Gray, wet suburban murk; ugly gloom made worse (if that’s even possible) by the pinheads and dumbfucks who blight an already wrecked, blasted landscape with their dubious presence; non-stop christmas vomit-noise; thoughts of self-destruction clamoring for attention; myopic, infuriatingly insipid vocal-chord polish heaved around in great toxic waves, mostly about professional sports or various tee-vee shows (among other stupidities) . . . Just a normal December day at the bottom of the bottomless hellpit.
What a bloody-assed cluster-fuck of hobnailed asshattery. And that’s on its better days, which, believe me, don’t happen all that often. Makes one wonder just what my goddamned point is then. But that’s a problem pretty much all the time, so who cares? Honestly, I could just shit myself blind right about now. Hardy har.
Sitting in a public library on a weekday, and you’ve never seen so many desperately depressed people interspersed with the usual clutch of older folks who don’t appear to give a crap about much of anything, bless their little hearts. Overweight women with cell phones and squalling little monsters in strollers round out this weird tableau of profound hopelessness. Why am I here? It’s a mystery. Could be because habits are hard to break, and consuming free wireless internet bandwidth to no good purpose has certainly become an insatiable top-drawer habit that ain’t going anywhere, at least in the near term.
LATER: The coffee-dump zombies won’t stop talking; how is it that some poor, retarded unfortunates were born with their speech apparati up their noses (or some other, less flattering openings in their corporeal envelopes)? Were their parents crack addicts? Did their progenitors accidentally swill, oh, I don’t know, a steaming mug of lacquer thinner, instead of the customary discount beer or industrial vodka sold in plastic bottles? That might begin to explain a few things, above and beyond the superficially trivial (but no less enraging) flatly nasal delivery of apparently endless supplies of malodorous ass-wind inexplicably re-routed through the truncated confines of their fucking heads. But then, why would it matter? I just wish they’d shut up and go away -- the last thing anyone needs is to actually figure out what makes these untermenschen tick, for crying out loud.
We’ve all heard and read plenty of criticism of your average American and his or her unwillingness to engage in meaningful conversation (among an endless litany of outrages and perversions). This criticism is well-warranted, of course. However, I would posit that the only thing worse than suburban androids who don’t talk about anything are suburban androids who do talk about anything. The drivel is absolutely astounding; you’ve never experienced a more amazing melding of minds, a more confident public display of iron-clad self-righteous certitude than that provided, for example, by a garbage truck driver and a washed-out wad of fuck who picks up trash in strip-mall parking lots. What an impressive exhibition of brain power and sheer intellectual prowess -- what is it about suburban rubbish handlers? Who the hell knew they had so many opinions on so many topics of critical importance? I definitely didn’t. Seriously, they leave no stone unturned: corporate business practices, basic economics, the Oakland Raiders, governmental inefficiency and over-regulation, historical expositions on the surprisingly diverse evolutionary path of dumpster lids, opaque references to homeless people who sleep in cardboard boxes and how they’re all criminals . . . and all that is just for starters! In fact, they’re now standing out in the rain, right at this very moment, still flapping their gums! Unbelievable! To be so committed to the “removal of all doubt” about one’s abysmal ignorance. I’d be most impressed if I wasn’t already thoroughly disgusted by the whole fucking thing. AHHHG!
Still rainy-ish outside, still no good news to report on anything in particular; no jobs, no hope, no escape, no point, no reason. No nothing, except expanding gut-flab and backaches.
Happy holidays! Sigh.