I want to bitch about so much, but yet, I can’t find the words to really make it worthwhile.

 

I hate this concept of Congressman calling themselves Lawmakers.  They give themselves this grandiose self-righteousness.  What those blithering windbags should do is open up the 200 years of back laws and start canceling all the ones that do not apply anymore.

 

I’m disappointed in marriage.  It is not turning out to be anything more than some kind of mental cheese grater, and I’ve been rubbed raw far to much to want to face the possibility of it much more.  I know, you think you’ll find that one special person.  You think, “I won’t be like the rest of the world…and fail”.  You feel that some how you’re special.  You’re different.  Well, sorry pal, but you’re not.  I’m not.  No one is.  Welcome to the real world. 

 

I’m offended in the necessity of work, that is, meaningless work.  Work that really doesn’t matter.  Work that could and will be filled by better computer programs in the future.  Work that will be filled by machines of all shapes and sizes.  I’m not so intelligent, so useful, and so important, that someday I’ll be guaranteed an income.  No, the truth is, somewhere along the line, some one, with a real brain, will come along, invent a widget, that fits my particular wadget and I’ll be sucking death from under an old refrigerator box.  What’s worse, is that the wife, and the Congressmen will say I deserve it.  And they are probably right.

 

I hate Bill Simon.  What a fucking idiot.  If Joe Davis weren’t such a husk of a being, I’d be happy to see Simon slaughtered at the polls, but as it stands, we the moronicia of California, are doomed.  But that’s okay, I’ll be living in a box, what matters should I then entertain?

 

I hate that sniper in Virginia / Maryland for stealing a great screenplay idea from me, for further proving the anti-gun lobby correct, and for choosing the wrong targets (you’d think with DC just a few miles down the road).  I heard this morning that he might have been in Woodbridge, VA today.  I’ve been there, my family lived there for a while and there isn’t much there.

 

I hate the media and the stupid fucking profilers who are saying the sniper is this kind of person or that kind of person.  What utter rubbish.  Has it ever occurred to anyone that some times people just do things to do them?  I’m a fucking freak and my shear anger toward the world would be enough for me to climb a bell tower somewhere.  I wouldn’t need something to set me off.  I wouldn’t need someone to explain the propensity of my social upbringing.  Could it be he just wanted to do it?  Or is that just too scary for people to believe?  That there are real animals out there in the wild.  Real demons, who don’t need gods, fires, and magic to wield their weapons.  And we should be afraid, because we’re really sheep, waiting for the slaughter.  God, breed what ever natural defenses sheep once possessed out of them.  Now they huddle in mass…waiting. 

 

I’m becoming so jaded.  So angry.  Age isn’t refining me, instead I’m degrading.  I’m disintegrating.  I probably deserve all this some how.  I’ve probably earned this is some past life, or by not getting high enough grades in school, or any of the other million decisions I’ve made over the course of this trivial existence.  Some day I’ll be gone and I’ll have left nothing, not even this meandering for the fish to feed on.

 

Someone once asked what I would want on my tombstone.  I hope that when I’m gone, that some one has the kindness to mark the grave, even if the sign says, “Warning, bump in road”.