I'll start off by saying that I truly feel a part of my brain melted last night whilst reading certain people's facebook updates during the election.
I started to just write all of this in my journal that only my eyes can read... then I thought a bit more about it and decided that maybe I have something of value to say to everyone out there in cyber world.
I love that we have forums like Facebook, Twitter, this blog site, and others, but they aren't to be used without repercussion. If you post something, and I consider you my "friend," and the thing you say is so damning that it sparks a mental road map in my brain that leads to, "Why am I friends with this person again," don't think that I'm not going to scratch my head in wonder. I'm scratching a hole in my head right now from all of the things I read last night during the election.
Here's a little something about American history...
We are a democracy. We've fought wars that resulted in thousands of casualties over our freedom to be a democracy. The reason the "American dream" is sought after by millions of people is because we have bled and died for our right to dream big. To have a choice to dream big is something that some people in lesser countries around the world ever get to even conceptualize in their minds. America was founded on differences. Differences in religious views, political opinions and race/creed. Little by little we plug away at trying to perfect a system of government that is "for the people, by the people." We've made mistakes along the way but we are still Americans and we should always keep in mind that we are a nation full of differences and that is why this country is the best country in the world. I'm not saying that we haven't behaved poorly at times, or that we have the best programs, but we have democracy and that is something that a lot of countries do not have and probably never will have. What I'm about to talk about isn't people having "differences" in the sense of being a Republican or Democrat. I'm talking about being so extreme with one side or the other that you hate that people have the right to vote for who they want IF who they want is different from who you want, i.e. spitting on what America is all about. These people are pro-active about their hatred of anything that doesn't confirm who they are inside. They hate people for having different opinions and seek out ways to crush the opposing team by undermining their very rights. I believe that is called terrorism.
I read some posts last night from a few people, one of which is a very close friend of mine that I grew up with, that quite literally blew my mind. The sort of things that were said in these person's posts on Facebook were insulting to everyone who loves democracy and believes in it. Anger fueled a great deal of the posts that these people had written, but some of these things were shared by a great deal of people who echoed such sentiments. Things like: "We need a good old fashioned Civil War," "If you call yourself Pro-Life or a Christian and voted for Obama, you are neither," "Well, at least half of this country are still Americans," "Romney's wife should be raped by a black man," "Romney's family should burn in hell," "Obama should be slain by the KKK and strung up in a tree in Texas." These types of things came out of the mouth of people I "accepted as friends." I couldn't believe what I was reading. The thing is... these people who posted this stuff weren't joking around AT ALL.
I had trouble sleeping last night because of the hatred I read over Facebook. It bothered me on a molecular level. It also made me re-evaluate my flippancy in choosing friends because of shared "mutual friends," on Facebook. Again, this isn't about anyone having a varying opinion politically than me, or being of a different religious affiliation, this is about pure Grade A hatred and stupidity. Hatred and stupidity have been the only reasons why we've had war amongst ourselves. It is the thing that prevents growth. It's the two causes of all homicides in this country. It's the partnership of stupidity and hatred that shoot up a movie theatre, bomb a school, mug an old lady, abuse a child, abuse animals, burn down temples, rape a young girl, kidnap and torture a kid on his way home from school... it all stems from hatred and stupidity and it doesn't bode well if you operate on that lethal combo.
Do you want to know how to change the world? Love your neighbor.
It's really that simple. No, really, it really is that simple. If you spew hate, you will get hate back. If you think of only how badly everything sucks, you will get to be right in your own world and you'll have proof of that every day because you are the creator of your own grand design. If all you focus on is what you don't want to happen, you will only see what isn't happening.
I'm not trying to be airy fairy about this stuff. I like to simplify things and folks, it's pretty simple.
What I've found is a common denominator with the people who posted such disgustingly rigid and hateful things, and I know them all personally...
All of these people have NO idea who they are and they are the loudest people in the room about "what they stand for." All 7 of the people that wrote these types of posts have never travelled out of the country, they have been in about 6 different social clicks over the past 10 years, and they all suffer from a debilitating case of "I could've been somebody if... this or that..." All of them are suffering from a lack of identity, a lack of self worth, and a shocking amount of "life hasn't been fair to me" syndrome.
I sat down and wrote all the names of the people who posted the bigotry statements, the political blaspheme, the rigid unstructured hate-filled thoughts and I realized they all had this stuff in common. They surround themselves with people who accommodate their beliefs because if they were surrounded by people who oppose them on a fundamental level, they'd crumble from lack of self worth. They acquire new friends each time the wind changes, new friends who only know the "new them." Yet there are skeletons of the past rattling away in their closet and the noise sometimes is too much to bear so they explode with statements they can't retract to stop the ruckus in their mind.
This blog is really written for these people that I'm talking about. If you can relate and have friends in your own life that are behaving like monkeys on fire, then by all means feel free to voice your stories in a public forum because it's a guarantee that "they" will be.
I've stayed silent about my concerns for a long time regarding some of these people I'm speaking of, but it's time to speak lest victory defeat us from the inside out.
On a lighter, more funny closing note:
No matter who you voted for, you are part of this wonderful democracy that is America. If you hate people because they voted differently than you, you don't deserve to live in a country where democracy is the staple ideal. You should join the Borg or the Darkside or something if you love assimilation as much as you claim. I hear it's extra hatey this time of year on the Death Star.
Showing posts with label 2012. Show all posts
Showing posts with label 2012. Show all posts
Wednesday, November 7, 2012
Monday, May 21, 2012
Hulk, Freddy Kruger, & Me
Hi World.
Many of you have seen my latest glamour shot- the Freddy Kruger neck? Which by the way one can't get unless one "builds to that." God graced me with having perfect skin in my teenage years and most of my 20's... when I hit 32 years old, I no longer had good skin and instead I looked like a bad after-school movie on teenage angst.
I decided about a week ago that I'd try ProActive AGAIN and this time I wouldn't puss out and not do it "by the book." (unlike previous attempts when I decided that I was too awesome for steps 2 & 4) Don't worry, this blog isn't about acne.
So...For the last week I've been "by the book" on the ProActive treatment as well as being "by the book" with every aspect of my life currently. I've been running myself ragged with multiple gigs on the same day, plus running my own booth at various trade shows across the BIG FAT state of Texas. I sold my prized drum kit in order to start this business and made a lot of sacrifices to ensure that I would be able to not only help myself but help out my family too. THAT is/was a mistake...the helping of my ungrateful ass family.
These bucktoothed slobbering "simple country folk" of rural Texas have lost their charm to me.(this isn't about my family) Once upon a time when I lived in Los Angeles, I would've given my entire torso area, plus tax, as a gift to the gods in order be in the presence of "simple folk from Ruraltown USA."
Now, I understand why all "virus outbreak" movies happen in rural towns in Texas because they are all one dog bite away from being post-apocalyptic mouth-breathing groaners. All of them. You want a stereotype, there, I just gave you one and I f*cking mean every word of it.
I saw a lady that looked EXACTLY, NO LISTEN TO ME, EXACTLY LIKE A BULLFROG WALKING UPRIGHT. WHAT DNA STRAND SLOUGHED OFF OF INTO THE OUTHOUSE TO CREATE THAT?! anyway... back to my story...
*By the way, when I say RURAL, I'm not talking about suburbs here people... I'm talking about places where the sign says, "Quinlan 6 miles, Fate 7 miles(that shit is real) and You are currently in UNKNOWN FM DISTRICT 775." I was in the last one on that list. *
Why was I there? There are these things here in Texas called "Trade Days," and you pay a price to rent an area of sacred ass Indian burial ground land (complete with Skinwalkers) to sell your goods to the surrounding villages of mouth-breathing groaners. Well, I can't be sure about the sacred Indian burial ground part but I think I'm onto something with that. Anyhow...
Some days you make good money and other days you make rashes on your neck. A quote was said by L.Kimes recently on one of these journeys, "If I hear one more southern accent I'm going to pop someone in the testicles." I should mention that I thought I was doing everyone a favor by saying "Why don't you guys run the booth this weekend, I've got other gigs and can't be there until later in the evening..." This was no favor on my part.
I might have lost Kime's friendship and respect over this "favor." My brother, Chancho, who tries his best to irritate everyone around him as much as possible (because it's how he has survived for 30 years...deep psychology there, folks) is along for one of these journeys into the abyss of DUMBF*CK County Fair Trade Days. I dropped off my brother and L. Kimes off at this rented space which faced the sun and had a backdrop of galvanized steel... perfect for cooking a rotisserie pork loin or your head.
Here's where it gets real f*cking funny...
I had another gig going on simultaneously and you know what it was? Give up?
I had to be(brace yourself)... A Mime...at a grocery store. A MIME. AT. A. GROCERY. STORE. And you know what else? The pay was greater for 2 hours than if I worked half a week doing 10 shows @ 3hrs each show on THE GREATEST SHOW ON EARTH. How in the hell does that happen? Well... it did. I paid for my good fortune with a 3rd degree chemical burn on my neck thus giving me that Freddy Kruger look that is so sought after in Cosplay circles...which I am not into by the way for the record. Apparently you can't wear ProActive in the sun with grease paint a'top of it or you create a melty molotov cocktail.
Moving along...After mimin' it up at the Central Market for overly entitled rich assholes who buy 12 dollar blueberry fucking muffins, I checked my phone and there waiting on the lock screen was 7 texts from my peeps manning the booth.
Text:
"We sold a puppet to the corn guy next to us. That is it."
"Do you think there is any way we can get our rental money back on this?"
"I think we need to leave."
"I just found out the other trade day is 1 mile from here and is packed with people."
"No more vendors are here. It's just us in an abandoned parking lot."
"Let us know when you are close by."
"We hurt real bad."
I get into my car, drive 50 plus miles to retrieve my product and my people when I get to the frontage road I can clearly see their sunburn faces from 200ft away. What happened the rest of that day can only be explained as... well... they were angry, burnt, and probably severely dehydrated... I however, had plucked chicken neck and when I turned my head to specifically the right, my neck would bleed. I found this out the hard way, in public, at the QuikTrip down the street from my house. The guy who works there that I named DeadBabyJoe asked me if I was okay? I call him DeadBabyJoe because he was going to have a baby and I went to Ringling, etc.. when I came back from tour I said, "How is that baby of yours!" He replied, "it died a year ago today." I said, "Oh my God! I'm so so so so sorry!!! How is your wife doing?" He said, "She divorced me after the baby died." Well, fuck.
The next day I try to make metaphorical lemonade out of the rotten lemons of the previous day's woe. I schedule another booth at a trade expo way out in Hunt County. In order to get a good space you have to be there by 7:00am. It's about 60 miles away so that means I have to get as soon as I lay down- the night before. (don't worry this gets better)
My brother is one of those people that you've never met before because he's fucking insane. He gives no information when you need information, he will stare at you when you ask something in an emergency setting and when you want him to shut his face he will give you a fucking play-by-play of his stupid buttfucking Star Trek online game. He's fucking nuts...here's how I know he is... because if he read this rant he would feign laughter and stomp his feet in toddler amusement over how he was talked about negatively... it's fun for him to be hated.
Riding in a car with my brother is the worst, it's probably worse than camping out in the Vietkhang without a rape whistle, knife, or a mosquito net... but you know what sucks even more? Working alongside my brother while he's trying to "shoot the shit" with the buttfucking FROG PEOPLE!
It's like they all have a secret handshake, a codebook for retards. They change their voice when they get around their "own kind" and go from being semi-coherant to grunting squawks. I had to listen to this kind of thing for 9 hours out in the hot hot hot sun...Here's a real sample..(I'll write this phonetically, sound-it-out people.)
"heyl mane dere I cun see yoo gut yer sum lil'ol'puhhpets. how much'n yood say dey g'fer."
Give up?
Translation: "hell, man, there I can see you got your some little old puppets. how much 'n' you would say they go for."
Guess what... any way you fucking hear that shit it's fucking wrong!
The guy who said this shit "had indian in him" because he had to tell us that... AS ALL THE WHITE TRASH PEOPLE HAVE TO TELL YOU THAT FUCKING HAVE INDIAN BLOOD IN THEM... they fucking don't.
They are from the stock of humans that scooped up filth and put it in baskets to dam up the moats so the Crocs didn't feast upon the noble's horses. They are the people in scene from Monty Python's "Holy Grail" that say, "there's some lovely filth ov'here." Every time one of these white trash filth hoarders says they "got Indian in they blood," the baby Jesus cries. I should mention that this asshole had a mullet with a long long long thin n' mealy french braid down his back. He told us he would sell us some more stock of puppets because...something something... couldn't understand... and then he said,
"Cuz I cuhd run y'all out'tere wit wut I got but I 'n't gon' do dat y'know, but heyl I sail 'em ta yoo fer heyl bout two fitty tree fitty peece."
Translation: "Because I could run you all out of here with what I got but I ain't going to to that you know, but hell, I sell them to you for hell, about two fifty three fifty piece."
My fat ass brother understood this asshole and said, "Heyl, that is a pretty guhd priiiiiice."
I know what my face was doing as if I was looking in a mirror. I could feel the muscles in my face dying. I had to watch this guy pitch me something and then mildly threaten me in order to get me to buy his stock at a wholesale price. I guess I was supposed to feel as though this was a favor?
Aye, there's the rub. This Cigarbox White Trash Indian was doing me a "favor" in the same way I did a "favor" for L.Kimes and my brother the day before as they sizzled on Planet X selling puppets to NOBODY for 8 hours.
Instant karma I suppose. They got sunburned, I got a chemical burn that transformed me into Freddy Kruger from the chin down.
The moral of this story is that I now understand why rent is higher in urban cities and it's not because it's supply/demand. You have to make it higher because GOD FORBID any of the FROGS and Cigar Store White Trash Indians came into the city to breed. Holy shit we can't let that happen. If you don't have a gun, go and get one because if these people in the surrounding "UNKNOWN FM 755 TERRITORIES" get wind of you "havin' things," they will slowly schlep their way to your house and talk their way into your front door and sell you broken shit at premium prices while threatening to "run you out of your own house."
If you wanted to prank call the people who run this hell hole flea market I've decided to list their number at the bottom of this blog. Feel free to ask them philosophical questions, life advice, or any sort of deep inquiry you may have... I can promise you any response you get will be comedic gold. Mark my words, they will not hang up on you right away. They don't mentally process things that fast... you will get a solid 2 questions in before they start to "figurin' yoo is full uh shit."
The guy that answers the phone has a 4.2 second delay when you ask him questions he DOES know the answer to... "How much is the rent for the space this weekend?" (count to 4)
"Thirty Fi' buhhhks."
So I can only imagine if you asked him something like, "What do you think the future of Nasa's involvement concerning finding life on other planets will include?"
(Spontaneous Combustion Sounds...BOOM, Sizzle, Drip, Drip...Dial Tone)
BucktoothedRetard Flea Market Guy THAT RIPPED ME OFF:
469-569-0448
Many of you have seen my latest glamour shot- the Freddy Kruger neck? Which by the way one can't get unless one "builds to that." God graced me with having perfect skin in my teenage years and most of my 20's... when I hit 32 years old, I no longer had good skin and instead I looked like a bad after-school movie on teenage angst.
I decided about a week ago that I'd try ProActive AGAIN and this time I wouldn't puss out and not do it "by the book." (unlike previous attempts when I decided that I was too awesome for steps 2 & 4) Don't worry, this blog isn't about acne.
So...For the last week I've been "by the book" on the ProActive treatment as well as being "by the book" with every aspect of my life currently. I've been running myself ragged with multiple gigs on the same day, plus running my own booth at various trade shows across the BIG FAT state of Texas. I sold my prized drum kit in order to start this business and made a lot of sacrifices to ensure that I would be able to not only help myself but help out my family too. THAT is/was a mistake...the helping of my ungrateful ass family.
These bucktoothed slobbering "simple country folk" of rural Texas have lost their charm to me.(this isn't about my family) Once upon a time when I lived in Los Angeles, I would've given my entire torso area, plus tax, as a gift to the gods in order be in the presence of "simple folk from Ruraltown USA."
Now, I understand why all "virus outbreak" movies happen in rural towns in Texas because they are all one dog bite away from being post-apocalyptic mouth-breathing groaners. All of them. You want a stereotype, there, I just gave you one and I f*cking mean every word of it.
I saw a lady that looked EXACTLY, NO LISTEN TO ME, EXACTLY LIKE A BULLFROG WALKING UPRIGHT. WHAT DNA STRAND SLOUGHED OFF OF INTO THE OUTHOUSE TO CREATE THAT?! anyway... back to my story...
*By the way, when I say RURAL, I'm not talking about suburbs here people... I'm talking about places where the sign says, "Quinlan 6 miles, Fate 7 miles(that shit is real) and You are currently in UNKNOWN FM DISTRICT 775." I was in the last one on that list. *
Why was I there? There are these things here in Texas called "Trade Days," and you pay a price to rent an area of sacred ass Indian burial ground land (complete with Skinwalkers) to sell your goods to the surrounding villages of mouth-breathing groaners. Well, I can't be sure about the sacred Indian burial ground part but I think I'm onto something with that. Anyhow...
Some days you make good money and other days you make rashes on your neck. A quote was said by L.Kimes recently on one of these journeys, "If I hear one more southern accent I'm going to pop someone in the testicles." I should mention that I thought I was doing everyone a favor by saying "Why don't you guys run the booth this weekend, I've got other gigs and can't be there until later in the evening..." This was no favor on my part.
I might have lost Kime's friendship and respect over this "favor." My brother, Chancho, who tries his best to irritate everyone around him as much as possible (because it's how he has survived for 30 years...deep psychology there, folks) is along for one of these journeys into the abyss of DUMBF*CK County Fair Trade Days. I dropped off my brother and L. Kimes off at this rented space which faced the sun and had a backdrop of galvanized steel... perfect for cooking a rotisserie pork loin or your head.
Here's where it gets real f*cking funny...
I had another gig going on simultaneously and you know what it was? Give up?
I had to be(brace yourself)... A Mime...at a grocery store. A MIME. AT. A. GROCERY. STORE. And you know what else? The pay was greater for 2 hours than if I worked half a week doing 10 shows @ 3hrs each show on THE GREATEST SHOW ON EARTH. How in the hell does that happen? Well... it did. I paid for my good fortune with a 3rd degree chemical burn on my neck thus giving me that Freddy Kruger look that is so sought after in Cosplay circles...which I am not into by the way for the record. Apparently you can't wear ProActive in the sun with grease paint a'top of it or you create a melty molotov cocktail.
Moving along...After mimin' it up at the Central Market for overly entitled rich assholes who buy 12 dollar blueberry fucking muffins, I checked my phone and there waiting on the lock screen was 7 texts from my peeps manning the booth.
Text:
"We sold a puppet to the corn guy next to us. That is it."
"Do you think there is any way we can get our rental money back on this?"
"I think we need to leave."
"I just found out the other trade day is 1 mile from here and is packed with people."
"No more vendors are here. It's just us in an abandoned parking lot."
"Let us know when you are close by."
"We hurt real bad."
I get into my car, drive 50 plus miles to retrieve my product and my people when I get to the frontage road I can clearly see their sunburn faces from 200ft away. What happened the rest of that day can only be explained as... well... they were angry, burnt, and probably severely dehydrated... I however, had plucked chicken neck and when I turned my head to specifically the right, my neck would bleed. I found this out the hard way, in public, at the QuikTrip down the street from my house. The guy who works there that I named DeadBabyJoe asked me if I was okay? I call him DeadBabyJoe because he was going to have a baby and I went to Ringling, etc.. when I came back from tour I said, "How is that baby of yours!" He replied, "it died a year ago today." I said, "Oh my God! I'm so so so so sorry!!! How is your wife doing?" He said, "She divorced me after the baby died." Well, fuck.
The next day I try to make metaphorical lemonade out of the rotten lemons of the previous day's woe. I schedule another booth at a trade expo way out in Hunt County. In order to get a good space you have to be there by 7:00am. It's about 60 miles away so that means I have to get as soon as I lay down- the night before. (don't worry this gets better)
My brother is one of those people that you've never met before because he's fucking insane. He gives no information when you need information, he will stare at you when you ask something in an emergency setting and when you want him to shut his face he will give you a fucking play-by-play of his stupid buttfucking Star Trek online game. He's fucking nuts...here's how I know he is... because if he read this rant he would feign laughter and stomp his feet in toddler amusement over how he was talked about negatively... it's fun for him to be hated.
Riding in a car with my brother is the worst, it's probably worse than camping out in the Vietkhang without a rape whistle, knife, or a mosquito net... but you know what sucks even more? Working alongside my brother while he's trying to "shoot the shit" with the buttfucking FROG PEOPLE!
It's like they all have a secret handshake, a codebook for retards. They change their voice when they get around their "own kind" and go from being semi-coherant to grunting squawks. I had to listen to this kind of thing for 9 hours out in the hot hot hot sun...Here's a real sample..(I'll write this phonetically, sound-it-out people.)
"heyl mane dere I cun see yoo gut yer sum lil'ol'puhhpets. how much'n yood say dey g'fer."
Give up?
Translation: "hell, man, there I can see you got your some little old puppets. how much 'n' you would say they go for."
Guess what... any way you fucking hear that shit it's fucking wrong!
The guy who said this shit "had indian in him" because he had to tell us that... AS ALL THE WHITE TRASH PEOPLE HAVE TO TELL YOU THAT FUCKING HAVE INDIAN BLOOD IN THEM... they fucking don't.
They are from the stock of humans that scooped up filth and put it in baskets to dam up the moats so the Crocs didn't feast upon the noble's horses. They are the people in scene from Monty Python's "Holy Grail" that say, "there's some lovely filth ov'here." Every time one of these white trash filth hoarders says they "got Indian in they blood," the baby Jesus cries. I should mention that this asshole had a mullet with a long long long thin n' mealy french braid down his back. He told us he would sell us some more stock of puppets because...something something... couldn't understand... and then he said,
"Cuz I cuhd run y'all out'tere wit wut I got but I 'n't gon' do dat y'know, but heyl I sail 'em ta yoo fer heyl bout two fitty tree fitty peece."
Translation: "Because I could run you all out of here with what I got but I ain't going to to that you know, but hell, I sell them to you for hell, about two fifty three fifty piece."
My fat ass brother understood this asshole and said, "Heyl, that is a pretty guhd priiiiiice."
I know what my face was doing as if I was looking in a mirror. I could feel the muscles in my face dying. I had to watch this guy pitch me something and then mildly threaten me in order to get me to buy his stock at a wholesale price. I guess I was supposed to feel as though this was a favor?
Aye, there's the rub. This Cigarbox White Trash Indian was doing me a "favor" in the same way I did a "favor" for L.Kimes and my brother the day before as they sizzled on Planet X selling puppets to NOBODY for 8 hours.
Instant karma I suppose. They got sunburned, I got a chemical burn that transformed me into Freddy Kruger from the chin down.
The moral of this story is that I now understand why rent is higher in urban cities and it's not because it's supply/demand. You have to make it higher because GOD FORBID any of the FROGS and Cigar Store White Trash Indians came into the city to breed. Holy shit we can't let that happen. If you don't have a gun, go and get one because if these people in the surrounding "UNKNOWN FM 755 TERRITORIES" get wind of you "havin' things," they will slowly schlep their way to your house and talk their way into your front door and sell you broken shit at premium prices while threatening to "run you out of your own house."
If you wanted to prank call the people who run this hell hole flea market I've decided to list their number at the bottom of this blog. Feel free to ask them philosophical questions, life advice, or any sort of deep inquiry you may have... I can promise you any response you get will be comedic gold. Mark my words, they will not hang up on you right away. They don't mentally process things that fast... you will get a solid 2 questions in before they start to "figurin' yoo is full uh shit."
The guy that answers the phone has a 4.2 second delay when you ask him questions he DOES know the answer to... "How much is the rent for the space this weekend?" (count to 4)
"Thirty Fi' buhhhks."
So I can only imagine if you asked him something like, "What do you think the future of Nasa's involvement concerning finding life on other planets will include?"
(Spontaneous Combustion Sounds...BOOM, Sizzle, Drip, Drip...Dial Tone)
BucktoothedRetard Flea Market Guy THAT RIPPED ME OFF:
469-569-0448
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