Clearly Something is Terribly Wrong with the World
Wow, I have not blogged in a long time. I guess my busy schedule (composed of eating, sleeping, and fucking, in any order) has taken out my capacity to say the things I wanted to say and to tell the stories I wanted to tell. But there was one topic this past month that I suddenly felt I had to say something. Although I know there are already lots of others who have said their piece, well, fuck them. It seems that several enterprising enthusiasts have started to ride the whole gay marriage thing. So much so that even the most mundane and classically favorite fictional characters are being gayed up. That’s right, I want to talk about Ernie and Bert. You see, I grew up on them. As a kid, I found them funny. As an adult, I learned that the lesson they give is that even the most polar opposites among us (in their case, the idiot and the asshole) can always be the best of friends. They have been at it for 40 years and are probably just as recognized as Oscar the grouch, but not so much like Elmo. Recently, there were some petitions for them to tie the knot, since they are, clearly, a gay couple. You see, this is why the world still treats you like some annoying kid who wants to show of your talent to everyone within 100 feet. Sure, they smile and nod approvingly, but they will still basically ignore you. Do you really have to be so gay about being gay, that you will petition for fictional characters to get married? And the MUPPETS? Really? You see, I have a simple rule when it comes to other people. I’m cool with whatever makes you happy as long as you a) do not harm others and b) you do not impose your will to other people. I have no problem with gay people. Some of the most dedicated, hard-working and interesting people I know are gay and I have high respect for them. My problem is that some people will try to ride their gayness and hope to spill it into other things, especially FICTIONAL PEOPLE. There are other types of shows that show gayness is not a bad thing and I am cool with that. But that does not mean that you have to put sexual orientations on every fucking one of them. Ernie and Bert are just friends. They have been so for 40 years and they will stay like so for 40 more. They are no hidden hints or clues and there is nothing to read between the lines. And the have different beds, so that should rest my case. And you touched the muppets, the holy grail of childrens programming. My god, the muppets. That fact alone is just… The muppets. Damn!
My Duel with Mother Nature
It was early Tuesday afternoon when I was on my way home. Today was a good day at work. My fingers are sore from the manic clicking and typing, my ass is sore from all of the sitting, my eyes are sore from the constant ogling, and my legs are sore from climbing that damn infinite stairs. It was a typical day at a typical life. Nothing exciting was happening, nothing extraordinary was taking place. It was one of those days that can only be described as “Fucking boring”.
I rode the train on the way home, enjoying the scenery flooding my line of sight. The stones littered across the tracks, the buses swerving in and out, its passengers clinging for dear life, all of them stored in my memory bank. Half-naked men, fully naked legs, photoshopped boobs, none of them escaped my path. They were sights I’ve seen before, and continue to enjoy to see (Wait, the half-naked men were in that sentence? That came out so wrong).
I was 5 minutes away from my station when I noticed something peculiar in the window. I saw a tiny speck of a droplet, no bigger than a fingernail, dancing in the window. Its dance was enchanting, moving with the train, as if they were dancing the sexy tango. I watched in fascination as the droplet moved up and down, left and right. I followed it, skipping and hopping along the train’s carriage, I stepped on a guy’s shoes, a lady’s purse, a poor saps face. Yet despite the screams of “Idiot!” and “What the fuck” I followed the droplet, and saw it was not alone.
What was once my object of fancy became an unspeakable horror. Here I was, on my way home with no coat of protection, and God had the sense of humor to rain on me. Curses escaped my lips silently, and more escaped loudly as the mob I stepped on began to chase me. Fortunately it was already my stop. I got off the carriage and raised my middle finger on those who dared to chase me. I laughed maniacally as they sneered and clawed through the window, angered that their faces had the mark of my sole. I paid these mortals no attention, for my greatest challenge was still ahead.
I trudged through the tormenting maelstrom with only the slim shade of metal as protection. The sidewalk was already gathering pools as I marched on, desperate for the shelter of a nearby mall. But before I could get there, I was a crowd huddled at the corner of the street, they to want to seek shelter, but they had to cross the street and the rain to get there. It was a dilemma no one could solve. Everyone stood there waiting for the rain to stop. One man, In a desperate hope to seek the shelter, tried to brave the rain and ran ike the wind. “No, you fool” I cried out. “It is too dangerous!” My pleas fell on deaf ears, but stares of bewilderment came from everywhere. They thought I was overreacting, but they do not know the danger the man was facing. He could slip and fall, break his neck or something.
Lo and behold, the man made it through! He was wet for sure, but alive. His action has given me the courage to give it a try, so I raised my pants and folded my sleeves. I looked like an idiot but it didn’t matter. Safety was just in the horizon, and I will cross the rain-soaked street to get there. My steps were heavy, but filled with fury and purpose. I can feel the water cling on my face for dear life. I felt their sweet embrace, asking me to love them. But they are my enemies, and as such I will treat them as so, insignificant and bothersome.
I could barely catch my breath until it dawned to me. I have crossed the street. I tried to hide my elation from this momentous achievement. My hair was dripping wet, so I brushed it up with my hand, as if there was a camera in front of me and I was its model. I dramatically looked behind to let everyone know that I have made it safely, and I look incredibly good while doing so. My strides were filled with pride with what I have accomplished. The obstacle was difficult, but the reward was great. About ten seconds later, the rain finally stopped and the sun has shone his face. The crowd nonchalantly crossed right behind me with ease, and they were dry. I swear I saw that old woman grin at me.
Yes, Mother Nature, you are indeed my superior and a worthy opponent. I really hate you for that now, bitch.
A day in the life of me
2:00 pm
It was the start of another grueling work day. My eyes were still heavy from the screams early morning but it did not matter. This 2pm-10pm shift is a drag. I was supposed to go up to the infinite staircase and rest my ass on the malfunctioning but incredibly fun bouncing chair but I didn’t. Instead, I listened to my officemate who poured her heart out for her desire for me, or her frustration towards her boyfriend. I didn’t really know, I wasn’t listening much. The conversation went on for what seemed like eternity (15 minutes) as she confessed/nagged me about what her heart was feeling. When I finally listened, I found out that she was having relationship problems. My heart promptly dropped.
But being a steadfast friend and wise old sage, I drew all of my knowledge from my grizzled visage and 6 months’ worth of marriage experience about what to feel and expect with her situation. I saw as her eyes flirtingly looking to mine, as if absorbing all of the seemingly knowledgeable bullshit that was coming out of my mouth. From then on I knew I had her, so I dropped all pretenses and I told her with all my heart that, yes, you can have all of me my ravishingly stunning lover.
She thanked me for the advice and slapped me on cue. I was both pleased and horrified by what transpired. But despite the forceful manner, she touched my cheek, so I choose to feel the former.
2:30 pm
I finally conquered my nemesis, the dreaded infinite stairs. I am now firmly seated on my malfunctioning bouncy chair. I bounced a few times to massage my ass since the stairs were really fucking infinite. A long day was ahead of me, and to help me get through it, I calmly thought of what my supervisor told me before she told me that I am not going to get a raise simply because I asked:
“You are Michelangelo, and your work is the Sistine Chapel. Give your best and become the best worker you can be”.
I wanted to clarify if she said “worker” or “drone”, but I was so inspired by the words it never really mattered.
Now here I was. With the words of my supervisor echoing in my mind I channeled the Michelangelo within me. I closed my eyes and pictured myself into the man himself. I imagined how Michelangelo was a complete asshole. I imagined how he worked so damn hard that his skin came off with his shoe. I imagined how he painted all of those angels and humans atop the chapel, how they were humping away with glorious triumph. I imagined how Michelangelo hated his boss, Pope Julius II, so damn much that he painted the image of St. Peter after him, and behind the pope was a cherub giving him the fig, a literal “Fuck you, asshole!” for everyone to see.
And then I realized that this was not what my supervisor had in mind, so I channeled the Michelangelo in me again (the genius, not the asshole) and started to work away, becoming a useful member to society.
Time unknown
I toiled away for what seemed like forever. The inner Michelangelo in me was driving me work mad. I could not be stopped. I was in the zone. Everyone around me was like a blur as my hands deftly move from one key to another, each keystroke filled with purpose and passion. Sweat was replaced with tears as the intensity of my mind filled with questions and their answers, concerns and reassurance, doubts and hopes. One tried to ask a question, but I swatted his hand with a force worthy of the mighty god Odin.
“Away with you, mortal! I am in my own warzone and I must not be disturbed,” I shouted angrily. His felt his hand and stared at me. I glanced slightly to see that his eyes were full of wonder. It was as if they were saying “What the fuck? Is he high? What warzone?”
But I did not allow myself to be distracted with such petty concerns. I was a man on a mission. I knew my destiny and I had to fulfill it.
Moments later I found my inbox empty. All of that hard work and critical thinking has left my fingers swollen and sore. And yet, I found great satisfaction in my work. I felt that today was such a fruitful day that I may celebrate with wine and cheese, or beer with chips if it’s cheaper. I looked at the magic monitor and found a sense of accomplishment with what I have done. I was exhausted but happy. Worn out but filled with pride. It was now time to pack my things and head home to my lovely wife and incredibly cute son (he should be, I made him). I glanced at my watch to see if I still have some time left to freshen up and clean the puddle of piss underneath my chair.
“Godammit,” I cursed silently, “It’s only 4:30”.
I bounced a few more times out of frustration and stared blankly at my screen. Only one thought came to my head, and it drilled itself until my mind shut itself down.
“Shit. Now what?”
A Poem Full of Crack
Come with me as I go on a journey,
To place full of mystery not known to many.
With the men of history whose names are so manly,
And real life heroes that make Rambo a pussy.
To our left is Natalie and her unparalleled beauty,
And see how she baffles you with her psychology degree.
To our right is Vin Diesel, who can kill you with a stare,
Unless you can make a saving throw. That is, if you dare.
Over there are giant creatures that, thank God, are no longer here,
Together with the horned lizards that shed blood for tears.
Behind them are the people who have no luck,
Below them are the animals that give no fuck.
Know about the truths. Know about the lies.
Know abut the ghosts that really like to slide.
Know about the heroes that have no song,
and the sandwich that had changed the world.
Meet the minds that can win the war,
Meet the dishonest salesmen that knock your door.
Meet the soldier who made his stand
While flies were buzzing where once was his hand.
And lastly we see the geniuses who were just damn horny,
And the ninja turtle who is just fucking crazy.
With his brother who makes great plans,
For vehicles so evil, they make you shit on your pants.
So now our journey ends, say your good byes,
To the plotters and the schemers, and all those lies.
My poem looks damn shitty and I’m glad it is done.
So now I say good night, and sweet dreams to everyone!
So apparently this dude said that the world was to end on May 21. Nearly everyone who listens to him seemed to believe him so much that they had to go to my little corner across the globe and plaster this prophecy at the back of our buses. Being the male version of Oprah Winfrey (as in the guy who falls for everything), I decided to do what every sane individual would think of when comes across this startling news.
After finding out that I am not a pervert, I busted out my savings account and threw the most kick-ass party I have dreamed of!
I indulged every alcohol, sniffed every unknown substance, and flirted with every girl with the hopes of one last lay. Alas, just when I was about to score, I barfed on her cleavage (whoever you are, I am truly sorry. Please call back). I failed to score one more but it didn’t matter. The world is about to end, dammit! I will drink, I will sniff, I will flirt, and I will party the fuck out! And partied the fuck I did The appointed time came. I was hoping that some Texas-sized meteor will fall down from the sky, bringing with him flames and fury and a kick-ass guitar solo. Or that the ground will suddenly open up and swallow us all, forcing Hades to scream “Hey! No more room!” Or that the robots will suddenly become sentient and enslave humanity like they promised me they would. Or that Lady Gaga would conquer us all and force us to where those ridiculous outfits. Instead, nothing. Not a damn piece of rock fell, not a patch of earth opened and the DJ did not even play any song by Lady Gaga. The booze and my money were running out and the apocalypse is still not coming. I, or at least the alcohol in my head, decided to pass out in the hopes that at least the end will come when I snore. But something far worse decided to show up worse than the apocalypse. That something… was the day called Monday. I always thought that I was someone special. Whether it’s because you keep getting the high marks or you’re just a pain in the ass, I would do all of it just to make myself feel unique. It’s not because the earth that we know and love will come apart, taking my friends and loved ones with it, but it is the fact that I will be saved from the cruel end, or at least everyone in hell will remember me as the guy who threw a kick-ass party. This is what makes doomsday prophecies appealing. It is that known fact that I am one of the few, one of the blessed, and one of the special ones, that made me believe in this kind of horseshit. It has happened before, it happened recently, and it will happen again. So doomsday has come and gone, along with it all of my money and that hot girl I barfed on (I’m really, really sorry). I come to work broke, dejected, and still half drunk. Now I return to two-hour long commutes and the drudgery of sitting for eight hours in front of a 19-inch screen that produces tables and symbols I can no longer understand. I will have to do the same thing over and over again until another idiot claims that the world will end. 
