Education Doth Commence
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Sunday, January 25, 2009
I know, I might be too late.
Scared of the things you might say.
Sorry to be sorry so much.
I just want to make things OK.
Be there with me,
and I'll be there with you.
If only to see,
My love is so true.
It feels so cold, standing here
Beneath the parking light.
You're still so bright,
I had to see you tonight.
I know you probably don't hear,
The things that I say.
Give me a chance,
Before you walk away.
Give me a window to peer,
Inside your mind.
See what you think.
See what we find.
It seems so quiet,
The pain that continues to roar.
Listen and hear,
My heart screaming for yours.
From nothing, we created a relationship no one would have expected. Facing incredible odds, the seed of love blossomed, pushing through the icy cold. The first time our lips touched, a spark ignited a passion that melted the snow and brought forth the spring. Everytime I lay eyes upon your tender face it became more evident we were meant to be together. Everything in the world was alive.
Our love was young, new, and sparkled the vibrant reflection of your smile. We had become untouchable. Never before had the world seen such perfection. Your voice was as if morning birds had roodted in your throat. Music lofted through the air when you spoke.
Our relationship continued to grow. Slowly, we nurtured it's leaves, watered it's roots and watched as each leaf sprouted until all of it's branches were full. Each day we would check on our plants status. The leaves eventually became too much, and after a while a few of them fell. We would each take turns cleanung up the debris, a couple leaves at a time.
The process was slow. Neither one of us noticed as we visited our love, that more leaves had been thrown away than were left strung across it's weakened branches. Having invested so much time in the care and upkeep, neither one of us wanted to admit that Autumn had come when we weren't looking. So we continues the routine until the last leaf fell.
Having not checked on our love in a long time, we now see tht the snow has settled. Deep below the icy cold lies an abandones, dried up shell that one bore a thousand leaves and beautiful blooms. All hope seems lost, as the bleak winter consumes each moneht. A love, that has died.
The piercing wind and icicles remind us how bad it had become. The song from your coice has disappeared as the morning birds flew south. Tet all is not bad. In the winter, all it takes is a small spark. A spark to ignite a passion that melts the snow and waters the seed below. A seed waiting behind the bitterness to spring forth and bring happiness.
Let us create a spark. Together we can nurture the deepest rooted love. We could grow a tree large enough the morning birds never leave. If we just make it through the winter, all possibilities exist anew. Our love still exists, we just have to lift it from beneatht he frozen layers.
Current mood:  contemplative
Monday, December 18, 2006
3:00PM
Wow. Almost two years later!
I'm just writing to let people know (anyone that might still remember me) that I have migrated all of my blogs, journals, and other random information (including my websites news feed) to a Yahoo 360 Account. If you are interested, or haven't talked to me in a while, feel free to migrate that direction to see what's up.
http:/360.yahoo.com/j_chuklz
Adios!
Saturday, January 1, 2005
Dear Diary.
It was just the other day that I realized life has become the torrid love affair between boredom and suicide. With no reason to breathe other than to experience a heart wrenching moment of boredom, I decided not to. Instead of waking up this morning and preparing for the daily routine which consists of coffee and 8 hours of dialect that mostly never even registers in the cranium, I cut myself. Not like you see in the movies, where they slice, the blood comes pouring out and somebody saves them at the last moment. That's more bravery than I could handle. Instead I made little nicks. Just little tiny cuts that by the end of the day looked like nothing more than places that were scratched while having a nightmare about grasshoppers consuming the tender flesh that I consider my own. Although the majority of the population (and all money enthused psychologists) would agree that this isn't typically normal behavior, I have made it that way.
Not to mean that I typically cut myself and feel the rush of emotion that reminds me that I am alive, but instead to say in a very clouded perceptive thought that I do random acts throughout the day, and have now gotten to the point where I consider random to be normal. It's routine.
Currently I have no pursuit of happiness or even stability in my life. The job that I work at is a simple little storefront in the Bennington mall, and it sells nothing but crap to kids that dress in black and pretend to be depressed. I am one of those kids. The piercings, the tattoos, all of the different hair color and fingernail polish really doesn't mean a damn thing. Even though it is an expression to be different, or so that I can associate myself with other people, the simple little truth is that it's a lie. Just as it's a lie for girls to pretend they are ditzy just to be popular or to keep their feeling from being hurt. The rich kids pretending to be going through massive pain so that the poor majority will accept them, or the poor little slut that has a persona that she tries so desperately to convey which she hopes will make her appear to have a little bit of money so that her small esteem wont get crushed by the pea sized ego of a person that's really well off but been molested by numerous jostled teens that congregate on the football field.
Recently I have spoken to a few Mental Health Specialists, and one doctor. It's not that I have been rotating from one place to the next looking for an answer to my life long quest, but instead that this one doctor runs his office and is surrounded by numerous people that call themselves Mental Health Specialists. I'm not exactly sure what that title gives them authority over, but I know they can't prescribe the drugs that I want. Mostly they take me into a little room and ask me how I am feeling that day. I usually just tell them that I am still breathing, and that I still can't shake the imagination state that I go into throughout the day. I find it much easier to listen to someone ramble about the nuances in their meaningless lives when I picture a large Chef's Knife being thrust in and out of their chest cavity. I haven't ever actually participated in this imaginary past-tme, but that doesn't mean I don't always want to.
The "specialist" takes his/her little note. Disappears for approximately fifteen to twenty minutes while the analyze it with the doctor, and then return to give me some ridiculously generic news about me being stressed out. Apparently everyone is stressed out, whether they are aware of it or not. I can hear the same news echoing down the hallway from all the adjoining doors, "Mr. Peterson, you are stressed." "Misses Jones, you are too stressed." "Gertrude, maybe we should sign you up for stress management classes." Every last Mental Health Specialist is giving out the same diagnosis, and these people are making the big bucks.
I'm not sure if the doctor is a psychiatrist or a psychologist, but I do know that he can't prescribe the drugs himself either. He has an associate that does that part. Apparently his job is simply to look over the specialists' notes, ask you the same questions over again, and then make recommendations. I told him that I had been put on Zoloft previously; due to a condition I acquired which consisted of me randomly passing out. The physician that prescribed the Zoloft said, "You are stressed out." And that I was hyperventilating. Stupid me thought I wasn't getting enough oxygen, but he assured me it was me trying to breathe in too much oxygen.
The Zoloft didn't work. That's what I told the new doctor. His name is Daniel Pottze, but he lets most of the crazies refer to him simply as Dan. Including me. While going over the strong medicinal background tht was probably still pumping through my arteries, I felt the need to tell him I had been having problems sleeping. He asked why, which made me want to automatically classify him into a category that I call, "Idiots". If I knew what my problem is, would I be trapped in the hellish torment of everyday life? Maybe. Maybe I don't live an everyday life, and that's what the problem is. Perhaps tomorrow I'll just follow some everyday Joe around and see what routines he lives by. Chances are that my current situation could be fixed if there was a guideline passed out door to door once a year that outlined what a normal day consisted of. Like the telephone book. The yellow pages of life could have hotline numbers that told you the normal way to deal with hate, anger, stress, empathy, sympathy, and happiness. That's my favorite one. It seems that happiness is no longer happy in my life, but more like the absence of loneliness. The funniest part is that even though loneliness is the saddest emotion experienced in the last 4 years, I'm happiest when I am by myself. Ironic? I don't know, since I don't comprehend the literal definition of the word irony.
This is his idea. Dan decided that I should keep a diary. I told him that diaries were for preteen girls with training bras, so he then referred to it as a journal. I got home and realized I was teasing myself and this isn't anything but a fucking diary. So I should address it as such. The purpose is to help clear my mind when dealing with the thoughts that won't allow me to sleep. I don't know if it's going to work, but my hand is getting cramped and I really do feel sleepy. Maybe I should lie this all down.
Reading over the current entry, and I've concluded that it's an insane persons journal. My thoughts can't stick to one damn topic. Oh well, maybe tomorrow will bring some excitement. The Doctor doesn't know that I have cut myself yet. I'm not sure if I should really tell him. Sometimes I just want to roll up the sleeves and show off my bare arms, with their scratches and bruises. Then, other times I just want to crawl under a desk and stare into the dark emptiness that is beautiful. That is where I am right now, just staring at the page, hoping that somehow Jesus will walk out from between the lines and heal me, or at least take me somewhere else.
Sunday, December 12, 2004
Bill over at "And Justice For All" has a few quotes that are worth looking at. One that really struck me was
A citizen of America will cross the ocean to fight for democracy,
but won't cross the street to vote in a national election
: Bill Vaughan
The funny part about being "American" is how ignorant we are to our own title. This has nothing to do with Democracy, Government, or Politics. I'm not Anti-American...I am just aware of the ignorance in such a title. I live in America. So does Jose Martinez and all those in Saskatchewan. Canada and Mexico are both a part of the Americas. It's a continent people. Canadians, Mexicans, and United Statesians. We need to stop being so prideful in our own accomplishments and realize that we can't claim a whole continet, just one country.
So in short, I blame you for any problem in Mexico and that Canadians don't have public elections.
Thanks. I needed someone to push all my problems on.
Tuesday, November 23, 2004
This entry is REMOVED
Mainly because no one wanted to read whatever novel it is I am currently working on. So instead of letting people read the one above message, then get to this one and running away in sheer horror, I decided just to eleminate it, and let the viewer move onto the below message. Which is right down there.
Wednesday, September 8, 2004
I had nothing to write about. no source of inspiration. No rants, complaints, moans or just plain old ramblings to release off my chest. So here I sat looking at the computer screen and my text editor, thinking, "WHATEVER SHALL I DO!!" (I like to pretend that someone actually cares that I write.
That's when I decided to do something that I typiucally refuse to do...watch television. As soon as I walked into the livingroom and picked up the remote, I thought about how I was about to subject myself to 15 second clips of radical action and mind numbing nuances, when I found my topic. A friend (acquaintance...well...someone I know) once read over these jottles and informed me that she enjoyed them, but they were a little "long winded". That's IT! Television has destroyed any small hope of having an audience I could possibly find. These arent fifteen second rampages of excitement and lure, but instead a time consuming excerpt at life in general. No one wants generalizations anymore, it must all be on a single topic at a time. instead of saying, "The World is degenerating because of our abuse of mother nature" then supporting that theory, it would be monumentally more entertaining to break it into five hundred and thirty two topiuc explaining why littering is destroying the planet, then one on pollution and another on monoxide and another on abortion suicide stress life expectancy manipulation trust politics oil war depression disease AIDS plaque and toe fungus.
..::We'll Be Right Back After This Small Notation::..
So as I watched television for a little while, slowly being sucked into the numbing affect that it is supposed to assert (which it did, a little while wound up being five hours) I realized that the Cartoon Network is apparently running every episode ever conceived of The Grim Adventures of Billy and Mandy.
Now Back To Our Regularly Scheduled Manipulation
In the true essence of things, I due realize that I may appear as a tree-hugging, book reading hippy from the northern regions of California, but I assure you that is not the case. It's simply that the worlds degenerative thought pattern that has led us to believe that being manipulated into entertainment is better than achieving it that pushes the biological button of disbelief. No longer do we work so that we may be entertained, but instead we demand to be entertained to the fullest before we work. The World is slowly becoming more illiterate due to this, plus the fact that teachers pass student, or parents pull children out of school instead of risking the embarassment. Let me update you on something, some day in you childs miserable life, they will get kicked in the balls. It happens to all of us. Shelter them all you want, but when they strike out on their own, and someone in the office puts a penny-loafer right to the reproductive organs...then you'll see my point..
..damn...I forgot my point. See what I mean? That was my point, that I could easily forget my point.
Oh yeah...and down below where I wrote an Article on the world being worse now then it was in the past...pretend like this writing doesn't apply to that. Thanks.
Soon to be Returning.....
Friday, August 13, 2004
When is the last time you ran out into the purple flowers and screamed in glee at finding a lady bug ascending to your palm?
None Needed. But Thanks.
The year is 2004 B.E. (Before Explosion). When the future looks back unto the AD's which will no longer be referred to the AD's because there will be some other term to replace it. They will find Skeletal remains seated upon fraying Polyurethane. Hunched over in the shape of a comma or boomerang, with the ominiscent glow from a monitor reflecting on the extended fingernail, is where each of us will be found. Through harddrives future generations will remember us, and we will be forgotten.
McDonalds cup holders and Big Gulp remains will lie next to us, and our Lexus cars will be flooded with the paper trash representing a million Forests and Deserts that sacrificed the lives of now extinct animals for our selfish lifestyle. The future will not be thoroughly fascinated with the way light reflects upon the metal wires interlaced between our teeth and the RGB array of hues that generate out of our television sets. They will wonder why we never moved, why we maintained immobility from deliver services and holographic satisfaction.
That's all.
Thursday, July 22, 2004
If Pro means Progress and is Positive, and Con is the opposite.... What does that make Congress?
Why do we Drive on a Parkway and Park in a Driveway?
If a Quiz is Quizzical, what is a Test?
T-Shirts At Your Local Thrift Store..... Only $23.95
Today I was talking to a girl online, and she said that her mother wont let her go out because her friend "Jason" is bad news.
She explained to me that her mother doesn't like the way that this boy dresses. Then she informed me that he wore Ambercrombie.
WOW! That blew my mind. First off, I couldn't comprehend the Thug Life this kid was presenting in his faded surfer shirts, and khaki shorts. Although, I will admit, those Cargo pockets are large enough to store a .22 pistol.
This young lady, that I was having such a deep conversation with, felt it necessary to tell me her mothers opinion.... "He looks like he dresses from a thrift store".
Now that.....made me laugh. Mainly because I must agree.
American Eagle is SUPPOSED to look like it came from a thrift store. Which is friggin' retarded. Go buy it from a thrift store for 2 bucks instead of paying 23 to make it look like you are retro. I ridicule any person that shops at Abercrombie and Fitch, American Eagle, Aeropostale, Pacific Sun.... You are all ridiculous . Now, I understand that teens shop there. My niece somehow got me into a Abercrombie in Fitch (Pun intended).....and i was forced to walk around with all these guys that have voices that havent caught up to them in age ask, "Can I help you with anything sir?"... I'd just stare at them, then look at my khaki slacks and Nintendo shirt, then look back at them and go, "I don't think so"
What really makes me laugh is when these companies, that have made money off clothes that appear to be old, but aren't, have made it to the middle of the United States. How does a company that was created with the soul purpose of ripping of Surfing apparel, get large in the driest parts of the world?! It's like Bobby Fisher trying to sell Chess sets at a Video Game Convention. It's not supposed to work out! But it has....and it further proves my theory that people, in general, are ridiculous. I'm starting my own clothing line. What I am going to do is dig through to the bottom of my hamper, pull out the most wrinkled, faded clothes I can, scrub off the Screen prints, and write "JJNova, EST. 2004" with a Magic Marker and make the lettering in Calligraphy. You can pick them up at "JJNova Outlets" in all major malls. Right when you walk through the Bamboo entranceway that's lighted with Tiki torches, you will find a huge banner overhead that reads, "Thrift Store Style, Shopping Mall Prices."
Monday, July 12, 2004
I Think I Just Peed Myself!MTV has ruined this generations Idea of Music. It's a shame that the controverial Punk Rock genre has become skateboarding and dying your hair Kool-Aid Green. I remember when Punk Rock had a meaning, a message, a political theme. When there were bands like Black Flag, and the Dead Milkmen (C'mon, you know Big Lizard In My Backyard had to be important.....right?) It's Nineteen Eighty Two.Do You Know Where Your Kids AreWhen people wonder the streets talking to themselves with a mouth full of pop-rocks, and daring not to drink a bottle of "pop", you know they were alive in the 80's. Thats when the big "blowing up stomaches " idea accured. I don't really want to talk about that. But thought I would mention it, Instead I will tell you all the secrets of the world today. The meaning of life, and exactly who, who it was, that wrote the book of love. Well no I wont. but it sounded good. Instead I am going to discuss (because I have multiple personalities) the addiction of Simulations. Sex Toys to Simulate an active reproduction life. Video games that either require you to simulate real life, or progress in real time. Chat room *hug* and *kisses* and *high fives* to simulate actual human integration. What is out fascination with simulation. We have become so affected by interaction, that we no longer commit to the real life interactions that used to occur. Buy groceries on line to interact with the delivery person in your bathrobe, hoping to get some "other' interaction that leaves you to interact with your latex toys because contrary to popular belief, delivery people are harder to get into bed then the movies would have you believe. Interactive television! What the hell is this about. Interactive television is what video games are! If I wanted my damn television to be interactive, I would go to the damn Pool Hall and interact with some real sticks and balls (Insert Masturbation Joke Here). I don't know about everyone else (because I'm not them) but I have this idea that the reason I have a television, is to look at it, and zone out until all the after-dark programming comes on. Which really only lasts for a few hours before I whip out the credit card and purchase another norditrack because the people in the updated Infomercial look like they got better abs in 8 minutes then I did in the two minutes it took to carry the damn machine into the garage (which is where it still sits....in the box). Everything I wrote above is based on one thought, and it's weight loss pills. Weight loss pills that simulate actual weight loss. C'mon people! Losing water weight, is not what you are trying to do. Get off your ass and do something. "Never Find the Time"? I know that's BS. You could just as easily walk to the television to change from Opera to Jerry Springer. Leave your Bon Bons in the refrigerator in the kitchen. That damn "mini fridge" next to your recliner/bed/toilet isn't really all that necessary. Get up, walk to the garage, flip on the light, move the boxes of crap that you never use but dont want to get rid of, and put that Norditrack together.....at least you'll burn calories trying to deal with the frustration of putting that damn slider on so that it actually glides like in the infomercial......How do you get that bastard to slide? Thats all on that. Until Next Time Awesome Readers!
Saturday, July 10, 2004
12:46PM
Did you know that Dr Pepper is the oldest American soda?
So in the middle of trying to pull an all-nighter on the Internet last night (I lost, Me=2 points. Sleep =27 points) one of my oh so nice buddies that hang out in my Messenger list decided to invite me to a multi-chat thingamabob. You know the ones, where someone invites you to their conversation, and then someone else and someone else until it's nothing but a ball of static electric neural surges filling the entire screen with....
SuperSexyBoy:Who are you?
JJNova Chuklz::I didnt even realize this window opened. Who invited me?
PeterOToole:I dont know any of you people!
Spiderman:STOP TLAKING IN CAPS YOU FAGGOT!
MasterBaiter:dman keybroad lways mesin up
PitbullOwner:WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF
CoolerGuy has joined the conversation
PeterOToole:TO THE DUNGEON WITH HIM!
SuperSexyBoy:lets talk about something
TWOOFME:r u guyz gr8 or wut. w00t 2 c me naked
Spiderman:Spidey sense says it's not the keyboard, but you just can't type
PitbullOwner:WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF
WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF
WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF WOOF
MasterBaiter:klil that dgo someone, pleaes!
CoolerGuy has left the conversation
So yeah. After that same conversation up there rotated thirty two times,someone decided to mention a certain Propogada movie that is rotating through theatres right now under the label of being a "Doc(tored up)umentary".
But I'm not here to argue political standpoints, just to point out that this movie, should be watched like it is a movie. Such as Jurassic Park, or Dumb and Dumbererererererer.
I want to assure you that I have a reason for this, I dont want you just to read what I type and say, "Well Poop, it must be true. It's on the Internet". So I decided to do the research for you. I went to Google and typed in the words, "Farenheit 911 Micheal Moore". And as I suspected, from careful articulation, after clicking the search button, I was taken to a "results page". IT'S A CONSPIRACY I TELL YOU! It's Bush not wanting me to see the search. Why do they hide this from us! Huh! it's the government trying to withhold their agenda from you and me, the Americ....huh?....oh....I have just been informed tha the result page has always followed the search page.
So I have these results, and they are staring me in the face, so as most generally Internet users do, I followed the top one. Google must know what they are talking about right?
I got a pop up, of Micheal Moore with two 18 yr old "First Timers" on his lap. So....I got interested. Started researching more of Micheal Moores sex life, which I found about a million other links that claimed to be, but were the first page linked to over and over again. So I decided I was more interested in the people on his lap....and researched them. Now those girls, had a HELLUVA career....but when I started getting more interested, I came to one conclusion that all this takes me too, that the porn you want to see, is not free.
Until next time my fellow losers!
Thursday, July 8, 2004
Today I was driving down the highway at a pretty good pace. I was alone, it was fairly late at night, and the road was all mine. As I was singing along to the song on the radio, as loud as I could so that I might be able to hear myself over the volume notch I had it set at, a woman wheeled out in front of me doing approximately 20 miles per hour. Now, don't get me wrong, I didn't expect her to be going 75 coming out of a parking lot, but for goodness sake woman, there was nobody behind me. It's night time, I know you could see the headlights. What? Were you aiming for me?
..::Lesson Three::..
Maintaining a State of Mind
If I hear another person tell me that the world is progressively getting worst, I am going to shoot them in the jaw. People, it's not necessarily that there was an massive jump in crime, it's that you got technologically advanced to your grandpa. Look, if this 1940, the only source for news that you would have is the newspaper. Even then the news was two days old, and only consisted of what the president did, Who was arrested in the town, and what the hell Farmer John was selling that week (Sometimes it was freshly sliced bacon, sometimes it was motor oil from a '72 Chevy. Which was impressive, because it was 1942). Now that we have the news of the world at our fingertips, and we know what has happened less then thirty minutes after it happened, it seems that the world is simply falling apart. That's not necessarily the case though. New York has always had murders and rapes, Chicago had had shootings on street corners for decades, and San Francisco has always been just a wee bit too friendly, if you know what I mean.
DON'T FREAK OUT YOU SCAREDY BITCH!
The world is not coming to some dramatic ending. Expirement number one (if a number two follows, beware, I'm on a roll.
Take a week to designate all the news that you learn from a local source. Read your towns newspaper. True, it will have world events in it, but each article will only be as exciting as how you read it. You won't be sitting in your kitchen, enjoying your tea and crumpets, when all of a sudden a yelling maniac runs in and scares the living bajeezes out of you by screaming, "AND THAT'S WHEN THE TRAIN HIT THE POOR WOMAN. RIGHT ION HER FACE. MEANWHILE, RIGHT UP THE STREET, A BUNCH OF THUGS JUMPED AN OLD MAN STABBING HIM IN THE HEART. THE VICTIM, FOUND TO BE JOHN DOE, WAS ON HIS WAY INTO WALGREENS TO DEVELOP A ROLL OF FILM CONTAINING PHOTOS OF HIS 12 YR OLD DAUGHTER POSING SEXUALLY!!! OH MY GOD!!!!!
It just wont happen
but if it does...let me know and give them my address. I could really use a jolt like that to go with my Frappucino and Twizzlers.
So Until Next Time Scaredy Cats.
Monday, July 5, 2004
Hey there kid. You! You in the back row! Don't make me come back there. What's your name? Johnny? Okay Johnny, you are having your name put up on the board. That's right. Hey! Hey Now! That's it, a check mark next to it. That's right. Don't use that tone of voice with me. Did you just cuss at me young man?! Oh, well there's another check mark. Listen, if you shoot another bullet across the room I'm going to send you home for some personal time that the school calls suspension. In school suspension? Hell no, I'm not punishing myself into watching you, I'm trying to send you home now as it is.
Finally, now that everyone is calmed down, I can start todays lesson.
..::Lesson Two::..
"Daddy, Can I Get Laid This Weekend?"
Now that the general public has found it acceptable to dress like a prostitute, but not be looked at like one, I have been caught into a hard place. This isn't your average rant about those undereducated women that are just smart enough to realize that they can sue a business man for staring at their trailer park ass, pointing and laughing with his friends. Apparently making jokes at another person expense is considered sexual harassment. Color me surprised, but I thought you had to be attractive to be harassed. I stare at vertically challenged people with one leg and those blind people glasses on when they ride a bike by my house....hope they didn't see me, because going to court for sexually harassing a test tube baby gone wrong would be embarrassing.
Friend One, "Dude, you were trying to get with the Elephant man?"
Me, :No man. I was just trying to figure out what that was"
Friend Two, "Dude, bestiality is just wrong."
Anyway, that's completely off topic, because I wanted to discuss the fact that allowing an adult woman get away with wearing lingerie in public was bad enough, but now that we have these girls in their early teens doing it, I know that I should be in jail. When I look at flesh, and then look at a face, and it's a 15 year old girl....I feel dirty. Daisy Dukes were not designed to be worn by preteens. That's dangerous anyway. I think Daisy Dukes are stunting our young ladies growth. How are your legs supposed to grow when they are constrained to a 2 inch opening and the crotch is pulling the legs together? Huh? We are ruining the future here. Okay. So now that I have put those naughty little thoughts in your mind, I want to show you something. Now remember, I don't think that this is nor should ever be considered Legally wrong....but I do find it slightly pushing the moral boundary a little bit. Modeling is a great career for the girl who's parent don't think she will ever amount to anything else in life because she spent her very early years using paint chips as crackers, and yellow paste as the cheese between each cracker.
Don't act like you don't know what I am talking about. Remember paint chip sandwiches? Yeah? I knew you would. So anyway, how is the modeling career going?
Child Super Models
Check out the evil these people are doing with their preteen to early teenagers. It's amazing. Like i say, I have no problem with you wanting your child to achieve stardom....perhaps as a model (Although there is a good chance I will tease them)....but this whole 8 yr old in Lingerie and posing sexually thing is one step too fr for me. What ever happened to just letting your kid run around the house naked and video taping them to put on the internet? Oh...that's illegal now? Nevermind,, forget I mentioned it.
Until Next Time Faithful Followers.
Sunday, July 4, 2004
In that last few years, there have been things that I have learned. I know that you are under the assumption that I dont have the attention span to learn that getting hit with a two by four in the head is slightly painful.....but I'm going to prove you wrong. Tis here is my guide to avoiding and recognizing crazies. After burning my arms with an iron and having an urge to stop my co-workers with a cutting knife, I am under the impression that I am qualified to write such a report. Someone told me the other day that you have to have some type of english skills to write a report, but I'm going the old fashioned way with "it takes one to know one.:
..::Lesson Number One::..
Identifying a Crazie
People that try to smoke and drive at the same time, but can never find their lighters.
The people you see on a daily basis. The ones that are on the corner store when you have to stop because you are driving down the road trying to get a cigarette lit,and by the time you get it out of the pack you cant find your lighter and you are using your right hand to toss aside all the papers in the passenger seat, when you finally give up and decide to just settle for the 82 cents you found to buy a new "baby" lighter. You pull up really fast, pull the parking brake, jump out and right when you think you are safe, he jumps out from around the corner and screams, "GIMME SOME MONEY!!" Holy Shit! Who is this guy? It wouldn't be so bad if he would be honest and say, "Look man, help a brother get a drink", but this whole infatuation with telling me that your RV broke around the block and that your kids and wife haven't ate in two days while it's in the shop, just isnt working for me. Especially since you are wearing a torn shirt that says, "Liquor in the Front, Poker in the Rear" (If you dont know that joke, God bless you).
Anyone that signs off his comments by saying, "Until Next Time True Believers"......actually, anyone that refers to you as a true believer shouldn't be trusted. Are they referring to me as a true believer because they dont really exist, and are figments of my imagination. I never talk to the outside public about Stan Lee, because I'm not sure if he really is there, or if I'm just a "true believer".
People that stand on the corner passing out pornographic material. They are crazy for the simple fact tht if it was really all that good, wouldn't they be at home looking at it? I would hope they go home, there is nothing worse than seeing a thirty year old man sitting on the park bench taking care of "business". If you dont believe me, ask the people that were in the thatre with Pee Wee Herman, they'll tell you.
Anyone that talks to their refrigerator, recliner, plants, mailman, and Green Genie head that sits in the entertainment center. These people will be caught one day taking care of business in a movie theatre....you can ask Pee Wee himself about this one.
The other day while i was driving down the street trying to smoke a cigarette but couldn't ind my lighter, I stopped in at the corner BP (seriously0. As soon as I stepped out of the car I saw this lady walking up to me that I had to swerve to miss. I thought she was going to scratch me with her rancid infested Crack-head nails because I nearly ran her over, but instead she tried talking to me in a sweet voice and said, "Hey, could you give me a ride right up the street?".
Now of course, my first thought was, "I'm gonna do a 43 year old crack head".
The second thought is the one i went with, "How Far up the street?" The rest doesn't matter. I drove, seriosuly, 50 yards down the road and then up a block and she realized the person she wanted to see wasn't home, so I offered to drive her somewhere else. She said okay, and gave me directions. I ended up driving down one black and back 50 yards to the gast station ACROSS THE STrEET from the one I picked her up from. Dude.....crackheads are crazies. Maybe they are nice friendly people, but they are looney! Maybe it was the drugs, but regardless, they have problems.
So yeah, whatever.
Anyway, until next time true believers.
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