Back in the days when all the kids my age were first getting our licenses to drive, I hung with this kid everybody called the Fruke.
The Fruke was a regular-enough looking halfway-rich white kid, but he was actually a yugoslavian (or something, shit over there keeps changing around and I'm the classic geographically-disinterested American) muslim, and he was kinda hell-bent on worrying about being accepted by the generally christian population, 'cause even though the modern terrorist connotation of that shit hadn't really been invented yet back in those days, it still wasn't exactly popular in the town where Hillary Clinton came from, which was his hometown, too, bunch of rich white folks (I was from the other side of the tracks, y'know, and the only other muslim I knew was a sweet old inventor guy who wouldn't kill a mosquito that told me to take care of my little brother because he was "precious cargo").
Yah, the Fruke had money, and he had a cool call car we called "the Invader" because we used it to drive around homing in on the sounds of parties full of strangers that we could sociopathically invade, we actually had so many crazy adventures in that car, complete with dukes of hazzard stunts and shit, that it sorta developed its own personality, y'know?
And I needed a designated driver that was big enough to drag my two hundred and twenty five pound ass around if I got too drunk to walk, which was a common enough problem back in those days, thus our friendship was born.
To him, I was sorta like Peter Pan, y'know, 'cause I could take him on all these strange high-octane midnight-ride adventures that's the junk that normal teenagers usually only dream about, but is fairly regular shit to an affable-enough gypsy hell's-angel-hippy-prom-queen-lovechild-mutt kid.
Anyways, enough background already.
Oh wait, his sister was kinda hot and punky, too.
Okay, now there's enough background already heh.
So one day we were supposed to go on this camping trip on the other side of the state for some reason, meeting up with a gaggle of long-legged country girls somebody knew in a town out in the middle of nowhere.
And we were all ready to go (the other members of our party had actually already left), but suddenly the Invader (our car, 'member?), wouldn't start.
Now, when yer old, you'd probably just be like, oh well, camping trip is off.
But when yer a hot-blooded teenager who still sorta believes in magic and fate, facing the idea of your power and freedom and a weekend of adventure being stolen away from you, its a lot different.
Somehow the Fruke got the damn thing running, but then it wouldn't keep running unless he kept the rpms over 2500.
And so we drove across half the state with him throwing the thing into neutral whenever he had to slow down, to keep the rpms over 2500, and we went camping.
That was the weekend I got drunk and fell down on a wooden board with two three-and-half inch nails sticking out of it that went right into my knee.
And then later that night ('cause I kept partying), I got shot in that same leg by a farmer.
And then I ended that night ('cause I kept partying), sleeping in the Invader.
And when I woke up, there was blood everywhere, smeared all over the inside of the car where I'd been sleeping, pools of blood on the floor, the scenery outside obscured by all my bloody handprints on the windows, it was straight out of a frickin' horror movie, y'know, I never woke up so bad in all my life heh.
And 'cause I was waking up drunk in a strange place, it took me a minute or two to get to the "oh yah I'm camping and I really got messed up last night, oh shit, my leg" thought that made sense of the chainsaw massacre I was waking up to.
After I took a shower at the campground showers and washed all the muddy cornfield crust and shit off my wounds, I saw that they really weren't so bad as they looked at first, although that damned bullet hole never healed right, and one leg of my expensive (hey I was a poor kid) cool-guy pants was all shredded and ruined.
Anyways, after that night, the Invader ran perfectly.
I'm serious, its like it drank my blood while I was sleeping and fixed itself or some shit.
No more trouble-to-start, no more 2500 rpm game, it drove fine all the way home, I shit you not, we were road-tripping, blasting the radio on the highway and laughing all the way home, although the laughs were edged with a little nervousness, y'know, 'cause there's a part of our brains that know we have to pay karma for every stroke of good luck, and we were wondering if it was payback for our bad luck on the way out, or an omen of bad luck yet to come, y'know?
But that's not the end of my story.
The week after we got back, the Invader exploded in the street in a splatter of oil and fire and car guts.
Luckily nobody got hurt, it happened sometime during the night when everybody was sleeping all safe in their beds, when the car wasn't actually even running or anything.
It had been parked for hours, and then it just exploded.
I dunno how many of my nineteen hundred lives I used up on that stupid roadtrip, but whenever I wake up on a cold morning like this, and I have to baby my bad knee a little, to keep it from popping free of the sling, y'know, 'cause all my cabling is always gonna be a little loose on that side, and it ain't gettin' better as I get older, I always remember that crazy black-magic-powered car and its last big adventure.
And I think about how nothing, not automotive physics, not bullets and nails, could even slow either of us down, even though every goddam thing sure gave it a go.
You just gotta be careful after the magic wears off that you don't explode in your sleep and shit when all the physics and reality finally catches up to you heh.
But that's black magic for you.
Sunday, April 8, 2007
Friday, April 6, 2007
The Fat Man
Why is it that everybody's drug dealer is a Fat Man?
It can't be the same guy, can it?
Well, I've moved like six times since I was first old enough to order pizza delivery, and everywhere I go, there's the same Fat Guy that delivers my pizza, no matter where I order it from.
I remember him from the very first time I ordered pizza when I was a little kid, 'cause I called and cancelled and ordered from somewhere else 'cause it took the Fat Dude like two and a half hours to show up and I was starving when I started.
And when he finally did show up, me and him had a yelling match.
Which is why I'll never forget his face, I mean, hardly anybody has the balls to actually start a yelling match with me in real life, that's some pretty rare shit.
But over all these years, we've become close friends, 'cause I usually give good tips, y'know, 'cause working fer the mob taught me to do that.
He still looks at me a little weird, 'cause of that first time we met, and 'cause I could totally destroy his ass if I wanted to, and I always think about doing exactly that when I look at him, for some reason, but then we exchange nervous laughs and stuff and its all good.
Well, sorta, heh.
Anyways its freaky that this dude keeps following me around from city to city and working at all these different local pizza places, y'know?
Well, maybe my Pizza Guy is exactly like the Drug Dealer Fat Man, like some kinda weird Modern version of Santa Claus or something, a tiny little god of a bizarre new little pantheon, some kinda greasy and mildly unpleasant supernatural force heh.
Or mebbe the gods are just cutting corners and shit.
Anyways, I s'pose I shouldn't make fun of him then, 'cause he might have super powers.
Aw, he prolly spits-and-worse in my food anyways, so fuck him, man.
If he's a supernatural being, than mebbe I am too.
Yah, like, the Worst Customer Ever or something.
Yah, mebbe everywhere he goes, there's this asshat customer that follows him around and treats him like shit ahaha.
Well, whatever, I prolly drink booze less than I can count on one hand every year, and I get to smoke weed with the Indian Chiefs in the Smoke Lodge much less than that (although that's not exactly by choice heh), so I'm not recommending that kinda shit or anything, I mean, my pitiful-ass stone-cold sobriety is probably why I notice hideous patterns like this in the first place heh.
But it is a little odd, y'know?
I mean, I've heard people talk about the Fat Man all over the place.
And I even got to see and hang out with the Fat Man a bunch of times, when I was younger, hanging out with the Real Life Dwarf, so I actually know that's he's aptly named and shit.
Bah, it probably has something to do with the munchies heh.
Yah, just like the Pizza Guy has positioned himself to have all that access to Pizza ahaha.
It can't be the same guy, can it?
Well, I've moved like six times since I was first old enough to order pizza delivery, and everywhere I go, there's the same Fat Guy that delivers my pizza, no matter where I order it from.
I remember him from the very first time I ordered pizza when I was a little kid, 'cause I called and cancelled and ordered from somewhere else 'cause it took the Fat Dude like two and a half hours to show up and I was starving when I started.
And when he finally did show up, me and him had a yelling match.
Which is why I'll never forget his face, I mean, hardly anybody has the balls to actually start a yelling match with me in real life, that's some pretty rare shit.
But over all these years, we've become close friends, 'cause I usually give good tips, y'know, 'cause working fer the mob taught me to do that.
He still looks at me a little weird, 'cause of that first time we met, and 'cause I could totally destroy his ass if I wanted to, and I always think about doing exactly that when I look at him, for some reason, but then we exchange nervous laughs and stuff and its all good.
Well, sorta, heh.
Anyways its freaky that this dude keeps following me around from city to city and working at all these different local pizza places, y'know?
Well, maybe my Pizza Guy is exactly like the Drug Dealer Fat Man, like some kinda weird Modern version of Santa Claus or something, a tiny little god of a bizarre new little pantheon, some kinda greasy and mildly unpleasant supernatural force heh.
Or mebbe the gods are just cutting corners and shit.
Anyways, I s'pose I shouldn't make fun of him then, 'cause he might have super powers.
Aw, he prolly spits-and-worse in my food anyways, so fuck him, man.
If he's a supernatural being, than mebbe I am too.
Yah, like, the Worst Customer Ever or something.
Yah, mebbe everywhere he goes, there's this asshat customer that follows him around and treats him like shit ahaha.
Well, whatever, I prolly drink booze less than I can count on one hand every year, and I get to smoke weed with the Indian Chiefs in the Smoke Lodge much less than that (although that's not exactly by choice heh), so I'm not recommending that kinda shit or anything, I mean, my pitiful-ass stone-cold sobriety is probably why I notice hideous patterns like this in the first place heh.
But it is a little odd, y'know?
I mean, I've heard people talk about the Fat Man all over the place.
And I even got to see and hang out with the Fat Man a bunch of times, when I was younger, hanging out with the Real Life Dwarf, so I actually know that's he's aptly named and shit.
Bah, it probably has something to do with the munchies heh.
Yah, just like the Pizza Guy has positioned himself to have all that access to Pizza ahaha.
Action Figures
Hey, here's something not to buy Stephen Hawking on his birthday!
Aw shup, you only really gotta start to worry when folks think yer so fragile and pitiful and shit that they quit trying to kick you in the nuts heh.
Aw shup, you only really gotta start to worry when folks think yer so fragile and pitiful and shit that they quit trying to kick you in the nuts heh.
By the Red Cod Piece of Cameo!
I was driving around in the passenger seat of a grim and somber car full of super-intelligent atheists when suddenly this song came on the radio and everybody and their wives started dancing in their seats and throwing up their arms and howling along with the words and laughing themselves hoarse.
Yah, of course I started it, but at the same time I have to say that it really was a miracle that we didn't all crash into a telephone pole or something heh.
Ow!
Its just a little something to put a bit of that ole crazy-ass cocksure no-romance-for-me Helium Squeal Karate Kick back into yer step, ladies and gentlemen.
Do yer dance, do yer dance, do yer dance quick.
Well, you old fuckers sorta looked like you needed it ahaha.
Thank Zek itz Friday!
Yah, of course I started it, but at the same time I have to say that it really was a miracle that we didn't all crash into a telephone pole or something heh.
Ow!
Its just a little something to put a bit of that ole crazy-ass cocksure no-romance-for-me Helium Squeal Karate Kick back into yer step, ladies and gentlemen.
Do yer dance, do yer dance, do yer dance quick.
Well, you old fuckers sorta looked like you needed it ahaha.
Thank Zek itz Friday!
Thursday, April 5, 2007
Moby Squish
We'd been out to sea for forty days, a hearty whaling crew we were, but we had no idea where we were, exactly, having, uh, accidentally thrown our captain and everybody who could read the starry shingles and contrabuflate our position overboard not even three days out of the harbor after we learned of their mad plans to hunt the White Whale.
And the wind was weak, and the sky was clear as glass, and the sun was shining down on the deck all over-bright and hot, and we were getting hungry and going mad from watching the sea go up and down and listening to the boat creak and the sails flap.
And that's when the giant squid first latched itself on to the front of our ill-fated ship, 'cause I guess it thought our ship was a female giant squid or something, damn thing was all humping up on it with all these gross suction noises and stuff.
And because the damned creature was so massive, and because it had grabbed on to the front of the boat, the back end of the boat came up in the air, and all the cargo smashed down into the front of the boat, and we suddenly had a lot less floor space.
And even worse, the gods-accursed thing wouldn't let go, so we had to rearrange our hammocks and try to sleep through that rhythmic torture of the damned with the boat tipped up on its nose like that.
And even worse than that, every once in a while, after twelve hours of mating with our ship and such, the squid would let her go, and we'd all tumble all about the inside of the boat as the ship righted itself.
AND THEN FIVE MINUTES LATER HE'D BE RIGHT BACK AT IT AGAIN!
And there was no way we were going anywhere with that thing attached to the front of the boat that way, it was acting like a giant anchor, see.
Oh sure, we had One Eyed Jack try to poke the thing with a harpoon, trust me, you don't even wanna hear what happened to that poor bloke, I'm doing ye a favor leaving that bloody bit of gristle outta my story so ye'll be able to eat yer dinner.
Yar, and so we all started praying to our heathen gods and saying stuff about how we'd change our lives and become good honest citizens and whatnot if they'd only let us get away from this horrible beast.
And of course the all-knowing gods heard our prayers, and so they sent a second giant squid who started humping up on the backside of the boat.
Which at least set the boat a-right, ye know, as long as they were both going at it at the same time, but whenever one of 'em found release and let us go, we'd all go crashing to one side of the boat or the other along with all the pots and pans.
And then five minutes later, they'd be right back at it again.
In all seriousness, I was just glad our poor boat seemed to be holding herself together, since she wasn't exactly designed to operate as the love interest of two giant squids.
Well, this woulda went on forever, if a Sperm Whale hadn't eventually showed up and saved us after being cursed to I dunno how many days and nights of riding on the over-worked back of a squid's whore.
Yar, see, Sperm Whales eat them Giant Squids.
And as bad in shape as we were, and as bad in shape as our poor boat was after all that exhausting sexual effort, we eventually found dry land.
And so I'll never hunt whales again.
Hell, I'll never set my one good foot in a boat again.
And I've made up my mind to just live out the rest of my days in safety here with these fine island folk, these Carribals, Cannerballs, whatever the Mad Spaniard calls 'em, sure, they seem glad enough to have our company.
I fer one can't wait till their done heating up that hot bath for me.
And the wind was weak, and the sky was clear as glass, and the sun was shining down on the deck all over-bright and hot, and we were getting hungry and going mad from watching the sea go up and down and listening to the boat creak and the sails flap.
And that's when the giant squid first latched itself on to the front of our ill-fated ship, 'cause I guess it thought our ship was a female giant squid or something, damn thing was all humping up on it with all these gross suction noises and stuff.
And because the damned creature was so massive, and because it had grabbed on to the front of the boat, the back end of the boat came up in the air, and all the cargo smashed down into the front of the boat, and we suddenly had a lot less floor space.
And even worse, the gods-accursed thing wouldn't let go, so we had to rearrange our hammocks and try to sleep through that rhythmic torture of the damned with the boat tipped up on its nose like that.
And even worse than that, every once in a while, after twelve hours of mating with our ship and such, the squid would let her go, and we'd all tumble all about the inside of the boat as the ship righted itself.
AND THEN FIVE MINUTES LATER HE'D BE RIGHT BACK AT IT AGAIN!
And there was no way we were going anywhere with that thing attached to the front of the boat that way, it was acting like a giant anchor, see.
Oh sure, we had One Eyed Jack try to poke the thing with a harpoon, trust me, you don't even wanna hear what happened to that poor bloke, I'm doing ye a favor leaving that bloody bit of gristle outta my story so ye'll be able to eat yer dinner.
Yar, and so we all started praying to our heathen gods and saying stuff about how we'd change our lives and become good honest citizens and whatnot if they'd only let us get away from this horrible beast.
And of course the all-knowing gods heard our prayers, and so they sent a second giant squid who started humping up on the backside of the boat.
Which at least set the boat a-right, ye know, as long as they were both going at it at the same time, but whenever one of 'em found release and let us go, we'd all go crashing to one side of the boat or the other along with all the pots and pans.
And then five minutes later, they'd be right back at it again.
In all seriousness, I was just glad our poor boat seemed to be holding herself together, since she wasn't exactly designed to operate as the love interest of two giant squids.
Well, this woulda went on forever, if a Sperm Whale hadn't eventually showed up and saved us after being cursed to I dunno how many days and nights of riding on the over-worked back of a squid's whore.
Yar, see, Sperm Whales eat them Giant Squids.
And as bad in shape as we were, and as bad in shape as our poor boat was after all that exhausting sexual effort, we eventually found dry land.
And so I'll never hunt whales again.
Hell, I'll never set my one good foot in a boat again.
And I've made up my mind to just live out the rest of my days in safety here with these fine island folk, these Carribals, Cannerballs, whatever the Mad Spaniard calls 'em, sure, they seem glad enough to have our company.
I fer one can't wait till their done heating up that hot bath for me.
The Sorta Psychic Fun Machine
I actually do have pyschic powers, precognition and mind reading and stuff.
Mmm-hmm oh sure I do.
Well, mebbe what seems like mind reading is really just a weird version of precognition and postcognition or something, some kinda whacked-out cerebral detection of echoes and imperfections-in-discrete-time-sequencing or some kinda physics hiccup or something.
Lemme know when you start to feel razzle-dazzled by my fancy star trek "reverse-polarity" footwork there heh.
Yabbut, see, my super powers only work in a certain way.
Yah, they only work when I'm trying to be funny.
And they usually only work against me.
And besides finding wallets and avoiding horrible accidents every once in a while, and as much as I say that I use my super powers to pick up chicks, that happens to be exactly how I got credited with the Worst Pick Up Attempt In The Entire Universe Ever, see.
Yah, my buddy Linst (and Good Ol' Nick, too, actually) was there when it happened, so he knows I'm speaking the truth.
Yah, see, there were these two pretty girls at an extremely crowded bar (I don't actually ever hang out at bars, 'cause you can't hardly do anything fun in a bar, but this was a special case).
And we were waiting for some guy to show up, and I was bored, so I go up to these two girls and I ask the first one, a dark-haired little mouse, what her name was.
And she says she didn't want to tell me 'cause she hated her name and she was embarrassed.
And I thought that was cute, so I said "well, no matter what yer name is, it can't be as bad as Agnes, man, y'know, 'cause that name is the worst. Just be glad yer name isn't Agnes, holy shit!"
And then her friend had to step up like an ambulance driver and explain to me that I had guessed her buddy's name on the first try.
And so I said "well, what's your name then? The only thing I can think of that's even worse than Agnes is...."
...and I tried real hard to guess something that couldn't possibly be Agnes's friend's name, even though I had a really, really bad felling that no matter what I guessed...
And of course I guessed her name, too.
Well, honestly, I can't even remember what it was, but it had to be something like Ulga, right?
Heh.
And then it turns out we were supposed to meet these two girls at this place, 'cause they were old friends of the guy we were supposed to meet, and that's actually why my buddies had brought me to this goddam bar, y'know, to meet this guy, fresh out of the navy, who wanted us to meet his girlfriend Agnes (ugh AHAHA), so I had to hang out with them all night for weeks and weeks afterwards.
Yah, so I had singled them out of a crowd, guessed both their names, and totally insulted 'em.
And man-oh-man they always hated my guts.
So that's how I learned the hard way not to tempt Fate and play the Name Game anymore, y'know, 'cause Fate's a real bitch and she don't want me flirting with any other women heh.
And I'll never get one of those jobs at a circus guessing people's weight and shit either, holy crap even thinking about doing anything like that makes my spider senses tingle all crazy with omens of an impending trip to the hospital sponsored by a crowd of angry hillbillies ahaha.
What's worse, even though I'm only psychic when I'm trying to be funny, it seems like everybody else in Real Life can read my mind all the time.
I dunno what the hell that is all about, they don't even have a cool X-Men Name for that Shitty Magic Power, but I learned a long time ago not to bother trying to lie to people, y'know, I just go around being completely honest all the time and taking my beatings right up front 'cause there's no sense in trying to postpone the inevitable or get away with anything.
And that curse where everybody can read my mind sorta forced me to learn to start liking people right off the bat or get murdered a lot, y'know?
Which is why all the old people and little kids and drunks and animals follow me around everywhere, I guess.
So its not all bad, y'know, I got that stupid-ass disney mister-blue-bird-on-my-shoulder thing going for me heh.
But I also attract crazy people like a frickin' lightning rod.
Yah, bums have a habit of zeroing in on me from across a busy street full of people so they can try to explain to me how they ain't guilty of whatever they're guilty of, and that gets old really fast.
And I bring out the crazy in normally un-crazy people, too.
Which is sometimes good and sometimes bad, its a little annoying when you are just trying to get through the check-out line at the grocery store with a can of coffee and everybody is trying to tell you their life stories and shit, but I've gotten used to it over all these years, and it usually works to my advantage 'cause I get treated like a long-lost relative and shit when I need help, which is basically all the time since I never needed to learn how to do anything by myself 'cause I can always get people to help me heh.
Anyways, I know I'm not the only one like me, I mean, Ex-bouncer has the exact same disease, and probably half of you guys that read this crap I write have it too.
Yah, me and Ex-bouncer can actually attract two separate crazy people and make them fight Godzilla versus King Kong style, we used to do that on the train when we got bored, I mean, there's actually Secondary Skills we learned over all these years that come into play in a situation like that, where you not only know how to attract crazy people and fire up their Crazy, but you can make yourself invisible to them somehow so they can't target you directly when they show up heh.
And it might seem kinda like magic or something, but it ain't, that crazy-guy invisibility thing is just a survival mechanism or something you pick up after so many years of being a human lightning rod for crazy shit.
And its just another one of those things everybody sees and nobody talks about 'cause it makes you sound crazy.
But I can't hide nothing 'cause y'all can read my mind so I'm not even gonna bother trying.
And when we all get to hang out on the Hot Pink Jet Plane, you'll see some crazy ass shit happening, so I figgered I'd explain it a little ahead of time.
Well, at least it makes us good bodyguards and Scooby Doo Mystery Solvers.
And there's other advantages, too, y'know, as long as I don't totally fuck it up like I did with Agnes and her buddy Ulga or whatever.
Yah, after all these years, I know I should've said "I think Agnes is an absosmashingly lovely name" when that kinda psychic cheating junk pops into my head, instead of something negative, but y'know, you don't start out wailing away on a guitar like Eddie Van Halen the first time you pick one up heh.
Well, actually, I still fuck it up all the time, and after all these years, I know I ain't never gonna be able to play that goddam guitar like Eddie Van Halen ahaha.
But at least its sorta funny.
And luckily for me, most people have a better sense of humor about that kinda shit than Agnes and her buddy Ulga heh.
Yah, well, I'm also lucky that hardly anybody names their kids something that ugly ahaha.
Mmm-hmm oh sure I do.
Well, mebbe what seems like mind reading is really just a weird version of precognition and postcognition or something, some kinda whacked-out cerebral detection of echoes and imperfections-in-discrete-time-sequencing or some kinda physics hiccup or something.
Lemme know when you start to feel razzle-dazzled by my fancy star trek "reverse-polarity" footwork there heh.
Yabbut, see, my super powers only work in a certain way.
Yah, they only work when I'm trying to be funny.
And they usually only work against me.
And besides finding wallets and avoiding horrible accidents every once in a while, and as much as I say that I use my super powers to pick up chicks, that happens to be exactly how I got credited with the Worst Pick Up Attempt In The Entire Universe Ever, see.
Yah, my buddy Linst (and Good Ol' Nick, too, actually) was there when it happened, so he knows I'm speaking the truth.
Yah, see, there were these two pretty girls at an extremely crowded bar (I don't actually ever hang out at bars, 'cause you can't hardly do anything fun in a bar, but this was a special case).
And we were waiting for some guy to show up, and I was bored, so I go up to these two girls and I ask the first one, a dark-haired little mouse, what her name was.
And she says she didn't want to tell me 'cause she hated her name and she was embarrassed.
And I thought that was cute, so I said "well, no matter what yer name is, it can't be as bad as Agnes, man, y'know, 'cause that name is the worst. Just be glad yer name isn't Agnes, holy shit!"
And then her friend had to step up like an ambulance driver and explain to me that I had guessed her buddy's name on the first try.
And so I said "well, what's your name then? The only thing I can think of that's even worse than Agnes is...."
...and I tried real hard to guess something that couldn't possibly be Agnes's friend's name, even though I had a really, really bad felling that no matter what I guessed...
And of course I guessed her name, too.
Well, honestly, I can't even remember what it was, but it had to be something like Ulga, right?
Heh.
And then it turns out we were supposed to meet these two girls at this place, 'cause they were old friends of the guy we were supposed to meet, and that's actually why my buddies had brought me to this goddam bar, y'know, to meet this guy, fresh out of the navy, who wanted us to meet his girlfriend Agnes (ugh AHAHA), so I had to hang out with them all night for weeks and weeks afterwards.
Yah, so I had singled them out of a crowd, guessed both their names, and totally insulted 'em.
And man-oh-man they always hated my guts.
So that's how I learned the hard way not to tempt Fate and play the Name Game anymore, y'know, 'cause Fate's a real bitch and she don't want me flirting with any other women heh.
And I'll never get one of those jobs at a circus guessing people's weight and shit either, holy crap even thinking about doing anything like that makes my spider senses tingle all crazy with omens of an impending trip to the hospital sponsored by a crowd of angry hillbillies ahaha.
What's worse, even though I'm only psychic when I'm trying to be funny, it seems like everybody else in Real Life can read my mind all the time.
I dunno what the hell that is all about, they don't even have a cool X-Men Name for that Shitty Magic Power, but I learned a long time ago not to bother trying to lie to people, y'know, I just go around being completely honest all the time and taking my beatings right up front 'cause there's no sense in trying to postpone the inevitable or get away with anything.
And that curse where everybody can read my mind sorta forced me to learn to start liking people right off the bat or get murdered a lot, y'know?
Which is why all the old people and little kids and drunks and animals follow me around everywhere, I guess.
So its not all bad, y'know, I got that stupid-ass disney mister-blue-bird-on-my-shoulder thing going for me heh.
But I also attract crazy people like a frickin' lightning rod.
Yah, bums have a habit of zeroing in on me from across a busy street full of people so they can try to explain to me how they ain't guilty of whatever they're guilty of, and that gets old really fast.
And I bring out the crazy in normally un-crazy people, too.
Which is sometimes good and sometimes bad, its a little annoying when you are just trying to get through the check-out line at the grocery store with a can of coffee and everybody is trying to tell you their life stories and shit, but I've gotten used to it over all these years, and it usually works to my advantage 'cause I get treated like a long-lost relative and shit when I need help, which is basically all the time since I never needed to learn how to do anything by myself 'cause I can always get people to help me heh.
Anyways, I know I'm not the only one like me, I mean, Ex-bouncer has the exact same disease, and probably half of you guys that read this crap I write have it too.
Yah, me and Ex-bouncer can actually attract two separate crazy people and make them fight Godzilla versus King Kong style, we used to do that on the train when we got bored, I mean, there's actually Secondary Skills we learned over all these years that come into play in a situation like that, where you not only know how to attract crazy people and fire up their Crazy, but you can make yourself invisible to them somehow so they can't target you directly when they show up heh.
And it might seem kinda like magic or something, but it ain't, that crazy-guy invisibility thing is just a survival mechanism or something you pick up after so many years of being a human lightning rod for crazy shit.
And its just another one of those things everybody sees and nobody talks about 'cause it makes you sound crazy.
But I can't hide nothing 'cause y'all can read my mind so I'm not even gonna bother trying.
And when we all get to hang out on the Hot Pink Jet Plane, you'll see some crazy ass shit happening, so I figgered I'd explain it a little ahead of time.
Well, at least it makes us good bodyguards and Scooby Doo Mystery Solvers.
And there's other advantages, too, y'know, as long as I don't totally fuck it up like I did with Agnes and her buddy Ulga or whatever.
Yah, after all these years, I know I should've said "I think Agnes is an absosmashingly lovely name" when that kinda psychic cheating junk pops into my head, instead of something negative, but y'know, you don't start out wailing away on a guitar like Eddie Van Halen the first time you pick one up heh.
Well, actually, I still fuck it up all the time, and after all these years, I know I ain't never gonna be able to play that goddam guitar like Eddie Van Halen ahaha.
But at least its sorta funny.
And luckily for me, most people have a better sense of humor about that kinda shit than Agnes and her buddy Ulga heh.
Yah, well, I'm also lucky that hardly anybody names their kids something that ugly ahaha.
The House of Cups
As much as I usually fail to be impressed with modern religion (although there have been a couple rare exceptions where I was impressed), and as horrible as institutionalized religion has been sometimes historically, considering stuff like the selling of indulgences and the Inquisition and, if you go even deeper into it, much worse things, when it was used as a tool of demagogues and madmen and Conquistadors, and as much as they got all this other stuff going against 'em, stifling the arts and sciences and whatever, there actually hasn't been another institution that did more to advance science and preserve the arts and history of the world than religious institutions.
Heck, they had like half of the greatest artists and scientists and historians on their payrolls.
And I'm not just talking about the Catholic Church, or Churches, either, I'm including Temples and Synagogues and Everything Else, going all the way back as far as it goes to the oral traditions of the bards and the Sumerian Irrigation Sytem.
And I'm not just saying that because I'm a monk with ink-stained fingers and arms full of books who was chased through the streets by the illiterate barbarians who burned down the great library of Alexandria.
There were guys who climbed mountains bare-foot with paintings strapped to their backs and their hometown going up in smoke behind them.
I think its not very accurate to take the way that the more vocal "squeaky-wheel" half-assed modern religious enthusiasts make you sick to your stomach because they're so goddam ignorant and full of fear and hate and apply that to the ancient guys that shaped our world who, for all their faults, especially when "summed up" and generalized about as a group, were actually the least ignorant and most appreciative and understanding people of their day.
I'm not saying even the best of us are perfect, but shit, man, I'll take whatever little good there is when I can find it, I mean, show me somewhere else where I can get some heh.
There's a part of me that says "ah, religion is finally losing its grip on the world, yay!" but its actually a dumb part of me, 'cause I know deep down that we can't just blame it for everything bad we ever did in its name and then erase it and keep the good stuff.
I think the present freaking sucks some serious ass sometimes, and I'm all for changing it, but the past couldn't have happened any other way than it did, and amidst all the horror and cruelty and nastiness and ignorance, there's a few bright lights that shine out, and they're still being carried around and burning inside us to this day.
And if you have read this goddam thing this far, then I have no doubt that you come from that stock, those good (and sometimes bad) people of the House of Cups.
'Cause the Houses of Swords and Shields and Staves sure ain't never been much fer reading and thinking about shit.
And I'm not saying that everybody in the House of Cups ought to be in agreement or anything, I'm all for diversity, actually, I mean, fuck, that's why I talk like a punk and swear so much, but we are all brothers and sisters and the descendants of the dudes who climbed over the mountains barefoot with paintings strapped to their backs, maybe not even just in spirit, although an appreciation for it is actually all it takes for that to be true.
Now that I got that off my chest, I'm going to go back to my regularly scheduled program of pretending that I belong to the House of Swords and Shields and Staves, 'cause they aren't as mopey and woe-is-me crying-in-yer-beer and shit as all you whiny Cup bastards.
Plus, they get all the chicks, right?
Hah.
Heck, they had like half of the greatest artists and scientists and historians on their payrolls.
And I'm not just talking about the Catholic Church, or Churches, either, I'm including Temples and Synagogues and Everything Else, going all the way back as far as it goes to the oral traditions of the bards and the Sumerian Irrigation Sytem.
And I'm not just saying that because I'm a monk with ink-stained fingers and arms full of books who was chased through the streets by the illiterate barbarians who burned down the great library of Alexandria.
There were guys who climbed mountains bare-foot with paintings strapped to their backs and their hometown going up in smoke behind them.
I think its not very accurate to take the way that the more vocal "squeaky-wheel" half-assed modern religious enthusiasts make you sick to your stomach because they're so goddam ignorant and full of fear and hate and apply that to the ancient guys that shaped our world who, for all their faults, especially when "summed up" and generalized about as a group, were actually the least ignorant and most appreciative and understanding people of their day.
I'm not saying even the best of us are perfect, but shit, man, I'll take whatever little good there is when I can find it, I mean, show me somewhere else where I can get some heh.
There's a part of me that says "ah, religion is finally losing its grip on the world, yay!" but its actually a dumb part of me, 'cause I know deep down that we can't just blame it for everything bad we ever did in its name and then erase it and keep the good stuff.
I think the present freaking sucks some serious ass sometimes, and I'm all for changing it, but the past couldn't have happened any other way than it did, and amidst all the horror and cruelty and nastiness and ignorance, there's a few bright lights that shine out, and they're still being carried around and burning inside us to this day.
And if you have read this goddam thing this far, then I have no doubt that you come from that stock, those good (and sometimes bad) people of the House of Cups.
'Cause the Houses of Swords and Shields and Staves sure ain't never been much fer reading and thinking about shit.
And I'm not saying that everybody in the House of Cups ought to be in agreement or anything, I'm all for diversity, actually, I mean, fuck, that's why I talk like a punk and swear so much, but we are all brothers and sisters and the descendants of the dudes who climbed over the mountains barefoot with paintings strapped to their backs, maybe not even just in spirit, although an appreciation for it is actually all it takes for that to be true.
Now that I got that off my chest, I'm going to go back to my regularly scheduled program of pretending that I belong to the House of Swords and Shields and Staves, 'cause they aren't as mopey and woe-is-me crying-in-yer-beer and shit as all you whiny Cup bastards.
Plus, they get all the chicks, right?
Hah.
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