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Archive for January, 2009

Epiphany

It took me 25 years, 2 months, 4 days, unknown minutes and seconds (fuck leap years) to realize something: you suck. I’m sure you’re asking yourself, “BJ, why do I suck? I don’t suck. Do I?” Yes, yes you do. Would you like to know why I’m making this bold statement? No? I don’t care.

Reason #1: You are a female; the most irrational creature this side of an unprovoked hippopotamus charging at an idling safari van. In what sense do your arguments make sense? I’m wrong because you remember some minuscule action that I performed three years ago drunk while I was sleeping in a sound-proof cocoon with a ball gag in my mouth and all limbs tied behind my back. Your hormones have “sneaked” up on you once a month since you were 13 but you still haven’t figured out how to control them and blame every inflammatory action on that dot at the end of a sentence. There it was. When I have a hormone imbalance I don’t spit bitch at every animate and inanimate object in the immediate area, I eat steak.

Reason #2: You are old. I’m not talking about a little older than me, I’m talking about older than dirt. You have gray hair, liver spots, collect Social Security, wax about the good ole’ days, eat at Denny’s and stare the end down with listless eyes. I don’t care that you smell or give me a history lesson or suck my taxes down like high school head so there won’t be any left for me when I turn into the inevitable, you. You drive like shit. You don’t just drive like shit, you drive like shit with Parkinson’s suffering from delirium tremens while reading The Bible in Aramaic with a chained, rabid pit bull in the passenger’s seat. Enough similes? As every up-and-coming stand-up comedian has joked about, you drive 40 in a 120, use your left blinker to signal a turn in 3 miles, celebrate your tunnel vision and refuse to turn the wheel more than 25 degrees even on a hairpin turn. After this you argue that you shouldn’t have to get tested for ability because you are such a curmudgeon and think that the world owes you the right to drive, literally and metaphorically, like a lingering fart. Enjoy the cold hand.

Reason #3: You don’t know how to use a public bathroom. Countless times have I ventured into a public bathroom to go two and have found piss all over the seat or an ass-blasting festering in the bowl. Really? Who do you think you are? We’re in public, we all use it now or again (I use it now more than again), and I find it absolutely abhorrent that social stains like you find it funny to leave a floater for the next guy when I have to be that next guy. It’s disgusting to have to wipe the seat knowing all well that my ass is touching your piss because public toilet paper absorbs as much as me watching The Hills. I can understand that it was funny in college to rocket as much substance out of every orifice at any given area in the dorm bathroom but we are now “professionals.” How am I to function at work knowing that your taint indirectly touched my taint so now we share one taint? I really don’t care if you do this at home, if I’m there I’ll just upper-deck it and laugh at your misfortune. A public bathroom is filthy enough without your giggling batty boy ass ruining the only time I actually do something meaningful at work.

If you don’t think you fit into one of these categories then you are lying. I hate liars, I hate you and I hope the next time I leave a log and piss all over the seat you are the next occupier of that stall.

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By now all 4 people that read this blog (probably the same 4 that write it) are getting antsy for those stories from Oakland I promised. Or maybe they aren’t. Either way, I’m finally delivering.

Today I walked down to the Oakland public library (main branch, in case you’re interested). On New Year’s eve a kid was shot by a cop and the aftermath has included at least one nationally reported riot. All along the eight blocks or so to the library were signs that said “Justice for Oscar Grant” in anticipation of another, larger demonstration (perhaps riot) that will happen tonight.

The library wasn’t open when I got there and a big group of people were waiting out front, so I squeezed into the group, figuring I’d wait it out. It would only be 10 minutes somebody told me. Gradually, I picked up on a conversation going on next to me. It had something to do with rockets and roller coasters and two of the major participants were ‘developmentally disabled’ – I put that in quotation marks because the PC term changes so often it’s hard to keep up. One of the guys had an obsession with numbers, though lacked entirely any sense of scale, and the other one was a dead ringer for the guy in Something About Mary, walkman and everything.

Last week’s riots came up, mostly within the ranks of the people with normal brain functionality. They were upset that businesses got wrecked and that the McDonald’s got destroyed. They hoped tonight would go more smoothly. “They’re bringing in a tank!” The numbers guy informed everyone. “A tank, only in Oakland, just one, just one, just one…” he repeated that about 10 more times. “It’s a big one. It’s one mile by one mile.” He stretched out his arms to give us an idea of the scale. “It’s 980 billion!” He didn’t attach a unit to that figure, but repeated it over and over, even after turning his back on the group with a disappointed look. Finally somebody said, “That’s a big cannon,” which seemed to cheer him back up.

The bizarre thing was not that this guy lacked a realistic conception of both what a tank might be used for (not riot control I’m guessing) or the relative size of a tank, but that everyone around seemed to think there was some validity to the claim that a tank might show up in downtown Oakland tonight. In fact, the only time anybody said anything to refute any part of any claim concerning tanks was when the guy next to me leaned over and said “no way, tanks can’t go 7o mph.” He was responding to a claim made by one of the average-minded in the crowd. “I just got out of the army. I used to drive tanks.” Most topped out around 35, he told me, and that was fast enough. In fact he told me a whole lot about tanks, but to learn what I learned you’ll have to by my new book “Tanks and You” – (forthcoming, Harper’s Monthly Press, 2027).

According to information I’ve got from a lot of people around the city, things are going to start shutting down in about 30 minutes, at 2 o’clock local time. I’ve yet to confirm anything about tanks, but that’s mostly because I don’t want to ask anyone the question, “hey, have you heard if Oakland PD is bringing a tank out for the riots?” It’d be tough not to sound retarded, oops, I mean developmentally disabled.

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American Utopia

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This is strange and disturbing, yet somehow not surprising. The Central Intelligence Agency has a Kid’s Page.

(Check out the games.)

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