Monday, April 26, 2004

The dancing thing

“Mike… Mike, you are retarded. You are a fucking retard. I’m sorry… but you’re retarded.”

[Prologue: I’m in the bathroom and these two 19-year old shitrocks ask me where I’m from. I tell them I come from the land of the damned and dumbass number 2 says “Dude, my girlfriend is totally from Glace Bay! Her brother had that neck accident! She has to meet you!” Having vacated my bladder I say sure and make a quick retreat…]

I recently pissed on an opportunity for some easy girl ravaging. As usual I was oblivious to the entire situation, only cognizant after the dame had left and the moment passed. I am pretty thick sometimes. Not overly stupid, just no good with people or the signals they send. I tend to panic.

I was at a club with my friend Rob. We’re sitting there watching the locals and this girl acknowledged my inappropriate ogling by coming over to the table. She smelled like god would smell like if god was real and not made up. She asks me to dance. “Thanks” I say, “but I don’t dance.”

We’re chatting a bit and Rob tells her it’s my birthday. More chatting. She asks me to dance again.

My response is the oft used but polite, “uh no thanks, I don’t dance.” See, I use a power chair and I think the idea of me on a dance floor robotically swaying this way and that is just fucking silly. That bullshit works for some people and that’s great, but I hate it to the core. I mean it’s just so darling isn’t it?

“Come on, please?” she asks, and I repeat the line again. She leans in for a whisper, “You’re really handsome” followed by a kiss on the cheek. So she goes on to dance with my friend. She comes back and sits next to me; swapping chairs with Rob so he has to sit on the higher chair like a moron and not hear what we’re saying. So we’re chatting again and I am of course still oblivious to any interest at this point. I am least thinking, ‘wow, this is cool’ as I continue to observe her outrageous hotness.

As if giving her the brushes on the dance floor and not being aware of it wasn’t bad enough, all of a sudden I turn to my right. Standing there are the two mongoloids from the bathroom with the girl from Glace Bay. Seemed she was interested in playing ‘20 Questions A Fucking Moron Would Ask.’

I’m trying to get rid of retardo wench but it in the process I’m ignoring my future wife, and she mutters “I’ll be back.” She never came back. It gets worse. I’m still trying to magically wish Glace Bay girl would have an aneurysm and die. She finally leaves, the damage already done, and her spot is replaced by a cartoonishly troubled gay-stereotype. He up and tells me his daddy and uncle raped the shit out of him and that, among other things, he is a certified witch.

So my super model pretend girlfriend has been gone an hour and the harsh reality of my dismissal of her begins to set in. I of course try to rationalize, saying it was Glace Bay girls' fault, and the molested witch's fault. Rob shoots this down and says that I was being too nice to both of those freaks and thus they wouldn't leave. Other than that all I can come up with is, “man I don’t do that dancing thing.”

It is then that Rob, bless his callous and truthful nature says, “You’re fucking crazy. Did you ever think to maybe get over yourself and just dance with her? I know you think it’s stupid, but maybe ya could have just given her what she wanted?”

Reality is a bitch. “Oh… what have I….”

“Mike… Mike, you are retarded. You are a fucking retard. I’m sorry… but you’re retarded.”

The idea that I've done this before and may do it again, unaware, is downright alarming. There is of course no way I will ever know what could have happened, but based on the advice of another indispensable friend…

“Shit. You were gonna have some birthday sex.” Damn your common sense, Beth, damn it to hell.

Tuesday, April 20, 2004

He's the Greatest American Hero. Oh wait, no, he's a douche.

Doom trains kids precision kill tactics.

Friday, April 16, 2004

Put some gravy on there

Today I have this song in my head that goes “There are noooo cats in America and the streets are filled with cheese.”

Thursday, April 15, 2004

Michael Moore not into Bush

Finally, a new post from Michael "Canada Fucking Rules Ass" Moore.

I was thinking about his new flick and asked someone in the building where I work if she had seen Bowling for Columbine. She said her son had seen it, and that it painted a "negative" picture of the average American; "every American owns a gun and carries it around in the back of his pick-up truck." Well, there you go. No sense watching something that will obviously upset you, especially since you already have the downright accurate context from your teenage son.

She's American, so I called her a damn dirty commie and went back to work.

Tuesday, April 13, 2004

There was once a learned man OR Jesus can suck my ass

I recently met up with an old friend and spend an hour with my former god-like mentor over beer and wings. I was horrified to learn that he is not so god-like anymore, but rather that he likes god.

I was deeply saddened to find he has fallen victim to Jesus' love.

This is a very simple and predictable process. As one gets older one experiences a softening process called "aging". With this biological change comes the metamorphosis from intelligent socially conscious member of counter-culture, to boring as fuck pussy bastard. Said bastard does a 180 on all of his morals because his wife shits out a couple of squawkers, thereby increasing his self-importance at least three million points. You know what? Fuck you, you’re not special.

This process is common among those individuals who do not know what direction their lives should take and, as the years go by, a particular sort of fear emerges. It is this growing cowardice that transforms a person into that disgustingly safe and unthinking version of there former self.

"What the fuck do you mean you liked "Passion of the Christ”? What in the fuck."

"Man, when you see what he went through, that is some serious fucking torture. Mikey, I tell ya, honest to fuck I was in tears through most of the movie."

"... 'what he went through'... wha... what hell are you talking about? Are you serious?"

It gets worse from there. I asked him, “Hey what’s with the interest in Christianity? You hate organized religion.” Not anymore.

The basis for his argument is quite unsettling. There are, apparently, elements in our world that have little reason or are mysterious, there are bigger things that exist than we can’t fathom. Well, I tell him, obviously. As if our puny minds and brief history on earth can ever hope to comprehend even a piece of what we perceive to be the cosmos. I guess that head scratchy bit automatically calls for the Jesus factor. He continued on about how he takes his kids to church, and that he will indeed tell them about the Christian God. When I ask him how he can in good conscience practice this manner of horseshit he goes on to discuss “the power of religious tradition” in family. And the fact that Christianity is corrupt, anti-human, and harmful to real world issues and common sense is simply dismissible?

See, I know this seems silly; none of this is new or original. But you don’t know my friend. This guy is the last person in the world this would ever happen to. He was brilliant. He was biting. He was challenging. He was the funniest and coolest man in the world. And now, hey, let’s just relax. Settle down, settle down. I can’t bear the idea that my children might experience the real world. A world where there are bad things. Where there is no God. Where all anyone has is someone else, ‘cause that’s not enough. No sir. So I’ll just shut my brain off and believe in the teachings of the magical man in the sky.

Will this happen to me? Is this what I have to look forward to? Turning into a weak, repugnant soft as melted shit hypocrite?

Thursday, April 08, 2004

Is that a melted chocolate bunny in your pants or are you Sasquatch?

The other day 7 youths were walking down the street in front of my house, swerving this way and that in a haphazard manner. I didn’t care for it and I was becoming upset. I yelled out of my window, “Come here and eat cake!”