fuck booze

Fuck Booze

So, It’s new year’s eve.  This has been my least favorite holiday for a long time.  Why?  A bunch of people who don’t normally drink get all shitfaced and then everybody else kisses someone at midnight.  Then I go home alone.  Fucking stupid.

It hurts enough to just sit home and know that y’all are out there trying to drink your troubles away and trying to deal with the guilt of another life of voluntary servitude to a ruler you don’t even understand could exist.  It’s a vicious place to be.  I’d get wasted if I were you, too.

Here’s the other thing, you’re not missing out on anything by me not being there.  I have no interest in having sex with you drunk.  Well, not no interest, but less.  Look, if you don’t want to have sex with me sober in the morning, sober at noon, and sober in the afternoon, don’t expect me to want to have sex with you drunk at night.  You’re not going to avoid being and feeling at that, with me, ever.

Who the fuck am I even talking to?  Granted, I feel like I know a few of you, tweetsters.  I feel like I know a lot of you.  But, our communications have been very limited (as twends to be the case, no?), and y’all still keep me at arms length.

So, what’s changed?  I came downstairs shortly after noon today and the roommates had installed internet.  Wireless. Internet. In. My. House.  Do you know what this means?  Well, other than now being able to lurk on twitter 24/7, if I wanted to, I can also webcam, IM from my bed, and actually look at your beautiful bodies for more than a glance (“they” just seem not-cool with even soft-core porn when there are kids around, in libraries, etc.  I get that.).  So, as far as I can tell, this just means that the universe wants me to go back to, what… no.  We’ve never been here before.  This is new territory.  I like it.  I feel like my limited inter-connectivity has prevented me from getting to know many of you, and I’d like to remedy that.  Maybe you haven’t noticed, but I’m not a big fan of talking in public.  It’s not the same kind of conversation when up to 600 other people (shit, or more) can read what we’re saying to each other.  Oh whatever.  The bankers have had the full cell/phone/internet traffic feed for forever.  Who the fuck do you think owns the backbones?  All that traffic goes over the backbones.  Just because you’re hiding your mug from the rest of us don’t mean “the man” don’t know exactly who you are.  “Illegal” wire-tapping happens at a relatively low level.  Higher up than that, laws for the rest of us simply don’t apply.  Look, in a society of secrecy, that’s the only logical possible way it could be.  Think it through.  Now, why would you worry about it?

I’m looking forward to seeing the feed during different times of the day.  I’m sure you’re terrified of my being there all the time.  I’m not worried.  I’ll hold your hand through this, too.  It’s really easy.  My shirt still says that.

Oh, this is my work account.  Hey, I like being honest with people.  Yep, I will tell them I want to fuck, right to their face, and right in public.  I believe it’s the only respectful way to do it.  What else?  I say funny “offensive” stuff, rip on “-isms” and talk about masturbation, with people who keep listening after I do.  In fact, many of these good folks do the exact same thing themselves.  You’re gonna not hire me because of that?  What makes you think I’d ever want to work for a fascist liar like yourself anyway?  Morals.  Ha.  My moral conscience is clean as a whistle, even by your “judeo-christian” standards.  It’s not my fault you don’t listen to your own teachers.  Shut the fuck up and leave me alone.  I have people to talk to.

Señor Agent. That’s ma dad.  He just graduated, err, semi-retired.  I don’t know how he survived, let alone justified working for an insurance company for so long, but I’m glad he’s happy.

I’ve been thinking about why I refuse to “socialize” (because of overhearing conversations, actually… I’m audio-plugged in now.), and I have your answers.

It really depends on who you are.  Many of you claim to be my “friends.”  I suspect you have no idea what this means.  You can’t see anything that I do.  All you see is veneer.  And, by veneer, I look like a vagrant.  A bum.  I have no need, drive, or desire, even, to change this, for as long as those concepts exist in your mind as lesser human beings, I will continue to identify more closely with those things that you reject than with you.

As far as potential “relationships” go, I have no fucking clue how any of you ever get together.  I can’t take the way you require people to have conversations in public about inane, meaningless shit.  For hours on end, too!  If I wanted to be with someone who was good at babbling about nothing, I’d fucking kill myself, or, you know, be married by now.  If your idea of “survival” is “working” at a job where you lie to people and “sell” them poisonous shit, I don’t really want to assist you in that anyway.  Not to mention that it probably also means that you are adept at socially maneuvering through those pits of social hell, in other words, that you’re also a judgmental, back-stabbing, know-it-all (‘cuz the TV/magazines/radio/“education” agree with you) lie and poison addict who only communicates to other soulless morons about their shared socially acceptable poison addictions.  What a crock.

Never mind your prudishness.  If you make me “be around” you for hours on end without touching, I’m gonna give up hope.  There’s no getting’ that back.  You’re a dude now.  Fuck this sausage fest.  I can’t help that you’re terrified of the basic human pleasure of physical contact.  I’m the most gentle person I’ve ever met, and this is why none of you can get close to me.  You’re a bunch of violent assholes. Men and women alike.  Your violence is social, verbal, physical (ignoring counts, impeding counts, making claims of ownership on others counts), and philosophical.  I don’t deny you your deities.  Fine, worship the idols.  I don’t give a fuck.  I’m not gonna try to beat that out of you the way you try to beat out of me my beliefs.  I’m not gonna not talk to you because of these things, either.  If you completely disagree with me philosophically yet are willing to touch gently, not criticize harshly, and share in co-survival (ie food, a whole other can of worms), you’re a viable option in my mind.  If all you want to do is verbally spar with me in public so that others see you associate with me, fuck off.

I have no idea what I mean by that.  I’ve never had any friends.  The people that can stand to be around me keep me at arms’ length because I bring up obvious uncomfortable topics all the time, and y’all are a bunch of shy weakling assholes.  I’m not scared of what I’ve learned.  The only reason you are is that you won’t fucking listen to me finish.  I’ve drawn all of these concepts out to their logical conclusions (something of which you’re clearly incapable), and I can explain if you like.  But no, you cut me off, quit listening, and go about your self-destructive patterns.  Yes, self-destructive.  You’re killing the entire global society with your every act, yet all you can do as a response is point and laugh at the weirdo oddball.  Way to be.

So, what is it like at a bar in this town?  Exactly the same as bars everywhere else.  You got your “regulars,” the hard-core drunks who maintain the status quo of everybody’s mean to everyone else and nobody gets laid ever.  Shit, the jealousy generated by one person’s pleasure will draw cruel looks from EVERYONE ELSE for months.  We can’t have that.  Best just nobody have any fun anywhere ever.  Fuck you, regulars.

Then, what… oh, the “woo!” crowd.  WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU SCREAMING FOR!?  That’s fake enthusiasm you’re projecting there.  I doubt you’re capable of the real thing, yet you use this bullshit like a siren to make everyone else stop and listen to you.  You have nothing meaningful or useful to say, you just force everyone to listen to your fucking retarded voice saying a NON-FUCING-WORD!  You want something to scream about?  Shut the fuck up and let someone show you.  I guarantee it’s more fun.

What else?  Oh, years of experience.  Years of residency.  How that shit became even a relevant statistic is beyond me.  No, actually it’s perfectly clear to me.  It’s all about maintaining the fucked-up status quo.  Nothing changes because the person who’s been here the longest would get uncomfortable with it changing?  That’s the most retarded non-logic I’ve ever heard of!  Stupid.  Just. Fucking. Stupid.

Society.  This society.  Your society, reveres the non-functional drunks, rewards the violent, and provides all manner of rejecting people who are different.  Look, if I shaved my fucking beard and got a generic haircut, you’d still find some other reason to reject me.  Or, the other half of the people in the bar would give you dirty looks for giving me the time of day.  Fuck that.  I’ll save you the time.  If you want to talk to me, FUCKING TALK TO ME.  If I really want to fuck, I’m going to tell you.  Deal.  If you don’t want to, say no thank you.  Say, I want to find out more about you first.  The way you shut people out is the reason you’re getting none of this, none of me.

Clear enough?

~ by LazyAssWasteoid on 2010-12-31 (Friday).

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