Thursday, September 27, 2012
More Hate
I also hate the cunts at the church where my wife used to work who told her that she could leave work early to care for her children and that it wouldn't affect her pay at all. Then, after she had done this for a month, was told that the person who told her she could leave without being docked pay (the woman in charge of the program) didn't have the authority to tell my wife this, and therefore my wife would have to work for free for a month to make up for her leaving early but still getting paid for it. My wife put in her two week's notice right then, and they said she didn't need to put in two weeks notice and could leave then. I can't wish all those people enough harm and misery for the rest of their lives. They can't have enough testicular cancer to go around to all the fucking bitches at that fucking cesspool of humanity and morals to really do my hatered justice. If everybody there were to get ten thousand papercuts on their vaginas, clitorises, and scrotums, dip those open wounds in lemon juice, salt, battery acid and shaved glass, and then kicked in the crotch for 85 years, it still wouldn't satisfy the hatred I have for those fuckers. Those fucking fucker fucks. They should get trapped in the building as it catches fire and die.
That Mitchell and Webb Look -or- The Hardest I've Ever Laughed At Anything In My Life (Last Night)
[One British Eater, munches crisps from a bag, standing in a kitchen. Another British Man is standing next to him. Light acoustic guitar melody lilts through this idyllic scene.]
Man: Hey, I’ve just noticed. You’ve been eating crisps all morning. Aren’t you afraid you’ll get fat?
Eater: No. I can eat as many of these as I’d like.
[Woman enters]
Woman: I can’t believe you’re stuffing your face with crisps again. You’ll only get fat, and then I’ll have to have another affair.
Eater: No, don’t worry. These won’t make me fat.
Woman: Why not? Are you bulimic?
Eater: No. It’s because these aren’t crisps, they’re Cressps. Peeker’s crisps take ordinary cress, the healthiest food in the world-- and that’s been confirmed-- and then deep fry it in crisp fat, so all the health is retained, which means I can eat as many Cressps as I’d like and just get healthier.
Woman: Wow. I’ll have some Cressps!
Man: I think I’ll pass, actually.
Announcer: Cressps! Once you Cressp, you just can’t splessp.
Man: That doesn’t make any sense.
[Eater spits out a mouthful of chewed Cressps]
Eater: Oh god, they’re horrid!
Man: Hey, I’ve just noticed. You’ve been eating crisps all morning. Aren’t you afraid you’ll get fat?
Eater: No. I can eat as many of these as I’d like.
[Woman enters]
Woman: I can’t believe you’re stuffing your face with crisps again. You’ll only get fat, and then I’ll have to have another affair.
Eater: No, don’t worry. These won’t make me fat.
Woman: Why not? Are you bulimic?
Eater: No. It’s because these aren’t crisps, they’re Cressps. Peeker’s crisps take ordinary cress, the healthiest food in the world-- and that’s been confirmed-- and then deep fry it in crisp fat, so all the health is retained, which means I can eat as many Cressps as I’d like and just get healthier.
Woman: Wow. I’ll have some Cressps!
Man: I think I’ll pass, actually.
Announcer: Cressps! Once you Cressp, you just can’t splessp.
Man: That doesn’t make any sense.
[Eater spits out a mouthful of chewed Cressps]
Eater: Oh god, they’re horrid!
Cancer Bullets and Fucktards
I fucking hate my father's wife because she's a fucking stupid, man-hating, abusive-to-my-brother idiot whore.
I fucking hate my fucking father because he's a fucking silent, abusive, bigoted moron.
I fucking hate my wife's mother because she's a fucking cunt of an abusive fucktard.
And I fucking hate my wife's fucking ex-husband because he's an abusive, controlling, psychotic fuckmess.
And I fucking hate all the motherfuckers who just accept what their selected news outlet tells them and then they go and post idiocies on fucking YouTube and fucking Facebook, and they fucking flood the planet with unconsidered insanity, where television stations garner ratings and revenue from giving fucking lemmings a microphone and a platform for dangerous and decietful proclamations.
And I fucking hate my fucking supervisor and his fucking shiny head.
And I fucking hate my fucking supervisor's supervisor and her fucking stupidity and bullying.
And I fucking fucking fuck!! You fucking fucker! Fuck you all motherfuckers!! You fucking die of cancer of the goddam soul and fucking die!! Eat cancer and fucking let it kill your soul, you fucking fuckers!! Eat a bullet!! All of you eat a fucking bullet!! Put a goddam cancer gun in your fucking pie holes and pull the trigger and eat it! Eat the bullet! Die you fucking bitches!
...there was a commercial recently where a fish from Finding Nemo popped up with his friends and said, "What's up, fishes?!" Funny.
I fucking hate my fucking father because he's a fucking silent, abusive, bigoted moron.
I fucking hate my wife's mother because she's a fucking cunt of an abusive fucktard.
And I fucking hate my wife's fucking ex-husband because he's an abusive, controlling, psychotic fuckmess.
And I fucking hate all the motherfuckers who just accept what their selected news outlet tells them and then they go and post idiocies on fucking YouTube and fucking Facebook, and they fucking flood the planet with unconsidered insanity, where television stations garner ratings and revenue from giving fucking lemmings a microphone and a platform for dangerous and decietful proclamations.
And I fucking hate my fucking supervisor and his fucking shiny head.
And I fucking hate my fucking supervisor's supervisor and her fucking stupidity and bullying.
And I fucking fucking fuck!! You fucking fucker! Fuck you all motherfuckers!! You fucking die of cancer of the goddam soul and fucking die!! Eat cancer and fucking let it kill your soul, you fucking fuckers!! Eat a bullet!! All of you eat a fucking bullet!! Put a goddam cancer gun in your fucking pie holes and pull the trigger and eat it! Eat the bullet! Die you fucking bitches!
...there was a commercial recently where a fish from Finding Nemo popped up with his friends and said, "What's up, fishes?!" Funny.
Wednesday, September 26, 2012
Don't You Hate It...?
Don't you fucking hate it when stupid people talk?
I do, too.
Especially when they won't shut up.
And then other people start listening to them.
And thinking that what the stupid people are saying is true.
And then you have a gaggle of stupid people.
And none of them will shut the fuck up.
I do, too.
Especially when they won't shut up.
And then other people start listening to them.
And thinking that what the stupid people are saying is true.
And then you have a gaggle of stupid people.
And none of them will shut the fuck up.
Sunday, September 16, 2012
Stickers, Football, and Urgent Care
Friday, our 11-year-old told us that it was burning him when he peed.
His mother took him to the urgent care doctor to care for this issue.
She texted our 11-year-old's father to let him know that our 11-year-old said that it burned when he peed and she was taking him to the urgent care facility, which would probably mean that he would be missing football practice on Friday.
Father immediately texted our 11-year-old to ask him if he was really sick. Our 11-year-old said yes, he was really sick. Father asked if he was really, really sick. Our 11-year-old said yes, he was going to the urgent care. Father asked if mom was making it up or if our 11-year-old was really having a problem. Our 11-year-old said he was going to the urgent care because he was sick. Father said that he should call him when he was done with the urgent care doctor. Our 11-year-old said that he would.
Mother took our 11-year-old to the urgent care doctor, who told him that he had some bacteria inside of his penis (probably), and that he should take some antibiotics to clear this up. Nothing big to worry about.
Our 11-year-old, knowing that his father was in the middle of coaching a football practice, texted him to say that it was no big deal, and they were getting medicine and then going home. Father called back, almost immediately. "Why didn't you call me?! I told you to call me!!" Our 11-year-old explained that he had texted because he knew that his father was in the middle of the football practice and didn't want to disturb him. Plus, it wasn't really urgent. Father grilled our 11-year-old some more, asking if his mother told him to text rather than call, and our 11-year-old was agitated and perplexed. Father grilled our 11-year-old about coming to football practice. Our 11-year-old reminded his father that he had just gotten out of the urgent care, was dealing with a sickness, and would be late. Father continued to grill our 11-year-old about coming to practice. Eventually, father's new wife got on the phone, asked if our 11-year-old was fine, and when he said yes, they hung up.
Later that day, father said that he would come by mother's house to put a sticker on our 11-year-old's football helmet. Mother said fine. Then, father said no, 11-year-old needed to come over to his house. Mother said that father was welcome to come over to put on a sticker, but we were staying home, especially since our 11-year-old was dealing with an issue that he was taking medication for. Father arrived at mother's house and was met on the front porch by mother and our 11-year-old. Mother remembered that she owed father some money, and stepped inside, literally two steps from the front porch. Father snapped at our 11-year-old. "Come here!" he hissed as he pulled our 11-year-old further away from the door. Mother heard him saying, "Did she make you... ?!" but couldn't hear what he was saying before she came back out on the front porch, at which point, our 11-year-old, continuing to be perplexed and agitated, said, "What are you talking about, dad?" Father, seeing mother's return, stopped the confrontational body language and said, "Never mind." Mother politely said to father, "Go ahead and finish." Father snorted, signalling that he was not going to finish interrogating our 11-year-old about the horribleness of his mother taking him to the urgent care facility when he was sick in front of his mother.
His mother took him to the urgent care doctor to care for this issue.
She texted our 11-year-old's father to let him know that our 11-year-old said that it burned when he peed and she was taking him to the urgent care facility, which would probably mean that he would be missing football practice on Friday.
Father immediately texted our 11-year-old to ask him if he was really sick. Our 11-year-old said yes, he was really sick. Father asked if he was really, really sick. Our 11-year-old said yes, he was going to the urgent care. Father asked if mom was making it up or if our 11-year-old was really having a problem. Our 11-year-old said he was going to the urgent care because he was sick. Father said that he should call him when he was done with the urgent care doctor. Our 11-year-old said that he would.
Mother took our 11-year-old to the urgent care doctor, who told him that he had some bacteria inside of his penis (probably), and that he should take some antibiotics to clear this up. Nothing big to worry about.
Our 11-year-old, knowing that his father was in the middle of coaching a football practice, texted him to say that it was no big deal, and they were getting medicine and then going home. Father called back, almost immediately. "Why didn't you call me?! I told you to call me!!" Our 11-year-old explained that he had texted because he knew that his father was in the middle of the football practice and didn't want to disturb him. Plus, it wasn't really urgent. Father grilled our 11-year-old some more, asking if his mother told him to text rather than call, and our 11-year-old was agitated and perplexed. Father grilled our 11-year-old about coming to football practice. Our 11-year-old reminded his father that he had just gotten out of the urgent care, was dealing with a sickness, and would be late. Father continued to grill our 11-year-old about coming to practice. Eventually, father's new wife got on the phone, asked if our 11-year-old was fine, and when he said yes, they hung up.
Later that day, father said that he would come by mother's house to put a sticker on our 11-year-old's football helmet. Mother said fine. Then, father said no, 11-year-old needed to come over to his house. Mother said that father was welcome to come over to put on a sticker, but we were staying home, especially since our 11-year-old was dealing with an issue that he was taking medication for. Father arrived at mother's house and was met on the front porch by mother and our 11-year-old. Mother remembered that she owed father some money, and stepped inside, literally two steps from the front porch. Father snapped at our 11-year-old. "Come here!" he hissed as he pulled our 11-year-old further away from the door. Mother heard him saying, "Did she make you... ?!" but couldn't hear what he was saying before she came back out on the front porch, at which point, our 11-year-old, continuing to be perplexed and agitated, said, "What are you talking about, dad?" Father, seeing mother's return, stopped the confrontational body language and said, "Never mind." Mother politely said to father, "Go ahead and finish." Father snorted, signalling that he was not going to finish interrogating our 11-year-old about the horribleness of his mother taking him to the urgent care facility when he was sick in front of his mother.
Thursday, September 6, 2012
This Is What Love Is
Last night, as we were trying to forget everything that had happened in our day, I told my wife that I thought marriage should be outlawed. She laughed, knowing what I meant, and I was glad that she knew what I meant. We then went on to say "this is what love is" in reference to the two of us.
Today, I'm still thinking about that.
This Is What Love Is.
And as I sit here and think about it, I wanted to come up with a way to make Love clear to everyone else who hasn't found it. Here's some stuff that I came up with.
Love is when there are No Voices Pestering You. I've dated people in the past where voices were pestering me about how I didn't love the person I was with. "You're only with her because you're lonely," they would quietly say. And they would be quiet, because it was nice having sex and feeling like somebody wanted to be with me naked and liked me, or maybe they were nice to look at or maybe it was nice not being alone. But I knew that I wasn't in love with them. "You're only with her because she's Asian." And I would know that was right, but I kept going in the relationships. But with my wife, there are no voices telling me that I'm only with her because of something. Probably because the voice would say something like, "You're only with her because she's Her." And then I would nod in agreement, and then snuggle into her.
Love is when the Scale Of What I Get Is Heavier Than What I Have To Put Up With. And this seems to be different with everyone. I once dated a very pretty woman who was a zealous Christian Republican who wouldn't consider that there was any other way than that. What I Got: a very pretty woman. What I Had To Put Up With: complete mindless idiocy. I asked her out because of what she looked like. When I found out the Christian Republican thing, I almost broke up with her then. Being attractive isn't enough to out-weigh being a closed-minded moron.
Love is when There's More Than A Pretty Face. I've dated most of the people I have because I was physically attracted to them. One of them I stayed with because I didn't want to be alone. But I never really Liked most of them beyond their Look. They looked nice. But they weren't nice. And that Nice Look faded after I had sex with them. Quickly faded. And once that faded, there wasn't a reason for me to be with them anymore. It was sorta like masturbating to the same picture again and again: you like it until you cum, and then you wait a week and find a different picture. But with my wife, her Nice Look never faded. Oh! I even know why her Nice Look never faded (it just came to me and I'm super excited to be putting it into words): because she's my best friend (so I groove hanging with her when we're not having sex), and she wasn't like masturbating to the same picture again and again (so I groove having sex with her) because we switch stuff up. Sometimes we're snugly, and sometimes we're rough, and sometimes we're weird. I don't know if I'm misremembering this, but I'm pretty sure there was a time when we couldn't stop farting while having sex, which made us laugh a lot, which made us fart more. That was awesome! Try getting that into your Penthouse beauties. But she's never like masturbating to the same picture again and again. She's definitely much, much more than a pretty face.
Love is Want. I think, most of all, I love my wife because I want to. There was always a time when I didn't want to be with one of my girlfriends. Probably because the Scale Of What I Got did not outweigh What I Had To Put Up With. My wife has two boys. They aren't biologically mine. They were made by a monster. One of the most evil, sick, fucked up, horrible people I've ever known. He makes her life miserable often. He makes my life miserable often. He makes our boys' lives miserable often. He makes my parents' lives miserable often. And I could cut him out of my life completely. All I have to do is divorce my wife. And there's no way I'm gonna do that. Apparently, I Want to be with her. I Want to love her. I Want to stay with her. It's sorta like asking a kid if he wants a cookie or a punch in the balls. It's not a difficult choice to make. My wife is the cookie. I Want her.
That's about it.
I gotta tell ya, when you go through really hard days that should send you to some kind of mental facility or make you call the police or drive you to buy a gun and shoot everyone in sight, it's really, really helpful and nice to have a best friend to lie next to at the end of the day and remember that you love each other, and even if everything falls apart in the next moment you will still love each other, and that makes you both smile and breathe a little deeper and easier.
Today, I'm still thinking about that.
This Is What Love Is.
And as I sit here and think about it, I wanted to come up with a way to make Love clear to everyone else who hasn't found it. Here's some stuff that I came up with.
Love is when there are No Voices Pestering You. I've dated people in the past where voices were pestering me about how I didn't love the person I was with. "You're only with her because you're lonely," they would quietly say. And they would be quiet, because it was nice having sex and feeling like somebody wanted to be with me naked and liked me, or maybe they were nice to look at or maybe it was nice not being alone. But I knew that I wasn't in love with them. "You're only with her because she's Asian." And I would know that was right, but I kept going in the relationships. But with my wife, there are no voices telling me that I'm only with her because of something. Probably because the voice would say something like, "You're only with her because she's Her." And then I would nod in agreement, and then snuggle into her.
Love is when the Scale Of What I Get Is Heavier Than What I Have To Put Up With. And this seems to be different with everyone. I once dated a very pretty woman who was a zealous Christian Republican who wouldn't consider that there was any other way than that. What I Got: a very pretty woman. What I Had To Put Up With: complete mindless idiocy. I asked her out because of what she looked like. When I found out the Christian Republican thing, I almost broke up with her then. Being attractive isn't enough to out-weigh being a closed-minded moron.
Love is when There's More Than A Pretty Face. I've dated most of the people I have because I was physically attracted to them. One of them I stayed with because I didn't want to be alone. But I never really Liked most of them beyond their Look. They looked nice. But they weren't nice. And that Nice Look faded after I had sex with them. Quickly faded. And once that faded, there wasn't a reason for me to be with them anymore. It was sorta like masturbating to the same picture again and again: you like it until you cum, and then you wait a week and find a different picture. But with my wife, her Nice Look never faded. Oh! I even know why her Nice Look never faded (it just came to me and I'm super excited to be putting it into words): because she's my best friend (so I groove hanging with her when we're not having sex), and she wasn't like masturbating to the same picture again and again (so I groove having sex with her) because we switch stuff up. Sometimes we're snugly, and sometimes we're rough, and sometimes we're weird. I don't know if I'm misremembering this, but I'm pretty sure there was a time when we couldn't stop farting while having sex, which made us laugh a lot, which made us fart more. That was awesome! Try getting that into your Penthouse beauties. But she's never like masturbating to the same picture again and again. She's definitely much, much more than a pretty face.
Love is Want. I think, most of all, I love my wife because I want to. There was always a time when I didn't want to be with one of my girlfriends. Probably because the Scale Of What I Got did not outweigh What I Had To Put Up With. My wife has two boys. They aren't biologically mine. They were made by a monster. One of the most evil, sick, fucked up, horrible people I've ever known. He makes her life miserable often. He makes my life miserable often. He makes our boys' lives miserable often. He makes my parents' lives miserable often. And I could cut him out of my life completely. All I have to do is divorce my wife. And there's no way I'm gonna do that. Apparently, I Want to be with her. I Want to love her. I Want to stay with her. It's sorta like asking a kid if he wants a cookie or a punch in the balls. It's not a difficult choice to make. My wife is the cookie. I Want her.
That's about it.
I gotta tell ya, when you go through really hard days that should send you to some kind of mental facility or make you call the police or drive you to buy a gun and shoot everyone in sight, it's really, really helpful and nice to have a best friend to lie next to at the end of the day and remember that you love each other, and even if everything falls apart in the next moment you will still love each other, and that makes you both smile and breathe a little deeper and easier.
Distilled Diseased
without emotion
i think the most pure truth is
he cannot think about anyone other than himself
to a point of being pathological and psychotic
in all manifestations
PATHOLOGICAL
path·o·log·i·cal (pth-lj-kl) also path·o·log·ic (-k)
adj.
1. Of or relating to pathology.
2. Relating to or caused by disease.
3. Of, relating to, or manifesting behavior that is habitual, maladaptive, and compulsive: a pathological liar.
adj.
1. Of or relating to pathology.
2. Relating to or caused by disease.
3. Of, relating to, or manifesting behavior that is habitual, maladaptive, and compulsive: a pathological liar.
PSYCHOSIS
psy·cho·sis (s-kss)
n. pl. psy·cho·ses (-sz)
A severe mental disorder, with or without organic damage, characterized by derangement of personality and loss of contact with reality and causing deterioration of normal social functioning.
n. pl. psy·cho·ses (-sz)
A severe mental disorder, with or without organic damage, characterized by derangement of personality and loss of contact with reality and causing deterioration of normal social functioning.
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