Ok, so I wrote a sketch. It's really wierd, just something I thought of before going to sleep. Also, I don't think it's very good. It is short though, and that's good. I think i might be getting back on the wagon as far as writing goes. Although, I said that about 30 days ago, and haven't done a damn thing since then. And I'm not insinuating that the Cephaladon Studios fanbase takes anything I say seriously, because that, would be stupid. I try not to be stupid. Except when I'm writing sketches! Oh, and I make up all the words that are for things that happen in video but I don't know the keyword for. Camera cuts, etc.
Fade in to a blank chalkboard.
A furry white paw enters the frame and writes: Smegma.
Cut to a medium shot of a rabbit behind a desk and in front of a chalkboard.
It begins to speak.
Mrs. Applesworth: Now class, Smegma is something that boy rabbits have.
Cut to shot of the class. Rabbits sitting in desks.
Jimmy interrupts: Is that like a penis?
Mrs: Applesworth: No Jimmy, it’s not like a penis, it’s like butter.
Sally: Why do we bleed for 5 days, and the boys get to make butter? It’s not fair. (She begins to cry.)
Mrs. Applesworth: It seems I misspoke. It isn’t actually butter. See children, smegma is produced inside the folds of skin covering the young boys’s penises. Except for Peter, his was cut off.
Cut to peter, who blushes under his fur and covers his crotch, embarrassed. The class laughs softly.
Sally: I’m confused. (sniffles) Why did they cut off his smegma?
Mrs. Applesworth: They didn’t, they cut off his foreskin, smegma is made inside the foreskin. (she pulls down a roll up map thing in front of the chalkboard, it happens to be a crossection of male rabbit sexual organs) You can see here (taps it with a paw) where the foreskin is, except on peter.
Cut to a shot of peter, who looks embarrassed again. The children laugh.
Mrs. Applesworth: And that’s where smegma is made.
Jimmy: I knew it! It is like a penis!
Joanne: Penis-butter.
The class groans in disgust.
Fade out.
Block letters appear on the screen: Now you know.
Then the letters fade after about 5 seconds and news ones appear, as if talking to the previous ones.
Why were they rabbits?
Then: That’s what makes it funny.
Then: Oh, so that was funny.
Then: Shut up.
Then: I thought this was supposed to be a comedy show, not Sigmund Freud’s retarded brain droppings on video.
Then: Nobody likes you. We all talk about you behind your back.
Nov 20, 2003
Oct 26, 2003
I finally started writing again! Here's a sample (Keep in mind that it sucks, but it's still exciting to me):
I know it’s been a while since the question was initially posed, but it’s got to be answered at some point. Have we yet deduced who, in fact, let the dogs out in the first place?
That’s one thing I really love about hip hop. More than any other genre of music, they’re prepared to ask inane questions and make demands on an audience nobody else would ever conceive of. I recall Kris-Kross wanting us to “Jump, Jump,” as it were. Live shows are the worst though. Don’t get me wrong, I like hip hop, but when I go to a show, I want the guys I’m paying to see to do the work, you know? “Who’s house?” I don’t fucking know, you tell me, asshole. “Everybody SCREAM!” I’m busy trying to figure out why there’s a lemon in my long island iced tea, and you want me to scream? Fuck all that buddy, you scream.
How do they do that anyway? Not the screaming, the long islands. I’ve seen them make the motherfuckers, and it’s nothing but booze. That’s how you know you’re getting a decent drink: when the bartender has to grab bottles two at a time. I’ll never understand it, but nonetheless, my hat is off.
Now as I said, I do enjoy some hip hop, but one thing I cannot abide is hip hop lacking witty lyrics. People tell me it’s all about the beat, but I digress. What have you got without lyrical intensity in a hip hop song? A 4 and a half minute drum machine solo. That’s what you’ve got, and that, just will not cut it.
50 cent? I hate fifty cent. That’s right, fifty, though even Sharon Osborne, that status seeking trollup, feels obligated to call him ‘fity.’ I’m getting sidetracked, but what the fuck? How did she get her own show? She has a small dog and is married to a rock star. This is now the requirement for being a television personality? What about attractiveness and the ability to articulate simple concepts? Maybe I’m just mad because I don’t have a dog.
Anyway, about fifty. I love it when I articulate my severe distaste towards the man and his music, and white people say this: Well, he can flow. Shut up. The only flow that white people should be talking about is the monthly kind that has baby makings in it. Flow? Do you even know what that means? NO! You don’t! “Well, he got shot in the face, so he’s a bit more credible than Jah-Rule.” I can’t even comprehend what it would take to be less credible than Jah-Rule, so fuck that. Besides, I don’t think taking a bite from a lead salad necessarily constitutes rap competence. I mean, so fifty shorted some crackhead in Queens on an 8 ball, and the guy shot him. This kind of thing happens all the time, and really shouldn’t lend to credibility. Then again, the guy does have one of the best selling records of all time. BUT! When you consider other popular things, from Olympic figure skating, the world’s strongest man competition, Jim Jones, Hitler, and the Bible, just because something is widely received doesn’t mean it’s good.
I know it’s been a while since the question was initially posed, but it’s got to be answered at some point. Have we yet deduced who, in fact, let the dogs out in the first place?
That’s one thing I really love about hip hop. More than any other genre of music, they’re prepared to ask inane questions and make demands on an audience nobody else would ever conceive of. I recall Kris-Kross wanting us to “Jump, Jump,” as it were. Live shows are the worst though. Don’t get me wrong, I like hip hop, but when I go to a show, I want the guys I’m paying to see to do the work, you know? “Who’s house?” I don’t fucking know, you tell me, asshole. “Everybody SCREAM!” I’m busy trying to figure out why there’s a lemon in my long island iced tea, and you want me to scream? Fuck all that buddy, you scream.
How do they do that anyway? Not the screaming, the long islands. I’ve seen them make the motherfuckers, and it’s nothing but booze. That’s how you know you’re getting a decent drink: when the bartender has to grab bottles two at a time. I’ll never understand it, but nonetheless, my hat is off.
Now as I said, I do enjoy some hip hop, but one thing I cannot abide is hip hop lacking witty lyrics. People tell me it’s all about the beat, but I digress. What have you got without lyrical intensity in a hip hop song? A 4 and a half minute drum machine solo. That’s what you’ve got, and that, just will not cut it.
50 cent? I hate fifty cent. That’s right, fifty, though even Sharon Osborne, that status seeking trollup, feels obligated to call him ‘fity.’ I’m getting sidetracked, but what the fuck? How did she get her own show? She has a small dog and is married to a rock star. This is now the requirement for being a television personality? What about attractiveness and the ability to articulate simple concepts? Maybe I’m just mad because I don’t have a dog.
Anyway, about fifty. I love it when I articulate my severe distaste towards the man and his music, and white people say this: Well, he can flow. Shut up. The only flow that white people should be talking about is the monthly kind that has baby makings in it. Flow? Do you even know what that means? NO! You don’t! “Well, he got shot in the face, so he’s a bit more credible than Jah-Rule.” I can’t even comprehend what it would take to be less credible than Jah-Rule, so fuck that. Besides, I don’t think taking a bite from a lead salad necessarily constitutes rap competence. I mean, so fifty shorted some crackhead in Queens on an 8 ball, and the guy shot him. This kind of thing happens all the time, and really shouldn’t lend to credibility. Then again, the guy does have one of the best selling records of all time. BUT! When you consider other popular things, from Olympic figure skating, the world’s strongest man competition, Jim Jones, Hitler, and the Bible, just because something is widely received doesn’t mean it’s good.
Oct 8, 2003
When I think of progress. What do I think? I don’t think about boxes that use radiation to superheat my food in mere minutes. I don’t think of electricity, A.I.D.S. Research, or any sprawling metropolis. I don’t think of the endangered flora and fauna that are unfortunate enough to share our biosphere, internal combustion, or the limitless potential of nuclear power. I don’t. I don’t think about these things. When I think of progress, I think about a number. That number is six billion.
Six billion fucking people. Descended from apes and hating every minute of it. Six billion people toiling and troubling: From Chinese peasants harvesting grain, a woman who works the late-night drive-thru at Wendy’s 7 days a week, to sherpas, who’s only purpose has been transformed into helping rich white men climb Everest. Right on down to the rich white men themselves, sipping cognac from leather chairs seated on the veranda that overlooks a tired bayou. Six billion is a number I don’t even understand, being only one serving of it.
But when I look at people, in cars and buses, on bikes and skates, I think of progress. I think of time, and the number. I see the fleshy white girl wearing a trendy shirt 2 sizes too small, where her stomach spills out and competes with her belt for viewing space. I see her, and I wonder about time.
I think about the time these six billion apish organisms have. Not collectively, of course, but each and every one of them. That’s what it all boils down to, though. Time. And how much of it.
How much time we have to do what we want. I wonder if the people who in their younger years, work to consume what the box in the middle of their dwelling tells them is important, ever realize that the box is wrong? Do they ever figure out what is important? Or do they, like this chubby female that’s almost out of sight, with her accessories and makeup, continue their charted course until they expire? And then, their rotund younglings will perhaps continue to propagate the acidic dogma they were weaned on.
I see people, and I think: Six billion. I see a person, and I think: Time.
If one of the people that I see works 8 hours each day in a 5 day working week for a year, this person will have worked for 2,240 hours. If this person sleeps, and as I understand biology, everyone must, another 2,920 are nullified. This person, with the dreadlocks and Phish shirt, regardless of the counterculture he subscribes to, will most likely have about 3,600 hours every year to allocate as he sees fit. Holidays were omitted from the total working time, but if one were to factor time spent in the bathroom, the figures would surely cancel each other.
Three thousand six hundred hours a year. Not much. Certainly not enough. Now, if this same person were to live to the ripened age of 72 (the average life expectancy of an American male) and retired at 65, he or she will have 295,320 hours to spend. Ever. This is your life, and it’s ending.
Six billion fucking people. Descended from apes and hating every minute of it. Six billion people toiling and troubling: From Chinese peasants harvesting grain, a woman who works the late-night drive-thru at Wendy’s 7 days a week, to sherpas, who’s only purpose has been transformed into helping rich white men climb Everest. Right on down to the rich white men themselves, sipping cognac from leather chairs seated on the veranda that overlooks a tired bayou. Six billion is a number I don’t even understand, being only one serving of it.
But when I look at people, in cars and buses, on bikes and skates, I think of progress. I think of time, and the number. I see the fleshy white girl wearing a trendy shirt 2 sizes too small, where her stomach spills out and competes with her belt for viewing space. I see her, and I wonder about time.
I think about the time these six billion apish organisms have. Not collectively, of course, but each and every one of them. That’s what it all boils down to, though. Time. And how much of it.
How much time we have to do what we want. I wonder if the people who in their younger years, work to consume what the box in the middle of their dwelling tells them is important, ever realize that the box is wrong? Do they ever figure out what is important? Or do they, like this chubby female that’s almost out of sight, with her accessories and makeup, continue their charted course until they expire? And then, their rotund younglings will perhaps continue to propagate the acidic dogma they were weaned on.
I see people, and I think: Six billion. I see a person, and I think: Time.
If one of the people that I see works 8 hours each day in a 5 day working week for a year, this person will have worked for 2,240 hours. If this person sleeps, and as I understand biology, everyone must, another 2,920 are nullified. This person, with the dreadlocks and Phish shirt, regardless of the counterculture he subscribes to, will most likely have about 3,600 hours every year to allocate as he sees fit. Holidays were omitted from the total working time, but if one were to factor time spent in the bathroom, the figures would surely cancel each other.
Three thousand six hundred hours a year. Not much. Certainly not enough. Now, if this same person were to live to the ripened age of 72 (the average life expectancy of an American male) and retired at 65, he or she will have 295,320 hours to spend. Ever. This is your life, and it’s ending.
Sep 16, 2003
I don't have much to say. I'm really busy. Working on an act to take to Knuckleheads at some point for an Open Mic. I'm going to start performing it at the Steaknife near campus soon (maybe next week) to hone it a bit before I take it to a real club. I figure it'll be a while before I can do comedy regularly again. Work sucks. Tuesdays and Thursdays I work in the cafeteria that serves the UofM football team's dinner. THat's fun, let me tell you. Some of the most inarticulate motherfuckers you will ever meet.
"Yea, um, gimme some of that, and that, with som'a that"
The best part, is they don't even point. They just kinda nod their head in the general direction of the food they want. I'm behind a sneezeguard from them, steam all in my eyes and shit, and I'm supposed to know whether they're nodding to the chicken fried steak or the pasta? No, I'm afraid I can't do it.
Then on MWF, I work in the basement of the Med School on campus. Talk about polar fucking opposites. The best part, is at this job there's a menu. If you've never worked food service, I'd suggest it, for at least a week. Just to watch people read the menu. It's got to be the dumbest face anyone ever makes, consciously or not. Whew, does anyone know what I'm talking about? Because, if not, I need to flesh this idea out. It's like cubist art, just fucking beautiful. That, and really, really ugly. I want to smuggle a camera to work to take pictures of people reading the menu.
I need to sleep, got lots of class tomorrow and lots of work to do that I haven't done yet.
"Yea, um, gimme some of that, and that, with som'a that"
The best part, is they don't even point. They just kinda nod their head in the general direction of the food they want. I'm behind a sneezeguard from them, steam all in my eyes and shit, and I'm supposed to know whether they're nodding to the chicken fried steak or the pasta? No, I'm afraid I can't do it.
Then on MWF, I work in the basement of the Med School on campus. Talk about polar fucking opposites. The best part, is at this job there's a menu. If you've never worked food service, I'd suggest it, for at least a week. Just to watch people read the menu. It's got to be the dumbest face anyone ever makes, consciously or not. Whew, does anyone know what I'm talking about? Because, if not, I need to flesh this idea out. It's like cubist art, just fucking beautiful. That, and really, really ugly. I want to smuggle a camera to work to take pictures of people reading the menu.
I need to sleep, got lots of class tomorrow and lots of work to do that I haven't done yet.
Sep 1, 2003
Alright. First thing's first, what did I tell you fucktards? Scroll down and shit, I'm not gonna type it again. Although, since the person's nick was actually fucktard, there's a meta-cognition aspect of the whole thing that I'm not even prepared to evaluate. Whoa, that was deep. Warning, overuse of parentheses ahead. Only because I learned how to spell it, so I could give aforementioned warning.
I apologize for not updating the huge ganja rant I have planned. Well, no, I don't. Wait. How about I apologize without any real sincerity. Sorry about the complete lack of updates.
Moving right along. I haven't been updating for a few reasons. I got back to Minneapolis on the *cough* of August, and I've been getting 'reaquainted' with 'friends.' Don't read too deeply into the use of single quotes there, even I don't really know what it means. Also, I've got so many videogames now (I'm about to play warcraft, which is why I'm not going to expound on my potrant right now (can we call it a prant?(there should be a word for word sandwiches that form altogether new words(wordrritos anyone?)))) and I got xbox live. Playing games from my TV with idiots all over the fucking world. I do have to say that nothing tickles me more than hearing an extremely thick southern accent (there's a headset dealymabob, which is both a blessing and a curse. How could it be a curse, asshole? You tell us this now, but do you give any real evidence? How about this! I think that link accurately describes the majority of conversations you'll have.) Anyway, why does the accent tickle me? I couldn't really say, except that it's not unlike a prostate tickle. Nonetheless, it's still fun.
Oh yeah, and the sign up process for Xbox live is pretty scary. I mean, the name boxes I can handle, but what do you need my Social Security # for? My cup size? It wasn't even tits, it was just what size of cup you usually drink water from, if you have a standard water drinking designated recepticle. That was the fine print on that question. It was a bit invasive, I must say. Oh well, Go Microsoft. You'll take over the world with EULA's one of these fucking days.
"You can't do this Bill, you're a fucking psycho."
"Bullshit, did you even read the EULA for Windows: Diablo Edition? It's all there."
"You crazy fuck, what are you? A mormon? You can't have your hands in this many jars at one time. What's this I hear about a microsoft theme park?"
"It hasn't been greenlighted yet, it's much more of a green-light situation than it is a green-light right now. Ah, here it is: Paragraph 283, Line 372, "By clicking, "I agree" you forfeit all rights to your everlasting soul. It is now property of Microsoft, Inc."
"How many you got, anyway?"
"In a few years, the Immaculate Soul Comission will have to give us funding, because we'll have the required 5%. This third party shit is harder than it looks. We're still way behind heaven and hell, but they've been at it for fucking years, and we have quite a bit of catching up to do."
"Was that a reference to the green party trying to get 5% with Nader in 2000? Because I think it's unclear."
"Yeah, it was supposed to be, but the guy writing my dialogue is completely unable to articulate the concept humorously right now."
"Oh, that sucks. He just has me pointing out the obvious. Fuck, I did it again."
Let's put that dialogue out of it's misery. Oh, speaking of dialogue. Went to dinner at Figlios, which I could talk about more, but won't. At the restaurant I heard a pretty funny conversation, which I will now reproduce word for word. FUCK! I can't fucking remember it. Hopefully one of the people I was with will. Because it was fucking funny. God dammit, I hate my life. THat wasn't the actual conversation, just me sitting here trying to remember how it starts and not being able to.
Classes start tomorrow. I'm taking 19 credits, and I don't know how that's going to work out. BUT! I got a fuckton of student aid this semester, for some unknown reason (perhaps the impossible amount of classes I'm taking), and this semester it looks like I only owe the university about 960 dollars. Thank you: Incomprehensible Acronym Federal Grants.
Got a new roomate now. Josh, my roomate from sophomore year, just moved in to fill the void in our lease and my asshole at the same time. What can I say? We have a very special relationship. I helped him move yesterday, as in Sunday.
I'll get back to the prant in a few days. I've got more important shits to do. Thanks for the tags, go away for 10 days, and someone visits the site. Who knew?
I apologize for not updating the huge ganja rant I have planned. Well, no, I don't. Wait. How about I apologize without any real sincerity. Sorry about the complete lack of updates.
Moving right along. I haven't been updating for a few reasons. I got back to Minneapolis on the *cough* of August, and I've been getting 'reaquainted' with 'friends.' Don't read too deeply into the use of single quotes there, even I don't really know what it means. Also, I've got so many videogames now (I'm about to play warcraft, which is why I'm not going to expound on my potrant right now (can we call it a prant?(there should be a word for word sandwiches that form altogether new words(wordrritos anyone?)))) and I got xbox live. Playing games from my TV with idiots all over the fucking world. I do have to say that nothing tickles me more than hearing an extremely thick southern accent (there's a headset dealymabob, which is both a blessing and a curse. How could it be a curse, asshole? You tell us this now, but do you give any real evidence? How about this! I think that link accurately describes the majority of conversations you'll have.) Anyway, why does the accent tickle me? I couldn't really say, except that it's not unlike a prostate tickle. Nonetheless, it's still fun.
Oh yeah, and the sign up process for Xbox live is pretty scary. I mean, the name boxes I can handle, but what do you need my Social Security # for? My cup size? It wasn't even tits, it was just what size of cup you usually drink water from, if you have a standard water drinking designated recepticle. That was the fine print on that question. It was a bit invasive, I must say. Oh well, Go Microsoft. You'll take over the world with EULA's one of these fucking days.
"You can't do this Bill, you're a fucking psycho."
"Bullshit, did you even read the EULA for Windows: Diablo Edition? It's all there."
"You crazy fuck, what are you? A mormon? You can't have your hands in this many jars at one time. What's this I hear about a microsoft theme park?"
"It hasn't been greenlighted yet, it's much more of a green-light situation than it is a green-light right now. Ah, here it is: Paragraph 283, Line 372, "By clicking, "I agree" you forfeit all rights to your everlasting soul. It is now property of Microsoft, Inc."
"How many you got, anyway?"
"In a few years, the Immaculate Soul Comission will have to give us funding, because we'll have the required 5%. This third party shit is harder than it looks. We're still way behind heaven and hell, but they've been at it for fucking years, and we have quite a bit of catching up to do."
"Was that a reference to the green party trying to get 5% with Nader in 2000? Because I think it's unclear."
"Yeah, it was supposed to be, but the guy writing my dialogue is completely unable to articulate the concept humorously right now."
"Oh, that sucks. He just has me pointing out the obvious. Fuck, I did it again."
Let's put that dialogue out of it's misery. Oh, speaking of dialogue. Went to dinner at Figlios, which I could talk about more, but won't. At the restaurant I heard a pretty funny conversation, which I will now reproduce word for word. FUCK! I can't fucking remember it. Hopefully one of the people I was with will. Because it was fucking funny. God dammit, I hate my life. THat wasn't the actual conversation, just me sitting here trying to remember how it starts and not being able to.
Classes start tomorrow. I'm taking 19 credits, and I don't know how that's going to work out. BUT! I got a fuckton of student aid this semester, for some unknown reason (perhaps the impossible amount of classes I'm taking), and this semester it looks like I only owe the university about 960 dollars. Thank you: Incomprehensible Acronym Federal Grants.
Got a new roomate now. Josh, my roomate from sophomore year, just moved in to fill the void in our lease and my asshole at the same time. What can I say? We have a very special relationship. I helped him move yesterday, as in Sunday.
I'll get back to the prant in a few days. I've got more important shits to do. Thanks for the tags, go away for 10 days, and someone visits the site. Who knew?
Aug 19, 2003
On Mariganjabis.
Why THC is the most deplorable chemical for the human body
TetraHydroCannabinol (THC) is typically extracted from the Marijuana plant, (More than you could ever want to know about the plant and the substance contained within it can be found here.) The chemical iteself is not water soluble, meaning it is difficult to synthesize from the plant, at least, if you're high when you try. The most symple form of synthesis and ingestion is by burning the leaves of the marjiuana plant, which releases THC along with smoke from said leaves. Some Marijuana plants are genetically engineered beyond repair, and as such, you don't end up burning leaves, but 'nuggets' of plant matter literally oozing THC, but we'll get to that later. Glass pipes, rolling papers, water pipes, nefarious contraptions with more hoses than a lyposuction clinic, and metal or wood pipes are typically used to hold the plant in place while it is torched.
Other methods of THC extraction include: Dissolving the chemical in a fatty substance (such as butter) and then ingesting the butter (this ingestion can be accomplished in a variety of ways, but brownies and crackers are popular delivery methods), vaporizing THC from the plant (pass superheated air over it, and only the THC will reach it's boiling point, you get a 'cleaner' 'hit'), and dissolving the chemical in an alcohol (Recipies for THC/Ethanol drinks can be found, if one were inclined) are the most populare methods. Chemically, I am absolutely positive that it is possible to make THC pills, or some form of liquified THC that's relatively pure. This is all conjecture however, because it would be a pain in the ass to actually do, and it's much too much work when smoking the shit makes the 5 hours of paid programming from 1:30 to 6:30 AM seem like a reasonable time investment.
Now, a little recap on our methods, and some warnings for each of them. Smoking is pretty self explanitory: Set it on fire and inhale the smoke until either your lungs stop inhaling or it won't burn anymore. Right, we've all got that. On to cooking. Cooking with Marijuana is relatively tricky, if you're an absolute moron. I mean, if the sperm from your dad had a few extra chromosomes, maybe half of you just swam too well for your own fucking good. Seriously, you people need to not fuck this up. Keeping two things in mind will make sure that it never happens again. First, Cannabinol is fat soluble. This means, that you can't just put it in the brownies and expect to get high. The acids in your stomach will absorb a small amount of THC from the plant matter itself, but most of it will be lost completely somewhere between the oven and the sewer. You need to cook the marijuana in the butter you plan to use in... whatever. Be it brownies, or just butter for toast, it doesn't matter. Get a pan, the amount of butter and amount of pot, heat the butter, then add your marijuana. This brings us to step two: Don't burn the shit. The butter doesn't need to be flying all over the fuck place to absorb tasty little THC molecules. Just get a healthy simmer, and do it for a while. I'm talking medium to medium low here. It's much better, both chemically and aesthetically if you heat it longer at a lower heat than burn the fuck out of it in 15 minutes. Also, it goes to say that your apartment will smell like Marijuana. It's not quite as pervasive as the smoke itself, but it's definately noticeable. Cook something afterwards if you have parents that don't understand they've been innoculated to subscribe to the dominant belief in a culture that doesn't give a fuck about them. Whew, I think I'm ranting. Back to our favorite plant.
Vaporize it! Vaporizers are typically bought online, though I forget the legitimate use they have. I've heard that Home Depot (Want to hear something funny about Home Depot? There's a funny bit on Home Depot on Matt Fugate's website. Click the Wallpaper Now! link) sells vaporizers on their website. A vaporizer looks like a drill and sounds like a drill, but all it contains is a heater and a fan. You plug it in and wait about 15 minutes for it to heat up. Think blowdryer. It's the same principle, just expanded by a few factors of 10. Don't use it on your hair, dumbass. Basically, this is the same as smoking the pot, but you pass heated air over the ganja (pack very small bowls, and try to make sure that the heat will hit every angle of the marijuana, you will only get one hit per bowl and if the heat doesn't reach a portion of the weed, it won't vaporize the THC) and then inhale colorless, odorless vapor. I dislike this method for a number of reasons: It's not as social. It strikes me as an industrial, professional method of imbibing THC, and that's not something I've ever liked. It's loud. You get no smoke, so it feels less satisfying (think patch opposed to cigarettes). And it's impossible to tell if you've cashed the bowl or not. I've heard that the weed looks a little browner afterwards, but the guys that told me this were high, so take it with a grain of NaCl. I think that's the right chemical. Anyway. Moving right along.
Now, since my title denotes THC as being the most destructive humor when interacting with the human form, it may seem counter-intuitive for me to begin with ingestion. I really can't explain the choice here, except to say that I wanted to start from the beginning, and this was as far back as I was willing to go. I'm not going to touch on traditional or ancient methods of partaking in the THC, because these ritualistic anecdotes have no place in explaining marijuana in our culture, and there is aboslutely no relevance between ancient uses and the way marijuana is used today. The other reason I started with consumption of THC is because my website logs posts in a reverse chronological manner, so it will actually be the last once all is typed and done. Actually, I suppose these next few sentences will be the last read.
Stay tuned tomorrow for the experience, or the 'high.'
Stay tuned, like this is analog in any way at all. I guess it also implies that anyone but me reads this, which is just as untrue. C'mon, tag the tagboard, you apathetic fucks.
It was all I could do to not talk about a girl in this post. That's probably my final thought.
Why THC is the most deplorable chemical for the human body
TetraHydroCannabinol (THC) is typically extracted from the Marijuana plant, (More than you could ever want to know about the plant and the substance contained within it can be found here.) The chemical iteself is not water soluble, meaning it is difficult to synthesize from the plant, at least, if you're high when you try. The most symple form of synthesis and ingestion is by burning the leaves of the marjiuana plant, which releases THC along with smoke from said leaves. Some Marijuana plants are genetically engineered beyond repair, and as such, you don't end up burning leaves, but 'nuggets' of plant matter literally oozing THC, but we'll get to that later. Glass pipes, rolling papers, water pipes, nefarious contraptions with more hoses than a lyposuction clinic, and metal or wood pipes are typically used to hold the plant in place while it is torched.
Other methods of THC extraction include: Dissolving the chemical in a fatty substance (such as butter) and then ingesting the butter (this ingestion can be accomplished in a variety of ways, but brownies and crackers are popular delivery methods), vaporizing THC from the plant (pass superheated air over it, and only the THC will reach it's boiling point, you get a 'cleaner' 'hit'), and dissolving the chemical in an alcohol (Recipies for THC/Ethanol drinks can be found, if one were inclined) are the most populare methods. Chemically, I am absolutely positive that it is possible to make THC pills, or some form of liquified THC that's relatively pure. This is all conjecture however, because it would be a pain in the ass to actually do, and it's much too much work when smoking the shit makes the 5 hours of paid programming from 1:30 to 6:30 AM seem like a reasonable time investment.
Now, a little recap on our methods, and some warnings for each of them. Smoking is pretty self explanitory: Set it on fire and inhale the smoke until either your lungs stop inhaling or it won't burn anymore. Right, we've all got that. On to cooking. Cooking with Marijuana is relatively tricky, if you're an absolute moron. I mean, if the sperm from your dad had a few extra chromosomes, maybe half of you just swam too well for your own fucking good. Seriously, you people need to not fuck this up. Keeping two things in mind will make sure that it never happens again. First, Cannabinol is fat soluble. This means, that you can't just put it in the brownies and expect to get high. The acids in your stomach will absorb a small amount of THC from the plant matter itself, but most of it will be lost completely somewhere between the oven and the sewer. You need to cook the marijuana in the butter you plan to use in... whatever. Be it brownies, or just butter for toast, it doesn't matter. Get a pan, the amount of butter and amount of pot, heat the butter, then add your marijuana. This brings us to step two: Don't burn the shit. The butter doesn't need to be flying all over the fuck place to absorb tasty little THC molecules. Just get a healthy simmer, and do it for a while. I'm talking medium to medium low here. It's much better, both chemically and aesthetically if you heat it longer at a lower heat than burn the fuck out of it in 15 minutes. Also, it goes to say that your apartment will smell like Marijuana. It's not quite as pervasive as the smoke itself, but it's definately noticeable. Cook something afterwards if you have parents that don't understand they've been innoculated to subscribe to the dominant belief in a culture that doesn't give a fuck about them. Whew, I think I'm ranting. Back to our favorite plant.
Vaporize it! Vaporizers are typically bought online, though I forget the legitimate use they have. I've heard that Home Depot (Want to hear something funny about Home Depot? There's a funny bit on Home Depot on Matt Fugate's website. Click the Wallpaper Now! link) sells vaporizers on their website. A vaporizer looks like a drill and sounds like a drill, but all it contains is a heater and a fan. You plug it in and wait about 15 minutes for it to heat up. Think blowdryer. It's the same principle, just expanded by a few factors of 10. Don't use it on your hair, dumbass. Basically, this is the same as smoking the pot, but you pass heated air over the ganja (pack very small bowls, and try to make sure that the heat will hit every angle of the marijuana, you will only get one hit per bowl and if the heat doesn't reach a portion of the weed, it won't vaporize the THC) and then inhale colorless, odorless vapor. I dislike this method for a number of reasons: It's not as social. It strikes me as an industrial, professional method of imbibing THC, and that's not something I've ever liked. It's loud. You get no smoke, so it feels less satisfying (think patch opposed to cigarettes). And it's impossible to tell if you've cashed the bowl or not. I've heard that the weed looks a little browner afterwards, but the guys that told me this were high, so take it with a grain of NaCl. I think that's the right chemical. Anyway. Moving right along.
Now, since my title denotes THC as being the most destructive humor when interacting with the human form, it may seem counter-intuitive for me to begin with ingestion. I really can't explain the choice here, except to say that I wanted to start from the beginning, and this was as far back as I was willing to go. I'm not going to touch on traditional or ancient methods of partaking in the THC, because these ritualistic anecdotes have no place in explaining marijuana in our culture, and there is aboslutely no relevance between ancient uses and the way marijuana is used today. The other reason I started with consumption of THC is because my website logs posts in a reverse chronological manner, so it will actually be the last once all is typed and done. Actually, I suppose these next few sentences will be the last read.
Stay tuned tomorrow for the experience, or the 'high.'
Stay tuned, like this is analog in any way at all. I guess it also implies that anyone but me reads this, which is just as untrue. C'mon, tag the tagboard, you apathetic fucks.
It was all I could do to not talk about a girl in this post. That's probably my final thought.
Aug 18, 2003
A Scooby Snack?
Indeed.
So, I should post, mostly because I've already worn out my welcome with the satellite my father owns. I try to sit with him and pass the time, but... I dunno, it's just not something that comes easily to me. Sitting and watching movies. Keep in mind that I don't smoke ganjauanabis anymore. I think that's the official spelling.
This is going to turn into a rationalization post, feel free to stop reading now. In fact, I'm going to make this a separate post to make it easier on the eyes. So stay tuned for an offical "Why I don't partake of the herbal goodness anymore," post.
Indeed.
So, I should post, mostly because I've already worn out my welcome with the satellite my father owns. I try to sit with him and pass the time, but... I dunno, it's just not something that comes easily to me. Sitting and watching movies. Keep in mind that I don't smoke ganjauanabis anymore. I think that's the official spelling.
This is going to turn into a rationalization post, feel free to stop reading now. In fact, I'm going to make this a separate post to make it easier on the eyes. So stay tuned for an offical "Why I don't partake of the herbal goodness anymore," post.
Correction to the previous post: There are 4 audio samples on Matt Fugate's website. I fucked it up, and I'm sorry. Just please, don't hit me again.
Aug 16, 2003
New link today. Check out Matt Fugate's website. If you cruise around it long enough, you'll find a free download section with three handy little links. It's funny, I promise. Would I lie? Yes, you have a point. Actually I just put the link up because I posted on his message board. So, if he happens to visit my shanty nesting site, he'll feel welcome. I just typed out my true intentions, so the whole thing is going to be completely ineffective. I wish I didn't suck so much at life.
So I'm in Louisiana right now, visiting family. I haven't seen any of the horrendously disfunctional ones yet. How strange that the only cousins that I want to see are the ones that aren't in this congealed shithole. The ones that stay, aren't...let's use the term 'winners.'
Watched three movies with the pops last night: Reign of Fire, The Recruit and The Hunted. They weren't nearly as bad as I thought they would be. Especially The Hunted. Nobody ever told me that The Recruit (capitalizing these titles ends now) was shitty, as 'they' had with reign of fire, but reign of fire has fucking dragons. So, needless to say, I was infinately surprised with The Hunted. It's got Benecio Del Toro and Tommy Lee Jones in it, but it's about the US military. My dad usually likes shitty war films (and I don't really blame him for it) so I expected an obsolete ideology cuntflapfest. It wasn't a feel good, yay, we're americans movie at all though. It was a knife fight movie, and that's about the size of it. Anyway, enough about the movie that didn't suck.
Reign of Fire was surprisingly cool. Everyone said it blew chunks, but I didn't dislike it at all really. The plot is as follows: In London, in about 5 years (2008) a subway project or some shit hits this cavern where dragons have been sleeping for a very long time. These dragons caused the extinction of the dinosaurs. In a few years, they decimate human civilization, breeding, burninating and munching on fleshy, pink 2 legged meatbags at an alarming rate. They year is now 20*cough* and there are but a few scattered remnants of humanity. Here's where I have my first big problem with the movie. The narrative starts following this certain human fortress in the former UK.
They have electricity. It's never explained, but they have fucking spotlights, and lamps, and toasters and fuckin wall mounted dildos. Well, maybe not two of those. All the dildos in the movie are battery operated. But, back to the electricity...HOW? I mean, the entire infastructure of the world is decimated, yet they have electricity? They're not even concerned about their usage either. Do they just magic the electricity into the shit? I mean, theoretically, their service should have been cut. They don't even have a mailbox. Maybe it's on automatic withdrawal. Ok, logic hole filled. I'm gonna finish up this post in a day or two, so check back constantly.
Anyway, here's me finishing up this post. "Hey Nate, why don't you delete the line about you finishing up the post, since it's obvious that's what you're doing to anyone who's already read it, and confusing to anyone who hasn't?" Fuck you! You people and your logic, and your 'facts' and your ethanol containing spirits, and your.... I admit I have no clue where I was going with that.
I guess I could talk a bit more about Reign of Fire. Sounds like an idea. Ok, so one of the main reasons I like the film is because it's a post-apocalyptic movie without being a two hour long Aerosmith music video. Not naming any names, you know. Reign of Fire just fills that particular void in American cinema, the post-apocalyptic and the complete lack of dragons. That's not to say that there are no movies about those two things, but just that it's rare. And I happen to like them both.
So, after that useless fucking paragraph (which I'm not going to delete), you need something to keep you reading. What can I possibly say, to compete with such entertainment gems as Paradise Hotel and Classmates, though? I mean, honestly. Am I the only person in this fading democracy that is absolutely in love with Paradise Hotel? No, not according to the ratings. It's a fucking treat. I was watching it religiously, as much as I can be said to do anything but sleeping religiously. Did anyone else see the episode where they were voting on a new male, and one of the guys that's already in 'Paradise' got in like, an alpha male, macho, gorilla style staring match? They're linked by cameras and televisions, yet they still feel the need to stand up and stretch their arms out, thereby intimidating their opponent. You're three thousand fucking miles from each other. Simmer down, simmer down. There's no reason to get real close to the projection screen and raise your voice an octave. Yeah, bump chests with the pixelated opponent, that's a good signifier of your intelligence, you termite eating with a stick motherfucker. If you want to see proof of man's evolution from apes, watch fucking Paradise Hotel. Besides, what a concept for a fuckin' show. Picture two guys doing cocaine in an NBC employee bathroom.
"oh, that's good hooch. Any idea what you're going to pitch at the meeting this evening, Bob?"
"Sweet, sweet....oh, that. No clue. The American Public wants more 'Reality,' but quite Frankly, I don't have much more."
"Well, enough blow is certain to spark your memory."
"Wait wait, I got it. We'll take as many inarticulate, deluded, low-rent, moderately attractive people as we can. Make them Audition for a trip to "Paradise."
"We should get some marginally talented pop-singer to remake that song."
"What song?"
"You know...'I've got, two tickets to paradise...."
"Hold on there, slick, are you saying that it was a good song in the first place?"
"Of course not, what do you take me for?"
"A corporate worker bee that spent the time period where that song was released in an alcoholic haze."
"Get back to your fucking pitch."
"Right. So we send them to this Hotel."
"Like a real hotel?"
"Shut the fuck up, it's not a real hotel, it's a set. It's set in a 'hotel' like survivor was set on an 'island'."
"Ok, continue."
"Do all the traditional reality bullshit. Get a fake british accent for the host, pretend audience involvement, start out with a chick that's ugly beyond all reason and is a personal trainer, get the hot girl with the quivering lip that cries constantly..."
"I always just want to skullfuck those girls."
"...camera cuts with noises that sound like someone's throwing dictionaries against the floor, a voting system, of course."
"Where's the catch?"
"Well, we'll have two shows, one's a live audience thing, where we pick two new people every week, and the people already on the island, who are already partnered up with the opposite sex vote on who's going on. Only girls vote for the guys going, guys for girls."
"Not going to exploit the inexplicable "Will and Grace" phoenomenon, eh?"
"Not this time. Queer eye for the straight guy has that market cornered."
"And their name fucking rhymes, that is so unfair."
"We could call it Paradise is Very Nice."
"The 80's beat rhyming Paradise and Nice so far into the ground that it is now a type of sedimentary rock."
"Yeah, I guess you're right."
I think that's how it happened. Another thing I love about Paradise Hotel is something they've actually kinda stopped doing. At the end of each of the monday night shows, someone gets voted off. They do lots of camera cuts from all the people's faces, on each word of the sentence (which for the first few episodes, was unaltered) "One of you....will leave paradise...forever." In that cheesy fucking, fake as Pamela Lee's tits British accent. Another thing, is on each word of the sentence, they'd do a camera cut with a sound effect. It was a beautiful thing. True proof that production value is like a penis, you've either got it and don't know how to use it, or you need it and are fucking kidding yourself.
That's probably my final thought.
So I'm in Louisiana right now, visiting family. I haven't seen any of the horrendously disfunctional ones yet. How strange that the only cousins that I want to see are the ones that aren't in this congealed shithole. The ones that stay, aren't...let's use the term 'winners.'
Watched three movies with the pops last night: Reign of Fire, The Recruit and The Hunted. They weren't nearly as bad as I thought they would be. Especially The Hunted. Nobody ever told me that The Recruit (capitalizing these titles ends now) was shitty, as 'they' had with reign of fire, but reign of fire has fucking dragons. So, needless to say, I was infinately surprised with The Hunted. It's got Benecio Del Toro and Tommy Lee Jones in it, but it's about the US military. My dad usually likes shitty war films (and I don't really blame him for it) so I expected an obsolete ideology cuntflapfest. It wasn't a feel good, yay, we're americans movie at all though. It was a knife fight movie, and that's about the size of it. Anyway, enough about the movie that didn't suck.
Reign of Fire was surprisingly cool. Everyone said it blew chunks, but I didn't dislike it at all really. The plot is as follows: In London, in about 5 years (2008) a subway project or some shit hits this cavern where dragons have been sleeping for a very long time. These dragons caused the extinction of the dinosaurs. In a few years, they decimate human civilization, breeding, burninating and munching on fleshy, pink 2 legged meatbags at an alarming rate. They year is now 20*cough* and there are but a few scattered remnants of humanity. Here's where I have my first big problem with the movie. The narrative starts following this certain human fortress in the former UK.
They have electricity. It's never explained, but they have fucking spotlights, and lamps, and toasters and fuckin wall mounted dildos. Well, maybe not two of those. All the dildos in the movie are battery operated. But, back to the electricity...HOW? I mean, the entire infastructure of the world is decimated, yet they have electricity? They're not even concerned about their usage either. Do they just magic the electricity into the shit? I mean, theoretically, their service should have been cut. They don't even have a mailbox. Maybe it's on automatic withdrawal. Ok, logic hole filled. I'm gonna finish up this post in a day or two, so check back constantly.
Anyway, here's me finishing up this post. "Hey Nate, why don't you delete the line about you finishing up the post, since it's obvious that's what you're doing to anyone who's already read it, and confusing to anyone who hasn't?" Fuck you! You people and your logic, and your 'facts' and your ethanol containing spirits, and your.... I admit I have no clue where I was going with that.
I guess I could talk a bit more about Reign of Fire. Sounds like an idea. Ok, so one of the main reasons I like the film is because it's a post-apocalyptic movie without being a two hour long Aerosmith music video. Not naming any names, you know. Reign of Fire just fills that particular void in American cinema, the post-apocalyptic and the complete lack of dragons. That's not to say that there are no movies about those two things, but just that it's rare. And I happen to like them both.
So, after that useless fucking paragraph (which I'm not going to delete), you need something to keep you reading. What can I possibly say, to compete with such entertainment gems as Paradise Hotel and Classmates, though? I mean, honestly. Am I the only person in this fading democracy that is absolutely in love with Paradise Hotel? No, not according to the ratings. It's a fucking treat. I was watching it religiously, as much as I can be said to do anything but sleeping religiously. Did anyone else see the episode where they were voting on a new male, and one of the guys that's already in 'Paradise' got in like, an alpha male, macho, gorilla style staring match? They're linked by cameras and televisions, yet they still feel the need to stand up and stretch their arms out, thereby intimidating their opponent. You're three thousand fucking miles from each other. Simmer down, simmer down. There's no reason to get real close to the projection screen and raise your voice an octave. Yeah, bump chests with the pixelated opponent, that's a good signifier of your intelligence, you termite eating with a stick motherfucker. If you want to see proof of man's evolution from apes, watch fucking Paradise Hotel. Besides, what a concept for a fuckin' show. Picture two guys doing cocaine in an NBC employee bathroom.
"oh, that's good hooch. Any idea what you're going to pitch at the meeting this evening, Bob?"
"Sweet, sweet....oh, that. No clue. The American Public wants more 'Reality,' but quite Frankly, I don't have much more."
"Well, enough blow is certain to spark your memory."
"Wait wait, I got it. We'll take as many inarticulate, deluded, low-rent, moderately attractive people as we can. Make them Audition for a trip to "Paradise."
"We should get some marginally talented pop-singer to remake that song."
"What song?"
"You know...'I've got, two tickets to paradise...."
"Hold on there, slick, are you saying that it was a good song in the first place?"
"Of course not, what do you take me for?"
"A corporate worker bee that spent the time period where that song was released in an alcoholic haze."
"Get back to your fucking pitch."
"Right. So we send them to this Hotel."
"Like a real hotel?"
"Shut the fuck up, it's not a real hotel, it's a set. It's set in a 'hotel' like survivor was set on an 'island'."
"Ok, continue."
"Do all the traditional reality bullshit. Get a fake british accent for the host, pretend audience involvement, start out with a chick that's ugly beyond all reason and is a personal trainer, get the hot girl with the quivering lip that cries constantly..."
"I always just want to skullfuck those girls."
"...camera cuts with noises that sound like someone's throwing dictionaries against the floor, a voting system, of course."
"Where's the catch?"
"Well, we'll have two shows, one's a live audience thing, where we pick two new people every week, and the people already on the island, who are already partnered up with the opposite sex vote on who's going on. Only girls vote for the guys going, guys for girls."
"Not going to exploit the inexplicable "Will and Grace" phoenomenon, eh?"
"Not this time. Queer eye for the straight guy has that market cornered."
"And their name fucking rhymes, that is so unfair."
"We could call it Paradise is Very Nice."
"The 80's beat rhyming Paradise and Nice so far into the ground that it is now a type of sedimentary rock."
"Yeah, I guess you're right."
I think that's how it happened. Another thing I love about Paradise Hotel is something they've actually kinda stopped doing. At the end of each of the monday night shows, someone gets voted off. They do lots of camera cuts from all the people's faces, on each word of the sentence (which for the first few episodes, was unaltered) "One of you....will leave paradise...forever." In that cheesy fucking, fake as Pamela Lee's tits British accent. Another thing, is on each word of the sentence, they'd do a camera cut with a sound effect. It was a beautiful thing. True proof that production value is like a penis, you've either got it and don't know how to use it, or you need it and are fucking kidding yourself.
That's probably my final thought.
Aug 3, 2003
I"m listening to "My Whole World Ended" by David Ruffin. Some new, interesting information has come to light lately. New shit has come to light, and in light of this new shit, I mean, shit. But you guys aren't privvy to all the new shit, but hey, that's what you pay me for.
Ok, first up, I saw a headline in the StarTribune (Newspaper in Minneapolis, not sure if it's a nationalized thing) and the headline read,"Bush Apologizes for Speech." And I thought, finally, he realized that he talks like a bewildered 4th grader. Maybe he realizes that he's been embarassing our fucking country every time he opens his vacuole. No, I was wrong, he said he was sorry for telling us there were weapons of mass destruction in Iraq when the country lacks explosives that are legal for civillian possession in Kentucky.
Also, I'm typing this from such a distance from the monitor that I apoligize for misspellings, but I'm too tired and fucking lazy to go back and correct the shit. That, and I can't read.
Now for more new shit.
I went to a Ween concert last Wednesday, with my friend Bob and his girlfriend Betsy. She brought her friend Christina, and Bob brought me. Long story short, events transpired. Bob told me tonight, which is Saturday, for the record, that she's a psycho. Thanks for the fucking warning, asshole. Here's a boat, Nate, why don't you go sailing? Oh shit, I hope he didn't take that boat in the fucking water, he could drown. Also, for those of you reading the boat imagery as a reference to "It's not about the size of the ship..." FUCK YOU! Can't I type a fucking thing without you thinking I have a small penis? I'm fine with it. I'm not embarassed. I'M NOT EMBARASSED!
So, keeping in mind that this girl is a psycho, Betsy came over today, to see my friend Bob, who is also one of my roomates. She was rather shocked when another female emerged from my bedroom, both of us looking quite disheaveled, with sleep in our eyes and stains on our clothes. The psycho is Christine, the girl I slept with last night is Alisa. Good, glad you're coming with me on that.
Not that I'm complaining, you must understand, and I also don't meant to imply that I've only slept with Alisa once. Unless the psycho goes psycho, which would be uncool.
Other news: I'm not going to make the semi-finals of the comedy contest. Right now I'm ranked 21st. The top 25 proceed to the semi-finals, and there's about 3 more weeks of contestants. I personally blame the fact that they let registration go on for an extra month, and there's way more competition. Still, there's a chance that I'll make it, it's just really slim. Pray with me that everyone who does 3 minutes from now until august 22 sucks. You're not praying. It's not like I had my entire ego riding on this or anything. It's not like I felt like somebody. I've only been doing comedy for a few months. I'm still good. Right? RIGHT? GOD I HATE MYSELF! STUPID! STUPID! STUPID!
Oh! I've been volunteering at Radio K, doing PSA's (public service announcements). I'm going to have access to the locked areas of the studio sometime this week, and the freedom to record anything I want when the stuidos aren't in use. That's not cool. Not cool at all.
That's all my news, and as said before, this has become more of a diary than anything else. Sorry for you people that came wanting something more. Maybe some other time.
Ok, first up, I saw a headline in the StarTribune (Newspaper in Minneapolis, not sure if it's a nationalized thing) and the headline read,"Bush Apologizes for Speech." And I thought, finally, he realized that he talks like a bewildered 4th grader. Maybe he realizes that he's been embarassing our fucking country every time he opens his vacuole. No, I was wrong, he said he was sorry for telling us there were weapons of mass destruction in Iraq when the country lacks explosives that are legal for civillian possession in Kentucky.
Also, I'm typing this from such a distance from the monitor that I apoligize for misspellings, but I'm too tired and fucking lazy to go back and correct the shit. That, and I can't read.
Now for more new shit.
I went to a Ween concert last Wednesday, with my friend Bob and his girlfriend Betsy. She brought her friend Christina, and Bob brought me. Long story short, events transpired. Bob told me tonight, which is Saturday, for the record, that she's a psycho. Thanks for the fucking warning, asshole. Here's a boat, Nate, why don't you go sailing? Oh shit, I hope he didn't take that boat in the fucking water, he could drown. Also, for those of you reading the boat imagery as a reference to "It's not about the size of the ship..." FUCK YOU! Can't I type a fucking thing without you thinking I have a small penis? I'm fine with it. I'm not embarassed. I'M NOT EMBARASSED!
So, keeping in mind that this girl is a psycho, Betsy came over today, to see my friend Bob, who is also one of my roomates. She was rather shocked when another female emerged from my bedroom, both of us looking quite disheaveled, with sleep in our eyes and stains on our clothes. The psycho is Christine, the girl I slept with last night is Alisa. Good, glad you're coming with me on that.
Not that I'm complaining, you must understand, and I also don't meant to imply that I've only slept with Alisa once. Unless the psycho goes psycho, which would be uncool.
Other news: I'm not going to make the semi-finals of the comedy contest. Right now I'm ranked 21st. The top 25 proceed to the semi-finals, and there's about 3 more weeks of contestants. I personally blame the fact that they let registration go on for an extra month, and there's way more competition. Still, there's a chance that I'll make it, it's just really slim. Pray with me that everyone who does 3 minutes from now until august 22 sucks. You're not praying. It's not like I had my entire ego riding on this or anything. It's not like I felt like somebody. I've only been doing comedy for a few months. I'm still good. Right? RIGHT? GOD I HATE MYSELF! STUPID! STUPID! STUPID!
Oh! I've been volunteering at Radio K, doing PSA's (public service announcements). I'm going to have access to the locked areas of the studio sometime this week, and the freedom to record anything I want when the stuidos aren't in use. That's not cool. Not cool at all.
That's all my news, and as said before, this has become more of a diary than anything else. Sorry for you people that came wanting something more. Maybe some other time.
Jul 29, 2003
This will be my first update from a PC other than the hive brain. I'm saying I'm not home. That, and my whole world ended the moment you left me. But I digress, I've been drinking, and I tend to quote songs while I'm writing once I've got over 10 shots in me. Ok, since nobody reads this, and it's more of a catalog of events in my life. I'm still writing comedy, right? I'm funny, I mean, I try. I try so fucking hard. And you never laugh. You brainless fucktards, Sweet god. You wouldn't know a joke if it crawled up your ass and planted little joke eggs in your large intestine. Whew, I'm rambling.
So, I haven't been updating because I've been getting action. Hence the lack of mysoginistic posts lately. I've also noticed that my comedy is much nicer lately, since Jenna has taken what one might call a "back" seat in my life. Whew.
Nate's out.
So, I haven't been updating because I've been getting action. Hence the lack of mysoginistic posts lately. I've also noticed that my comedy is much nicer lately, since Jenna has taken what one might call a "back" seat in my life. Whew.
Nate's out.
Jul 18, 2003
So it's been a while. Hopefully we didn't lose a reader (that being 3000% of our circulation). I've been busy. I'm taking classes this summer. So far every one of them is over except for American Liturature and Culture 2. Oh it's fun. Well, not really. It does, however, have a girl in it. She's about 5'6" with brown hair and brown eyes. She wears too much fucking makeup, but at least that insinuates good grooming techniques, something I've never experienced in a girlfriend. She hottest thing about her, besides the titties of course, is that she seems to dig me. For me, that's always the sexiest thing a girl can do. When you like me, well, it makes you all that much cuter. I'm not going to outline exactly how she and I are progressing from classmates to wherever we'll end up. Those of you that have read more than 5 words will remember the girl from my film study class, and her being married. This girl has a ring on that same finger. I'm thinking it either matters much less, or it's just a ring on a finger. Not a symbol of everlasting love in the eyes of God-Almighty. Heh, I think I enjoy the first possibility the most. I've never fucked a married chick. Boy, was that vulgar.
What can I say? I'm a disgusting person. Moving right along.
Long, long ago, in a neighborhood far, far away I registered for a comedy contest. It's called "The Funniest Person in Minneapolis" contest. The preliminary round was Tuesday, the 15th of July. And I fucking won. Don't get too excited, it only means that I go on to the Semi-Finals....but. I FUCKING WON. Good sweet mother of God. Lots of religion in this post...anyway.
Something funny, and not like 'ha ha' but like 'hrm' : I used to do this open mic night at the Dinkytown Steaknife. It's a shitty fucking restaurant near the Univeristy of Minnesota campus. The sound system sucks, the stage sucks, the lighting sucks, and the performers... well, they suck. There's this black guy there, and I say 'this black guy' because there is only one. His blackness is not actually his most identifying feature though. He's first and foremost a pothead. He doesn't get on stage without announcing it, and talking about it in any one of the 12 most juvenile ways one can do so. He is also an ignorant prick. There, I said it. Everybody but me loves him. And I tried. I tried so fucking hard. It didn't work. Every time I see the guy, I want to rip off his passive aggressive bullshit disguise of a face and shit on his braincase. Anyway, I'm rambling. Shortening this story. This guy makes fun of me. The Dinkytown Steaknife doesn't listen to my comedy, and moreover, doesn't like it. I went to Acme Comedy Club and brought down the fucking house.
Shortening again: Fuck you drunk bastards and your complete inability to recognize a good joke if it was wrapped around your dicks. Fuck you, and everything you stand for. Get a new cell phone service plan that defines you as a person. I'm out.
What can I say? I'm a disgusting person. Moving right along.
Long, long ago, in a neighborhood far, far away I registered for a comedy contest. It's called "The Funniest Person in Minneapolis" contest. The preliminary round was Tuesday, the 15th of July. And I fucking won. Don't get too excited, it only means that I go on to the Semi-Finals....but. I FUCKING WON. Good sweet mother of God. Lots of religion in this post...anyway.
Something funny, and not like 'ha ha' but like 'hrm' : I used to do this open mic night at the Dinkytown Steaknife. It's a shitty fucking restaurant near the Univeristy of Minnesota campus. The sound system sucks, the stage sucks, the lighting sucks, and the performers... well, they suck. There's this black guy there, and I say 'this black guy' because there is only one. His blackness is not actually his most identifying feature though. He's first and foremost a pothead. He doesn't get on stage without announcing it, and talking about it in any one of the 12 most juvenile ways one can do so. He is also an ignorant prick. There, I said it. Everybody but me loves him. And I tried. I tried so fucking hard. It didn't work. Every time I see the guy, I want to rip off his passive aggressive bullshit disguise of a face and shit on his braincase. Anyway, I'm rambling. Shortening this story. This guy makes fun of me. The Dinkytown Steaknife doesn't listen to my comedy, and moreover, doesn't like it. I went to Acme Comedy Club and brought down the fucking house.
Shortening again: Fuck you drunk bastards and your complete inability to recognize a good joke if it was wrapped around your dicks. Fuck you, and everything you stand for. Get a new cell phone service plan that defines you as a person. I'm out.
Jun 29, 2003
Holy shit! Look who it is... it's ME!
So lets see.....Been nearly 2 months since I've posted... And you know what? You guys didn't miss a damn thing in my life. Well, I guess some shit went down, but nothing super important. So the whole "Spending less time on the computer thing" has kind of worked. Basicly instead of staying on the computer so much, I sleep. God I hate sleeping. Well.... no, that's not true. I hate going to sleep and I hate waking up. Sleeping is just fine though. This has been a pretty crazy, sleepless week. I've only slept threeof the past five nights and two of those that I did sleep were very poor sleep.
It all started when I didn't want to sleep one night because I was trying to fix my schedual... I can't really remember what the days were that I didn't sleep, so I'm not going to tell the story... (I did start telling it, but deleted it because I don't have a clue on what I was talking about) this week has been one LONG day. Didn't go to work Thursday, slept for like 18 hours, stayed up all that night and went to work Friday on no sleep. Basicly took too much euphedrin (energy pills) and couldn't sleep for shit Friday night. Got like 4 hours of sleep and I had to come in to work at 10 yesterday and work a 12 hour shift. Last night my legs were so sore from clenching them while I was on the euphedrin I couldn't sleep very well, so yeah... I'm tired.
Last week on the other hand... was a good week... although it left me with a nice little paradox to figure out. By the way, when I say last week, I mean last weekend. So I'm working late for a friend... Saturday. He brings about an ounce of Magic Mushrooms to work. Short story shorter, we had fun at work. Now that is where this paradox comes in (paradox on mushrooms... suprise suprise!)
So for the past year and a half, I have been staying sober... more or less. I havn't been smoking pot and I havn't been drinking and I've done a few other things (pills mainly) about 5-6 times, give or take. Now I'm staying sober because I'm a fucking drug addict. In past experiences I have not been able to control my drug use to a reasonable manner and I don't want to go back to that. But, like I said, I've only used a few times in the past year and a half... and I consider that reasonable (except for the one time that I did smoke pot and went off on that for a few months... but that doesn't count, I don't want to use marijuana anymore). So my treatment and AA teaches that we, as drug addicts, are powerless over our addiction. Meaning, that if I start to use psychedelics on a rare occasion, it will eventually lead back to full-blown, out-of-control drug use. Now, being the stubborn, pseudo-intellectual that I claim to be, this is hard to believe. What I want to believe is that I am an exception to the rules, the rules of addiction. I have seen, time and time again, people who believe that and go out to try it and fail. But still, I think I can do it... So the question is, do I try it? I think I will have to. If it doesn't work, and I go back out to the game, maybe I will finally be convinced (if I make it back that is). If it does work, well, then it works. And I prove I am an exception to the rule. God, I'm such a drug addict. But either way, I'm going to get fucked up when Nate comes and visits. Because he will be very pissed off if I don't. Doing psychedelics is such a good bonding experience. I guess... Anywho...
All efforts to quit being an obsessive-stalker-harrasser-type-guy have proved... successful. That's one of those things you look back on and say "What the Fuck? That was Me?" Or something like that.
Soon, within two weeks, I should be starting the night shift! Yay! I'll be working Friday, Saturday, and Sunday from 9pm-7am. I'll probably be working a week day too... but my schedual is going to be worse than it is right now... so I don't know, maybe I can come in around noon. Also signed up for an online class in PC Troubleshooting so I will have something to do at night and I won't have to pay rent.
Speaking of rent, if you know anybody trustworthy in the Dallas area, tell me! I think I need to move out... maybe... Actually, what I want is to move in with Nate or Jon... I think (maybe(BIG MAYBE)) that me and Jon may get an apartment. But that means he has to get a steady job and stuff... so yeah, big maybe. I'll hope, but I sure won't expect.
Hmmm... I got a new tattoo since last post... it's a baphomet pentagram. Maybe I'll get a picture up of it, its super evil.
Anyways, guys, hit up the tagboard. We're lonely.
Out.
Jun 23, 2003
So, I've accumulated more information than I had at my last post. I guess that's a little like saying "This is a picture of me when I was younger." It's invariably true. Unless of course, you're either involved in some kind of time paradox thing, or have some sort of brain damage. They're both pretty similar. Time travel, you go through time, meet interesting and exotic people, and do stuff. You get brain damage, you meet interesting and exotic people, perhaps drool on them. You drink heavily, meet interesting and exotic people, perhaps urinate on them, and don't remember any of it. Well, I thought they were related, now that I flesh out the idea in words, it makes less sense.
Oh, and I would like to apologize for insinuating that anyone who doesn't know what auteur theory is is an imbecile. That was not what I intended. I was angry at people who are using the theory as a basis for their evaluation of literature, while I suspect that none of them know what it is. Plus, these people were being dumb. Don't do that... I HATE that. I HATE IT.
Anyway. I found out that the comedy contest is on the 15th of July. Tuesday night. My actual time will be determined randomly on the night in question. I get three minutes. THREE! Everyone gets three minutes. I was worried I'd have to fill like 20 minutes. Oh well, this may help me edit, a thing I am obviously loathe to do. At least, when you consider my longwindedness when expressing menial concepts. So for my act, I'm thinking about the bleu cheese bit and the homeland security bit. I like those alot. If I cut one or both down a little, I might be able to squeeze in a third.
I will post the bleu cheese bit here, for those of you that don't know it.
So when you’re hungry late, you've got Perkins and Denny’s (which is everywhere). Where I'm from there's IHOP and Waffle House. But whatever, the locations of these places in relation to the Mason-Dixon line is another bit entirely. They’re all the same if you get there like 20 minutes before a shift change at around 4 am. There’s one cook, one server, they’re all tired, and don’t give a shit. I could just not order bleu cheese dressing. Because I know that none of these places have it. But I DIDN'T know until I ordered it a few times, and got ranch. Is it just the same word to these people? Or do they think I don't know the difference? I wanna see veins in the dressing so thick I think it's a penis. Don't just throw some creamy white shit on my lettuce and tell me it's bleu cheese, you lying waiting table no tip getting motherfucker. If I don't put my foot down now, where will it end? If you think I can't taste the difference between ranch and bleu cheese, it's not a very far step from just masturbating into my salad, and that will not stand. I ordered the shit, you told me you had it, and all of a sudden I feel like I'm herding cattle in a hidden valley.
This is one of the few bits that I have down really well. As a result, it actually looses something in the text version. Most of my jokes are written to be read (it's a complex problem I'm working on), this one is meant to be heard. The homeland security bit goes a little something like this:
Do you guys laugh during press conferences about homeland security? This is the funniest shit that’s been on TV for at least 5 years. It’s mind boggling. Everyone’s so concerned about Terrorism that they don’t give a shit about anything else. And since there isn’t any tangible threat, they start making things up pretty quickly. People asking questions like: “Mister secretary, can you please explain to us the nation’s plan of action if Jesus Christ, Our Lord and Savior were to rise again in all his glory next week? Would we be able to step down our alert level from orange?” We’re at yellow now, in case you guys don’t know. I’m sure you feel more secure with that knowledge. What is up with that little warning system anyway? Green, blue, yellow, orange, red? Does it strike anyone else as odd that green is safer than blue? How, exactly does that work? Green is yellow and blue combined, DAMMIT. The whole color scheme is fucked. Bush sympathizers are always searching for evidence of what our president actually does in his office, and I think we’ve finally found some. They let him arrange the colors. Only with George W. Bush could an arbitrary color-coded danger system get fucked up. And NOBODY knows what the conditions mean either, let alone when it should change. They mean nothing, I think they have 7 interior decorators hidden in a secret bunker 40 miles beneath the surface of the moon, and their job is to decide what our state of alert is here. “What do you guys think? Is today an orange day? Gerome? Is orange okay? I’m feeling kind of orange.”
The end of that bit is in a gay voice. Anyway, it's late, and I should retire.
Oh, and I would like to apologize for insinuating that anyone who doesn't know what auteur theory is is an imbecile. That was not what I intended. I was angry at people who are using the theory as a basis for their evaluation of literature, while I suspect that none of them know what it is. Plus, these people were being dumb. Don't do that... I HATE that. I HATE IT.
Anyway. I found out that the comedy contest is on the 15th of July. Tuesday night. My actual time will be determined randomly on the night in question. I get three minutes. THREE! Everyone gets three minutes. I was worried I'd have to fill like 20 minutes. Oh well, this may help me edit, a thing I am obviously loathe to do. At least, when you consider my longwindedness when expressing menial concepts. So for my act, I'm thinking about the bleu cheese bit and the homeland security bit. I like those alot. If I cut one or both down a little, I might be able to squeeze in a third.
I will post the bleu cheese bit here, for those of you that don't know it.
So when you’re hungry late, you've got Perkins and Denny’s (which is everywhere). Where I'm from there's IHOP and Waffle House. But whatever, the locations of these places in relation to the Mason-Dixon line is another bit entirely. They’re all the same if you get there like 20 minutes before a shift change at around 4 am. There’s one cook, one server, they’re all tired, and don’t give a shit. I could just not order bleu cheese dressing. Because I know that none of these places have it. But I DIDN'T know until I ordered it a few times, and got ranch. Is it just the same word to these people? Or do they think I don't know the difference? I wanna see veins in the dressing so thick I think it's a penis. Don't just throw some creamy white shit on my lettuce and tell me it's bleu cheese, you lying waiting table no tip getting motherfucker. If I don't put my foot down now, where will it end? If you think I can't taste the difference between ranch and bleu cheese, it's not a very far step from just masturbating into my salad, and that will not stand. I ordered the shit, you told me you had it, and all of a sudden I feel like I'm herding cattle in a hidden valley.
This is one of the few bits that I have down really well. As a result, it actually looses something in the text version. Most of my jokes are written to be read (it's a complex problem I'm working on), this one is meant to be heard. The homeland security bit goes a little something like this:
Do you guys laugh during press conferences about homeland security? This is the funniest shit that’s been on TV for at least 5 years. It’s mind boggling. Everyone’s so concerned about Terrorism that they don’t give a shit about anything else. And since there isn’t any tangible threat, they start making things up pretty quickly. People asking questions like: “Mister secretary, can you please explain to us the nation’s plan of action if Jesus Christ, Our Lord and Savior were to rise again in all his glory next week? Would we be able to step down our alert level from orange?” We’re at yellow now, in case you guys don’t know. I’m sure you feel more secure with that knowledge. What is up with that little warning system anyway? Green, blue, yellow, orange, red? Does it strike anyone else as odd that green is safer than blue? How, exactly does that work? Green is yellow and blue combined, DAMMIT. The whole color scheme is fucked. Bush sympathizers are always searching for evidence of what our president actually does in his office, and I think we’ve finally found some. They let him arrange the colors. Only with George W. Bush could an arbitrary color-coded danger system get fucked up. And NOBODY knows what the conditions mean either, let alone when it should change. They mean nothing, I think they have 7 interior decorators hidden in a secret bunker 40 miles beneath the surface of the moon, and their job is to decide what our state of alert is here. “What do you guys think? Is today an orange day? Gerome? Is orange okay? I’m feeling kind of orange.”
The end of that bit is in a gay voice. Anyway, it's late, and I should retire.
Jun 18, 2003
So today, I was in my fiction class. Whew, the people in this class. I mean, sure, reading fiction is arbitrary. People are going to take different things away from it. That's no excuse to see something in the text that simply isn't there. You fucking morons. Read the fucking words, they tell you what the story means. I'm sick and fucking tired of hearing these bullshit interpretations of fiction (usually based on auteur theory, regardless if the imbecile knows what that is or not) of genuinely good stories.
"Well, I see a bit of homosexuality on the part of the hero." Bullshit, there is none. You're gay.
"I think there's some good in the grandmother character." She drowns her dog, slaps her granddaughter, and has a reverie about loathing her daughter. Yeah, sounds like an amiable person.
"The author of this story obviously had issues about his mother." No shit. Who doesn't. You writing your own material, or is a team of chimps working around the clock on it. Assessing an author's psychological makeup based on one of their works is absolutely retarded. You are absolutely retarded, and I hate you for it.
"I have nothing to say, but I'm going to talk in circles for at least 45 seconds too long." That's not a direct quote, I'm paraphrasing. Just stop.
"I"m a feminist and see females being hated in anything I experience." Again, I'm paraphrasing. Become a dyke and hang out with dykes, don't trouble the rest of the world with your bullshit.
"I'm a film major and obsessed with the meta-reality inherent in any media, because I just heard the word 'meta' in one of my film studies classes." Maybe it's just me, but I think I abandoned any semblence of quoting people, I'm just describing them now. I went through this phase too, don't worry, the novelty will wear off. Meta-meta-meta-shit isn't nearly as witty when you're not constantly high. (For those of you that are high though, Meta-meta-meta-shit would be shit that has been eaten by someone, shit out, then eaten by a catfish, then shit out, then eaten by a fungus and shit out.) Stop smoking so much fucking pot. Your judgement is skewed so far that you don't even know where you are, let alone where you're going (in a metaphorical or literal sense). Guess I'm ranting now. My fucking fiction teacher is from California. I HATE PEOPLE FROM CALIFORNIA. I tried to give them a chance. Each one I meet, I say to myself, "Maybe this one won't be retarded." Pretentious, ignorant, pompous shitlickers. It's like, since they're from the same state as Hollywood, some of the pompous air that Film generates gets absorbed by their baby lungs, and goes straight to their fucking brain. I mean, actors are pretentious. C'mon, they are. Nobody that gets paid to play pretend (even if they do it REALLY well) could be anything but an absolute asshole. Even people that don't act and are from California seem infused with this attitude though. It pisses me off.
Alright. Hit up the tagboard if you believe there are multiple matricies in the Matrix universe. That's my running theory. Out.
"Well, I see a bit of homosexuality on the part of the hero." Bullshit, there is none. You're gay.
"I think there's some good in the grandmother character." She drowns her dog, slaps her granddaughter, and has a reverie about loathing her daughter. Yeah, sounds like an amiable person.
"The author of this story obviously had issues about his mother." No shit. Who doesn't. You writing your own material, or is a team of chimps working around the clock on it. Assessing an author's psychological makeup based on one of their works is absolutely retarded. You are absolutely retarded, and I hate you for it.
"I have nothing to say, but I'm going to talk in circles for at least 45 seconds too long." That's not a direct quote, I'm paraphrasing. Just stop.
"I"m a feminist and see females being hated in anything I experience." Again, I'm paraphrasing. Become a dyke and hang out with dykes, don't trouble the rest of the world with your bullshit.
"I'm a film major and obsessed with the meta-reality inherent in any media, because I just heard the word 'meta' in one of my film studies classes." Maybe it's just me, but I think I abandoned any semblence of quoting people, I'm just describing them now. I went through this phase too, don't worry, the novelty will wear off. Meta-meta-meta-shit isn't nearly as witty when you're not constantly high. (For those of you that are high though, Meta-meta-meta-shit would be shit that has been eaten by someone, shit out, then eaten by a catfish, then shit out, then eaten by a fungus and shit out.) Stop smoking so much fucking pot. Your judgement is skewed so far that you don't even know where you are, let alone where you're going (in a metaphorical or literal sense). Guess I'm ranting now. My fucking fiction teacher is from California. I HATE PEOPLE FROM CALIFORNIA. I tried to give them a chance. Each one I meet, I say to myself, "Maybe this one won't be retarded." Pretentious, ignorant, pompous shitlickers. It's like, since they're from the same state as Hollywood, some of the pompous air that Film generates gets absorbed by their baby lungs, and goes straight to their fucking brain. I mean, actors are pretentious. C'mon, they are. Nobody that gets paid to play pretend (even if they do it REALLY well) could be anything but an absolute asshole. Even people that don't act and are from California seem infused with this attitude though. It pisses me off.
Alright. Hit up the tagboard if you believe there are multiple matricies in the Matrix universe. That's my running theory. Out.
Jun 17, 2003
So I began this blog as a kind of way for me to vent my rants that don't fit in anywhere else. Naturally, it's hard to keep up that kind of intensity. In addition, my severe loathing of the human race as somewhat lessened. Whoa, hold up there slick, I'm not through yet. I still hate everything, I just don't feel the need to talk about it quite as much as I did a few months ago. I'm also much busier than I was when I started this thing up. At that time, I was dropped out of school, had no job, and had recently quit doing drugs. I was bored. I needed to do... something. This was it. Since then, things have changed, and so has the blog. We update less, say less, but that's generally because there's less to keep you up to date on, and we have a bit less to say. The blog has become more of my personal thoughts before I go to bed every night. This is honestly not what I intended, I wanted something far grander for this weblog, something much more grandoise. Well, I was still suffering from a bad case of amphetamine psychosis at the time, give me a fucking break. Soon, I hope to transform this meager pittance to my withering excuse for an intellect into a tribute to my ideology. Not today though.
Needless to say, I've picked up some of my old habits. I'm not exactly doing drugs. Much. I'm in school again. I'm really, really hoping I passed my Film Studies class. If I didn't, I'm really going to have to kiss some ass to stay in school. Oh well. Getting out of trouble is probably one of the few things I have a natural talent for. I don't know exactly where I was going with this. Good night, America.
Needless to say, I've picked up some of my old habits. I'm not exactly doing drugs. Much. I'm in school again. I'm really, really hoping I passed my Film Studies class. If I didn't, I'm really going to have to kiss some ass to stay in school. Oh well. Getting out of trouble is probably one of the few things I have a natural talent for. I don't know exactly where I was going with this. Good night, America.
Jun 15, 2003
C'mon kids, gather 'round. There's a new sensation hittin' town. It's moving slow, low to the ground. It'll pick you up when you're feelin' down.
Alright, I've actually got some funny things to relate to you.
First, remember that girl I was talking about in my Film studies class? The one that reminds me of Donna from "That 70's Show"? Yeah, I asked her out, and she's married. That's right, married. The conversation went a little something like this.
We're talking about the class, and I felt that since I embarass myself infront of lots of people every week, why not do it before Friday night.
So I said, "Do you date immature men?" A Seinfeld line that I must admit I'm partial to.
Then she said, "I'm married."
Me, "What?"
She holds up her hand and I stifle a fit of giggles that overtake me most of the way walking home. Fucking married, no shit. Well, I thought it was funny.
Then on Friday, before I do my standup act, I'm sitting outside the place, doing some writing. Out of nowhere, this drunk dude, sits down at my table. He tried to sit with the chick a few tables down, but she kindly rebuked him. So anyway, he tells me that he's been at the U of M since 1986. He's getting his Masters in Mass Communication. For the record, I don't believe it, but it could be true. Anyway, he asks me what my major is, which is where things get interesting.
Me: English.
He notices that I'm writing stuff.
Him: Are those poems?
Me: No, I fancy myself a stand up comic.
Him: Lay it on me, make me laugh brother.
Me: Um, I'm not really a funny person.
Anyway, so I tell him some of the bits that I've been writing in my little notebook thing. He thought a couple of them were funny. Then he stops this crowd of people walking down the sidewalk. Maybe some of you know what is about to unfold. He tells them that I'm a standup comic, and they should give me 5 minutes of their time. Meanwhile, I'm saying, "Um, don't let us sitting at the same table decieve you, I don't know this guy. Keep walking, don't make me do this." He won't let them leave. Nor will he let me use my material (I didn't have any of it memorized, was in class all week, it was a pain in the ass.) Whew, that was funny.
That's about all I've got, I'm gonna go to sleep or something now.
Alright, I've actually got some funny things to relate to you.
First, remember that girl I was talking about in my Film studies class? The one that reminds me of Donna from "That 70's Show"? Yeah, I asked her out, and she's married. That's right, married. The conversation went a little something like this.
We're talking about the class, and I felt that since I embarass myself infront of lots of people every week, why not do it before Friday night.
So I said, "Do you date immature men?" A Seinfeld line that I must admit I'm partial to.
Then she said, "I'm married."
Me, "What?"
She holds up her hand and I stifle a fit of giggles that overtake me most of the way walking home. Fucking married, no shit. Well, I thought it was funny.
Then on Friday, before I do my standup act, I'm sitting outside the place, doing some writing. Out of nowhere, this drunk dude, sits down at my table. He tried to sit with the chick a few tables down, but she kindly rebuked him. So anyway, he tells me that he's been at the U of M since 1986. He's getting his Masters in Mass Communication. For the record, I don't believe it, but it could be true. Anyway, he asks me what my major is, which is where things get interesting.
Me: English.
He notices that I'm writing stuff.
Him: Are those poems?
Me: No, I fancy myself a stand up comic.
Him: Lay it on me, make me laugh brother.
Me: Um, I'm not really a funny person.
Anyway, so I tell him some of the bits that I've been writing in my little notebook thing. He thought a couple of them were funny. Then he stops this crowd of people walking down the sidewalk. Maybe some of you know what is about to unfold. He tells them that I'm a standup comic, and they should give me 5 minutes of their time. Meanwhile, I'm saying, "Um, don't let us sitting at the same table decieve you, I don't know this guy. Keep walking, don't make me do this." He won't let them leave. Nor will he let me use my material (I didn't have any of it memorized, was in class all week, it was a pain in the ass.) Whew, that was funny.
That's about all I've got, I'm gonna go to sleep or something now.
Jun 4, 2003
A Nate Update. That rhymes.
Anyway.
I started classes last week. It's only a 3 week term, so it's actually quite intensive, hence the lack of posts by me. I met a cute girl in the class though (it takes something like this for me to attend the class). She reminds me a lot of Donna from 'That 70's Show' actually. It's mostly her voice (which is super duper sexy) and her complexion, although the hair color has a slight reddish tinge. She's a big girl. Not like, fat, but she's probably about 5'10" or so. Maybe 5'9". Needless to say, it took me a week to get the courage up to even start annoying her. I started that a few days ago, and I've been doing it regularly after class. Tomorrow I'm going to invite her to my act on Friday. I doubt she'll show. Oh, and I should probably ask her name. I don't really know if we have anything in common, but she is dead sexy, and that's enough for me.
So I've been doing comedy pretty religiously. I'm working on an actual act now. I'll be able to fill 20 minutes with solid material, but I'm not sure about anything beyond that. Now that I'm getting a little more serious about it, I'm going to start making tapes. I'm actually slightly on schedule with the plan on how I wanted to be progressing with my comedy, which is heartening to realize. I feel like I'm moving slowly, but I had planned to start making tapes in june and july. This should help me develop my jokes. Let's face it, I need to be lots better than I am now before I move to New York.
Sean and I are still developing Ideas for the sketch comedy we're going to be putting together once we locate resources for said sketches. Mainly a camera and some intelligence. It's gonna be good. I've got several very solid sketch ideas, which I will NOT divulge here. You fucking parasites.
So that's what I've been doing. Well, that and getting quite drunk on a regular basis. What? Fucking commies.
Anyway.
I started classes last week. It's only a 3 week term, so it's actually quite intensive, hence the lack of posts by me. I met a cute girl in the class though (it takes something like this for me to attend the class). She reminds me a lot of Donna from 'That 70's Show' actually. It's mostly her voice (which is super duper sexy) and her complexion, although the hair color has a slight reddish tinge. She's a big girl. Not like, fat, but she's probably about 5'10" or so. Maybe 5'9". Needless to say, it took me a week to get the courage up to even start annoying her. I started that a few days ago, and I've been doing it regularly after class. Tomorrow I'm going to invite her to my act on Friday. I doubt she'll show. Oh, and I should probably ask her name. I don't really know if we have anything in common, but she is dead sexy, and that's enough for me.
So I've been doing comedy pretty religiously. I'm working on an actual act now. I'll be able to fill 20 minutes with solid material, but I'm not sure about anything beyond that. Now that I'm getting a little more serious about it, I'm going to start making tapes. I'm actually slightly on schedule with the plan on how I wanted to be progressing with my comedy, which is heartening to realize. I feel like I'm moving slowly, but I had planned to start making tapes in june and july. This should help me develop my jokes. Let's face it, I need to be lots better than I am now before I move to New York.
Sean and I are still developing Ideas for the sketch comedy we're going to be putting together once we locate resources for said sketches. Mainly a camera and some intelligence. It's gonna be good. I've got several very solid sketch ideas, which I will NOT divulge here. You fucking parasites.
So that's what I've been doing. Well, that and getting quite drunk on a regular basis. What? Fucking commies.
May 30, 2003
A-Hoy matey! More work for Jed. I really wish I didn't have to wake up this damn early to come in. I mean, if I could get here by 10, everything would be much better. Much better. Something about the morning that just doesn't work for me. Even when I'm on schedual, I'm tired as hell when I wake up in the morning. It's a different kind of tired too. I can't really describe it. Just a compeletely out of it sort of tired as opposed to just a regular sleepy tired. So yeah, I havn't been posting because I don't have much going on. I'm trying to spend less time on my computer because supposedly it's abnormal to spen 12 hours / day on the computer. I dissagree. It's perfectly normal for me. Oh well, I'm trying to hang out with people more. God I hate people. Quite the dilemma.
Took Spike to the vet yesterday, she's getting shots and declawed and spayed. Poor cat. I wouldn't do that to her if I didn't have to to have her come with us to the new house... Oh, I didn't tell you I'm moving? Well, I am. It's only about 2.3 miles away from the current house. And its FUCKING HUGE. Too big if you ask me... I think I'll get lost. Guess that's what happens when mom gets together with a rich motherfucker. Probably end up moving in August, a while away, but we were supposed to move first in April... then early May, then late May... Now August. I'm ready to move now and get it over with but the house isn't completely finished, still some sound system and A/C stuff that needs to be tweaked. I won't go into detail on the 8 foot projector screen or the juke box type thing that you can listen to from any room in the house. Like I said... Too big.
Well, the seroquel has been working, getting to sleep on time and stuff.... It's kind of nice. Kind of. Let's me get in more reading time, which I need. Anyways, that's all I have to ramble about today. Maybe some other time. Peace
May 23, 2003
Well, things have indeed become interesting... sort of... well, not "interesting" as in entertaining, more as in weird or different. Doc put me on Seroquel to put me to sleep. The thing is, seroquel is not a sleeping medication, its a potent antipsychotic with drowsiness being its main side effect. The shitty thing is, is that it only lasts like 2-5 hours and I wake up immediately when it wears off. So I've been taking it at about 8pm so I will get tired around 9-10. I fall asleep, sleep for like 4 hours and then wake up somewhere between 1-3 in the morning. After that I feel kind of refreshed so I have to go watch some TV until I get tired again, and then maybe have time for 4 more hours of sleep if I'm lucky. The first night, the seroquel didn't even work and I only slept for an hour before I woke up again. Man, I'm shaking like a dry alcoholic. Hard to type. I wonder if it's the seroquel or just the lack of sleep and the caffiene. Oh well, I can get used to it, in fact, I kind of like it.
Last night I had a dream that I had a dream that I woke up at like noon, late for work. It was so vivid! When I woke up from that dream to wake up from that dream to wake up to my alarm I was so confused. Everything seemed like deja vu. I don't know. Slowly spinning 'round the spiral of insanity, I just don't know if I'm going up or down... or if it even matters.
Last night I had a dream that I had a dream that I woke up at like noon, late for work. It was so vivid! When I woke up from that dream to wake up from that dream to wake up to my alarm I was so confused. Everything seemed like deja vu. I don't know. Slowly spinning 'round the spiral of insanity, I just don't know if I'm going up or down... or if it even matters.
May 21, 2003
My sleep's getting worse... only got like 1 hour last night (this morning). Completely unacceptable. Got another script from the doc and he took me off the Risperdol. Wow. looks like I havn't been posting lately. Not like I have anything better to do... Shit sucks. I ended up taking like 14 vicodin last week in a vain attempt to get fucked up. Boy, did I. Glad I didn't die. Wasn't a suicide attempt or anything... I can just be very stupid and irrational sometimes. Sometimes seems to be more and more often. Ever since I took all that shit though my depression has come back like a fatal crack in the dam. It's not that bad... but if I let that crack get wider, the dam will break. Then I'll be fucked. On a lighter note, I finally broke down and ordered some Girls Gone Wild videos to add to my pr0n collection. It has come to my attention that I need to listen to more Tool. Deffinently been slacking on the Tool... maybe that's why I feel like shit... must be.
May 20, 2003
I've finally decided that I don't care about how much money I make. I no longer want to be an extradition lawyer in Columbia, doing copious amounts of cocaine with my crimelord clients while discussing how to keep the US government off their back. I've decided that I don't really care about choosing the 'right' career; something that will let me 'live up' to my potential in the eyes of my family and friends. I've also realized that I probably will go my entire life without being appreciated. That's fine. I'm not original, smart, or motivated enough to really make an impact on the world, and I'm fine with that. To put it in the words of a mediocre musician, "All we are is dust in the wind."
Well, now that I've built up the expectation of my own decision, you're probably wondering exactly what it is. I've decided to be a comedian, and by that I mean, "Waiting tables, and never being capable of supporting a family." A few things that I haven't mentioned have helped me reach this decision. Mainly that all that which really matters is being happy.
I'm never quite as happy as I am when either someone appreciates a joke I've written, or when I feel a certain type of connection with a person. The second kind of happiness is extremely fleeting, usually ends with a prolonged period of horrid depression, and the worst part is that I cannot re-create it. I need someone else. I've found people in general to be extremely unreliable. I don't like them. Writing is something that I can do when everyone else has gone to sleep, or left me. I'll be able to write until almost the very moment I cease to exist.
The kind of connection I'm talking about, obviously, is a romantic one. But it's also more than that. It's where you want to touch someone, but don't at the same time. When you understand someone so completely that it's okay when they're wrong. Or when they try to dig themselves out of a hole in their own logic, and you don't throw dirt on their shoulders. It all boils down to reproduction, of course. Ultimately, everything boils down to all the instincts we as humans think we're above. Fucking, fighting, and feeding. That's life, that's why we're here.
Although, the connection people feel with each other has to be something that's not described there. I personally think this is the source of all creative processes that humans go through. To explain that feeling that isn't quite covered by the three F's. So I'm going to try right now. I think it's that very moment, when you respect another human enough, that you honestly believe the combination of your genes would be a worthwhile contribution. Maybe, somehow, with that grabtastic amalgamation of genetic material that forms inside one of you, you can both escape entropy. Maybe, half of each of you makes the perfect person. Maybe THIS new person can do what neither of you could. That's always the hope, isn't it? It is, it's what your parents wanted for you, on down through your ancestors since they were apes trying to stand on 2 legs to see over tall grass.
Well, I'm done hoping that my children will do what I cannot. I'm done having low expectations for mates. I'm done seeing people as 'out of my league.' I'm also done wanting to have a decent job so that a female sees me as a prospective mate. That's a waste of time, which I have too little of. But I do believe that it is my personal obligation to the human race to reproduce. Why? Well that's a tougher question to answer. Probably because it's one of the F's. I'm trying to explain reality without using it as a crutch though. So let's try again. It's my obligation to reproduce because my bloodline demands reproduction. I don't plan on flooding the world with my offspring, because that's counter-productive (I do understand the irony there). We need more variety though. We, as humans, need more people who refuse to be cogs in a useless machine that demands everything and gives nothing. I don't think we can beat it. But I think that the more people we have wondering why it's there the better off humans will be. So far, every man or woman that has fought this machine has lost. Horribly. Karl Marx comes to mind. I think the fault he had was underestimating the potential this machine has for severe reprogramming when facing total annihilation. He assumed, as it does resemble a machine, that it would work like one, and it does not.
Now, another inherent problem with attempting destruction of this machine itself is that the world is dependant on it. We all need it. Why? Because this machine has made us forget all but two skills we once had as a species. We still remember how to fuck and how to feed. This explains the intense population explosion, which arose about one millenia after this machine's creation. We remember how to feed, because this is how the machine maintains the status quo. We have forgotten how to fight. Now, you're thinking that we know how to fight. Look at the middle east, you say. You tell me of Littleton, CO. Look at all the people dying by violence, you think. This is not fighting, this is merely an extention of the angst created by living dependant on an unfeeling machination. Fighting is done to ensure survival, not at the whim of a government ensuring the 'collective' good. But, I need a better example, don't I. You still don't believe. How many people do you know, that could eat without any money? Do they know how to hunt? Can they plant things in the soil, and let water and sun make these things grow? Can they survive the bitter cold once their electrical company shuts them down, when our sun grows distant in the later months of our calendar? Can they protect their children, from themselves, but most importantly, from the bitter venom our culture injects to ease the transition from natural human survival into dependance on a machine that doesn't care? I assure you, they cannot. They have forgotten how to fight. We have voluntarily removed ourselves from the natrual progression of events to place ourselves in a grinder of flesh. Can you fight? Will you fight? No, and no.
Now, we have a surrogate grasp on what this machine is, and one reason attempting destruction on this machine will ultimately fail. I understand that this is difficult, because of the veil. Once you better understand the veil, you will better understand that which controls you. The veil is an early defence the machine created. When people begin asking questions. When people wanted something better. When they say, "Why must he make things for others so quickly that he destroys the air my children breathe? Why must he eat and grow fat, while my children whither and die? Why does he send my children to fight wars to protect his production facilities, while his children stay safe. Very soon, there will be none of us left." Now, this is where things get interesting, because there still are some of us left. Which makes us ask why. In a world seeming so bent on our destruction, why are any of us still here? Because they need us. They need us here, so they can have, and we cannot. If there were none of us, they would have to fight amongst themselves. Their children would die, they would not be fat, and would starve. So the first incarnation of the veil was a Father figure for us all, so we would quiet down, as we are all afraid of our fathers. They said to us, "We have been told by God that we should have, and you should not. Have no fear, you will be rewarded once you expire. Your job is hard, but the meek shall inherit the earth." This worked for many years, for many years we said, "We will endure this pain, while you do nothing, for we will be rewarded." Slowly, we realized they had lied. We have no reward. We have no great paradise. We grew angry at the liars, and immediately tried to rebel by not making this machine work. This failed, because while the machine needs us to work, we need this machine to survive. We must first relearn how to fight, before anything can be done.
Which, brings us to now. Now we are wanting something we can't have. We are wanting the paradise we were promised. I will tell you, whether I am right or not, that it is not there. Why would I tell you this? Because this want is a new incarnation of the veil. I tell you there is nothing for you because it is an excuse to be lazy. It is an excuse to not care. You must care. Otherwise you are on a side of the veil which hides the machine, in all it's bitter workings, from you. We must not want which we cannot affect. What we can affect, we must demand. We must learn how to fight again, as an equal of the animals we have begun to see ourselves as above.
These are things that I have realized. I realize that it sounds like the depraved rantings of a drug addled teenager. I also realize that the realization of the status of our world helps nobody. I'm not done caring though. I'm officially dedicating my life not to the destruction of the this machine, but to the veil this machine hides behind. Everytime they move the veil, or alter it's texture, I will be there to tell you: "Look! They have changed the veil again, so that it still hides the machine. We must keep searching." Because as long as you all know that it IS a veil, and you have not, in fact, reached a wall, we will win eventually. As long as everybody around us earnestly believes that there is nothing wrong, nothing will change. We must educate them, we will teach them. Using a systematic, acidic logic, we will free these people from their hamster wheels of cars and clothes and overpriced carcinogen caloric foods.
"In the world I see -- you're stalking elk through the damp canyon forests around the ruins of Rockefeller Center. You will wear leather clothes that last you the rest of your life. You will climb the wrist-think kudzu vines that wrap the Sears Tower. You will see tiny figures pounding corn and laying-strips of venison on the empty car pool lane of the ruins of a superhighway."
Well, now that I've built up the expectation of my own decision, you're probably wondering exactly what it is. I've decided to be a comedian, and by that I mean, "Waiting tables, and never being capable of supporting a family." A few things that I haven't mentioned have helped me reach this decision. Mainly that all that which really matters is being happy.
I'm never quite as happy as I am when either someone appreciates a joke I've written, or when I feel a certain type of connection with a person. The second kind of happiness is extremely fleeting, usually ends with a prolonged period of horrid depression, and the worst part is that I cannot re-create it. I need someone else. I've found people in general to be extremely unreliable. I don't like them. Writing is something that I can do when everyone else has gone to sleep, or left me. I'll be able to write until almost the very moment I cease to exist.
The kind of connection I'm talking about, obviously, is a romantic one. But it's also more than that. It's where you want to touch someone, but don't at the same time. When you understand someone so completely that it's okay when they're wrong. Or when they try to dig themselves out of a hole in their own logic, and you don't throw dirt on their shoulders. It all boils down to reproduction, of course. Ultimately, everything boils down to all the instincts we as humans think we're above. Fucking, fighting, and feeding. That's life, that's why we're here.
Although, the connection people feel with each other has to be something that's not described there. I personally think this is the source of all creative processes that humans go through. To explain that feeling that isn't quite covered by the three F's. So I'm going to try right now. I think it's that very moment, when you respect another human enough, that you honestly believe the combination of your genes would be a worthwhile contribution. Maybe, somehow, with that grabtastic amalgamation of genetic material that forms inside one of you, you can both escape entropy. Maybe, half of each of you makes the perfect person. Maybe THIS new person can do what neither of you could. That's always the hope, isn't it? It is, it's what your parents wanted for you, on down through your ancestors since they were apes trying to stand on 2 legs to see over tall grass.
Well, I'm done hoping that my children will do what I cannot. I'm done having low expectations for mates. I'm done seeing people as 'out of my league.' I'm also done wanting to have a decent job so that a female sees me as a prospective mate. That's a waste of time, which I have too little of. But I do believe that it is my personal obligation to the human race to reproduce. Why? Well that's a tougher question to answer. Probably because it's one of the F's. I'm trying to explain reality without using it as a crutch though. So let's try again. It's my obligation to reproduce because my bloodline demands reproduction. I don't plan on flooding the world with my offspring, because that's counter-productive (I do understand the irony there). We need more variety though. We, as humans, need more people who refuse to be cogs in a useless machine that demands everything and gives nothing. I don't think we can beat it. But I think that the more people we have wondering why it's there the better off humans will be. So far, every man or woman that has fought this machine has lost. Horribly. Karl Marx comes to mind. I think the fault he had was underestimating the potential this machine has for severe reprogramming when facing total annihilation. He assumed, as it does resemble a machine, that it would work like one, and it does not.
Now, another inherent problem with attempting destruction of this machine itself is that the world is dependant on it. We all need it. Why? Because this machine has made us forget all but two skills we once had as a species. We still remember how to fuck and how to feed. This explains the intense population explosion, which arose about one millenia after this machine's creation. We remember how to feed, because this is how the machine maintains the status quo. We have forgotten how to fight. Now, you're thinking that we know how to fight. Look at the middle east, you say. You tell me of Littleton, CO. Look at all the people dying by violence, you think. This is not fighting, this is merely an extention of the angst created by living dependant on an unfeeling machination. Fighting is done to ensure survival, not at the whim of a government ensuring the 'collective' good. But, I need a better example, don't I. You still don't believe. How many people do you know, that could eat without any money? Do they know how to hunt? Can they plant things in the soil, and let water and sun make these things grow? Can they survive the bitter cold once their electrical company shuts them down, when our sun grows distant in the later months of our calendar? Can they protect their children, from themselves, but most importantly, from the bitter venom our culture injects to ease the transition from natural human survival into dependance on a machine that doesn't care? I assure you, they cannot. They have forgotten how to fight. We have voluntarily removed ourselves from the natrual progression of events to place ourselves in a grinder of flesh. Can you fight? Will you fight? No, and no.
Now, we have a surrogate grasp on what this machine is, and one reason attempting destruction on this machine will ultimately fail. I understand that this is difficult, because of the veil. Once you better understand the veil, you will better understand that which controls you. The veil is an early defence the machine created. When people begin asking questions. When people wanted something better. When they say, "Why must he make things for others so quickly that he destroys the air my children breathe? Why must he eat and grow fat, while my children whither and die? Why does he send my children to fight wars to protect his production facilities, while his children stay safe. Very soon, there will be none of us left." Now, this is where things get interesting, because there still are some of us left. Which makes us ask why. In a world seeming so bent on our destruction, why are any of us still here? Because they need us. They need us here, so they can have, and we cannot. If there were none of us, they would have to fight amongst themselves. Their children would die, they would not be fat, and would starve. So the first incarnation of the veil was a Father figure for us all, so we would quiet down, as we are all afraid of our fathers. They said to us, "We have been told by God that we should have, and you should not. Have no fear, you will be rewarded once you expire. Your job is hard, but the meek shall inherit the earth." This worked for many years, for many years we said, "We will endure this pain, while you do nothing, for we will be rewarded." Slowly, we realized they had lied. We have no reward. We have no great paradise. We grew angry at the liars, and immediately tried to rebel by not making this machine work. This failed, because while the machine needs us to work, we need this machine to survive. We must first relearn how to fight, before anything can be done.
Which, brings us to now. Now we are wanting something we can't have. We are wanting the paradise we were promised. I will tell you, whether I am right or not, that it is not there. Why would I tell you this? Because this want is a new incarnation of the veil. I tell you there is nothing for you because it is an excuse to be lazy. It is an excuse to not care. You must care. Otherwise you are on a side of the veil which hides the machine, in all it's bitter workings, from you. We must not want which we cannot affect. What we can affect, we must demand. We must learn how to fight again, as an equal of the animals we have begun to see ourselves as above.
These are things that I have realized. I realize that it sounds like the depraved rantings of a drug addled teenager. I also realize that the realization of the status of our world helps nobody. I'm not done caring though. I'm officially dedicating my life not to the destruction of the this machine, but to the veil this machine hides behind. Everytime they move the veil, or alter it's texture, I will be there to tell you: "Look! They have changed the veil again, so that it still hides the machine. We must keep searching." Because as long as you all know that it IS a veil, and you have not, in fact, reached a wall, we will win eventually. As long as everybody around us earnestly believes that there is nothing wrong, nothing will change. We must educate them, we will teach them. Using a systematic, acidic logic, we will free these people from their hamster wheels of cars and clothes and overpriced carcinogen caloric foods.
"In the world I see -- you're stalking elk through the damp canyon forests around the ruins of Rockefeller Center. You will wear leather clothes that last you the rest of your life. You will climb the wrist-think kudzu vines that wrap the Sears Tower. You will see tiny figures pounding corn and laying-strips of venison on the empty car pool lane of the ruins of a superhighway."
May 19, 2003
Alright, so it's time for an update. I did standup Friday night. It went horrendously. Almost as bad as I never could've imagined it going. Fuck it. I'm only going to grace that shithole with my presence one or two more times.
So the crowd was bad. Not just bad, but glaringly bad. Most of the time, I'm guessing that a crowd will give you at least 25 seconds to say something funny if you're on stage. Some crowds will give you all night. They gave me maybe, 5 seconds. Tops. Which is strange, because the first thing I said when I got up there was funny, but fuck it. Ok, so the crowd was bad. I"d like to extrapolate that though. It's not that it was hard to make them laugh, or they didn't like any of my jokes, it's that they were too drunk to actually LISTEN to anything for more than a few seconds. Whatever, there were some black people there, so that's probably why.
Yeah, let's cut the crap, you all know what I want to complain about anyway. So the normal MC of open mic wasn't there. This black musician was there, filling in. He's a regular, and the only black musician at this particular open mic. This guy was drunk. Not only did he not introduce me properly, but fucked up at least 5 of my jokes, for the few people that were listening. Now, I don't require a complicated introduction. I really don't. But I'd prefer if I was introduced as a spoken word act, instead of a musician. Why? Because I can't sing or play an instrument. So, maybe it's just me. But don't respond to a comedian's one-liners if you don't get the joke. Because getting fucked up by the MC is something that I will never put up with again. Also, this cocksucker apologized after I got off stage. WHAT THE FUCK? Like, if I was in the audience with an amp and a guitar and just making noise throughout his act, then he gets offstage and i'm like. "You know I'm just playin." Get it straight brownskin, I don't like you, we're not friends. The only way you could just be 'messing' with me while I'm ON STAGE is if you were one of my friends (and none of my friends would ever put me through this) and I don't respect you enough.
Alright, after the MC situation, there's the fact that I got cut off half way through my act. That's right, just because management is incompetent and running late, they cut me off 10 minutes into a 20 minute act. Now, it's a managerial decision, which I might have made if I was in that situation. Then I remember the purpose of an OPEN mic is not to entertain a crowd and keep them coming back. During an open mic, the audience is only performers, as a proprietor (spelling has officially gone to shit, but fuck you, nobody reads this) you really shouldn't worry about people not enjoying the act on stage. Maybe he didn't appreciate my abortion jokes, or how I was ripping on the audience for having the collective intelligence of a yeast colony, I don't know. My point is, I need practice, and I can't get it without getting my fucking 20 minutes. The jokes are good, I know the jokes are good, but I need LOTS of practice to be able to deliver them in a context where people can feel comfortable laughing at them. So, in short, fuck you guys. Fucking brainless wastes of carbon.
So the crowd was bad. Not just bad, but glaringly bad. Most of the time, I'm guessing that a crowd will give you at least 25 seconds to say something funny if you're on stage. Some crowds will give you all night. They gave me maybe, 5 seconds. Tops. Which is strange, because the first thing I said when I got up there was funny, but fuck it. Ok, so the crowd was bad. I"d like to extrapolate that though. It's not that it was hard to make them laugh, or they didn't like any of my jokes, it's that they were too drunk to actually LISTEN to anything for more than a few seconds. Whatever, there were some black people there, so that's probably why.
Yeah, let's cut the crap, you all know what I want to complain about anyway. So the normal MC of open mic wasn't there. This black musician was there, filling in. He's a regular, and the only black musician at this particular open mic. This guy was drunk. Not only did he not introduce me properly, but fucked up at least 5 of my jokes, for the few people that were listening. Now, I don't require a complicated introduction. I really don't. But I'd prefer if I was introduced as a spoken word act, instead of a musician. Why? Because I can't sing or play an instrument. So, maybe it's just me. But don't respond to a comedian's one-liners if you don't get the joke. Because getting fucked up by the MC is something that I will never put up with again. Also, this cocksucker apologized after I got off stage. WHAT THE FUCK? Like, if I was in the audience with an amp and a guitar and just making noise throughout his act, then he gets offstage and i'm like. "You know I'm just playin." Get it straight brownskin, I don't like you, we're not friends. The only way you could just be 'messing' with me while I'm ON STAGE is if you were one of my friends (and none of my friends would ever put me through this) and I don't respect you enough.
Alright, after the MC situation, there's the fact that I got cut off half way through my act. That's right, just because management is incompetent and running late, they cut me off 10 minutes into a 20 minute act. Now, it's a managerial decision, which I might have made if I was in that situation. Then I remember the purpose of an OPEN mic is not to entertain a crowd and keep them coming back. During an open mic, the audience is only performers, as a proprietor (spelling has officially gone to shit, but fuck you, nobody reads this) you really shouldn't worry about people not enjoying the act on stage. Maybe he didn't appreciate my abortion jokes, or how I was ripping on the audience for having the collective intelligence of a yeast colony, I don't know. My point is, I need practice, and I can't get it without getting my fucking 20 minutes. The jokes are good, I know the jokes are good, but I need LOTS of practice to be able to deliver them in a context where people can feel comfortable laughing at them. So, in short, fuck you guys. Fucking brainless wastes of carbon.
May 16, 2003
Well, I suppose I should post something. Had my eye surgery Monday. Things are going pretty good. I can see!!! It's so awesome. I just love the technology of today. Can't wait for the future. Anyways, I'm using this whole "recovering from surgery" thing to get out of work. Used it yesterday so that I could go see the Matrix Reloaded, and using it today because I'm just too damn tired. And speaking of being tired, I started taking this Melatonin, natural stuff to help me sleep. It actually works, here I've been going to my doc getting script after script for sleepers that don't do shit, when a simple, natural, concoction works just fine. Funny how that is, I guess technology can only work so far before old Mother Nature smacks it down. So yeah, I'm doing good, Kerri is still kinda pissed off at me, but I don't really care anymore, it's not like she's the cornerstone of my existance or anything. Well, I can see now, I can sleep now, once I get my fuck on life should be all good. Peace.
May 13, 2003
So I called the surgeon to try and get some more pain meds, and got shot down. It scares me how bad I wanted them. I'm neglecting the site, but only because I don't care. I'm sure we'll pick up posting again sometime down the line. No vike and no beer make me go something something. God dammit, I think I got the only oral surgeon in the world that knows I just want to get fucked up.
May 11, 2003
Ohhh man, I done pissed off Kerri. I was kinda bitching at her for cutting herself and I went a little far. That shit just really pisses me off... people hurting themselves to relieve pain/angst/confusion/and other emotions. I do admit that I went way too far, again, it pisses me off because I see it in myself... I guess she was right to call me a hypocritical bastard.
May 10, 2003
Wow. Sorry guys, guess I have forgotten a bit about this. Almost been a week. I guess the main reason I havn't been posting is because everything has calmed down and been pretty smooth sailing for the past week or so. Nothing big has happened, very few small things have happened either I guess. I love it and I hate it. As much as I can't stand drama, I need something to go on in my life. Even if it is very mildly dramatic. I can't believe it's come to this. I am sooooo Anti-Drama. I guess I just get a little lonely sitting up here fucking like 18 hours / day. Very lonely in fact, I need a gurl, not even like a girlfriend, but just someone who shows me affection. Someone to fuck. I know what you're thinking. "You spend 18 hours / day on the computer and you think you can get a girl?" Yeah, I can, getting girls has never been a problem... the only problem now is that I don't want to exert the effort to chase one down. So basicly, I'm just asking people if they want to have sex with me. Pretty easy. And it's not like I get my expectations up or anything, I figure most will laugh and think I'm joking. But a few have said yes. I don't really expect them to follow through, I think they are just saying that... but its an ego boost none the less. Actually I guess the laziness of it all is pretty sad, but I'm kinda sad myself, so there.
Few days ago a "friend" died of an overdoes. He'd been sober for 5 months and had "found god." That's what happens when you play the dope game. I really can't say I'm too sad to see him go. I never really liked him much and didn't know him that well either. But a couple of friends were good friends with him, they're sad to see him go. I guess the worst part is that he had been trying to stay sober and had been for five months. But sacrifices must be made. Hopefully his death will inspire others to stay sober... I really hope it does even though it rarely works that way.
Few days ago a "friend" died of an overdoes. He'd been sober for 5 months and had "found god." That's what happens when you play the dope game. I really can't say I'm too sad to see him go. I never really liked him much and didn't know him that well either. But a couple of friends were good friends with him, they're sad to see him go. I guess the worst part is that he had been trying to stay sober and had been for five months. But sacrifices must be made. Hopefully his death will inspire others to stay sober... I really hope it does even though it rarely works that way.
On a lighter note, I'm having my eye surgury Monday! No more glasses for Jed. I'm very excited even though I'm probably going to have to pay for half of it. The only problem with it is that I'm getting a vicodin script. Not that that's really a bad thing, per se. But I'm going to have to try really really really hard not to abuse it. And if I get the craving, I've decided that I'm going to give the pills to my mom so that I won't fuck up my sobrity like I did when I got my wisdom teeth pulled. I had 5 wisdom teeth. I'm special.
Well, I'm going to try posting more again. Even if it's just stupid shit.
May 8, 2003
So, I'm posting again. I don't have much to say. I'm a little lonely, a little worried about what's going to happen when my painkiller script is out, and a little angsty. I'm pissed about lots of things right now. Most of them are my fault. I think a better description of my current state is more of an angsty loneliness. I mean, I am alone of my own volition. At the same time, I would rather not be. The only girl I've had the misfortune of falling in love with fucked me. That wasn't the problem, it was when she started fucking my friends, and people she met on the internet. It ended up in me getting an infection. So, yeah. I've been pretty picky about girls I get close to since then. I want to find a girl that is smart but unmotivated. For some fucked-up reason, that's really uncommon in females. Most apathetic women are that way because they fail when they try. I want a woman that can keep up with a conversation. I want a woman that doesn't prescribe to her parent's beliefs to keep her soul buoyant. I want a woman that will fucking spare me the bullshit, a girl that wants substance. That will tell me what she wants, and what can slide. Of course, she needs the realization that said thing, will probably end up sliding. I want, I want, I want. I want to make some consessions. I want a girl that thinks I'm funny. Why? Because I think I'm funny. I want a girl that thinks as little of female politiking as I do. A girl with some meat on her. Chub or muscle, it's all the good. I'm tired of bruising my shit on these bony ass salad eating bitches. I want a girl that's succinct in her speech. I want a girl that can go 1:1 with me in any game in the Dead Or Alive Series (specifically DOA2:H or DOA3), though that's probably asking a bit much.
Maybe 2:1.
Maybe 2:1.
May 7, 2003
This post is going to be disjointed. Less disjointed, and more no connections at all. I'm listening to 'Legs' by ZZ Top right now. Such a beautiful song. Black holes are part of the jewish (newly allied with the homosexual) conspiracy. Comedy started as something that I wanted to do as a hobby. Mainly because with no job and no school, I had nothing to do with my time. And doing NOTHING but playing videogames seemed... somehow lacking, I guess is what I want to say. I'm starting to realize how difficult it really is, and how severely my writing skills are lacking. It's something that comes with time I suppose. I'm much more of a ranter than a joke teller. It's wierd though, because I normally don't rant, being as self-conscious as I am. I guess I just have a lower boiling point than most people, about the little things. This post is so self-centered, but they all are, aren't they? I suppose I don't care, since I'm the only one that reads this, it works well that I only talk about what I want to. I played warcraft against a guy today, while I was destroying his base, he was calling me names. Now, this wasn't anything new (the name calling, not the destroying), but I realized that if he knew how good that makes me feel inside, he would stop. The idea that while I am extremely courteous gamer, and go out of my way not to talk shit to anyone, I could frustrate someone so much makes me all warm and fuzzy inside. Later he started messaging me, and ended 11 of 11 lines that he sent me in "bitch." I was examining the sentence structure (yeah, I'm a geek, but I don't like to rely on the default internet accusations in which your opponent of whatever game either "Has no life." or has no skill.) and the only actual punctuation he had was a comma just before the word bitch, which he ended every sentence with. That tickled me even more. Anyway, I'm gonna go ramble into a Word file I keep around for these occasions.
Told you I was too fucked up to post, you goatmilk drinking motherfucker.
Told you I was too fucked up to post, you goatmilk drinking motherfucker.
May 5, 2003
May 3, 2003
Hello. How are you today? I'm doing just fine. A bit tired, but everthing else is fine. Words look like they are spelled wrong today, like all of them. I've never been very good at english, I just don't comprehend it sometimes. It's weird. Anyways, tonight I'm covering for a guy at work, working from 10 - 7am. I always love working that shift. I actually get to do stuff when I'm working that late, like, check on the billing computers to make sure they are running their reports. Makes me feel important. I'm not, but the false pride helps sometimes. I'm slowly getting over my obsessiveness. I really don't know where it came from; just one day I completely lost all control over myself. Not like me at all. I feel like I really fucked up a friendship by my actions, so far she's acting like it didn't happen, maybe it's not that big of a deal, maybe she's used to people obsessing about her. And she still thinks she's ugly. That's one thing I cannot stand! People who are so depressed that all they see is hate and uglyness and negative. Funny, that describes me perfectly a few months ago. I guess that's why I hate it so much, because I see it in myself. When I'm not in my depression, I hate it. I hate other peoples' depression and I want to cure them all. But when I'm deep in my shit, depressed and hopeless, I LOVE it. It's so warm and comfortable and I don't have to care about anything. That's the crux of depression. Depression fuels depression and so on and so forth. It takes an outside force, an act beyond one's self to change the mindset of the person. Just a big deal to me because I have to deal with it so often. Guess I'll go test my luck and hang out at her house now, seeing as I'm offered and she has a boyfriend now.
By the way, FINE stants for Fucked up, Insecure, Neurotic, and Emotional. Just something to remember when everyone says they are just fine. Peace
May 1, 2003
Apr 30, 2003
Another wasted day. Man, if I would put to use all that I have, I could probably do a lot with my life. Oh well, I actually had something to say two minutes ago. I forgot though. Live has been uneventful. I'm trying to become less obsessive... I think it would be good for me and a few others. Have to do deffensive driving =( no good. It was only 19 over the speed limit... I guess it's better than the 130 I would have to pay otherwise. Umm.. reschedueled my LASIK appointment to Monday, the 12th because I didn't have a ride back home on my previous date. I've just decided that I'll pay whatever the difference is... Sucks ass, but I think grandparends are going to throw in. They best. I sure wish I could put a compound sentence together tonight. My brain just isn't processing that fast right now... guess it's time to sleep. g'night. sweet dreams of naked people.
Apr 29, 2003
So I'm in Albert Lea, Minnesota. I don't like it here. Any city that lobbies to get a pork processing plant located at its epicenter has very deep seeded fundamental problems. Especially when it already had a meat processing plant that burned down. I've also deduced that techno music of any kind does not lend well to writing. Dancing, yes. Um....I'm trying to think of other things, but coming up blank. Oh yeah, dancing. It's definately good for dancing. So I'm in Albert Lea, because I'm getting my wisdom teeth pulled this friday. I've only got a script for motrin 600, which sucks. I'm hoping to upgrade to tylenol III or vicoden or somesuch. I really can't wait to leave. It doesn't help that I don't smoke weed anymore, or I could get lost in the shitty videogames I rented (Wolverine's Revenge and Metal Dungeon, they're both really really bad, but Wolverine is barely playable. Metal dungeon is not playable for more than 2 minutes, if that.) Wolverine has nearly made me throw controllers though. The minefields in this game are not difficult, not fun, but merely ragingly homosexual. The minefields are so gay. SO GAY. And I only say that they are gay because every time I enter one I get fucked in the ass. Which I guess makes me gay too. I really hope the game I rent once I get my teeth pulled doesn't suck so much. I'm out.
So the other night, I took my cat for a walk. That's right. Me and my cat (spike) walked around the block. I have never heard of anything like that before, but my cat is pretty dogish.
Last night, I was online, after my vision came back... or maybe it wasn't, thats not important. I was online and this girl that I know from school signed on. I havn't talked to her in months... Of course the first thing out of my mouth (hands) is "You wouldn't want to have sex would you?" Obviously she didn't say yes because she didn't have my screen name.... ... ... Long story short, she said yes.
Apr 28, 2003
So today I went to the Optomologist. Got tested to see if I was elligble for LASIK surgury. THis was supposed to be my graduation prestent from my mom. First, I go down to get my eyes examined and they give me these eye drops that make your eyes super diialated. I CANT FOCJS ON ANTHING NEAR TO ME!!! I cant even see what im typing! Second. What the FUCK kind of graduation "present" is one that you have to fucking pay for? God, I'm soo pissed off and i have no reason whatsoever to be! She said she'd lay out 1200 for lasik. Seeing as i cant see for shit, the surgury is going to cost around 2800. I dont have 1400 fucking dollars. Ialreay owe my mom like 700. Thats not even counting the car, the insurance, and the outo collision repair bill. I think the only reason im pissed is because i had such high hopes. Every fucking time i get high hopes i get let down. I know how dangerous it is to get you'r hopes up, but she said she would pay for my graduation present. cunt whore. I'm not an angry person, but when i am... i get really pissed! and im really pissed. I suppose im more pissed at myself because i when against the expectation rule. Dont expect anything. But i try so hard to trus other peop, to get out into society. To get fucked. God i want to move to the desert. little house, eat lizards and coyotes and quail... but getting a cable modem piped that far would cost a lot of money.
I hate you all.
Apr 27, 2003
Come on everybody let's go to the show
Murder is fun because my daddy told me so
Grab a gun, grab a knife, even hands will do
Punch em like a mother fucker even rape a few
Fuck the righteous wave and ride the evil undertow
If blood is what you want embrace the demon glow
Grab a gun, grab a knife, even hands will do
You punch em like a mother fucker even rape a few
We are the villains
Sucker fish fuckers down in the sink
We are the aliens
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
We are the losers
Flushing our faces into the world
This is a sin fix
This is a sin fix
Now that we have seized you and pleased you
Come alive and murder your senses
Find yourself knee deep in the dead
Come alive and murder your senses
This is a sin fix
This is a sin fix
Come on everybody let's go to the show
Murder is fun because my daddy told me so
Grab a gun, grab a knife, even hands will do
Punch em like a mother fucker even rape a few
Fuck the righteous wave and ride the evil undertow
If blood is what you want embrace the demon glow
Grab a gun, grab a knife, even hands will do
You punch em like a mother fucker even rape a few
We are the villains
Sucker fish fuckers down in the sink
We are the aliens
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
We are the losers
Flushing our faces into the world
This is a sin fix
This is a sin fix
Now that we have sieged you and pleased you
Come alive and murder your senses
Find yourself knee deep in the dead
Come alive and murder your senses
This is a sin fix
This is a sin fix
Murder is fun because my daddy told me so
Grab a gun, grab a knife, even hands will do
Punch em like a mother fucker even rape a few
Fuck the righteous wave and ride the evil undertow
If blood is what you want embrace the demon glow
Grab a gun, grab a knife, even hands will do
You punch em like a mother fucker even rape a few
We are the villains
Sucker fish fuckers down in the sink
We are the aliens
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
We are the losers
Flushing our faces into the world
This is a sin fix
This is a sin fix
Now that we have seized you and pleased you
Come alive and murder your senses
Find yourself knee deep in the dead
Come alive and murder your senses
This is a sin fix
This is a sin fix
Come on everybody let's go to the show
Murder is fun because my daddy told me so
Grab a gun, grab a knife, even hands will do
Punch em like a mother fucker even rape a few
Fuck the righteous wave and ride the evil undertow
If blood is what you want embrace the demon glow
Grab a gun, grab a knife, even hands will do
You punch em like a mother fucker even rape a few
We are the villains
Sucker fish fuckers down in the sink
We are the aliens
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
We are the losers
Flushing our faces into the world
This is a sin fix
This is a sin fix
Now that we have sieged you and pleased you
Come alive and murder your senses
Find yourself knee deep in the dead
Come alive and murder your senses
This is a sin fix
This is a sin fix
Apr 26, 2003
Alright, quick update. As if people check up on this to check up on ol' JB. That's me, if you're confused. I did standup again on Saturday, at the Steaknife. I dislike telling people 'how it went.' Because that's the inevitable question when I see people after my act. I don't really know, honestly, I'm not in the audience. By the time I get around to performing the jokes, they're not really even funny to me anymore. One of these days I'll get around to recording my acts, but I'm gonna keep going with what I've been doing for now. Also, this time, before I went up, I was sure I was going to bomb.
I didn't bomb. It went rather well. I got laughs pretty much throughout the act, and my stage personality is slowly developing (like an autistic child. That's how it's developing, not what it is, you twit). About half of the people there were there to see me, I really did not expect such a huge response to me telling people "I'm doing standup this Friday." I'd feel better about my act if I had gotten laughs out of complete strangers, but I feel better about myself because so many people showed up. So with that kind of a diatribe going on in my brain, I guess I feel alot like I always do. Except that I have another solid comedy performance under my belt. I'm still amazed that so many people I know came to see me. They all said that it was 'pretty good' or 'pretty funny.' Whatever THAT fucking means. Oh well, I could bitch about anything (which I'm hoping is a good quality in a comedian, fuck, Dennis Miller got a career out of it.)
When I tell my dad about this he says the same thing. That's cool, I don't really expect him to say much. I do wish, though, that he'd wait until I accomplish something actually concrete before he says that he's 'proud of me.' Oh well, a relationship with a father that didn't raise you has all kinds of complications that I really don't want to go into. Except with my therapist. Which I don't have. He's said that he wishes he could've seen it. Yeah, well so do I. It's not a big deal though, we all do what we can.
I can't wait until I've got enough money to hire a bodyguard. Oh the jokes I would tell. I'm out.
I didn't bomb. It went rather well. I got laughs pretty much throughout the act, and my stage personality is slowly developing (like an autistic child. That's how it's developing, not what it is, you twit). About half of the people there were there to see me, I really did not expect such a huge response to me telling people "I'm doing standup this Friday." I'd feel better about my act if I had gotten laughs out of complete strangers, but I feel better about myself because so many people showed up. So with that kind of a diatribe going on in my brain, I guess I feel alot like I always do. Except that I have another solid comedy performance under my belt. I'm still amazed that so many people I know came to see me. They all said that it was 'pretty good' or 'pretty funny.' Whatever THAT fucking means. Oh well, I could bitch about anything (which I'm hoping is a good quality in a comedian, fuck, Dennis Miller got a career out of it.)
When I tell my dad about this he says the same thing. That's cool, I don't really expect him to say much. I do wish, though, that he'd wait until I accomplish something actually concrete before he says that he's 'proud of me.' Oh well, a relationship with a father that didn't raise you has all kinds of complications that I really don't want to go into. Except with my therapist. Which I don't have. He's said that he wishes he could've seen it. Yeah, well so do I. It's not a big deal though, we all do what we can.
I can't wait until I've got enough money to hire a bodyguard. Oh the jokes I would tell. I'm out.
Everything has changed. I learned some things today that I really wish I had not. Sometimes getting to know people is a bad thing. Wow. That put me in a really weird mood. I'd be really depressed if I wasn't so doped up on anti-depressants. I can feel it though. The battle between the medication and the depression. Rolling around inside me. Unfortunately I am the winning factor. My choice of mood, thoughts, actions will make one side or the other the victor. I'm very prone to let the depression win. It's quite comfortable. Dark and warm, like a thick blanket, wrapped around me just a little too tight, squeezing, binding, protecting me from the feelings of pleasure or happiness that I might experiance. Feelings that make me even more depressed because I don't know how to handle them, how to express them. Depression is such a warm and comfortable place. Sometimes it get's lonely, but letting anyone else it would remove that impenetrable shield/blanket/wall leaving you vulnerable to the harshness of reality.
Today, I'm not going to chose the depression!!! Fuck that. I can chose to be hostile and confused and hurt, but not depressed. Fuck a bunch of that. I have to be able to control my emotions; be able to deny my self the indulgance of being depressed. Today I will take a step forward, grow a little, leave the petty and the meaningless behind. Today I will strike out and my depression, beat it back to where ever the fuck it comes from. I can be strong, I have the will and the strength to overcome! Other people should not make me depressed. Sad? yes. Let down? a bit. But why go into hiding from somebody killing their self. Fuck this shit. I'm going to be strong today. Maybe, just mayby, this small step forward will lead to bigger things, and hopefully it will rub off on the people around me, show them that they dont have to live like that, not if they don't want to.
But that is the problem. Who would want to leave the comfort and security of depression? Who wants to give up everything they know and take a chance? Not many, thats who. But I have had a taste of the unknown. I have felt joy! JOY! Never before have I felt joy. Never before have I had the urge to continue life; continue to see what else there is to accomplish, what else there is to see. I feel that I've seen it all, but I'm not fooling myself anymore! There is much more to life then what I've 'seen.' I have seen things many other people have not, but that was all false, simply chemicals disrupting chemicals, chemicals changing perseption.
I feel empowered with this new view of life! I feel like I should spread it to others, to open their eyes... But, alas, I can not. All I can do is state my experiance, my strength, and my hope. Maybe somebody, some day, some where will catch a glimpse of what there is. Maybe that person will take a risk and leave her false security behind.
Today, I'm not going to chose the depression!!! Fuck that. I can chose to be hostile and confused and hurt, but not depressed. Fuck a bunch of that. I have to be able to control my emotions; be able to deny my self the indulgance of being depressed. Today I will take a step forward, grow a little, leave the petty and the meaningless behind. Today I will strike out and my depression, beat it back to where ever the fuck it comes from. I can be strong, I have the will and the strength to overcome! Other people should not make me depressed. Sad? yes. Let down? a bit. But why go into hiding from somebody killing their self. Fuck this shit. I'm going to be strong today. Maybe, just mayby, this small step forward will lead to bigger things, and hopefully it will rub off on the people around me, show them that they dont have to live like that, not if they don't want to.
But that is the problem. Who would want to leave the comfort and security of depression? Who wants to give up everything they know and take a chance? Not many, thats who. But I have had a taste of the unknown. I have felt joy! JOY! Never before have I felt joy. Never before have I had the urge to continue life; continue to see what else there is to accomplish, what else there is to see. I feel that I've seen it all, but I'm not fooling myself anymore! There is much more to life then what I've 'seen.' I have seen things many other people have not, but that was all false, simply chemicals disrupting chemicals, chemicals changing perseption.
I feel empowered with this new view of life! I feel like I should spread it to others, to open their eyes... But, alas, I can not. All I can do is state my experiance, my strength, and my hope. Maybe somebody, some day, some where will catch a glimpse of what there is. Maybe that person will take a risk and leave her false security behind.
You can lead a horse to water but you can't make him (her) drink.
Apr 25, 2003
I got 10 hours of sleep last night, it was wonderful! Today is working out to be a good day. Every other Friday (Fryday to all you acid heads) the company pays for our luch, us being the tech support (and backbone) of the company. Today it is starting to look like BBQ for lunch. A good day indeed.
I did end up taking a sleeping pill (temazepam) last night... I was so tired and worn out from yesterday that I went right to sleep and because of the sleeping pill, slept all night... even slept an hour late. But that's ok, it's only work.
Apr 24, 2003
I thought today was going to be a good day... for a while at least. I got to sleep last night by 11 o' clock! I was super happy. But as things usually go I woke up at 1:30 and couldn't get back to any real form of sleep. But now that today is over and I can go home, I opt to stay, to milk the clock. My head hurts, my eyes hurt, and my stomach hurts, but getting paid to surf the internet is not something to pass up. I missed my AA meeting last night, I think that could be part of why I'm feeling so crazy. AA grounds me for the next day, kinda like meditation, makes me feel lighter and less fucked up but I don't really want to go tonight cuz I feel shitty again... I guess I'll go anyways, I need it.
Well, I didn't take my temazepam last night because yesterday it kicked my ass all day long. I'm feeling a little bit better today, no nausea, well, thats about it... I'm still super tired and pretty irritable, but maybe because I didn't sleep because I didn't take my sleeping pill!!! GOD DAMN! I hate lose - lose situations. I believe Bart Simpson said it the best, "You're damned if you do and you're damned if you don't."
Lucky for me, my homicidal urges of last night have mostly gone away. I could just see myself answering the phones last night... boy, would I have been fired. Oh! And to top off this shitty morning my coffee cup has a fucking little slit in it, dripping ever so slowly. I want to go home. =(
Expect more from me today... it's going to be a long one.
Apr 23, 2003
I just don't think I was ment to sleep. Got some new sleepers. They put me to sleep alright, but they make me more tired during the day than if I had not slept. Guess you win some, you lose some.
I've been going fucking crazy today... my mind's going about 50 different directions and not passing through my normal "filters." Don't really know what the filter thing is, but I'm thinking things that I really don't usually think... at least not as seriously as I have been... I mean, I'm so not a violent person, but I just want to beat the fuck out of someone and fuck their lifeless corpse. Maybe that's going a bit far... maybe not. Nothing wrong with a little necrophilia now and then.
I've been going fucking crazy today... my mind's going about 50 different directions and not passing through my normal "filters." Don't really know what the filter thing is, but I'm thinking things that I really don't usually think... at least not as seriously as I have been... I mean, I'm so not a violent person, but I just want to beat the fuck out of someone and fuck their lifeless corpse. Maybe that's going a bit far... maybe not. Nothing wrong with a little necrophilia now and then.
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