lies like, college and grad school are worth it, the military is a good thing to be part of, if you give us only 3 years we will pay off your student loans and the harder you work at making things better the better things will be. So clearly, I have bought more big lies than I have told.
Then I decided that the best way to get even is to tell one giant lie. A lie that rocks the foundations of the universe. A HUGE lie if you will. So then I thought, “How does a brother (a brother being me) tell one huge lie to make up for the all the shit I’ve been sold and bought.”
I was going to fake my own death. This would enable my parents to pay off my student loans with my life insurance money and have a boatload left over. And I could leave the Army on time. But then I thought I’d get caught. Because you’d tell on me. Bitch.
Then I thought I did way too much math for this post.
But then it hit me, I don’t need to lie at all. I just need to piss some people off. So how do I piss people off?
I think it’s clear that once I am done in Baghdad I decided to denounce my citizenship, move to Ireland, buy some sheep and tend to them.
I need someone to come with.

Space Hoes

2007-04-18T08:41:00.000-07:00

Right. Number 39 is Bill O'Rielly. he's a douche. Agreed? Agreed.
My name is Yossarian and I am thirsty.

Whoever Told You That It Was All Good Lied

2007-04-16T11:18:00.000-07:00

Right. Number 40 is talk radio listener guy. You know that guy? The guy who wouldn't have an opinion on pizza if he hadn't heard it on whatever right-wing propaganda radio show he habitually listens to. This person is vile. I hate you.
Ask this guy what he thinks the catalyst was for the change in the opinion of social causes between the democrats and republicans, and he will stare at you blindly. Ask the same guy how to solve problems in the Middle East and all of a sudden this guy has a Doctorate in International Relations from Oxford.

The left wingers have their bullshit they spout off from whatever equally nonsense radio show they listen to. So don't go thinking it's just a Bush supporter problem. Moranity is a problem that crosses party lines. I said that. You can quote me.

It's not the heat, it's the stupidity. Likewise, it's not the deployment, it's the fucking up my schedule. I would have done 3 straight years in Iraq if it meant I could go home when my volunteered time was up. I said it before and I meant it. But my time is going to be up, and I don't want to leave the Army at 32, having not used my education in 5 years and take an entry level job for less money. And I don't make shit. None of this is helping me pay off my student loans. None of this is helping me meet any women who aren't prostitutes. None of this will be looked upon in 50 years as time well spent. None of this is going to help me buy a boat. I won't be able to grow my hair out for a while now. To boil it down, I'm not satisfied.

But whatever.

There is nothing that can be done.

It's a thing called stop loss.

It's official. I no longer have hands. I have paws.

I need help cleaning my apartment. I am overwhelmed. I can't even function with how shitty it is. I think I have OCD and I am lazy. A deadly combination.

There are 6 sets of 8 stairs on my way to my apartment. 24 steps on my way from my car to those steps. I walk those twice a day. There are 2 sets of 11 steps to my office. I take 56 steps from my car to those steps 4 times a day. Except for days like today when someone parks in my spot. I get so heated about that shit. But then I think, "I run no less than 4 miles every morning. Who cares about an extra 42 steps to the stairs." There is one flight of 14 stairs in my mothers basement that leads upstairs. I took 17 steps from my bedroom to those steps a million times in my life. I will never take those steps again.

This past weekend I went to this obnoxious Lego theme park with Paul and his family. I fell half in love with this girl there. She is beautiful. She works there and teaches kids how to dance. First she taught this Indian (feathers not dots) dance, then a disco dance and finally a rock and roll type dance. So I talk to ol' girl because I am half in love and she's beautiful and she has a job. Only her English isn't all that good. So since I talk so fast and most things I say are jokes, and self deprecating ones at that, she called me a swindler. I felt like Han Solo, only I didn't get the girl. I am more bummed out about that than I should be. A swindler. Bitch.

The German people have this weird and unhealthy fascination with Indians of the feather variety. It's odd. My German history is a little foggy, but I don't recall any Cherokee in Bavaria. And you should see the goofy dances and clothes they do in tribute to the Native Indians of America. Christ alive it's offensive to me, and I think offensive is good.

Hadeel Al-Bayati is gorgeous and maybe I am going to Iraq to meet and marry her.

I'm Regular Stormy

2007-04-15T10:03:00.000-07:00

Right. 41. You stupid bint. Hilary can eat a dick. I think we can all agree on that. There isn't much argument on that one. I am dumb and as I get older and dumber, I stop seeing the differences between the Clinton camp and the Bush camp and only see how similar they are. I hate you Hilary. But don't fret, I hate the other folks more.

I can think of one good reason not to vote for Hilary - 20 years of the country being ruled by 2 families. With you it would be 28. I'm 28 years old. It's time to leave mom and dad's house.

Oh and your voice makes me want to shove a nail in my dick hole.

Good news. I will turn 29 this year. Better news, my Army contract ends during my tenure of my 29th year. The best news, we will deploy the month I am supposed to come home. Thus, it will be an additional 18 months before I can get my life back. That's awesome. I am so fucking happy about this. I am going to drink Draino.

Fuck this place.

It is like 8,000,000 degrees here. Global warming like a mother fucker. The German's added to their list of genius shit by refusing to air condition anything. They also refuse to wear deodorant. So not only is it unbearably hot, but it also stinks. God bless the simple peoples of Germany.

You know what man? Fuck this. I am a little pissed here. I haven't gotten shit from the Army. Does the Army pay off my student loans? No. Did the Army pay for any of my education? No. Do I find my job interesting? No. Do I even like the job? No. Will the Army send me to Law School? No. Will the Army send me to get another degree? No. I already have a Master's degree, so the Army won't give me shit. Is there anything I want to get out of the Army that I am qualified to get? No. People ask me why I want to go to SERE school again. It's because I'd rather live in a box and get beaten and pissed on than show up where I do everyday. And the thought now of going and fighting some war that either A) we will fight for 100 years, or B) we will stop fighting and have accomplished nothing makes me extra glad I decided to do this.

As I was being told I won't be getting out of the Army anytime soon, the man asked me why I joined the Army. I said, "My parents raised me to believe that when the country goes to war, if you can see anything good that can come out of that war, you should join and serve. I won't be teaching my kids the same thing."

I'd Advise You Not To Trust That Ho

2007-04-09T08:20:00.000-07:00

Right. Number 42 is none other than the Pope. Mark ass busta. I mean, I don't know. He's the Pope. The boss of the Holy See. But I mean come on here people, he's German and German people suck. He is also like 300, so he was part of the Hitler Youth. I don't know. We Catholic peeps have had enough bad dap for a while, do we really need a former Nazi as our figure head? I don't know. It's hard to hate a man for what he's not as opposed to what he is. And I hate the Pope for what he is not.
Paris ruled. I rule. I ought to be paid to travel the world, because tourist bitches love my shit. The only time a woman even looks at me is if she is on vacation. The food in France is so much better than stupid German food. Also, tourist bitches are hot. I am the tourist bitches pimp.
I spit off the Eiffel Tower. I did a pull up on the Eiffel Tower. I did a pull up in the Louvre. I spent Easter morning at mass in Notre Dame. When one considers I spent Christmas Day at the Vatican, I think it's safe to say I am the greatest catholic ever.
French people aren't as rude as I thought they'd be. Tourist bitches love my shit. And tourist bitches are hot.
The lines for the Eiffel Tower were so long it was stupid. So I just walked the lines shucking and jiving with people until I got 20 people who were tired of waiting in line, took us all over to the group tour line and bing bang biganja, got up that shit in like 1/8 of the time.
All in all I had a great time in Paris. I wanted to spend more time at the Louvre, but the people I was with were bored. Also, my favorite part of going on trips, is buying shit from the gypsy vendors on the street, and the people I was with wouldn't let me. So I have no cool Paris crap I bought from a shady Turk. Bummer.
I did however, drink a boatload of Gin and fuck a hooker. I was so drunk I didn't cum. It sucked. She didn't, which is why I didn't cum. She was from Morocco or some shit. I think she stole my 4 leaf clover. Whore.
I also came up with the greatest idea ever. Not so much an idea as a plan of action. From now on instead of calling my trips, "trips" or "vacations," I will call them "jobs." So I just finished the Paris job. I am now planning the Athens job. Then come the Cairo job. I also decided that on the Athens Job, I will carry a brief case and handcuff it to me. I've always wanted to do that.
Cocaine needs to get his ass on myspace and be my friend.
Yankees Rule.
Yossarian out.

Sleeping City Sidewalk

2007-04-04T11:14:00.000-07:00

Right. That is a funny ass advertisement. Anywho, who is number 43 on my list of people I hate most in the world? Paris Hilton. I can't stand that bitch. Why is it I know things about her? How is it I have seen her twat more times than I have seen my cock in the past month? I hate her for all the same reasons everyone with half of a partially functioning brain hates her. She sucks and pornotube doesn't have her sucking on its website, making me hate her even more. It's not jealously you cunt, it's reality. I'm keeping it real. And for real, I hate you.
I am leaving for Paris tomorrow. I will put awesome pictures of myself on my myspace page. As if every picture of me is not awesome. I will bend my arms. Because I have been informed that I look like Frankenstein with rigor mortis. That sucks. But is still awesome because it involves me.
Megan Fox is the hottest shit ever and loves me and doesn't even know it yet. I am so going to pull a three-way with her on the first Christmas after I marry JESSICA BIEL.
I went on a run today. I am not sure how to say this, but I don't think I ever want to run with these people again. I mean sure I am trying out for the triathlon, but come on fellas, take it easy. We ran like 10 miles at like a 6 minute pace. I am so hurt right now. We started out with 30 guys and we lost all but 5 very quickly. My asshole hurts. I don't know why my asshole hurts. The only thing I can think is that the run's dick didn't lube before it violated me. My fucking eyebrows hurt. I never ran so fast in my life. I am tendering my resignation to the triathlon team effective today. No. I can't quit. I want to win. But if this is how they practice, I might die.
I need a flask.
I decided that when I am out of the Army, I would really like to write. I have a list of pros and cons about my career decision.
Pros:
I can make my own hours because I am my own boss.
I can show up drunk to work and my boss is cool with it.
I can still have time to run and watch sports.
Everything I create will be completely decided upon by me.
I already have a computer.
Cons:
I don't know how to get published.
I have nothing to write about.
I don't know how to write.
I won't have an excuse for not doing laundry if my office is my house.
I don't see how this job will get me laid more. (But it can't get me laid any less, so it's a moot con.)
Other jobs I have been thinking of taking are CIA agent, international rock star, brick layer, bum and baby seal clubber.
I don't know how to go about getting any of these jobs, but I really think I'd like to write because I'd really like to have a conversation like, "Showing up for work drunk again huh?" "Yeah. it couldn't be helped." "I like the attitude." I find talking to myself funny. It's good that I don't know how to get any of these jobs because I have a better chance of making the female swim team than I do of getting out of the Army.
Christ I am in pain. I was good for like the first 4 miles. Then I was thinking, "Sooner or later we have to slow down a bit." We never did. I thought I was going to die. Part of me wishes I had because having your butthole hurt sucks.

Sunshine Highway

2007-04-03T10:27:00.000-07:00

Right. Sweet merciful crap how I hate Bill gates. I have a great idea. Why don't I make 1/3 of a product, then make the consumer pay for upgrades to make the original piece of shit I sold them work the way I told them it would? Wait my idea is getting better. Then, why don't I make your shit obsolete and sell what you will eventually buy to a ton of ass clowns so they can slap whatever the fuck they want on what you will buy? I'll bet I'll make billions.
Fuck. That idea was already taken by Dildo Baggins. I hate that mother fucker. Since you have more dollars than there are people on earth, why not pay my student loans off you greedy fuckstick? Because you are a douche and your lying mouth is nothing more than a lying cock holster that's why.
For the past three weeks I have been going to the gym instead of just running outside and finding a pull up bar to do obnoxious amounts of pull ups on. Let me tell you, the gym is stupid. I spend like a half hour just waiting to use whatever machine I want to use, and I have to listen to a bunch of clowns talk about how big their dicks are and blah blah blah. When the macho men finally shut up, my ears are greeted by Bon Jovi. The most bothersome part of the gym is this extra loud bitch with a whistle. She blows the goddamn thing and her lackeys follow her around and they all do whatever the fuck new bullshit there is to do.
Why the fuck does anyone need a coach to work out? And what is with these exercises? I saw a grown man playing with a fucking giant beach ball today. Embarrassing. I have a workout for you. It's called run 7 miles. Then tomorrow, run 7 miles again and try to beat your time. If you fail, you don't eat until you do. Repeat for a few months. You'll be square.
The only good part of the gym is I occasionally get to look at some one's wife and have visions of tossing salad. Except today when this rather large (and not like fat, just sort of big and mean looking) Captain is extra excited to see me. She wants to go jog with me.
Listen lady, I don't fucking jog. I don't. I run. I run fast and hard because it's the best part of my day. I just bought new running shoes and I want to melt them. I do not want to keep these shoes.
We ran. I use the term, "we" loosely. She did her best and I ran slower than I prefer. She wants to jog again tomorrow. I laughed. Can't do it. I have plans. It's a little thing called triathlon tryouts.
I have half a bag of Redman in my mouth right now. I can't even breathe.
I wish someone would tell me what's up with my hands. My veins are huge all of a sudden. I hope this is a sign they will let me leave the Army. I don't know why it would be, but I am told there are signs everywhere.
I watched a movie last night. A movie I have long wanted to see. Due to copyright laws I am not allowed to tell you the name of this movie. But allow me to give you my one sentence review of this movie: Too much pursuit and not enough happiness.
I see that girls gone wild is going to open up a themed restaurant. This is a bad idea. When I am knocking back a BLT I don't want to watch Suzy make out with her roommate. This is lunch, not a bar. A girls gone wild themed bar is a good idea. A restaurant, where I have to eat things and watch drunk girls make bad decisions is not a good idea.

Every Thug Needs A Lady

2007-04-01T11:56:00.000-07:00

Right. I hate Jay Z. Not so much for anything other than that he bones Beyonce and I don't. Regardless, you are 45 on my list there asshat. I hope your cock gets caught in your zipper and you are never able to bone her again. I hate you.
Stupid ass Jay Z. Nice suit there fucktard.
I am going to Paris next weekend. That should be fun. Only expensive. The bleeding hotel I got is around a billion dollars a second. I am going with my buddy Paul, his wife and their four kids. These people are my friends and also Mormon, so like every trip I take with them, Yossarian babysits and doesn't get to drink or make time with foreign bitches.
Also, kids are fucking loud. They also scream a lot and they whine a lot too. What the bleeding hell her kids? Oh, you didn't get to enter the car first? That needs to be cried and screamed about for the next 45 minutes. Clearly. Oh your brother ate one of your chips? Clearly you need to throw a fucking tantrum as they stopped making sun chips.
Not Paul's kids, just kids in general.
If the lead singer bitch from the Pretenders wanted to date you, would you? I mean sure she isn't hot, but she sings and writes and seems pretty smart. So, on one had you'd be all, "This is great my girlfriend sings and is smart and writes cool shit." But then you'd be thinking, "Damn. Can't this bitch like wear a dress or something? I hope my friends aren't laughing because she is not hot at all." Life is funny.
If that girl from the Whitesnake videos wanted to date you, would you? Let us suppose it is 1989, I mean sure she was the hottest shit ever, but she seems about as smart as a bag full of hair. It would be nice to be all, "My girlfriend is so fucking hot I need to wear sunscreen when we bone." But then again, you'd be all, "I can't believe that when we did a crossword yesterday she spelled 'Alfredo' with a 4." Life is perplexing.
Say Michelle Pfeiffer wanted to date you, would you? Yes. Yes. Yes. She is like the sun in that the older she gets the hotter she gets. Life is certain.
For the sake of argument, say I decided to be a CIA agent when I was done with the Army. (Which is looking like will never happen by the by.) Would you? Life is stupid.
In my heart, I hope a lot of things that make sense, but will never happen.

I Can't Use This Anymore

2007-03-29T12:05:00.000-07:00

Right. 46 is Quentin Tarintino. If that is his real name. I hate him because he sucks. I hate him because I think I was the only person bored with Pulp Fiction. I hate him because he makes shitty movies. But mostly I hate him because he also didn't respond to repaying my student loans.
Go rip off another movie you twat.
Whoever the fuck invented receipts can eat a dick. It's bad enough I am standing in line to buy my Copenhagen behind six people all buying gum and Gatorade and paying with checks, now I have to have paper saying I bought Copenhagen and an Orange. Great. This will come in handy. I don't need to prove I like oranges or I dip. I don't need proof of purchase. I can't take the fucking orange or dip back. But thank you for letting me throw this piece of paper away for you. Asshat.
My mother doesn't come around here. She doesn't see the man her son became. She wouldn't recognize me if she did. She would see the once green eyes that looked like the ocean have changed. The color is becoming more brown everyday, as if a giant mudslide polluted the waters that once flowed in my eyes. The flowing glow that once made the ocean sparkle is also gone. The waters are still and appear to be coughing up all the fish that once thrived in the depths.
My father doesn't call. He doesn't vocalize the disappointment to his first born. No grandchildren will be given to the aging man. No common bond can be shared between what would be an incompetent boss and his best employee were we the same age. No kind words are passed between the drunk and the priest.
My parents don't know where I am. They have my address, time zone and phone number. They know where I live. They send me mail and gifts. They write letters expressing great pride. They ask for photographs of me. They tell their friends all about how well I have done for myself. They have no idea the thoughts that run through me head. They can't fathom the insanity I dream of. They will never know who I am or how I feel. They fear that I won't return. They don't realize I am already gone.
I have a friend who says God is a myth. He isn't mythological enough for me. The kid who plays shortstop for me says that there is an Angel watching over me. He isn't watching close enough for me. My priest says the end is near. It's not near enough for me. My bartender says I've had enough. I haven't had enough for me.

Somewhere New

2007-03-28T06:46:00.000-07:00

Right. Number 47 is the guy who invented reciepts. I had a lot of shit to say about that, but I don't feel like it. I got some bad news. I don't want to talk about anything really.
But Avril Lavigne is fucking hot. She doesn't make the new news any better though.

I Miss Chad McGreevy

2007-03-26T08:07:00.000-07:00

Right. Number 48 is you, you stupid ass A-Rod hater. You hate A-Rod, and I hate you more than Al Gore, but less than 47 other idiots. You are a moron and you need to stop watching baseball.
When people tell me they hate A-Rod, the argument can usually be boiled down to one of 4 standard arguments. 1) He isn't clutch. 2) He makes too much money. 3) He's a Yankee. 4) He is a spoiled little bitch.
Allow me to retort.
He isn't clutch. And you have been so clutch in your life? That's why you are tossing boxes in a truck for UPS. You really nailed that interview. And congrats on passing the drug test. Moron.
He makes too much money. I news for you, every baseball player makes too much money. That's why dad doesn't buy the family season tickets. Because he would rather live in a house than watch baseball. So since your argument can be applied to everyone in every sport, and most likely anyone with a college degree, and you don't hate everyone, then your argument is bullshit.
He's a Yankee. And? Did I miss something? What the fuck has happened to the world? There's only 1 trilogy, and it doesn't involve hobbits. And there's only one baseball team and it's the boys in pinstripes. At some point in time during my life, the world go all catywonkis and it drives me insane. There are more people who like Satan than like A-Rod and the Yanks. Something is wrong abou tthat. The Yankees are capitalism. I like capitalism. And so do you. Trust me. Bint.
He's a spoiled little bitch. I don't spend any quality time with A-Rod, so I really can't say that he's not. But I will say this, you'd be spoiled too if you had any talent aside from beating your kids. The world spoils greatness, and he is the best player in the league, and it's not even close.
In summation, go away and stop hating A-Rod. I hate you and wouldn't mind you being made into a soup, you A-Rod hater you.
Still no word on my packet. Yossarian is getting upset!
I am going to be coaching little league baseball here shortly. I am looking forward to it.
So with my new staff job comes endless amounts of meetings and briefings and bullshit. Some of it is all no windows and super secret type shit. Even that shit is useless. It does give me a chance to play sudoku in my head though.
I think I have diabetes. I gained like 20 pounds last week, and it's not all ear wax because I q-tip that shit out daily. But to gain 20 pounds when you run as much as I do and eat as little as I do is remarkable. My burps also taste like sugar. So I am sure I have diabetes. Which is fitting. My sodding brother will probably win the lottery. Bloody hell.
She watches it rain and comments about how puddles are beautiful. She smiles awkwardly and says very polite things. She runs on a treadmill and sweats, what I only imagine, tastes like heaven. She wipes the sweat off her with a pink towel, making me wish I could trade soul with that towel. She listens to her Ipod as she does aerobics and slightly mouths the chorus and moves her fingers to the verses. I watch everyday and become a little more alive. Then, her husband picks her up. She says I am bipolar. I think she may be right, but I know she is my sun.

Shine On You Crazy Fucktard

2007-03-22T10:55:00.000-07:00

Right. I can't believe we are already to number 49. Stop the fucking presses, it's Al Gore. Dipshit extraordinaire. Global warming my dickhead. Guess what there asshat, it's late fucking March and it's snowing like a cocksucker outside. But wait, that's the cause of global warming. So when it is hotter than one would like, it's global warming. When it gets bitter and cold, it's global warming. Well doesn't that just beat all? No matter what happens, it proves the theory right. Well fuck.
Go to hell with that shit.
I have a theory. It's called "Al Gore is a child molester." I have no proof he is a child molester, but I am sure I can make a movie about it.
I hate you more than Fergie. How do you feel about yourself? You probably feel pretty well considering you think it must be the heat (or cold) that makes me think this way. But you are a douche bag. But never fear there Cockface, I hate 48 people more than you. But I really hate you.
Also, you never replied to my letters asking you to pay off my student loans. So fuck you. A simple "no" would have sufficed. Asshat.

Can you believe that the Colonel didn't wish to speak to me today? I think that bodes badly for me. We will see. It also sucked that I didn't drink for breakfast or lunch and he didn't speak to me. My liver hurts because it didn't have a job to do today. My liver likes to work.
It's not that I've had a bad time, it's more 4 years of being at the needs of someone else is taxing. I'd like to focus on my needs. That and I can never use my brain. I feel like I can't even breathe. I like my brain. I don't like suffocating.
I think if Elvis were alive today, he'd still get laid more than me. Laid by non-brothel working girls that is.
I get hangnails close to every other day.
I like water. I miss Aquafina. That was some refreshing water. Dasani sucked. And fuck a bunch of Evian. Aquafina is the shizzle. I am a water snob.
I wish I had a wooden leg. I wish I would then loose my wooden leg. Mainly because, how many people can say they lost the same leg twice? Just me. Then I'd get a stick and a pair of binoculars and maybe some cans of tuna and possibly a hat and go adventuring in an attempt to find my wooden leg. It would be good times. But a fucking dog has probably found my wooden leg already. He chewed on the fucker too. It wont fit right and I'd just end up giving the dog my leg. But I would have found this cool beer can from the 1950's. It's neat. I'd put it above my fireplace and tell everyone that I lost a leg but gained that can. They might think I'm crazy. But they don't have the can. And they won't get it when I die either. I want to be buried with that shit.
My Ipod is a jerk. It decides at random times that it will stop working. Only it will stay on. So I have to wait for the battery to drain before I can charge or listen to it. Then at other times it decides to freeze my computer when I want to charge it. And sometimes it opts to not let me unplug it from the computer, forcing me to try to reset it 50,000,000,000 times. When it does work it does other stupid shit. Like play nothing but Norah Jones and Boards of Canada when I am running or working out. Then the second I want to go to sleep, it's all Civ and the Clash and Motorhead and shit. What the fuck Ipod?

Check Out My Gyro Balls

2007-03-21T10:19:00.000-07:00

Right. We are going to mix things up a bit. And by "we" I mean "me" because you are providing nothing here. Seriously. You are like the guy who comes over for dinner and doesn't bring anything. Shithead.
Anywho, We (I) are (am) going to count down the top 50 people I hate. Not all at once mind you. One a day.
Number 50:
Fergie. Not hot. And what in the blue hell are you singing about? My humps? Fergalicious? You now have your own London Bridge?
When your manager brings over your pay checks, do you wear a ski mask? Because you are stealing. There is also something about you that looks like you might have at one point in time been sexed up by a gorilla. And that gorilla covered you in his cum. And gorilla cum turns into plastic.
You are not attractive and have fooled the world into believing that you are. I believe you did this through trickery you learned from that bitch who played Blossom. You make my cock wish it could hide in my pubic hair.
I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. Stop making music. Stop making up words. Stop making my nieces dumb.
The only good thing about you is the inevitable porn you will star in. It will be you taking it up the ass from some dude who talks about your hump is fergalicious and you write a new song about ringing a bell helps you attract boys and the pyramid was built by love. You daft twat.

I dropped my packet today. Tomorrow should be fun. I'm going to have to talk to the Colonel. Maybe I ought not drink for breakfast and lunch tomorrow.
I have these slippers my mom bought me for Christmas, and they are the jet. At first I hated them, but now I love these fuckers. They are stupid looking and nerdish. They look like slippers a father wore in the 1950's while he smoked a pipe. Speaking of which, where can a brother get some of those button up pajamas? I am such a dork.
I am a grown ass man and I have no idea what the fuck Grey's Anatomy is. Moreover, based on the type of people I hear talking about such blither, I don't want to know what it is.
Q: What was Custer's last words?
A: "You ever see so damn many Indians?"
That shit is funny.
You know what rules about being Catholic? Everything that's what.
Let us all agree that I am the best thing ever.
I want us all to go gamble. Everyone of us. I want to sit around gambling with you. Because I like you. And I like gambling. If you read this blog, I want to gamble with you. Then, I'd like to take our winnings and pay for us all to watch a woman with father issues shove things up her ass. Weird things. Like frogs and shit. And large things. Like bowling pins and shit. And sexy things. Like those leg lamps in that Christmas movie. That's the kind of blogger I am. I am like a super nice non-murdering non-crazy Charles Manson.
Please look into my old face and see the pretty man I once was. Because I once was pretty. I wasn't always broke and empty. I wasn't always on my knees. I once stood and walked with great men. I wasn't always a monster. But then again. I look into your pretty young face and see the haggard old woman you are. Because you are now horrid. He ensures you aren't broke, but you keep yourself vapid. You have taken to a life on your knees. You now stand and walk with cretins. You look like an angel.

Gay Asians For Straight Caucasians

2007-03-20T09:40:00.000-07:00

Right. I like to look at the faces of meth posters at the post office. I sometimes spend my lunch hanging out at the post office, pretending to be looking for a specifically abnormally sized box that doesn't exist so that I can stare at the faces of meth. Most of them look photoshopped. But they still freak me out. But not really a freak out. More, a wow out. I sometimes wish I looked like those folks. I don't know why, but to me, they look like God's ashtray. I miss smoking.
People who like Akon piss me off to no end. I can sing through a kazoo and I ain't gone platinum.
I have ideas. But most of them involve extraordinary happenings taking place leaving me offensively wealthy and me being able to live my life the way I want. So I guess I don't have ideas so much as I have dreams. Fuck.
I like to sit at work and pretend like I give a shit. It's fun to sit there and make it look like I am paying attention when all I am really doing is having visions of JESSICA BIEL on our wedding night. Sometimes I have visions of the day I leave the Army and what I will feel like. Today all I had were visions of my dog freaking out when I come home.
My hands look more and more like my father's everyday. My hands are huge all of a sudden. It's like puberty for my hands. It's fucked up. I am becoming concerned about the amount of earwax I produce. It's rather alarming. What is happening? I hope all this strange growth means my cock will grow to frightening sizes. That would be sweet.
I read a lot. Seriously. I hope my voracious reading lately means my cock will grow to frightening sizes.
There isn't a thing that happens that I don't hope isn't a sign that my cock will grow to frightening sizes. Like a pringles can, only with veins and a head.
I just can't get into basketball. I wish I could. But I can't.
Just because a man wears a mask, doesn't mean he has something to hide.
My dog is great. I miss her. She doesn't fetch though. She just sort of runs after what I throw and then gets distracted. Then forgets what she is doing. She doesn't really play dead. Instead, she bites the shit out of me and growls at the wall. She doesn't really sit, she more sprints around the house for no reason and growls at nothing. She does however lie down next to me and sleep and she licks my face when I don't feel well and bites the blanket and pulls it up over me when I sleep. She's a good dog. I miss her.

What Will Bring Me Home

2007-03-19T11:56:00.000-07:00

Right. Love pulls sore muscles. I remember when this blog was a good time. Remember when cocaine opined about incoherrent shit? Remember when that one girl would argue with unkind? Remember when I wrote about things other than how I hate my job? I remember these things. I wonder what that psychic who said the clearly true statement that I will marry JESSICA BIEL would say if she actually met me. They don't call me danger boy anymore. They don't call me anything.
I would like to have a sitdown with the President. There are things I'd like to ask him.
I watched "The Departed" this weekend. Are you joking me? That movie won awards? That sucked. I hated it. First of all, it was dumb. Second of all, it was really dumb. If I don't like a movie, something is wrong because I like everything. Except for crap, and "The Departed" was crap. Don't wactch it. Unless you like crap.
When I am an old man and all fucked up and ready to die and all. I'll bet there will be a gaggle of nurses arguing over who gets to do the sponging. I will be such the old man ready to die pimp. Then when I die, the nurses will straighten my hat and button my shirt and kiss old man dead pimp Yossarian as they cry and send me off to the ground. When I am in the ground, all the grubs and insects and shit that lives in the dirt will eventually chew through the box I will be contained in. They will be mighty tired after all the work of chewing through the wood and when bugs and shit that live in dirt get tired they fuck. So they will fuck all over me and lay eggs and whatnot. My body will then be fodder for the results of bug fucking. I should tell those hot nurses that dead pimp Yossarian should be burned and his ashes need to be spread over popcorn, because I am a salty dude. I make shit taste better anyway. Like today when my noodles sucked and I added a little thing called "boiling water." Then them bastards tasted good.
I should blog more. I have been slacking. Mostly because I work so much.
I wonder what's the worst that can happen if I just stopped talking and began to stare at a wall. I wonder what's the worst that can happen if I did that long enough to get locked up in a mental institution. I wonder what's the worst that can happen if I wear a white robe and slippers and watch TV the rest of my life. I wonder what's the worst that can happen. Because I like slippers, robes, sleep and not having moronic conversations with people.
The thing that I really love about my life is that no matter what happens, at some point in time I might get something I want. It's good to have something to look forward to.
Democrats have zero ideas. Republicans only have bad ideas. I'm not sure who said that, but I like it. But then again, I like the idea of living in a mental institution and I've never considered myself a republican. But then again I've never considered myself a democrat. I think I'm more of a guy waiting for things to make sense, or at least be abducted by aliens.

A Morning Yawn

2007-03-14T11:00:00.000-07:00

Right. My fucking blogger dashboard is in German and I can't figure out how to change it to normal. I don't sprechkizen phlegm clearing. Stupid barbaric peoples. A great thing about my new job is that it fucking blows. You might not understand why that is great, and neither do I. But I was told to look on the bright side. So it's fucking awesome that my new job is a mind numbing suicide promoting labour of futility.
What would happen if Zeus and the God's of antiquity came to visit us today? If the God we worship today visited the same day, what would happen? A battle for dominance? I'd bet they'd agree how fucked up we've gotten and leave again. I am looking forward to the new God rolling in and leaving us again. We are a wretched species. And every Diety has known this. This is why they leave and refuse to return.
If a man walks to the store five times a week and rides to the store twice a week. I suppose a better SAT question would be, "What the fuck is dude going to the store so much for?"
People like to pretend like the microcosm they live in makes a difference. The problem is when a group of people share the same microsom. Problems arise. Because one person can make a difference. A group of people can only make stupidity. The difference one person can make is usually to the detriment of the peoples.
My life is a hangover. Thus, the headache I will get in the morning will not phase. Because even though I might see double, it only makes it twice as clear that in a million years we will be born again and I will have to regret another missed opportunity with her. My life is an addiction. Thus, the twitch I will have in a few minutes will not bother. Because even though I might scratch till I bleed, it only makes me want stitches more because then you could rip new wounds on me. My life is a disappointment. Thus, the phone call I will get from my father will not bother. Because even though I will have lived a thousand lives and disoppointed a thousand fathers, I would disappoint one thousand more to satisify you once. My life is closing. Thus, the last breath of air a gasp won't inhale. Because even though I have respired countless times, I would give all but one up if the first gas I inhaled was your breath.

Midnight To Six Flags

2007-03-09T07:38:00.000-08:00

Right. Yossarian is putting together the old resume together. It is a pain. Mainly because I haven't done anything with my life except for have a strong desire to bone hookers. The lack of shit to put on my resume has led me to want to put intensely serious shit to fill the space and pique the interest of the reader.
For example, in my work history section I never really "worked" so I was going to write, "I went to work on a sumbitch of a Reuben at lunch today." In my objective section I wrote, "You want to give me a job. And while we're at it, these aren't the droids you're looking for." With a resume like this, fortune is around the corner. Also without the knowledge of putting the french thing over the "e" for resume, I think I might be the most unqualified person for any job ever.
I was thinking of staying in for the 20. I mean the Army is easy. It's too easy. Show up and run. Done. I run well, so no one gives me any shit. All you really have to do to make a career in the Army is be able to run. Or at least beat your boss. If you can't beat a 50 year old in a footrace, then you should have maybe thought of growing a sac with some hair on it. Then I just run down my checklist: call someone a fuck stick. Check. Say some homophobic shit; "That's as wrong as two boys fucking in church." Check. Take charge; "I'm fucking this chick. You're just holding the legs." (This also degrades women, and asserts your own masculinity so you get bonus points.) Check. Do a crossword puzzle. Check. Solve problems that pop up, "I'll handle this sir." Check. Read the sports section. Check.
That is my life. People seem to think I'm going to be a fucking general one day. When pressed they just say I , "got that look." Got that look? The look of a battered wife? Because that's how I feel. I use my brain about as much as a monkey uses soap. I like using my brain. I find it enjoyable. It makes me happy. The Army hates it when I use the noodle. But nonetheless, I will leave and hopefully find something more stimulating.
I missed yesterday for you and I am eternally sorry. Also internally sorry. As in the insides of me are sorry also. Everything is sorry. Except for Peter. That motherfucker doesn't care.
We did a squadron run today. If you've never, you shouldn't. Especially if you like to run. I do. The Colonel leads the run and we have to run at his pace and we sing some songs and all in all it is stupid. But I am in a new squadron, and everyone is all, "Fuck. The Colonel runs fast. I am going to fall out." I'm thinking it's about time. If you can't do four miles in under 30 minutes, then you should think of a career change. Today we start running and I notice that I am behind five of the fattest bastards you'll ever meet. Nothing impresses me more than a fat guy who can run so I start to get real motivated. We took off at about a seven minute pace and about half a mile into the run that shit slowed down. Dramatically. It was sad. People were falling out. Puking. I mean, by the end of it we were at like a 10 minute pace. You can skip faster. I was mad. Don't piss down my back and tell me it's raining. Do not waste my time. I came to run. Not to pansy frolic through a field for an hour.
I took a pre-test online for MENSA yesterday. I got 27 out of 30 questions right. I think they should make me a member because I refuse to pay them to take the real test to pay dues to a club that will get me nowhere. I am a genius because of that, not my test score.
I look forward to the fall of all government. I got time next Thursday. I hope it happens then.

One Foot On The Ground

2007-03-07T11:34:00.000-08:00

Right. I have to go. The stars will soon fall. I am unsure as to how exactely old light gains matter and crushes the earth, but I am told these things happen. It makes me sad to think that were this to come to pass, the history books will consider light physicially stronger than me.
What would you do if you knew a fanous person read your blog? What would you do if you didn't know that particular famous person? What if you didn't know that famous person because you don't know any famous people? What if then, said famous person made a lot of money in the medium making that person famous by clearly plagerizing your blog? Would you prosecute? I only ask these questions because I think it's clear that that fake ass black dude stole the creative contents contained within my blog and made a boatload of those "Gods must be crazy" movies. Little man owes me some grip.
When does one speculate that this story will end? I am guessing on page 238. That's just me. I could be wrong. I been wrong before. It's cool. I got broad shoulders. I also have trust issues. So you never know.
What you need to do, is turn this motherfucker up real loud, right now.
It breaks my heart when I think of everything I will never be. Every person I will never speak with. Every girl I will never make out with. Every song I won't hear. Every job I'll never have. Every rain I will never stand in. Every game I will never watch. Every miles I never ran. I will never be or do any of this because I am terrified. It breaks my heart when I think of everything I will be. I will be and do what I will because I am terrified.
I need compressed air. One can of it please.
I like how the advanced peoples of Europia can't figure out how to purify tap water. It cause me to buy expensive ass water at the market and causes women to be dehydrated. Dehydration causes brain damage. Thus, these women are fucked in the head. Good job.
When will all of this shit happen? I pray soon. I know never.
Where is my man unkind? Bitch needs to show up and keep me posted on happenings happening.
I wish someone would interview me. I have answeres to questions yet unasked and my answers are unquestioned in their accuracy and correctness as ever question I have ever answered has been answered to unquestionable clear levels. My answeres astound. Your questions are defeated by my answers.

There Is A Difference Between Gold And Hoop Earings

2007-03-06T08:34:00.000-08:00

Right. We, as a species, never take time to stop and consider the lilies of the god damn field. That is unless you are me and you do, because it's really the only thing that keeps sanity in the god damn field. Lilies. I'll be a mother fucker.
I am trying to go to SERE school volume two. Mostly because I want to. SERE sucked, but I am sure the advanced SERE school is better. I doubt I'll get a slot because I am planning on getting out of the Army, and I will do all I can to leave, so I will probably not get a slot.
I have like 11 months until things make sense again. I still don't have a job, so I need help. Unkind is apparently getting a bomb job. I haven't spoken with him about this job, but if I had to guess his new job will be a producer at a television station where naked big tittied women read sports scores all day and manufacture fire works and chocolate and he will make 500,000 a month. I know this because I am destined to be envious of his good fortunes.
I have a new job too. I am no longer a platoon leader. I am just some dude who does paper work and watches his life pass by. Now I would be fine with that, except I have a thing called a "personality." I also have these things called "ideas." The Army takes pleasure in dismembering these things I have.
I have a dream. It is a simple dream. Really, all I want to do with my life (since it is abundantly clear that my dream to win a lot of money and coach little league and build houses and churches and read and shit will never happen) is to get a handgun or a sword or something I can bludgeon with, a horse and some leather clothes and just sort of roam. Adventures. Fires. Cookouts. Stars. Quiet. Beard. Good times. Noodle salad. One word sentences.
I have another dream. It involves JESSICA BIEL, Kiera Knightly, Claire Danes and Kate Beckinsale. It's pretty much the same dream except completely different. But every once in a while it does involve a horse.
I have a third dream. This dream involves me standing on a hill looking over a field of golden grain swaying in the breeze. I close my eyes and look at the sky. The new spring sun turns the black into red though my eye lids and I smile like I haven't seen the sun in a thousand years. I open my eyes and look across a blue sky and back to the field. The field ignites in a raging blaze with little smoke. I then ride through it on a horse. I've had that dream since I was seven.
What's up with all the horses in my dreams?
Why does no one partake in my advice column anymore? That's bullshit. I ran the best advice column in the world. And none of you fucks want advice. I mean sure I'm about to not have a job in 11 months, but I can still fix yours. It's only mine I have a knack for fucking up. Yours I can fix in a heartbeat. But fuck you because you don't want my advice. So that's my advice I guess: Fuck You. (Not you. You are different. I like You. Really)

Half A Harvest Moon

2007-03-01T08:52:00.000-08:00

Right. I am told that the path to hell is paved with good intentions. At this stage in my life I look at things and am unsure as to if it is the goodness of the intentions or the length of time staying on the path that is the reason hell is ever reached. Read into that what you want.
I am tired. Not only am I tired in the physical sense, but also emotionally and of happenings. There are things I would like to tell you I am tired of, but I am afraid that the proverbial "they" have placed wire taps in my phone, computer, lighting fixtures, the Burger King drive through, my microwave, the bathroom and the microphone I use to sing to the world. "They" have also placed video cameras in my car and near my toilet paper. Joe Strummer would not have taken this shit. He would have used the microphone to sing to his toilet paper a song of freedom and love and meant it. I find my beliefs are bought and sold daily never letting me pen a clear and rightous song.
I want you infinite.
I've never been hungry enough to kill.
I, and this is me speaking from my heart, would like to build a time machine and take you with me. I would like for us to travel to February 12th 1945. I would like to take you to a dance club in Dresden, Germany. I would like to imbibe viscious amounts of whisky with you and dance with you for three days under a disco ball while the allies bomb everything around us. I would like that to do that with you. I would like that because it would be a literal manifestation of what you and I are doing now.
Would one vote of no confidence make a difference? What if you were voting on where you and your friends were to eat lunch next Saturday?
I am now fairly certain that you were right about him being the anti-christ.
A very nice kid once lived here. That kid is now a bitter kid who thinks he is an old man. He is not old. But he is bitter. If you were half right about what you think you are, you'd feel pretty good about yourself. When he sees you again he needs your help finding the nice kid. He will ask for your assistance in burning down an abandoned building. You and he will watch it burn. He will be hoping that that building is everything in him burning fucking down to a cinder.

What The Fuck Is With This New Blogger?

2007-02-26T09:34:00.000-08:00

Right. This is gay. I hate this new blogger bullshit. It's wicked retarded. I don't know what the hell is going on. I am sure I am the last monther fucker on the earth to get down with this new stupid version of blogger. But whatever.

So I understand the Oscar's were last night. Good. I think I am prepared and qualified to give predictions of who won. I am prepared because I didn't watch the awards nor any of the movies except maybe two, and I am qualified because I have never been wrong about anything ever. So let's make with it. (If for purely conspatorial reasons, one of my predictions is wrong please know that I was right had everything been working properly with the world. It's a vast left or right wing conspiracy depending on which side is being the bigger douche at the moment.)

I will only predict the awards that matter. Most of them are dumb and no one knows what the fuck a sound editor does.

Best Supporting Actor: Marky Mark, Alan Arkin, Eddie Murphy, Jackie Earle Haley and Djimon Hounsou.

The winner is: The Clash's London Calling. A suprise here considering it wasn't nominated nor is the greatest record ever even an actor. But the rest of the asshats don't deserve an award and as far as I am concerned an award show that doesn't present an awaerd to this record isn't worth my time.

Best Leading Actress: Penelope Cruz, Judi Dench, Kate Winslet, Meryl Streep and Helen Mirren.

The winner is: In what is clearly an oversight of the boner Keira Knightly inspired in Pirates of the Whocares, Penelope Cruz is hot and deserves an Oscar. Considering I've dubbed my Keira Knightly inspired wood "Oscar."

Best Director: Whoever the hell directed: Babel, The Departed, The Queen, United 93 and Letters From Iwo Jima.

The winner is: What the hell is directing? How is it hard? In what capacity in the survival of our species is directing people to say what they memorized an integral part in keeping us alive? Why has no movie I've ever liked been nominated for an award? I was once told if you watch a movie without sound, you can tell what the quality of the director. I watched, "Christmas Vacation," without sound once and it was still funny and that guy didn't win a fucking thing. Anyway, I've seen none of these movies but I wanted to see Babel so that guy wins.

Best Leading Male: Will Smith, Peter O'Toole, Forest Whitaker, Ryan Gosling and Leonardo DiCaprio.

The winner is: No one who entertained me this past year that's for sure. I will let you in on a secret, the trailer for that Will Smith movie made me cry, so I think he should win.

Best Supporting Female: Cate Blanchett, Jennifer Hudson, Abigail Breslin, Adriana Barraza and Rinko Kikuchi.

The winner is: Who the fuck are these women? I haven't heard of a single one. I'd have given the award to that woman from Ricky Bobby. She's hot. That movie was funny. Rosario Dawson is hot too. Clerks 2 was funny. Why is nothing I like nominated? Who cares who wins this? Not me. I'll shoot with Cate Blanchett because I like the name Kate.

Best Picture: Babel, The Departed, The Queen, Letters from Iwo Jima and Little Miss Sunshine.

The winner is: Snakes on a Plane.

Movies I've seen this year that are great and will never get an award: Cars, Ice Age, Ricky Bobby, Nacho Libre, Rocky Balboa, The Break Up, Clerks 2 and the goriest movie ever Apocalypto.

I Shouldn't Be Allowed To Speak

2007-02-21T12:28:00.000-08:00

Right. I am dumb. I do dumb things. I make dumb decisions.

Blue Steel .45

2007-02-19T08:51:00.000-08:00

Right. I went to the dumbest country ever this weekend. Austria. That country is stupid. First of all, I give a fuck about the European Union, I want stamps in my passport. The airport did it in Italy for me, and there is an actual border to the republic of Czech, and even though they thought I was stupid they stamped the fucker. There is a little sign that says something to the effect that you may or may not be in Austria. So no one stamped my passport.
Then I ate. While the food is Austria is similar to that in Bavaria, it managed to be a tiny bit better than the horse shit they serve in Bavaria. It still sucked, but there was ketchup. Ketchup goes a long way. Except for Barbarian ketchup, you have to drench your food in the shit to get the bad taste out of your mouth.
Then I went around some town and couldn't help but notice that Austria is the polar opposite of Los Angeles, in that the ugliest 3% of women in the world live there. It was awful. But Austrian food gave me gas, so I farted every time I walked past a woman. It made me happy to think I gave their nose what they gave my eyes.
Then I went to sleep watching a form of billiards called snooker. Snooker rules and was not invented by anyone affiliated with Germany or Austria.
Then came that fateful day I decided to climb a mountain. Not rock climbing. I climbed a fucking mountain. It was the dumbest thing I ever did. I mean, it was fun and I laughed a lot, but who climbs a fucking mountain? I do. We took this cable car up the mountain and then climbed the bitch to the top. There I am with ropes and D rings and spikes and shit, climbing a mountain and I thought about this girl I dated in grad school and I dropped the fucking camera, along with my helmet. I don't know why my helmet was off, but it was and I dropped it. Me and my buddy climbed the rest of the way and then we tied the rope into a Swiss seat and came on down the mountain. It was pointless. Nothing was up there. No hot bitches. No fireworks. No chupacabra. Nothing. Someone else even posted a flag.
After the mountain I bought a 20 dollar cup of hot chocolate and called it a trip. We hit the autobahn and came home. He to his wife and children and me to my attic.
Then I played Civilization until 6 in the morning. Then I slept for an hour. Then I got a haircut. Next I ate lunch. Then I ran 5 miles. Then I swam for a while. Then I came home and showered. Then I had to reset my Ipod because it is also stupid. Then I listened to John Denver. Then I blogged. Now I am thinking about what else I could be doing with my time. Next I will drink gin from the bottle and think about jerking off.
This weekend was great.

I Walk The Way The Wind Blows

2007-02-15T10:41:00.000-08:00

Right. Her silence speaks volumes and her words don't mean shit. This is what she means to the world. This is who she is. If my life were a hockey stick, she'd be the tape on the blade; giving it more control and keeping it from splintering into a thousand ruined pieces. That is how she rolls.
Her hair flows in the wind like it doesn't understand why it isn't in perpetual motion. Her hair waves at the blood running down my face like a child waves at a parade.
She receives disapproving looks from parents. She makes children smile. Old men look at her and remember Ava Gardner. Old women look at her and see the loose girl they had to keep away from their sweethearts. She walks by all and judges herself more harshly or more evenly that anyone else will ever.
The less you stress her, the quicker she'll call. The more you give her the more she'll take. The more you flatter her the less she wants. The more she needs the less she'll ask. She's invited into the VIP room, but drinks homemade gin with me in the janitor's closet.
This is who she is and the curiousness of her potential kiss leaves me as a mind without a soul. This is who she was and the clarity of her hued umbra leaves me as a body without a heart. This is who she will be and the leanness of her peerless legs leaves me as a boy without a mother.

My Nostradamus Book Scares The Shit Out Of Me

2007-02-13T11:13:00.000-08:00

Right. I like Elvis. Sue me. I always have. I don't know what to tell you. I just like he guy. I feel he got a bum deal. I mean, he, in a way, created something that consequently created amazing things. But it also created Limp Biscuit. So maybe he was a douche. No. He was cool. I also feel bad because people only want to laugh and say "Fat or skinny Elvis." As if there were two. I mean, I think he was only fat for like a week and then he died. If you were to live your whole life and only be fat the last week of your life, good on you. People would probably say, "Ronald was a slim dude." But fucking Elvis eats it and everyone is all, "Elvis was fat." Sod off.
Why am I talking about Elvis?
I could turn this blog into a work blog. I could tell you all about the adventures I have at work. But really there are none. There are days in the Army I love. Days I think to myself, "Wow. I am so fucking happy I did this." Then there are days when I think, "I wish one of these weapons would misfire and blow my brains out my fucking head." I like it when a soldier will come to me with a problem and I can solve it. Help them out. Give them advice. I like that shit. But then there are days when all thinking, problem solving, reasoning and the need for a brain is gone because everything must be done "this" way. I hate that shit. I got it. I am a grown ass man. There are a million ways to fuck a hooker. If I choose to do it one way, that should be fine. The end product was the same, and I got to put thought into it. But no. I always end up redoing whatever I just did because I didn't do it the way some clown says I should have. If all you want is a trained dog, then hire a moron and he can follow the manual. I like to figure it out and accomplish it my own way.
I am about to switch jobs. That sucks. I like being a platoon leader. I like to work with soldiers and help them out and build teams. That is fun. I am going to staff. I will do my 11 more months and leave the Army. Barring we don't invade Iran or provoke them to come into Iraq and fight us there. I sometimes think the world is about to end and instead of doing what I want to do, I am doing what someone else said I have to do and I won't enjoy the last few years we all have left alive.
Someone want to tell me why the fuck Anna Nicole Smith is news worthy? I'll bet a thousand big tittied women die every 24 hours. No big deal. Some other chud will get some surgery and I will jerk off to her. It's the circle of the spank bank material.
I am reading a book called, "Gates of Fire," and it is the fucking jet. I am going to see where Mozart was born this weekend. I had a big ass zit on my shoulder I just popped. Things are on the Proverbial upswing.
When I see her again I will tell her that I thought of her more than I desired while I was gone. But it'll probably be at a welcome back party and I'll be drunk. Then I'd say something about how I've been half in love with her since I met her. Then I'd say she shouldn't think of me as a creep, because I know she has a boyfriend and I've pretty much always felt this way and never acted creepy and that I am happy she is dating Ted or Nick or what's his nuts over there because I could never make her that happy. Then I'd tell her to forget it and that I shouldn't have brought it up and that I am drunk and that I hope it doesn't mean we can't hang out because I am dumb and she is not. Then she'll probably want to talk more about it and clarify that I am a moron. I'll be fine with that.
Then she'd ask why I don't want to talk about it anymore and I'd tell her because I don't feel like getting rejected at my welcome back party. I also don't feel like having her accept my unwanted advances because it is my welcome back party either. More, I'd like to earn one thing in my life on my own merit, and I can't think of anything else I'd rather earn than a glimmer of her affection. Because her attitude towards me I would want pure and honest because she is the only woman that, when I am around, I am not hoping we get drunk enough to make some bad decisions. I just feel better about myself when she is around. And her feeling for me needs to be true and from the heart. Be it love or hate in order for me to feel that way.
Then it might get awkward. So I'll pretend I swallowed a bug and go get another drink and act like the whole conversation happened during a blackout and I don't remember what I said.
Then I'll sing some karaoke, maybe some Billy Idol or Poison or Biz Markie and wash my hands of her because that is clearly the wrong way to approach her. I should have stayed in Darfur.

Everything In My Mind

2007-02-10T14:07:00.000-08:00

Right. Why do I do this? What satisfaction do you derive here? How long can I manage doing this? Who will help me when I need it most? When will things make sense again? Where did I go wrong?
I need your help. It is for an occurrence I need to occur. Post haste. You know what it is. I shall not mention it here. Forces monitor mediums of mediating reality. Forces even more powerful control the possibility of the happenings. If you look in your heart, you will know what I need. Please help. I never said I was unhappy. It is more written across my face. It's in the color of my spit. It's in the violence of action when I shower in water drawn straight from a shallow river. When you see me again, is up to you. When you see me again will be for the first time. When I see you again I will know who once was and where he went wrong. That will be written on your face. It will be in the mixture of your drink. It will be in the grip of your handshake. This is why I need help. I need it from all of you. I need it from all of them. I need it from myself. Fucking send it.
No matter. Don't sweat it. I'm being polite. I need everything. I am no longer self sustaining. But I need this most.
Pretend I am a starving kid in Burma. Or a hooker down the hall. I need the help. So give it to me.
On a Saturday in late Septemer, I will look over at you and smile. You won't really know why, and you'll tell me I need to eat and stop drinking. I'll stop smiling, loosen my tie, press my glass against my forehead, close my eyes and pray. You will not think of it again. I will carry that afternoon with me forever. The day I realized why I desired to come back. I thank you in advance. I'll be too drunk to do it when I'm there.
On a Thursday in mid July, I will wonder where you are. I will walk a street I'e driven a million times before and not know where to go. You will be sick of my pressence. You will stay away to dine peacefully with a girl you hate. This moment I will forget as I drink myself to remember memories forgotten. I will never bring the deamons back after that night. You will never thank me. I will always hold it agains you.

Black Debbie

2007-02-07T10:58:00.000-08:00

Right. Digital vats of urine. That's what life is all about. Because I am beyond the moon. No. I'm bullshitting. Life is all about better shit. And I'm from right here. Except more over there than here. At best, it's there. But it's in my heart. So, it's here. In a way. But not really.
www.pornotube.com is the greatest thing ever to happen to me. If you don't count MILF porn. Which you can. Especially on that site.
I can't believe that stupid bitch stole my idea of driving with a diaper on to save time. I just wanted to do it to further my lazy tendencies. She wanted to try and kidnap someone. All good ideas are destroyed by crazy people.
I would like a girlfriend. Seriously. I want her to be just like me, except I want her to like her job. It would also be beneficial if she didn't have a cock. Personality wise, she needs to be like me. She needs to be pretty, like me. She also needs to be funny.
There is some bullshit going on at work and I don't want to be part of it because I hate ceremonies. I hate formalities. I hate parties. I hate work-related-fun. I like nonwork-related-fun. Like not working. I like not seeing the people I work with for 15 minutes a day after the drive home, after the shower, before I blog and then after when I listen to music as I go to sleep. That's not fun. But at least I'm not at work.
Another thing I am not a big fan of is the lack of attractive women meandering about my apartment.
This whole new plan. Won't work. I hate to be the one to tell ou this. But it won't. Nothing will work. Nothing short of fire and salt. Maybe a lime. I'm sure if we introduced Rum it would be easier. Like how we got rid of the Indians. Feathers not dots. Only with rum. And less land stealing. That would be nice.
When I answer for my sins, you will not be one. I hope I believe it. I pray my belief makes it true. I know it won't. Your brains. That wall. My hand. Not sorry. I laughed. Pretty texture. Strange smell. See you.

Lift Your Skinny Fists Like Antennas To Heaven

2007-02-05T08:33:00.000-08:00

Right. I am not positive that I want to die. But I am sure I do not want to live with the images occupying my mind. I'm not sure how it's going to work out. But I think the solution involves me getting my real estate license.
The shit of it is, is that I have no asylum and King Solomon left long ago. The service I can provide is immaterial because there is no need for stop gap problems to a permanent solution. I refuse to believe this so I continue to wash my hands in dirt.
Something was once very special here. Once, God used this land as his thrown. Once. Now, the land is as barren as the hearts of the ancestors of the men who drove God away from here. Now. Tomorrow I will awake from a light sleep and run. I will run until I sweat out the knowledge I gained and my heart beats so fast I take 50 years off my life. Tomorrow.

Operating Room

2007-01-23T11:47:00.000-08:00

Right. I know that is a played out picture. But fuck off because I took that one so it rules. It's way better than anyone you've ever seen before. Deal with it. It's out of my control.
What is going on in your world? I'm interested. But only as interested as I have to be for the sake of keeping you around long enough for me to steal from your wallet. I don't even care if it is money I steal. I will get that crushed mint and business card from 1992 and 1987, respectively. It isn't my fault so much as it is yours, because you know I like to keep my breath fresh and call numbers that don't belong to whom I am calling any longer. I like to call them and ask for the previous owner of the number. Then I like to shuck and jive with them. You know this. You know how I live for short snippet adventures into lives of strangers. So if you would simply not keep them shits in your wallet, I wouldn't be forced to steal from you.
When my shit from Amazon gets here, I'll have something better to read. This crap I am trying to read now blows. It not only blows. It eats. It not only blows and eats. It sucks. It does anything you can think of relating to shoving a big mess of crap into your mouth.
Today, I did one pull up, 25 times, in a row. So I guess I did 25 pull ups. But I did like 100 throughout the day. I also ran 8 miles today. Fast. Under a 7 minute pace. But just under. I think the last mile was like 9. I was beat.
This sty on my eye is beginning to swell and puss and turn green and bloodshot my eye and all in all make it look like I have leprosy or some shit.
My piss still smells like popcorn.
I might need some help. I've got serious issues.

I Dee

2007-01-22T11:48:00.000-08:00

Right. When I piss, it smells like popcorn. Anyone want to tell me what that is all about? Unkind is my new myspace friend. Cocaine needs to get on board with this bullshit. It wastes my time. I like wasted time.
Work is preventing me from doing crossword puzzles, word jumbles, reading the paper and Sudoku. Fuck work. I have the worst sty one my right eye you've ever seen. It is giant and bothersome and it is all around gross.
I want to hire someone to take pictures of my life. I want him to develop those pictures in black and white and I want them to make some meaning of all this.

Return Of The Loop Digga

2007-01-18T04:40:00.000-08:00

Right. On a field in Mycenae I watched an Amazon start a fire engulfing armies 4,000 years ago. I stood in amazement as the blaze purified my skin and as I died, I named her Athena. I watched another man give her a necklace and her bless him for it. I first felt the desire of contact, but I died having only touched her wrath.
She was already in power when I met her 3,000 years ago. She was another's wife and the object of my passion. The most perfect woman to come, Nefertiti, I watched her rule when her husband died. She vanished and when she left, so did my will. I wanted only to see her eyes, but saw only her beauty.
She sat level to the masses, yet in a tower above as she orchestrated a rise to power. She gave a son to a grey eyed descendent of Venus 2,000 years ago. She then gave his best friend three children. I fled a nation as news of her suicide spread. Her whole life I wanted to see Cleopatra, but would have died knowing only her ambition.
Her husband died 1,000 years ago. She tried to make peace with the enemies of her husband in order to protect her son. I wept as she was exiled, but drank as she returned to make peace between her son and his enemies. I thirsted for the sight of Empress Agnes, but drank only her mercy.
She dressed as a man and led inferior men to defeat the English 500 years ago. I fought under her determination. I was inspired by her bravery. I devoted myself to her defiance. She would be executed, and later canonized as Joan of Arc. I fell in love again because of her purity and wanting to hold only her, I only held her divinity.
I'll never meet her today. I'll never hear her voice, follow her spirit, feel her rage or change her tire. I will know she exists, and for the first time in the history of man, the world will not be alerted to her presence. I take comfort in her aura. She is the inspiration for God. I have dreamt of her taking me to see 300. I will live this life wanting only to feel her, but will only feel her humility.

Font Of Putrescence

2007-01-17T09:10:00.000-08:00

Right. I spend more time looking for a picture to post than I actually do writing anything. I spend more time writing anything than I actually do paying attention to what I am writing.
I am about to go somewhere for a little bit. I can't talk about where. So drop it.
A social thought process information train is all fucked up, with a plague of madness. But on the plus side, I knocked over the sun-sphere.
I want to take pictures. I want to take pictures and call them photographs. I want to take photographs and call them art. I want to call them art and give them imperious names like, "Cliche Alchemy." I want to hang Cliche Alchemy on a wall in a gallery and talk to people about how great Kurt Vonnegut is. I want to talk about how great Kurt Vonnegut is and sip wine. I want to sip wine while laughing about the vulgar plebs who don't watch foreign films. I want to laugh at the vulgar plebs who don't watch foreign films when I notice a girl in Seven Jeans. I want to notice a girl wearing Seven jeans and show her my photography. I want to show her my photography and talk about the texture and layers I employ when framing my mind's eye. Then, when it the night is over, I want to quickly walk past the homeless and scoff at my fortunes - to a God I don't believe in.