Archive for October, 2008


Back to you in the studio.

Dear television humanoids, please stop showing me weather reports all the time. For the love of all that is holy please stop! Neither I nor anyone else living in the 21st century has any use for them. Also, I have no idea what those little  arrows and lines on the map really mean. Is that the direction the weather is moving in? Isn’t weather all around us all the time? Sort of like the Unitarian definition of God?

Weather used to play a huge part in the lives of everyday people. It dictated what you could do, and when you could do it. With little chance of escaping it. Man was subject to patterns of nature he couldn’t quite understand. Over time we have tried to develop new ways of understanding weather systems and their causes. Doppler radar and incredibly complex computer models have given us small advances in our knowledge of these phenomena. But a modern person has no use for this information.

What the hell does any of this mean?

We live in houses, drive cars, wear proper clothing and work in climate controlled office buildings. A normal person does not spend hours a day outside exposed to the elements. That only happens if something has gone awry. Besides, chances are they won’t remember what the weather man said this morning anyway. They were too busy trying to wash the vomits stains out of their dress socks. Big promotion coming up!

Unless it’s a huge hurricane of shit heading my way it won’t affect my life in any real way. And I think such an event would warrant a small segment of its own. Somewhere between the feel-good story of a kitten being rescued from a well and the sports results. I don’t need to know the possible weather four days from now. For most of us simply looking out the window before deciding for or against wearing a jacket should suffice.

What’s the weather going to be like tomorrow? More or less like yesterday. The earth won’t suddenly start spinning backwards on its own axis. It’s not going to start raining upwards. Hot won’t be cold. And November is not going to be a pleasantly sunny month. Meteorology is mostly just guesswork in front of a green screen. Suit up and let’s roll.


Hijinks on the High Seas.

Tickle tickle!


The Joy of Words.

Every little word fascinates me. Fills me with ideas and images that make up my mental mindscape. Why does a word fit in a certain place and not another? How come just the sound of things intrigue me? And I’m not talking about the rules we all follow according to proper grammar. It’s more a psychological thing, I’d say. When a well constructed sentence finally reaches its conclusion I feel like I’ve been on a little ride.

– “Wheeeeee!”.

A soothing cathartic feeling washes over me. The core of this feeling probably has to do with the ideas that are conveyed. I’m always craving a nourishing exchange of ideas. But what turns them into something extra scrumptious is the way in which these ideas are delivered. The yummy coating that makes the healthy thought go down smooth. Words that aren’t just used to obscure the truth. Infotain me baby!

All this makes me feel a sort of joy. The anger that I often carry around on a regular day disperses right then and there. Where does all the hate go? When someone makes me a better person I love them for it. I just hope I can repay this elegant favour in kind. Too bad most people are God damn morons. The next guy who tries to talk to me about football or some such meaningless activity is getting punched right in the penis! I do not demand intelligence or even wit of others, as I have precious little of these commodities myself at times. I just hope for an eagerness to learn and thoughtfulness in all situations.

– Cuteness, I’m quite smitten with you but I don’t dare say it yet.


Mannerisms and Aphorisms.

Homosexual males acting in a very certain type of way make me laugh every single time. A high pitched whiny voice, gesticulating wildly with the hands, getting worked up into a frenzy over a broadway musical or fabric or something. Hilariously absurd in a large variety of ways. But mostly because of the very shallowness they purvey with their nonsensical bullshit. Inane drivel without any value is still drivel even if you put a fabulous dress on it. These are the things that make my brain hurt as it desperately tries to escape from my skull.

Who gives two shits about show tunes and fashion trends? Seriously? And why do they all of a sudden have to don this persona just because they happen to occupy a narrow sub-culture? Are their identities totally dictated by their sexual preference? Why do they have to act in such a “faggy” way just because they like having sex with other men? Don’t get me wrong: Most homosexual men are not at all like this. But these mincing, frilly, walking jokes exist by the thousands. The reason for this is very likely due to the fact that a majority of men in general are complete idiots without any real personality to speak of.

No amount of sex is going to make club music in any way bearable for me. Unless I’m getting blown during I’m not interested. Camp as an end in itself is an end most gay men should stay out of.


Type my pretties, type!

Give an infinite amount of monkeys typewriters and let them randomly press the keys and they will eventually produce the works of Shakespeare. At least according to the well known theorem. But what can a couple of million bloggers with some sort of purpose behind the frantic bashing on millions of keyboards create? Perhaps a novella by Hemingway? Hell, I’d settle for a decent Tom Clancy. After all, most bloggers are smarter than monkeys. Most…


Leave Me My Fears.

There are certain things in life we all take for granted. Things that when you take a step back and reflect upon them are revealed to be quite absurd. What is it about the passage of time and turning the ceaseless repetition into tradition that make otherwise illogical things seem almost mundane? Why do we go about our lives in certain ways, why do we accept this? This is just a rather large and maybe preposterously convoluted way for me to say: Dogs are fucking scary!

Not all dogs mind you. The small ones I have no problem with. But most dogs taller than my knees freak me out somewhat. Hasn’t it occurred to anyone that dogs are animals with big teeth and powerful jaws? And they prefer to eat meat. That doesn’t scare anyone?

– “Well dogs are tamed?”

Bullshit! Dogs flip out all the time. Every other day some apparently docile and domesticated dog goes insane and chomps on someones ankles. If a dog gets a chance he’ll chew your fucking face off. It’s not like dogs have any real sense of right and wrong. Dogs aren’t more moral than any other animal. If a dog sees a winning outcome from him killing you and abusing your corpse he will do it. The only real reason why most dogs do not is that they consider you to be part of the same pack and probably that you’re also the dominant leader. You see, a dog is an idiot. Even a full grown St. Bernard which is twice as heavy as its owner (let’s say a 55 kilo girl named Jennifer with blond hair and no real muscle mass to speak off)  will be easily intimidated. Since she’s walking on two legs and is therefore higher above ground. Dogs are God damn morons.

This thing will kill your entire family!

In fact I’d say that the dogs that freak out and mangle someones face and genitals are probably the ones that got wise to this little bullshit deal we’ve got going here and decided to be free. Only they can’t quite grasp the idea of social constructs and rules and end up getting put to sleep. Because, like I said, a dog is stupid. That’s why I don’t trust dogs that are stronger than me. It’s like trusting a monkey with a gun. Sure it’s cute, almost quaint even. Until it figures out that it’s got the upper hand. And before you know it you’re ducking behind a dumpster, kneeling on a used tampon and two week old pizza. Trying to figure out what went wrong.

Not all fears are irrational.


The Man, part 5.

– “The sex was freakin’ amazing. Fucking awesome!”

She all but threw it out there. Without any hint or warning leading up to it. She had a habit of doing that. No hint. Nothing to brace you or get you into the mood of the topic of this little spiel. Plop;  and there it was on the floor.

– “Uhuh.”

He muttered back and tried to sound uninterested. Taking a swill from his beer while fumbling to get the cellphone out of his pocket with the other hand. Thinking of ways to get out of this situation and into a bar. A sensible plan for getting slaughtered was needed.

– “I must have cum like a dozen times last night.” She continued.

Details. Details flying at him like sand into his eyes. Unasked for and annoying when you can’t help yourself from looking and just have to keep staring into the spray.

– “Alrighty then. Stupendous. Good for you and hooray.”

It’s not really a conversation when one of the parties is constantly trying to shut it down. He realized this of course and hoped she would too. Although that would assume she had any real intention of this being an actual conversation and not just another one-sided monologue piece about her amazing lovelife, sexlife and fucking-ignoring-him-life. Alas, it was so.

She swiveled around on the chair and gazed up into the ceiling, leaning back so far that her hair almost touched the floor behind her. Occasionally swirling and sipping her drink as she twirled. The liquid inside the glass, some sort of pink mojito-half breed, sloshed dangerously close to the edge of its container as she picked up speed. It looked like the stuff coming off of that pink puck in the urinal, flushing down into the drain.

He was at this point furiously pushing the buttons of the phone with his thumb in an attempt to construct a text message that could save him from this predicament. Accidentally mashing several letters at once in his haste, misspelling as he went. Growing more annoyed with each mistake.

– “Why the hell are the buttons so God damn small? It’s like this thing was designed to be operated with a midget’s toes.” He muttered to himself as he finally got the last digit right and pressed ‘send’.

He was going to need a much stronger drink than this if he was to survive the wait. Something that could dull his mind sufficiently. In order to desensitize him from the apparent set topic of the evening. He strode over to the little bar area in the corner of the living room and plonked down his bottle on the wooden counter. The force was enough to stir up the carbonation in the beer and cause it to fizz slightly. Rum would do the job. After all: ‘Time flies when you’re having rum.’.

Downing the first round in one go he hardly had time to taste it. Pity, it was a good brand. Once it hit his stomach it gave him that old familiar feeling. A warm almost burning sensation started to emanate from his gut. Spreading into his chest, arms and legs. When it finally hit his head it was like superglue spreading, drying and hardening inside of his brain. An epoxy cauterizing every neural cluster and the thoughts that went with them. Back to being an idiot, a safe feeling.

A beep and a rattle in his pocket. Paige had responded to his text.

“im working tonight, sorry baby :(“

– “His cock was huge!” she slurred as she leaned back just far enough on the chair to tip backwards and do an unwilling and flailing somersault.

He was going to need a bigger bottle.

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..that I like stuff?


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