But I had to delete instead of publish a comment.
I believe in the right of free speech and intelligent discourse, and if people disagree (as long as they are not ridiculously stupid and therefore one of the people this blog is about) I'll let them comment aboard. Maybe even if they are ridiculously stupid, and exposing them to readers only makes them appear moreso... ahh, that's too deep for their shallow minds to grasp, and therefore still more fun. Blogging and forums should never be taken that seriously. One of my dear friends says it... if you think this is the real world, or even represents it, you are very much mistaken, and even more pathetic than you present on the Internet.
But that wasn't the problem. A fellow blogger posted a very nice personal message, and him I could not expose to the rest of the world who reads here. That would be wrong. So - since there was no way I could save it or reply privately - I deleted it. Dammit. That makes me nuts. Not because he said nice things - he did - because that doesn't matter. What mattered is that I have a responsibility to protect his identity, where he works, what he and I have in common, and thereby expose his beliefs. This is my blog, ridicule me all you want; but I can't let others be held up for ridicule or attack in their real lives - in what my old and dear 'Net friends call "meat space" - for what they put on here. Who knows who's reading this? His boss? His employees? Worse, his competition or his mortal enemy? My sense of honor won't allow it.
Sorry, dude... less qualifiers next time, please!
Moving on....
Saw the attorney today. Man, there is nothing better than having a good and trusted friend who also happens to be a real bastard of an attorney. Nothing gives satisfaction like sticking a sword in someone's gut who deserves it - unless it's having an attorney who is standing beside you with his sword buried in him, too; grinning like a mule eatin' briars next to you. We are winning! A little more and we will have won - at least an end of this battle. There is more, much more, to come, but the next battle's success was predicated on this one... And this one will be over, not in months, but weeks. Ahhhhhh. Love a good attorney who never takes one step back.
Honor and courage, and a real visceral pleasure in conquering evil, not just slapping it around, are what keep me fed. However, the slaps can give pleasure if they are done correctly. I have been doing a lot of plotting lately; it is after all an election year and my ire is in full swing - as is my brain. What fun I am having. A little word here, a little nudge there, a pat on a specific back, and a quick shared glance of pure mischief - and the damage is done, the usurper is standing there confused, still not knowing what the hell happened, while everyone laughs and points behind their graciously concealing hands. My favorite phrase - I don't know wherefrom it originates - is, "The one thing the devil cannot fight is laughter". When you laugh at him, he becomes confused, smaller, weaker, and more helpless. When you fear him, he grows stronger. When you fight him, you must be smarter, quicker; you must anticipate his every move - and then you bitch-slap him in front of everyone, so that he is left standing openmouthed and stunned. LOL Then you smile and walk away...
I'm getting a lot of bitch-slaps in this week, and it is so much fun! When you hear the chuckles from the back of the room, you know you've scored, reduced the devil to his proper place - a stumbling court jester. Too bad I can't do it at a national level - the elections and primaries would be over in one fell swoop of resounding giggles, as everyone came to their senses. Ah, well. Enough I do it where and when I can. Some I won't even get to watch - I simply set the process in motion, give someone else the tools, so that someone else can bitch-slap the devil, too. Can't be traced back to me - but I enjoy it all the same.
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
Saturday, January 5, 2008
A Manual for Suicides
I wrote something like this years ago. I am sick of all of the whiny people who want to kill themselves. Not the ones who are dying anyway, who want to avoid pain and the slow undignified diapered death. No, those people I really do feel sorry for.
This is for the ones who constantly threaten, who do it for attention, who insist that they deserve happiness and everything that they want without effort, who constantly go to ERs and EMS and friends and family and police officers and live their lives in a constant state of imminent Trauma.
Shut the fuck up and just do it. You're taking up my air.
How to Kill Yourself
A) How NOT to kill yourself
1) Do NOT call 911. The 911 operator has a protocol she must go through, that activates the police department (since self-murder is against the law, or you might be trying to take someone else with you), as well as EMS. EMS and the cops will hate you. Want to go out being hated? They will either stop you (which is what you really want, you worthless pile of garbage) or, if you are bleeding, overdosed, whatever, will immediately do some pretty gruesome and painful things to keep your sorry ass alive. No one from the poor beleagured dispatcher to the pissed off EMT who had to stop doing REAL work to come to you, will like you, respect you, or give a damn if you live or die. Keeping you alive is their job, no matter how much it galls them that some whiny pissant has to be kept alive when so many hardworking struggling decent folk are quietly and unremarkedly dying. Ask not for whom the bell tolls - they are hoping that you don't make it, that you finally are successful, so they don't have to see your whimpery whiny ass ever again.
2) Do Not pick a fight with someone so that someone else calls 911 just so you have an audience when you do it. The most memorable worthless shit I ever saw doing this was the gay woman (not that there is anything wrong with being gay per se) who found out that her girlfriend was leaving her, and instead of being rational and reasonable (which, if she was ever going to be/had ever been that way, would have saved the relationship) she trapped her partner in their bedroom, then stood outside the door, screaming and ranting and raving. She did this on purpose. The phone was in the bedroom and she knew her partner would use it to try to 'save herself'. She wanted attention, and lots of it, to her screaming whining self-righteous pain. She then proceeded to tell everyone she was going to kill herself - and displayed a spork. Yes, one of those serrated plastic spoons you get with your box lunch meals. The idiot bitch scraped the spork across her wrists, causing some deep and painful - but not life-threatening - scratches. (One of the cops in the back of the group held out his pocketknife to an EMT standing nearby and said quietly, "Wanna pass this to the bitch?") Yes, you might get a lot of attention - but when the cops finally take you down and haul you off for a psych eval, they will not ever respect you. Not that you know or are looking for respect. All you want is attention, and everyone in your pissed off, inflicted audience that despises you knows it. They don't hate you because you are gay - they hate you because you are a drama queen and are bothering them.
3) Don't lie. If you took pills, prove it. A simple blood test at the ER will prove that you took pills. If they or EMS have time and are not busy - and want to make sure that you learn a lesson - they will follow an exacting protocol, which involves giving you an emetic that makes you throw up all over yourself, and making you swallow some nasty charcoal to absorb the poison. It is so much more funny when you didn't really take anything. Serves your sorry, lying, whimpering ass right. One of our greatest pleasures was timing the emetic administration in the EMS wagon, so that as soon as you were escorted into the ER room and bed, THEN you would throw up. Saved on cleaning the floors of the ER and the ambulance. Takes some timing and skill, but MAN is it funny!
4) Do not use inappropriate or ineffectual tools. The aforementioned spork is just an example. Some jump off of heights that won't kill them, just cause broken bones or scar tissue. Some jump into cold water, not realizing that they will suffer a prolonged, gasping, shaking, and very painful death if they are not fished out. Unfortunately, some idiot usually fishes them out. The phony suicide then gets pneumonia and all of the attention s/he's demanding for several weeks. No one who has to take care of you through this likes you. No one respects you. No one really gives a shit if you live or die. Most wish you would die "Serves her/him right!". Everyone involved knows that you just did it for attention, and to have some power over them.
B. Why People REALLY threaten to kill themselves, and do it over and over.
1) Attention and Power. These weak little pissants have no power over others, can't get their attention any other way. They are insecure, can't make a rational decision, and flit through life like the ineffectual, selfish, self-promoting incompetents they are. The only control they ever have in their lives is to 'attempt' suicide, which forces other people, whether they like it or not, to pay attention to them.
2) Their lives are empty. They have no idea why. They don't understand - and never will! - that it is THEIR responsibility to fill up their lives with things that they enjoy. They don't understand that most people are not happy all of the time, but that they set goals and achieve goals and work toward what they want and where they want to be. Suicides don't plan anything - except whom they are going to dump on, inflict themselves on, next. They think that everything they want, that they feel they deserve, should be given to them - no matter how they treat, mistreat, or abuse people. Their whole lives are about them - their needs, their wants, their desires, their frustrations, their broken hearts and hopes and dreams. They have no interest in any one else's. Other people don't really exist to them - at all. They are pure selfishness.
3) They are drama queens and emotional vampires. Having no real purpose in life, and refusing to set one for themselves, the only and best one that they can come up with is to try to make other people as miserable as they. They want to feel some emotion, any emotion - and so they use the emotions of others to fill their needs. They use the excuses of liquor and drugs and failed relationships and mommy and daddy failing them, but for them, truly - everyone and everything has failed them. They are completely insensate of the fact that the only one who has failed them is - themselves. They have no problem with constantly lying to, cheating, or hurting others - they think that they have that right, because they are so put-upon. If they have kids, it is their kids' fault too. They are completely two-dimensional people, and think that everyone else is too. Suicides don't see people as human beings with hopes, wants, dreams, needs, and desires - except as those people can be used for their own self-gratification. They go thru friends, lovers, spouses, even children like fire through dry underbrush, never caring whom they hurt along the way, as long as their own needs are met. Then they wonder why "no one loves them".
C. How to do it.
Now that you realize just how worthless, insulting, and useless a suicide truly is, I will tell you the best, the most effectual way to do it.
First, CALL No ONE. Throw your cel phone in the toilet. Unplug your house phone and take the receiver off of the cradle. Make sure that no children are coming home to inadvertently find you. Tell no one what your plans are. Trust me, no one really gives a damn - they just do what society demands that they do. If you have pets or kids, make sure that someone is watching them "for a few hours" or the night, so that they don't discover you. Cats in particular are not friendly to dead bodies.
You will need - a bathtub, warm water, a bottle of good wine, a razor blade (NOT a safety razor - a real brand new sharp razor blade)
Fill a bathtub with comfortably warm, slightly above body temp water, til your skin tingles. (Bubbles optional.) Lie down in the tub. Begin drinking the wine, slowly and comfortably. When the bottle is half-empty, take the razor blade and - holding your arm UNDER the water - carefully cut down - NOT across - the bluish veins in your forearm, from about mid-arm (not in the bend of the elbow) to the wrist. DO NOT lift your arm out of the water. With your other hand, slowly finish the bottle of wine (sips, not gulps), lay back and let nature take its course.
Why to do it this way -
People who really want to kill themselves should do so and not bother anyone. No one should have to find your worthless body, especially your (or anyone else's) children. No one should have to put up with your screams, rants, and raves. Sit the fuck down, shut the fuck up, and do it. If the water is warm, and the blade is sharp, there is no pain as long as you hold your arm under the water. You won't have to worry about throwing up pills. You won't have to deal with last minute panic attacks - by the time you do what you've done, you won't be able to get out.
The best part of this is, that when they eventually find your body, there is minimal cleanup. All the coroner has to do is hit the bathtub drain, then lift your body into a body bag and carry you out. No muss, no fuss. No serious cleanup, throwing out of carpets, replacing drywall or flooring. No cutting down of hanging bodies. No extensive tools or even yardwork needed. No investigation (it's obvious). You're over, you're done, and you have what you say that you want.
Not that anyone who threatens suicide will ever in their lifetime do this. They are all about attention - and somewhere in the corner of their sick, desperate, mewling, pathetic, selfish and self-serving little brains is the realization that, if they ever DID off themselves, no one would have to put up with them, no one would be controlled by them, no one would have to listen to them any more.
Feel free to print this out and hand it to the next person who tells you that they are going to kill themselves. It's the only decent thing to do - for them, and for your own sanity.
This is for the ones who constantly threaten, who do it for attention, who insist that they deserve happiness and everything that they want without effort, who constantly go to ERs and EMS and friends and family and police officers and live their lives in a constant state of imminent Trauma.
Shut the fuck up and just do it. You're taking up my air.
How to Kill Yourself
A) How NOT to kill yourself
1) Do NOT call 911. The 911 operator has a protocol she must go through, that activates the police department (since self-murder is against the law, or you might be trying to take someone else with you), as well as EMS. EMS and the cops will hate you. Want to go out being hated? They will either stop you (which is what you really want, you worthless pile of garbage) or, if you are bleeding, overdosed, whatever, will immediately do some pretty gruesome and painful things to keep your sorry ass alive. No one from the poor beleagured dispatcher to the pissed off EMT who had to stop doing REAL work to come to you, will like you, respect you, or give a damn if you live or die. Keeping you alive is their job, no matter how much it galls them that some whiny pissant has to be kept alive when so many hardworking struggling decent folk are quietly and unremarkedly dying. Ask not for whom the bell tolls - they are hoping that you don't make it, that you finally are successful, so they don't have to see your whimpery whiny ass ever again.
2) Do Not pick a fight with someone so that someone else calls 911 just so you have an audience when you do it. The most memorable worthless shit I ever saw doing this was the gay woman (not that there is anything wrong with being gay per se) who found out that her girlfriend was leaving her, and instead of being rational and reasonable (which, if she was ever going to be/had ever been that way, would have saved the relationship) she trapped her partner in their bedroom, then stood outside the door, screaming and ranting and raving. She did this on purpose. The phone was in the bedroom and she knew her partner would use it to try to 'save herself'. She wanted attention, and lots of it, to her screaming whining self-righteous pain. She then proceeded to tell everyone she was going to kill herself - and displayed a spork. Yes, one of those serrated plastic spoons you get with your box lunch meals. The idiot bitch scraped the spork across her wrists, causing some deep and painful - but not life-threatening - scratches. (One of the cops in the back of the group held out his pocketknife to an EMT standing nearby and said quietly, "Wanna pass this to the bitch?") Yes, you might get a lot of attention - but when the cops finally take you down and haul you off for a psych eval, they will not ever respect you. Not that you know or are looking for respect. All you want is attention, and everyone in your pissed off, inflicted audience that despises you knows it. They don't hate you because you are gay - they hate you because you are a drama queen and are bothering them.
3) Don't lie. If you took pills, prove it. A simple blood test at the ER will prove that you took pills. If they or EMS have time and are not busy - and want to make sure that you learn a lesson - they will follow an exacting protocol, which involves giving you an emetic that makes you throw up all over yourself, and making you swallow some nasty charcoal to absorb the poison. It is so much more funny when you didn't really take anything. Serves your sorry, lying, whimpering ass right. One of our greatest pleasures was timing the emetic administration in the EMS wagon, so that as soon as you were escorted into the ER room and bed, THEN you would throw up. Saved on cleaning the floors of the ER and the ambulance. Takes some timing and skill, but MAN is it funny!
4) Do not use inappropriate or ineffectual tools. The aforementioned spork is just an example. Some jump off of heights that won't kill them, just cause broken bones or scar tissue. Some jump into cold water, not realizing that they will suffer a prolonged, gasping, shaking, and very painful death if they are not fished out. Unfortunately, some idiot usually fishes them out. The phony suicide then gets pneumonia and all of the attention s/he's demanding for several weeks. No one who has to take care of you through this likes you. No one respects you. No one really gives a shit if you live or die. Most wish you would die "Serves her/him right!". Everyone involved knows that you just did it for attention, and to have some power over them.
B. Why People REALLY threaten to kill themselves, and do it over and over.
1) Attention and Power. These weak little pissants have no power over others, can't get their attention any other way. They are insecure, can't make a rational decision, and flit through life like the ineffectual, selfish, self-promoting incompetents they are. The only control they ever have in their lives is to 'attempt' suicide, which forces other people, whether they like it or not, to pay attention to them.
2) Their lives are empty. They have no idea why. They don't understand - and never will! - that it is THEIR responsibility to fill up their lives with things that they enjoy. They don't understand that most people are not happy all of the time, but that they set goals and achieve goals and work toward what they want and where they want to be. Suicides don't plan anything - except whom they are going to dump on, inflict themselves on, next. They think that everything they want, that they feel they deserve, should be given to them - no matter how they treat, mistreat, or abuse people. Their whole lives are about them - their needs, their wants, their desires, their frustrations, their broken hearts and hopes and dreams. They have no interest in any one else's. Other people don't really exist to them - at all. They are pure selfishness.
3) They are drama queens and emotional vampires. Having no real purpose in life, and refusing to set one for themselves, the only and best one that they can come up with is to try to make other people as miserable as they. They want to feel some emotion, any emotion - and so they use the emotions of others to fill their needs. They use the excuses of liquor and drugs and failed relationships and mommy and daddy failing them, but for them, truly - everyone and everything has failed them. They are completely insensate of the fact that the only one who has failed them is - themselves. They have no problem with constantly lying to, cheating, or hurting others - they think that they have that right, because they are so put-upon. If they have kids, it is their kids' fault too. They are completely two-dimensional people, and think that everyone else is too. Suicides don't see people as human beings with hopes, wants, dreams, needs, and desires - except as those people can be used for their own self-gratification. They go thru friends, lovers, spouses, even children like fire through dry underbrush, never caring whom they hurt along the way, as long as their own needs are met. Then they wonder why "no one loves them".
C. How to do it.
Now that you realize just how worthless, insulting, and useless a suicide truly is, I will tell you the best, the most effectual way to do it.
First, CALL No ONE. Throw your cel phone in the toilet. Unplug your house phone and take the receiver off of the cradle. Make sure that no children are coming home to inadvertently find you. Tell no one what your plans are. Trust me, no one really gives a damn - they just do what society demands that they do. If you have pets or kids, make sure that someone is watching them "for a few hours" or the night, so that they don't discover you. Cats in particular are not friendly to dead bodies.
You will need - a bathtub, warm water, a bottle of good wine, a razor blade (NOT a safety razor - a real brand new sharp razor blade)
Fill a bathtub with comfortably warm, slightly above body temp water, til your skin tingles. (Bubbles optional.) Lie down in the tub. Begin drinking the wine, slowly and comfortably. When the bottle is half-empty, take the razor blade and - holding your arm UNDER the water - carefully cut down - NOT across - the bluish veins in your forearm, from about mid-arm (not in the bend of the elbow) to the wrist. DO NOT lift your arm out of the water. With your other hand, slowly finish the bottle of wine (sips, not gulps), lay back and let nature take its course.
Why to do it this way -
People who really want to kill themselves should do so and not bother anyone. No one should have to find your worthless body, especially your (or anyone else's) children. No one should have to put up with your screams, rants, and raves. Sit the fuck down, shut the fuck up, and do it. If the water is warm, and the blade is sharp, there is no pain as long as you hold your arm under the water. You won't have to worry about throwing up pills. You won't have to deal with last minute panic attacks - by the time you do what you've done, you won't be able to get out.
The best part of this is, that when they eventually find your body, there is minimal cleanup. All the coroner has to do is hit the bathtub drain, then lift your body into a body bag and carry you out. No muss, no fuss. No serious cleanup, throwing out of carpets, replacing drywall or flooring. No cutting down of hanging bodies. No extensive tools or even yardwork needed. No investigation (it's obvious). You're over, you're done, and you have what you say that you want.
Not that anyone who threatens suicide will ever in their lifetime do this. They are all about attention - and somewhere in the corner of their sick, desperate, mewling, pathetic, selfish and self-serving little brains is the realization that, if they ever DID off themselves, no one would have to put up with them, no one would be controlled by them, no one would have to listen to them any more.
Feel free to print this out and hand it to the next person who tells you that they are going to kill themselves. It's the only decent thing to do - for them, and for your own sanity.
Tuesday, January 1, 2008
Happy New Year.
Here I sit, sweatshirt and stretch pants, comfortable and warm and quiet.
Last night went to a bar with SigOther and Daughter. We had noisemakers and ticklers and all sorts of ribbons and bows and furbelows. We drank comfortably, talked comfortably, and hugged and kissed at midnight.
Now I'm simmering the pork to get it ready for the collards and hoppin john. The smell fills the house.
In spite of the fun of last nite - or maybe because of it - everyone is incommunicado, silent, except me. Me and Sasha, anyway; she missed me last night and wants to cuddle. A 65-lb dog that wants to cuddle is heavy and funny and silly to say the least!
Looking at my dream houses online. Then I went over to the South Dakota forum and did a ripping post for which I got immediate kudos. Nice to talk to people intelligently and in my own language - edumuficated - and have them respond in kind. Before the internet there were so few who understood my language or my meaning. Even the local forums can't reflect any light in their dim tunnels. But I can talk to people from all over the world and have a meeting of the minds. Nice.
This year is going to start off pretty wild, very quickly; but holding to the thought of escaping is helping me keep it together. A dream soon to be fulfilled; or as I told my best friend last week, I'll finally get what I've wanted since I was 14. It's not the dream he has, of course - he's always been on a different course from me and always will be. I no more understand his than he understands mine. But that's not why we are friends, so that's ok. I'll hate to leave him worst of all. Other people in my life have come and gone with barely a ripple, but what we put our minds and hearts into together, when everyone else thought we were crazy, bound us together as inseparably as duct tape. He brought me into his world for awhile, and I hated it but understood it was necessary. Now -not so much. The duct tape is fraying under the constant flow of my need to stop, slow down, take care of what's important to me. So we will peel apart at last; and even though he promises to stay in touch, I know better. But I pretend all the same, because to do otherwise would make him unhappy. And his world does not make me happy. Never has. Never will. It was simply expedient for the time. And the times they are a changin'.
Last night went to a bar with SigOther and Daughter. We had noisemakers and ticklers and all sorts of ribbons and bows and furbelows. We drank comfortably, talked comfortably, and hugged and kissed at midnight.
Now I'm simmering the pork to get it ready for the collards and hoppin john. The smell fills the house.
In spite of the fun of last nite - or maybe because of it - everyone is incommunicado, silent, except me. Me and Sasha, anyway; she missed me last night and wants to cuddle. A 65-lb dog that wants to cuddle is heavy and funny and silly to say the least!
Looking at my dream houses online. Then I went over to the South Dakota forum and did a ripping post for which I got immediate kudos. Nice to talk to people intelligently and in my own language - edumuficated - and have them respond in kind. Before the internet there were so few who understood my language or my meaning. Even the local forums can't reflect any light in their dim tunnels. But I can talk to people from all over the world and have a meeting of the minds. Nice.
This year is going to start off pretty wild, very quickly; but holding to the thought of escaping is helping me keep it together. A dream soon to be fulfilled; or as I told my best friend last week, I'll finally get what I've wanted since I was 14. It's not the dream he has, of course - he's always been on a different course from me and always will be. I no more understand his than he understands mine. But that's not why we are friends, so that's ok. I'll hate to leave him worst of all. Other people in my life have come and gone with barely a ripple, but what we put our minds and hearts into together, when everyone else thought we were crazy, bound us together as inseparably as duct tape. He brought me into his world for awhile, and I hated it but understood it was necessary. Now -not so much. The duct tape is fraying under the constant flow of my need to stop, slow down, take care of what's important to me. So we will peel apart at last; and even though he promises to stay in touch, I know better. But I pretend all the same, because to do otherwise would make him unhappy. And his world does not make me happy. Never has. Never will. It was simply expedient for the time. And the times they are a changin'.
Wednesday, December 26, 2007
It's Coming. Can You Feel It?
Can't you smell it in the air?
No, not the overwhelming crushing odor of leftover ham and turkey surging upwards from thousands of kitchen fans. This smell is like a cold seabreeze - a supernumerary odor, cool and crisp and biting and almost metallic, above the normal moronosphere that hangs so low here, heavy and stultifying.
It's exciting. It's inspirational. It's enough to make you stand still and just enjoy it, head raised, sniffing like a scenthound who is about to give chase.
It's the smell of comeuppance.
Those folks who never did without, who wanted everything now now NOW, who used their McMansions as ATM or slot machines, dumping quarters in, taking thousands out, lording it over the hardworking taxpaying slaving folk who bought less than they could afford, who planned for the future. They are about to get what they so richly deserve, what they asked for, what they begged for, and it is about to schmack them in the face... and in the pocket.
Right now they are surreptitiously unloading their toys, talking innocently and brightly about downsizing, while in the dark their bills are piling up and up, keeping them awake nights like the monotonous sounds of a metronome tick... tock... tick... tock... tick... tock. They are quietly scrabbling to find cash for one more, three more, months, to pay their mortgage, to finance all of the expensive toys and furnishings in their lives that they simply had to have, to impress - whomever - to prove - whatever. Their fingernails are scratching, scrabbling, like rats' paws against the splintering walls of a twisting, shrieking, sinking ship, and they are going down down down into the depths of hell's waters, their panting lungs slowly filling with air...
And it is delightful to stand on the shores of integrity, honesty, common sense, and industry, and watch it happen. It is delightful to stand there, simply because they could not resist, for the past five years, running around all of us shore-bound folk, bragging about where they were going, what they were buying, where they were living, with never a word of how they were going to pay for it all. The Noveau Riche, flushed bright pink with the joys of cash in hand, credit cards that could be used to pay for other credit cards, refinancing their homes again and again, scraping up the piles of cash and fleeing off to their next great adventure, all the while thumbing their noses at shore-bound others who were just old fuddie-duddies, who were stick in the muds, who didn't know how to enjoy life... They were innocent whores, dancing from one john to another, mating with whomever would have them, selling their credit and their fathers' good names and their childrens' futures for a mess of pottage, never looking behind them, spending money that they just knew that they would always have, as their house appraisals went up month to month, week to week. Enslaving themselves to evil-eyed predators who smiled and encouraged and took their money every month, who laughed with them and drank with them and encouraged them to get, to have, to take, more and more.
When the final crash comes, they will go under, squeaking like the rats they are, clinging to this halyard and that line, praying for de gummint or someone, anyone, to save them. Like rats, they carry their own poison with them, and should not be saved, but left to drown in their own feces. For this crash is of their own making, their own stupidity, their own selfish and self-seeking desires.
No, not the overwhelming crushing odor of leftover ham and turkey surging upwards from thousands of kitchen fans. This smell is like a cold seabreeze - a supernumerary odor, cool and crisp and biting and almost metallic, above the normal moronosphere that hangs so low here, heavy and stultifying.
It's exciting. It's inspirational. It's enough to make you stand still and just enjoy it, head raised, sniffing like a scenthound who is about to give chase.
It's the smell of comeuppance.
Those folks who never did without, who wanted everything now now NOW, who used their McMansions as ATM or slot machines, dumping quarters in, taking thousands out, lording it over the hardworking taxpaying slaving folk who bought less than they could afford, who planned for the future. They are about to get what they so richly deserve, what they asked for, what they begged for, and it is about to schmack them in the face... and in the pocket.
Right now they are surreptitiously unloading their toys, talking innocently and brightly about downsizing, while in the dark their bills are piling up and up, keeping them awake nights like the monotonous sounds of a metronome tick... tock... tick... tock... tick... tock. They are quietly scrabbling to find cash for one more, three more, months, to pay their mortgage, to finance all of the expensive toys and furnishings in their lives that they simply had to have, to impress - whomever - to prove - whatever. Their fingernails are scratching, scrabbling, like rats' paws against the splintering walls of a twisting, shrieking, sinking ship, and they are going down down down into the depths of hell's waters, their panting lungs slowly filling with air...
And it is delightful to stand on the shores of integrity, honesty, common sense, and industry, and watch it happen. It is delightful to stand there, simply because they could not resist, for the past five years, running around all of us shore-bound folk, bragging about where they were going, what they were buying, where they were living, with never a word of how they were going to pay for it all. The Noveau Riche, flushed bright pink with the joys of cash in hand, credit cards that could be used to pay for other credit cards, refinancing their homes again and again, scraping up the piles of cash and fleeing off to their next great adventure, all the while thumbing their noses at shore-bound others who were just old fuddie-duddies, who were stick in the muds, who didn't know how to enjoy life... They were innocent whores, dancing from one john to another, mating with whomever would have them, selling their credit and their fathers' good names and their childrens' futures for a mess of pottage, never looking behind them, spending money that they just knew that they would always have, as their house appraisals went up month to month, week to week. Enslaving themselves to evil-eyed predators who smiled and encouraged and took their money every month, who laughed with them and drank with them and encouraged them to get, to have, to take, more and more.
When the final crash comes, they will go under, squeaking like the rats they are, clinging to this halyard and that line, praying for de gummint or someone, anyone, to save them. Like rats, they carry their own poison with them, and should not be saved, but left to drown in their own feces. For this crash is of their own making, their own stupidity, their own selfish and self-seeking desires.
Saturday, December 22, 2007
New Year's Resolution
OK, I'm getting started early.
Actually I got started about six months ago. I'm slowly weeding out the stressors in my life. The emotional vampires, the people who call themselves "friends" - who have never given a damn about me or my problems, who always dump their loads on me, and then who walk away or are nowhere to be found or who change the subject whenever I try to share my problems. One pisses me off the worst - if I get diagnosed with a disease, she's got it too, or if I am sick, she's dying. Her daily problems are always mega-tragedies , but if I utter a peep about my problems, she dissolves away like a bad Hallmark TV movie fadeout. To put it politely, too, the way that you can tell she is lying is - her lips are moving. She tells one story to me, another to my best friend, another to still another mutual friend - and none of the stories she tells is the truth. Friend? That's not a friend - that's a selfish user, a spoiled brat, an emotional vampire. Kickin' her to the curb.
Another "friend" whom I have helped over and over again is gone now too - because in a typical selfish fit, he was downright nasty and insulting on the phone. I've lost count of the times he called me over the years threatening suicide and expecting me to talk him out of it. He blames it on the liquor. Whiny and pathetic when sober, stupid and loud when drunk, he is perhaps one of the best representations of someone useless taking up peoples' air. He'll never change - because he can always find people to help him. Not me, and not any more. Next time he can kill himself (not that he ever will. No guts). I invented a manual for suicides once. Think I'll send him a copy. Oxygen is in short supply. Kickin' him to the curb.
There's other ones, too - the ones I've known for years who think nothing of calling or emailing for urgent help, insisting that they can't do it themselves - and when the work is done, no calls, nothing, and certainly no interest or concern about what I had to drop or change, or what emotions I had to put on hold to change gears to do something for them. They don't ask because they don't want to know. When they insist "You don't tell me anything!" - it's because when I start to, they either change the subject or get that foggy look in their eyes that says 'not listening not listening'... Kickin' them to the curb.
It must be my face, that seems so open, or my eyes, that look like they care, or appear sad or interested. Guess what? They aren't, and I don't. Never really have. Instead I listen to see what they are going to demand from me next, and start planning my days on how I can accommodate them and their little problems without disrupting my life.
This week I was told by several people that I looked better and healthier than usual. Well, I am. I'm not happier - that isn't happening with the deep and painful load I personally bear, every day, without even bothering trying to tell anyone about any more. These bastards won't listen, don't want to know, don't care if they do know, and have made that very plain. But I am slowly picking off these sand burrs that have been riding me for so long, itching and scratching and burning my soul with their constant and annoying little pricks. I am going to dump them all, one by one, until there are none left. I don't need them - and they can always find someone else to need. They think that I don't know why they do it - it's because they know that I am smarter, better than they are - and the only way they can feel equal to me is to 'fool' me into letting them use me.
And that's my New Year's resolution. I resolve to scrape off these selfish, whiny, hapless, helpless, schmoozing, simpering little pricks. Let them find someone else to sink their burrs into, let them find someone else to torment and torture with their pathetic needs and wants, let them stand on their own or rot in hell. Let them try laughing or sneering behind my back, thinking they've pulled still another one over on me. Now that they have developed their mewling, grasping, sickening dependence, let them stand or fall on their own. I don't really give a shit; not about them, nor their little problems, nor their simple-minded grasping petty needs.
I have a very few friends with whom I can share everything, and everyone else is just a non-entity, a nothing, a nobody, stuck on me for the ride. Well, the ride is over.
Actually I got started about six months ago. I'm slowly weeding out the stressors in my life. The emotional vampires, the people who call themselves "friends" - who have never given a damn about me or my problems, who always dump their loads on me, and then who walk away or are nowhere to be found or who change the subject whenever I try to share my problems. One pisses me off the worst - if I get diagnosed with a disease, she's got it too, or if I am sick, she's dying. Her daily problems are always mega-tragedies , but if I utter a peep about my problems, she dissolves away like a bad Hallmark TV movie fadeout. To put it politely, too, the way that you can tell she is lying is - her lips are moving. She tells one story to me, another to my best friend, another to still another mutual friend - and none of the stories she tells is the truth. Friend? That's not a friend - that's a selfish user, a spoiled brat, an emotional vampire. Kickin' her to the curb.
Another "friend" whom I have helped over and over again is gone now too - because in a typical selfish fit, he was downright nasty and insulting on the phone. I've lost count of the times he called me over the years threatening suicide and expecting me to talk him out of it. He blames it on the liquor. Whiny and pathetic when sober, stupid and loud when drunk, he is perhaps one of the best representations of someone useless taking up peoples' air. He'll never change - because he can always find people to help him. Not me, and not any more. Next time he can kill himself (not that he ever will. No guts). I invented a manual for suicides once. Think I'll send him a copy. Oxygen is in short supply. Kickin' him to the curb.
There's other ones, too - the ones I've known for years who think nothing of calling or emailing for urgent help, insisting that they can't do it themselves - and when the work is done, no calls, nothing, and certainly no interest or concern about what I had to drop or change, or what emotions I had to put on hold to change gears to do something for them. They don't ask because they don't want to know. When they insist "You don't tell me anything!" - it's because when I start to, they either change the subject or get that foggy look in their eyes that says 'not listening not listening'... Kickin' them to the curb.
It must be my face, that seems so open, or my eyes, that look like they care, or appear sad or interested. Guess what? They aren't, and I don't. Never really have. Instead I listen to see what they are going to demand from me next, and start planning my days on how I can accommodate them and their little problems without disrupting my life.
This week I was told by several people that I looked better and healthier than usual. Well, I am. I'm not happier - that isn't happening with the deep and painful load I personally bear, every day, without even bothering trying to tell anyone about any more. These bastards won't listen, don't want to know, don't care if they do know, and have made that very plain. But I am slowly picking off these sand burrs that have been riding me for so long, itching and scratching and burning my soul with their constant and annoying little pricks. I am going to dump them all, one by one, until there are none left. I don't need them - and they can always find someone else to need. They think that I don't know why they do it - it's because they know that I am smarter, better than they are - and the only way they can feel equal to me is to 'fool' me into letting them use me.
And that's my New Year's resolution. I resolve to scrape off these selfish, whiny, hapless, helpless, schmoozing, simpering little pricks. Let them find someone else to sink their burrs into, let them find someone else to torment and torture with their pathetic needs and wants, let them stand on their own or rot in hell. Let them try laughing or sneering behind my back, thinking they've pulled still another one over on me. Now that they have developed their mewling, grasping, sickening dependence, let them stand or fall on their own. I don't really give a shit; not about them, nor their little problems, nor their simple-minded grasping petty needs.
I have a very few friends with whom I can share everything, and everyone else is just a non-entity, a nothing, a nobody, stuck on me for the ride. Well, the ride is over.
Friday, December 21, 2007
Christmas Thoughts
A wowzer of a party last night; good friends, good food, good drink and making merry with people whom I love and respect. The best parts of the night were the impromptu dancing/singalongs and the comical imitations of people we know.
Love is a many splendored thang.
There's an overriding sadness in my heart, though. The Muse is tired. I am exhausted by the emotional vampires of the past year. One in particular I had to discipline in a very uncomfortable and painful way. A 'friendship' of 8 years that he casually and drunkenly destroyed with a terribly insulting voicemail message that inflamed my husband to murderous rage and that forced me to take action. Tis the season - of emotional cripples ramming their selfish and simpering, "I-can't-help-it-it was-the-liquor-drugs-pain-in-my-heart" down the throats of people who try to comfort and help them. Grow the hell up. I would say I've probably lost a friend but a friend does not only, endlessly, take in a relationship, so I haven't lost anything at all, really. A muse cannot inspire those who refuse inspiration, and those who merely depend on me for brief and endlessly repetitive assurances that they are worthwhile waste my time and my life. Of course, like most, he will take offense that I took offense at his crossing the line from friendship into insult. The attitude of the endlessly self-involved.
Yes, the Muse is tired. I see my future before me, like a long and dusty rutted road. I know where I am determined to go, where I want to go, where I want to be. But I will have to give up so much for it. I will have to leave loves and passions behind and determinedly head for where I want to be, the next stage of my life, what I sincerely and honestly have always wanted to do. And the people with whom I associate now will not be a part of that. They will be out of my life forever. But that is what I choose. To satisfy my deepest desires - that only a few really know - and to come to the final culmination of my life at last.
My last Christmas Party - spent with the people whom I most love, respect, honor, and admire - and now it is for me to quietly continue to fade into that peaceful oblivion where my own quiet joys and satisfactions will at last be met. I have done all that I can here. Another life awaits.
Love is a many splendored thang.
There's an overriding sadness in my heart, though. The Muse is tired. I am exhausted by the emotional vampires of the past year. One in particular I had to discipline in a very uncomfortable and painful way. A 'friendship' of 8 years that he casually and drunkenly destroyed with a terribly insulting voicemail message that inflamed my husband to murderous rage and that forced me to take action. Tis the season - of emotional cripples ramming their selfish and simpering, "I-can't-help-it-it was-the-liquor-drugs-pain-in-my-heart" down the throats of people who try to comfort and help them. Grow the hell up. I would say I've probably lost a friend but a friend does not only, endlessly, take in a relationship, so I haven't lost anything at all, really. A muse cannot inspire those who refuse inspiration, and those who merely depend on me for brief and endlessly repetitive assurances that they are worthwhile waste my time and my life. Of course, like most, he will take offense that I took offense at his crossing the line from friendship into insult. The attitude of the endlessly self-involved.
Yes, the Muse is tired. I see my future before me, like a long and dusty rutted road. I know where I am determined to go, where I want to go, where I want to be. But I will have to give up so much for it. I will have to leave loves and passions behind and determinedly head for where I want to be, the next stage of my life, what I sincerely and honestly have always wanted to do. And the people with whom I associate now will not be a part of that. They will be out of my life forever. But that is what I choose. To satisfy my deepest desires - that only a few really know - and to come to the final culmination of my life at last.
My last Christmas Party - spent with the people whom I most love, respect, honor, and admire - and now it is for me to quietly continue to fade into that peaceful oblivion where my own quiet joys and satisfactions will at last be met. I have done all that I can here. Another life awaits.
Tuesday, December 4, 2007
I Made Two People Laugh Yesterday
One was a caller for the Hillary Clinton Campaign. I got a giggle out of that - the lady sounded like she really didn't believe in Clinton, either. I told her not no but HELL no! and she busted up laughing. Of course, I was laughing too, and kidding her... What's a nice girl like you doing wasting her time like this? Getting paid, of course.
Another woman called with a survey for my bank. Now, I LIKE my bank. Never had a problem with it - and when I did, they straightened it out so swiftly that it didn't become a problem. Nice folks. Efficient folks. So I gave them high ratings - except for the fact that they are in the lobby of WalMart, which sux for them - because they never have any sort of decent line-up ability, no privacy, always busy and always on display like ducks in a shooting gallery. So I told the surveyor that and she got tickled.
I do like to make people happy, make em smile, give them something to grin at later. I guess that's why I got so MAD when I talked to a good friend today. Here we have an older lady, nice, kind, quiet, friendly, always offering her time and money to charitable causes - and simply because she won't vote for and support a complete moron, Moron and his wife have started a lying campaign to destroy her character. Mrs. Moron is a loudmouthed brassy female with a past that is VERY well known - abandoned her children, used everyone, had sex with most of the now-men in the county - and now that she has married Inherited Moneybags Moron III, thinks her shit doesn't stink. She loves to wear dresses made for 20-somethings - and she and her body are a FAR cry from that. She has neither the grace nor the class to know that her skin is too wrinkled and her butt too big to play Queen of the Sluts, bending over and showing off her shriveled dugs, or her temperament too well known for playing the doting granny when her children never knew her - any more. She nor he have no idea that all the men who have slept with her - most of whom she probably doesn't even remember! - make snide remarks when she and he pass by. Yet She and IMM III - who in private describes the people who admire him as idiots - think they have a right to trash everyone who doesn't agree with them. It took me two hours to talk my friend down, she was so upset at the Morons.
I love karma. Their time is coming, and both are such Morons that they do not know it, don't think it can ever happen to them, think that they can do whatever and whomever they please and get away with it forever, simply to satisfy their own selfish desires - just as they've lived their entire lives. And if I can help push it along, with my poor abused and maligned friend - you bet your ass I will.
So yes it was good to make those anonymous yet friendly people laugh.... but it will be better to watch the Morons cry.
Another woman called with a survey for my bank. Now, I LIKE my bank. Never had a problem with it - and when I did, they straightened it out so swiftly that it didn't become a problem. Nice folks. Efficient folks. So I gave them high ratings - except for the fact that they are in the lobby of WalMart, which sux for them - because they never have any sort of decent line-up ability, no privacy, always busy and always on display like ducks in a shooting gallery. So I told the surveyor that and she got tickled.
I do like to make people happy, make em smile, give them something to grin at later. I guess that's why I got so MAD when I talked to a good friend today. Here we have an older lady, nice, kind, quiet, friendly, always offering her time and money to charitable causes - and simply because she won't vote for and support a complete moron, Moron and his wife have started a lying campaign to destroy her character. Mrs. Moron is a loudmouthed brassy female with a past that is VERY well known - abandoned her children, used everyone, had sex with most of the now-men in the county - and now that she has married Inherited Moneybags Moron III, thinks her shit doesn't stink. She loves to wear dresses made for 20-somethings - and she and her body are a FAR cry from that. She has neither the grace nor the class to know that her skin is too wrinkled and her butt too big to play Queen of the Sluts, bending over and showing off her shriveled dugs, or her temperament too well known for playing the doting granny when her children never knew her - any more. She nor he have no idea that all the men who have slept with her - most of whom she probably doesn't even remember! - make snide remarks when she and he pass by. Yet She and IMM III - who in private describes the people who admire him as idiots - think they have a right to trash everyone who doesn't agree with them. It took me two hours to talk my friend down, she was so upset at the Morons.
I love karma. Their time is coming, and both are such Morons that they do not know it, don't think it can ever happen to them, think that they can do whatever and whomever they please and get away with it forever, simply to satisfy their own selfish desires - just as they've lived their entire lives. And if I can help push it along, with my poor abused and maligned friend - you bet your ass I will.
So yes it was good to make those anonymous yet friendly people laugh.... but it will be better to watch the Morons cry.
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