I was born an obnoxious asshole with several genes that predispose obnoxious assholism and alcoholism and drug addition and a ludicrously long lifespan. I keep getting e-mail from Reunion.com claiming they can put me in touch with a long lost friend who has been dead for nearly 10 years. Do you think I should sign up or should I just send leads for other members whose friends are also long dead and gone? Comments are welcome.
When I was a kid, besides wanting to grow up to be cruel, I considered being a geek was not a totally inappropriate career path in a nation of miserable fucks (NOMF™). I only bite the heads off chickens that ask for it.I don't care about politics or their lack of importance.
Last night when I stumbled down the stairs to catch some sleep before getting up and doing it again, amen, as Jackson Browne noted some years ago in the job description of The Pretender, I mentioned to Mrs. Faustroll that I apparently had no clean underwear to put on after the shower in the morning before heading in to my cubicle where I would accomplish nothing, but hell. A job's a job. She said: I had too much to eat.
When you don't believe in anything and realize that this life is all your conscious mind is going to be able influence before it gets fucked with by Einstein's theory — assuming that horse exhaust really means anything in the real world — it's easy to forget that many humans are really not all that bad, if you don't have to associate with them or be related to them.
For me, it's easy to forget what I wrote in the previous paragraph. I have no idea what it's like for you, and I don't really care. And I'm not sorry about that either.
So last night, when I crawled into bed I remembered two things I had written about repeatedly over the years: What does not kill me makes me fart and Euphemisms assume there is some innate connection between you and me.
After nearly forty years with this woman, you'd think I'd have all those euphemisms stored in the proper registers to call up whenever I hear them, but no, I was fixated on the fact that I had no clean shorts for the morning, so I removed my clothes and swung beneath the covers, at which point I was transported back to Flushing Meadows at low tide on a summer day and began to gag.
"You farted!" I shouted.
"I had too much to eat," she said.
"I need intubation," I said.
"Fuck you," she said, "Get over it."
Picture two worthless terminal old fucks in a toxic stew of having eaten too much laughing their stupid asses off in the endless inscrutable night.
Helped me this morning though in the elevator when somebody tried to sneak one out.
"Hmmmm," I said, "Someone apparently has had too much to eat."