The Bills

27 Aug

Just going to work should be enough.  Just having a job should be enough.  Going in there ten hours per day.  “Networking.”  Reading work related material on weekends.  All the absurd time and energy demands of any “professional” “career” type gig in 2012 are more than enough of a burden on a human being’s brief life.

But you gotta pay the bills.  You gotta register your car.  You gotta serve jury duty.  You gotta do your taxes.  You have to go to the doctor, and sit in the waiting room, and fill out insurance forms which you have already filled out many times.  You have to go to the doctor again because the first doctor never knows what the fuck he is talking about. No general practitioner on the entire god damn planet is ever of any use whatsoever in terms of diagnosing, treating, or curing disease.  Always has to be the specialist, which you have to go to the general practitioner so you can even get told to go to the specialist. Find the specialist covered by your insurance plan.  Call the specialist, make an appointment with the specialist.  The specialist, like every other professional and business, is only open at the exact same time as you are working; you will have to take the time off of work.  This does not mean that amount of work goes away, mind you.  There is no one “covering” for anybody at work in 2012; productivity is maximized; man hours are stretched tight as a drum.  You will need to do this work in off hours, still ailing from what the specialist was unable to diagnose, treat, or cure, because it turns out all doctors are completely useless. If you are a doctor, fuck you.  Call the insurance company about the bills you got from the general practitioner and specialist, argue with them; get put on hold, get hung up on on hold, call them, get on hold again.  The toilet is broken.  Call somebody to fix the toilet.  They only operate during normal business hours.  Wait for the guy to come fix the toilet.
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What Do You Do Part 2

26 Aug

I started telling people I was a falconer.

Not even in a “game” way; I just got so sick of the fucking question. I just spent sixty hours “doing” what I fucking “do” and now I’m trying to enjoy a beer in my hairsbreadth of free time and you’re making me think about the merciless glare of the computer screen; my cruel, sniveling boss; the phone constantly ringing with bullshit every two god damn seconds so that even in my dreams I hear the bleating of that ringer like the call of some horrible demon bird. It’s the first question boring people ask every single motherfucking conversation and it’s rude. So I gave them a bullshit outlandish answer as a way of telling them to fuck off for even asking.

But the girls always believed me. They would get excited and intrigued and ask engaged follow up questions, way more than they would about my actual job, which is as a weenie Hollywood “development executive.” Even though my real job is supposed to get you laid (it does not). So I kept padding it out. I am genuinely interested in falcons. In raptors at large. Nothing delights me more than seeing a kestrel alight on a fence post. Than seeing a mating pair of goshawks performing aerial acrobatics together. Where I’m from seeing a red tailed hawk waiting on the phone lines for a squirrel to get run over is a red letter day so the embarrassment of riches w/r/t falcons, hawks, owls and eagles here in SoCal has been a great boon to me. I would regale the girls with knowledge about these birds. Continue reading →

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Well at Least

25 Aug

I’m not short.  At least I’m not fat.  At least I’m not bald, although if I ever start going bald you better god damn believe I will have plugs planted in rows like a freshly planted cornfield.  At least I do not have clinical micropenis. Merely an average sized white man’s penis, which in the face of inflated penis expectations due to pornography and only guys with huge dicks ever feeling comfortable showing their dicks, feels like clinical micropenis.  At least I don’t have AIDS.  At least I don’t have herpes.  At least I don’t have adult acne.  Or anything that needs to have “adult” in front of it.  Adult ADD, I don’t need to use adult diapers, etc.  At least I’m not out in the street wrapped in 6 parkas swatting yellow jackets away from my collection of malt liquor cans, hypervigilantly guarding my hoard of layers and layers of plastic grocery bags wrapped protectively within still more layers of plastic grocery bags from the watchful eye of the government.

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Penisworkmoneychickenxbox

25 Aug

is going to be the name of my child, if I happen to conceive one today.

Penisworkmoneychickenxbox Jones. Because those are the things I’m thinking about.

Also, it’s an ancient Hebrew name.

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Someone Copypasted My OKCupid Profile

24 Aug

(Note: this post is old; the guy took “his” profile down.  Thus, no link.)

I was gonna give him the “Brilliant Profile” award, but I don’t want to blow his game.  In fact, nobody send him a message about it or anything.  I don’t want to tip him off.  I posted about this on reddit too so I’m sure he’s getting a million visitors.  A million scruffy dudes from the East Coast and Canada between the ages of nineteen and twenty five, is who uses reddit apparently.  But don’t tip him off. Continue reading →

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Old Dads’ Shriveled Five-headed Sperm Makes Their Kids Autistic and Crazy

22 Aug

At least, according to this.

I knew it.  I knew it couldn’t be this easy.  Whenever I talked about how my kids are going to have severe mental impairments because I’m so old, everyone would reassuringly jump in with “no, the father’s age doesn’t matter blah blah blah.”  Well no.  My elderly mutant nutcrust is going to create a race of paranoid dwarves who think the refrigerator is their mother.  Mine in particular, as I’ve spent my whole life smoking, drinking and doing hard drugs, which I’m sure only accelerates the random mutations that addle your sperm as you age.

Or maybe not.  Maybe most diagnoses of autism are actually bullshit, and maybe aging parents are precisely the type of well-off white people who bring their kids to the doctor and the psychiatrist and the neurologist at the slightest sign of anything, and are the types of people who have the money to pay for the egregiously expensive treatments that do absolutely nothing for autism, or “autism spectrum disorders.” Maybe it’s a whole bullshit industry for people desperate for something to be wrong with their kids. Mass hysteria meets Munchausen by Proxy.  Meets the type of doctor who rich folks go to, who is never gonna tell you “chill out; it’s probably nothing.” Just like the type of dentist that rich folks go to can always find something wrong; every kid in the rich part of town always has braces. Continue reading →

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How to Not Kill Yourself

20 Aug

Tony Scott killed himself.  Tony Scott made a bunch of awesome movies that kicked ass, lived the A list Hollywood life in the 80’s where he presumably did tons of blow with Don Simpson, made millions and millions of dollars, lived in a nice house, had nice cars, and not one single piece of pussy on the entire face of planet Earth was off limits to him.  Late into his life he was still an A list director, the hardest job to get besides President of the United States, and a place in life that thousands upon thousands of people struggle and fail to get to and almost nobody is able to sustain for so many decades.  He produced TV shows that will continually crank out sums of money so vast that no one could ever spend it, forever.  He worked for his whole life with his brother.  Most of us can’t stay that close with our families and wish we could.  He jumped off a bridge.* Continue reading →

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Protected: Weekend Journal 8-19-12: The Demon Cocaine

19 Aug

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Protected: Lunch Break Diary: What’s on Your Mind

17 Aug

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She Left Me a Message

16 Aug

Saying she would have called me back, but she’d been cellphoneless all day. Cellphoneless getting pounded by huge unprotected cock from the love of her life.

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