Insertion Points

"Monetary stimulus doesn't create jobs or economic growth, but does increase government power and reduce individual freedom." -- James A. Dorn, Cato Vice President for Academic Affairs.

Just a little something I wanted to share, considering the passage of the Bush tax cut extension, and another year of the bullshit stimulus packages (fuckin' hand outs!) I'll be letting the business manager where I work know that I want to take that much more out for federal during this next year. You know, see how much we're supposed to "get" and marginalize how much a month should be deducted or sent back because I don't want anything to do with stimulus.

How does that even help anyway? Sure, you meet the 2% federal target for inflation, or I suppose you do, how are we informed about what happens in the High Castle without alternative media and anti-government conceal-and-carry card holder bloggers (insert chuckles from like-minded Americans) That was a joke, btw. And that inflation-thing, not always correct to what I've just illiterate, but a hell of a lot better than the 5.6% we saw in July 2008 or the 10% average in the year 1974. But enough of that soap-box rant, I want to talk about absurd abbreviations.

Ftw, rtfo; I bring this to light, as I have in a past blog because for the better part of this year, when these two phrases were synonymous to I'm so cool I keep up with Twitter lingo, I seriously thought these two expressions were some arbitrary purposeful misconfiguration of what the fuck (wtf) and rolling on the floor laughing (rotfl, or once more shortened to rotf) Ftw is short for For The Win.

It didn't make sense to me why someone would say fuck the what, and I'm guessing ? after that phrase, as if to say, "I'm going to fuck the what?" Maybe it's appropriate to sport one of these !? to emphasize shock-value. Rolling the floor on -- maybe cute if you were Superman's mirrored evil-doer Bizarro and you flew backwards and said hello when you left a room. I don't mind this expression considering it actually stands for Rocking the fuck out, which I do...rock the fuck out...I'm a rockin' stud...like a rock...with my cock out.. ... .... (laughing) somebody change the subject now, please, so I don't lose face.

Humility, lady and gentleman, my one reader or perhaps he's brought a girl to join us, not so much because we're gonna tag-team fuck her; I like to think I'm entertaining, I like to think he thinks I'm entertaining, maybe I'm so thought of as entertaining he's brought a friend to view my blog, maybe they're both chicks, dammit, I really need to end this sentence.

Does this sound familiar? I hope so. It's an almost complete word-for-word of my other abbreviation post. How do I know this? Patience, quality, humility, and calculation, with hope as the whip-topping, even though pie is better as pie, fuck that a la mode, x-times dessert preference, you've got pie, there's your dessert. Four pieces of a pie that I formulate makes us some cool-ass civil people. Patience, a huge word with many meanings, many things come into account when being patient. Quality, or care, forethought, stringing together with appreciation, and gratitude. That's correct, this shit's string-theory! It truly spreads out to more great and greater things. Humility because we have to accept short-comings (I have a dirty mind when it comes to short-comings) Sometimes, our flaws are pointed out to us, and we begin calculation, or review/inner-reflection (breaking ourselves down)

I say that last thing like everyone is so lethargic these days that that's what we do anymore instead of analysis; our mind's just tear ourselves down. It can't be that bad, right? I mean, it's not like we're losing interpersonal communication between one another due to popular social networks, that now when you want to mingle, it's a few clicks and you're on the internet with your buddies. Wanna socialize and interact with your buddies? Go to the newest installments of the Xbox or Playstation. Depending on who the person is to you, we don't actually care what happens to them. A friend you met while playing Call of Duty isn't going to be missed if they get killed in a car accident, just another person you use in order to play a certain map (get something you want) that again, because that person isn't there with you, personally, it's cool to go out driving and purposefully annoy the other people around you; cut them off in traffic because they got in your way, and there's no way they might try to retaliate, like that news story of the teenager who got shot in the head at a red light for looking at the driver beside him, supposedly the wrong way at looking toward that other individual. Unintentional wrong looks in traffic get you killed. Do we really care about one another anymore, most of us?

Listening to people. I might nod, perhaps look unenthusiastic, I might rub my eye, look off in another direction; I'm still listening. In fact, question me if you must -- what was I just fucking telling you? That velociraptor's make the best talk-show hosts. Why was that? Because unlike all the other theropod dinosaurs, the velociraptor looks the most like Johnny Carson without a sport coat, unless, of course, you dress the dinosaur up and give him a wig...

The Trickledown Effect

I suppose that title is appropriate. I will be talking about urine again, as well as airport security.

I've been to a few airports myself. It has never been a big deal when approaching a security terminal for a "pat-down" -- isn't it a great day for a frisking, it's always a great day for a full-body scan! Some people invoke the awkward stares or the much dreaded temporary set back, such as being detained for wearing baggy black jean shorts that ride down to your ankles, with chains embedded in the fabric; also adding to the goth-trend, metal rings which line the hemmed lining of the pants. Dress down for the airport. Skin tight is preferred (I'm not serious)
Obviously don't wear something that's going to standout. Only a moron would be that absentminded to dress with metal sewn in to their clothes before undertaking a metal-detector walk-through.

These people at the terminals are trained members of a disorganized hierarchy. Why you were patted down? Something set them off. Get your fucking basket, start loading it with the required items that need scanning -- electronic devices, carry-ons, your shoes -- there's three right there. Do not loiter. Standing around like a baffoon, unless you're on the other side of that security station, stand around, walking around; you've been scanned, you are now labeled safe. Just keep moving down the line until you are finished. Ask questions if you must, but don't go in telling every official you see working in the airport that you:

a.) have a request
b.) have a problem with the rules provided
c.) complain that if you are touched in a certain spot on your body a bag of urine will burst (or that the seal on your urostomy bag can be dislodged easily while you endure a pat-down in progress)

Go in with everything you will need to present to the airport officials. Let's say my name is Tom Sawyer of Romulus, Michigan. I've got a urostomy bag strapped to the side of my hip that I know is going to be a problem. I mean let's narrow it down to it's general form, but not it's most general form, a plastic bag of waste, more so a bag of liquid. It's my understanding liquids and powders are prohibited. Best case scenario, I should have a medicinal postulation from my physician, proof that my word that I've had bladder cancer is not false, that I should further bring this to light of airport security before entering the terminal. I can remember my grandma being worried that she wouldn't be able to walk from her plane at one end of the airport, to her boarding terminal clear across the way, so what does she do, she asks for assistance. Liaisons amongst the sea of passengers are there to be guidance to the many novice travelers milling about the airport. Let them approach security officials to take the proper action.

Now to bring you all up to speed on what this post is about. A man from Michigan who had undergone radiation and survived the bladder cancer that afflicted him happened to be traveling this past weekend. His bladder, depleted by the deadly cancer and more than likely a surgery or two he had undergone, if that was his path in fighting his cancer, that route or radiation, and so nowadays he's got a bag he carries on his belt that holds his urine, acting as a replacement bladder. Now that the TSA standards in airport security have been heightened due to the terrorism scare with those transported packages let's say two months ago on the east coast, it's a bitch, sort of speak, to fly these days. Tom Sawyer, if I didn't already state his name above, I did, I remember using it in my little scenario...entered the security lanes in order to gain clearance to board his airplane. He walked up, stated he had a urostomy bag on his belt that the official should watch for, as they began patting him down for weapons, contraband, bags of urine...When the patting became rougher due to the airline official probably feeling as well as now fully aware something was bulging from the side of this individual's pants, Mr. Sawyer made it aware that if they continued knocking the bag on his hip around, the seal would break and he'd be covered in urine. He was whisked away to a detachment room, now soaked in his own urine because they did in fact break the seal.

I want it to be clear that the reason security officials at the airport come off as pricks is because they are a minority. They are trained by someone higher up than them on the regulations, they in turn enforce the regulations, it's really just a matter of better training protocols for such an event as another Mr. Sawyer coming in with another similar medical disability. The sooner these reporters at these media conglomerates realize that the better. Although, is that really the best solution?

Here's a thought: instead of tacking on more clauses and paragraphs to already confusing, shitty regulations, let's be practical. The safety of the passengers, the comfort felt by our passengers and air travelers alike should be the concern, not whether we are ignoring or allowing the next would-be terrorist to act on his or her motives. Do you have any medical conditions we should know about before you proceed to security? There's a starter question because we already have in-place signs that point out what you'll need ready while waiting. We're not fucking cattle! Treat us with respect and stop assuming. The only exercise some people get is jumping to conclusions, running down their friends, side-stepping responsibility, and pushing their luck! On the side of the officials, people need to exert common sense. As far as the side saying the TSA is at fault, take into consideration that these are people with jobs. The paranoia and anxiety of past events are going to take precedence in matters of security and what to look for. Body language says a lot. Get informed, ask for assistance, get on the side of those officials. It's a smoother transaction that way...

The Hundred Post

I didn't want to make my 100th post anything, but a message I received loud and clear. That message was:

Manu: Hey, how would you fancy some new Gmail themes?Jake: Sure, I would love that! How usable are they?Manu: ...

Gibberish to you, perhaps dialogue in a teleplay or script if it at all resembles anything in your mind. I'm feeling inclined to explain why this sentence has touched me, while its beginnings aren't as important.

I was going to first check an online comic, but then I jumped to Gmail instead. Before signing in I happened to glance down on the page and noticed that sentence. Why it struck me the way it does to relate it to you in a blog -- to even bring the topic up at all.

Now I'm just going to jump into it. Let me first explain the origins of that sentence further. Manu Cornet is a software engineer for Google. They in turn just released new themes for Google blog, and the engineering team behind it created tutorials demonstrating how the themes could be used. He must have a friend named Jake.

I have a friend named Jake. I wrote a screenplay about his persona, mirroring him, but not necessarily his lifestyle, same first name, different and perhaps better last name (Lipshits) all set in the late 50's-early 60's, and on top of that, outrageously zany!

Now I'm completing a book, mirroring only slightly towards a parallel universe of my old newspaper comic Cecil and Jake, with two living humans Cecil and Wade, who live with a refugee robot named Showalter. Cecil Mamou and Wade (Jake) Ilgauskas. Again, mirroring a cartoon character nobody has ever heard of based on a friend of mine, but only merely his overall look and a tad of the demeanor -- they're major characters on a minor scale. That's beyond coincidental to have Jake and Manu close to Mamou in the same sentence, conversational as it is.

This has me remarkably absorbed in my work on that book and I'm hoping the next few weeks will yield some rewarding pages, out of such peculiar circumstances. Hell, might as well take advantage of fate ; ) yeah yeah, I'm not that impressionable.
I feel that if you can change the mood of a tale within a page, it keeps you on the edge as a reader. Page 147 and on!

Realism

Have people turned against Barack Obama because he doesn't have super powers!? What if he had strong-breath -- not too warm of breath...on the back of your neck; not too cold of breath, for whatever reason, maybe he's an ice cream fanatic...again, on the back of your neck from out of the shadows of your darkened apartment whilst you fumble around for a light switch -- but strong-breath, that could push away and change the direction of the colliding winds of a hurricane (perhaps the next Katrina) or enough of a violently strong breath that could blow clear a rock slide that a commuter train is barreling at max speed towards. Barack Obama sails through the clouds on his breath-boost, his regular means of travel.

Maybe the American voters were assured he was a superhero, and when disaster struck as it did in the form of an oil-line blow out and leak that happened in those Haliburton-owned oil drills in the gulf, they figured, "Fuckin' piece of cake! We'll just get Obama to travel down to the gulf and blow that oil out of the water, hell, maybe his powers work in the reverse way, he'll suck all that oil up and spit it into the last of the H2 hummers to blast and burn it out in a competitive hummer drag-racing spectacle held in Alabamie!" "Fuckin' I'll get tanked on wood finish and a 24 cube a-DA-DE-DANGA-DUH-D-D-DY-ANG'L Bama gonna blow dar oyle out d'gulf, I'll tell you what!" Instead of being the savior we all thought he'd be, he did what any person in his power will do, and tried reassuring people and hugging and making the nice with the fishermen and women of the gulf by touring the coast and delivering solace speeches. The man had nothing for you. He wasn't a driller, or the head of BP who you placed in front of the firing squad. Nobody seemed to fathom the severity of it all.

So the Democrats rammed Health reform down our throats; we had expert Medicare defrauder assholes making a business off the cracks and seepage already rampant and exploited within the system; that's where I stop on the whole health care reform because it wasn't necessary and that's about all I care to know that was wrong there, and people thought the economy should have been first to bat. Think of that reform as your house after a party that got way out of hand, with hundreds of people in your house and outside your house, and you're finding red cups of God knows what in the tank of the toilet or smashed under a mattress or amongst your mother's fine china. There's more of a mess, and you've decided to draw all your house cleaning skills and attention towards finding all the weird hiding places with evidence of what happened that weekend stuffed in those benign locations like someone's car keys at the bottom of the fish tank lying next to a half-eaten Baby Ruth, and just you fucking wait until you find where someone puked. Then you realize the party extended way into the back yard and wooded area behind your house, oh fuck me more trash and cups and loads of vomit and which one of my dickhead friends started a fire! God damn! That's our economy compared to passing a health care reform bill.

That's it, two years in order to correct the catastrophe that was the Bush Administration, really? I saw a junk email that had been passed around more times then 4 bowls passed around a full room of stoners in a party-house's attic, depicting Obama standing in the forefront of mass destruction as if the end of the world just occurred, he had caused it, lived through it, and relished it, with a speech bubble stating, "Well, my job is done." I would have interpreted it a different way. One man standing, responsible for cleaning up a mess left for him. "This is fuckin' bullshit, for ALL THIS! This back here, this rubble, New York, Washington left to waste...this is New York, D.C., not Detroit or Los Angeles, my lord (not Allah) I get a broom and a bucket, while you all in the bicameral house and senate sit around thumbing each other off, name-calling, spit wads, blowing vuvuzelas whenever a rival party affiliate takes the podium."

My next post is the big 100. And I was amazed I reached 50.

Receipts; then "Projects" revisited

Tell me what the significance is of receiving a receipt for print-offs you've made that convey garbage, essentially garbage -- nothing at all important on the pages. Important in your opinion; evidence of one of the many "projects" you start, to have meaning, I can't really speak on their behalf. How I'm starting this topic today is me trying to convey how people, for whatever worthy value it has to them, will begin these cretinous projects as busy-work so the dullness of their lives doesn't drive them insane, although usually they're beyond that point.

Projects include recipe boxes. I'll stop there. You have no idea how many times I've been to foodnetwork.com to collect recipes for my new recipe box! Or, how I want them to print like ordinary note cards without me having to cut each one to note card size with scissors, only my knowledge of a computer is very limited because I'm a moron that perhaps Microsoft Word and cut and paste aren't enough of a computer degree to get my sheets to print in the dimensions of a note card. Computer degree? I don't HAVE a computer degree, this is basic computer know-how. Yet showing and instructing a person on the simple commands needed to input on the computer what it is you want it to do (all mistakes are human-error in computers. The computers aren't stupid the operators are) you still end up doing it for them. It's like people aren't willing to learn, but they're still drawn to the computer. They still need it, be it social hour, to read, to research, to fuck around for them.

Projects include contacting manufacturers of a certain product through a hypertext link-to-Microsoft Outlook, yet you're on a public access computer which would not include your personal information on it or in it, but no body's because who sets up Microsoft Outlook in advanced for you, when we were programming these computer terminals. Given your limited knowledge I'm sure you're as useless with Outlook as you are the simplest of Office's software, Microsoft Word.

This isn't me reaming someone for their absurd behavior, the behavior is unnecessary. Before you can use a computer you should probably know how to use a computer. Why wouldn't that be the first steps in becoming familiar with a new computer system? I have Rosetta Stone installed on my computer at home so I can learn Spanish or Japanese. A learning-a-new-language based software suite already installed on my computer before I even began speaking these other languages. Preemptive, right? The intelligent way of doing things, what a concept!

Why is it so difficult for some people? Does it have something to do with how much harder they make things on themselves? I admit it, I'm scatterbrained. I'll stop typing to collect my thoughts and organize my ideas in my head while completing one of these blog posts, especially these long ones; you probably know what I'm talking about. When these sorts of people who start "projects" or demand a receipt for any printing they happen to do even if it's color-sheets for pre-schoolers begin to think up what it is they will do for the day instead of finding themselves a job, their decisions and actions following are as spontaneous as the ideas in their heads. It's no wonder I find these individuals grotesque, just bat-shit crazy instigators and troublemakers.

I would like a receipt for these. For what? A five page printout totaling fifty cents, uh, black and white prints at ten cents per page, you had five, here's your verbal receipt, what the fuck are you talking about a receipt print out, for what? I'm sorry we don't print receipts. So sad, it's something we won't be doing for you. Is that it, does that aggravate people now. That you aren't bending to their whim. Could it be they are so accustomed to being handed a receipt. Minute request or not, just accept a no for an answer.

Deciphering Harmful Discipline

I was at a Wendy's recently, and in some instances, if I'm eating or listening to someone try and talk or tell me something important, which I was listening to a family member of mine while eating, my mind drifts off, and I start paying more attention to the things around me. I think they have a term for such people. They are usually diagnosed as having A.D.H.D. As my mind drifted off, I happened to be within earshot of the couple sitting a few feet from us, and their kids, two little, wee girls, I mean this to convey their ages, and a boy, around 5 or 6. The father, or, how I saw it, the kid-parent, was trying to make the boy mind. I noticed he had chili to eat and a few fries, and his teenaged father was pleading with him, "Eat your chili." And of course when he wasn't eating, he was playing with his younger, but not the youngest of the sisters. He chased her around and what not; what little kids are best known for, playing and running a muck. While this went on, the father continued to have to sit his son down and give him the spoon in order to finish his meal. "Eat your chili! C'mon, do you want it to get cold!?"

Juggling these events and what my mom was talking about, I couldn't help, but smile, and before I knew it, it was with this that I just burst out in laughter. The son publicly defying the young father and his inattentive mother who I believe was more interested in her cell phone. That's usually how it is with this young parents these days. Whatever's on that cell phone is vastly more important then keeping your kids at the table, and from trying to climb all over the place. Grabbing the receipt, and mind you, the son was 5 or 6, in that kindergarten age, but unaware of addition and subtraction, or for that matter, what money amounts to and what's the worth of certain items, the kid grabs the check, looks at the total probably being the biggest highlighted numbers on the slip of paper and read off the price. Then he says, and was what kept me in stitches, "You paid 25.46 for all this?!" as if that was a rip-off for a family of five, as though he were having to split the bill, as if he even knew what that meant.

It was the way he said it. Disappointed. Enraged that his father made so much to keep them fed, and this was what he spent his money on. Burgers and fries, and 25 dollars and 46 cents worth of Wendys. This is what you got for this!? I would've knocked him out, any parent who disliked sass and a little being like this telling them what's what would've bludgeoned that boy if someone would not have stepped forward and turned them in. What's with that? I'll turn you in. To whom? Do you really have social services on speed dial like that? What is this shit, more of that oversensitive cock mockery because someone took a Lifetime Television movie too seriously on child abuse that a little swat on the behind means call social services? Those same cowards who would rather text or tweet about unimportant shit on the Internet then actually observe the interaction between father and son. There's the dead giveaway. How was the swat, spanking intended? For one to mind, or to intentionally hurt? A bad, steer clear of the waters-type judgment call. And as far as most people tend to observe things, they're better to keep their mouths shut on how someone raises their kids. Let's say this, if that belt snakes its way out of its loop-restraints around that father's waist, there's your motion to call. A defenseless kid is getting slammed against the counter and slapped repeatedly, there's another call. A father flicks his kid in the back of the ear, the kid recoils, "owww" kicks him in the shin, the father mock-boxes with his little shit kicker kid, restraining his arms back in a wrestling lock that's just playing around and not rough at all. Probably not the best scenario to intervene. Let's face it, probably wasn't the best scenario to go with in trying to prove a point.

Austin Smith in: "S.H.E. kinda sucked"

When I was in the first grade I was a huge fan of the movie Aladdin. That Disney film was the shit, and there was literally nothing cooler than having a genie at your disposal. They made a sequel to it the summer before, and I remember the second nine-weeks of that first grade year for me, both first grade classes got together to have a movie pizza party thing, which I was looking forward to because shit, it's a sequel to my favorite movie of all time in that point of my life. I just knew it was a new movie with Aladdin in it and I wanted so badly to see it and I was going to, pizza/movie party that Friday, whenever the hell it was we did that, second nine weeks whatever. It must have been later in the school year because before that we had an indoor recess because of rain, or maybe we were so far ahead with our learning that the teachers decided to have a fun day along with the movie/pizza thing, I've drank that memory away.

Here we were first grade, Mrs. Stoss' classroom, me, Brittany Caswell, Devin Maxwell, Cameron (don't remember his last name, maybe Green, or was it Devin) had just finished playing Sorry, and were about to start The Addams Family Reunion board game, which at the time was the sought after board game if you weren't playing Twister. We had to choose characters to be. I was a pudgy kid back then and Devin made a crack about my weight by suggesting I be Pugsley and I really should have like burst into tears or told the teacher that he was picking on my weight, but I wasn't one of those over-sensitive kids, I let him know that I didn't want to play as the fat kid from the movie, I wanted to be the "butler." And I said that. "I want to be the butler." Back in this time of my life and most of grade school I had what was commonly referred to as a speech impediment. I had trouble with L's and R's. I remember saying as clearly as I could with said speech impediment, "I want to be the butler." And everyone at the table gave me a blank stare. "Lurch the butler." Nobody handed me the player game piece for Lurch, Devin got up instead, and went over to the teacher, said something, and she came over to me. I was asked to stepped out into the hall, which I did, and she informed me that that kind of language was inappropriate and I was given in-school suspension.

I remember pleading my case. "But I didn't cuss."
"Devin told me you called him a butthole."
"What!? No. I said butler. Like Lurch the butler from The Addams Family."
"Austin, three other people heard you call him a...that word."
"I didn't. I swear. I said Lurch the butler."
"What are you even talking about? Forget it. I'm assigning you extra workbook work to do out in the hall for the remainder of the class period. That kind of language won't be tolerated around here."

Out in the hall I went with my workbook and of course I cried - I had no idea what was going on. A friend of mine had told on me for something I didn't do, the teacher was mad at me, and further more, I had to finish this workbook and I didn't get to have any fun like everyone else. People passed me in the hall and wouldn't look at me because I had obviously done something wrong in order to be sent out in to the hall.

Skip forward a week. The big movie/pizza party with Aladdin II on the big screen. Why did I say it that way? It wasn't even a big screen! It was a Sylvania television, probably a 30 incher wheeled in on a dolly. I couldn't wait until the movie started and OH MY GOD pepperoni pizza from Godfathers, fuckin A! I had been thinking about this and looking forward to it like it was a birthday. Godfathers pizza - you can see now how I got pudgy.

There was a kid in my first grade class that I didn't fuckin' like. He never socialized and when he did, it was a bullshit social convention, the other person would end up talking more, and I didn't like his name; I don't know if it was Jeff or Jiff, I fucking hated him and I always called him peanut butter or peanut-butt in order to haze him. To him I was a meany and yes I cursed at him, and not my friend Devin a week before. Out on the playground me and Brandon Royer and that Cameron-kid were thinking up ways to be mean to Jiff who had taken over the boy's club and that was our regular haunt and we wanted it back. I double-dared Brandon to punch him in the back, and Cameron double-dared me to, so I triple-doggy dared Cameron to, and then somehow somebody suggested I pee on him, so again, not wanting to do it, I double-dared Brandon to and they both triple-doggy dared me to. Drats! No more dares, I had to do it. Not wanting to, I stood behind Jiff who at this point had not turned around from his sitting position in the sand doing God knows what, he hadn't noticed us at all. So I act like I zipped down my pants, and I'm sheepishly grinning back at the two devils a few yards behind me and they're laughing, and that's when I realized, what the heck am I doing this for, I wouldn't want to get peed on. So I zipped up and mozied on back to Cameron and Brandon. They were on to me; I hadn't done anything.

"Bull you did it!"
"I couldn't do it!"
"Wuss!"
"I don't care. I'm a wuss."
"We're still gonna tell!"

I remember actually feeling taken aback - it's been so long since that happened, but I seriously was like TWIST! That's fuckin' treasonous. And they did. They ran back to the recess aide, and me not knowing what to do, I hid under the wooden draw bridge trying desperately to be out of sight. They didn't lie and say I did something else, I was accused of peeing on this kid.

This was always my favored line in the questioning I had with Mrs. Soldner(sp) the student councilor and the Principal at that time. When you're being accused of something that almost happened, but in fact didn't, you'll try to swing that pendulum in your direction, right. I tried reasoning, "But if I peed on that kid, why didn't he notice me, why hadn't he gotten up or simply spotted me coming up behind him?" And that was truth. He never got up. In fact it took the recess aide and those two little bastards who ratted on me getting his attention and marching him inside. Could it be that I hadn't peed on that kid's back?

In their defense, that kid's neck was wet...with perspiration. It was sweat. I hadn't peed on him. For one, supposedly acting out a near week ago with the whole "butler" "butthole" thing, and now this, two other kids testifying that I peed on the kid's back. It didn't look good.

Now the shit kicker. The sister of the kid I supposedly peed on started treating me bad. One of my "punishments" - surreal punishment at that; on our playground when they needed to pour new sand, they boarded along the grass, and well, as sprinting, unbridled and wild kids, we might trip and break something; there was a certainty we could do that, might hurt ourselves, yeah, but as punishment, walking along atop the wooden long-ass fucking girder, boundary what-have-you like we were in a Vietnamese POW camp standing on bottles barefoot, this was nothing. Out the window go your rights to a break. How many others have slipped through the cracks like this?

Five days of walking atop those girders, plus immediate in-school suspension possible out of school suspension if I did something again. Herein lies the shit kicker, consistently making fun of me because again, I was a pudgy kid, she hit me with weight insults. I told her she had a big nose and her and her friends were stupid girls. I was an innocent little kid, I didn't insult well. Things weren't as graphically verbal and nasty as the things that would have been said now on the playgrounds. Truly nasty and vulgar shit!

After awhile, it started to wear me down. Always, whenever I went by that certain grouping of trees there were the girls and their insults. How could I get them back? And it came to me after the fifth day. I acted as though I had to walk those wood blanks again. I came upon the tree and there they were as always. Right away they began with those hurting words. No matter what code there might be in place warning against striking girls, and going in to second grade the boys knew better to not hit girls. Other guys, it was okay. Never ladies.

I walked over there in a huff, and they started yelling, "Ummm, we're telling." And I replied, "Go ahead. I don't have to walk the track today." She just stood there unaware that I had the intent to knock her out and before I knew it my fist had made contact with the bridge of her nose, and I had her face-blood on my knuckles. Again, through the cafeteria entrance I was thrust by my held hand by some teacher, don't remember who. I faintly recall seeing the girl after I was permitted to use the restroom, and it must have hurt like hell to get your nose broken...stepping over that line. I didn't show her sympathy at the time. You run your mouth you deserve what you get. Sooner or later I probably would have learned that myself from Jiff or Geoff once he was fed up and slugged me back.
You don't pee on another person. I've read Shogun -- in feudal Japan that was the ultimate fuck you. At the time of the incident it struck me more as comical. Pee, piss, all funny words. I knew right from wrong, and knew it wasn't a normal thing to pee on someone or deface another person with piss.

When they informed my parents, both of them disbelieved what I was accused of, particularly noting that Jiff or Geoff knew nothing of me standing behind him, nor would they believe the absurdity of the whole situation. It was unlike me. Hitting a girl was a different story, and I told my side, and they agreed she should not have been picking on me. Over the years self defense has taken a different meaning with my parents, me realizing this later in high school. My dad has always been a pacifist when it comes to fights, but if you're threatened and need to defend yourself then do it. The girl was asking for it. In a way I was too picking on Jiff or Geoff. That's all retaliation on his sister's part and false accusation on mine when considering the did he pee, not pee. I would have admitted to it by now if it were true.

Just like it wasn't true I damaged a wood block in band practice. Similar situation, big, school-wide assembly with two movie showings, Jack Frost and Miracle on 34th Street for Christmas, I didn't get to sit on my shitty ass flat carpet square on a basketball gymnasium, poking fun at the movie, nope, I spent my time in the Principal's office quarantine, being nudged to confess I did something I didn't. A wood block for band practice is not much of an instrument. I had banged on it during the practice because it was one of those late in the year practices where ensembles were the ones practicing and I just sat in the back with the drum section members, dicking around. That wood block took constant abuse. It was stomped on, it was beaten in beyond acceptable strikes on the wood, it was misused. I noticed the ends of it were cracking, so I stripped those off. They were more or less wooden shavings from the amount of abuse it endured, now, as an excuse to replace the wood block by which to threaten legal action if I didn't sign off on replacing it, the wood block being property of the school, them in turn wanting a fiberglass one instead of wood, which the fiberglass cost almost twice as would replacing the wood block with another wooden one that I supposedly damaged to the point where it did not sound right. Yeah, I stripped off the edges. Did I bang on that son of a bitch to make it have damages wood edges? No. Was I exacerbating the damage of the wood block by picking at the wood? When you banged on it it made a noise the wood block would normally make. It was a bunch more shit, like the time in football practice I got accused along with two other friends and a person who wasn't even on the football player roster nor was he in the locker room that time after school I supposedly instigated a fist fight between Trent Brawner and Matt Collier, resulting in broken eyeglasses for Trent. I was staying out of all that male testosterone shit, let em fight it out if they must. Besides, just getting out of the shower relieved I didn't smell anymore after practice were my only concerns. I needed to dry off and get dressed. I didn't have time for a fight. Yet I spent one whole day in ISS.

It's that failure rate in the system and me not wanting to die from a few bullet wounds that keeps me from pursuing a life-long dream of being on the police force. That, and I'm fat, I wouldn't last the academy. It does make a guy wonder. How many others went through school like I did where you were based on association, whomever you were supposedly associated with, which led to the type of treatment you received. I was constantly questioned if something fowl came afoot; if property was stolen, me and a group of my friends were always top of the list. That's how felons are created is it not? Weeding them out, right. How many kids aren't given the breaks like normal kids are? Sociologically, how many grew up to be criminals because they weren't brought up right?

Grogginess and Abrasiveness

HO-OOOOOOOOOOOOOOO HUM!

That's me yawning. I'm tired! I already wanna use a sick day, but I know that's not cool. To make another person work for me because I don't want to. Although you might not believe this, I've never taken a personal day. I have taken a lousy sick day, and by lousy sick day I mean that I either had a headache or body ache that limited me from wanting to do shit or I had eye pains or redness that limited my vision and it sucks cock to work at a computer when you're having trouble seeing shit. Then I'll call in. I'm not on my death bed, but I'm not singing, twirling around in a meadow in a dress, in the Alps either.

Which, doesn't it seem like those are the comparisons: you're either dying or 102% healthy, you can never be middle ground, and if you are, and enjoy your job, middle ground is still healthy, you pop a Benadryl and you make things so. When you're dying or wishing you were dead because you're unable to swallow and a mouth breather since your nostrils and head are stuffed and you're leaking snot and mucus all over yourself in a clinic waiting room and you've hoarded the tissue box, everyone considering it belonged to you, that you brought it in with you. No, it was once at the receptionist's desk. When it probably wasn't even safe for you to drive yourself to the clinic you're so miserable, leaving the pharmacy with like fifty little paper bags with instructions stapled to the outside of them, get yourself home and don't reconsider calling in, take some sick leave.

I, on the other hand, am alright. Never will I say I'm doing just fine it's always, oh, I could be better.

I think what's bothering me is how helpless everyone acts. If you aren't guiding them through everything by the hand, the most simple of tasks will always be so difficult for people. When Google couldn't list off any brain fart you had and was curious to search for on the Internet, you had to do a little research. What was at your disposal? An encyclopedia, journals, records, essentially books. You might even utilize a phone. Hohum, another yawn. I'm almost positive whatever quarry a person has about the computer is in regards to something irrelevant.

You want to know how you can get some revenue -- tax the Internet. You should also legalize marijuana around or near the time you decide to tax the Internet, you'll see an economic jump that's never been recorded before. Tax each person who uses the Internet, make it almost impossible to have free access anywhere. Hell, I can't get on open networks anymore because my neighbors have utilized placing a key phrase or password on their network. Remember when nobody did that and you could pick up a signal anywhere!? Then along the way someone mentioned most routers come with software to prohibit outsiders from stealing the net, and I think a movie or two was made, and someone became rich writing a book, no, an anthology on the practice, now everyone guards their backdoor. So tax 'em. There once was a shoe tax (repeat those words) there once was a shoe tax and a hat tax and a brick tax and a masturbation tax.

That's why there was not an economic crisis until our country was like a clown car and everybody was invited in. Or stole a seat. In a clown car? Okay okay. Everything had a tax. What freedoms we now have, huh! And we still can't get it to work. How spoiled we are, no one is holding anything over our heads. We don't have a king squeezing the inheritance out of us. We have a congress with the assistance of a stir crazy media using fear mongering against us.

And for crying out loud let the New Yorkers decide whether they want a mosque at ground zero. Obama opening his fucking mouth about it, Jesus, take a page from the Clinton book. You don't have to answer every question asked, you arrogant fuck! Cut his microphone! The federal government doesn't give a shit about ground zero. That's not hallowed ground to them. I'm still suspicious of the reasons why America was attacked. To stage a patriotic uprising in our own country; to boost the approval of nationalist power or to help fuel a holy war between Christians and Muslims? There's ulterior motives at hand. Communists used to stage events as propaganda to snag the opinion of their opponents, sort of like saying, tragedy was averted by the efforts of the Kremlin, this is what your country does for you, your country protects you, love your country. It's a thought. All I know is, what's the big deal whether you build in the location of an old Burlington Coat Factory where you can love the way you look, I guarantee it, two blocks down from supposed monument to the victims of 9/11, why the hell can't they have the mosque some place else. Are their other groups located around that neighborhood; a synagogue across the street, how about the nearest location of a Catholic church, where's that in vicinity of this Burlington Coat Factory? There's NOTHING! And it's to my knowledge that they can't even afford the renovations needed to turn the BCF, the KFC of clothes, into a mosque/community center, so where in the hell will they get their funding, overseas organizations or in-house? Shit like that makes my showers longer in the morning.

It's relaxing to stand under a sprayer hosing me down with warm water most of the time in the early morning right after I woke up. Being fully undressed helps. You don't want to be wearing a suit and taking a shower. Or maybe you do, I don't know your lifestyle. I have myself a plethora of shower-thoughts, most of them running down the drain with the soap and shampoo water because I'll be drying off trying to rethink what I was rambling about in my head in the shower and those thoughts are lost from grogginess.

Hunger. We just can't seem to live within our means. I get a new paycheck every month, the first thing I start doing towards the end of the month is figure up how much of that next check I can spend and how much needs to go away. They have a term for such practice - it's called budgeting. I need new headphones. I liked the cup-style of my old pair of headphones that snapped on me during my vacation in Wyoming and Montana. I've looked around and I don't think I like the way some of these manufactures are forming the earphone part of the speakers. Too much over the ear, I can guess I'll ear-sweat all over the inside of the cup. Not an important investment. Neither is a UK edition boxed set of the Harry Potter books or the HBO cowboy drama Deadwood for the first time on Blu ray. It worries me to think about how much money I've spent on useless shit; money that could have been building if I had only entrusted it to my bank account. I mean it's already paid for. I like cash, and if I make a card transaction, it's debit. I don't have to wait for a deduction at the end of the month or a bill for that matter. I've tried reasoning to myself, like Willie Nelson once said, what you earn you should spend. O nagging guilt.

HEAT AH HA!

Summer weather is hot, naturally so because our hemisphere of the world is directed right at the Sun; our axis tilted toward the sun, staring it down, gettin the ol' interrogation...

Jesus, personally to Jesus, it's fuckin' hot out there! Hot like Vietnam. In points of the heat and humidity, there's no air. A dead zone of heat -- the sweat making your clothes cling soaked to your skin. That's uncomfortable. It makes you question when you are among friends, am I sweaty down there? Do I have a huge sweat stain on my lower back, when really it feels like my shirt's wet. Drenched in sweat. My ass crack has to be wet. I've felt the sweat travel. A stream to a swamp.

Pools are a splendid way to beat the heat. I always imagine an extra dressed in an awkwardly rotund and cartoonish Sun costume, getting punched in the head by Thor's fist, get it, beat the heat? I have never imagined that whenever I say beat the heat. I'm kidding. Yes, every day should start out with a joke, like that video of the college elitist screaming, "Hey, don't taze me, bro! Don't taze me bro!" He was asking for it. That always leaves me in stitches. Or a joke about religion that makes you audibly express a AH HA! before clamming up and going about your day, maybe you're in striped pajamas with your zoo animals printed sheets, a joke is told to you, and you wake up right at its closure and express an AH HA! It's immediately time to brush teeth and no more mention of the joke. That's why I'm glad I'm not Asian.

The Japanese are starting to Americanize even though it's still awkward to see police with batons who know karate and can wield their weapon surround you blowing whistles and pointing in your direction if you cause a disturbance, like out of nowhere firing a gun in public, and by firing I mean unloading the clip. Afterwards, you surrender your weapon lying it on the concrete pavement, showing you surrender it with your hands in the air, and then walk away, hands sliding to your pockets, whistles getting blown. Have you really done anything wrong? Nobody's dead it just stirred people up. Ah, but you shot in the air and what goes up comes down. Try it sometime. You have every right to. Awkward Asians are those worried about losing face, so they get strict instead of their intended stoic outward appearance. Never smiling or laughing, and say you did tell him an inappropriate joke. He'd break your arm and your back! Don't worry about the Japanese flipping out on you like that since Shintoism is quickly being replaced by Judaism. AH HA!

I'm an Angry Old Man

I'm going to clarify something because in my last post I mentioned gardening, and how it's becoming a fad and not so much something you do as a hobby -- maybe your parents or somewhere down the line, a relative, convinced you to pursue gardening -- and it stuck. Whatever the reason, you like gardening because it's now a tradition and invokes lovely memories of your childhood with a favorite aunt or grandparent. That's sweet. Whatever it may be, you were raised on appreciating gardening.

Other things to consider before I move on. What is the difference between a fad and a hobby? A hobby is either an activity or an interest for the purpose of pleasure (HAPPINESS) or relaxation (TRANQUILITY) seemingly executed while a person wastes time. Truth be told, whenever you think, "I have nothing to do Saturday, I'll build a model ship," you are wasting time. Let me sneak in the definition of a fad, and then I'll come back to the topic of time. A fad is a practice or interest followed for a time with exaggerated zeal. Why gardening is not a trend? A trend is a movement. When there's a trend, there's a tendency to want to do it. A fad is an interest. You are interested in gardening, interested in learning to garden. Know the difference.

Wasting time is not a negative thing. I go to work to waste time, I eat lunch wasting time nourishing my body, I wash the bird shit off my car wasting time; wasting time meaning I bust into Time's home with a big gun while he's doing a fat line off the belly of a floozy and fondling a coked out, toothless, topless whore's sagging tits next to him, just a laughin' it up, and I waste that junkie. Time doesn't take what you do with it into consideration, every expired second is past-tense, so what you consider to do with time is irrelevant. And further more, our notion that what we see as time, actual time, is meaningless. We like to think we know time.

Now I might have just spoiled my opinion that gardening as a fad is a joke. If you have a spark of interest to do something, that's pure involvement. I say it's a fad like this new garage sale clothing fashion within the female culture. All this loose, cheap material for clothes that's not durable, that's a fad. You look like you just stepped out of the 70's. Clothes aren't designed to last anymore.

You're supposed to wear the item of clothing maybe a few times, and then go out and buy more shit, all made from cheap in quality distributors who make a killing buying cheap and selling loads more for a lot more. There's an example of a trend. This is the new thing because it works, we'll buy it regardless.

Fad deranged people will go out in their thin as tissue paper clothes that they've layered to match the other crap they wear, with their retro handbags, and they'll go out to Lowe's with a wikipedia intelligence on how to keep a potted plant alive, and buy more flowers than they know what to do with. They might live in a house or apartment with a terrace. If house, they've cleared ground for planting. Perhaps they have even gone as far as to ask the landlord if it's alright to grow some shit out on the roof of the apartment building, and since their apartment is next to the roof exit, they can go up there freely with a corner of the roof devoted to their plants. The reason why this notion is so appealing is they've seen a representation of such a venture and it strikes them that, "This is what I need in my life, let's make it happen." Gardening is a fad to these people because usually if they can't get it to work more than once, they abandon the notion all together. Right, to save money they spent on plants or seeds. Right. They don't have a green thumb. Right, right! Green thumb.

Are you positive you want to consume whatever it is you're growing in a cluttered and smog environment like, let's say an apartment complex rooftop in the heart of New York City? We're talking all the hazardous emissions from cars and automobiles all around you going into your food, how is it that your plants and vegetables aren't misshaped and not a natural color as the depiction on the packet of seeds? Instead of red ripe tomatoes, you get sickly yellow with dark tarnish spots on the skin tomatoes, that taste like an exhaust pipe. All speculation.

If you can't grow your stuff in a safe, clean environment, maybe you shouldn't be gardening. Yeah, tell that to those who treat gardening like it's a fad. Something they've picked up for god knows what reason, just to do it because everyone else is. And get this, I hate to garden. My reasoning because I have to get out in the sun, a big ball of hot in the sky that usually burns the shit out of me. Fuck putting on sun screen all the time, I've already got terribly bad oily skin, you don't have to go outside all the time, especially when it's way too fucking hot, I'll keep my white ass indoors thank you. But sure, for those who can't sit indoors to sit and relax or do something indoorsy you always have to be doing something because life as you know it is absentminded calamity, let's do this, now that, hey I've got an idea before you can enjoy what we were doing not twenty minutes ago...fuckin ssssllllllooooooooowwwww dddddddooooowwwwwwwnnnnnnnn. Not everything needs done right now at this second. You probably have way too much going on as it is.

Recap: if a garden has been a prospect of yours since before you owned your home, break some ground and grow some shit. If you sit around thinking up new ideas in order to stay in the loop and one is, "You can pretty much garden anywhere, why not outside on the terrace," or, "I'll ask Mr. Feefer when he wakes up at 3 p.m. if I can go on the roof to start an urban garden," you're a tool. I'm sure you loved Taylor Swift, then hated Taylor Swift for whatever reason someone else told you to hate her.

Most people with successful gardens have learned to do it right, and by learning from someone else, they have learned the trade and are good gardeners. They didn't just one day think an urban garden was cute, or read about a society of people who are die hard gardeners, and they just decided to plant some shit. Put some thought behind what you are doing.

Violent Candy, Shitty Luck, Lickers, Bathrooms, and Deplorable People

Has it been that long since I've ate an atomic fireball that now they taste weak, or did they change how they make them? Maybe it's my taste buds (it's probably my taste buds) but I used to refuse to eat these because they would literally burn a hole in my tongue. Now it's the equivalent of Big Red gum. This was, from the very beginning, an uncomfortable candy. Imagine putting a real fireball in your mouth. Now measure its impact in the megatons. ATOMIC FIREBALL!!


A little over a year ago, the Japanese government officially recognized Tsutomu Yamaguchi as a double hibakusha, or the Japanese word for a person who survived a nuclear bombing. Tsutomu Yamaguchi was confirmed to be 3 kilometers from where "Little Boy" was detonated in Hiroshima while he was on a business trip.
"I remember one business trip to Okinawa, I was supposed to be comped in a five star hotel, and you'd think five star, best in the world. The mattress I was on was lumpy, I fuckin' hated it, there's no turn-down service, I had to make my own fuckin' bed, and some douche bag on the floor above me was having a disco that lasted ALL FUCKING NIGHT!" "Hey asshole! The city I was in while on a business trip was obliterated by an atomic bomb!"
He was seriously burnt on his left side and spent the night in Hiroshima. He got back to his home city of Nagasaki on August 8, A DAY, what shit luck, right, before "Fat Man" was dropped on the city, and he was exposed to residual radiation while searching for his relatives. He was the first officially recognized survivor of both bombings. Just imagine being in your house, relaxing, or trying to because the skin on your left side is peeling off and the pain makes it uncomfortable and downright excruciating, you're having to sleep on your right side or right in the middle of the damn bed the whole night and the whole morning and afternoon. You glance over out your window to the horizon, and be damned if there isn't a God damned mushroom cloud. "Fuck, not again..."
Some people believe they bring bad weather with them when they fly to visit relatives far away, and weeks before the climate where they're visiting was nothing but sunshine and cool breezes, then your aunt arrives, and it's nothing but rain and thunderstorms, and let's say she lives on the northern west coast where it's almost always cloudy. This guy brought an atomic bomb with him...


I thought it was bad when everyone in the NBA decided, "Hey, let's all act like a bunch of players with a peanut in our heads, and chew on our mouth guards like college players or high school players, like the mouth guard wasn't there to protect our teeth, and was really there for us to teeth on like a baby's teething ring." Then I noticed a new trend making its way through the NBA -- licking your lips.
Especially the Lakers. Odom whips that pink trout around his lips like he's eating out the fat Kardashian he's married to. And if he's not married to her and just engaged -- I don't rightly know if they're married, if they're not -- by this time in the relationship she's his wife. I just know showing your tongue, showing your teeth like Kobe did Game 4 of the semis in last year's playoffs, getting a gay, spikey bull-dyke haircut like Sasha Vujacic, is doing absolutely nothing to improve the look of the Lakers. And I boil it down to one man in particular...Pau Gasol. Is there anyone in the league as goofy and gawky as Pau Gasol? Perhaps I've stated that before. I know one thing for sure, to hear Russell Westbrook of the Oklahoma City Thunder admit his favorite player is Pau Gasol is beyond appalling! NOBODY should like that goofy mother fucker, and admitting you do should be like looking upon Medusa's gaze and being turned to stone, only you become a lumpish maladroit with a gay, sweaty curly cut hairstyle, and pasty ass skin.
Back to the topic of tongue-lashing, it's just as worse, even more so than showing your teeth, and speaking of Pau Gasol, every once and awhile he still does show his teeth! Kobe has now started to lick. Don't you know you look like a fucking dog. No! It has just come to me. They all look more like a couple of school children. I don't know about you, but when I was in the first grade, and subsequently going as far forward than that as third grade, there were certain kids in my class who would stick out their tongue, let's say, while concentrating hard, or completing a project, at some points even out of frustration. They couldn't refrain from doing it, it was always, "Doing a rough and complicated multiplication problem, gotta work it out," tongue sticking out the side of their mouth. These same kids I'll see out in public, I'll run in to them on the street or at a restaurant, when they decide to calculate up how much of a tip to leave behind for the wait-staff instead of throwing down a five and a few bills, which is a damn good tip by the way, they're not still sticking out their tongue crunching the numbers up in their noggin, nor do I ever see them with that tongue outside their mouth doing anything else other than going down on a chick. What the hell started them on that whole pretense, and further, what's stopping them from doing that now? Was it when they entered the fourth grade that they decided, "hey, you know what? I look like a dumb ass!! Why, if I refrain from sticking that half-portion of my tongue out the side of my lips, maybe people will start realizing I'm not a homo (in the unintelligent vernacular)
Put that fucking tongue back in your mouth! Jesus Christ, will it be like this every fucking year!?! I don't know if it started this year per say, but it's already a fad among players to dance in front of the camera during the shoot around. I can't really say anything against that because it is entertaining and I guess cool to see some of my favorite players strutting their stuff. Hell, years before it was cool to arch your arm after a shot, it seemed good luck to do a free throw attempt without the ball in your hand, to mimic the free throw before you took it as if to improve your stance. Steve Nash, Ray Allen, countless others, have all licked the tips of their fingers to improve, I'm guessing once again, traction on the ball. If you must greatly more so spread germs while the balls in your hands, so be it. Everybody wants your strep throat or stomach flu!
What will it be next year? Let's all bump our heads on the soft part of the goal moments after making a drive with the ball and performing a stellar power-play like Kevin Garnett. Let's all look like a bitch like Mike Bibby!


I'm not too big on talking while using the restroom. I am trying to piss, my back is turned to you, and if you're at the urinal next to me, I'm not going to make eye contact with you. Just forget it. Plus, are you absolutely going to have a stellar conversation with someone while peeing? Do you talk to people while they shit, as well? What if the person you are talking to is shitting while you're just standing there, flapping your gums at the stall door. Great! Enjoy the fierce smell of that person's fury.
It's too much.
If you want to communicate, wait for me outside, or simply meet me up at the sinks. I'll talk to you while washing my hands, in fact, when have you ever had a bad conversation when mirrors are involved? Every row of sinks in a bathroom has a mirror. You don't even have to turn towards the person you are having a conversation with, you just look at their reflexion in the mirror. Hell, you could be grooming yourself and still have a respectful conversation with a person in the mirror if you must talk in a bathroom. And for the other people around you using the bathroom it's discourteous. Who knows what the hell the topic of the conversation is between you and this other person. You could be talking about the discomfort of catheters, or pet food that tastes the best even though it's for animals. Nobody wants to listen in on a full conversation taking place in the men's room. Don't think for a second everybody is just ignoring what you people are talking about.
Another strange thing about this blog topic is when the bathroom is completely empty. Let's say, instead of a restroom full of men, it is just you and this other person. Seriously, you can't wait to have this conversation out in the open, you have to have it in the privacy of a restroom? Do your business and then talk, don't walk into a bathroom and start talking. In fact, once you are through the doors, just keep your mouth zipped for a while, at least until I'm through doing my business and I'm up by the sinks, and that's if you both walk to the restroom and go in together. How about stumbling in on someone washing up as you walk in, and then walk up to the urinal, and in these cases, that's the situation, I'm specifically talking about when you are using a urinal. I've used stalls before and commented on the things a friend of mine was talking about. Was it weird? Yes it was. But it's understandable, you're not out there. Nobody can see you in the stall, unless they want to see your feet.
I'm talking about when you walk in, unbeknownst that another individual is even in the restroom, the door swings open and you walk in, and there's someone you recognize, drying their hands. Talk about a surprise. What are you supposed to do, hold it, until they are done talking? I guess it really depends on who the other person is. For instance, a good friend is beyond the door, then I might be inclined to hold it, again depending on the situation. If it's diaherrea, there's no question. You rush in, ignore the friend, and take a shit. You might even apologize, but let's face it, that other person has rushed out of the bathroom hearing the explosiveness of your bomb in the stall. If it is a bladder expanded beyond the comfort zone and you're actually doing the potty dance holding it in, you might as well forget communicating. This calls for emergency action.
Maybe you feel the call, but it's not an emergency. Hey, then we might have a little small talk before I go relieve myself. But there's still something we aren't taking into account for, and that is, what if the person in the restroom, as you go in, is a conversationalist, or, a person who can't limit the amount of words that come out of their mouth. Maybe the person is a psychopath who will have a completely random conversation with pretty much anyone they come in contact with. How do we approach this? Well...you could suck it up, and have a lovely little chat with the person in the bathroom; I warn you, this could be lengthy. Or, you could do what I would do in the situation, and just walk out of the restroom, and find another place to do your business, like, another restroom. If they follow you to the other bathroom, then you can have a conversation with them about why they would first continue talking to you knowing full well you walked out on that conversation in that bathroom, to find some place more private, and two, this is their second visit to a restroom. The bathroom before -- that was where they were previously, and hadn't they already used the restroom? Now it seems perculiar that they would follow you to another restroom just to talk to you, and if I know psychopaths, they don't like to have you point out that they're nuts! So more times than usual, they will slink out of the situation knowing they are in the wrong, they might mutter to themselves, imbarrased, but more importantly, they leave you to your peace. Again, more times than usual, they won't be waiting for you outside the restroom to begin talking to you again. This is because they are still imbarrassed and want more than anything to halt all imbarrassment, and leave you alone today. If by chance they are waiting for you outside, it might be time to tell them that you don't like them, and they need to leave you alone. Obviously they know you already which is why they initiated a conversation in the first bathroom with you in the first place. This might be the best time for you to tell them they are harrassing you, and that you only talked to this person in the first place, way before you heard the call of nature, a year or so more before this blog was wrote, when you first talked with this person because you were at work, and you have to be friendly with the customer while at work.
The office relationship really screws you in the end. You have more of an opportunity while at work to meet unsavory people because you're a completely different person than you normally are because again, YOU ARE AT WORK. Most people will put up a front, masking how they normally treat complete strangers because it's written, usually within a code of conduct that they must be friendly to the customer. You have to be afforble. Why this is, I don't know. I don't know why employers do this. Every bad situation I can think of, where I'll be out in public, away from work, and a nutcase who recognizes me from work stops me and chats, maybe we're in a bathroom when this conversation takes place, or, speaking excusively of bad situations, every time a customer gets too friendly with a worker, usually begins stalking them because they feel there is a connection between the two because again, they have to be too nice -- it all could have been eliminated if the worker were able to tell those customers, “Look, I know you want companionship, but I don't like you, nor do I like acting like a fake person in order to please you. Please walk away.” No, we have to smile and make the nice.
Most of those people you make the nice with are those you wander unbeknownst upon in the bathroom, and they always want to chat with you. It could all be completely averted had you not had to make the nice with them while at work. That's why if you find yourself at a job where your employer could care less whether you were nice to the customer, that's a win in my book. Treat people like their a bunch of liars.


Don't you think some people need a good ass-kicking? Or really taking it to the ultimate extreme, don't you kind of not feel so bad when you hear on the news that a guy was shot to death in a junkyard? Sure, you should always give everyone the benefit of the doubt, but you never even knew what type a person that was. What if they were a fucking thief getting their just desserts, or had an abortion. Wouldn't that be like murdering someone? And the answer to that extreme is no, it isn't like murder, and a person getting shot to death in a junkyard is pretty messed up on our part, as humans I mean. We kill each other in anger sometimes. Other times out of jealousy. Screwed up, isn't it?
So, we choose to look at it like this: some people just need the shit kicked out of them, or if we could shoot to maim, yes!! What bothers me is, and I guess it still bothers me since I've stated this before, but people out there mess and harrass and meddle in other people's lives just for the hell of it. They get a rise out of it, like tormenting another person is amusement like some sort of game. Yeah, a game would be a great description for that. Doesn't it seem like some of the angst is done just because the other person thinks they're better than the person they are fucking with? Yeah that's awesome. Piss someone off for the fun of it. I'm the same person telling my readers (reader) to treat complete strangers like a bunch of liars.
Why is it a good idea to treat people all as equal liars, cheats, degenerate assholes who only care about their own personal gain? To instill humility? No, it probably has something to do with the majority of people being selfish assholes who will lie and cheat to get their way. And then there's other people who read into certain ideas a little too strongly, taking everything out of proportion. Most of these people are also very, very dumb, ignorant and brainless lemmings. They fall into believing all the latest fads and crazes, like those douche cunts who think gardening is so cool now most likely in an attempt to grow their own vegetables, thinking it's smart and productive, cost efficient in what they believe is a society scared out of spending because of the recession. Wrong. More like everything from video games/online gaming to the way we shop and purchase our groceries and goods has made a huge profit seeking capitalist switch in order to rob more money from the precious budgets set in action to prevent overspending by the same worker as discussed before who happens to hate his fucking job. He most likely smokes pot to self medicate because he doesn't fucking like the shift his world he once knew has made. Maybe he's an alcoholic, how about a pill-popper? Maybe he actually takes a hard drug in order to remain positive, but still suppressed. Or oppressed. But mostly subdued and caged because we wouldn't want Americans rioting would we, the likes of Greecians. Keep them civil and protesting, pacifistic and non-violent. Lashing out would just get them hurt. This brings us to another group of people. Pussies with an attitude and a loud mouth. People who won't actually do anything if provoked into a fight, but they won't prevent themselves from calling you a cock sucker and a faggot first.
Forget it, they all deserve to be talked down to and made to feel like idiots. If they prove to be wiser, perhaps cut them some slack. Be a little less condescending, maybe see how they digest a witty pun. Be funny. You never know. They could actually be cool.