Eternal Sunset of The Spotty Mind

I’ve been spending a lot of time with dogs lately and all it seems to do is remind me that people are dicks.  Why can’t people be nice like dogs?  I don’t mean the face licking and crotch sniffing, though ladies are invited to do so.  I mean the trust.  The needing and giving.  The simplicity of life and love.

But mostly I’d love to just scratch a lady’s tummy and have her moan and turn over on her back with her legs splayed and 6 nipples staring at me.  Only once got an invitation like that, except that she had a third of the nipples and a lot more fur…

Some time ago in Chicago, I was walking with a buddy of mine, who just passed away.  We were with another friend who had some very large breasts.  She couldn’t help it.  Anyway, some dudes walk by and one of them goes "DAMN she’s got some big titties."  My bud leans over to her and says "I get that all the time…about my dick."

And no, I don’t mean those two years I was in a ganja coma.

Manuel Puig’s Molina in Kiss of the Spiderwoman (El beso de la mujer arana) said "The nicest thing about feeling happy is that you think you’ll never be unhappy again."

Every time I reach that comfort level where I think I can be content with the way things are going, something comes along and fucks it all up.  So the key is to never get comfortable with happiness.  Life sucks and it ain’t gonna stop sucking until our bodies are completely dried out six feet under.  Cremation, of course, speeds up the drying process.

So I’ve made a decision to have underpants made out of steel wool.  I figure that way, I’ll never forget that short-lived happiness can quickly die, cus my nads’ll always be severely chafed.  Not just effective, metaphorical too. 

Actually, this post has been utter bullshit.  Cus I believe in this:

This is my man Dean and his new wife, Katie. 

I guess even when the shit piles up, I have hope.  Morbid desperate grasping clinging stifling smothering gasping hope.

CALLING ALL CARS!!!!

I need your help.  If you are a guy, please click this link and take this survey for which I need some quick results for a marketing research class.  If you are a woman, please send this link (http://www.surveymonkey.com/s.asp?u=941432018599)to dudes you know.  We need like 30 more takers in the next day.  I would very much appreciate your help in passing this annoying class.

Thanks and buff the wood.

If anyone is moving, DO NOT USE 212 MOVING COMPANY!!!  These people are about as organized as the current administration.  They said they’d arrive at 11:30.  They arrived at 1:30 without any calls.  Then the butthole boss of the crew shows up in a fucking Yankees hat.  Bad sign #1, cus obviously the guy doesn’t give a shit.  (The dude’s name was Simon, if you want to know.)  212’s estimate was way off, the time they took was too long because the
boss had no clue how to manage the other movers (who were hard working,
very cool, and whose work was stymied by the ‘tard running the show),
and they have shit communication from the office to their movers.  Then they said they wouldn’t deliver the shit today as planned since the butthole has to go home for passover.  We told him to go fuck himself, at which point the company sent another driver.  Needless to say the entire process was painful.  If you do need someone to move you, I recommend the congenial Jews at Moishe.  Those guys know what they’re doing, and you know what?  I bet they’ll let you know if they can’t move shit cus of passover. 

In my day, back before the Korean War, we’d work on Sundays and Christmas!  For half pay!  And we weren’t even allowed to ask Mr. Scrooge for more coal. 

In my day, after the great war and before WW2 (the not so great war), we didn’t have cell phones.  We paid ethnics to take our messages and literally run them to the recipient or we’d whip them.

In my day, back when real men like MacArthur appropriately hid their homosexual tendencies, we didn’t have condoms.  We wrapped out dinkies with pewter sheets and copper wiring.  We couldn’t feel a thing, but none of us got AIDS.  It didn’t prevent pregnancy, but all our kids turned out straight and Christian.  So basically, it worked well.

Sorry about that but now that my sister’s gone, I feel…older.  That sucks.  I’m gonna go have a juice box and take a nap with my teddy bear.

As I sit here chugging icy Skyy and thinking back on my shitty day, I realize that I should have known it would be a struggle from the start.  Note to self: bad omens are bad omens for a reason.  First I got up because the damn cable company called to say they wanted money.  Since I’m broke, I’m on the wait-until-they-harass-me-plan so I had to bite the bullet.  No big deal, they do that every three months.  But the big foreshadowing event came when I suddenly decided I wanted to watch Some Kind of Wonderful while I exercised and I discovered to my horror that the DVD wasn’t playing properly.  We have one working DVD player in our apartment and it’s a Samsung piece of shit that won’t play DVDRs nor certain discs it believes wronged it in some way.  Now when Ted can’t get his Howard Deutsch directed masterpiece with a happy ending, he gets grumpy.  Imagine how grumpy I get when I get a massage without a happy ending, then double that.

And then after the ultra watery shit stained evening, I finally get home and decide to check the Mets score.  Stupid fuckers blew the game in the 10th.  I miss Mookie…  That was his specialty, the walk off.  And so now I’m super fucking pissed.  I decide that it’s one of those rare Master of Puppets evenings.  Nothing like a little Metallica to take the edge off, or rather sharpen the edge and then beat the shit out of the edge with a sledgehammer.  And lo and behold, the files are tainted and my iTunes won’t play half the tracks.  God bless Talib Kweli for being a very reliable, but much less angry, standby.  But fuck Apple.  Steve Jobs can lick my nads.  For a million dollars.  Or a job.  Pretty please?

All I can say about tomorrow and the upcoming weekend: it’s all upside from here.  All I’s can do is wipe the shit off, put on some fresh clothes, and then dive right back into it.  And I’m a shitty swimmer.

Fuck you too.