A Quick Note Before Emotional Holocaust

To all you fuckers who use British accents but aren't actually from Britain, I'm coming for ya. And hell's a-riding with me.

Emotional Holocaust, Intro

This might be a big post, and it's too late. I had to go to an etiquette seminar today. Here's a teaser on how I would describe my feelings for her right now:

"The normal question, the first question is, are these cannibals? No, they are not. Cannibalism in the true sense of the word implies an interspecies activity. These creatures cannot be considered human. They prey on humans. They do not prey on each other, that's the difference. They attack and they feed only on warm flesh. Intelligence? Seemingly no reasoning ability, but basic skills remain from a remembered everyday life. There have been reports of these creatures using tools. But even these are the most basic, the use of tools as bludgeons and so forth. I might point out that even animals have been known to adopt the use of tools in this manner. These creatures are nothing but pure, motorized instinct. We must not be lulled by the concept that they are our family members or our friends. They are not. They will not respond to such emotions."

Dawn of the Dead, 1978, George Romero.

The Cutest Li'l Ho

My sexlife can be summed up in a single line -

"This is a joke, right?"

This is the big one before Emotional Holocaust. Seriously, after that one, your computer screen will be weeping. Then melt, because computers can't feel.

But first, the cutest li'l ho = Lucy.

Now, Lucy may have liked me, or she may have stuck to her role way, way longer than humanly possibly.

Lucy was another MSN person. Now, in school, she was basically one of the girls from Mean Girls. You know, making fun of people, being bitchy, being popular, holding parties, getting drunk. A party girl. Not my idealized type. A girl who teased people, made fun of them.

So, she comes up and says that she likes me likes me on MSN. Of course, I was weirded out, so I responded:

"This is a joke, right?"

She insisted it wasn't. I insisted it was. It kept on, and she left.

Now, the next three years, she kept it up. I gotta hand it to her.

She started teasing me, mock sexually touching me. Her friends got in the act, too. Because that's what mean girls do - tease nice boys.

Now, one mean girl liking me, that's lottery-likely, but her friends all doing so? That's winning-lottery-while-getting-struck-by-lightning likely. So now, some girl's interested, I'm gonna think it's a joke. I'm not that handsome, I'm a muttering nerd.

They kept touching me, and sadly, it was one of the only times I've ever been touched by a female. Oh Lordy, lordy, lor-dee..this is a joke.

It was weird. You know, it's one of those really vague memories, but I remember it was gym class. (This was high school, just so you know. So that's a whole shit-storm of new sexual politics about teasing to get attention.)

Anyway, we were in the gym, I hear something like, "I like (My name.)" I jokingly say, "Ah ha, Lucy, you were talking about me, eh?"

She replies, "Oh no, I was talking about (the one other kid in the school with my name.)."

It kept going on, we moved on. Quite literally, I moved to Toronto for college. It was over, and I stirred, alone.

Until 2005 Eve, on a crazy-ass New Year's Party, which is another post in and of itself. Maybe after Emotional Holocaust.

The New Year's Party. We're at a place she has to herself, with another bunch of dudes. We get to talking, and I was feeling pretty good, pretty light, so I let my guard down. She starts to take my arm, I think.

Then I look back, pause, and say, "My God, you really liked me."

She smiled. Now, either she thought,

"Ah. He finally realizes it. Although, too much has passed. We're separated, and the feelings are gone. What folly."

or...

"Gotcha, bitch!"

It all depends on whatever side of the manichean coin you flip, I guess, based on my biased telling of the story.

I'd tell you which side I believe she really felt, but I'd be a fool either way.

Be My Baby's Daddy...

If there's a point to this series of articles on my romantic life, it's that you can break hearts, have your heart broken, and be subject to wild demands and emotional irrationality, and you don't have to kiss a girl.

Now, on to business.

Back in the day, I had this friend, "Dick". His girlfriend had my MSN name. We talked sometimes. Let's call her Janey. Eventually, she mentioned her friend. For the purposes of her not coming angrily after me, let's call her Susie. Now, Janey says Susie is alone - she hasn't had a date for a while. I wasn't dating anyone at the time. So she asks me if I'll date her once, lift her spirits, make her feel good. I figure sure, what the fuck. What could possibly go wrong.

Famous...last...words.

Now, I begin to talk to her on MSN. She seems nice, nothing too much, nothing too substantial. I offer to take her to a movie, Die Another Day. We'll make it a date with Janey and Dick.

Now, this was a pretty bad date. As in, ooh, that's gotta hurt bad. Picture Mike Tyson punching you in the face bad.

I get to the girl's house, driving around. Now, I'm not sure if this is the house, so I'm checking my map, because I've never met the girl before in my life. I'm trying to knock on the door. Then she raps on my passenger side window. Okay, so far, so bad...

Then Janey tells me Dick can't come. (Which would be an awesome sentence if you cut it off before "Dick".) So now I'm entertaining both girls. Trying to stir up conversation with this girl I've barely met, and another I don't really know all that well. Bad.

Then we get to the theater. I can't pay. There's no money - I left it at home. They have to pay my way.

We say nothing the whole movie, and make the briefest chit-chat the way back. The girl's nice, but I'm not about to break the sacred Movie Covenant to talk to her. Besides, I'm too much of a chicken-shit to make out with this girl. That, and I'm not attracted to her.

Now, you think after a date gone this wrong, you'd think she wouldn't want to talk to me. And you'd be right.

Until about two months later. I'm going through high school, playing video games, doing all this shit. Then she turns me on to a MSN message, basically saying

1. She's pregnant
2. The dude's too stupid/retarded/scared to take care of the baby.
3. Will I take care of her baby?

Of course, I took the most calm, reasonable, rational, mature reaction to the situation.

...

"This is a joke, right?"

No, it's not a joke, really! She says.

"This is a joke, right? I'm on it, ah ha."

No, really.

Holy crap. Ah.

Ah, I gotta go.

And, to my eternal credit/shame, I ACTUALLY CONSIDERED DOING IT.

I mean, it's like this, if a beggar said he's poor, hungry, and ashamed, and no one else will take him, and can you please take care of him, you can't kick him out on the street, even though he's a poor beggar.

But then, the "This is a joke, right?" sense kept coming in. I denied it, denied it, denied it. This is a joke. You are screwing with me. No one would possibly ask someone whom they dated once, awkwardly, and haven't conversed in over two months, to raise their child. This is a joke. This is not happening.

I still don't know if it's a joke, because I never saw the girl during the pregnancy. Never saw her again, except for that one date. Never saw her.

Although her story has the worst kind of happy ending. She had a miscarriage. So, now she's not a teenage mother.

What a horrible story.

And then, the next summer, she calls me up at 10:00 at night. She asks me how I'm doing, what I'm doing. I tell her I'm at home, relaxing.

"Oh, you need to go out and drink, have some fun. You're so boring."

Then she hung up.

Oh, Susie, I'm infinitely grateful I never got a second date. Day-um.

Alcohol Is The Devil's Drink

I'm never buying alcohol again.

I can remember all the times I've drunk.

There was the time I drank a beer on a public school playground, three years ago, during spring or winter.

There was the time I got wasted and puked a lot at a party during the summer the next year. That was embarassing.

Didn't pay for either.

Then, there was this year. Two times.

We went out for a drinks at this little shit-bar, Tumblers. It's dirty, pseudo-western country. It sucked. I paid for a bit of their drinks. Still, not my idea. A lot of it was their idea.

I bought a single white Russian trying to pick up a chick, hot little British number named Janice, or something...I forget. I failed - didn't get her number. But I could've.

Now, today is the first time I went to a liquor store. I bought a 6.95 dollar wine. I knew I shouldn't get it, but I figured, hey, if it's a bad wine, at least I didn't pay too much. I was ashamed. I'm hiding it in my room, away from my unit-mates. They won't steal my milk, but leaving out my wine will be like the Jurassic Park goat.

Keep in mind, it's my second time in a liquor store. First time I bought something.

Then, some homeless guy sees my bag. Comes up to me, and asks me for fifty cents to buy a beer.

Now, that's a pretty good begging strategy right there. That's ballsy, informative, and correct. I'm morally in checkmate - how can I not give him money for a beer, when I have one myself? It also defeats my moral standpoint of, "You're just going to spend it on beer," because he's admitting it himself.

I lied, told him I didn't have any change, and left. I'm willing to feed the homeless, but not their addictions. Plus, I felt disgusted - first time I bought a beer in my life, and automatically, he compares me in the same league as him.

Alcohol's the great equalizer.

Oh, and for the record, I'm doing this to get a girl. I hate alcohol. Just a waste. But I can't really serve Coke with a fancy meal, like I did last time. So wine it is. I'm trying to build up a resistance.

And after I get past the "Impress me" stage of a relationship, I'm ditching the al-kee-hol. It just ain't good for you.

Tomorrow: "Be My Baby's Daddy."

You Decide!

Consider this my official stance on making this blog a friendly dictatorship. I won't listen to what you have to tell me, but I will let you decide what to hear.

I'm pondering discussing a ladyfriend. You can decide which one. You only vote once for one of three options.

The three options will be:
"Be My Baby's Daddy,"
"The Cutest Li'l Ho,"
and...
"Emotional Holocaust."

Or none of the above. Or all of the above.

Keep in mind, this will be emo bitching to the utmost. This is me getting a whole buncha shit off my chest.

If you want to, put it in the comments.

Random strangers who stumbled on to this blog, your vote counts too.

Except "You're a fucking idiot" guy. You don't count. You stink.

I'm a fucking idiot.

Okay, now, as none of you know, since no one reads this blog, at least, those who aren't willing to advertise penis pills or their own blogs or suicide, I make stupid comments in pretty much every blog post since I started this blog. I'm able to do this behind relative anonymity, since I've told no one about this blog. I don't advertise. And should I ever become a politician, I will delete all traces of this blog from history, and summarily execute everyone who ever read this blog.

And if you just read that statement, you're on the list, too.

Anyway, I made a pretty stupid post a while back. It was stupid, and I deleted it. You can look it for it, and name it. I'll send you a No-Prize. That was a comic book reference. See, more stupidity. I say stupid things, free association things, and hopefully people laugh at them.

I made a stupid, unfunny post. So some person, now, responded with, "You're a fucking idiot" to a post I made.

Although, to be fair, this was made almost a full year ago. Which means that this commentor searched my archives, found this article the most appaling, and decided to comment on it.

If you picked randomly, why, if I was an idiot? Was the post linked from somewhere else?

Now, you can't search it. I don't even show up on Google. And Google has everything. This guy read through my articles.

Well, sir, I may be an idiot, but at least I don't read, look through, and comment works made by idiots. (Except maybe Chuck Palahniuk.) And though I may have a mouth that makes oil seem like mountain water, at least it's not directed to any one person.

I don't have the exact words with me, but it was about a blind news reporter. In the post, I wondered how she did it, in a less than complementary way. Looking back on it, that's admirable, that she's able to overcome that handicap. She's admirable, and has more bravery than I do. I didn't make that apparent in the post, but now I do.

There. I've brought it up, commentator, I have nothing to hide. Tell the people about the post. You can continue to hide. Tell me about my blog. Tell me how I'm a fucking idiot. We'll engage in a debate, I'll argue how I'm not, you'll argue how I am.

Sure, you can call someone a fucking idiot, but if you can prove someone's a fucking idiot, then you're a pimped-out player from the streets.

And by the way, you have to provide the date too. Otherwise, it could just be some smart-aleck wiseguy.

Hope you remember the fucking idiotic post.

I Feel Sorry For A Band

Specifically, Prussian Blue.

You see, Prussian Blue is the name of a British blues-rock band. They released 5 albums: Room at night, child, zielasko, blue too, and enamel badge.

Here's some sample lyrics:
Lying in bed, right next to you,
Wondering what I'm gonna do.
Touching your hand, I hear you breathe,
Why on earth do you have to leave?

CHORUS

Don't go,
Please, don't go.

They are not the twin girl Nazi band. They have songs like Sacrifice, about how great Rudolf Hess was. I won't publish their lyrics, in case some Nazi links me to this page.

Who do you think people are going to remember, huh? The moderately popular British blues-rock band, or the Nazis?

To them, it's like being the other Adolf Hitler. Really, because they're both Nazis.

The English band came first. And then those evil Nazi blonde twins came in and fucked things up. Just another person the Nazis hurt.

I bought a song from Prussian Blue on iTunes, and you should too. The English version. Even though they suck. They really do suck. Just buy one, for sympathy.

And if you buy a Nazi Prussian Blue song, you should be killed by having something sharp shoved up your ass. Unless it's to study how evil they are. But I assure you, they're really evil, so you don't need to listen to them, so my declaration of death by anal penetration stands.

Sorry if I sound a bit weird, I watched American Psycho tonight. That movie's fucked up.

Anyway, Prussian Blue English good, Prussian Blue Nazi bad.

That is all.

How To Live Like Me...

1. If it's over 10 bucks, it's a luxury.
2. Food has no price limit.
3. But, if you're in the store, get it cheaper.
4. Eveyrwhere you go, dress like you're trying to impress somebody. Try and wear a suit everywhere you go, if you're a dude.
5. If these clothes get uncomfortable, adjust them to make them comfortable, within reason. Undo the top button.
6. Dollar stores are your friend. If it's there, get it.
7. Cheap is good.
8. If you don't want to do something fun, don't do it.
9. If someone you like wants you to do something fun with them, even if it's not your kind of fun, do it anyway.
10. Blue, black, grey, red, and white are the only colours suitable for dudes.
11. Never wear pink or makeup.
12. Never smile.
13. If you see a guy in a store, don't make contact. Just talk to people if you actually want to start a conversation.
14. Don't talk too much. Part of the Kevin principle.
15. If you're going bald, go all the way.
16. Don't wear dreadlocks if you are white.
17. Shampoo+conditioner, soap, and toothpaste are all you need to keep clean.
18. Shower every day.
18. Don't get drunk. That's for alkies.
19. Don't do drugs. That's for druggies.
20. Go to bed whenever you can get 8 hours of sleep before you have to do something the next day. For example, got something at 10? Go to bed at 1. That gives you until 9, when you can wake up and do 16 and 17.
21. When in doubt, fuck 'em.
21. Always be confident. Normally, thi swould require feeling good about yourself, but you're not that great. So, think of everyone else as lesser than you.
22. Read one good book a week.
23. Do one hard thing a day. Then, right after you do that, do one easy, fun thing. Keep on repeating.
24. Don't bring attention to yourself intentionally. It can't be done.
25. You see that guy on the street? Well, take a good look at him, because you won't see him again. So do whatever you want.
26. Guys dress quiet, girls dress loud. See 11.
27. Remember, everyone feels that way.
28. Suck it up.
29. Don't listen to emo music.
30. Learn to laugh at horror movies.
31. Your time is your own.
32. Pursue a girl you can reasonably see yourself dumping.
33. Don't quote movies. Ever.
34. Let other people try to impress you.
35. Do one thing a day you don't want to do. It's probably good for you.

That is all.

A Coke/Pepsi Ad We'll Soon See:

ABOUT THREE A DAY:

FADE FROM BLACK: A prisoner cell. A tough, grimy looking prisoner, sitting down. Hand-held camera.

(Off-screen voice)
Can you tell us what you were incarcerated for?

PRISONER
Well, I murdered five hookers and buried their bodies out in the desert. Oh, that and my no good wife.

Pause.

(Off-screen voice)
Yes, sir, do you like Pepsi?

PRISONER
Yes I do, I really like Pepsi.

(Off-screen voice)
How much do you drink?

PRISONER
About three a day.

FADE TO BLACK.

Graphic - Drink Coke.

==========

An old script I picked up on the internet.

EXT - MOUNTAIN - AFTERNOON

Three men, in ragged clothing, are huddled around a campfire, shivering. They have been exposed to the elements for days. They are on a cliff-edge. They are on the brink of collapse. Two are rail-thin skinny, except for one enormous fat guy. With them is a bottle of Miracle Whip with a little bit left.

SKINNY GUY
This Miracle Whip won't cover us guys. If we're gonna survive, we're gonna have to resort...to cannibalism! Let's all draw straws.

POV CU of fat guy's closed fist. He opens it...he has the short stick. From his POV, all three men approach him, menacingly.

WS - In a rush, fat guy grabs the Miracle Whip. He holds it over top of the cliff. The skinny guys pause.

FAT GUY
I'll do it!

MS of skinny guys. They look at each other, and sigh.

EXT - MOUNTAIN - NIGHT
Fat guy and another skinny guy are eating. The skinny guy is pecking at his food, while the fat guy is inhaling it.

VOICEOVER
Raw meat just isn't raw meat without the tangy zip of Miracle Whip.

Pausing, fat guy gestures toward skinny guy's food.

FAT GUY
You gonna eat that?

Am I A Sexy Bastard?

Two events trying to get my late-night meal.

First off, went to this sandwich shop. They didn't accept credit card, I had to leave. Then as I was exiting the steps, I got whistled at by a black transvestite. Which freaked me out, quite immensely. I so don't swing that way. But I mean, I don't know, she's gotta be lonely. Every date for him/her is The Crying Game. I mean, who really goes for transvestites? Gay dudes? Because gay dudes are interested in dudes who look like dudes. But anyway.

So then I went to Harvey's a block away. I decided to sit near the window, so I could see the world. I'd only my credit card - I'll tell you later why that's important. I was looking out, then I see this homeless man. Make eye contact, then look down. He comes into the store. A transcript:

Homeless: "Please, can I have some change."
Me: "No, I don't have change."
Homeless: "Please, sir, I'm homeless."
Me: "No, I honestly don't have any change."
Homeless: "Well, can I have five bucks?"
(Logic, meet suffering.)
Me: "I don't have five bucks."
Homeless: "Please, sir, I haven't eaten in three days." He began to sniffel.
Me: "Sure, look, I'll buy you something to eat."

Which I did. Like a child, he kept on saying, "Hamburger, french fries, and a coke." They had a Pepsi. I said god bless and left.

It's odd, because I didn't feel good. Probably because he had to ask me. But that's the thing - I won't give you change, but I will give you the things you need to alleviate your suffering. If he would have just started off with I haven't eaten in three days, I would have given him the money.

I don't know, I should have gone out there and helped him. But I tried to avoid him. I think I was just trying to buy him off. I suck.

That is all.

So Dirty It's Clean

I have this habit of drinking milk before I go to bed. Sometimes, however, I forget.

Last week was one of those forgetting times. It was a big milkshake glass, with a tiny bit of the milk left over, the kind that you can't really drink.

Now, normally, with this milk, the water gets discoloured when you try to clean it.

So after that fucker was there for a week, I finally tried to clean it up. Only this time, the water wasn't discoloured. It had hardened. It was so dirty, that it was clean.

I scraped it up with a fork.

Criminals and Lunatics

This was what I faced trying to get a navy blue suit jacket.

Large cities are Janus-like. I experienced both in my shopping adventures today.

I went to Queen Street West, where hipsters dwell. This was a nice part - I shopped around, drank some Starbucks Coffee, looked at some nice tweed jackets. It was cool, even though there were uncool hipsters - one guy in a long furry jacket, white guy dreads, skinny. A goof. I even passed by City Hall, which was a cool piece of architecture. It was sunny, and people were skating by.

Then I passed by my apartment into the east. A car accident on one street. A lonely park, grey, as the sun was setting. Then a guy came up. He looked decent, but tough. He said he'd been robbed. He begged for train fare money. I gave him 50 cents. "That was all I had, honestly." I really thought he was real - he wasn't a professional begger. There was real emotion in his voice.

I felt guilty all the way to Goodwill. It was closed. Ha, I'd been punished. I should have gotten him money with my credit card. I should have given him shelter. But then the what ifs got to me. What if he got robbed in a drug deal? What if he was lying, and about to rob me when I tried to help me?

I still think I should have helped him, and I would've, had I found him. What I found instead was a little cut of urban horror.

Crazy Bike Guy is all I know him as. He looked like this guy, only more deranged. He rode, stopped, muttered something to me...or something. I did my usual survival mechanism of not stopping.

He rode on, then, at the scene of accident, he pointed at me. His mouth was open like a scream, moving as if to form words. Nothing in him stopped. I smiled a peace smile, too small for him to see, but good enough for me. He kept biking as I crossed.

Then I got into the building. He was right outside. I just kept walking. He was carrying his bike. Now, we have security, but they sometimes let people into the building anyway. Maybe they would let him in. Maybe he'd come, and do something. This was what I thought as I waited for the elevator.

Take the goddamn stairs, I thought. The elevators were slow. Then wheels bumping came in. There it was, crazy bike guy, come to punish me. No, wait for the elevators, deny, I thought, oh God. Bump bump...they were having an awkward time on the wheels. Up the steps to the elevators...

It was a grocery cart, and a middle-aged woman, going up to the 13th floor. Relief.

God works in mysterious ways. Maybe, I thought as the bike guy started to follow me, I was being punished by God. But no, I thought, I read too many novels.

Cities can be scary but cool.

This is the coolest idea ever.

US plans 'stealth shark spies'

The military-industrial complex - 50 years of laughs.