The blog is derived and dedicated to clarifying for myself and for everyone out there how to deal with a narcissist. The people, places, and events in the story have been changed to the world of bunnies. I will represent one of the bunny's in this story but that's all the help you get in determining the meaning of this blog. However, all stories are true and some have actually happened. I'll let you decide that for yourself. On with the story of...
Piddley Shitz the Narcissistic Bunny... and Friends!
On Bunny Hill, a patch of land in Southwest Dallas, a bunny named Piddley Shitz and his girlfriend Skreamy Fitz were preparing for a summer carrot harvest. Piddley Shitz brought one of his litter with him, his name was Tiddely Bitz Shitz.
The summer carrot harvest was touted by Piddley Shitz as being the best one in the land and if he could only work that harvest, he would have enough carrots to be happy for the whole year. Skreamy Fitz agreed and was extremely interested in going along for the ride so that she could reap the reward for the carrot harvest and have enough bounty to justify watching "Real Housebunnies of Bunny Hill." Her favorite show!
Tiddley Bitz Shitz had a special bunny friend named Showboater Brown. Showboater Brown had light golden fur and a cute brown nose. Showboater Brown told Tiddley Bitz Shitz that she would visit him and his family during the summer carrot harvest on Bunny Hill. She was so excited to come and enjoy the festivities of the harvest and was so looking forward to meeting other bunnies who she had heard wonderful things about as well as some bunnies she knew from the Greatest Spinach Harvest on Earth a few years ago. Life seemed good for Tiddley Bitz Shitz. "This was going to be a great decision afterall," thought Tiddley Bitz Shitz.
Tiddley Bitz Shitz had forgotten that his father, Piddley Shitz, was a special breed of bunny called a Narcissist Rabbit and that Piddley's girlfriend, Skreamy Fitz was also classified as one as well but from a different region. Tiddley Bitz Shitz had not worked a carrot harvest with his father in a few years and in those years, Tiddley Bitz had grown and changed and accomplished much. In fact, Tiddley had also worked The Greatest Spinach Harvest on Earth for a short time which is how he met his friend, Showboater Brown!
Tiddley was so happy to share his stories with his father and celebrate his success with him until he started working the carrot harvest. Tiddley Bitz started to realize that he was only getting very few carrots and he rationalized that it was okay because he was at least getting to spend time with his father, Piddley.
After a few months of working the carrot harvest, Tiddley began to see that his father, Piddley was different indeed! "My o' my how different he is, and a bit of a mean bunny too," Tiddley Bitz thought to himself each night. "It will get better, my father must just be stressed out," Tiddley Bitz would say to Showboater Brown every day on their bunny phones. Showboater Brown would always encourage Tiddley Bitz to "hang in there," and "think positively about your father, he loves you!" So, Tiddley Bitz would, and another day of swallowed intuition would fester in his bunny tummy.
"It's that time!," said Showboater Brown, who was coming to visit the carrot harvest that week. Both Tiddley Bitz and Showboater Brown were so excited to have fun in the sun and eat some delicious carrots with everyone. Showboater Brown was looking forward to sharing her adventurous stories and journeys of bunny life with Tiddley Bitz' family so they could get to know each other and bond over the love of the carrot harvest.
Piddley Shitz and Skreamy Fitz had other plans...
(enter overlay of suspenseful music)
Piddley Shitz and Skreamy Fitz had a dirty bunny secret in their dirty bunny brains. They don't like it when other bunnies share in their carrot harvest or tell their bunny tales of origin and adventure. They don't care for any other bunny except the bunny they see when they look in their bunny mirror. They want to tear down anything good that doesn't have something to do with themselves. What bunny would be so mean? A Narcissist Rabbit.
For those of you who don't know about the Narcissist Rabbit breed, in attempts to make this retarded story make sense, I'll educate you.
A Narcissist Rabbit lacks any other perspective but their own. They don't think that the other bunnies are as smart and savvy as they are. These nasty little rabbits don't like anything that isn't praise directed back to them. This breed also loves to argue and typically never knows much about what they are arguing about but other bunnies can't win the argument because the Narcissist Rabbit will resort to terrible bunny name calling and tactics that will annihilate the poor bunny that decided to have an normal conversation with them.
However, even though the Narcissist Rabbit thinks they are in control of every bunny in the world, and are the best bunny in the world, deeeeeeeeeep down in their bunny hearts they REALLY are tiny insecure self-loathing baby bunnies. The Narcissist Rabbit will make a regular bunny feel as though they are not worth the poop on the ground because they (the Narcissist Rabbits) have unrealistic expectations for others and when those expectations aren't met, the mean ol' Narcissist Rabbit gets to blame the other bunny for their own failed attempts at success.
The Narcissist Rabbit doesn't view success in the same way a normal or successful bunny does. The Narcissist Rabbit will never be happy no matter how much success or control they have because again, they really, really, really, really hate themselves and need constant reassurance, support, praise, and affirmation that they are the BEST NARCISSIST RABBIT in the WORRRRRRLD.
Now, back to the story of the carrot harvest...
Tiddley Bitz Shitz and Showboater Brown were having a grand time at the carrot harvest. Why even some new bunny friends came over to join in on the fun! These new bunny friends had never enjoyed being in the company of Piddley Shitz and Skreamy Fitz because they never were able to do what normal bunnies do and SHARE THEIR OWN STORIES IN A REASONABLE GIVE AND TAKE CONVERSATIONAL WAY. (throat clearing... sorry)
Showboater Brown is an enthusiastic bunny that loves to talk to people and get to know other bunnies because she genuinely loves other bunnies and wants to make sure that they know that she's grateful for being invited to watch the carrot harvest.
She even helps out when she can by lending her paw to Tiddley Bitz' family or chipping in on treats and documenting the harvest with a video camera so that Piddley Shitz and Skreamy Fitz have a way of seeing their hard work in action!
But... Showboater Brown starts to get a stinky feeling in her bunny tummy about Piddley Shitz and Skreamy Fitz's whole messed up vibe.
She never lets it get her down though and she continues to be accommodating and kind. Showboater Brown likes to follow the rules when she's visiting a carrot harvest. At each carrot harvest you have to make sure you wear your special visitors pass so that you can come and go, in and out of the harvest. The bunnies in charge of the harvest told her to "not lose that pass because you'll have to give it back at the end of the harvest visit." Showboater Brown took the boss bunny's advice and wore the badge each time she left the harvest to make sure she didn't lose it in her disheveled bunny bag.
Piddley Shitz saw Showboater Brown wearing her carrot harvest visitor's pass and made a bold and unreasonable opinion about it. Piddley Shitz gathered that Showboater Brown must be "showboating" and "brown nosing" by fraternizing with the carrot harvest workers and wearing her badge one time to a sushi bar. Piddley Shitz held fast to this mean unreasonable and false opinion of Showboater Brown until just the "right time." The "right time" being when his mean unreasonable and false opinions of Showboater Brown could be used as a verbal warfare in an unrelated mean and unreasonable fight with his son, Tiddley Bitz.
He did just that.
After Showboater Brown helped clean up the carrot harvest final day and left to go back to her bunny home, Piddley and Tiddley Shitz left Bunny Hill to go to another carrot harvest. What happened to Skreamy Fitz you ask? She had to briefly leave the harvest because her daughter was having a litter of her own but she would be back, just as all the Fitz do... they always come right back.
One day at the new harvest, Tiddley Bitz was scoopin' up field mice and boppin' 'em on the head when he realized that Skreamy Fitz was mad as hell because he hadn't realized she was standing at the door waiting for him to say "Hello Skreamy Fitz, how's the new litter?"
Of course Tiddley Bitz was going to say hello that day and ask about the new litter but with the Narcissist Rabbit breed, everything must be done at the exact moment that they want it. If it's not, you have failed them and thus, failed at life as a bunny. Later that day, Tiddley Bitz was once again, pickin' up field mice and boppin' 'em on the head, when his father, Piddley Shitz, decided to have a talk with him.
Piddley Shitz had quite a talk indeed!
Piddley Shitz made a mean ol' judgment call and told his son, Tiddley Bitz Shitz, that he was a terrible opportunistic, selfish, arrogant, and full of shitz bunny! Piddley Shitz had held on to moments in Tiddley's young life to use as a real-time barometer for his failure and suckdom life as an adult bunny.
What Piddley Shitz didn't like at all was that Tiddley Bitz is a much stronger bunny on the inside than Piddley is- because Tiddley doesn't say terrible mean ol' things back.
In fact, Tiddley doesn't say anything much at all! Tiddley knows that if he tries to defend himself, he will be caught in a briar patch trap set by his very own father, Piddley!
Shame, Shame, Shame on Piddley Shitz for the next part of this story....
When Piddley didn't get the reaction he wanted from Tiddley Bitz which probably he wanted something like, "You're right, your always right, your so right, I'm a big ol' poopy stinky bunny and you are an awesome powerful right bunny," well, ol' Piddley got pretty poopy after that.
Piddley had to hurt Tiddley Bitz even more by discrediting everything about his best friend Showboater Brown.
Now you may be askin' yourself how Showboater Brown has anything to do with this fight between Piddley Shitz and Tiddley Bitz, right? Welp, ol' Showboater Brown doesn't have anything to do with it in normal bunny logic, but she had to remember that she was dealing with a very special breed of Narcissist Rabbits who are crazy mean ol' bunnies by nature.
Piddley Shitz said some really mean, unreasonable, and flat out retarded stuff about Showboater Brown. He thought ol' Showboater Brown was only talking to the other bunnies at the harvest because she was "sellin' his special carrot harvest technique." Just like Tiddley, he even said that Showboater Brown was full of shitz too!
All that mean ol' stuff to Tiddley Bitz , was like rollin' in briar patch thorns and he became real upset, rightfully so. His little bunny heart was broken into pieces. This made Showboater Brown really angry... which is hard to do because she is a peaceful breed of bunny ordinarily.
Now, Showboater Brown wanted me to write this blog so that there could be a little peace in her mind at night knowing that she told the tale of how the Narcissist Rabbits are, so that other kind natured bunnies of the world would be aware that this nasty terrible breed exists. They are rare, but they do exist, and they are the reason why "we can't have nice things."
Showboater Brown had to say a prayer and talk to a shrink friend of hers to understand the Narcissist Rabbits. She did pray for Tiddley Bitz to have inner strength to continue with the rest of the carrot harvests in the land, and to know that he is more of a special bunny than Piddley Shitz or Skreamy Fitz could ever know.
Piddley Shitz and Skreamy Fitz don't deserve to know the extra special bunny things about Tiddley Bitz or Showboater Brown. Those special things that are gifts from God above should never be subjected to ridicule and mockery by the false bunny gods below. One day those Narcissist Rabbits won't be invited to work a carrot harvest, or a spinach harvest, or even to break bread with other bunnies because they forgot to be grateful, kind, to listen, to care, and to take the time to understand the world around them through a different perspective... the perspective that isn't reflecting back at them when they look in their bunny mirrors.
*if the person(s) not mentioned by name in this blog know who they are when they read this, there is hope for them. But sadly, I don't believe they would find anything interesting or of value that someone else wrote.... So.... hope everyone else enjoyed this ridiculous metaphorical story as much as I enjoyed writing it and venting it.
Friday, June 7, 2013
Thursday, March 7, 2013
I'm Peter Pan, Deal With It!
I'm 34 years old and happy about it.
I've never felt better in my life than I do right now.
That's my preface to this blog. Something happens to women in their 30's that has not happened to me and I know it won't happen any time soon, if at all.
A new thing has started to occur in my life that makes me turn into a green rage monster and split my pants. Here it is....
At least 3 times a week or more, some woman over 30 years old has to tell me that my time to have children is running out. Here's the deal, these women never know my age until I tell them. The subject is never brought up until I say "I'll be 35 in June." Then the vagina monologue starts... "Oh I would have never guessed that you were in your 30's. So are you concerned that you aren't married and don't have children? Children will complete your life, and you will be really sorry if you don't start considering this for your life. Are you afraid of commitment? Are you afraid to love?"
What I want to say to these nosey noo noo's is this....
Are you concerned that you have no other thoughts in your head except your husband and children's schedule? Are you happy with your lack of self worth so you rely on your children's love to fill the void? Do you have any regret that you married someone you barely like just because you needed to have children so someone would love you? The women who have come to me and taken it upon themselves to tell me how my woman parts are turning to dust soon are all miserable skin sacks. Their own kids find them uninteresting and I doubt their henpecked husband's have seen their own balls in 10 years.
After I emphatically say "No, I'm not concerned in the least," I get a speech about how my eggs are probably dying out and if I don't start thinking about having children, it will be too late. Let me explain something...
When other little girls growing up would play "house," I was in a dirty ditch outside playing "sniper ambush" and shooting a BB gun at my brother on his bike or looking for dinosaur bones. My parents would buy me dolls for my birthday and you know what I'd end up doing with those dolls? Stringing them up by their necks or duct taping them to the see-saw outside as POW's. Not much has changed from that time to now, mentally speaking.
I'm great with kids but I don't need them to come out of my body to feel that I have a connection with life. Kids love me because they know I'm not covered up with grown up concerns. I don't care if I have a good credit score so I can buy a house one day, I don't care about saving money for a day when I'm too old to enjoy it, I don't care about wearing a wedding dress and playing princess to the tune of thousands of dollars... and if all of my eggs turn to dust and I can't spawn, it matters not. If I really wanted kids one day, I'd adopt them. Being an adopted kid myself, I think I'd be more likely candidate for that route anyway.
If you are a guy out there reading this, then I just want you to know how lucky you are to be one. Your dude friends won't ever tell you that you'd better have kids soon or your penis will drop off and slither away into the night. You'll never hear any dude tell you "aren't you concerned you aren't married?" If a guy says that to another guy, it's because he wants his friend to settle so they can hang out more and the wife won't get upset.
I'm not saying that marriage isn't great or that children aren't great. I just believe that a lot of people get married because of a kind of nervousness about being alone. So they settle on the first reasonable person who will marry them for the same reason.
These are the same people who will spend thousands on a wedding because it's the last big show in the "highlight reel" of their lives. I guess they figure they'd better make it super awesome so people won't dare think they are deep down unsure about the decision.
Anyway, I digress.
I named this blog "I'm Peter Pan, Deal With It," for a reason. I believe that the older people get, the more they forget what living is all about. It's an illusion- this "adult" thing. The core of our soul wants to have unlimited joy every day. We forget to play, to dream, to drive a different route home because "hey why not?" So what if you get lost for 10 minutes finding another route home? It's the seeking and finding and discovering that can be such a fun process. Remember when you were a kid and you couldn't wait to be grown up because nobody would tell you what to do?
It's that ironic poetry? Who would have thought that the most critical and strict parent in your life would be YOU? We all wanted to grow up to "do what we wanted."
How many of us actually do anything we want to do? You live by the clock, you live by other people's schedules for you, you hear your own inner critic telling you that you are too old, too fat, too rusty, too busy... too dead.
My favorite story is "Peter Pan." I love the courage of Peter Pan. I love how he understands the adult world but gives it no place in his adventure of spirit. He watches his friends get older, covered up, and they no longer remember the shared adventures as real but instead those memories are "just silly stories they thought up when they were a kid." Meanwhile, Peter Pan hasn't aged physically and tries to reinstall the belief in the extraordinary to his true love/friend Wendy. He knows that if he can change her mind, gear it for the magnificent journey of life in the knick of time right before she "grows up and does what she's supposed to," she'll be saved from the miserable lackluster adult world.
There's no point to waking up each day if you aren't going to live according to that spark of light that lives within you. There's no nobility in being a servant of the world's demands. You can still get the mundane details of your life accomplished without BEING mundane yourself.
I know I sound preachy in this but it's because all of the naysayers that tell me "my time is running out," ...they have already run out of time for the real adventures of life. They would be lucky to experience even one major shake-up of their priorities that potentially could get their head back into the game. I write this blog to say that I am happy to be irresponsible with my time, elated to still feel that I have ample time to achieve my greatest goals, and if it takes me until I'm 90 years old to do it all... then I guess that would be the definition of a full life.
Anyway... Last thing I'll say is this:
Don't forget to believe in fairies, fight Captain Hook with one arm tied behind your back, and please, for the sake of your soul don't ever grow up.
I've never felt better in my life than I do right now.
That's my preface to this blog. Something happens to women in their 30's that has not happened to me and I know it won't happen any time soon, if at all.
A new thing has started to occur in my life that makes me turn into a green rage monster and split my pants. Here it is....
At least 3 times a week or more, some woman over 30 years old has to tell me that my time to have children is running out. Here's the deal, these women never know my age until I tell them. The subject is never brought up until I say "I'll be 35 in June." Then the vagina monologue starts... "Oh I would have never guessed that you were in your 30's. So are you concerned that you aren't married and don't have children? Children will complete your life, and you will be really sorry if you don't start considering this for your life. Are you afraid of commitment? Are you afraid to love?"
What I want to say to these nosey noo noo's is this....
Are you concerned that you have no other thoughts in your head except your husband and children's schedule? Are you happy with your lack of self worth so you rely on your children's love to fill the void? Do you have any regret that you married someone you barely like just because you needed to have children so someone would love you? The women who have come to me and taken it upon themselves to tell me how my woman parts are turning to dust soon are all miserable skin sacks. Their own kids find them uninteresting and I doubt their henpecked husband's have seen their own balls in 10 years.
After I emphatically say "No, I'm not concerned in the least," I get a speech about how my eggs are probably dying out and if I don't start thinking about having children, it will be too late. Let me explain something...
When other little girls growing up would play "house," I was in a dirty ditch outside playing "sniper ambush" and shooting a BB gun at my brother on his bike or looking for dinosaur bones. My parents would buy me dolls for my birthday and you know what I'd end up doing with those dolls? Stringing them up by their necks or duct taping them to the see-saw outside as POW's. Not much has changed from that time to now, mentally speaking.
I'm great with kids but I don't need them to come out of my body to feel that I have a connection with life. Kids love me because they know I'm not covered up with grown up concerns. I don't care if I have a good credit score so I can buy a house one day, I don't care about saving money for a day when I'm too old to enjoy it, I don't care about wearing a wedding dress and playing princess to the tune of thousands of dollars... and if all of my eggs turn to dust and I can't spawn, it matters not. If I really wanted kids one day, I'd adopt them. Being an adopted kid myself, I think I'd be more likely candidate for that route anyway.
If you are a guy out there reading this, then I just want you to know how lucky you are to be one. Your dude friends won't ever tell you that you'd better have kids soon or your penis will drop off and slither away into the night. You'll never hear any dude tell you "aren't you concerned you aren't married?" If a guy says that to another guy, it's because he wants his friend to settle so they can hang out more and the wife won't get upset.
I'm not saying that marriage isn't great or that children aren't great. I just believe that a lot of people get married because of a kind of nervousness about being alone. So they settle on the first reasonable person who will marry them for the same reason.
These are the same people who will spend thousands on a wedding because it's the last big show in the "highlight reel" of their lives. I guess they figure they'd better make it super awesome so people won't dare think they are deep down unsure about the decision.
Anyway, I digress.
I named this blog "I'm Peter Pan, Deal With It," for a reason. I believe that the older people get, the more they forget what living is all about. It's an illusion- this "adult" thing. The core of our soul wants to have unlimited joy every day. We forget to play, to dream, to drive a different route home because "hey why not?" So what if you get lost for 10 minutes finding another route home? It's the seeking and finding and discovering that can be such a fun process. Remember when you were a kid and you couldn't wait to be grown up because nobody would tell you what to do?
It's that ironic poetry? Who would have thought that the most critical and strict parent in your life would be YOU? We all wanted to grow up to "do what we wanted."
How many of us actually do anything we want to do? You live by the clock, you live by other people's schedules for you, you hear your own inner critic telling you that you are too old, too fat, too rusty, too busy... too dead.
My favorite story is "Peter Pan." I love the courage of Peter Pan. I love how he understands the adult world but gives it no place in his adventure of spirit. He watches his friends get older, covered up, and they no longer remember the shared adventures as real but instead those memories are "just silly stories they thought up when they were a kid." Meanwhile, Peter Pan hasn't aged physically and tries to reinstall the belief in the extraordinary to his true love/friend Wendy. He knows that if he can change her mind, gear it for the magnificent journey of life in the knick of time right before she "grows up and does what she's supposed to," she'll be saved from the miserable lackluster adult world.
There's no point to waking up each day if you aren't going to live according to that spark of light that lives within you. There's no nobility in being a servant of the world's demands. You can still get the mundane details of your life accomplished without BEING mundane yourself.
I know I sound preachy in this but it's because all of the naysayers that tell me "my time is running out," ...they have already run out of time for the real adventures of life. They would be lucky to experience even one major shake-up of their priorities that potentially could get their head back into the game. I write this blog to say that I am happy to be irresponsible with my time, elated to still feel that I have ample time to achieve my greatest goals, and if it takes me until I'm 90 years old to do it all... then I guess that would be the definition of a full life.
Anyway... Last thing I'll say is this:
Don't forget to believe in fairies, fight Captain Hook with one arm tied behind your back, and please, for the sake of your soul don't ever grow up.
Friday, January 18, 2013
How the Movie, "Friday" is a Perfect Lesson Today
One of my favorite films is, "Friday," starring Ice Cube and Chris Tucker. It perfectly captures the kind of neighborhood I grew up in with my grandparents. Today everyone is focused on stopping "bullies" and on gun "control" and and and...
The news is filled with stories like, "A single mother of 3 is afraid of her children being victimized by bullies..." or "Little Christopher, 7, is scared to go back to school after a bully knocked him off of his bike..." or "People are outraged by how guns are killing their children..."
Here's the thing.
Guns aren't killing your kids. Mental illness, fear, and the age of isolation is the culprit. The guns are the method of how these people get their aggression out but the real blame goes to each and every one of us. In this age of multi-media, social networks, and "virtual" everything, we've become so disconnected to reality. How many of you know who your neighbors are? No, really think about it. Get a piece of paper and write down the names, occupations, and general feeling about the people who live around you. If I died today in my house alone, nobody from the street I live on would have any idea for weeks. You know who would know? People who I connect with on Facebook who live all over the world would be more likely to wonder where I am or why I haven't posted some stupid update about "how I'm feeling today."
I am careful about how I word this blog because the subject matter is very sensitive and I certainly don't want to come across like an old man who says things like, "back in my day there was no goddern interwebs and if'n you get bullied, then shame on you for not kickin' their ass sooner."
However, saying that I can now go into the meat of what I'm trying to get across...
Being a super fat, dorky, socially awkward, lispy kid- I was the target of every bad ass bully in the school. I went to a terrible private school until 8th grade named, Dallas CHRISTIAN School. (yeah I said it, so what) I was enrolled in this school because my mother FEARED that I would be treated differently if I had've been in regular ol' public school. She worried about this because of her own insecurity and irrational fears having something to do with me being her adopted child. In her rampant fear of my safety (really her mental safety), she quite literally manifested for me, every "afterschool special," scenario worthy of the Lifetime channel.
At 11 years old, I ran away and took my brother with me. We lived from that point on with my grandparents(RIP, they were the greatest people in the world) in a neighborhood that would be classified as "ghetto." My grandmother never locked her doors. The front and back door of the house were usually propped open with a brick or something so that the neighborhood, if they wanted to, could come over for a visit or for some of her delicious chocolate cake and a scoop of Blue Bell Ice Cream. The house was usually filled with so many people of various races, religious beliefs, and backgrounds... it was like a Colours of Benetton advert.
My grandfather, a war hero who was on the torpedoed USS Hornet during World War II, wasn't afraid of anything. He was 5'6 inches tall and about 125 pounds. He would spar with the neighborhood teenagers, most of them black guys about 6'0 tall and 200 pounds, and he would teach them in the backyard how to defend themselves. He would always say, "listen, if someone is pushing you around, don't reach for a knife or y'daddy's gun, just knock 'em in the jaw and kick their ass like a man." These lessons weren't just for the neighborhood guys, they were also for the girls too. I learned how to defend myself physically because my Pop(grandfather) said, "Booger(me), women have come way to far in this world to lay down and let some creep make 'em into a court case."
If you haven't seen the movie, "Friday," I suggest you find it and watch it. It's hilarious, full of characters that are more relatable today then they were when the movie premiered. There's a speech given by the actor John Witherspoon, who plays the crabby put-out father of Ice Cube(Craig) when Craig accidentally gets in too deep with a situation involving a drug dealer named, Big Worm.
Although this movie is one of the funniest films I've ever seen, it's depth wasn't truly understood at the time it was made when the gang wars were ruining once-peaceful neighborhoods in places like Oakland and Compton. It was brilliant timing on the part of Ice Cube to take a risk against his "hard core" reputation to write a film like, "Friday." The speech given by the father in the show is exactly what everyone needs to teach their kids during this time of school shootings and the irrational overblown fear of "bullies." Remember, "as we thinketh, so are we." What we fear the most will come to our doorstep. By fearing the "what might happen" as though it will happen, we give all of our power and energy to the ones who crave it the most for their attention-getting destructive outbursts.
Here is the scene from the movie "Friday"...I think this says it all:
The news is filled with stories like, "A single mother of 3 is afraid of her children being victimized by bullies..." or "Little Christopher, 7, is scared to go back to school after a bully knocked him off of his bike..." or "People are outraged by how guns are killing their children..."
Here's the thing.
Guns aren't killing your kids. Mental illness, fear, and the age of isolation is the culprit. The guns are the method of how these people get their aggression out but the real blame goes to each and every one of us. In this age of multi-media, social networks, and "virtual" everything, we've become so disconnected to reality. How many of you know who your neighbors are? No, really think about it. Get a piece of paper and write down the names, occupations, and general feeling about the people who live around you. If I died today in my house alone, nobody from the street I live on would have any idea for weeks. You know who would know? People who I connect with on Facebook who live all over the world would be more likely to wonder where I am or why I haven't posted some stupid update about "how I'm feeling today."
I am careful about how I word this blog because the subject matter is very sensitive and I certainly don't want to come across like an old man who says things like, "back in my day there was no goddern interwebs and if'n you get bullied, then shame on you for not kickin' their ass sooner."
However, saying that I can now go into the meat of what I'm trying to get across...
Being a super fat, dorky, socially awkward, lispy kid- I was the target of every bad ass bully in the school. I went to a terrible private school until 8th grade named, Dallas CHRISTIAN School. (yeah I said it, so what) I was enrolled in this school because my mother FEARED that I would be treated differently if I had've been in regular ol' public school. She worried about this because of her own insecurity and irrational fears having something to do with me being her adopted child. In her rampant fear of my safety (really her mental safety), she quite literally manifested for me, every "afterschool special," scenario worthy of the Lifetime channel.
At 11 years old, I ran away and took my brother with me. We lived from that point on with my grandparents(RIP, they were the greatest people in the world) in a neighborhood that would be classified as "ghetto." My grandmother never locked her doors. The front and back door of the house were usually propped open with a brick or something so that the neighborhood, if they wanted to, could come over for a visit or for some of her delicious chocolate cake and a scoop of Blue Bell Ice Cream. The house was usually filled with so many people of various races, religious beliefs, and backgrounds... it was like a Colours of Benetton advert.
My grandfather, a war hero who was on the torpedoed USS Hornet during World War II, wasn't afraid of anything. He was 5'6 inches tall and about 125 pounds. He would spar with the neighborhood teenagers, most of them black guys about 6'0 tall and 200 pounds, and he would teach them in the backyard how to defend themselves. He would always say, "listen, if someone is pushing you around, don't reach for a knife or y'daddy's gun, just knock 'em in the jaw and kick their ass like a man." These lessons weren't just for the neighborhood guys, they were also for the girls too. I learned how to defend myself physically because my Pop(grandfather) said, "Booger(me), women have come way to far in this world to lay down and let some creep make 'em into a court case."
If you haven't seen the movie, "Friday," I suggest you find it and watch it. It's hilarious, full of characters that are more relatable today then they were when the movie premiered. There's a speech given by the actor John Witherspoon, who plays the crabby put-out father of Ice Cube(Craig) when Craig accidentally gets in too deep with a situation involving a drug dealer named, Big Worm.
Although this movie is one of the funniest films I've ever seen, it's depth wasn't truly understood at the time it was made when the gang wars were ruining once-peaceful neighborhoods in places like Oakland and Compton. It was brilliant timing on the part of Ice Cube to take a risk against his "hard core" reputation to write a film like, "Friday." The speech given by the father in the show is exactly what everyone needs to teach their kids during this time of school shootings and the irrational overblown fear of "bullies." Remember, "as we thinketh, so are we." What we fear the most will come to our doorstep. By fearing the "what might happen" as though it will happen, we give all of our power and energy to the ones who crave it the most for their attention-getting destructive outbursts.
Here is the scene from the movie "Friday"...I think this says it all:
- [Craig's father catches him with a handgun]
- Mr. Jones: What's that for?
- Craig: Protection.
- Mr. Jones: Protection from who?
- Craig: Me and Smokey...I've got to walk Smokey down to his house.
- Mr. Jones: Aw, man. Your mother and I never would've moved to this neighborhood if we'd known you need a gun to walk down the damn street.
- Craig: You know how it is 'round here.
- Mr. Jones: Oh, no, son. That's not the way it is. You kids have been nothin' but punks. Sissified. So quick to pick up a gun. Too scared to take an ass-whipping. [raises his fists] This is what makes you a man. When I was growing up, this was all the protection we needed. You win some, you lose some. But you live. You live to fight another day. Now you think you're a man with that gun in your hand, don't you?
- Craig: I'm a man without it.
- Mr. Jones: Put the gun down.
- [Craig complies]
- Mr. Jones: C'mon, put up your dukes.
- [Craig raises his fists]
- Mr. Jones: Now you're a man. Your uncle picked up a gun, too. He found out the hard way. 22 years old. You've got a choice.(holding fists up) This is all you need, alright?
- In closing...
- We have a responsibility, all of us. If you don't think that you affect everyone around you, you are mistaken. We need to start paying attention. There is no healing, no solution worth holding on to, no progress for the human condition if we persist in burying our heads in the virtual kingdoms we've placed in the highest of priorities. These forums can be a gift if we use them as such, OR they can be the harbinger of fear, the temptress of lies, and the god of a half-lived existence.
- I could argue about how automatic weapons should be banned from civilian use, but that's not going to fix the civilians who use them for the shocking attention getting terrorizing displays of violence. It takes a village to raise a child and there's not many real villages left to do the raising anymore. We have to care enough to know each other. Every great movement of change started with an individual person who was unrelenting in their desire to see something come to fruition. Likewise, every terrible act was the product of an individual or the select few who follow them because of their unrelenting desire to see something evil come to fruition.
- It's a fair game folks. There is no more power in the "bad guys" conviction, than there could be in ours. I just think we, as a collective and as individuals, are relying on "someone else to do the job." Ex. "The government needs to do such and such...." As though a piece of paper signed by a bunch of men in suits, sitting in desks in Washington, D.C. is really going to prevent the individual from pursuing an act of great terror? Or worse...Blaming the government/employers/faceless suits of power for preventing us from living the life we haven't had the balls to live. I will go so far as to say we've become afraid to commit great acts of valor and courage because we might "get sued" or "that's not my job, that's the police' responsibility..."
- We must take ownership in all things in our lives, both good and bad.
- Lastly, I think the fear of "what could" happen, the suspicion of people you don't understand or know is the breeding of this irrational, illogical fear. It will not help prevent bad things from happening.
- Trust that most people are good, believe that most everyone around you wants to live in peace and be happy, be convicted that those around you want a wonderful life for you and themselves... That is the truth by the way, not some "cup half full" Miss America speech I'm giving you. Let's stop assuming that we are perpetually in danger, stop blaming bad events on faceless agencies/government, stop ingesting the news as though it were live giving serum, and take a little ownership in how we got into this mess... When we do, we will gain our personal power back and that power will heal, inspire, and patch up the missing pieces in our society- preventing history from repeating itself.
Wednesday, November 7, 2012
Mel's Mind: Chaos and Ignorance Over Democracy: The Facebook E...
Mel's Mind: Chaos and Ignorance Over Democracy: The Facebook E...: 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 ...
Chaos and Ignorance Over Democracy: The Facebook Edition
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.
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.
Tuesday, September 4, 2012
Rancid Ramblings of Austin...I hate hipsters.
It's been a while since I posted anything. I've had quite a busy summer full of adventure not unlike most of the time, but particularly adventurous this summer.
I have decided to post this because there are some hilarious things I need to get off my chest.
Recently I went to Austin (by way of Salado) to work and visit some friends who were in town from Ringling Bros. & Barnum and Bailey Circus. I've decided that Austin people should be rounded up and beaten with hockey sticks. I'm so sick of hipsters that I can't really write what I'd like to about them or I'd be arrested for making legitimate threats to society. One night in particular in Austin, a friend of mine (who was driving) decided to make a pit stop to visit his friends at a bar on the East side of Austin. The once ghetto neighborhood full of church going minorities has become the douche capital of Austin. The hipsters have run out all of the elderly, poor, and single parent families from the neighborhood in order to create really "super awesome venues for their really ironic indie bands." UGH.
I was dragged into this one bar that night but before I stepped out of the car, the entire sole of my combat boot literally melted off. (F*** Texas heat) So, in my hand was my threadbare wallet and the bottom of my shoe. We walked down Hipster Lane and I felt, naturally, like the most uncool person there. That is how the hipsters want you to feel by the way. They love it when you second guess your Target tank top and cargo pants. It makes them feel a whole lot better about wearing their tattered western snap shirts, 1920's loafers, and a faux derby hats.
We get into this douche bar and I immediately started asking around for duct tape. (**see shoe issue above for reasons) There were about 45 "Rockabilly" chicks with sleeve tats trying to order manly beverages at the bar, 10 bearded early 20's guys who were ringers for the homeless in South Dallas, and around 37 of the worst offenders.... INDIE BAND GROUPIES. There was a band playing outside, next door to another band playing outside, that was next door to the other band playing outside who were all playing THE SAME SHIT. You could've blindfolded the groupies and transported them to the next yard bar and they wouldn't have known the difference even after taking the blindfold off.
Everyone was drinking ironic beer and wearing ironic glasses and being ironically gregarious... which means they weren't fully gregarious, just enough to be ironic.
I sat down at a table outside to calmly and very whitely listen to this band. (White people are so boring) There's a reason why black people think white people are lame... they are. A bunch of white people at an Indie band concert will all be sitting around sipping on Lonestar Beer or Pabst (because it's ironic) and they will be talking about how green they have gone, or how they know someone who is a "film maker" and is really "ahead of the curve." It sucks. I was sitting at this table and this guy in front of me turns around in an ironic way and says "Hey, Paul... (as he sticks out his hand to shake mine)..." I say, "Hi. My name is Melodee." He says, "great, great really great. It's a pretty great night tonight, agree?" That's when I notice that he's wearing a f*cking eye patch with ironic thick rimmed glasses, a derby, a pencil mustache, and the best part... HE HAS A WALKING CANE THAT HE DOESN'T NEED.
The first thing that went through my mind was I needed to beat him with that cane. A bit of violence to all the hipsters would really wake 'em up. They need a solid ass beating because they are all pussies. All of them. They all had their ironic girlfriends with them... Ironic because they are plain. They have plain "natural" hair, no makeup, and wear clothes that look like pregnancy dresses. It's ugly. It's really damned ugly.
I thought I wouldn't curse in this blog but I can't help myself. I can't. Blame the hipsters because it's their fault, everything is.
After about 45 minutes of sitting there listening to this indie band musically masturbate on the stage... they decided to make a joke about how they were musically masturbating on the stage because it's querky to "call it out like that." It's the same type of humor that the news segment of SNL is doing now. When the actors on SNL look into the camera as if to say "hey guys, this is like, um, funny right? Or not, but it's whatev'..." It's like there is a movement of understated schmut that has infiltrated real life and is wearing the banner of "progressive." It's not progressive. We've progressed past the music of these indie bands, indie films, and indie clothes. We have. People use to wear three piece suits and ball gowns to see concerts back in the 1920's and the concerts involved a 30 piece big bands playing complicated arrangements...OH and they were INVENTING A NEW GENRE OF MUSIC CALLED JAZZ! This indie shit is nothing more than slobbered up Dylan rip offs with a dash of Mac Garageband loops. It's such horseshit. If you throw in a banjo, ukelele and a tuba then you have a really "progressive sound." Ugh.
Anyhow... So Austin... The last time I went to Austin and actually partied there was when I was on the Ringling show and we went to some kick ass blues bars down there. In the last 2 years, the hipsters have taken over all the bars and have made the gritty reality of struggling blues musicians into middle class hipsters who formed indie bands from their Capitol One cards and shopped at Buffalo Exchange to find their costumes for daily life... They dress like the thing they like- and what they like is rehashed overpriced shit.
I tried to talk to the people at my table but realized that this certain block was coming over me when I was trying to be social. It was like an arch angel put his hands over my mouth and whispered into my ear, "don't, just don't." So I'd find myself saying things in response to being asked something really invasive about who I am like this: "Yeah, I just...(trailing off) live, well, in Dallas I guess.... anyway... it's hot out here."
That, THAT was the best I could come up with? Me? I'm full of exciting shit to say and THAT was the best I had? THAT? Yes, because the synapses in my brain stopped firing the second I walked into that place. I have to say that the entire time all this was going on, I was holding the bottom of my shoe in my hand. The screwed up thing is... nobody noticed. They probably thought it was some sort of recycled handbag from a local artist who died of a heroine overdose back in the 90's or some shit. I don't know what they thought or didn't think but it was very disconcerting to hold the entire bottom of a swat team boot in my left hand while I was being asked if I liked various unknown indie films or "docs"... (that's short for the ever so tiring word to say: documentary.) That's another thing they do better than anyone- they shorten words to words that stand for other things... ex. doctor/docs... documentary/docs? F**K YOU.
If I had one dollar for every time I heard "I'm a filmmaker" at that bar, I'd be the richest asshole in Garland, Texas. Guess what? YOU AREN'T FILM MAKERS.
They don't have an original thought in their bodies. Not one. Everything about these people is unoriginal. You know how I know that? They all look exactly the same, talk the same, listen to the same, do the same, marry the same, and react the same. Same.
They all go "back to school" at the age of 30 to study liberal arts and everyone says "good for you..." as they have their self satisfied smiles as they are patted on the back by the douchebaggery surrounding them. NO, not "good for you." SHAME on you. You are floundering around trying to be artists when you are really just rehashed hacks of a greater generation that is long since past. Find something interesting to do, say or think that doesn't involve a "cause."
The other extreme of Austin is the shit kickin' "get 'er done" closed minded truck drivin' blowholes who cut you off on I-35 in a half ton pickup truck with a lift kit. These people hate everyone that isn't white and proud. They suck just as hard but they don't go out in droves like the hipsters. The Hipsters are like termite infestation... they are attracted to old wooden places and dingy clothes.
Anyhow... that's my story. Did I get my shoe fixed? Yes. However, I didn't get it fixed until I returned to the trailer at Ringling to see my friend Laura who works in wardrobe. I had a dejected look on my face and showed up at her trailer holding my shoe. This is something she has seen me do before when I was on the show with Ringling... Being who she is, she had Barge glue and I sat outside and glued it back on..... backwards. F**k me. I figured it was like a metaphor for how I was to emotionally deal with the whole night.... a part of my spirit fell off, but I fixed it by accepting that I might be a little bit backwards.
I have decided to post this because there are some hilarious things I need to get off my chest.
Recently I went to Austin (by way of Salado) to work and visit some friends who were in town from Ringling Bros. & Barnum and Bailey Circus. I've decided that Austin people should be rounded up and beaten with hockey sticks. I'm so sick of hipsters that I can't really write what I'd like to about them or I'd be arrested for making legitimate threats to society. One night in particular in Austin, a friend of mine (who was driving) decided to make a pit stop to visit his friends at a bar on the East side of Austin. The once ghetto neighborhood full of church going minorities has become the douche capital of Austin. The hipsters have run out all of the elderly, poor, and single parent families from the neighborhood in order to create really "super awesome venues for their really ironic indie bands." UGH.
I was dragged into this one bar that night but before I stepped out of the car, the entire sole of my combat boot literally melted off. (F*** Texas heat) So, in my hand was my threadbare wallet and the bottom of my shoe. We walked down Hipster Lane and I felt, naturally, like the most uncool person there. That is how the hipsters want you to feel by the way. They love it when you second guess your Target tank top and cargo pants. It makes them feel a whole lot better about wearing their tattered western snap shirts, 1920's loafers, and a faux derby hats.
We get into this douche bar and I immediately started asking around for duct tape. (**see shoe issue above for reasons) There were about 45 "Rockabilly" chicks with sleeve tats trying to order manly beverages at the bar, 10 bearded early 20's guys who were ringers for the homeless in South Dallas, and around 37 of the worst offenders.... INDIE BAND GROUPIES. There was a band playing outside, next door to another band playing outside, that was next door to the other band playing outside who were all playing THE SAME SHIT. You could've blindfolded the groupies and transported them to the next yard bar and they wouldn't have known the difference even after taking the blindfold off.
Everyone was drinking ironic beer and wearing ironic glasses and being ironically gregarious... which means they weren't fully gregarious, just enough to be ironic.
I sat down at a table outside to calmly and very whitely listen to this band. (White people are so boring) There's a reason why black people think white people are lame... they are. A bunch of white people at an Indie band concert will all be sitting around sipping on Lonestar Beer or Pabst (because it's ironic) and they will be talking about how green they have gone, or how they know someone who is a "film maker" and is really "ahead of the curve." It sucks. I was sitting at this table and this guy in front of me turns around in an ironic way and says "Hey, Paul... (as he sticks out his hand to shake mine)..." I say, "Hi. My name is Melodee." He says, "great, great really great. It's a pretty great night tonight, agree?" That's when I notice that he's wearing a f*cking eye patch with ironic thick rimmed glasses, a derby, a pencil mustache, and the best part... HE HAS A WALKING CANE THAT HE DOESN'T NEED.
The first thing that went through my mind was I needed to beat him with that cane. A bit of violence to all the hipsters would really wake 'em up. They need a solid ass beating because they are all pussies. All of them. They all had their ironic girlfriends with them... Ironic because they are plain. They have plain "natural" hair, no makeup, and wear clothes that look like pregnancy dresses. It's ugly. It's really damned ugly.
I thought I wouldn't curse in this blog but I can't help myself. I can't. Blame the hipsters because it's their fault, everything is.
After about 45 minutes of sitting there listening to this indie band musically masturbate on the stage... they decided to make a joke about how they were musically masturbating on the stage because it's querky to "call it out like that." It's the same type of humor that the news segment of SNL is doing now. When the actors on SNL look into the camera as if to say "hey guys, this is like, um, funny right? Or not, but it's whatev'..." It's like there is a movement of understated schmut that has infiltrated real life and is wearing the banner of "progressive." It's not progressive. We've progressed past the music of these indie bands, indie films, and indie clothes. We have. People use to wear three piece suits and ball gowns to see concerts back in the 1920's and the concerts involved a 30 piece big bands playing complicated arrangements...OH and they were INVENTING A NEW GENRE OF MUSIC CALLED JAZZ! This indie shit is nothing more than slobbered up Dylan rip offs with a dash of Mac Garageband loops. It's such horseshit. If you throw in a banjo, ukelele and a tuba then you have a really "progressive sound." Ugh.
Anyhow... So Austin... The last time I went to Austin and actually partied there was when I was on the Ringling show and we went to some kick ass blues bars down there. In the last 2 years, the hipsters have taken over all the bars and have made the gritty reality of struggling blues musicians into middle class hipsters who formed indie bands from their Capitol One cards and shopped at Buffalo Exchange to find their costumes for daily life... They dress like the thing they like- and what they like is rehashed overpriced shit.
I tried to talk to the people at my table but realized that this certain block was coming over me when I was trying to be social. It was like an arch angel put his hands over my mouth and whispered into my ear, "don't, just don't." So I'd find myself saying things in response to being asked something really invasive about who I am like this: "Yeah, I just...(trailing off) live, well, in Dallas I guess.... anyway... it's hot out here."
That, THAT was the best I could come up with? Me? I'm full of exciting shit to say and THAT was the best I had? THAT? Yes, because the synapses in my brain stopped firing the second I walked into that place. I have to say that the entire time all this was going on, I was holding the bottom of my shoe in my hand. The screwed up thing is... nobody noticed. They probably thought it was some sort of recycled handbag from a local artist who died of a heroine overdose back in the 90's or some shit. I don't know what they thought or didn't think but it was very disconcerting to hold the entire bottom of a swat team boot in my left hand while I was being asked if I liked various unknown indie films or "docs"... (that's short for the ever so tiring word to say: documentary.) That's another thing they do better than anyone- they shorten words to words that stand for other things... ex. doctor/docs... documentary/docs? F**K YOU.
If I had one dollar for every time I heard "I'm a filmmaker" at that bar, I'd be the richest asshole in Garland, Texas. Guess what? YOU AREN'T FILM MAKERS.
They don't have an original thought in their bodies. Not one. Everything about these people is unoriginal. You know how I know that? They all look exactly the same, talk the same, listen to the same, do the same, marry the same, and react the same. Same.
They all go "back to school" at the age of 30 to study liberal arts and everyone says "good for you..." as they have their self satisfied smiles as they are patted on the back by the douchebaggery surrounding them. NO, not "good for you." SHAME on you. You are floundering around trying to be artists when you are really just rehashed hacks of a greater generation that is long since past. Find something interesting to do, say or think that doesn't involve a "cause."
The other extreme of Austin is the shit kickin' "get 'er done" closed minded truck drivin' blowholes who cut you off on I-35 in a half ton pickup truck with a lift kit. These people hate everyone that isn't white and proud. They suck just as hard but they don't go out in droves like the hipsters. The Hipsters are like termite infestation... they are attracted to old wooden places and dingy clothes.
Anyhow... that's my story. Did I get my shoe fixed? Yes. However, I didn't get it fixed until I returned to the trailer at Ringling to see my friend Laura who works in wardrobe. I had a dejected look on my face and showed up at her trailer holding my shoe. This is something she has seen me do before when I was on the show with Ringling... Being who she is, she had Barge glue and I sat outside and glued it back on..... backwards. F**k me. I figured it was like a metaphor for how I was to emotionally deal with the whole night.... a part of my spirit fell off, but I fixed it by accepting that I might be a little bit backwards.
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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