Wednesday, October 28, 2009

Ich Bin Kein Nazi!!

Jesus H Christ on a popsicle stick you crazy fucks were in a writing mood yesterday and today. I come home from missing a computer day to find enough blogs written to occupy a small slice of my life. Which was nice, it gave me something to do rather than jerk off. Keep Writing ya fucks.

Where to begin…where to begin.

I guess I can start with Sunday. The only thing you know so far about Sunday is that I, once again, couldn’t get up the nerve to go talk to a girl at the bar/couldn’t get the Jibette out of my fucking head. Well if you saw this status update: conversations at a bar: A guy on a date, girl says ''I'll pay, I make more money.'' A guy who trying to sell OC's that looks like a trucker from hell. A ''skinhead'' girl talking about traveling through the South. Allow me to elaborate.

Money Girl: I’m watching this rather scrimpy guy talking to a rather attractive woman. She was a bit older (which doesn’t bother me…I was 21 and messed around with a 52 year old), blonde (which kind of irks me…not really into blondes…well, platinum blondes), and had a decent rack. Naturally I was confused as to why this fine example of femdom would be with that guy. I quickly ascertained that they were on a date (due to the fact that they were doing the “so what do you like to do?” questions…bar fuck…you don’t really ask those questions) and that she has some kind of office job and he has some kind of job that’s not really a job. Yeah. So he runs out of money and assumes the “bar” aspect of the date is over. She politely tells him she wants another drink.
“I don’t really have the money.”
“I didn’t say you had to pay.”
“Yeah but…”
“Don’t worry, our tabs on me, I make more money then you anyway.”
Ouch…now you know why I’m really not that interested in dating. I can barely support myself as I’ve mentioned, especially with my vices, let alone take a girl out. However I would be goddamned if I took a date out and she paid. Fuck that. Old Fashioned…right here. Now if you’re in a relationship? No problem. In fact I kind of prefer it if you’ve been in a relationship for awhile that they pay for their own things…like a bar tab…because if we were to break up the only thing that does for me is leave me broke and you have all that money left over that you haven’t been spending. So yeah…fuck that…and fuck you x girlfriends that know they did that. RANT: Yeah, there I am spending all of my fucking money on you and after almost a year of it you decide to break up with me. Where does that leave me? Broke, scratching my ass. Where does that leave you? You go on a fucking vacation. You stupid little piece of shit. I should have…sorry. END RANT.

Trucker With The Drugs: Not really much to say here. Dude was around my height, outweighed me by about forty pounds, looked like he hadn’t showered, and was hitting on all the young chicks and proceeded to then try and sell them drugs. All while drinking Corona Light. Weird.

White Power Chick: So to my right I had money bags, to my left I had trucker guy, to his left we had…White Power Chick. I don’t really notice anything wrong with the girl (once again blonde, around 25 years old, decent tits, little bit of a stomach, bad outfit) except for the fact that the guy hitting on her is, like, old enough to be her dad. Look at me, being all weird about that when I almost slept with a woman my moms age. Well she’s drunk (later I found out also on X due to the “how big are my pupils?” question, followed by “I‘m on X…I love being able to drink all this alcohol when you‘re rolling.” That was to Trucker Guy) and just appears to be having a good time. Point to trucker guy who then starts to try and sell her drugs, while leaning over the guy she is there with. Now rather than get offended what does Dad do? He pulls up a chair so Trucker Guy can join them. My brain did a hiccup but ok. So later on I go to the bathroom and when I come back she is sitting there alone (they appear to have gone off to talk) and as I round the bar she looks up at me and smiles. *Shit. Don’t talk to me. Don’t talk to me. Don’t talk to me.*
“Hey.” cue flirt smile
“*fuck* Hi.” cue uncomfortable smile.
“Are you from around here?”
“*sigh* Yeah, I’m originally from Texas though.”
“Oh really?”
“*point to my Texas A&M shirt* Yep, my hometown.”
*she slowly reads the shirt*
“Where’s that?”
“College Station, Texas.”
“I didn’t like Texas.”
“That right? Where did you go?”
“Most people don’t like Dallas…Houston is worse though. Pray your car never breaks down on the highway.”

“Yeah well, I got mugged and robbed in Dallas no less than ten minutes after I got off the plane. Black eye too. Five nigg…*looks around* black guys.”
“That sucks.”
“I’m originally from Orlando.”
“Orlando huh? I have a friend *think of Trouble and her delicious rack* that lives in Orlando.”
“No Miami.”
“*ummm ok* Miami huh? I have a friend *think of Rusty who always argues with me* who lives in Miami.”
“So then I get off the Greyhound here and get surrounded by like thirty fucking nigg…*looks around* black guys. Fucking cops were standing right there, never even did anything.”
“Well technically they weren’t doing anything for the cops to get…”
“I fucking hate niggers, them and Mexicans, go back to your own fucking country. I’m a white supremacist.”
“I think that’s why they harassed me. I have some white supremacist (yes, she managed to actually spit that word out) tattoos. I think they were showing.”
“That would be my guess why.”
*cue guys coming back*
“Well you have a good night.”
*What the fuck?*
She left with both of them. Yeah I don’t know why that kind of shit happens to me. I was at a bar one night and this dude came in with a group of friends wearing a “My Boss is an Austrian Painter” t-shirt with a swastika necklace. Cue the huge motherfucker with him that looked like he could have beaten Arnold arm wrestling covered in tattoos that are all symbols of Nazi Germany and the other guys sporting similar tats. It wasn’t that hard to figure out. Well I’m taking a piss in the bathroom. T-Shirt Boy comes in and starts pissing. I casually say “Guten tag. Wie geht es dir.”
“The fuck did you say to me? What language was that faggot?”
“That would be German…I saw your shirt…”
*looks down*
“Oh right sorry bout that man. Hey dude, we’re having this huge rally out at [insert location here]. There’s going to be a bunch of white power bands and shit.
*walking out the door*
“Tut mir leid. Ich bin kein Nazi.”
“Alright man, I’ll see ya there!”
The highlight of that night was watching that group get in a fight with a group of black guys. A wee little lad that looked about the size of Prince beat the shit out of that fucking huge guy…priceless.

I know I had more to talk about. Oh right! Last night.

I got off work and started drinking. By drinking I don’t mean my typical casual drinking. I mean boss isn’t there (he probably left to go hang with the girlfriend) so I’m
drinking for free drinking. If you understand the language I’m speaking. Anyway. The buddy that is getting married comes up to hang with me with guess who? Yeah…the one I can’t stand. I’m actually drunk enough to be pleasant with him. It also helped that he’s a fat ass who admitted
that all he does is collect his unemployment checks and sit at home and play video games. Enough so that apparently he is one of the top players on Call Of Duty…*cough*….LOSER. Oh and that his wife divorced him after eight months. After cheating on him…*cough*…four times. Yeah, all kinds of make me feel happy right there. Like happy, happy. Like I could have danced with glee, happy. Leave the bar…Waffle House (FINALLY!!)…while at the Waffle House I see a girl that I once got in a threesome with (we exchange phone numbers)…get back to my car and drive home…pull out cell phone and dick roll said threesome girl…pass out, in the car…wake up at 7am and go inside and pass out again. That, my friends, was a good night!

Monday, October 26, 2009

I Can't Think Of Anything Clever...So You Get A Shit Title

I didn’t think I was going to write today. In fact I’ve kind of put it off…much like I put off going to cigarettes and now I regret that as well. I really didn’t think I had much to talk about. Guess I did.

First the happy! I’m going to get to travel in November. I rarely get to travel anymore. Even though I’m going someplace I’ve already been I will have two differences this time. One, there will be points where I am going to be allowed to roam free (I’m going with my mother for my Aunt’s wedding). Unless I’m by myself I never get that opportunity. Two, I’m over 21 now. I think the last time I went I was still underage. Pretty sure. Although that time I just got high with my cousin everyday. He had “really” good weed. Three, nothing really, I’m going to be away from Georgia. My last trip was to Texas to pack up my Grandma’s stuff and put her in a nursing home. I actually got upset because my Aunt, Uncle, and Father were just going to throw away all her pictures. I didn’t want them but I took them for my sister who is a big family person and a photographer. Four, I’m likely going to go see one of the movies at SIFF. The Seattle International Film Festival. Which appears to play films year round. How fucking badass is that? Anyway, when I’ll be there it is Italian films. The three I am trying to choose from are as follows.

fortapasc (IMDB: "It was one of the five Italian films pre-selected as the Best Foreign Film submission for the 82nd Academy Awards")

sea purple (according to the SIFF website: Growing up in 19th-century Sicily, rebellious Angela ("Valeria Solarino) finds herself attracted to her best friend Sara (Isabella Ragonese). As deep friendship turns to romantic passion, her strict quarry boss father demands that the relationship cease and that she marry one of his workers. Refusing, Angela is locked in a cellar until her father determines a potential way for them both to get what they want.")

lecture 21

I’ve always wanted to go to the Atlanta Film Festival but unless you are press or want to pay a crazy price it gets kind of ridiculous. SIFF tickets are only $10 a show. That’s like going to a regular theatre but instead you get to see international films that will likely never even get a limited release. I live in the wrong fucking state. Fuck drinking, I’d be there everyday. Also they are doing “The Downfall of Osen (Orizuru Osen) [which] is one of the very few surviving silent films by revered Japanese director Kenji Mizoguchi…” (from the SIFF website). But that may be the day I’m flying in. Not to mention I really have to be in a mood to see a silent film. However, they are going to have a live concert to play along with the movie instead of a recording…still…only $15. SIFF is the shit!

Now to the not so happy…

I’ve been re-evaluating friends. If you looked at my group of friends over a year ago now it would look drastically different. This was also around the same time my relationship ended and when I moved into my apartment. Weird huh? I’ve never had a party here. No one ever asks to come over. I didn’t even pop the cherry in the motherfucker until recently. I almost want to purge my facebook just to start over from scratch. Its weird, but I almost consider the Pajiba community more as friends then the people I actually know in real life. Shit…I tell you motherfuckers more. I really only have “one” friend now. One that I almost always hang out with. I rarely see anyone else. My life is no longer the same as theirs.

Speaking of friends. My buddy is getting married on Friday. He’s been married for over a year now but she was around seven months pregnant when they got married and she wants a wedding. So I guess I should say my buddy is having his wedding on Friday. I haven’t seen him in that long. He used to be my best friend. Of course he is stationed in South Carolina, he has a wife, he has a kid. Like I said…different lives. I don’t really want to go now. I am (because I promised him), but I don’t want to. Not to mention its way the fuck away from me, around a two hour drive (although my dad has volunteered to be my DD), I’m going to have to work the next day, and a bitter enemy will be there. Bitter as in the sense that the last time I spoke with him I told him, “If I ever see you again I’m putting you in the hospital.” In all fairness I’ve seen him twice since then (didn’t really speak either time). As well I’ve heard he is unemployed, weighs only about twenty pounds lighter then me (three inches shorter) now, and divorced (after being married less than a year), so I may enjoy this meeting after all.

I saw another girl at the bar last night. I almost got drunk enough to talk to her. However, not only am I a chicken shit but all I kept thinking about was the damn Jibette. Fuck. No really though. She is literally the only woman I think about. I wake up and immediately check facebook to see if she sent me anything. I check it constantly at work on my phone. I sit on the goddamn computer for hours when I get home just to catch her online. It…is…fucking…pathetic. It’s pathetic and I fucking know it. It’s pathetic and I try and will myself to stop but it just doesn’t work. There’s just something about her. Something that I can’t let go of yet. Maybe if I figure out what that something is I can find another girl that has it. Maybe that something only she has.

I’ve also figured out my first three reads for the Cannonball Run II. Animal Righ
ts & Pornography, The Practical Guide to Racism, and Mein Kampf. Heh heh. Yeah. I’ve never read Mein Kampf and I already have several people that want to know what I think of it. I should have got it in original German, but it would have taken me a year just to read the fucking thing. I can speak the damn language ok but I can’t read it or write it for shit. Just a little taste? In The Practical Guide to Racism within four pages the author says, “Every person is d
ifferent , and it is rare for someone to fit a stereotype perfectly. Except for so-called “walking stereotypes,” like Carson for Queer Eye.” The book is hilarious. It takes on everything from white people to fucking mermaids…seriously…I can‘t wait to actually read it.

Eh. I guess I’m done. I’m still waiting for HULU to upload the newest episode of “Castle.” Pricks.

Oh, and gp that's a pic of me with my nephew for you.

Friday, October 16, 2009

I...Am A Golden really...true story

Nothing major to report. Just felt like talking.

I got off work yesterday and proceeded to stay there and drink. So…for those paying attention I got off work at 4pm yesterday and drank until I left around 11pm. From there I went to Bullfrogz (a shit hole…my type of bar). Daria, Brad, and Steven met me up there. I bought Daria and I a fishbowl and Brad and Steven one as well of Fuck Me Blue. Drank that. Bought a Jaeger Bomb for Steven and I. Then I bought the all you can drink bud light pass. Total tab for the night $35. I stopped drinking around 2am. That’s 10 straight hours of drinking. I am a Golden God.

While at the bar I met a girl. Hold on, let me tell the story for this one.

So I love to people watch…fucking love it. Being into it so much I’ve also done a lot of research on reading body language. Think "Lie to Me" but it has little to do with facial gestures…I’m almost that good. Haha. Anyway, I was going around the bar with my eyes, talking to Daria and pointing out what’s going on with the people around us.
I see a girl flirting with a guy to get him to buy her drinks…body language says: You’re not getting laid buddy.
I see a guy flirting with a girl…body language says: She really wants you to leave her the fuck alone.
I see a girlfriend making out with her boyfriend…body language says: She’s also got a hand on the guys crotch sitting next to him.
I see a guy across the bar eyeballing me…my body language says: Quit fucking eyeballing me (he stops).
You get the picture. You can also read who is depressed, happy, sick, scared, bored, mad, lonely, etc.

Anyway, so I’m sitting there telling all this to Daria and she goes (cue New Jersey accent), "What about the girl that keeps glancing at you?" Wha, wha, what? I take a quick glance over and go. "Yeah, but she has a hand on the guys thigh sitting next to her." Now what that says in body language is:
A) Its her boyfriend.
B) It’s a guy she is interested in. Touching someone is a tell-tale sign of an open conversation or interest. I.e. the types of hugging. If you hug someone and pat:friends, hold still:unsure, rub:interested in being more than friends. Now I realize this doesn’t fit every scenario, dating however…think about it.
C) He brought her.
I tend to always go with a first bet and so I assume its her boyfriend and go with that.

Daria smiles and says, "Then why does she still keep looking at you?" I look back over, catch her eye, and stay that way. She seriously just looks at me, starts to smile, and then looks away. Wha, wha, what? Of course the guy gives me a what the fuck look, but on a glance over of him I am in no way intimidated. So we do that for awhile, the eye game, and then I say fuck it and decide to talk to her. In mid conversation with the guy by the way, I ask her if she’s having a good time. She turns (closing the conversation with the guy), smiles, and starts talking to me. I don’t remember much after this point but I do remember that:
One: She just broke up with her boyfriend.
Two: That she works at the bar (which I will going to on Monday because…well…she works on Monday).
Three: That her name is Emily.
Suhweet. Daria left, then assumed I took the girl home, hahaha. Anyway I leave the bar and go to Kroger.

Now here I am, a big fat drunk dude at Kroger after 2 in the morning. I’m happy, great day, just spent two hours flirting with a girl, I’ve got a smile plastered to my face. I go straight to my aisle that the two frozen foods are on that I want to get. Cue black guy standing with his cart at the end of the aisle. So I stumble over to the first door, open it, then stare at the fucking bags of Bertolli 10 min microwave dinners for a good three minutes trying to read the labels. I find the one I want, grab it, and continue to the next stop. Standing in front of the door I need to get to is said black guy. I laugh. Why did I laugh? No fucking clue. Sometimes I just laugh at random for no goddamn fucking reason. I’m sure something funny popped into my head. Maybe my high spirits just leaked themselves out. Anyway, I laugh, then say excuse me and open the door.
"What the fuck were you laughing at?"
I look up.
"Say what?"
"What the fuck were you laughing at?"
"Nothing…I was just laughing."
"Were you laughing at me?"
"No, I was just laughing."
"What was funny?"
"Nothing man."
Granted I still have a smile on my face.
"You find something funny with me standing here?"
Now at this point what I really wanted to do was look at him and say…
"Look ya fucking cocksucker, I just had a good day. You know how long its been since I had a really good day? Are you wanting to ruin my really good day? You say one more fucking word and I swear to christ I will slam your little baby blue sweater shirt ass straight into that goddamn glass door until it fucking breaks. Then I’ll shit kick the holy god fuck out of you."

Instead, I shake my head, grab the taquitos I’m looking for, say "No man" and walk away…with a smile on my face because I just thought about shit kicking someone.

Well, that was my day. I’m about to go drink again all over again. I’m happy drinking though fuckers…I haven’t been depressed in several days. Of course I’m going to watch "Fringe" first, then bust out my new hoodie as I walk out the door.

Wednesday, October 14, 2009

A Better Mood/ A Poem For You

I’ve had the song "The Worst Day Since Yesterday" by Flogging Molly stuck in my head for a week now, it goes something like this.

Well I know, I miss more than hit
With a face that was launched to sink
An' I seldom feel, the bright relief
It's been the Worst Day Since Yesterday

If there's one thing I have said
Is that the dreams I once had, now lay in bed
As the four winds blow, my wits through the door
It's been the Worst Day Since Yesterday

Not because I’ve been overly depressed more then usual (because I actually haven’t). Its just been in my head.

I mean that when I say it non-believers. I have money in the bank, I’ve actually spent very little time at home this week, and I’ve been able to go out and do things…these are all things that make me happy. Even though I was in an ill mood yesterday (I think it has something to do with not having a day off yet) I still went and picked up a friend from the airport and then stayed downtown to hang out and drink. I hate downtown. Yet even sitting through rush hour traffic and having to drive the fucking shit ass roads of downtown Atlanta I never lost my good mood. It stuck with me the whole night. It has even stayed with me most of today too. On top of just being out of the house I had a great conversation with Steven last night.

For once I had a serious "living" conversation. I have them all the time online but usually never in person. The conversations in person with me tend to stay light and casual. It was just a conversation of the value of "outside" friends. It’s the friend that no one else really knows, the one that you can tell anything to, the one that doesn’t judge you like the rest of your friends might (just because they are around you more, the rest of your friends that is). For him, it was a buddy of his I met last night for the first time…they’ve known and talked to each other for around 4 years now. For me, it is a girl I had a crush on in high school and really started talking to again this year…she is a shy person, so I’ll call her JM.

By the way…for those of my social networking friends…you may have noticed that when I have an update that is rather depressing (or even funny for that matter, well, at least I think it is) I get generally four types of comments. The genuine "I’m sorry," the people who actually see the humor and go with it, the people who actually make fun of the fact that I am depressed, or…this one: today: I'm depressed so I think I'll drown my sorrows in lady liquor.tomorrow: I'm depressed so I think I'll drown my sorrows in lady liquor.the next day: I'm depressed so I think I'll drown my sorrows in lady liquor.30 years later: I'm depressed so I think I'll drown my sorrows in lady liquor.30 years + 1 day: dead= a fucking waste of someone who could have been spectacular. Now answer me a question. Do you really think. If I am severely depressed at the time that I make an update that I want to read that? Or the four comments after that not only complimenting it but continuing? By the way, the last comment came from the roomie’s married jobless girlfriend who I’ve already told to stop commenting on my shit. You know…I may just delete everyone off my face book save for Pajiba people and a select other group of friends.

I got new glasses Monday (because I stepped on my old pair), while it cost me a good bit I’m alright with that. I’m joining the Cannonball Read this year because, well, I haven’t actually "read" anything in a long time. Sure a book here or there, but considering back in school I was reading 6 novels a week, I feel like I’m not really reading. I may even go for the 100...fuck 52. Although my first review will be for a book written by one of my old prof’s called Animal Rights & Pornography, mainly because I want ya’ll to read it. I’ve watched some good movies this week, among them Public Enemies and a Japanese film Ashura-jô no hitomi (which I found highly entertaining). Then again I’ve watched some bad ones, I’m looking at you Fighting. Oh, the trailer for The Expendables leaked today and that gave me wood. Seeing Jet Li and Dolph Lundgren fight is just going to make me die in the theatre.

Tonight is the first night I’ve been home since Saturday…shit…maybe I should go out.

Oooooo, I grabbed the meanest little fucking kitten I have ever met in my life last night. The bartender had picked up this stray kitten and put some food and water for it in her car. Well, when she came back out she found that the cat had crawled up beside the dashboard behind the interior side panel. As I was walking into the bar they were trying to take the glove box out to get to the kitten. I told them to stop and reached up in there and pulled the cat out. That little motherfucker (who fit in the palm of my hand) bit me seven times and clawed the fuck out of two of my fingers. She’s naming it Lucifer.

So I know I said I wasn’t going to talk to the Jibette anymore. I made it two days. Yeah, I know, shoot me. Anyway, she confirmed what ya’ll were saying. She said she likes talking to me, but that she doesn’t see it going anywhere nor does she ever want to meet up on purpose. Color me sad. It seems everyone saw that coming but me. Anyway, I’m trying to move past that. While I still haven’t found anyone I’m interested in I’m going to start looking…again. I realized I haven’t been on a real date in over a year. If you count the relationship before that I haven’t been on a real date in almost two years. Fucked up huh?

I also heard that Saturday night I almost got in a fight with my boss…because he called me uneducated…I don’t remember (I was wasted) but they said I got in his face and then punched a door. I’m not an angry drunk, I never even got in a fight when I was a bouncer, he must have said something to really piss me off.

Anyway, seeing as how that poem I wrote didn’t seem to mean that much I’m going to share it with you now. Why not right? Am I going to go out tonight? I am really debating that now.

A Woman

There’s something to be said about a woman,
Who from two time zones away,
Can liven up my mood,
And brighten up my day.

Who with a simple written "hello"
Can make my demons disappear,
And can make my heart turn mellow.

Something to be said about a woman.
That can make me wait for hours just to see that she’s online.
That can make me want to improve my life.
That can give me hope for a future.
That can erase the tentacles of depression.
That can make my worries go away.

I think of kissing her,
of touching her,
of seeing her smile.

She already knows so many secrets that I haven’t told a soul.
She is the only woman I’ve ever talked to for hours at a time.
She is the only one I think about morning, day, and night.
She is my angel, my goddess, my heaven from afar.

I think of looking in to her eyes,
of melting away,
of being at peace.

She would be a match for me, I know it, I feel it in my heart.
She is my intoxication, my passion, my desire.
She is the stuff of myth and legend, Venus, Aphrodite or Helen of Troy.
She is the devil and angel that whispers in my ear.

I think of holding her,
of breathing her in,
of being lost.

Something to be said about a woman.
That doesn’t need me to live her life.
That doesn’t need to be told she’s beautiful to know she is.
That doesn’t need to explain herself or apologize.
That doesn’t need my money or stability.
That doesn’t care if I’m insane.

I think of hearing her voice,
of her laugh,
of her cries.

There’s something to be said about a woman,
Who I’ve never touched or heard a voice,
That can make me yearn to write again,
And show me that I have a choice.

Who makes me feel the way I do,
That makes me ask what if,
And if she wonders the same thing too.

There’s something about "this" woman.


Monday, October 12, 2009

A Story For You...

Wrote this one a few weeks ago...let me know what you think.


Jacob walked down the road in silence, the sounds of roaring fires, panicked screams, and sirens filled his ears. His black leather duster dragged the ground behind him leaving a wispy impression in the ashes and covering his boot imprints. In his right hand he carried a 1911 pistol, on his left hip a sawed off shotgun. He wore a cowboy hat that covered most of his face, leaving only a hint of a strong jaw and a few days worth of stubble. He moved past a burning car, rotating slightly to the side to avoid the heat. Jacob’s eyes searched around him.

Down an alley a woman was being raped by no less then six men. He could see her struggling in their overpowering grip, he could see glimpses of her flesh in-between their legs, he heard her screams, but he couldn’t help her. That was a fight he would lose. Two people ran past him on the sidewalk, feet puffing up ash in heaps, he ignored them because they ignored him, just like the naked man running after them with a butcher knife in his hand. The naked man’s eyes were haunted, a kind of bloodlust roared behind them. Jacob turned the corner and saw a wall of people, all their backs were to him, so he backed up slowly and continued down the street the way he was going. After about a mile a Molotov cocktail flew past his face. It exploded on the front door of a house and the wood quickly caught. In the haze he saw a person run directly at him, waving their arms above their head, he lifted the 45 caliber pistol and fired one shot. It caught the figure in the head, the head rocked back with whiplash and the body collapsed on the ground sliding a little from the momentum. Jacob walked over to it to find that he had just shot a teenage girl. She was wearing a bra and cheerleading shorts. He looked at her body covered in cuts and bruises. A tear rolled down his cheek but he ignored it. He took one last look at the now engulfed house, then the girl, and continued walking.

A few hours later he stopped in front of an old library. Moving up the steps he made sure no one was around, then pried off a board that covered the door and crawled inside. As soon as he was in he turned around and replaced the board again, looking around one more time for any other people. When he stood up a woman next to him lowered a baseball bat. She had been standing over him the entire time he was crawling in. Jacob ignored her as he made his way across the empty library. Compared to the unrest outside the inside of the library was quite peaceful. Quiet, untouched, undisturbed. The woman made her way across the room and then behind an overturned desk where a little girl of about six stood up, red hair to the small of her back. They moved together toward Jacob, the little girl attached to her mother’s side. "Did you find any food?" Jacob placed the gun on a table next to him and began pulling out cans of food from his pockets and a few bottles of water. The woman immediately came over and began to inspect the cans nodding with approval at each one.

"Any news?" She asked.
"Yes, did you hear anything?"
"A lot, ya know, I just went to that bar up the road, had a pint and a Reuben sandwich. Talked to the bartender a bit, and watched CNN."
"You know what I mean."
"What did I hear? Screams."

She folded her hands across her chest and cocked her hip out to the side. The universal sign of a pissed off woman.

"Look Eve…how bout next time you go out. You can find all the news you want."
"Are the mobs still out?"
"I ran into one, it’s mainly individual outbursts now."

The little girl peeked out from around her mother and looked at him.

"How ya doing Pickle? You been reading?"

The little girl nodded, made to speak, stopped herself, then started again.

"Did you see any other kids?"

Jacob lowered his head and removed the cowboy hat. With a steady hand he smoothed the hair back from his face and looked at her.

"No Pickle, I didn’t see any other children. They are probably like you. Hiding with their mommy."

Something hit the wooden barricade in front of the door and things happened immediately. Jacob grabbed his gun off the counter and moved to the door in a sidestepping fashion. Pickle took off for her hiding place behind the overturned table, and Eve ran straight for the door, picking up the baseball bat as she went. Then, silence. No one moved, no one made a sound, they all waited. There is no telling how long they stood in the darkness before Jacob finally moved, bringing his gun down. As soon as he made that movement the tension in the room eased. Eve lowered her bat, Pickles picked her head up from behind the table.

"Are they gone?" Pickles rasped from across the room.

As Eve moved toward her Jacob moved away, grabbing a candle off a counter and lighting it. He moved deftly through the bookshelves to a section he wanted and grabbed a book then sat down on the floor right where he was at and using the candlelight began to read. He wasn’t worried about anyone seeing the light.

As soon as the riots started he had gone to the library immediately. It had only two entrances and high windows. When he got there the first thing he did was barricade the windows, tight, no one could see out and no one could see in. Then he had begun work on the barricade for the door. He used a few tools from the garage to cut a hole in the front door that he could crawl through, and made the trap door in the barricade to give him easy access in. When he thought about this later he realized he probably should have done this at the back door, easier to not be spotted, but he liked his handiwork anyways. He knew when the riots were starting that it wasn’t going to be your normal riots.

For one, they were happening all over the world. Not just one city…thousands. Another reason he knew they would be different was because they weren’t stopping, most riots die down in a matter of hours, these riots had been going on for three days before he even moved to the library.

He chose the library because, as a child, it had been his favorite place to go. To get away from his drunk of a mother, and his prick of a father. He lost himself in books, books that could take him to other places, other times, where he could become other people. Turned out to be a smart decision for another reason as well, with no power, there was nothing to do to entertain yourself, but read. Why had the riots started? Jacob thought he knew the answer but he wasn’t sure.

The papers and TV news stations blared the news of a new plague. A disease that made the bubonic plague look like a pussy. Millions had already died before the riots. It had started wiping out mass chunks of China. The news were reporting outbreaks in France, Germany, and the United Kingdom when suddenly there were reports in Los Angeles, Houston, and New York City. That’s when they started. The blood rage he had seen in the fat naked man with the knife was the first stage of the virus. Think rabies, that’s the first stage, the second stage features mass lesions and boils, the third your insides literally cook. They government had no idea where it came from, no idea how to stop it. When the people lose faith in those that are supposed to govern them its only natural for anarchy to assume control. The riots had been going on for a month now. Jacob couldn’t even remember the last time he saw a fireman, a police officer, or anyone in the military. The structure had collapsed. The plus side was they seemed to be dying down.

Originally the masses gathered. The first one’s were thousands strong, by day three they were in the millions. He had no idea how many people had died, he did remember the seven he’d killed since the start though. The girl on the street had been his first woman, his first non-adult as well. He knew she had the plague, how else could you explain the state she was in. A dark corner of his mind wondered if he would get it, but he typically pushed those thoughts out of his head and just worried about surviving. He had met Eve and Pickles a day after he had moved into the library. He was out scavenging for food when they ran into the house he was in followed closely by two men. The men weren’t infected, but they had the look of rage of their face, not the rage caused by mass hysteria, the rage of someone who just had impure intentions. He killed them both, and the girls followed him home. Eve, he found out, was a schoolteacher. A kindergarten teacher to be exact. She had been doing her job for going on three years. The little one, Pickles, was the product of a "sperm donor" who knocked her up then left her. She had been a single mother since before her birth.

Jacob fell asleep reading Little Dorrit. He awoke to find someone standing over him. He smiled at first, thinking it was Pickles or Eve, the smile quickly faded when he realized it was someone else. He grabbed for his shotgun when something hard hit him in the head. He woke up again to find the library alight from a mass of candles spread throughout. He was suspended on a wall facing the front doors, a good fifteen feet off the floor. There were at least ten men. Three of them were taking turns raping Eve in between two bookcases to the left of him, he could see her face, she was staring at him, but her eyes were glossed over, there was no one home. Immediately his eyes searched for Pickles. She was in the back right corner of the library. She had her back to him. Another man was with her, rubbing the front of his pants as he slowly lifted her dress.

Every muscle in Jacobs body pulled at the ropes around him and he screamed. He screamed hard enough for the chords to stick out on his neck. Hard enough for a vein to pop out on his forehead. Hard enough for his voice to crack.

"Get the fuck away from her!"

All eyes went to him. From the three men raping Eve, the man lifting Pickles dress, to the other men scattered around the library.

"The fuck you doing boy? You want to get a mob on us?"

He looked down to see a man underneath him. Probably in his fifties who was dressed like a priest.

"Are any of you even human anymore? Look at yourselves."

The men looked around at each other and laughed. They did however, congregate into the center of the library underneath him, even those who had been raping Eve. He could see Eve slowly rolling over, grabbing her clothes, as he also could see Pickles staring right at him, a look on her face that cried help me.

"Are you boy?" the Priest said, he appeared to be the leader of this group.
"Of course I am."
"Really? You had a woman here you didn’t even touch. From the look of the sleeping arrangements you even slept on the other side of this fucking library. What? You jerk off to her at night, didn’t want her to hear the flapping?"
The men around him laughed.
"It’s called respect…"
"Respect? Boy you gotta look around you. What respect is there, ain’t nobody respect you your entire life."
"Why don’t you just kill me then?"
"We need men boy. You’ll come around."
"What are we without emotion? Without respect? Dignity? Compassion?"
"We are animals son…all we ever been…all we will be."

Jacob watched as Eve, now dressed, picked up a gun and started walking toward the group of men. She was behind them so they couldn’t see her. She walked right up to the first man that raped her, put the gun to the back of his head, and pulled the trigger. The bullet caught the man in front of him in the head as well. She swung the gun quickly, shooting the next man to rape her, only this time it was right in his face. She left a crater where his nose had been . She went to shoot the third man when a barrage of bullets ripped her apart. Jacob watched in slow motion as every impact rippled her flesh. He watched the bullets rip up her torso shredding the pants suit she was wearing. He watched as a chunk of her head disappeared. Her auburn hair flying away like she was scalped. He wanted to look away but he couldn’t. Her body dropped lifelessly to the ground.

"Fuck…shot Bobby right in the goddamn face. Crazy bitch."

Pickles started screaming. Not a scream of terror. Just a pure, childlike scream. One that can’t be mimicked, one that can’t be faked. Authentic…heartbreaking. One gunshot and the scream stopped. Jacob had his eyes closed, he couldn’t watch that. As the gunshot went off the person he was died inside. He was no longer Jacob. He was now filled with a pure rage, a rage that could only be washed in blood.

"We gotta get outta here," the Priest said, "cut him down, tie him up, gotta move before the mob comes."

Jacob thrashed as the men pulled him down, then a hit to the back of his head sent him back to the world of sleep.

He awoke to find himself in the woods near a campfire. The men were all sitting around it, not really speaking. Some of them were having side conversations, most were just staring into the fire. Jacob’s head hurt bad. Being knocked out brutally twice in one day was never a good day. However, he bit through the pain, his eyes, if he could have seen them, looked like phase one of the infection. He squirmed around on the ground the best he could manage using his hands he felt around until he came across a chunk of broken glass. He started to cut the ropes at his wrist, slicing his hands apart as well, the glass going through his skin as it was going through the ropes. He didn’t make a sound, he didn’t even grimace. When he had cut through them he didn’t move he just sat there, pretending to still be unconscious, as one by one they fell asleep.
He stood up about an hour after the last one went to sleep and shook his legs awake. He scavenged through some bags until he found a straight razor, a pistol, and some extra ammo. He moved around the group until he found two people. The third man who raped Eve, and the big man who was going to molest Pickles. He slit there throats quickly, both times the men opened their eyes to look at him, and he held them down still alive but unable to scream as he carved the females names into their chests. When he was done he went through some other bags until he found his duster and his cowboy hat, he put them on and slinked into the darkness.

The next day he watched as the camp of men, now only five strong discovered the bodies and the fact that he was missing. They did a crude attempt at trying to find him, never even going the hundred yards out to where he was sitting in a tree before packing up their things, leaving the bodies, and taking off. They managed to stay off the streets for the most part, hiking through woods, keeping away from civilization. During the course of the day the group came across another group about the same size, they parted without speaking to each other. They came across a house later that day, as they went in to scavenge a woman ran out, she was shot in the back of the head before she managed to get fifteen feet from the house…still in her pajamas. They left her where she died and continued on. They came across a small cabin in the woods close to dusk and entered it. There was the brief sound of a struggle, then a gunshot. As he sat in the woods waiting for the cover of darkness he heard the sounds of rape. The tell-tale grunts of a man, the screams, whimpers, the silence of a woman. He heard two distinctive women cry out at the same time. When it turned to silence there was the sound of two more gunshots. He waited until he noticed the fire had gone down and walked up to the cabin.

Through a side window he could see inside, the men were spread out sleeping in various parts, in the corner of the living room were three bodies. A man in his forties, fat, well dressed, and two younger women, identical twins. Jacob guessed a father and his daughters. He made his way to the front of the cabin, taking his shoes off so the heavy boots wouldn’t rattle on the wood, and slinked inside. He came across the first man in the living room with the bodies, he was laying next to one of the dead twins, a hand on her breast. He slit his throat, then began carving into his chest: Eve, Pickles, then the number four…for the four he had watched get killed that day. That took the men down to four, he walked into a bedroom to find one of the men jerking off. Apparently this wasn’t one of the men who did the raping, but it disgusted him none the less. He walked up behind the man and slit his throat then quickly brought the blade down and severed his penis from his body. The man hit the ground in a thud, not knowing what to grab, his throat or his crotch. He settled for his throat and tried a vain attempt at defending himself as Jacob began carving. When he was done, he retreated from the cabin and returned to the woods.


Jacob was startled awake to the yell and then he smiled. They had found his present. He looked at the cabin to see the Priest and the last two remaining men standing on the front porch, guns in their hands.

"Come out boy! Come out, come out, wherever you are."

They packed their shit and took off again, once again leaving the bodies. He followed, not quite as close as he had the day before, but he kept them within site. When one of them branched off around midday he followed him. The man walked straight to a house, like he knew where he was going even in the woods, he went inside and Jacob went to a window. Inside were at least thirty men. Jacob’s mind reeled.

"Pack your shit, boss wants ya to meet up with him. We’re going hunting."

The group let out a holler and started running around inside the house, gathering their gear. Jacob raced to a tool shed around the back of the house and kicked the door open. He found a large container of gasoline, a few cans of kerosene, and some lighter fluid. He grabbed the kerosene and gasoline and ran back to the house. The way the house was built it was level at the back with the ground, being on the side of a hill, he ran there. He climbed onto the top of the house and dumped out the entire container of gasoline. Then he jumped down and opened both cans of kerosene and started pouring them around the outside of the house. When he got back to the front door it opened.

"Who the fuck are you?"

He dropped the cans and pulled out his gun in one swift movement, shooting the man in the center of the chest. He grabbed one of the cans, tossed it in the open door, and put a lighter to the ground. Flames erupted around the outside of the house and quickly spread to the inside. He ran around to the back of the house and puddled the remaining can of kerosene at the back door when the flames caught it the entire door went up. The first thing he heard was yelling, the sounds of panicked men, then glass breaking. He made his way around the outside of the house. Every time a man jumped out, he shot them. Several tried to return fire from inside the house but the flames kept him from being seen clearly. When the flames hit the roof the house became a literal inferno. When the gas pipe blew the concussion sent Jacob flying. He landed about thirty feet away from the house, feeling like he had just been punched in the gut by someone three times bigger then him. He sat there for a minute, catching his breath and reloading his gun, when out of the corner of his eye he saw the Priest and the last man standing at the ridgeline to the house.

He raised his weapon and fired, killing the man next to the Priest. Then the two remaining men looked at each other.

"You going to kill me now boy?"

Jacob didn’t speak, he only stared at him. Then using the fire as cover he backed up and disappeared into the woods. He waited to see if the Priest would follow him and sure enough he did. Jacob was hoping, he knew the man would likely rather be a hunter then the hunted. He knew this like he knew the man didn’t want to shoot him, he wanted it to be close, and personal. So he started hiking, he walked well into the afternoon before he started to hear the sounds he wanted to hear. Screams…fires…yells…the sounds of the riots.

From woods to city streets seemed to happen in mere moments. From relative peace and tranquility to utter chaos. All around him people were running. The riots must have just gotten to this little oasis even a month later. Most of the people on the streets hadn’t even boarded up windows. There were only a few things on fire. This town must have thought it would never reach their idyllic place. This one was just starting…perfect. While most of the people in the town were running away from the screams he started towards them, making sure the Priest was following. Some of the towns people were actually leaving in cars, the poor fools, if they only knew that made them a bigger target. Some stared at him as they ran, not recognizing this person, this cloaked figure. The priest got even more stares, especially in his dirty bloody clothes, hunting knife in hand. He moved to a back alley and then using a fire escape went for the roof. He wanted to see how big the riot was. He instantly became happy. In front of him, moving down the street about a mile away, was a crowd of about a thousand. Not the largest he’d seen, not by a long shot, but perfect for what he needed. He jumped to the next building and started down the fire escape just as the Priest was getting on the roof of the first building. He started to run and noticed the Priest was doing the same thing. The crowd was building, he could feel the throng, he could feel the energy.

The infected came first, flipping cars, smashing head first through glass windows. Some of them would always kill themselves first. The uninfected let them go first, let them start the panic, feed off the energy. They would come with fire. They would come with the looting and pillaging. He passed by a few of the infected without them so much as looking at him, they did however look at the Priest and he had to fight several of them off before he could continue. As he stood there waiting two more infected ran past him and to the Priest. He was a kindred spirit so it seemed. Then he moved to the main street and waited in the middle of the road, he could see them coming, they were only about a hundred yards away now. The Priest stepped into the road, already winded, and looked at him.

"We going to finish this boy?"

He stared at the Priest, a hard look, one that actually made the other man take a step back.


Some of the mob moved around them, the main force not to them yet. They glared at the man in the Priests clothes. Jacob reached into his pocket and pulled out the straight razor. He opened it up slowly, showing the still polished and sharp blade despite its recent endeavors a slight glint coming off of it from the growing fires. Then the throng hit. Jacob was surrounded by people yelling, people screaming, people pushing and shoving. He struggled to keep his footing and managed to push himself backwards against a building. Over the throng he listened for the voice.

"Get the fuck off me!"

He listened, savoring it.

"Fuck off! Ya piece of shit!"

Then he waited for the crowd to pass. He had known they would do their job. Surprising to him was that he wasn’t involved in a single skirmish, he didn’t even get hit once. Looking down the street after the main crowd passed was like looking at a war zone where a nuclear bomb went off. The buildings, hollow and gutted looked like a ghost town, the fires gave the whole scene an eerie glow. He made his way across the street, while his luck had been good he didn’t want to push it when the lurkers came out. People who will kill him before walking past him. He moved quickly, following the side of the road where most bystanders end up dead and found him sitting against a wall bleeding profusely, several dead bodies around him.

"Fuck you ya little shit."

He spit it out with venom, blood coming with it.

"Sucks when you’re on the other end doesn’t it?" Jacob practically growled it.
"You’re no better then me."
"Not anymore."

Jacob moved toward him with the straight razor. He began to cut his ears off first, then, when the screaming got to him he cut his tongue out. He was dead from choking on his own blood before Jacob finished working on him. Then he grabbed the Priests hair and cut his head off. The knife wouldn’t go through the bone so when it came to that he snapped the spine with his bare hands. He folded the blade back up and put it back in his pocket then grabbed the head and ran after the mob. When he caught up to them he held it in front of him and the crowd parted. He reached the front to find the small police force of the town having set up a barricade in front of him. The crowd halted, as they always do, he threw the head as hard as he could, letting it hit the ground right in front of the officers. When they realized what it was they immediately started backing up. The crowd surged around him towards the barricade. The riot continued and Jacob ran with them.

Saturday, October 10, 2009

Stay Positive!!

I’m trying to stay positive fuckers. Positive.

I love the fact that in Shoot Em’ Up the baby stops crying to Strapping Young Lad.

So I had a good night out tonight…nothing crazy…few drinks…hung with friends. I love being out in public. I hate sitting at home. Home is a curse to me.

I didn’t send her a message, chat with her, or leave her a wall post today. So…Day #1.
Back to Shoot Em’ Up…the bouncer at the club is played by Stephen Hart. I don’t know if you’ve seen the miniseries “Fear Itself” but he plays the “Eater” in that episode called, well, “Eater.” The episode pretty much sucked ass, but Elisabeth Moss from “Mad Men” is in it as a cop, makes it all worth it.

I found out that the job I was hoping to get is a no go. Back to the drawing board. Yes, that really sucks, but I’m trying to stay positive! I have a lot of hours coming next week so I should have a really good paycheck. Although my buddy, the night cook, just said that he is going to ask for a raise…two dollars more then me…or he puts in his two weeks. Ummmm…that would really suck if he makes more then me. I may just quit and fuck myself.

Fuck Monica Bellucci is hot as shit. Every time I think of her I think of Brotherhood of the Wolf or, Le pacte des loups in the original French. Which, by the way, I can’t watch a foreign film dubbed, fuck that shit.

You know, even though Clive Owen isn’t what you would consider “attractive” by most standards. I would kill to look like him. That motherfucker is manly as shit. Haha an engagement ring of a trigger. Not to mention he starts spanking the lady. Hehehe.
Damn’t, now I want to watch Brotherhood…do I have the time? Hmmmm.

Anything else positive? Ummmm. Not so much. Ohhh, I did get to eat Taco Bell tonight.
Yeah…guess that’s all I got…I’m going to watch some Asa Akira.

Also, I appreciate the votes for therapy but alas, the way I was raised, I can’t do it. It is extremely hard for me to ask for help. Really. In college people kept telling me to get a tutor. I would rather handle it on my own. I also almost committed suicide once, I stopped myself. I prefer to work through things on my own. Not to say if you do it that its bad. Its just not my thing. I have plenty of friends that rely on it and its better for them. Its just not my shtick.

Friday, October 9, 2009

If My Eyeballs Could Explode, They Would

Fuck you Snath you got me thinking. Well…you…and the fact that I just watched the last episode of “Glee” and fuck me if that show didn’t wire me. I don’t know if it was because the kids were basically taking meth (which I did in HS, yay Adderall) or because watching the girls dance made me all tingly in the pants. Anyway, I got to thinking.

First I got to thinking that rather then writing this I should be trying to sleep, but I know I won’t be asleep for another hour or so anyway (I haven’t fallen asleep before 5am in awhile). Of course it could be because I don’t have a cigarette to smoke to calm me down…fucking hate being broke. Right, second. The second thing was his comment on my blog about the Jibette. The saddest part of the whole thing is that she was never dishonest with me and never lead me on in any way. I broke my own damn heart because I was too in love with an e-person to see what was in front of my face. Yeah thanks…thanks a lot. The reason why that comment got to me actually revolves around several things that constantly go through my head.

ONE: She still hasn’t given me her cell phone number. Shit, I fucking gave Trouble my number last night, I had a text within minutes, she got a dick roll within seconds after that. Yay for being drunk! I gave the Jibette my number around…fuck it…I looked it up…August 4th. I have yet to get a message or a phone call.

TWO: not only have I invited her to come here. I’ve offered to go to her. Granted I asked her to give me forewarning so I could save up the money to actually afford a plane ticket, but still. I haven’t come any closer to getting a response from that either.

THREE: I’ve written her two poems…one you can read…the other I haven’t posted. I haven’t really gotten a response from either of those, more than say, “I like it.”

FOUR: I talk about her a lot. Whether that be on here, to my friends, fuck, even on face book. I asked her once if she talked about me. Her response. “I plead the fifth.”

FIVE: I don’t know, I figure if I’m not wasting my time I would have gotten something. Fuck. Even that text message I’ve been wanting for months now.
Now I know its not easy for her. Like I’ve said before she has had a really fucked up year. Shit I can’t get into. She has even told me not to get my hopes up. I can’t help it though. I just wish I could get something from her. Around a month after we started talking I thought I was being too overwhelming. I decided I wouldn’t message her, chat with her, or send her a comment. I was going to cut myself off. I lasted…I think…three hours. Yeah. I want to try it again. You fuckers keep me strong. I want to not message her, chat with her, or leave her a comment until she approaches me first. Whether that be any of the above. I noticed she never talks to me first (unless a conversation is ongoing). I don’t really know how ya’ll would keep me strong. I just hope you do. I want to know that I am not wasting my time. That once again I’m not opening and giving my heart for no goddamn fucking reason. *sigh* Fuck. I’m a stubborn fucker…I can’t be stubborn without something to be stubborn for. Other notes?

Umm I’m going to work in the morning and then go work again for some more extra cash. I’m hoping to go out Saturday night, maybe be able to buy something to eat too. I don’t care if its fucking Taco Bell. I’m getting tired of eating mixed up food concoctions that came out of my fucking ass. I will also be working the next 10 days straight. WooHoo! While that sucks that also means I’m going to have a nice fat paycheck. Which means I may be able to go do things I actually want to do.

I’ve been wanting to go hiking for about two weeks now that the weather has been nice, haven’t had the money for parking. I could always fake the parking…I like karma. Look at me, talking about karma when around a month ago, maybe a month and a half, I slashed a neighbors tires.

Wait, let me explain.

So we don’t have much parking in front of our complex. When people have friends over/parties it gets even worse, I end up having to park way the fuck away from my building. Well someone new moved in, complete with brand new car, brand new car that they liked to take up two parking spots with when they parked. Well, after coming home around two dozen times and having to park in the damn boonies because assfuck couldn’t park in a single space…I came home one night from the bar, drunk, saw I couldn’t park yet again, grabbed the hunting knife from my car, and slashed two of their tires. You have to slash two. With one they have a spare, two they have to get new tires. Yeah…karma. I’m still waiting for that one to come back around. BTW, I forgot how loud it is when you slash a tire.

Then again I’m starting to really not believe in karma. I would do (especially in relationships) everything I can for some people. Everything. What have I gotten in return? Jack, fucking, shit. Fuck you karma…right in your tight little ass.

My friend Kim commented on one of my updates on face book with this: The majority of your posts are about you either being drunk and unhappy or unhappy and wanting to be drunk. Go out and do something that makes you happy! I really don’t know what I can do that would make me happy. Nope…not really. What do I really want to do? Travel this fucking world. See everything that I can possibly see. So why not go do something that would make me happy? Gee, I don’t fucking know, MONEY! That nice flaming pile of shit that effects everyone on this goddamn planet except for the rich.

Know who I hate? People like fucking Paris Hilton. Never had to really work a goddamn day in her fucking life, where does she go for vacation? Anywhere she fucking wants to. According to USA Today “Roethlisberger's contract was renegotiated in the spring and the deal included $25.2 million in signing bonus and a base wage of $2.5 million. His salary goes up to $4.75M next year, to $8.05M in 2010 and stays at $11.6M each year thereafter through 2014. He'll earn $12.1M in 2015, the contract's end year, when he will be 35.” He is the same fucking age as me. How many months a year does he actually “work?” I played football…I still wouldn’t consider that work. You got fuckers in every gym that workout harder and longer then a lot of pro-football players. According to MSNBC in 2007 “Britney [Spears] reportedly earns $737,868 per month.” Really? So in one month she could make what would take me around 37 years to make at my current salary. Oh, by the way, they are both the same fucking age as me…but who would make their food if they went to a restaurant? Fuckers like me. How much do actors make? I don’t know if Big Ben or Spears are considered “entertainers,” but if they are that means they also don’t fucking pay the same taxes I do. Assholes. Really? What actually makes these fucks better then us? Luck. That’s it.

Sure they try, but did Britney try when her parents took her to audition for the “Mickey Mouse Club?” How about Big Ben before he probably realized the only future he had would be football? How about Paris…yeah…fuck Paris. I’m talking about trying like you do every time you go for a goddamn job interview. Every time you struggle to pay rent. Every time you go just a little deeper into debt. Am I jealous? Fuck yes. You’re goddamn right I’m jealous.

I should stop…not only am I getting depressed…I’m getting pissed. I almost got in a fist fight tonight. I would have beat that fucker to a goddamn pulp. I’m glad my head was still cool enough to walk away.

Tuesday, October 6, 2009

The 5 Hottest Female Serial Killers

In film of course.

Sorry, when Dustin posted the same thread with only men I couldn't help but make one of my own with women. I'm starting to think Dustin must be slightly gay. What with the Ryan/JGL/RDJ love and all.

5. Mila Kunis: American Psycho 2

4. Ellen Page: Hard Candy

3. Ashley Judd: Eye of the Beholder

2. Sharon Stone: Basic Instinct (remember the ending people)

1. Sheri Moon Zombie: House of 1000 Corpses/Devils Rejects

I also can't really understand why no one left a comment on my last blog. I finally show a glimpse of the secret Jibette and nothing? Wow.

Monday, October 5, 2009

Zombies & A Sneak Peek Of "The" Jibette

Jesus Fucking Christ on a goddamn bloody popsicle stick. So in just my last blog entry, yeah, the very last one I wrote, I discussed how I finally deleted the X’s pictures and hide her status updates on face book. Well guess what? As soon as I did that she upped her comments. No really. Most of the time she would comment on like one thing I posted in the course of a week. Lately, its like every other fucking post. Really? Really? But wait, it gets better.

So yesterday I got off work, then went and did more work so I could get up the money for rent that was due today. Pulled that off! Now I just need to do some work so I can put gas in my car, buy cigarettes, and maybe go out once this week. Anyway, I get done with that work and then head back up to the restaurant to drink. Why? Because I’d paid my tab and could start a new one that’s why. Plus, I get dollar beers there. So I drink, a lot, then my friend gets off work and asks me if I want to go to the bar. I explain that I don’t have any money, he says, “So what? I gotcha.” That works for me. Literally as soon as I walk into the bar a friend of the x runs up to me and gives me a big hug and goes, “Yay. I just turned 21!” I was like “Yay! Now its all downhill and you’re just waiting to die!” She laughed and walked away. We go up to the bar, get a pitcher, and as we’re walking to a corner to sit and drink who appears right in front of me? The X.

Really? Really? She smiles and is all like, “Hey, how are you doing? We’re all sitting over here!” She points to the only open place at the bar where we were about to sit. “Great!” I fake a smile and we go over and sit. What happens? Not a goddamn thing. I think she may have come over once and talked to me for a bit but to be honest I started chugging liberally. I do know I started making fun of her midget fiancée, because I remember Steven laughing his ass off.

Any other news going on with me? Well…

I finally told the Jibette how I feel about her. Well, I guess I didn’t really blatantly tell her, I wrote a poem. I was going to put up said poem on facebook and here but now I don’t think I want to. The first poem I wrote about her, the “Ode to a Jibette,” originally got read as an ode to all of the Jibette’s which I found remarkably entertaining. I put that one up because, well, it was playful. I wrote that one around a few weeks after we started talking, so I was in high spirits. I was feeling playful. This poem is much more serious, more heartfelt. I don’t know, I almost feel that it would demean it to post it. Even though I would like to shout how I feel about her to the world. Let me see if I can explain it exactly.

I’ve never met her. I’ve never talked to her. I’ve never heard her voice. I’ve never looked into her eyes. I’ve never touched her skin. I’ve never smelled her perfume. However, she is the first thing I think about when I wake up, and the last thing I think about when I go to sleep. She’s the one thing that can make me smile everyday. Take right now for instance. I’m hungover, dirt poor, lonely, yet right now I’m also talking to her on facebook and have a smile on my face. Its like she makes me not have a care in the world. Crazy huh? I know it sounds crazy to me. To be in love with someone I don’t even really know. But I think that is one of the greatest things about it to me. Every relationship I’ve been in I’ve fallen for a girl physically before mentally. This one, is all mental. Not to say she isn’t…ummm…very attractive. Because she is. I’ve just never actually been able to “fall” for her physically. You know what would be fucked up…I feel this way about her, imagine if we finally meet and can’t stand each other. That would piss me the fuck off. Why? Because I’m not even attracted to anyone around here. Hahaha. Literally. My mind has almost shut itself off in the sense that it considers me in a relationship. I have no interest in anyone around me. I’m not looking. Even if I see someone that is my type I don’t even have any desire to talk to them. I’m trying to maintain the notion and let her know that I’m not just interested in a “friend” aspect. I think its obvious. I could talk about her all day…my friends have started rolling their eyes when I mention her. On that note, I’m going to stop now.

I missed Zombie Walk goddamn’t. I couldn’t take the time off work. My friend said there were around 400 people. They went through a cemetery. Ran through Underground Atlanta. They would swarm cars that stopped at red lights. Scared children. Blocked traffic. Ahhhhhh. To be a zombie. The picture at the top was from Zombie Walk.

I don’t know what I’m going to do today/tonight. I was supposed to go work again for some more money but its working outside and of course it fucking rained all last night. There goes that idea. I’m thinking of going to the bar. However, I have no money and only a couple of cigarettes. I don’t know if its worth it or not. I will probably end up going. I have nothing better to do. Plus it will allow me to watch Monday Night Football. I can’t wait to see Favre play against the Packers. What a fucking idiot. I hope the Packer D gives him a career ending injury. That would be fitting don’t you think?

I’m rambling. I know I am. I’m going to stop now.