Me? Mister, I'm FUCKED.

What's going to get me? When's it going to be? Will it be quick? Will I spare my dear ones the spectacle of slow, desperate rotting? When I think about the cigarettes I get a bad premonition, but you know how they always say it's not what you worry about, but what you least expect.

I never worry about the salmon mousse, y'know? Remember that?

Will it be expensive? I mean, this is America. Ever'thing's got a price. That's how we measure the value of fucking everything like the sick, wasteful, overindulged children we are.

Look at me. I'm so vital. Almost glowing. Vital, glowing people biff it all the time. All the fucking time, dickheel.

Will it be embarrassing? Will people stand in the shadow of the bus, aghast at the macabre patterns I've created with the only art supplies left me? Will I be creative to the end? Will I fall just SO so that the peagreen of my pancreas won't clash with my earthier liver tones? Hee hee. I certainly hope so. I hope I can maintain a bit of design awareness.

At least I know I won't off myself. I never swung that way. You know how I know? Because each time I've thought I was about to die I didn't want to. So, that's how I know. Also, I'd never give The Man the satisfaction. Fuck the Man. You've got to fight the power.

Jiminy Fucking Christmas!!

See, all the cars were making lazy arcs around a spot on Old South Street today and the good people of Northampton were watching a little cat squirming in a pool of blood in the gutter. "Gee, Mabel, look at that kooky cat dyin'!"

Sometimes I hate people so much I DO want to kill myself so I could at least make a dent in The Problem without pissing off some stranger's family.

"Eeeww. Look at the gross dying cat!"

The only time I've ever wanted to get a permit to carry concealed is when some poor dumb animal is preparing to hit th' big Pasture In The Sky at the side of the road and it's taking a while. Can you imagine lying there watching blurry cars roll by and roll by and blurry human faces look at you like your bowels are out because they are?

People make me want to fucking hork up a entrail or two myself. An' the fucking lady who actually stops to help wants to argue with me about whether calling 911 is appropriate. Jesus fucking Fuck. Dumb bat. If they're not fucking mean they're just stupid. It was around then that the cat blorked up whatever had shook loose and started to relax if you know what I mean.

I'm the most fucked because I waste so many pretty sunny days mentally kicking and stabbing myself because I Failed. What the fuck is that? I'm in really good fucking shape and instead of reaching for the things I need to be happy I wallow in guilt and Sweet Regret and worry about hurting people's feelings. Stupid artist fucker. Look at the people who didn't Fail. They're cunts. Forgive my Armenian.

When I worked for rock stars the only thing I was never, ever jealous of their shiny shit and their stoopid posessions. I could give a fucking toss. What I was jealous of, profoundly jealous of, was their absolute belief in their own talent. See, they are in the wonderful, enviable position of feeling like self-made men because their ability was recognized and rewarded. Imagine how that would feel.

But see, how are you going to tell Eric Kretz or Dave Navarro or whatsisname that your neighbor plays music six times better than them and works third shift at the Acme Screw Company and will for life because one fine day some A&R fuck had a good shit in the morning and some other fine day he was a little bound up? These guys are lottery winners. Lennon referred to himself once as the "guy who won the lottery" and I thought that was honest and insightful.

But see, the world is a funny place. For every rock star who's ass I've wiped there's about a trillion starving armless AIDS victims under me. In the big picture, I am one lucky motherfucker. I've been low, low, low but I've never been in even the same GALAXY of SUCK as that.

I think that more of my self-loathing comes from an inability to be content with my actually quite exalted station than from simply being a huge failure. Somethin' could happen, y'know? Probably not. The past is generally an excellent indicator of the future. Nonetheless.

Oh- and there's no God, gang. Trust me- there ain't nobuddy. And no Santa either. Sorry. It's not my fucking fault. And all you people that disseminate the god thing to your innocent children? I think of you as guilty. You're guilty of a thing. I mean, we're all guilty of a thing or another. Me, I stole from my teacher in third grade and there's the thing with that drifter in Taos and the flare gun. I don't actually count that fucknut with the pitbull. That prick had every fracture coming to him. But see, I don't act like I'm not guilty. You fuckers with your Dark Ages God thing think you can just wipe your ass and say three whatever the fuck they ares and you're golden. Idiots. Yeah, that's some enlightened shit, yo. Maybe if you plop your firstborn up on the alter you'll have a good planting season, y'know? Maybe if you eat your enemy's brain you'll get smarter, yo. Maybe if you eat rhinoceros horn powder you'll actually get that erection that the May Queen hath denied thee so long. Stupid fucking idiots. Blurgh. That breath you just took? GIVE IT BACK YOU GOD DAMN COW. SAVE IT FOR SOMEONE WHO COUNTS.

You'll get your innards splashed one day prob'ly and you'll be watching the blurry cars go by and you'll be waiting for whatever it is you expect and it won't come and at the last minute you'll realize you're FUCKED.

And then you'll be all "I should have been kind to people and all living things just FOR THE FUCK OF IT INSTEAD OF SO I COULD GET SOME PRIME REAL ESTATE IN MCHEAVEN. IN A "GOOD" NEIGHBORHOOD."

And that is the core of it, isn't it? I mean, what am I missing? One gets the impression that the only reason religious people ever do anything nice is so it goes on their fucking rap sheet. I think that they are Just About That Fucked Up. I swear to nonexistent god that I can see it in their face. They actually are stupid enough to think that making abortion illegal will stop abortion. There's some fuzzy logic for you. See, they don't care if people get abortions or not. They just want that check mark on their fucking pussy rapsheet. Assholes.

And you know fucking well What Jesus Would Do. He would sell all that worthless shit you spank off to and he'd give the money to poor people. I mean, right? I mean, I read your shitty Bible that some fucking numbnuts midieval jackoffs wrote so people wouldn't pelvis pummel each other's spouses. "Pelvis pummel". Hee hee. Sounds like a kind of stupid figurine you can buy in Reader's Digest.

So, why don't you sell all that crap and give the money to poor people?

Worst part- if I saw you bleeding out at the side of the road?

I'd stop and on the spot I would sign over 2 years of my life ON THE SPOT IN RED PEN so you could be O.K. and go back to being an ignorant fucking schmuck and tellin' your poor children that Baby Kuntster loves them.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

Hee hee. I originally wrote "5 years" and then I was like "fuck that!" and changed it. Ha ha.

What's going to happen? Actually, I've figured out What's Going To Happen------- are you ready for this? Read on------

Here's what's going to happen- pretty much what's happening now, hopefully for a long time, and then it will stop happening. And you know that's best case, vidalicet.

It's actually quite simple. Your job is to make sure stuff keeps going about like it is now for as long as possible.






Blogger XTCfan said...

Stop staring at me!

(Whoa, when I walk around the room, those eyes, they follow me. Weird.)

5:30 PM  

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