Tuesday, April 29, 2008

Yeah, Okay

You wanna fight? Do ya? You wanna step up? If not, step off, bitch.

This is, in essence, what my attorney said to my wife's lawyer today. Note that I called her attorney a lawyer. In my mind, a lawyer is someone who does wills, real estate closings, simple contracts. An attorney is someone engaged in the larger functions of the law, that is, in ball-chopping.

I am in the mood to see some ball chopping today. Yessiree Bob, that's where I want to go today. Why? Because I can, that's why.

Well, okay - there is a reason. I'm suing for divorce as you may know from my previous columns. It wasn't been going well, The theme from the outset was, "I'm going to break your knees, force you to piss yourself in pain and fear, then, as you fall to the pavement, make you lap up that stinking, steaming urine while you beg me to give you something pointy so that you can kill yourself and end the suffering." Yes, that pretty much sums up my ex-spousal counterpart's position. Why so much venom? I must have done something wrong. What did I do?

Nothing, f*ckwit, and I don't care if you believe it or not. I'm tired of explaining what your sexist prejudice has you believe is impossible. And, furthermore, I don't care if you don't care.

Oh, yes, I have bored my friends to tears with my tales of woe. Even my girlfriend (or ex-gf, as the case may be, though this depends on her, now, I guess) would rather me choke on my own vomit than say one more word about it, especially since this will tie me up even further than the timeline as I previously understood it.

Sniff, sniff. Is that the smell of money? Yes, it IS! Come and get it !!!

Lawyers, attorneys, creditors for debt I didn't create, my ex's (and, yeah, she's my ex in my mind, okay, and has been for years, so, tough sh*t) boyfriend's cell phone company are all sniffing for my money. With my dog, I give rewards for good behaviour and tricks well done. Should I treat the humans that could care less hovering around me to wait and see what stitch or crumb I'll drop any differently? I think not.

SO, attorney - do those tricks we talked about today and I'll cut you another check, one of many, I'm sure. Girlfriend, shake off whatever is troubling you at the moment if you don't care to share your issues, get on the phone and restore my manliness. Creditors, go jump in a PCB-filled lagoon and, by the way, her number is XXX-XXX-xxxx. Cheap-ass, low-rent ex's boyfriend - come pick up your future common-law wife, please, I'll pay the fare, First Class, please. Y'all do the tricks you're supposed to do and maybe, just maybe, I'll let you lick my face.

Thursday, April 24, 2008

Mammal Massacre

There's a dead possum in the road leading to my house. Ew. Accompanying this now-inanimate creature is the unmistakeable stench of scrunched skunk. Ew. Over last weekend, I saw a dead bear by the side of Route 15. I don't know if she was hit by a car or shot. Ew. The next day, the bear was till there, but not her head. Oh, god. The deer have been enriching the local body shops, too, apparently, judging by the twiggly-limbed corpses strewn over my route. Ugh.

What I haven't seen in this mammal massacre are woodchucks - not a one. Squirrels, sure, lots of them, and chipmunks, too. A cat or dog now and again, but never a woodchuck. I even saw a flattened beaver last fall. Therefore, I have come to the conclusion that a) woodchucks know what cars are and 2) they are pushing their fellow mammals into oncoming traffic. This leads me to believe that woodchucks are the sociopaths of the mammal community.

Now, I've never seen them pushing their animal adversaries in the path of a Peterbuilt, but, c'mon - two and two equals, right? So, why do they do it? For kicks? Because of chronic, unresolved validation issues with their collective parentage? No, no - they do it for the money.

Okay, okay. You think I'm insane. Well, the eleven people in my head say otherwise.

Here's what I think happened. About 100 years ago, when the automobile business was just getting off the drawing board and onto the road, well, okay, the roads weren't all there yet, so - would you give me a break? You know what I mean. Anyway, the collision business formed by newly-emigrated Italo-Americans to service busted-up flivvers weren't doing so good. Why? Because there weren't yet enough cars to smack into each other on an ongoing basis, of course. So, what to do? Easy - create accidents thereby, stay in business!

Now, the body shop owners could have got Cousin Leopold or some such poor relation to wander into traffic and stir up some wrecks, but how obvious is that? Animals not only seem innocuous, they often are. Of course, most animals will run away from motion, which is why they have to be pushed. This is where the woodchucks come in.

On the plus side, they're short and it's easy for them to sneak up behind other animals who are already too close to the road. They're fairly agile, as anyone who has observed them scurrying in their waddling way suddenly dip into a strategically-placed burrow will tell you. They are very soft-spoken and non-threatening. But, here's the thing - they are closely related to - you guessed it - rats! Unlike rats, they burrow, as previously mentioned, and I'm sure you've heard James Cagney mutter "you dirty rat," referring to those "dirt rats," the scheming, immoral woodchucks.

In the beginning, the shop owners would pay the woodchucks with termites and other tasty insect snacks, but the 'chucks soon got greedy, demanding cash money for the execution of their dastardly deeds, or else. It's rumored that one body joint in Pasadena held out on the woodchucks, refusing to pay for a round of "business." The next morning, the entire shop was gone - the foundations had been undermined by the digging of a battalion of these very serious animals. Word got around and the woodchucks were respected as forest denizens to this day.

In short, when you see a pattern emerging, be sure to also consider what's not there. The missing piece of the puzzle is probably a woodchuck.

Wednesday, April 23, 2008

Killing The Blues

This is one of my all-time favorite songs because it says it all: the confusion of ended love, the politics of local society and the bewilderment of seeing the smoke clear and realizing that one is utterly alone:

Leaves were falling ..Just like embers
In colors red and gold, they set us on fire
Burning just like a moonbeam in our eyes

Somebody said they saw me
Swinging the world by the tail
Bouncing over a white cloud.
Killing the Blues

I am guilty of something
I hope you never do because there is nothing
Sadder than losing .. yourself in your love

Somebody said they saw me
Swinging the world by the tail
Bouncing over a white cloud.
Killing the Blues

Now, you ask me Just to leave you
To go out on my own and get what I need to
You want me to find ..what I've already had

Somebody said they saw me
Swinging the world by the tail
Bouncing over a white cloud.
Killing the Blues

This song was written by Roly Salley of Chris Issak's Silvertones. It's been covered by John Prine and Shawn Colvin and is on Salley's solo effort, available for sale at his website.

Here is Colvin's version.

Monday, April 21, 2008

Nope: Can't Do It.

I just can't. This is too complicated. I can't figure it out. I've said too much. I don't say the right things or make the right choices. I'm back again to being frozen. I just can't figure it out.

When I go back and read old e-mails, sometimes I think I'm strictly insane, sometimes I'm an idiot, sometimes brilliant and amusing. I know it seemed like the right idea at the time but I'm never right. WTF?

Maybe I should just be alone and that's it. Just go to work, eat Chinese food twice a week from the take-away and be satisfied? Will I turn into Travis Bickel? Am I him already?

I'm pretty smart but I don't seem to have the steadfast common sense the gods gave a goat.

Even at this moment, I am frozen, unable to pick up the phone and make that call, the one I should make, the one that would end it, the right call to the right person in the right place. I am frozen because I know it's a fantasy and a waste of time. Nothing turns out the way I think it will or how I imagine it should.

So, I guess that makes me a moron. Huh. Best keep my mouth shut, then.

Saturday, April 19, 2008


Today I mourn the loss of possibly the best, most loving friend I've ever had, C. She touched my life in a way so profound that, as I often remarked to her, mere words could not express the depth or breadth. She listened, truly listened, to me in my darkest, moonless nights. And I knew that she understood.

I can say that she was always there, right there, for me. No matter the circumstance, no matter how dark my state of mind, she could see me naked of artifice and project an enabling confidence that saved my life, from my own hand, not once, but twice. It's thanks to her that I'll live to see my daughter's wedding. She was there to share in my pain, through endless e-mails, chats and phone calls, no matter the time. Sadly, she will not be there to share in the joy my life has yet to reveal.

She was kind and caring always and in all ways. Today, my neighbor was kind enough to use his power blower to help me catch up on leaf collection that I'd been remiss in completing before the winter came. That kindness is repaid with beer, a debt easily settled once and then forgotten. But C had sacrificed so much in her caring for me that I know that were she here today I would be forever in her debt. You see, she was a masterful practitioner of the art of the Mitzvah, a Jewish concept, though she was far from being part of any of the Tribes as one could be. The idea is to take it upon oneself to do a good deed every day, without thought of self-benefit. And she did this for me out of her deep and abiding love that I did not deserve on any level. The debt I owed her could not be repaid in this lifetime or in the hereafter, of this I'm sure.

If you knew C, you know her ways. Steadfast, reliable, funny, oh, so funny and unshakable. There was no topic she couldn't address with me, no matter how complex or silly or avant garde. She would thoughtfully and, sometimes, very slowly, formulate a complex, thoughtful and reasoned answer to my insane interrogatories and I would come away lightened, heartened and wiser. She was humble, too, always telling me that she wasn't as good as I thought she was, but, I tell you this and I stand by it, she was that good and better. Her talent for communication was rare, the complexity of her personality, unique.

Her insights were enlightening to me and her observations so level that they usually stopped me dead in my tracks so that when I'd try to argue a point, knowing full well, instantly, that she'd hit the nail on the head and would have to give way to the infallible logic of the thing. I knew that I could trust her to be honest and somehow, when she was direct, she was still gentle and thoughtful and never hurting, though the truth of her words might be. Still, I never could deny her wisdom, except about me.

In retrospect, maybe she was right. Maybe I am a better person than I give myself credit for, but, in the end, I know that I'm less of a person without her around. If you knew her and had lost her, I know that you'd agree.

I tried to influence her to stop smoking. Earlier this year, she saw her doctor and he agreed to prescribe Wellbutrin, the drug I found effective in smoking cessation and in the inducement of mania. It was just like her to agree to start the drug, but not until the last carton of Parliaments her son got her were smoked. I would kid her that she was making me smoked whenever she lit up. Now, of course, it's no longer a laughing matter.

I lost my mother in December of last year. It took me quite a few months to realize that speed-dialing her, just to say hello, would yield nothing. I looked at my phone just before sitting down to write this and I realized that I wouldn't again hear C's voice, her guttural, hacking laugh, her plegm-induced smoker's cough. There's so much I would tell her now if I only could. The time for that has passed, another connection lost forever.

I miss you now, C, but there's nothing I can do to bring you back. I will try to honor you by taking your actions and your kindness to me to heart and to "pay it forward." Through this, I believe you will never be forgotten. Like you told me once, in the form of a quote from Moonstruck, I should "get over it." Unlike a movie, this loss will not end with the final roll of the credits. I will miss you, more than all the words in the Oxford Unabridged could ever express.

Tuesday, April 15, 2008


I happened on this blog whilst looking for a particular writer whose name I can't remember.


It's intelligent and Mr. Marcus writes in a voice akin to my own. I recommend it.

From Point A to Point Hell

Ya know, the less I say, the less I have to say, it seems. Thank the Deity for the fruit of the vine or I'd have nuffin.

From memory:
Baruch ataw Adonai, melohanu something something something, borai pree hagofen.

Blessed is the Lord, my God, for creating the fruit of the vine.

Amen. My Jewish peeps know where it's at, yo.

Interestingly, I saw a giant LCD billboard on the way to work today at Stalag 101 displaying an FBI wanted ad for fraud for one of my brethren gone wrong, I guess. Not rape, not murder, but fraud. Yeah, mon. Figures.

But that's not what I'm here to talk about. I'm here to discuss the big D. Depression. Some of you get it, some of you don't. Most people I talk to figure it's something one should be able to simply 'snap out of it' and move on. No, sorry, it doesn't work like that.

For instance, I've been depressed now since about April 8th, the time of my last post. One good friend hasn't noticed, but then, I don't really interact with that friend that much and I truly doubt that friend's sensitivity to the world in general. My other good friend knows, innately, but won't press because that friend's a natural-born therapist (but just doesn't know it) and will let me come forward with it when the time is right. That's one of the many reasons that friend is too good for me, but that's another sorry-assed story.

That's what it's like for me, being depressed. It's not sadness, or not sadness alone. It's more like just not giving a f*ck and that's mixed in with anger. To the outsider, it's alienating. To the insider, it's familiar and ugly territory. Motivation is gone, will is gone, decisiveness, wittiness, character is all gone, gone, gone. In truth, I'd rather be dead at this particular moment, but if I was dead, I wouldn't be 'rather'ing anything, since I'd be dead. So tonight, I drink.

Truth is, I'd be best off with a mood elevator or SSRI, but since the SSRI/SNRIs make a man dick-less, it's worse than being depressed. What triggers it? It's all in the head. A chemical imbalance where stress and thinking creates a spiraling environment of downward pressure until the tipping point is reached and then one slides into inaction. Without this fine Zinfandel, I wouldn't be motivated to write even this. In vino veritas, I guess.

If you've been depressed, you know it. Let me again repeat that it's different from being sad. One gets stuck in one's mind-space and it gets worse and worse. Some people commit suicide. Apparently, I'm not suicidal. I know that when I took Welbutrin, I was certainly capable - bad drug for me in that respect. Most people find that their family members and close friends show some level of concern, but it's not enough - am I right, O Depressed Ones? There's no limit in our neediness. But there's a good reason.

For a depressed person, there is hopelessness. Attention means hope and most humans cling to hope to get through their lives on a daily basis. For a depressed person, the attention given out of concern is glommed onto like a drowning man clinging to a piece of driftwood. Un-returned phone calls are viewed with derision; proof that the called person could f*cking care less. That's the mindset - correct me if I'm wrong. Oh, wait: you're too depressed to even write a comment, right?

Here's the thing: hey, depressed people, it's all in your head. That's the good news. The bad news is that you have to get motivated to fight your way up - you know what I mean. But, it can be done as I have done it. I just can't do it right now. And that leads to a destructive wake. I don't want to go to work. I'm angry with my girlfriend. My problems are overwhelming and insoluble. Is it true? I feel it's true, but that's not really so. It's just (I should put that word in quotes) my frame of mind that allows me to think it's true and absolute when, in fact, all is gray and variable and the option is not done until it's actually exercised and even that could be changed.

So, what's my action plan? I cherish my erections, so, drugs are f*cking out. So, straight thinking and acceptance are the methods I have to follow. Ah, f*ck it: maybe tomorrow.

But that just goes to show you: there's hope, brothers and sisters.

There was more to this, but it involved self-destructiveness, so, I deleted it. It would be grand if life were like that. Maybe one could program one's own life. That would be good, or at least, better than this.

Tuesday, April 8, 2008

Poor, Poor Pitiful Me

Somethin's happenin' here
What it is ain't exactly clear

You know you mean well. And you know that your friends count on you for that ear, shoulder or other body part to cry, mince and extend their cumulative tales of woe. They do this because you let them. It's because you're a good sort. The sort who cares.

But even the best-willed souls have their limit. When do you get the proffered ear, huh? How about your Eeyore moments? Who's going to take care of you then? No one, unless you hire them to do it.

Mind-Wizards, known to the sane as psychiatrists and psychologists, must engage in ongoing therapy to understand the inevitable impact the guiding and healing of broken souls takes on their own personae. It's both a perq (not, "perk", dammit, but "perq," short for perquisite - look it up: I don't have the time to be a dictionary now) and an occupational hazard.

Think about it. Are you the one in your crowd who gets the three am drunken phone call about that son-of-a-bitch-who-broke-my-heart-for-the-last-goddamn-time? Or are you doing the dialing? Yeah, it's you. And, guess what: you're at your limit.

For once, things are not going so rosy. That life-change that was just around the corner kinda fizzled, or you just let go of it - too damn much work. Putting curtains up isn't helping and with the new couch, every else, even you, looks a little older and a little shabbier.

Time for a change. No, not time to wait for a change. Time to make the change happen. Think bad things about people. Kick that long-suffering, married, part-time boyfriend of yours to the curb and hit eHarmony already. Take the least likely sporting activity and do it to the hilt - hang-glide, luge, pole-vault, whatever. But most importantly, hang the sign on the doghouse that says, "The Doctor Is O-U-T."

Saturday, April 5, 2008

The Fredo Factor, continued

In case you were wondering what happened to my family member's response, it took the length of the week to get a reply. Here it is:

"These are matters that should be discussed in person."

That's it. One sentence. Nothing in writing, eh, and this is supposed to demonstrate that I have any basis for trusting you? I layed it all out on the line and you're afraid to commit back with "I guess you're right" or "I'm sorry you're feeling this way" or anything other than a neutral, legalistic response? Don't worry, I'm not admitted to the NJ Bar and it's not testimony, anyway, you dick.

I replied, "Okay. When, where and who." Cause I'm f*cking tired of it already.

The reply had to do with an even I was supposed to be a part of, a legal event, after which I'm invited to dinner at his house. His turf. Nope, don't think so. And, it's scheduled for a time that I couldn't possibly attend. Another game. I reply in time to get a response and so far SILENCE. I'm not surprised. What a maroon.

So, today, possibly in the evening when I know he's been drinking, I might call and bang on him. I just read a great article on bullying that may have some techniques I can try out.

In the meantime, my lawyer's ready because I knew this is how it would turn out. Steal my money, fine. Side against me, your family, fine. But don't insult me and further, don't insult my mother, you f*ck, by betraying her trust. Oh, sure, your next sentence will start with "I'm not . . ." but, damn you, STFU because I don't want to hear it.


Win The Battle AND The War: Being A Bully

In case you don't know it, there are myriad ways to hassle and annoy a person you don't like and that you would not only prefer absent but would also like to hurt, just for an extra dose of pleasurable vengeance. More importantly, you can gain control and power over most people by learning to enhance your powers as a bully. You can inspire long-lasting fear and power over people's decisions even when you're not around!

First of all, you will need either to be predisposed to having a nasty-ass nature or you will have to learn, as your effectiveness as a bully/harassing agent will depend on how well you "become" the part. If you are a reasonable, conciliatory person, this may seem impossible to learn, but it is entirely do-able with some practice. If you have some sense of theatrics, you will need to reach down into your soul to wrench out and amplify the "worst" parts of you. And, you will have to be comfortable with lying, cheating, stealing and all manner of what some might consider juvenile and maybe even dangerous behaviour. You can turn this into an advantage simply by surprising your intended target with this new-found behaviour.

Try to think back to your days in the schoolyard. Do you remember how the Bully dominated your mates? He (or she) didn't have to even be around for there to be some level of fear and control. It's amazing, if you think about it. The secret is that the bully only has control over those who freely give it. Now, we won't go into the deep psychology of why this is so, or the questions of morality, but I will point out that it's pointless to be a bully to those who will not be bullied. So, as a vindictive bully, you will have to be able to identify those who can be controlled. Control will give you carte blanche in applying your schemes with great power.

The bully must not care about whether his target is exploitable and must certainly not ever show any doubt or weakness. The important factor is the appearance of strength. This way, even the most stalwart may be cowed into submission. Submission is a key word, as the bully operates as the "alpha" in any group.

Given this slight understanding, it's clear that you will need the following skills:
  • Inner anger
  • Sociopathic tendencies
  • Willingness to inflict emotional or other harm
  • Lack of empathy or sympathy for your chosen target, or victim

Once you have gotten in touch with your "dark side," you can begin testing out your new powers. I suggest you start with people who you don't even know, but be careful until you understand whether you're choosing the right victims. After all, you, as an adult, are operating in the real world in which there are other bullies, more experienced than you, and there can be real consequences, unlike detention. Perhaps it's a check-out person at a big super-market you don't often frequent, perhaps it's the wishy-washy clerk at the laundromat.

Here are some types you should not choose:
  • Government personnel: they can bully you back by wasting your valuable time or denying you what you want of, in the case of police, arrest you.
  • Foreigners: they probably won't understand what you're saying or worse, they have lived their non-gas-pumping lives in some foreign place where the payback for bullying is a rocket attack.
  • Non-select people: in your social realm, it's important to be able to have a base of support so that when the cries go up that you're bad, bad, those in your support circle, whom you have treated way beyond well, will shrug and simply do nothing, as the complainer must be wrong or lying and therefore, will enable your continued abuse and attacks upon your target. Don't bully everyone, even if you can, in other words.

Here are some good choices:
  • A husband or wife: there is in-built trust and emotional ties that will give you a terrific amount of leverage. A boyfriend or girlfriend is an excellent choice, too, but keep in mind that there are no legal ties which limits the intensity of your attacks
  • A child under the age of consent: again, there are ties that bind, such as love, and they will do what you want them to.
  • Someone who owes you something, especially money that they can't readily pay back
  • Disposable friends: in fact, you should think of all but a few friends as disposable as this will help your demeanor tremendously. Don't forget that you control the weak, so you can get back these friends with your charm anytime you like, even if years have gone by.

Once you have chosen your target and have gotten to know at least a little about them, especially their weakness or foibles, make sure that a) they are weak, b) they are ready to be controlled, perhaps by good nature or a "follower" personality and c) they are isolated. The last element is very important for maximum psychological effect. You must be rested and ready at all times to deliver tweak, tap and punch, figuratively speaking. You must never let up. Attacks can be direct or indirect. This is not to say that you will go all out, all at once. You must reel the victim in. Be nice, then, wham! Back off. This will have the victim wondering whether they had actually done something wrong. Try to get an admission of their failure and then, strike again. Attack the failure and feign insult, threaten withdrawal, cry, if you can and when you feel they are almost at the point of reacting, back off. Continue this pattern over the course of, say, a day, then make friends again and leave them be for a week, but not too long as the emotional memory will start to fade. Remember that your victim will help you destroy themselves!

After the right amount of time has passed, start again. You always must be looking for reasons to start another attack but you don't have to act at the time the reason occurs. Save it for the right moment and then, feigning weakness, draw out your victim by feigning complaint, pick on any element of their response (it doesn't matter what) and fire away. Repeat the technique as in the last paragraph. Don't go too far! If they leave, you have lost the round. Yes, they'll be back, but when they see that you don't actually care, the emotional and psychological ties you are depending on to deliver maximum effect will be weakened, making more work for you! Keep them in your control, even if you have to cry, threaten creating a loss to the victim of something you know is important to them, even if you don't actually have the power to make it happen. And, above all, sustain your unreasonableness and continue to deliver the lie that you've been wronged. This is very important: never release the tension or create doubt that you in fact may be wrong. You can know it, but don't show it!

Be sure that your victim can see how you're nice to other people, those people in your circle you will preserve to help destroy your victim. This reinforces how "bad" your victim is, not only to your victim, but to your circle, who will shower you with sympathy and help isolate your target. In other words, you have created a team of "passive bullies" to back you up at all times.

Also, you will have to exercise daily. No, I don't mean the Stairclimber! You must remind yourself of your position in your "role" and reinforce to yourself how you've been wronged by your victim. Now, you don't actually have to be hurt by your target, no, of course not, but it will help you "get into character" for your next series of attacks.

You will have succeeded as a bully if:
  • you force your target to do something that they might not otherwise do
  • you receive large amounts of money from your victim
  • your victim runs away in abject defeat
  • your victim - and here's the beauty part, the definition of an Ultimate Master Bully - comes back, again and again for more
  • your target commits suicide, leaving a note explaining how it's all their fault, etc.

You will have failed as a bully if:
  • you are arrested or get involved with the system in any way due to your activities. This is recoverable, but usually is the beginning of turning your bullying back onto yourself, which is not the plan
  • your victim simply leaves at the outset of your "unacceptable behaviour" and does not return. Some actualized people can't be bullied, so, they suck and you can try to bully them on that level but it may be a waste of time.
  • your circle of support sides with your target. In this case, get therapy (or rehab or some other kind of "public" contrition) and then choose a new victim. This may necessitate changes in lifestyle and moving to a new town.
  • your target is more of a sociopath than you, you have underestimated and the target maims or kills you. This is definitely game over at that point.
The most rewarding element of bullydom is that you, as the bully, do not have to give a rat's ass about anything at all. You can operate as a freewheel, riding roughshod over anything and anyone in your path that doesn't meet with your standards or that annoys you in any way. In other words, you are truly free.

Next time, I'll discuss particular techniques to carry out a major, sustained campaign that will not only hurt your victim emotionally and psychologically, but can actually gain you big profits and big-time vengeance!

Tuesday, April 1, 2008

I Wish I Was On Drugs

I spent about a year on Lexapro, an SNRI. Basically, it helps modulate serotonin and norephrin levels so that people like me aren't so freakin' looney. The side effects are a major bummer, though. Sex becomes as interesting as a mayonaise sandwich, an erection is a surprise, and sleep is your friend, even in the middle of the day. Oh, and I almost forgot - memory loss, similar to that of the long-term potsmoker. Right now, I'm thinking that I almost could give up my dick just so that I could re-enter the Land of I Don't Care.


I got to a good point by late Sunday night. Tonight - fageddaboudit. From a major sinking to anger to I-just-don't-give-a-poo, at two am, mind you. But I do give a poo, and therein lies the problem. I keep missing the f*ckin train, and now I'm destined for the short bus. It's where people like me belong, anyway.


I give up. My heart is broke and I'm just gonna leave it broke. Y'all have a good one without me now, k?

If I'm still around in the morrow, I think I've going to stop writing these true tales of woe. Maybe I'll drone on about Barack Obama or write a blog on Green Alternatives or the latest gadgets. What's the point of being real, anyhow?

Anyhow. Whatever.