Karma is a bitch.
A fickle bitch.
Karma is a fickle bitch who is currently spanking me on my reddened bottom while my muffled "thank you ma'am, may I have another" can barely be heard behind the ball gag.
And she's spanking me while I'm sitting in McCarren Airport waiting for my very-bad-day to end.
I'm sure that nothing is more boring than reading someone talk about their day. But, when the author's day starts at 5:30 am just to fly to a city on time and then end up waiting 2 hrs to see the judge, then get thrown out of a cab because he called the thieving cab driver a thief and then end up having his flight home delayed 4 hours to the point where he'll arrive home 20 hours after he first woke up in the morning, it is a good idea just to humor the author and say "yes, yes it was a horrible day. Gosh how interesting, may I buy you a Talisker and hear it two more times?"
The day really didn't turn until the cab ride. I generally don't mind cab rides; they have to deal with crappy Vegas traffic while I sit in the back and warily watch the meter. And cab rides in Vegas have provided me with extremely amusing stories. But this cab ride started sour because I didn't know where I was going. Well, I did know where I was going. I told the cabbie the right address. Then I said "oh, hold on...lemme check" as he was driving away from the curb which I guess in cabbie speak means, "this guy wants me to drive around the belt loop of the freeway."
When I told him to take a different, quicker, shorter way, that apparently was too much English for this formerly-somewhat-accented-but-still-perfectly-literate man. He continued to drive towards the freeway - exactly (we were on the correct road) 180 degrees in the wrong direction and mumble at me.
So I insisted again.
And he looked blankly at me again.
Which is when words like "rip-off" and "thief" came out of my mouth. Oh, and "scam". And it's really not like I called him a thief....I merely told him I hoped he wasn't one. It was his choice at that point to follow the dark or light path.
These words were apparently some sort of healing prose, because they immediately cured him of his brief aphasia. The downside being suddenly became really, really mad.
"I no rip you off, you no know where you're going." I sort of hate to approximate his difficulty with English, but that is - to the word - what he said. Again, remarkably calm (read: "haven't said the word "fuck" yet") I merely reiterated where we were going, the cross-streets, and the best way to get there. I was still sort of bewildered how taking the freeway was needed when I didn't know the exact address, but I was not about to have to pay this dude another $20.00 just because his cab company tells him he has to use the freeway for every transaction.
He continued to berate me including telling me to get out of his cab. Sort of an empty threat I thought seeing as we were moving 30 mph down the road. It was around this time that he began firing the first in his several volleys of uncool expletives
Which is when I went "uncalm" and said a bad word in adjective form. Not "the worst word," but something that can only be said on HBO or Showtime. Actually two - (word)ing stop this (word)ing cab you smelly (feminine hygiene product) and let me out. (I figure the "smelling" fact was a given seeing as I was in a cab in Las Vegas).
Further angering the man.
To his credit, he complied with what I asked him to do and did, in fact, stop the cab. In the middle of traffic. And so I got out. And then he tried to run me over (read, he tried to get away while I stood in the middle of the road).
So, I'm not sure if it it was the "douche" comment or if it was something I did yesterday or the week before or in another life but karma clearly had it in for me. And that clearly wasn't the end of my very-bad-day.
I'm sure you're anxious to hear me rap about how my experience in the airport has been but I'd rather not tempt the fates about blogging about my patience waiting to see if Delta is going to fly me home tonight just to lose it later (like last time). So I'll bid you all a good night and hope that we can share a Talisker soon. Because I need it.
Just as soon as I get this ball gag out of my mouth.
Friday, March 12, 2010
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Said sugar make it slow and we'll come together fine...
I am an extremely patient person.
People are always saying, "you have the patience of an elephant" or "gosh, you have the patience of Job." And, I always respond. "Yes, yes I do."
I am also a bald-face liar; which is what brings us to the February entry of "As the Tron Churns".
Last Friday I attended the Symphony. In college, going to the symphony was almost a weekly occurrence because we were music majors and the tickets were cheap. Now that I'm a big boy, I must pay big boy prices, which has limited my attendance. Not for Dvorak.
They were playing Dvorak's 9th Symphony and therein lies my beef with the classical music business. They treat almost every composer like a One Hit Wonder. If one makes a request for Beethoven, they play the 5th. If one asks for Soft Cell they play Tainted Love. Want to hear Vivaldi? You get the Four Seasons. Ask for Dexy's Midnight Runners you get Come on Eileen. And, if you want to hear anything by Anton Dvorak, you'll be listening to the 9th Symphony.
There is nothing wrong with the 9th Symphony but it is to his 8th Symphony what Touch of Grey is to Althea. What Blowin' in the Wind is to Desolation Row. What Nothing Else Matters is to Master of Puppets. What Barbie Girl is to Cartoon Heroes. The 9th is good, the 8th is better. But, the good people at the symphony chose to play the 9th and so I was there.
And if that's all I had to complain about the evening, I would be wasting your time.
I'm getting there, just have a little patience.
Everything was going just peachy until about half-way through the 2nd movement. This is the Largo, the Power Ballad of the piece. It is slow. Super slow. And quiet. And the audience was loving it. You could have heard a pin drop. But, I didn't. Instead of a pin I heard Thhhhhhwwappp.
That's right. Thhhhhwwwap
If you want to know what this sounds like. Take a small magazine and quickly thumb through all the pages with your thumbnail. It goes....Thhhhwwwwaap. A small magazine. Or maybe a program printed on glossy paper.
It was someone who was fidgety and messing around with their program, right? I mean I've gotten bored during the symphony. Hell, I've become bored writing this post.
But it wasn't boredom. It was sheer malice. It was sheer malice by a little old lady with gray poof hair. I had looked around after the fourth or fifth time fully expecting a kid who just wasn't quite into it. Instead I see this older woman staring straight ahead. Fingers poised on the edge of her program. And she is still staring forward - like STRAIGHT AHEAD. And I'm staring at her. There is no possible way she couldn't feel my glare. Any normal woman would have turned and at least made eye contact, even if to say "What the fuck, sonny?" So I turn around. And then I hear thhhhwwwaap thhhwaaaaap thhhhwaaaap.
And I'm not the only one bothered by this. People are shushing. That sort of quick sshhh that you make when you're trying hard not to explode. She finally does make eye contact. For a brief moment. And instead of a hint of a smile to indicate humorous intent, or even like an "oh no?! I'm ashually bothering you?" she just looked at me with a smirk of defiance and made one long thwwwwaaaaaap And she kept doing it. Through the 3rd movement.
Through the fourth.
And I am all the while plotting this woman's demise.
She was too far away to grab the program - even during the break between the movements. But don't think I didn't envision my lightening quick reflexes snatching the program out of her hands and whapping her once on the nose like a bad puppy. Any move to pick the program up would surely have resulted in my banishment from the venue for life as well as falling out of my chair and ripping my suit coat and slacks. She was behind me, which threw out any Godfather-esque retribution (picture my Clemenza to her Carlo Rizzi). She was too far away to whisper death threats against her and her children. It was bothering other people, my laser glare, so I was content to just listen to what I could hear of the symphony over the growing echo of her program thwwwiping and thwwwaping. She couldn't have bothered me more if she had sat directly behind me and lightly scratched the nape of my neck with a peacock feather. Or a rusty needle. Or the teeth of a saw.
When the symphony finally ended and the audience shot to their feet (seriously, if you can manage to finish a piece of music here in this state while staying alive and not bleeding over the audience you'll get a standing ovation) I still had no grand plan. I couldn't reach out and pinch her bat wings. Or crush her granny glasses.
So I just talked to her.
Well, not at her. Just about her. Loudly. To my girlfriend. I was complaining to A while staring straight at the old woman who was turning redder and redder. And that made me happier and happier. The culmination of which was my commenting on her lack of manners considering how damn old she was. She nearly fell over the people in front of her trying to get out after that.
If there is any theme to this collection of rants online it is that I have the maturity level of a 12 year old boy. But, I also have the sense of justice of a 5 year old which is: if you make me mad, I'll make you pay. So while I can't scratch, kick or bite you, I'll just publicly humiliate you. And that never leads to my own public humiliation. Never. Ever.
So, to my beautiful girlfriend, I'm sorry. To the patrons around us, I'm sorry. But not to you, you program flipping crone.
People are always saying, "you have the patience of an elephant" or "gosh, you have the patience of Job." And, I always respond. "Yes, yes I do."
I am also a bald-face liar; which is what brings us to the February entry of "As the Tron Churns".
Last Friday I attended the Symphony. In college, going to the symphony was almost a weekly occurrence because we were music majors and the tickets were cheap. Now that I'm a big boy, I must pay big boy prices, which has limited my attendance. Not for Dvorak.
They were playing Dvorak's 9th Symphony and therein lies my beef with the classical music business. They treat almost every composer like a One Hit Wonder. If one makes a request for Beethoven, they play the 5th. If one asks for Soft Cell they play Tainted Love. Want to hear Vivaldi? You get the Four Seasons. Ask for Dexy's Midnight Runners you get Come on Eileen. And, if you want to hear anything by Anton Dvorak, you'll be listening to the 9th Symphony.
There is nothing wrong with the 9th Symphony but it is to his 8th Symphony what Touch of Grey is to Althea. What Blowin' in the Wind is to Desolation Row. What Nothing Else Matters is to Master of Puppets. What Barbie Girl is to Cartoon Heroes. The 9th is good, the 8th is better. But, the good people at the symphony chose to play the 9th and so I was there.
And if that's all I had to complain about the evening, I would be wasting your time.
I'm getting there, just have a little patience.
Everything was going just peachy until about half-way through the 2nd movement. This is the Largo, the Power Ballad of the piece. It is slow. Super slow. And quiet. And the audience was loving it. You could have heard a pin drop. But, I didn't. Instead of a pin I heard Thhhhhhwwappp.
That's right. Thhhhhwwwap
If you want to know what this sounds like. Take a small magazine and quickly thumb through all the pages with your thumbnail. It goes....Thhhhwwwwaap. A small magazine. Or maybe a program printed on glossy paper.
It was someone who was fidgety and messing around with their program, right? I mean I've gotten bored during the symphony. Hell, I've become bored writing this post.
But it wasn't boredom. It was sheer malice. It was sheer malice by a little old lady with gray poof hair. I had looked around after the fourth or fifth time fully expecting a kid who just wasn't quite into it. Instead I see this older woman staring straight ahead. Fingers poised on the edge of her program. And she is still staring forward - like STRAIGHT AHEAD. And I'm staring at her. There is no possible way she couldn't feel my glare. Any normal woman would have turned and at least made eye contact, even if to say "What the fuck, sonny?" So I turn around. And then I hear thhhhwwwaap thhhwaaaaap thhhhwaaaap.
And I'm not the only one bothered by this. People are shushing. That sort of quick sshhh that you make when you're trying hard not to explode. She finally does make eye contact. For a brief moment. And instead of a hint of a smile to indicate humorous intent, or even like an "oh no?! I'm ashually bothering you?" she just looked at me with a smirk of defiance and made one long thwwwwaaaaaap And she kept doing it. Through the 3rd movement.
Through the fourth.
And I am all the while plotting this woman's demise.
She was too far away to grab the program - even during the break between the movements. But don't think I didn't envision my lightening quick reflexes snatching the program out of her hands and whapping her once on the nose like a bad puppy. Any move to pick the program up would surely have resulted in my banishment from the venue for life as well as falling out of my chair and ripping my suit coat and slacks. She was behind me, which threw out any Godfather-esque retribution (picture my Clemenza to her Carlo Rizzi). She was too far away to whisper death threats against her and her children. It was bothering other people, my laser glare, so I was content to just listen to what I could hear of the symphony over the growing echo of her program thwwwiping and thwwwaping. She couldn't have bothered me more if she had sat directly behind me and lightly scratched the nape of my neck with a peacock feather. Or a rusty needle. Or the teeth of a saw.
When the symphony finally ended and the audience shot to their feet (seriously, if you can manage to finish a piece of music here in this state while staying alive and not bleeding over the audience you'll get a standing ovation) I still had no grand plan. I couldn't reach out and pinch her bat wings. Or crush her granny glasses.
So I just talked to her.
Well, not at her. Just about her. Loudly. To my girlfriend. I was complaining to A while staring straight at the old woman who was turning redder and redder. And that made me happier and happier. The culmination of which was my commenting on her lack of manners considering how damn old she was. She nearly fell over the people in front of her trying to get out after that.
If there is any theme to this collection of rants online it is that I have the maturity level of a 12 year old boy. But, I also have the sense of justice of a 5 year old which is: if you make me mad, I'll make you pay. So while I can't scratch, kick or bite you, I'll just publicly humiliate you. And that never leads to my own public humiliation. Never. Ever.
So, to my beautiful girlfriend, I'm sorry. To the patrons around us, I'm sorry. But not to you, you program flipping crone.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Too many puppies....
Puppies shouldn't be used for live bait. Not only do puppies make horrible noises when you thread a hook through them, they tend to poop all over your boat.
I'm clearly insane, but not as insane as the person that told me I should join a group on Facebook called "Stop The Use Of Puppies For Live Bait" When I saw that, a little cry escaped my lips. It turns out that not only were Puppies being used as bait, they were being used as LIVE bait. FOR SHARKS! Sharks with TEETH. Teeth that EAT PUPPIES!
Then I read up on it and in less than five minutes found out that puppies AREN'T being used for live bait. Or dead bait. At least by a large enough group of people. I mean SOMEWHERE I imagine SOMEONE used a live puppy to catch a shark, I'll grant you that. But that doesn't mean there is a National Live Bait Federation: Puppy and Kitty Chapter that is suddenly saying "Oh shit, now that Facebook knows, the WORLD will know!!!"
And that's what every single person should do if they care about puppies being used as live bait. They should maybe get a little more information. Why? Because if it sounds too absurd to be true IT PROBABLY IS!
But that's just not as much fun, is it? It's not fun to find out that the situation isn't as bad as you first think it is. Why bother educating yourself when you can just get OUTRAGED over it.
It doesn't just stop at the dead puppies. It keeps going right past the dead puppies, down the hall past the dead horses, dead monkeys and right up to the Death Panels. Yup, the Evil Death Panels that will surely kill grandmother. If one was really worried about Meemaw being sentenced to death by an Obama Death Panel, wouldn't you bother to read up on it a bit? Naw - why read when you can just get outraged!?!
The snarky moral of the day is this. Lern to reed! No puppies are being used as live bait, Ms. Left-Wing-Vegan-Weirdo and no death panel is going to kill gramma, Mr. Right-Wing-Doucher-Alarmist. But you both are going to kill me - which was probably your goal in the first place. You see, someone told me about this conspiracy.....
I'm clearly insane, but not as insane as the person that told me I should join a group on Facebook called "Stop The Use Of Puppies For Live Bait" When I saw that, a little cry escaped my lips. It turns out that not only were Puppies being used as bait, they were being used as LIVE bait. FOR SHARKS! Sharks with TEETH. Teeth that EAT PUPPIES!
Then I read up on it and in less than five minutes found out that puppies AREN'T being used for live bait. Or dead bait. At least by a large enough group of people. I mean SOMEWHERE I imagine SOMEONE used a live puppy to catch a shark, I'll grant you that. But that doesn't mean there is a National Live Bait Federation: Puppy and Kitty Chapter that is suddenly saying "Oh shit, now that Facebook knows, the WORLD will know!!!"
And that's what every single person should do if they care about puppies being used as live bait. They should maybe get a little more information. Why? Because if it sounds too absurd to be true IT PROBABLY IS!
But that's just not as much fun, is it? It's not fun to find out that the situation isn't as bad as you first think it is. Why bother educating yourself when you can just get OUTRAGED over it.
It doesn't just stop at the dead puppies. It keeps going right past the dead puppies, down the hall past the dead horses, dead monkeys and right up to the Death Panels. Yup, the Evil Death Panels that will surely kill grandmother. If one was really worried about Meemaw being sentenced to death by an Obama Death Panel, wouldn't you bother to read up on it a bit? Naw - why read when you can just get outraged!?!
The snarky moral of the day is this. Lern to reed! No puppies are being used as live bait, Ms. Left-Wing-Vegan-Weirdo and no death panel is going to kill gramma, Mr. Right-Wing-Doucher-Alarmist. But you both are going to kill me - which was probably your goal in the first place. You see, someone told me about this conspiracy.....
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
#2230
I am still puzzled by my interaction with the checker at the grocery this afternoon. Somewhere in between piling my cart full of sugared soda, snacky cakes, bacon and other salted pig parts, cakey snacks and cheesy poofs, some fruit and vegetables ended up in my cart. At the checkout, the checker paused when he first reached the produce and at first seemed as puzzled to find them amongst the refined sugars. Then he turned to me, eyes swimming behind coke-bottle glasses, and said, "you want the organic fruit in with the non-organic stuff?"
I almost said "no" as my first thought the "non-organic stuff" he meant was the pack of batteries and ant-poison I was buying until I saw he had paused before loading a plastic bag full of organic bananas with apparently gentile grapes.
"Uh, sure...you can put all the produce together," I said.
Mind you, this wasn't Whole Foods or Sunflower Market. I didn't even know I had picked up organic bananas until he sort of wiggled them at me while I puzzled things over.
After he'd resumed his checking and bagging I couldn't let it go, so I asked him why.
"Oh, some people - you know - they want their organic produce away from the other stuff. If the organic stuff touches regular food it isn't organic anymore." He said this with a little shrug like "To each their own" while I sat there dumbfounded.
Isn't organic anymore.
It apparently loses organic status and becomes.....inorganic? The bananas go from Plantae Angiosperms Monocots Commelinids Zingiberales Musaceae Musa (thank you Wikipedia) to something found on the periodic table of elements.
And I had let it happen. I could feel the blood leaving my face just thinking how I had let my bananas, once as pure as the driven snow get trapped in the same plastic bag with a bordello of seedless grapes. The horror.
But then something took a hold of me. I told the checker to hold on and I took off like an excited St. Bernard puppy for the produce section. Grabbing a fistful of non-organic apples, I made my way through the organic produce like the angel of death. I rubbed the waxy, unclean, contaminated apples upon the virginal peels of the organic bananas, the thin skin of the $4.99 ea Organic Heirloom Tomatoes, and the collection of oddly shaped and colored potatoes that sell for the price of a troy ounce of silver. I used the stalks of non-organic green onions like Satan's paintbrush, soiling the organic plums, pears, and weak looking citrus fruit all the while frothing with the pervasive thought that if I my produce was rendered "in-organic"no one can have purity. Spent, and full of weary accomplishment I rejoined the rest of the checkout line to thunderous applause....
Believe it or not, I can understand wanting ones food to be "organic." But, what I don't understand, and frankly find stupid, is the thought that the mere touching of a leaf of conventionally grown spinach to a leaf of spinach grown organically will destroy the sanctity of that product. The effort that needs to be put forth to maintain the purity of a damn banana is astounding. And not only is that effort astounding, it's a simple veneer! Was the organic fruit delivered on an organic truck, powered by organic fuel, driven by a patchouli wearing hippy with dreadlocks? Was the organic fruit unpacked by workers with organic gloves that had touched nothing but the holy skin of the organic idols?
So, this will just be filed under #2230 of "Why the World Is So Fucked Up and No It's Not Obama's Fault". You can read the other 2229 of them in my book, printed on organic paper with organic ink. The books are placed on the organic, non-bleached hemp and bamboo bookshelf right next to the organic rat poison (now only 80% less effective than real poison) in your local grocery store. Oh, and I'd wash the organic apples in 100% organic spring water from 100% organic springs if I were you....I picked through them shortly after I left the bathroom...they didn't have any organic soap in there and I just didn't want to let anything impure touch my skin.
I almost said "no" as my first thought the "non-organic stuff" he meant was the pack of batteries and ant-poison I was buying until I saw he had paused before loading a plastic bag full of organic bananas with apparently gentile grapes.
"Uh, sure...you can put all the produce together," I said.
Mind you, this wasn't Whole Foods or Sunflower Market. I didn't even know I had picked up organic bananas until he sort of wiggled them at me while I puzzled things over.
After he'd resumed his checking and bagging I couldn't let it go, so I asked him why.
"Oh, some people - you know - they want their organic produce away from the other stuff. If the organic stuff touches regular food it isn't organic anymore." He said this with a little shrug like "To each their own" while I sat there dumbfounded.
Isn't organic anymore.
It apparently loses organic status and becomes.....inorganic? The bananas go from Plantae Angiosperms Monocots Commelinids Zingiberales Musaceae Musa (thank you Wikipedia) to something found on the periodic table of elements.
And I had let it happen. I could feel the blood leaving my face just thinking how I had let my bananas, once as pure as the driven snow get trapped in the same plastic bag with a bordello of seedless grapes. The horror.
But then something took a hold of me. I told the checker to hold on and I took off like an excited St. Bernard puppy for the produce section. Grabbing a fistful of non-organic apples, I made my way through the organic produce like the angel of death. I rubbed the waxy, unclean, contaminated apples upon the virginal peels of the organic bananas, the thin skin of the $4.99 ea Organic Heirloom Tomatoes, and the collection of oddly shaped and colored potatoes that sell for the price of a troy ounce of silver. I used the stalks of non-organic green onions like Satan's paintbrush, soiling the organic plums, pears, and weak looking citrus fruit all the while frothing with the pervasive thought that if I my produce was rendered "in-organic"no one can have purity. Spent, and full of weary accomplishment I rejoined the rest of the checkout line to thunderous applause....
Believe it or not, I can understand wanting ones food to be "organic." But, what I don't understand, and frankly find stupid, is the thought that the mere touching of a leaf of conventionally grown spinach to a leaf of spinach grown organically will destroy the sanctity of that product. The effort that needs to be put forth to maintain the purity of a damn banana is astounding. And not only is that effort astounding, it's a simple veneer! Was the organic fruit delivered on an organic truck, powered by organic fuel, driven by a patchouli wearing hippy with dreadlocks? Was the organic fruit unpacked by workers with organic gloves that had touched nothing but the holy skin of the organic idols?
So, this will just be filed under #2230 of "Why the World Is So Fucked Up and No It's Not Obama's Fault". You can read the other 2229 of them in my book, printed on organic paper with organic ink. The books are placed on the organic, non-bleached hemp and bamboo bookshelf right next to the organic rat poison (now only 80% less effective than real poison) in your local grocery store. Oh, and I'd wash the organic apples in 100% organic spring water from 100% organic springs if I were you....I picked through them shortly after I left the bathroom...they didn't have any organic soap in there and I just didn't want to let anything impure touch my skin.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Dear Landlord, please don't put a price on my soul!
Dear Landlord/Upstairs Neighbor:
Please feel free to ask for help moving that heavy furniture at 5:55 AM. I don't know why you're moving furniture at 5:55 AM, but since I am now up at 5:55 AM due to the insanely loud banging and scraping of heavy furniture being dragged across the floor/ceiling above my head, I would be more than happy to just pick it up and help you out - you obviously are having trouble on your own. Alternatively, should you desire help moving that furniture at a time later than 5:55 AM this would be ideal as it is still SLEEPYTIME at 5:55 AM. Thank you.
Sincerely,
Tronner
Please feel free to ask for help moving that heavy furniture at 5:55 AM. I don't know why you're moving furniture at 5:55 AM, but since I am now up at 5:55 AM due to the insanely loud banging and scraping of heavy furniture being dragged across the floor/ceiling above my head, I would be more than happy to just pick it up and help you out - you obviously are having trouble on your own. Alternatively, should you desire help moving that furniture at a time later than 5:55 AM this would be ideal as it is still SLEEPYTIME at 5:55 AM. Thank you.
Sincerely,
Tronner
Friday, September 18, 2009
All the bad boys are standing in the shadows and all the good girls are home with broken hearts
You're welcome.
Because I have figured out the cause of, and the solution to, all of our economic and political problems.
No need for anything but your thanks and a comfortable monetary compensation
The cause of this whole mess is the battle against the undead.
I blame it all on the vampires. The silly, emotional, vapid, whiny, "undead" vampires. Or, rather the silly, emotional, vapid, whiny, "undead" fans of vampires that have given the world media carte blanch to print, produce, tape, and projectile vomit upon the world a deluge of vampire crap. From Anne Rice's gothy, pederastic Lestat the Whiny Bitch, to the Twhinelight series, to the pornographic True Blood, vampires have taken over the hearts and minds of millions of people yearing to have their neck sucked while having centuries of life to wax poetically on the meaning of life. The person reading the vampire novel gets lost into a world where money and responsibility are never issues. Where the finest clothes, titles, and power are a given. Where history happens around the vampire instead of involving him. Where day to day stress is ignored and where the only real danger is not making it to bed on time. Sooner or later, the vampire fan will fancy themselves as one of the lounging undead; existing in a world where one can bend others to their will; where every meal is orgasmic pleasure. So, instead of personal responsibility, the vampire fan believes themselves to a special person who need not take part in the lives of the little people. After all, they have millennia to figure things out.
So how does one combat this. How does one avoid the temptation to fall into the vampire's hypnotic gaze? The answer isn't a matter of just putting down the vampire books, turning off the pale and dark film adaptations, casting off the black velvet, and getting a tan. The answer to all of this is also found in the undead.
Zombies
A direct opposite to the brooding, whiny undead; the brainless, hungry undead will save the world. In any zombie movie you see all aspects of society working together to defeat the horde of mindless corpses. No one in a zombie movie WANTS to be a zombie -they save the last bullet for themselves just to avoid becoming one of "them". Zombies aren't attractive or intelligent. They are rotting. They stink. And they have horrible fashion sense. Movies and books about the undead aren't romantic and emotional - they are violent, chaotic and funny. In other words they reflect LIFE. Not how it could be or should have been, but how it IS. A person watching a zombie movie thinks "shit has gone down - what are we going to do about it" instead of the vampire fan who thinks "gosh, isn't immortality dreamy?" After vicariously battling the living dead, a person is left with a feeling of comic accomplishment. It takes human (let's face it, AMERICAN) ingenuity to mow down wave after wave of zombies. And while vampire movies one with a sense of entitlement, zombie movies, though apocalyptic, leave a person with a feeling of hope and that even the last spark of humanity holds something worthwhile.
So, stop dreaming about Bella, Lestat, Louis, Edward and TheChickFromXmenandthePiano. Stop shopping for velvet and coffins. Cease your dreams that a handsome, waxy man will one day suck on your neck. Rent a George A. Romero flick. Be proactive! Sharpen your machete. Stockpile boxes of .45 ACP. and 00 buckshot. Being vigilant to the zombie threat is much more worthwhile than whining about why you haven't been chosen to be the immortal lover of an emotional corpse. And if the end finally comes for you, you'll know you will have done everything possible to avoid becoming part of the living dead, instead of lying there and waiting for that last kiss.
Because I have figured out the cause of, and the solution to, all of our economic and political problems.
No need for anything but your thanks and a comfortable monetary compensation
The cause of this whole mess is the battle against the undead.
I blame it all on the vampires. The silly, emotional, vapid, whiny, "undead" vampires. Or, rather the silly, emotional, vapid, whiny, "undead" fans of vampires that have given the world media carte blanch to print, produce, tape, and projectile vomit upon the world a deluge of vampire crap. From Anne Rice's gothy, pederastic Lestat the Whiny Bitch, to the Twhinelight series, to the pornographic True Blood, vampires have taken over the hearts and minds of millions of people yearing to have their neck sucked while having centuries of life to wax poetically on the meaning of life. The person reading the vampire novel gets lost into a world where money and responsibility are never issues. Where the finest clothes, titles, and power are a given. Where history happens around the vampire instead of involving him. Where day to day stress is ignored and where the only real danger is not making it to bed on time. Sooner or later, the vampire fan will fancy themselves as one of the lounging undead; existing in a world where one can bend others to their will; where every meal is orgasmic pleasure. So, instead of personal responsibility, the vampire fan believes themselves to a special person who need not take part in the lives of the little people. After all, they have millennia to figure things out.
So how does one combat this. How does one avoid the temptation to fall into the vampire's hypnotic gaze? The answer isn't a matter of just putting down the vampire books, turning off the pale and dark film adaptations, casting off the black velvet, and getting a tan. The answer to all of this is also found in the undead.
Zombies
A direct opposite to the brooding, whiny undead; the brainless, hungry undead will save the world. In any zombie movie you see all aspects of society working together to defeat the horde of mindless corpses. No one in a zombie movie WANTS to be a zombie -they save the last bullet for themselves just to avoid becoming one of "them". Zombies aren't attractive or intelligent. They are rotting. They stink. And they have horrible fashion sense. Movies and books about the undead aren't romantic and emotional - they are violent, chaotic and funny. In other words they reflect LIFE. Not how it could be or should have been, but how it IS. A person watching a zombie movie thinks "shit has gone down - what are we going to do about it" instead of the vampire fan who thinks "gosh, isn't immortality dreamy?" After vicariously battling the living dead, a person is left with a feeling of comic accomplishment. It takes human (let's face it, AMERICAN) ingenuity to mow down wave after wave of zombies. And while vampire movies one with a sense of entitlement, zombie movies, though apocalyptic, leave a person with a feeling of hope and that even the last spark of humanity holds something worthwhile.
So, stop dreaming about Bella, Lestat, Louis, Edward and TheChickFromXmenandthePiano. Stop shopping for velvet and coffins. Cease your dreams that a handsome, waxy man will one day suck on your neck. Rent a George A. Romero flick. Be proactive! Sharpen your machete. Stockpile boxes of .45 ACP. and 00 buckshot. Being vigilant to the zombie threat is much more worthwhile than whining about why you haven't been chosen to be the immortal lover of an emotional corpse. And if the end finally comes for you, you'll know you will have done everything possible to avoid becoming part of the living dead, instead of lying there and waiting for that last kiss.
Monday, September 7, 2009
A wee log in which I celebrate minor triumphs.
Quick!
Look!
They are THERE!
I have DONE IT....I have SUCCEEDED in altering the ADS by mere WILL (well, mostly repeating several words ad nausea). Now you can get as many condoms, STD tests and hemorrhoid creams your little heart will desire with JUST ONE CLICK.
I have also managed to piss off several people (well, two) just based on my calling Educators "Douchebags" for not showing Obama's speech. So, my poor facebook is down two facist, racist, fucktards and it feels so much the lighter and airier already. That, is why I do this.
Join me next week when I talk about events along my maturity level - like how my first month of Jr. High went.
Look!
They are THERE!
I have DONE IT....I have SUCCEEDED in altering the ADS by mere WILL (well, mostly repeating several words ad nausea). Now you can get as many condoms, STD tests and hemorrhoid creams your little heart will desire with JUST ONE CLICK.
I have also managed to piss off several people (well, two) just based on my calling Educators "Douchebags" for not showing Obama's speech. So, my poor facebook is down two facist, racist, fucktards and it feels so much the lighter and airier already. That, is why I do this.
Join me next week when I talk about events along my maturity level - like how my first month of Jr. High went.
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