- I -
Not Powered By
Immovable Type 1.4142135623731
the two of us are dying
Well, Skippy, looks like we're coming to a headlong afrontery, that crossroads collision where pieces of everything are going to be separated from their usual adjacencies and sent end-over-end into the grass and onto the sidewalk and along the blacktop. A struggle of wills and awful greasy food clogging up everything about us as we sit here mired in it all. You think this all some fucking shot to your ego, therapy session, and soapbox all humped together in one neat little fucking package. I'm here to tell you that fucking sucks and you can take that to the fucking
Last night was one of those nights. My car insurance was cancelled last week and I just found out about it last night. Just as I'd sat down to contemplate what I was going to write my wife shouted down that there was a cancellation notice sitting there in a stack of mail that I apparently should've looked at previously. As is probably obvious from what I ended up posting last night, it took the wind out of me. For the record, it was unrelated to that post a few weeks ago talking about the letter from the MVA. At least I think so. Though between the two things now I'll probably end up owing the state two fines. I'm fucking happy about that.
So you're going to fucking ignore me, is that it, Skippy? You think people want to listen to this shit?
The sky was emptying today; while out driving I found that nearly all of it had been emptied into a circular area just about twenty-five feet around. Some massive sinkhole had engulfed the road. Still, the crazy fuckers in their SUVs were playing the part of the delusional with a Moses complex, thinking their hulking vehicles would somehow cause this sea in the middle of Father Hurley Boulevard to part. I watched one brazen fool drive a gray Honda out into the middle of it and then sink like a stone. She didn't even have time to stick her hand out the window and wave goodbye.
Still the moron behind her went ahead and followed suit. His cell phone was right across his eyes like one of those bars that tricks idiots into believing we don't know who we're looking at when we see their pictures. I imagine their impenetrable fortresses on wheels rubbing together down there, wherever that sinkhole leads.
Not similarly pathological, I pulled my car across the grassy median, took a different route. They'll be digging people out of that rubble for months, and every one of them will have a stupid grin smeared across their lips while their eyes show the horror they discovered just as they realized that this whole rock doesn't spin for their convenience just because they've got their windows rolled up so that everything outside looks like a TV show.
This is hard, man. It's not that it's easier just to talk about my day. This comes from observation: usually that's what I'm looking to read when I read these things; I want to see what goes on in everyone else's lives, see how ordinary everything can be.
You don't even know what the hell you're saying. Ordinary? You want ordinary, go sit on the couch. Digest that lump of animal fat that's turning you into a grotesque meatbeast. Stare at the fucking wall. That's normal.
Either way, Skippy, you ruined this shit for me. You outsmarted me, you dragged me down to your level. Well fuck it, it's ruined anyway, so if there's a little continuity issue, what's the difference?
Captain Hooligan's left left foot kept kicking in windows. He'd been walking these same sidewalks for more than thirty years without a problem and then last week his leg just took to breaking shit.
The leg was planning to ruin the rest of his life whether he was up for it or not. Some kids on bikes rode by and laughed when he missed the window pane on the front of the Family Dollar and hit the brick wall instead.
"You think it's funny, you little twats? You see how funny you think it is when somebody you've been friends with all your life just decides to turn over on you with no word of explanation! See if you're laughing then!"
Of course that made it worse, and they rode off laughing even harder. He'd kicked the wall on purpose. He caught it that time, the leg went off and kicked at the window on its own but he'd been waiting for it, and just in time he twisted the rest of his body just enough so that he'd miss the window. Of course he could still feel the pain shooting up from his crammed big toe. The leg'd do whatever the hell it wanted, but it hadn't stopped sharing the pain.
I've been working on my Globber software. Ran a utility to convert it to .Net. It seems to be working now, though I'm still using the old version for the time being. I'm trying, again, to figure out a way to have the thing create an RSS page/stream/whatever at the same time it creates the html. Trying, but not trying very hard.
This morning I woke up with a migraine. It's been coming and going ever since. Stress, caffeine, weather, everything. And there's this voice...
Yeah, real clever, Skippy. Just gotta "tie it all together," right? Fucking moron. Nobody cares. Write something interesting next time or I'll kick in a fucking window.