“you can’t choose your family but you can choose your friends.”
facebook is great at revealing who people really are. what they are really about. really delving into the “real” person behind the fake posts. stupid posts by stupid people. geeky posts by geeky people. religious posts by religious people. phony posts by phony people. and finally after all the shit boring posts you get the real posts by real people.
we live in a world where phoniness is rewarded and being real is lambasted. a world filled with shame based judgements from boring people living boring lives. not caring but pretending to care. not listening but pretending to listen. not reading but pretending to read. DUMB POSTS FOR DUMB PEOPLE. DON’T BOO JUSTIN BIEBER. APPLAUD KATE MIDDLETON. “I HAVE MORNING SICKNESS.” WHO FUCKING CARES??? KIM KARDASHIAN’S WEDDING GETS MORE PLAY THAN THE POOR DYING STARVING BOYS AND GIRLS IN SUDAN. WHAT IS WRONG WITH US? WHAT HAS HAPPENED?
I SPEAK TRUTH. MY TRUTH. NOT GOD’S. NOT MOM’S. NOT DAD’S. NOT TEACHERS’. NOT PRIME MINISTERS’. NOT PRESIDENTS’. I SPEAK MY TRUTH. MY BELIEFS AND I AM CHASTISED FOR IT. HERE’S A THOUGHT…DON’T READ MY FUCKING POSTS. MY FUCKING BLOG.
i get molested by some old greek man. no sympathy. i get thrown in jail. no sympathy. i get “jerked off” by an old hockey coach. no sympathy. i have a family member die and another family member die right after and another family member attempt to kill herself right in front of my face. no sympathy. i have babysitter after babysitter after babysitter while just a boy of ten. eleven. twelve. thirteen. no sympathy. i get arrested (wrongfully) for telling a useless “do gooder” mcdonald’s manager that i will “ski off your forehead if you don’t leave me alone”. no sympathy. i get pulled over for speeding. my name comes up on the cop’s monitor…”VIOLENT” (WHY). no sympathy. don jail. toronto east. mimico. north bay alcohol centre. a.a. psychiatrists. psychologists. psychotherapists. pills. diagnosis’. adhd. intermittent explosive personality disorder. anxiety disorder. impulse control disorder. narcissistic personality disorder. waking up drunk in wrong people’s houses. overdosing on mushrooms. too much cocaine. too many drunken nights. fucking too many girls…mostly unattractive. no condoms. STD’S. LONELINESS. DEPRESSION. SADNESS. ABUSED. WRONGFULLY ACCUSED. SHAMED. MOLESTED. CRITICIZED (constantly). MOCKED. JUDGED. JUDGED. JUDGED. NOT SUPPORTED. THROWN TO THE WOLVES. “YOUR DAD (DECEASED) WOULD BE DISGUSTED BY YOU.” ABANDONED. TORTURED. HURT. SELF INFLICTED WOUNDS. HURT. HOSPITALIZED. no sympathy. facebook exposes real. it exposes fake.
christmas time is here and i will spend my holidays (everyday is a holiday for me) with my two favourite people in the whole wide (wild) world…TRIGGY AND RYLEE…NOT LAURA AND TAYLOR. UNCONDITIONAL LOVE CONQUERS ALL. WITHOUT IT YOU (WE) ARE DOOMED. unless you get it from god which i don’t…so…(tears) I LOVE YOU TRIGGY AND RYLEE AND I OWE MY LIFE’S HAPPINESS TO YOU. merry christmas.
xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo
ps…for those of you who also love me unconditionally…I HOPE TO DRINK LOTS OF WINE WITH YOU OVER THE NEXT FEW WEEKS AS WELL AS THE MANY YEARS AHEAD.
pss…for those of you who pretend to love me and say, “we really need to get together. haven’t seen you in awhile (ten years). it’s the holidays. let’s hook up. we need to get together. IT IS CHRISTMAS!!!” don’t bother. i will see you when you become real.
Category: Uncategorized
salvation army
every year at this time i go shopping for my wine (more wine than the rest of the year) and see old grey haired men with sad looks on their faces ringing old bells with old jars in front of them and old signs above old jars which read, “salvation army”.
i stand and observe the many faces looking down fidgeting with any gadget they can get their hands on to distract them from looking into the old sad man’s eyes to avoid throwing change into the old jar. i know all the tricks because i use the same tricks. the tricks that i use for the old man ringing the old bell are the same ones that i use for the old drunk man with ripped up pooh stained pants that are old.
i am a very generous man with a HUGE heart who many times goes way out of my way to help struggling old ladies who have dropped old wallets or old scarves. so then why do i do so much to avoid these old men behind the old jar?
the answer is simple. i have absolutely no idea where my money goes when giving to this old institution. i could ask twenty people what salvation army is and what it stands for and i would get twenty different answers. with our economy being the way it is and people so wrapped up in their own struggles to help their own families at christmas time more needs to be done by the old salvation army to inform us on just what they do and what they stand for.
just as people need to evolve…companies need to evolve as well. i believe that most people want to help others less fortunate in some capacity but i also believe that “throwing away” your loose change is only done out of guilt. I buy a bottle of wine at the liquor store…”do you want to donate a dollar to sick kids”. i buy zit cream at shopper’s drug mart…”do you want to donate two dollars to salvation army”. i fidget and squirm as i pretend to reach into my pocket and then give my standard answer, “i gave two bucks last time (i am in the liquor store everyday).”
WAKE UP SALVATION ARMY AND INFORM US OF WHAT YOU STAND FOR. DON’T BE LAZY. DON’T MAKE US FEEL GUILTY. EVOLVE. why is it always old sad looking men behind the old ball ringing the old ball? if i KNEW that my twenty dollar donation would actually put a HUGE SMILE on a little kids face who is less fortunate then i would throw my twenty dollar bill in from the tim horton’s line while waiting for my double double but i don’t know where my money is going so i will continue to fidget and hide and pretend to answer my phone and feel a little guilt for ten seconds until i walk out into the parking lot and scream at how ridiculously poorly planned the lot is. and to think people actually get paid to design these horribly planned grid locked parking lots!!!
what happens to girls when they grow up?
Horny. Horny. Horny. I am constantly horny. Looking at every girl in sight. No shame. Visualization. Walking. And looking. Looking and walking. Where am I going? Trying to look down girls tops. Trying to relax. Trying to stay away from the phoniness of it all. Trying. Trying. Trying. Broadsgetting older and more bitter. Harsher. Uglier. They need to be nurterers. Allow them to be nurterers. Do not force them into the bitterness and the phoniness. Babies. Lisa’s back hurts. I feel for her. Women experiencing a lot during pregnancy. Men experiencing nothing…except for women’s experience.
FUCKING IDIOTS EVERYWHERE. SAME PHONINESS. Block out the bullshit. Grow. Learn. Grow. Write. Write. Write. Life. Live. Mom is beautiful. Getting older. Losing her teeth? Hope not. Women? Trying so hard. Perfume. Cream. Sunglasses. Holt Renfrew. New shoes. Purses. Jewellery. Make-up. Phony dogs. New jackets. Yapping. Yapping. Yapping. Trying so hard to get noticed. Yorkville. Granite Club. Clubs. Clubs. Clubs. Parties. Champagne. ALL BULLSHIT. Where did the nurturing go? Our society is so fucked up. Phony. No one is real anymore. The Starbuck’s girl is real. She has to be. But what happens when girls grow up? Hard. Bitter. Harsh. ACTORS? FUCKING PHONY ACTORS. Everywhere. Models and style and bullshit. I WANT REAL. Where have all the real people gone? Nothing is real anymore. LISA IS THE BEST. I LOVE HER. Women…you go for losers-you end up with losers. They are all over the place. Put out a vibe. You get one back. I hate this fucking industry. So many fucking idiots. GIRLS and MEN. All they talk is about is men, clothes, and clubs, and rings, and dogs, and MEN. FUCK THEM. Young girls are at least naïve and cute. They aren’t funny. Except Lisa. Boiling up. Thinking. Boiling. HOT. Phony men. Phony women. Phoniness everywhere. Boring stories about politically correct boring people. Where is Eugene? Movie star? Are you kidding me? I’ve never seen you in my life. WHO ARE YOU? I HATE MEN!!! Yeah right. Turn over and spread your legs and I’ll fuck you. And leave you. And talk badly about you. And write about you. Women…so easy. So annoying. Country women are so much more REAL. I LOVE WOMEN FROM SMALL TOWNS. LISA…I LOVE YOU.
fucking zits.
Another day. Another dollar. Another zit. Not one. Not two. Three and counting. I hate looking in the mirror. Imperfections everywhere. How do I ever get laid? Zits. Balding. Hairy. Big ears. Broken nose. Blind. Taylor crying. Always crying. Sex drive gone. Is age finally catching up to me? Everything tells me that I am getting old. Except the zits. FUCKING ZITS. Tired. Mind sleeping but cannot sleep. Sleeping pills not working. Even when mixed with booze. Tossing and turning. Anxiously waiting for the next day to start. To stare in that mirror once again. Hoping and hoping for a clear face. Worries I do not need. Worries of a teenager still haunting me. Others worry about mortgages and kids. I worry about zits and kids. Worries nonetheless. Listening to dumb opinions still. Dumb opinions by dumb boring people. When will I realize that I am far more interesting than anyone? STOP LISTENING TO THESE MINIONS!!! Politically correct duds!!! Smiley. Cute. Not funny. Thinking they’re funny. Thinking they are fun. NOT REALIZING HOW BORING THEY ARE. Sipping on their borrowed beer. Reciting boring opinions. Going home to their boring lives. Boring wives. FUCKING STIFFS!!! I’m bored writing about them. Have to stop. Mind falling asleep. Me tossing and turning. Feeling the zits starting to evolve. Tired. Goodnight.
now i sit.
Looking into the eyes of old dried up British pompous cunts. Disgusting. Harsh. Eyes evil. Hair dyed. Faces wrinkled. Bodies fat. Phony laughs and phony smiles. Pretending to be talented. Believing in themselves because all their rich boring friends believe in them. Kissing the asses of the talentless.
I left my Mom’s house to go to Bill’s. his girlfriend from Acapulco was there. At the house. Bill’s house. Bill’s parents house. Acapulco was filled with fucks and hangovers and sunburns and drunken days and drunken nights and lots of condoms and lots of shit. LOTS AND LOTS OF SHIT stuffed into our toilet. Our hotel room toilet. Flooded. As usual. Flooding toilets everywhere. My Mom’s. Acapulco. Restaurants. Gas stations. Coffee shops. Acapulco’s toilet the worst. Toilet flooded but no one there to help us. Shitting on top of shit and toilet paper and puke and more shit. The shit was almost to the top. No more room. How did Bill meet a girlfriend?
Anyway, I arrived at Bill’s parents house to see Gabby again. She was cute. Flirty. I fucked her friend in Acaplulco. I used seven condoms to do it. I don’t know why. I was drunk. Fucked and fucked. Sloppy. Very sloppy. Wet. Fat. Girdle on. I have never met a woman who has worn a girdle. I had a tough enough time getting off the bra. Now I have a girdle to deal with. TORTURE. FUCKING CRYSTAL. WANTING GABBY. Always the same. Fucking the one I don’t want.
I arrived at the house and entered. Saw Bill. Saw Gabby. No one else home. First thing I noticed was the beautiful white thick carpet. So fluffy. So soft. So white.
“Nice carpet Bill,” I said.
“Yeah, we just got it put in today. My Mom’s so happy.”
“That’s good.”
“Do you want a beer?” Bill asked.
Dumb question. Of course I wanted a beer. Bill went to grab the Labatt’s Blue (the worst) and I spoke with Gabby. Typical shit.
“How are you? How was your trip? How is school? How is Crystal?”
We both looked at each other and laughed. I still wanted to fuck Gabby but I am sure that is wrong. Bill came back with the beers. Opened them up. Cheersed each other. Chugged. Chugged some more. Beer was shit. Why do people like such shit beer? Minions again. Followers again. Following some FAT NEWFIE DUNSKIE comedian at Balzac’s coffee shop. WHO GIVES A FUCK???
Back to story. Chugged the shit beers with Bill and Gabby. Laughing. Storytelling. Having fun. LIFE AT IT’S BEST. Stomach beginning to rumble. “OH OH”, I thought. Feeling a shit coming on. Can’t hold it any longer. Coming on fast. Squeezing my cheeks together. Don’t fart. Don’t fart.
“Bill, can I use the can?”
“NOOOOOOOO!!! Go to McDonald’s,” he responded quickly.
“Why? C’mon? I need to go. I can’t hold it.” I begged.
“NO. You’re going to flood it.”
My reputation getting the better of me.
“C’mon. Please? I won’t flood it. I promise. Please?” I continued.
“Okay. BUT DON’T FLOOD IT!!!”
I won’t…I promise.”
I ran down the hallway and down the stairs to the bathroom. I opened the door. Fired my pants down to my ankles and sat on the toilet. An explosion into the toilet before I could get comfortable. One big slop of shit. Not hard. Never is. Always soft. Not enough iron? Who cares. Shit was out. Out of my stomach and into the toilet. Relief. Flush the toilet right away so the shit doesn’t stink up the small washroom. GOOD TRICK. Stand up and start wiping my ass. Never taught the proper way to wipe!!! Stand and wipe. One wipe. Two wipes. On my third wipe I felt something dangling out of my ass. I reached back and grabbed it. A STRING??? I pulled. And pulled. And pulled. What was a string doing in my ass? I don’t think I ever ate a string!!! The string kept coming. Finally it was out. Transferred from my right hand to the toilet. SHITS NEVER NORMAL. Finished wiping my ass and flushed. Nervously watching the water go down. The water and the paper and the string. Everything flushed. NO FLOODING. Relief. Bill will be happy. I pulled up my pants. Washed my hands. Turned on the fan and walked back up the stairs to hang with Bill and Gabby.
“Did you flood the toilet?” Bill asked sarcastically.
“NO,” I said with a laugh and then sat down.
We continued to talk. Continued to drink. More talk. More drink. Laughing. Talking. Drinking. What a great day!!! At that point I noticed Bill’s face making contorted movements. Nothing said. I began to smell something foul. Not good. Did I flood the toilet? Smell getting worse. Tried to ignore it. Getting nervous. Bill’s face becoming more contorted. More wrinkled. Gabby now looking at me. Feeling guilty. KEEP TALKING. KEEP TALKING.
“DID YOU FLUSH? DID YOU FLUSH? WHAT IS THAT SMELL?” Bill said angrily.
“I FLUSHED. I SWEAR,” I responded guiltily.
We continued our conversation. Tried to ignore smell. COULDN’T. GETTING WORSE. STARTING TO GAG.
“YOU MUST HAVE FLOODED THE TOILET AGAIN. THAT’S GROSS. ARE YOU SURE YOU FLUSHED???
“I FLUSHED. I FLUSHED!!!” I responded.
“Go and check. Make sure. That’s gross.” Bill continued.
Me sweating. Nervous. I jumped up. Felt GUILTY. Began to walk to the washroom. All of a sudden Bill yelled, “OOOOOOHHHHHHHH!!!!”
“WHAT?”
“LOOK AT THE CARPET. LOOK AT THE CARPET!!!”
I turned around. Looked at the carpet. The brand new white fluffy carpet. noticed a BLOB OF SHIT. IT WAS SMUDGED INTO THE CARPET. SMUDGED. REALLY SMUDGED. GROSS. SOFT. STINKY. SMELLY. DIRTY. RED FACEY. SWEATY. GUILTY.
“Holy shit. I’m sorry Bill. I’m really sorry.” This is all I could say. Alone. Lonely. Guilty. Embarrassed.
“WHAT THE FUCK. WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU? YOU ARE FUCKED UP. YOU ARE SO FUCKED UP!!!” Bill was still mad.
“I am so sorry Bill. I don’t know what happened. I will pay for the cleaning. For sure. I promise. I will pay.” I said. Felt so bad.
“Just leave. Just leave. Don’t worry. I will figure something out. WHAT THE FUCK!!!” Bill fumed.
At that point I walked to the door. Opened the door. Said good-bye and left. Shit still smudged into Bill’s carpet. Bill’s Mom’s carpet. Shit smudged into the back of my pants. HOW? WHY? I left the house and went home. Fun turning to embarrassment once again.
As I walked home, alone, I pondered (big word) what had just happened. How could I have smudged soft shit into Bill’s Mom’s carpet? After much agonizing thought, my only explanation being that I must have flung a piece of shit onto the back of my pants when I was wiping my ass while standing up. I wish my Mom taught me how to wipe my ass properly. I wish my Mom taught me other valuable lessons in life as well. She didn’t. Oh well. Lonely.
NOW I SIT.
notanotherphony. 