Whew! Just finished polishing my beaver and, oh, is she shiny! There is nothing I am more proud to show off than my mounted beaver! That’s the first thing you see when I open up my giant doorway to the ever-expanding hallway that leads to my “Carrie” themed room where we prance around as a bloody prom queen in our custom-made Jovani in front of the fireplace where my hairless beaver is mounted! Sometimes I take down my beaver and dance the room with it clenched to my dirty pillows. “There called breasts, mama! Every woman has them.”
OK. So I’m juvenile and sick. I knew that already. Though, it seems as if you like staring at me as I insert my vintage Nintendo joystick into my rectum. You keep shaking your head no, put the bulge in your Calvin Klein’s says “yes!” Which is confusing because I thought you were a girl. A girl with the loveliest adams apple. Cute.
To get back into the flow of these Roundoms, the generator will fire out a handful of them as I swat them down one by one like I was Godzilla. Or, as the Japanese say, Gahdzirrahh!
Yep. Sometimes it is only right to extend the courtesy of revenge. Some little pansy somewhere said, “An eye for an eye would make the whole world blind.” But that’s total crap. Serving up revenge has got to be one of those moments where we feel most alive. The rush of blood. The sweat running down your neck. The clarity of focus on a single target with only one goal in mind like a hungry lion eyeing up the prize of a small Ethiopian. Are there lions in Ethiopia? Probably over caffeinated ones. That’s why Ethiopians are so skinny. There is only coffee and cigarettes there. “Sorry, Nagasi, but you can’t live on coffee beans alone! Though they will make you fast as lightning! So put some of these coffee beans between your check and gums and fill out this marathon application! You have been running for your life all this time, Nagasi! Now you can run for gold! No, you can’t eat that, will you please take that out of your mouth. Oh. A lip ring, you say? Sure. Why not. Please don’t lick it. OK. Fine. Whatever makes you happy.
ANYWAY, as I see it, there are crimes that society will want you to pay for. Cold blooded murder is revenged, in some states, for cold-blooded murder. A calculated killing of a human being in reply of a calculated killing. It seems fair to me. I’d actually like to see this done for more crimes against society. If we arrested a pedophile in the act of his sick acts, we should be able to dress him up in a catholic school uniform and allow a seven-foot, three hundred and thirty pound man with a giant meat hammer for a penis drag that fucker into his van and drive him away for a weeks stay at The Jerry Sandusky Inn and Spa. “We will wash away your sins one load at a time!” Isn’t that a courtesy we owe to society? Yep. Your welcome, society. Now let’s talk about you fucking all my friends. Isn’t that your mother over there? She sure looks lovely today. I’m going to go over there and teach her “The Angry Dragon.”
Collecting items that are valuable to you doesn’t mean anything anymore, does it. We no longer have impressive libraries to peruse because everything we read is now on our Kindles. We no longer have the Jose Canseco rookie baseball card because the card isn’t in High Def. We no longer have milk crates filled with records because Pandora and Spotify are essentially free and my iPod can fit in my pocket. Eventually we will have a chip in our brain and that chip will clothe us in an ever-changing wardrobe applicable to the person we are standing next to. You could appear in a suit and tie to your mother while you simultaneously appear to be wearing a gimp mask and a g-string to your gay lover. All the while the soundtrack to Grease plays in your skull thanks to some satellite that hovers miles over your head. Before you know it, we will own nothing but information. But that will probably be free as well.
I just had an epiphany! This is probably the catalyst for our overwhelming social narcissistic behavior! There was once a time when you could have a visitor over to your pad and your personality would be represented by all of your collectibles. What kind of music you liked would be on display on the corner shelf. The books you read and the movies you watch and the art work you prefer and your style of design all the way down to the type of candles you might like to burn. All you said was “Come on in” while a room full of your things would convey a certain something about your personality. We don’t have that anymore, so now we try to convey the same shit by posting it somewhere on the web. And now we stare at our various Tumblr and Facebook accounts to see who is looking back. Our cool living rooms replaced by our sad laptops. All of us sitting in giant rows of tiny rooms with small screens that softly illuminate our needy faces. “Here is a picture of me playing with little Frumpy. I rescued him last week.” Then we quantify our self-worth based on “thumbs up” or insignificant comments. “AWWWW. So cute.” No wonder we fucking suck.
I had a small conversation with this nice enough guy the other day where he described his lifestyle as “analog.” His point went something like this: “I try really hard to read actual books that have paper pages and place actual vinyl albums on actual turntables and, though I realize I couldn’t survive entirely without a cell phone or my laptop, I live a life that isn’t dictated by my Facebook posts or trending tweets or viral YouTube videos. Those are all cool, but I see them as mere tools to a more tactile life.” Which I find to be an excellent practice. Now I will go check on my blog numbers and upload my podcast and, undoubtably, stare at this computer screen to see if anyone noticed.