XIII

I think I've come to terms with the fact that this blog has been, and always will be solely for my own benefit.

Is the point of the modern school system to build up an enormous reservoir of knowledge, problem solving skills, and creative ability only to slowly undo all of that right before the end of the process? It certainly seems that way. All of the material that I picked up from grades 0-12 has been taken from me. Stolen. All of those tediously memorized historical facts, undercut by Howard Zinn. The basics of plot, character, setting, etc., excised by everyone that I started reading after senior year of high school. Postmodernism? Deconstructionism? Literally taking all of those things I learned and making them utterly obsolete. How do I know that Columbus discovered America? What makes the country that I live in "America"? Can a nation be anything but a group of people living together? Are any of the words I'm using right now actually representative of anything in the real world? Or do they just approach accuracy indefinitely, a decidedly phallic asymptote ramming its way directly up my ass, no doubt working its way towards my brain. There aren't enough pills in the world to combat the massive panic attack that will undoubtedly occur if any of those things are thought about for too long. It all ends in catatonia anyways. Either way you look at it you eventually think yourself into inaction, or at the very least, crippling apathy. You can start to avoid all forms of intellectualism, start drinking 40s and headbutting the sidewalk, but that's just a mess. You can start to fully embrace intellectualism, hoping that there's some sort of answer at the end, but eventually finding out that the more you know, the more there is to know (I think I said that in the last post), and thus leaving you even more fucked because the liquor store closes at nine and you wasted all your time learning.

Solutions:

Embrace chaos, and be as esoteric, strange, and against-the-grain as possible. It certainly seems more in line with the current mess of affairs than traditional learning and expression, and at the very least, it's fun. Watch Tim and Eric Awesome Show, Great Job.

Suicide? I think Camus said that the goal of absurdism was to establish whether or not suicide was justified in a God-less world. Work on that.


Note: be careful, as those two solutions are remarkably close. Also, I endorse the former over the latter. Because dead people cannot watch Beaver Boys. And thus cannot be happy.

If anyone read this, I would be more worried about a disclaimer.

XII

I think I've come to terms with my limitations. I guess that comes with getting older and realizing that there are fewer and fewer things that you can really explore and experience without too much risk. I realize that sounds naive, me being 20 years old, but I think it's true. When I was a kid, I wanted to be hundreds of different things: a baseball player, a scientist, a writer, a kid with a smaller head, etc. I really didn't have any limitations, save for the head shrinking, and I could fool around with a whole bunch of different stuff. They say that the difference between primary school teachers and secondary school teachers is that the primary school teachers know a little about a lot and secondary school teachers know a lot about a little. Also, banging students is a little more frowned upon at the primary school level.

I think that narrowing of expertise is a reality of life today; in order to be a "productive member of society" you have to have a specific area of expertise. I don't think it necessarily is involved with the limitations of the human mind, people can learn almost infinite amounts of information, or limitations of time, we are around for a very long time and the brain is only useless when you're very young and very old (except for 14 year old males, whose brains become dedicated only to pornography, violence, and violent pornography for at least one calendar year), I think it has to do with limitations imposed by society, specifically American society.

America seems to be motivated, as well as controlled by work. One could argue that this work ethic gave us airplanes, automobiles, the moon landing, and those plastic things that go on the end of shoelaces (aglets). One could also argue that it made everyone in this country fucking boring. The work ethic back in the day led to the notion that getting up and going to work every morning at 9, doing something there, and getting back at 5 was an honorable and useful way to spend time, which I think is ridiculous. Have you ever pushed a pencil for 8 hours? Those things are REALLY tiny, and bending down to give them the business all day is really hard on the back. I guess you could say that the airplane, automobile, and aglet were all fantastic inventions and totally worth the work that was put into them. I'd actually have to agree with you on that. Which makes my examples very bad. I'm sort of getting away from my point.

Do you think that all of the modern conveniences we know and love would never have come along without the "American spirit" of toiling work? I think they would have. Eventually. I think my theory is pretty half-baked at this point, but there is something to it. I'll come back to this later, I'm too tired from working on schoolwork. Which actually was the impetus for this in the first place.

Here's a line from the best melodrama ever made:
"You want me to get a job on the line for the next 20 years til I’m granted leave with my gold-plated watch and my balls full of tumors because I surrendered the one thing that means shit to me? Well, you can just exhale because it’s not gonna happen, not in this lifetime."

I like the part about the watch. And the ball tumors. Fuuuck.

XI

off. That's the Finnegan's Wake conclusion to my post on the 14th. I tried to think of something funny to put up on here to honor the title, but there was too much pressure. I considered everything from pictures of my genitalia to pictures of other people's genitalia. In hindsight, that probably would have been better to just put up both of those. Sort of like a compare and contrast thing.

I find myself working another blue-collar, manual labor, landscaping-cum-menial janitorial work job this summer, which brings up several points. The first being that I'm never going to work a job like that ever again. The inherent positive of no mental exercise is easily outweighed by the inherent negative of absolutely no mental exercise. If I have to argue about the achievements of Phil Jackson, how much rain sucks, the benefits of sex sans condom, or how expensive it costs to go to Darien Lake ever again, I'm probably going to drown myself. This may sound like a jaded, whiny perspective on work, and "I should be lucky I have a job", but fuck that, this shit is like Chinese water torture. My second point is the way the job was sold to me, and the way the job actually is. Sold to me: Working at a boat harbor, dealing with boats, helping out customers, and most importantly, hanging out with girls in skimpy clothing. Job actually is: mowing lawns. Where is the fucking disconnect there? Nothing that the job actually is was promised beforehand. This is another constant in summer temp work: It's never as good as it seems. Buuuuuuuut, I'm working outside and getting paid for it, so fuuuuuuuuuuck it.

On to point two. This past Memorial Day weekend, I met a man named Ed. I say 'met' in the loosest way possible, as it was more of an exposure. The story starts on the beach at a campfire, as so many fantastic stories do in my small, pale, social circle. It was very late (around 3) and the booze had taken the manic, energetic turn that it so often does around that time. The night was passing erratically, and the fire was dying down in the same fashion. Suddenly, to the west, a blazing salvo against the dying of the light: a man approaching with a girl under each arm. Then something happens, I'm assuming conversation, and then I find myself (with a dear, dear friend as my plus one) following one of the girls back to their beach house to 'take some shots'. We get to this very nice house, literally like two houses away from where we were before, and follow the girl inside. In the light of the kitchen, two things become clear to me: this girl has the dead-eyed look of a sex trade worker, and I'm completely barefoot. No matter. We follow the girl to the front driveway, where a limo is parked. To add to the 'sex trade' worker vibe, this limo is not a nice new model, but rather one of those extended town cars, white of course. A tad bit sketched out, my friend and I decline this girls invitation to "get in" the "limo" and "do" shots, fearing some sort of trap. Who does shots in a limo that isn't moving anyways? No one. She can't find the liquor anyways (definitely a trap) so we go back inside. It is at this point that I realize that she has been talking about this guy named Ed a lot, how great he is, how he really helps her out with her life, provides her liquor (imaginary or not), etc. I didn't think too much of it at the time. I should've thought more of it at the time. Inside, she pulls out some white wine and pours herself a glass, at which point the man we met earlier, with other girl still in tow, appear on the front porch. I realize that this other girl is wearing a trench coat, and like me, is not wearing anything on her feet. By the way, when I say 'realize', I mean barely remember the next day. We all go outside again, and this man starts pissing off the porch. I decide this man must be Ed. The trenchcoat clad girl begins to flash this man as he's pissing. She starts to slowly writhe and dance before him. I am now sure this is Ed. At this point, my friend and I are too confused to do anything but mouth words to eachother: "What the fuck is going on", "Should we leave?", and "Oh my word, these women are prostitutes" were all popular choices. We didn't leave however, and the original girl we came with pulled out some sort of illegal drug. Not being too familiar with that whole "culture", I couldn't be sure what it was. However, not being too familiar with my own sense of mortality at that point, I couldn't be sure that I wouldn't accept it. I in fact did, as did my friend. Ed had retired to his upstairs quarters at this point, and was either brutally breaking the trenchcoated girl into small pieces, or banging her Old Testament style. Probably both. We partake of the mysterious substance offered to us, feeling confident it came out of the ground and was thus relatively harmless. We however failed to realize that people often combine illicit substances to increase their potency. I'm pretty sure we floated home at that point. I'll leave it at that.

I left out the part of the story where the girl that brought us to Ed's was shamelessly flirting with both me and my friend. Both of us are idiots for not hooking up with a prostitute. Especially me, because my friend has a girlfriend. And I already have pretty much every STD known to man.

One last thing on that topic: Trojan makes a new condom called Ecstasy that supposedly feels like there's no piece of latex on your peen. I think it would be funny if the condoms were just cut into hollow tubes and Trojan moved all of their stock options into baby clothing companies.

I should be in marketing.

X

Fuck...

IX

In an effort to keep this thing more current, I've decided to update it more regularly, which seems like a good place to start.  However, the number of posts per week is going to be inversely proportional to their quality, so be ready for more scatological humor.

First things first: apparently local Rochester news coverage is incredibly racist.

Either there were no white people that went to that Popeyes that day, which seems incredibly improbable, or whoever was doing the news coverage decided that it would be appropriate to only film the black people.  Who the fuck is running that news station that thought that that would be a good idea?  Seriously, not one non-black person in the whole 2 minute segment?  There were like a dozen people interviewed too.  However, I will admit that the outrage that the people that were going through the drive-through exhibited was equally ridiculous.  They were fucking livid.  Especially the really big guy that said he needed to feed his "family".  He was clearly alone in his car, and more clearly alone in his life.  He was planning on dropping a ten-spot and getting 16 pieces of delicious, nutritious chicken, then promptly devouring them, bones and all before he left the parking lot.  Keep in mind, that wasn't a racist joke, just a joke about fat people.  Because people can control their weight.  By not eating at Popeyes.

Waterboarding fetishes.  That is the offensive thing of the day.  34 ggs.

As I write this, I can feel the swine flu coursing through my bloodstream.  I am so sure that I am infected because of the enormous amount of pork I eat, especially in the last few days.  Also, I've been asking people to cough in my mouth for a while now.  Mostly Mexican pig farmers too, so I'm definitely fucked.

A sort of serious side-effect of this pandemic is definitely going to be a huuuuuuge negative backlash against Mexican immigrants.  I'm pretty sure Rush Limbaugh's head might explode, if it hasn't already.  People are going to simplify this thing to the point of infected Mexican pork-zombies slouching towards the border.  And those people are going to be idiots.

I'm really tired, so sorry if this post doesn't have the panache that the other one's do.

Actually, fuck you, I'm not your puppet.  I'll cough pig-death-disease all over your face.

VIII

So, I haven't updated this in three months.  Big fucking deal.  No one reads blogs anymore.  I think it's all about vlogs now, but I've never been really gotten comfortable with webcams after the last time.  I guess I'll have to stick with this.

I've been thinking about June 14th, and how even though the title of this blog has no real meaning and I got the sentence from Googlism, I'm really going to have to not forget to update over the summer.  And I'm going to have to make that update really fucking funny.  Or the consequences will be dire.

In fact, now that I look at it, it doesn't say anything about the blog specifically being funny, just me.  So I'm going to have to be fucking hilarious on June 14th, which is nearly impossible.  As most of my friends can attest, I've really lost it over the years.  I mean nowadays I mostly just sit around listening to Bon Iver and deleted Smith singles, moping it up.

I did however find time to watch a marathon of The Hills.  It was mostly accidental, as it was just on TV as I was doing work (read: I'm lying), but god damn that show is shitty.  Shitty in the worst and most addictive way possible.  It's like cheap crystal meth.  Actually, they're all pretty rich and privileged on the show, so I guess it's more like Cristal meth.  That is a hell of an idea for a drink: overpriced Champagne mixed with methamphetamines.  "For the sophisticate who loves the taste of fine Champagne as well as the benefits of horrifying facial-scarring."  That could go places.  Anyway, if you didn't know, The Hills details the lives of like seventy horrible cum dumpsters and the horde of douchescabs that follow them around.  From what I got, there are two camps, divided over the issue of how much one girl, we'll call her 'The Reason the Rest of the World Hates Us' doesn't like her ex-best friend's boyfriend, whom we'll call 'What the Fuck is That Awful Shit On Your Fa--Oh It's Your Beard'.  I don't know why TRTROTWHU doesn't like WTFITASOYFOIYB, presumably because he's literally the biggest box of toolboxes on the face of the earth (note: tool=bad, toolbox=worse, box of toolboxes=worse than Scott Stapp's solo album).  I don't know why Wattafitasoyfoibe (phonetic) doesn't like Tritrotwoo (phonetic), but it's probably because she scuffed his shoes once or something.  There really isn't much plot to be had on the show, just lots of girls talking.  And talking and talking and talking and talking and then there's a party on a boat and then a dude talks to a girl and she laughs but she wasn't really laughing at what he was saying she actually hates the guy so she talks to her friend behind the guys back about him and confesses that she wants to fuck him but doesn't really know if he's boyfriend material and then the other girl says something positive and supportive and then they both come to the conclusion that slavery wasn't actually that bad in that it supported the predominantly agrarian economic culture of the American South in the 19th century and that even though it was totes unfair that those people were viewed as property you can't expect an economic system as peculiar as the South's to just immediately stop what they're doing and change their way of life because that would be just as unfair.  I'm pretty sure that's verbatim.

I've been trying to figure out what it is that makes things that are horribly inappropriate so funny and I just can't really grasp it.  Simultaneously, I've been really trying to figure out the most offensive thing in the world, not because I'm a bad person or get any personal enjoyment out of it, but just because I think it is a thing that needs to be empirically defined, if only as a benchmark.  I have a hunch there's a limit to offensive things, wherein you just get too abstract for stuff to make sense anymore, i.e Jewish mummies mungjumping Helen Keller's progeriac babies, isn't really that offensive.  However, there is definitely a hierarchy of offensivity.  For example, the Holocaust is certainly more offensive than fetal alcohol syndrome, but by how much?  I propose a unit of measurement called the Allin, abbreviated gg, with something like 'kittens' and 'Valentines Day' measuring at 0 ggs, something like 'repeatedly punching someone with Krohns disease in the stomach' at around 50ggs, and stuff about Hitler, genocide, retarded people, elderly animal pornography, and gay and bisexual literature anywhere from 50gg to 99gg.  But what is that absolute zero of offensivity?  I ask you all, the two people that still know this exists, to give me some suggestions.  Don't be afraid, the anonymity of the internet will protect you.  I'll probably never be able to hold a teaching position if they ever find this, but that's why God invented fervent denial.

Some suggestions: Glenn Beck , and this abomination.

One of those is the cutest things in the world.

-FML