How vacuums drove me to Mormonism and other problems with capitalism

In the recent time this blog has been silent I have learned a lot, or at least put much of what I’ve already learned to the grindstone of the real world in order to see if I could sharpen the shit into a career. Alas, my shit is too soft and I digress…

On October 27th I took a job as a low brick in the legal pyramid scheme known as the Kirby Corporation. Having entered the dirty world of employment out of necessity, I expected a certain amount of dishonesty, greediness, and competition, but I found these things in an abundance that toppled the imagination. As I have stated in this blog quite recently it is difficult for me to like people, knowing that they are morons and often mean, yet deep down I persist in the hope that I will one day encounter a pile of money that does not require me to lie, cheat and steal to attain it.

Fortunately, to my surprise, it wasn’t all bad.

Point-counterpoint:

Point- I overcame my fear of knocking on strangers’ doors. I realized my previous assumption that the majority of the population opens their doors with a loaded shotgun was true only of myself and several scary movie characters.

Counterpoint- After thirty minutes or so of knocking doors in the rain I began to wish that someone would open the door with the aforementioned shotgun and put me out of my misery.

Point- I enjoyed meeting families and hearing their stories and I especially enjoyed observing their different habits, such as smoking on the porch after all the kids were in bed, or drinking only Coors Light, or getting stoned in their garage with the door open so that they could wave to the neighbors.

Counterpoint- I hated trying to rush the few hospitable people left in the world into making a decision about a vacuum that costs as much as a cheap car.

Point- I liked having to stay emotionally positive as part of my job and learning to overcome rejection.

Counterpoint- Some asshole in Pasco made me cry by yelling at me in the wind and rain and I’d already skipped his house on purpose because I felt the disturbance of an asshole in my spirit when I walked past it.

I would continue writing about the experience in this fashion, except I am out of positive things to say. As you may have gathered from the introduction, the whole opportunity blew serious balls. Never mind the overtly racist employers (“we don’t sell to Poon-jobs, or Chinamen”), never mind the lies told at the doorstep (“Hi, we’re doing a canned food drive for the local homeless of the Tri-Cities”), and never mind the unpaid 13 hour days… wait, do mind the unpaid 13 hour days. I ultimately quit because they lied to me about my salary, sort of. A lie of omission. They said “70 appointments a month, $2,000,” without adding “You’ll be lucky to get 30.”

So, at the end of the day I’m still $60,000 dollars in debt and am close to being in actual trouble… no, I’m in deep shit. My question going into the job was how can I make a buck in this society of pigs? I have now realized that the piggier the corporation, the more shits they take on the money before they wind up just eating it themselves. Perhaps I need to retreat back into the world of academia, avoiding real work and planning the next socialist revolution until it actually becomes feasible enough to be squashed by someone at the top of the pyramid.

This is the condition I found myself in before two Mormon missionaries knocked on my door. Having just quit my own door-to-door hell, I opened the door with great sympathy and even ended up going down to their church for three hours to talk about theology. Apparently, this goddamned life is worth it because someday, if we follow Jesus, we’ll become gods ourselves. I really liked how accepting their view is of all people generally getting what they want in the end. They would have sold me if it weren’t for the fact that what they were saying wasn’t a) true or b) sane. Also, I have no interest in being the big man on top of the whole pyramid, Mormonism has got to be the most Americanized version of Christianity I’ve found yet, but they’re nice people and their women are often hot as the sun, so I’ll let it slide.

Anyway, I might hit up that church next Sunday, quote something out of the book of Nephi and see if one of those poor kids can help get me a job. Fuck.

The blog in which I try to redeem myself for the previous two blogs, further apologies to Ghandi and Van Gogh, but not Nietszche, he can take it

So… yes, things have really gotten out of hand around here. Some of you might be wondering about that job interview, well I never made it, I underestimated the thickness of the traffic. Truly I am at a low moment in my blogging career, but instead of wallowing in self-pity, I’ve decided to turn all this bullshit into manure. I will then use said manure to grow a plastic explosive.

The thing about living in a glass house is that you have to look at your own reflection all day. Blogs are like glass houses where the glass is made of the persona one creates for the internet, any cracks in the persona and it’s that much easier for rocks(readers) to fly through the walls.

So far, the persona I have created for this blog is that of an insane person addicted to pain-killers. The reality of the situation is that I am not addicted to pain-killers. Perhaps there is no redeeming this blog, it causes nothing but deep personal reflection(shame) and a chance to let my Id run wild (if that’s actually a thing that exists).

The thing is, it’s fun to stand on a virtual soapbox in order to tell you that Republicans are in your coffee and dandruff is in your Jack Johnson cds. I don’t have to explain myself at all, I just keep pumping out these matchstick machinations and patting myself on the back.

Perhaps this blog is a grand experiment in which I see how vile I can make my virtual personality before it actually starts affecting my behavior in real life. I’m not sure where that line gets crossed or what to pay my hit-man for only grazing the infant.

It’s time to get serious for a second: there is something wrong with the world, but it’s nobody’s fault. It’s not Adam and Eve’s fault, it’s not God’s fault, it’s not Satan’s fault and it sure as hell isn’t my fault. It’s probably your fault, but I’m going to let you off the hook this time in hopes that you return the favor. We’re all surrounded by things we do and do not like, but we can’t just get rid of the stuff we don’t like. If we keep living as though we can get rid of things we don’t like then eventually we’ll just shoot each other. Don’t get me wrong, shooting you would be an adrenaline rush, but then some guy named Steve would just shoot me for shooting you. Zero tolerance, no child left behind, endless war bullshit. I want to know which one of us decided that humans should punish each other, what a fucking miserable idea.

So what do we do with this world? I don’t know. You don’t know either. I do try and figure things out I can do. I try to make some people around me feel good. Other people I try to stay away from because they don’t make me feel good. So far this hasn’t worked exceptionally well as a way to live, but at least I’m not shooting at anybody… with bullets.

Today I read an article about a justice of the peace who claims not to be racist, even though he denies marriage licenses to interracial couples. He does this because it is his experience that these marriages don’t last long and that the children are not accepted by either community. The thing about this guy that bothers me the most, other than the fact that he’s an obvious penis-brain, is that his humanity reminds me of myself. It reminds me of you too. Trying to effect a positive change on the small portion of the world you have a say over. Not that I think banning interracial marriages is a positive thing, I think that’s a mentally challenged response to something society has made difficult. The thing is, the man is banning marriages based on his moral convictions, even though he is breaking the law. We’re all living in the same lie, our convictions are simply different.

But why abandon the pursuit of truth? Here are some universal truths: bullets hurt, starving hurts, dying leads to death, and inclement weather is annoying. We should work on those problems. That’s something we can actually understand.

In the meantime, I’ll keep writing this manure.

The blog in which I apologize for the blog in which I wrote about blogging

That blog offended me. Luckily, I don’t remember writing it.

And so, I give you this: a video of myself eating

Today I have an interview for a real job, selling Internet.

The blog in which I blog about blogging

So, yes, I am an experienced blogger. My ultraviolet fame has undoubtedly caused thousands of content-driven fans to ask me how it is I do what it is that I do. Therefore, it has become necessary to expose myself, as a naked man must, as not a shaman, nor a prophet, but an idiot who writes many words. Truly, I, as the world’s greatest wordsmith, have perfected the technique of persuasive bullshittery. How did I accomplish this feat? Simple dumb luck.

See, when God was deciding which humans to bless with superior looks and intellect, he accidentally got high on angel dust (inventing hard drugs before humans as any responsible god would do). In His vainglorious attempts to create me, he kept fucking up, thus getting knockoffs like Ghandi, Nietszche, and Van Gogh. But now, in our current times, where kings kneel and oceans tremble, we can all recognize the fruit of this intoxicated labor. From the supple flavors of ambrosia, I errupted like a Grecian orgasm in order to explain the art of blogging.

To blog one must have a certain air of victory over pesky issues like truth and understanding. One must triumph over the dull embers of logic and bring forth upon one’s own continent an old nation of treason and deceit. One must grasp a subject so lightly that even the great goddess, Wikipedia herself, does not stand a chance of being any more off balance in her own self-serving democracy. Fuck logic. The stupid bitch threw me out of her house yesteryear.

To BLOG, one must drink copious amounts of newsfeed from reliable, comedy-related sources and distribute retarded versions of the same stories as gospel.

To BloG, one must understand the lingo of one’s generation and then spit upon it with superior tipos.

Fuck blogging and its innappropriate grasp of traditional sources of information by the throat. If I wanted to get my information from a nearly illiterate s.o.b. who googles pictures of girls named Tanya just to get a stiffy, I would keep asking myself to explain things to myself.

Trust me, no one writes blogs except sad sacks of marketing excrement who can’t procure enough courage to ask for a corporate couch to sleep on.

I suck.

How to stop being so pathetic

First, let me apologize to all my loyal readers (AJ)  that I took such a long break in between blogs. I know that time, in your hazy drug-binge-induced stupor, is relative…but trust me, I haven’t written in a while. It seems I was sucked into the ABC Family show, Greek and therefore needed to seriously contemplate killing something just to feel alive. Obviously, I’ve become pathetic, a sad mockery of my already stupid existence. However, since my head is still reeling from a sincere belief in my own superiority, I unashamedly present a list of life tips for those of you who are currently hooked on things even more pathetic than Greek- things like sobriety.

How to stop being so pathetic:

1) How to get over that girl or guy that just won’t stay out of your dreams, mostly because they’re super hot and you’ll probably never touch another person that hot again ever:

This is a problem that I used to struggle with beyond all others. I don’t know how many sleepless nights I’ve spent pining for the same unattainable girl(s). After years of letting my mind shit all over my heart, I came upon a solution in the most natural of ways.

See, the main problem was that I was loving too much. No one ever told me that an excess of love could be unhealthy. Instead, they’d say things like “stop looking through my underwear drawer.” As it turns out, when you take all of that love you ordinarily feel and flip it upside down into a general disregard for the well-being of other people, all of those pesky romance issues just go away.

Now, I’m not advocating hate, that would be way too hard. I speak from experience, hating everyone is exhausting. Besides how tired it made me, I realized I was trapped in the same obsession as before. After all, there’s nothing quite so hateful as love. Either way you have to follow the person around thinking of things to say or do that will make your feelings known. If you’re in love, you write a poem or buy flowers. If you’re in hate you write painstaking letters from magazine clippings and sit outside their house all day with a blowgun in the rain; there’s a slim difference.

Instead, the proper response to feelings of obsessive love is to swear loudly about that person in bars. While you’re at it, swear about other people too and maybe spit in their drinks. Who gives a fuck?

2) How to find true love:

Get ahold of some money and buy love some gifts, but make sure love isn’t smarter than you or it will annoy you for the rest of your life unless you bury it in the backyard at 3 in the morning.

3) How to become talented:

Pick whichever talent you desire to have, then from that moment on start telling everyone you know that you actually possess the talent. This practice works especially well in the music business (thus: John Mayer, Creed, Toby Keith, James Blunt, ect.), but don’t be surprised if telling people it’s true works for everything (thus: democracy, KFC, Nicholas Cage, AIDS, and the Bible).

However, and this is of the utmost importance, never try to prove it. Let people think they aren’t cool enough to see your talent in action and it will become cooler than you could ever imagine. For example, a friend of mine told me that before he met me he thought I was famous because I was mostly silent and wore a beard. Learn to live by this mantra: looks are everything.

4) How to maintain emotional balance:

Take whatever sounds good and put it inside or wrap it around the outside of your body.

5) How to keep you and your family safe:

Put money in an unmarked enevelope and wait for my phone call.

6) How to keep your relationships healthy:

Make up whatever relationships you would like to have, with whomever, and then conduct all of your interactions inside of your own head. Then, when your ready, get drunk and swear at them in person.

7) How to get a decent job instead of wiling away countless hours maintaining an Internet blog that nobody reads:

Instead of pursuing your passions, going to a good school, and graduating with honors…get born better looking, drop out of high school, and get someone pregnant for outside motivation to succeed. It doesn’t matter if you don’t like kids (who does?), the government will chase you down and hand you all the resources or jail you could ever need.

Well, that concludes this shit.

Some people don’t like my fucking blog: a disclaimer

Q: How seriously do I believe in the validity of these rants?

A: For the most part… not even a little bit. Sure, my politics come through, but not in a reasonable way that I expect people to examine and accept as truth.

Q: Then what’s the fucking point? Aren’t you just stirring the pot?

A: Cartharsis.

Q: So it’s a completely selfish exercise, devoid of social value?

A: Unfortunately, pathos drives much of our decision making. I do try to make people eventually think about why what I’m writing is making them so angry. More than that, my closest guy friends enjoy my sense of humor sometimes and this is me at my most uncensored.

Q: Are your friends drunks?

A: Yes.

Q: Why do they drink?

A: I like to think that I peer pressure them into all of their behaviors.

Q: What should I learn from this blog?

A: Nothing. Unless you already understand me or you are capable of unraveling the often contradictory subtexts in order to take a guess at what I actually think.

Q: How long does it take to write an offensive blog?

A: Ten minutes.

Q: Do you ever offend yourself?

A: Every day. But that’s no reason to quit trying new things.

Q: I’ve read your other writings and found them thoughtful, sometimes when I’m high, even inspiring. Do these blogs have the same voice?

A: If they do, I’m a shitty writer or you’re a shitty reader.

Q: So, these blogs are sarcastic?

A: Nope. Never. Good question, though. Really nice thought process going on in your head.

Q: Are you worried that if I read this blog, I’ll write you off as an arrogant prick and never speak to you again?

A: Yes.

Q: Then why do you take this risk?

A: I hate friends. At night I take hate baths and absorb more hate so that I have a fresh supply for the next day of hating everyone.

Q: Do you take criticism well?

A: Never.

Q: If this blog offends me, what should I do about it?

A: Leave an eloquent comment to make yourself look like a douche.

Q: You’re always talking about when you’re going to do such and such a thing with your life. How come you never amount to anything?

A: Fuck-off.

Q: Is this blog really you, or a characterization?

A: OMG, figure it out. lolz. Teh interwebz.

Q: Is this entire disclaimer directed at your ex-girlfriend?

A: No.

Q: Are you sure?

A: No.

Q: I’m a potential employer looking to hire an individual such as yourself, but this blog implies disturbing things about your personality. Are you really a binge-drinking swear-aholic?

A: Not at work.

Q: Is it pretentious and maybe even offensive to ask yourself a bunch of questions just to try and slightly cover your glaring asshole of a personality?

A: I believe so.

Q: Are you apologetic?

A: I don’t know… did it work?

Obama and the Nazi Youth

So, the other day Obama gave a speech to schoolchildren and the writhing prick of conservative criticisms had to visit its doctor for an erection lasting more than four hours. As these critics continue to rub one out all over America’s students, Obama prepares to give the speech he actually gives a shit about tonight in congress.

God forbid we have a president who’s actually capable of speaking to children as if he is smarter than they are. However, there are two important points to consider before those of us who like the guy pass that note in third period math class to let him know and ask him if he’d like to go with us to prom.

1) The speech was mostly shitty:

Sure, in a few years there may be a few young adults who look back on this speech as their inspiration for success, but these children, as we know, are idiots.  Let’s be real: all children are idiots. This is why conservatives are very concerned about Obama telling little kids to care about homelessness, those little kids might believe him. Last night I watched my thirteen year old brother try to figure out Zelda, it was a travesty.

People who drop out of school are successful sometimes, you just have to be true to yourself, not your country or even your bullshit school. I mean really, cultivating selfishness is the only way to become successful, you can figure that out with elementary school math.

But don’t be sitting there thinking that Obama doesn’t know that. He knows that, he’s way smarter than you are (more than likely). All these people who are pissed that he graduated from Harvard need to go try and graduate from Harvard first.

2) However, whether his message was wise or unwise, it was a waste of time:

Kids who want to drop out of school will drop out of school, they don’t like authority. How the fuck is the highest authority in the land supposed to change that when he comes on tv and tells them that their idea of freedom is for retards? It won’t work, so everyone stop freaking out, Jesus.

Of course if he reached just one little heart, then congratulations. They must have taken just enough ritalin to sit through that droning ooze that sounded like a blender got a hold of the posters in the teacher’s lounge.

Did I like my education? Yes, I loved it. I wasn’t born talented, but some people are. There’s no reason to play make believe games with the youth unless you’re planning on including some quality puppets. Obama doesn’t have shit on Sesame Street.

I still like him though. *giggle* Aw, look, I’m blushing.

Here’s hoping Glenn Beck can get his privates unstuck from Mt. Vernon’s pretty mouth

It has come to my attention that the city of Mount Vernon, WA, by decision of savant-mayor Bud Norris, has determined that talk-show host Glenn Beck will be awarded the key to the city. I’m not making this shit up. Glenn Beck is the level-headed prophet who recently announced to the rest of America that Obama has a deep-seeded hatred for white people and that he is indeed a racist. At first, I, like the rest of America was shocked to learn that Obama hated his own mother so fiercely. Then my confusion slowly changed to outrage as noble corporate sponsors like Wal-Mart pulled their advertising from Beck’s television show on Fox. It became clear that Beck was the one lying bastard in America that even other lying bastards couldn’t stomach. ‘Cept for Bud, that is.

Good ol’ Bud just wants to honor a local boy who made it to the big time. Too bad there were never any respectable journalists who grew up in Skagit county… well, some guy named Edward R. Murrow did, but who the fuck was he?

It’s official. September 26th is about to become Glenn Beck Day, right after he delivers a speech at Safeco field… it’s a bad day to be a pacifist. In the spirit of acceptance, I’m writing my own speech for the occasion and may even attend the key ceremony since it will be but a few short days after I move to Seattle in order to celebrate its proximity to a giant shit-bag.

The Speech:

I apologize for Washington State. We do a pretty good job for ourselves, voting for women, liking gay people and medical weed alright, and sustaining the most educated city in the U.S. beneath the skyscrapers of Seattle. Sometimes, however, our lack of regulation against stupid people has its embarrassing consequences. Though many of our larger groupings of conservatives are located in Eastern Washington, we’ve managed to keep many of them quiet by losing the war against blue-collar meth labs. Our final irritants are the lucid Republicans with money, but their church schedules are rigorous and the rest of us are too high (on medical weed or crystal meth respectively) to remember their names in the voting booth. So we’re giving a crazy person a holiday, what can I say? We’re on drugs.

I apologize for Mount Vernon. I’ve never been there, but I hear it’s as pretty as a cow. I have known one or two people who have lived there and they were harmless, one might even say kind. So please, don’t pick on this town when we finally get those death panels we’ve been fighting for, just let this one slide.

I apologize for men named Bud. I had a great-uncle named Bud and he was a fun-loving man who let me use his swimming pool. Another Bud I knew gave a hilarious speech at my college graduation, so don’t hold it against them. Bud is just a name, like Glenn Beck, except that when literally translated “Bud” doesn’t become “hemorrhoid head.”

Finally, I would like to apologize for all the racists out there. I know that it puts you to shame when you spend so many years of hard work cultivating an unnatural hatred for people of other pigmentations just to see it trivialized by the insane stutterings of one of television’s largest ass-clowns. It must make you feel shame to hear just anybody labeled with a word you take such pride in. Especially one of those colored folk. But have heart, Beck is a Mormon, so feel free to let your other bigotries fly.

For all of us who are high right now, don’t worry, the key doesn’t actually open anything except for a tarnished repuation.

And then one day you wake up to realize all these girls have been dating the same fat guy

And now, another unfortunate opinion:

Attraction is effortless… like getting stabbed. All you have to do is be in the right place at the right time and then bam! You’re being rushed to the emergency room while an ambulance surgeon examines the prison shank protruding from your favorite wound. One is born with the right face– symmetrical and clean, the right teeth– only $6,000 and a retainer, and the right ass– mine. The rest is just a mating ritual, and some of us can’t dance.

Something I’m exceptionally good at is telling people I can dance.

So, without further ado, including shitty jokes, I present the following hot tips for dicks.

Hot Tips for Dicks:

1) Don’t be a dick.

2) Hide your hot tip.

…and thank you.

Of course, the truth is there are no hot tips, just morons reading Cosmos. If reading Cosmo applies to you, I pity your struggle.

The moral of this blog is simple. If that guy or girl doesn’t like you, it’s not because you’re ugly (objectively speaking). It’s because they think you’re ugly. This requires those of us, myself included, who feel the snub of the majority of the population, sometimes even parents, to adopt a certain attitude toward beautiful people. As I defended myself to a friend earlier today: “just because you’re repulsed by me, it doesn’t mean I have to apologize for being sexy.”

What I really should have been apologizing for was uttering the phrase “poundage of pussy” when referring to a woman’s sexual output.

But don’t get distracted. The point is that those of us who are more commonly snubees than snubbers have to stand up for ourselves by making sure we also develop terrible personalities to match our already horrifying looks. The point is population control. The beautiful people, thanks to us, will be too offended to even give in to the occasional pity-fuck. We, on the other hand, will create a secret society of jackasses where everyone has sex with their eyes closed to ensure reproduction of a new generation of uggos to torment the next generation of pretty folks. In the U.S. we will come to know this society as the Republican Party. Haha. Nice joke, Nathaniel.

Look, I’m not advocating shallow fighting. I’m all for shallow killing. We have to murder shallowness everywhere… before it stabs us.

Lately, all these homeless people have been pissing me the fuck off

Having loved my fair share of bums, it is always discouraging for me to have a bad interaction with the locals. I’ve spent the last couple of days in Seattle, learning to find my way around and how to avoid making eye-contact with muggers.

It all began when I first stepped off the ferry and was standing around waiting for my ride. I had only brought enough of my mom’s money with me to pay for the ferry home at the end of the day, but I was soon approached by a nice enough looking fellow. He politely begged me for change in a tone that suggested high levels of poorness. I mumbled that I didn’t have anything over the roar of traffic, but he persisted in trying to conjure money in my wallet by letting me know that he was a responsible individual. I told him I was sorry, but I didn’t have anything. His eyes slowly rose from the ground to meet my gaze, I started to tell him that I was also unemployed, but he cut me off with his middle finger before scampering away.

Feeling welcome and generous, I returned to the city a couple of days later with 3 dollars. I had hoped to see the same man as before so that I could give him the money, but unfortunately, he had ascended to heaven because of his earthly perfection.

Instead, as I was wandering around Pike’s Place Market with a lovely female associate of mine, I suddenly found myself in a close relationship with a 70-something-year-old man who looked like this. He had reached out from beyond my periphery to grab my hand in a clammy clasp. No stranger to such encounters, I looked at him with calm alarm until he assured me that I wouldn’t be harmed. I flashed him my compassion-eyes to avoid a repeat of the ferry fiasco. He began his plea with a compliment to my friend, “is this a nice young man?” Perhaps to reassure himself that I wouldn’t hurt his feelings by flipping him off and running away. He then, to my abject horror, lowered the strap of his wife-beater and related the story of his car accident while he traced his broken bones with my hand, saying things like “feel how hard this is.”

It was very hard.

Needless to say, I bought my way out of the situation, knowing that I do not, in fact, have a healing touch, no matter what she said.

Now, I’m not saying that I have a problem consensually groping the homeless. I’ve just sensed an added aggresiveness among the street people of today. I know, without consulting statistics, that a certain amount of fear fabricated by the somewhat real economic crisis, during which several CEO’s took their vacations later than expected, has probably caused a huge drop in charity. So, for those of you who didn’t lose your jobs and who are still members of the obscenely rich society we all enjoy, stop pissing off all these homeless people ’cause they can’t stay off my shit.