3 posts in one day.

I’m making 3 [Possibly more later] posts in one day because of the following;

I don’t have internet access in my room anymore. The only way to get on to the internet is in my mother’s room, which means no more late nights bloggin’ away or chattin’ it up on MSN. This sucks because, now I have to get a life. No more self-imposed agoraphobia.

Also because I didn’t make an entry yesterday because of the fuckery and also because I moved 4 1/2 hours south of Orillia. Or rather, I was, before today, 2 hours north of St. Catherines. The Good Colonel should get that. The crazy mama jamba.

Goddamn was yesterday ever fun. I think that if there had been anymore laughter because of the fact finding that happened then…um… then there would have been more laughing I suppose. The snippets of conversation below are not completely accurate, they were far more filled with hilarity.

Snippets from the journey away from Orillia with The Colonel Doctor

Colonel Doctor – “Are you cold?”
Dan – “No, sometimes I feel a chill runs up my spine, no matter the temperature, it doesn’t matter if it’s hot or cold.”
Colonel Doctor – “That’s probably evidence of an anxiety disorder.”
Dan – “Shit.”
Colonel Doctor – “Don’t worry about it.”
Dan – “Well, apparently I have to.”

Dan – “That guy gave me too much change.”
Colonel Doctor – “He just wants to bugger you. Just like you know who.”

Dan – “Hahaha, check it out ‘Nobleton.'”
Colonel Doctor – “Yeah, I used to live there.”
Dan – “Oh.”

[After a pregnant woman walks by]
Dan – “At least you know she puts out.”
Colonel Doctor – “I was just going to say that!”

Dan – “Oh my god. You know I used to think he was just really funny. But now everything is falling into place. I’m scared.”

I didn’t know that Barrie was code for "Ass Fucking"

Yeah. St. Catherines is interesting. I brought my mattress down, but as it turned out, my mom bought a new mattress for me. A single mattress. I’ve been sleeping on a double for the last 5-6 years now. I’m also used to the last 10 months of having the right side of the bed being open and the left side of the bed being up against the wall.

So last night as I lay in my new bed in my residence I felt that I had made a fucking huge mistake. Mostly because I smashed my head against the wall on the right side, and also nearly fallen off of the left side. Also, because I don’t know the layout of this place, I walked into the wall.

I want to go home. This is bollocks, my place isn’t here, it’s in Orillia.

Because of certain fuckery by a former [best of 15 years] friend of mine I was rather pissed off last night. When someone is done a favour by someone and the party that has received the favour decides that they can fuck everyone around I tend to get a tad bit aggrivated. I felt resposible because I was the middle man, the one who asked for the former friend someone if they could rent a cell phone for a month.

200 dollars and 3 weeks after the bill is posted later, children are pressed for food and the former friend is getting fucked up the ass [literally] by his boss. It puts things in such a light that things said in the past now make so much more sense. The only good thing about it was all the jokes and laughter on the move down to St Catherines.

So basically after less than 24 hours in St Catherines I have the urge to return to Orillia and also the urge to bathe for hours on end rocking back and forth muttering “won’t come clean, won’t come clean” Come? Just like…

24 hours to Perdition

Spent all day packing for the big move to St. Catherines today. I’m such a disjointed, disorganized mess. Found things I didn’t know/forgot I had.

Examples:

A bag that contained the following:
– 12 Pack of “Ribbed for her pleasure” Trojans
– Cherry flavoured lubricant
– 1 Chocolate flavoured condom
– 1 Cherry flavoured condom
– 1 booklet of “Sexual favours” Coupons
I got that from my ex Pam just before I broke up with her. It’s very sad that none of those items have since been used. Goddamnit.

A variety of dishes that should have been washed months ago.
Shorts.
A t-shirt with the following handwritten on it “insert semi-poignant, cliched, anti-establishement, abortive statement here.” [I have quite a few t-shirts with various things such as that written upon them]
A poster of Maynard James Keenan from an old issue of Revolver with a naked blonde bimbo on the reverse side. Not that shocking, but I much prefer the Maynard side.

The move happens tomorrow, which is insanely c lose. In the future I should actually plan things instead of leaving them all to the last minute. I always leave everything to the last minute. Knowing me I’ll forget something tremendously important, like my CD collection, or my computer, or my soul. Oh wait, I lost it in a bet years ago. I should ask Lucifer if I can, maybe, get it back.

Maury is by far a good example of what’s wrong with today’s media.

The problem with living when the world is asleep is that there’s nothing to do. Eventually your avenue’s of entertainment run dry and you end up watching crappy television. Maury. I’m laughing, but that’s probably the lack of sleep.

Circus Clowns I can understand, because they’re creepy as fuck, with all their “playful nature” with children, far too Jackson-esque.. Cats too, there is always a pile of them wherever I go at night, with their glowing night vision eyes. Spiders also because I have a light touch of the old arachnophobia, eight legs are unnatural. But hair? Chalk? This poor woman’s grandmother told her that chalk was made from the skins of dead people. They brought in a pail of chalk and she took off running and screaming. I admit, this kind of shit is funnier then hell.

6 foot 4 dude that’s afraid of clowns.

“Send in the clowns.”

Motherfucker runs into the audience and jumps out the exit with the clowns chasing him.

This sort of thing fascinates me because I’m disturbed that they would ever put something like this on television. My option is Maury-the-King-of-Phobias or Regis and Kelly. I’m sticking with Maury-the-sonuvabitch-who-gets-off-on-torturing-people-and-publicly-humiliating-them-in-front-of-an-entire-nation.

Now I’m riveted. I can’t stop watching. My so-called “phobias are as follows; dying alone and also of commitment. Conflict of fears? In the opinion of this blogger – most definitely yes. Anyways my thread of purpose is why does such programming exist? What’s the point? It isn’t art and it damn sure shouldn’t be entertaining. It’s purely shock value. It’s loud, it’s over compensation. There is no true creative process, it’s a way to go about amusing the masses by removing thought, which should be required if there’s any sort of entertainment or art. Of course these life crippling phobias were cured in a short course of 3 hours which was broken down to a one hour program. However we didn’t get to see any of the process of said “magical cure.”

At least quality shows like “First Wave” is still on. Oh wait, that got cancelled. At least there’s Futurama. Oh wait. Damn. Star trek hasn’t been around since 2000 [Voyager and Enterprise don’t count]. Friends? Oh wait, it’s good that that got cancelled.

Fin.

I don’t know if I have anything to say.

Sebastian Spence is the win.

Does anyone remember the show “First Wave”? I remember watching it years ago and then it got cancelled into it’s third season. Total badass sci-fi show about a man framed for his wife’s murder by aliens and his traveling around killing them and exposing their experiments. Believe me it’s 100x better than that synopsis there. Anyways, the moral of the story is that it’s on around 4:30 in the morning. Been enjoying the splash of nostalgia.

It’s like a wayback machine that somehow gets me thinking about tomorrow and the day after that as well. In about 3 weeks I’m going to be 20. Two Zero. Twenty. I’m getting old. I remember being about 12 years old as if it were yesterday thinking to myself; “Man! In the year 2000 I’m gonna be 15 years old! I’ll be so grown up!” Now I’m almost 20, Two Zero, Twenty and I’m still as “grown up” as I was when I was 12.

There’s “the whole rest of my life” ahead of me, but I feel as if those days are going to be empty, without substance, much like the last 20 years. There’s this panic in my chest and stomach that’s stopping me from trying. I don’t get it. Such vivid and grandiose dreams, but no ambition. It’s really starting to piss me off. I’m [almost] 20 years old, my old friends are getting married and having kids. KIDS. The most irresponsible one of them all is engaged and his fiance is pregnant.

Don’t get me wrong, I fear commitment and lack the ability to ever be a good father, I’m just saying that I feel like I’m missing out on the bandwagon of “maturity and life”. I feel old beyond my days, yet crushed under the weight of my lack of age.

It’s like I’m a game of Rock, Paper, Scissors and Captain Brannigan is saying “Kif, we have a conundrum.”

Alas I know that my days are greatly numbered. I will die in my early 40s. It’s the Ubdegrove curse. My father’s side of the family rarely lives beyond that age. I think the only survivors past it are his younger brother and his younger sister. Not that I could tell you their names, or if they’re still alive, but still, my point is valid. There’s a curse on the Ubdegrove’s. We must have really pissed off some bitchy witch centuries ago. I think that the reason that I can’t evolve as a person, or grow up for that matter is due to some very real and serious issues surrounding my father and the circumstances surrounding of how his REDRUM affected my life.

The last time I cried was a few months back when I lost my sanity for a bit. I completely lost my emotional stability. Nothing is more humiliating then losing yourself in front of a friend. Worse so is crying in front of a friend. The time prior to that, I can’t remember crying, though I’m sure I have. I didn’t cry when I found out that my dad was dead and I think that I’ve yet to shed a tear over his spilled blood. Didn’t go to the funeral and I don’t know where he’s buried. I was 12 and even then I had the frame of a bitter enough mind to refuse to go to the funeral.

Now the only emotions I have are hate, anger and sarcasm. I’m thinking about keeping it that way. Keep my distance, don’t get involved with anyone and certainly never continue the cycle of my father. He’s dead and he should forever rot that way.

It amuses me as to how a post started off praising a cancelled sci-fi show and ended up as a rant.

But the keys are like, right next to each other.

Dan says:
you are such a bad mod. jajaja
Dan says:
er “hahaha”

Rube just got PWNED!

A.D.I.D.A.S. says:
HAHAHAHA, I JUST found a REAL song called ‘Statutory’.
Dan – I’m like a superhero with no powers or motivation says:
hahaha, who does “statutory”?
A.D.I.D.A.S. says:
This band in South Carolina. Want at hear it?
Dan – I’m like a superhero with no powers or motivation says:
of course haha
A.D.I.D.A.S. says:
http://www.myspace.com/deadatdawn
Dan – I’m like a superhero with no powers or motivation says:
oh my god, have you shown Rube?
A.D.I.D.A.S. says:
Nope, I just told him about it.
Dan – I’m like a superhero with no powers or motivation says:
this is too good

The Laughing Man Saga.

Read The Laughing Man Saga in order:

The Laughing ManThe Laughing Man goes to Chinatown
The Laughing Man goes to Church
The Laughing Man goes to a funeral