|2004-05-06 || That black guy with the printer thing there
Soundtrack � The Clash � Give Em Enough Rope
Anyone who listens to punk rock music should get AIDS and die a slow death on a bed surrounded by family members and friends, remembering their life of mediocrity. Some douche bag with a tattoo of a nautical star on his hand will be at the end of the bed clutching a copy of Social Distortions last album on CD crying a tear just like Mike Ness did when he got gang raped by a bunch of colored dudes in prison. They�ll play some crappy Johnny Cash song at his bedside in hopes that it will keep him going for a little while longer. Yeah that�s it, play some of that used up palsied mother fuckers crappy country music to keep someone alive longer. If that were me, I would probably rise out of the bed and jump into the radio, grab Johnny Cash by the throat, and fuck the bloated rotting corpse of his dead wife right in front of his dead rotting black clothed body. Then I would sing to the tune of "Folsom Prison Blues": �I fucked your wife in Heaven, just to watch you cry!�.
I like The Clash a lot.
Last night I stayed up past 2:30 for the 87th consecutive night or something like that. I was making spreadsheets for my personal OCDicated self. I now have a spread sheet at home and at work that will track everything that enters and exits my body on a daily hourly basis. Example: 1:34 PM � Finished off cup of coffee, chewed and swallowed two fingernails. 3:25 PM � Defecated in bathroom of strip club. That�s a lie, I�ve never been to a strip club actually. I never would go to a strip club, it sounds like the most hideous thing a person can do. I think people who go to strip clubs are worse than people who molest retarded children with SARS.
Did I ever mention how much I love cats? I talk to the cat every morning. I play with the cat once a day. I don�t pet the cat because the cat doesn�t like people to pet her. I can understand this. I hate when people touch me. Well, strangers. Like in a bar, or at a gig, someone just stands in your space, and you want to take the 16 oz glass of beer and smash them in the mouth with it, wondering if at that moment their parents are home reading together with Ted Koppel in the background. The parents are content their kid is off at school now, probably out with some friends watching a hockey game or something. Meanwhile, I�m standing over them, my hand is all cut up and bruised while they clutch their bleeding face on the ground wondering what they did wrong. The father gets up to brush his teeth before going to bed and says to his wife from the bathroom �hey, maybe tomorrow we�ll go get those tarps for the party this weekend�.