woke up. walked. puked. walked some more. where am I? smelly drunk to the right of me. fat bastard with no teeth to the left of me. one big hairy pretty girl stuck on the side table. no hair. i continued to walk. continued to puke. sirens blaring. raining outside. thunder trying to drown out the sirens. i have white bloodstained underwear on. white underwear now red. i walked. i walked. i walked. not knowing where I was going. knocking at the front door. front door of what I do not know. everybody dead or sleeping. rats in the stairwell. screeching. i looked as I walked but could not find the rest of my clothes. knocking at the front door becoming louder and louder. “LET ME IN. LET ME IN. LET ME IN.” i was scared. hungover. should i answer the door? NO. I hid behind the pink chair with piss on it. smells making me want to puke again. all of a sudden machine guns BLASTING. SIRENS CONTINUING. rain pounding. “HEEEEEEEEELLLLLLLLLLLLP!!!” no one answering my calls. I went back upstairs and tried to wake up the hairy girl. no luck. the drunk. no luck. the fat bastard with no teeth. no luck. luck running out. is this it? is this how life ends? “MOM…DAD…ARE YOU OUT THERE???” calls going unanswered. i trip. nails dig deep into my non hairy leg. right leg. more blood. piss. puke. rats. the old lady next door falls through the door. bullet holes right through her black dress. she lies naked in front of me. tears flowing down her lonely eyes. “hello? is anyone out there? i want to get laid? i want to get laid pretty girl…come to Tony…come to Sal…cum…cum…cum…” “get out of that sauna son or you will get burnt!!! DON’T YOU KNOW SAUNAS HAVE PERVERTS IN THEM???” “i thought that was steam rooms mr. jilkens.” “SHUT UP AND BEND OVER. I WANT TO PENETRATE YOUR SHIT STAINED BUM.” “okay sir…if you insist. but don’t tell my soccer coach because he will throw soccer balls at my penis and i don’t like when he does that.” “okay little boy. anything you say. i respect you. i love you. shhhhhhhh….keep quiet and always smile.”
“okay.”
at that point jesus looked at me and asked if i had any weed to sell. i said “no.”
Category: Uncategorized
fake love posts are phony.
we are a sick society. facebook has confirmed it. facebook has nurtured it. endless attempts at boredom through uesless apps such as farmville or horoscopes or poker. time wasters. once again the dull falling for the bait. start creating your own excitement. your own excitement MUST BE more exciting than THEIR excitement. DULL. DULL. DULL. DULL. DULL.
AND LOVE? ARE YOU SERIOUS? PEOPLE…LOVE FOR REAL. NOT FAKE. NOT PHONY. DON’T BE ANOTHER PHONY. PHONY POSTS ABOUT LOVE MAKE ME SICK. ATTENTION SEEKERS. TELL THE PERSON TO THEIR FACE. IF YOU CAN’T DO THAT, PICK UP THE PHONE. IF YOU CAN’T DO THAT, PERSONAL MESSAGE THIS LOVE. BUT FOR THE LOVE OF CHRIST (REAL OR FAKE) DO NOT PLASTER IT ON A FACEBOOK WALL SO WE CAN ALL SEE JUST HOW “LOVELY AND CARING” YOU ARE. IT’S AN ACT. PRETEND. PHONY. SICKENING.
IF YOU PUT SUCH PHONY POSTS OF PRETEND LOVE ON FACEBOOK WALLS FOR ALL THE WORLD TO SEE THEN WHY NOT PUT ALL YOUR FAMILY FIGHTS ON FACEBOOK AS WELL. BECOME REAL. PEOPLE POST ONE “WORKOUT POST” ALL YEAR ON FACEBOOK AND ALL THE MINIONS FALL FOR IT. “OH CONGRATULATIONS. THAT IS SO GREAT. YOU ARE AN INSPIRATION!!!” NOT ME. I KNOW THE TRUTH. I KNOW THE OTHER 364 DAYS YOU ARE SITTING ON YOUR ASS WATCHING JERSEY SHORE, THE BACHELOR, OR THE KARDASHIANS STUFFING YOUR FACE FULL OF CHOCOLATE AND CHIPS.
WHAT’S EVEN WORSE ARE THE COMMENTS THESE DULL LOVE FAKE LOVE POSTS RECEIVE. “OH SO LOVELY.” OH YOU ARE MAKING ME CRY.” “OH YOU ARE SO KIND.” bullshit. YOU ARE FAKE. AND FOR THOSE OF YOU BELIEVING THE FAKE PHONY POSTS, YOU MUST LOOK IN THE MIRROR OR GO DIRECTLY TO HALLMARK AND WORK IN THEIR HEAD OFFICE AS A GUINEA PIG FOR THEIR CREATIVE TEAM.
WE ARE A SICK SOCIETY. A DULL SOCIETY. A FAKE SOCIETY. AND MOST PEOPLE DO NOT WANT TO CHANGE. BE REAL. PICK UP THE PHONE AND TELL SOMEONE YOU LOVE THEM. REAL EMOTIONS. REAL TOUCH. REAL CONNECTION.
FAKE LOVE POSTS ARE PHONY. now it is time to take a dump.
new years resolutions
another year has come and gone. one year closer to death. time seems to be speeding up. it needs to slow down but it won’t. most people want time to go fast. wasting their lives away in shitty jobs they hate. tgif comments run rampant on facebook. so do ridiculous overly dramatic love poems for spouses and family members. here’s a thought…”WHY NOT TELL THE PERSON TO THEIR FACE JUST HOW MUCH YOU LOVE THEM AND MISS THEM AND DESIRE THEM!!!” or at the very least personal message these sappy hallmark love notes. real people becoming harder to find. facebook adds to the phoniness of it all. most people buy this bullshit…I DON’T. which brings me to my new years resolutions which are REAL. Most FAKE ones include the same typical shit…lose weight, see my family more, spend quality time with my friends, don’t sweat the small stuff etc etc etc (i am now sleeping). it never happens. routines are hard to break. especially when you are in front of the tv watching jersey shore, the bachelor, or the kardashians. Here are mine:
1. remove all phoniness and phony people from my life.
2. be more real and more crotchety.
3. be relentless in my quest for truth and truthful people.
4. hold people accountable. do not let people off the hook. actions speak MUCH louder than words.
5. continue my pursuit to WAKE PEOPLE UP!!!
6. continue to rant on the system BUT RANT LOUDER LONGER AND HARDER.
7. continue to write and make people feel.
8. drink more.
9. read more.
10. grow my hair.
11. grow my beard.
12. don’t engage in boring conversation with boring people. i will die too soon to listen to such boredom.
13. never eat at a kentucky fried chicken.
14. cut down my coffee intake to nine cups of coffee a day.
15. have more fun.
16. love my immediate family more.
i don’t hurt people.
I am a caged animal. Living in a world where I am looked down upon for being who I am. A false world. Being fake is the norm. what you are is more important than who you are. I can’t sleep. Fucking thoughts invading my head all the time. Burning up inside all the time. Rage ready to be released at any point. Laughter turning to tears turning to hatred turning to rage. Who is going to get it today? I don’t know. If I wasn’t locked up in this fucking cage I could give you a clearer answer. But…Who the fuck locked me up anyways? What have I done wrong except live my life the way I want to live it. No rules. I don’t hurt people. You people do that. You hurt people everyday. Looking down at people. Hurting people to make you feel better about yourselves. SELF. THAT’S ME!!! Shitting on people’s carpets. How was I supposed to know that I had flung that piece of shit onto the back of my pants? Did I really want to mess up your white carpet? NO!!! mistakes happen. All the time. I haven’t done that since. Now I sit down to wipe my ass. People are so fucking selfish. If you say you are going to call. CALL FOR FUCK SAKES. PICK UP THE PHONE. DIAL. PRESS THE BUTTONS. It takes two seconds. “Oh sorry. I lost your number. BULLSHIT. Why the fuck did you want it in the first place? To feel good about yourself??? You fat fucking piece of shit. Instead of calling me you were probably at McDonald’s or Burger King eating three combo’s and stuffing your fat fucking face full of shit. “Oh I can’t lose weight. It’s a disease.” “FUCK YOU!!! Yeah so is alcoholism, drug addiction, sex addiction, blah blah blah.” JUST STOP IT. STOP DRINKING. STOP SNORTING. STOP FUCKING. STOP EATING YOU PIECE OF FLAB. I need a woman. Not any women. A beautiful loving woman. Caring. Full of drive. LET ME OUT. HEY GUARDS. CHECK YOUR WATCH. I NEED TO GET OUTTA HERE. GUARDS!!! FUCK. WHAT THE FUCK. SHIT. BASTARDS.
What possibly could I have done? Why am I here? Who wants me here? I haven’t hurt anyone. YET. I am me. Is that a sin? Maybe it is. Masturbating is a sin. Sex before marriage is a sin. Killing a sperm is a sin. PRO CHOICE…SIN. WHO THE FUCK MADE THESE RIDICULOUS FUCKING GUIDELINES FOR US ANIMALS TO FOLLOW? WHO IS GOD? The General Manager of a Hotel? Or is he a cop? Same thing. Or maybe he is one of these fucking pretentious Artistic Directors of Canadian Theatre that judges what is good and what is not good. Well his mind is warped whoever he is. It’s all religious crap. THEATRE…RELIGION…SAFETY…FUCK ALL OF YOU.
LET ME OUT!!! HELP!!! It’s getting hot in here. I’m getting hot. Sweat. Don’t tell me what to do. I’m dying in this place. I’m dying out of this place. I’m dying. Everybody’s dying. Slowly. Some slower than others. Death. Who decides it. Who chooses who dies first or second or how or when? Who chooses that? The Artistic Director? Why the fuck doesn’t he die. He’s killing us with the shows he’s putting on year after year. Well, he’s not killing US…he’s killing ME. Most puppets fake they like his shows. Death. Where do we go? Where’s my Dad? Where’s Nana? Where’s Gary Brown? Where’s Adolf Hitler? No really…where is he? Did he die? Why wasn’t he tortured? If there is a god why are innocent little girls and boys tortured and raped while guys like Adolf Hitler run whole countries? Why is OJ Simpson a free man? He should be in this cell? Not me. What did I do? I prayed. No response. Fucking people. Make me sick. SO FAKE. It’s better to be dumb in this world. Block things out. That’s what my psychiatrist should say. “Block it out son. You’re killing yourself!!!” It’s not me. I’m fine. It’s them. It’s you. LET ME OUT. I’M FREAKING OUT. MAYBE IT’S NOT A DREAM. IT’S REALITY. WHAT IS REALITY? I’M SO ALONE. Lonely and hungry. PEACEFUL. It’s peaceful in here. Nobody bugging me. Nobody telling me what to do. JAIL. They should advertise it more often. It’s better service than many hotels. Better food than McDonald’s. better entertainment than any $10 show. You’ve got everything here. Fights. Action. Fucking. Sucking…how old am I now? How long have I been in this cage? Who put me here? I shouldn’t be here. People. Where’s my Mom? Mom, I need you. Where are you? MOM??? Please??? MOM??? HELL. FUCK. HOT. WHAT THE…
my visit with bob.
greek’s party. wednesday night. rylee and nicole home. rylee throwing up. missed her christmas party. she’s upset. so are we. i have to drive so can’t drink much. am i actually mature? it only took forty five years. i arrive in unionville at 5pm. party starts at 7pm. normally i would call greek up and drink for two hours before the party. not anymore. i hate getting old. i sit at second cup. drink coffee. read scripts. yawn. tired. bored. maybe i’m sick. finish coffee. go to beer store. trying to waste time. only 6pm. still one hour till kickoff. i drive through the old part of unionville. memories. some good. some bad. reminiscing. it can be happy. but it can also be sad. life moving too quickly. i know many people say that getting old is great and there is no age that they would rather be than the one they are now but i don’t buy it. i would love to be a kid again. playing hockey. playing soccer. playing baseball. playing. no worries. whole life ahead of you. long nights and even longer days. do you think someone will ever invent a time machine? i hope so.
anyway, one hour still left to waste as i drive around aimlessly. thinking but still aimless and then i saw the house. the house on the corner. forget the street name but will never forget the house. this time not a bad memory. great memories. memories of youth and fun and games and trouble and ping pong and basketball and movies and stories and “kick the can” and friendship. doogie beckett’s house. my best friend from the age of seven until the age of eighteen. we shared so much. great times. bad times. happy times. sad times. best friends. we were on the same hockey team. the same line. leading scorers on the team. year in and year out. fun. fun. fun.
over the years we lost touch. i don’t know why. life is weird sometimes. people who were never apart are now never together. sadness setting in. life shouldn’t be so cruel. but it is.
anyway, i saw doogie’s house and drove by. looked in. drove slowly. looked in again and saw someone sitting down. probably bob, doogie’s dad. rose, doogie’s mom, passed away two years ago from cancer. WHAT A SICK AND TERRIFYING DISEASE. anyway, i drove by and thought about what once was and then made my way to greek’s. but something stopped me. there was the obvious stop sign but something more. a feeling. an emotion. a guilt. i don’t know but my car stopped and i turned around. i drove back to doogie’s old house. pulled over to the side of the curb and parked my car. i turned off the engine. turned off the lights. opened the door. got out. shut the door. locked the door. then approached the house. i unlocked the gated fence (it was a struggle). i looked around. didn’t want to get attacked by a dog. no dog. looked into the front window and sitting in the chair that rose once occupied was bob. bob beckett. doogie’s dad. i knocked on the door and went in. at first bob didn’t recognize me. i haven’t seen him in over twenty five years. he was fifty when i last saw him. he is now seventy-five. i was twenty when i last saw him. i am now forty-five. life flies by. sad. i introduced myself and a huge smile appeared on bob’s face. he offered me a beer which i politely refused. responsible? sometimes. i sat down. we talked. we talked about old times. good times. old friends. family. hockey. rose. death. doogie. mateer. great times we once had together. i love reminiscing. i hate reminiscing. always torn. we talked as though we were never apart. bob looked older. that scared me. i am sure i looked older and maybe that scared him. but it was nice. it was beautiful. i wish we would never die. i wish we would never drift apart. i wish life was always fun. love old friends. the hour went by quickly, of course and i had to leave. didn’t want to. bob is such a great guy. i feel bad for him that he is now all alone. life can be cruel. but my hour spent with bob was one of the best hours i have spent with anyone in the last five years. a memory that will last a lifetime. for him and me. life doesn’t have to be so complex. so hard. so depressing. sometimes all we need is a little love. and touch. and talk. and respect. and care.
as i was leaving we planned on meeting again. this time with doogie and mateer. back at bob’s house. with beers and pizza and we will sleepover and not drive so we can drink and talk and reminisce about life and what once was and just be like good old friends again.
i miss my old friends. i miss my youth. i miss my dad. never take life for granted and re-connect with people who you once cared about. life is too short.
notanotherphony. 