“I couldn't live a week without a private library
- indeed, I'd part with all my furniture and squat and sleep on the floor
before I'd let go of the 1500 or so books I possess.” ― H.P. Lovecraft

Whistling In The Graveyard: October 24, 2004

Thursday, October 28, 2004

So the election is coming up.

Wheee.

I’ve made my decision. This year, for the first time since I turned voting age, I’m not voting.

I feel it’s the only sensible thing to do.

See, given the choice this go-around I feel that by not voting I’m making a more important statement than I would by voting.

YOUR VOTE MEANS NOTHING.

You heard me. NOTHING.

If your state is in a dead tie (Assuming that it has an odd number of people living in it) and your vote is counted last, you could conceivably tip the balance. Unless, like at least one of the members of the West Virginia electoral college, those who make the final decision have already stated that they’ve already decided who their voting for and they’re not gonna let something stupid like the opinion of the people influence them.

That’s right, one of my very own state’s electoral members has publicly stated that even if the voters go for George W. Bush said elector will not vote for him.

And you know what? At least in this state, there’s no law that says he has to vote for the winner.

This means you vote is worth precisely: DICK.

But I’ve always known that. Each time I’ve voted I did so out of some perceived obligation to do so, each time knowing that I would have no influence and each time coming nowhere near casting a tie-breaking vote. I saw each of them as a symbolic action.

Well this year I don’t feel either candidate is worth even a symbolic action.

And don’t give me that Ralph Nader bullshit either.

Making a statement in futility is one thing. Voting for that slimy, corrupt asshole is something else entirely.

What it comes down to is I don’t like any of the people up for the office. At all. So why should I endorse one of them? Especially when the people that actually make the decision don’t care what I have to fucking say anyway?

But let’s play the hypothetical game. Let’s pretend that all of our votes go into a big pile and the real winner is decided by the people. People like myself, and most of you reading this, who can get out of bed in the morning and brush our teeth without poking ourselves in the fucking eye, are completely outnumbered by knuckle-dragging, double-digit I.Q. having, Nascar watching, MORONS.

And don’t think I’m only talking about the Bush voters with that statement.

For every Nascar fan there’s a citizen that believes that one person can start a whole war by himself.

Look, I don’t like Bush, but I don’t like Kerry either. Why should I vote for a guy I don’t like just to keep another guy I don’t like from getting a job that doesn’t really influence anything anyway?

It’s like Bill Hicks said: “Politics is just a puppet show. ‘I believe the puppet on the right expresses my views.’ ‘I believe the puppet on the left is more to my liking.’ ‘Hey! There’s just one guy holding up both puppets!’ Go back to sleep America, your government is in control.”

At this point you should be asking yourself if you really want me to vote anyway.

So remember: your vote means nothing, the morons always outnumber the informed, and the election is nothing more than a masturbatory puppet show.

But if you’re one of those people from an organization that encourages people to have sex with other people to get them to vote, then I can be persuaded.

Contact me for directions to my house.

Tuesday, October 26, 2004

Ah keep your eyes on the road,
Your hands upon the wheel.
Keep your eyes on the road
Your hands upon the wheel.
Yeah, we're going to the roadhouse,
Gonna have a real good-time.


Song: Roadhouse Blues
Artist: Doors, The
Album: Best Of Doors


Yes, last night it finally happened. It came into the house DVD collection like some thing that inevitably goes... somewhere (you try coming up with fresh goddamn metaphors all the goddamn time).

Yes, we finally broke down and Nate purchased the 1989 Patrick Swayze classic: ROAD HOUSE.

For those of you that are too young or out of it to remember this movie, Mike Nelson from Mystery Science Theater 3000 describes it thusly:

"What I really believe is that a film should be judged on how well it comes off when compared with the Patrick Swayze film Road House. For Road House is the single finest American film. Certainly it stinks, but I believe the filmmakers meant it to, and succeeded grandly.

Therefore, films not containing poor performances by Patrick Swayze or Kevin Tighe will be judged harshly. Those that lack Ben Gazzara as their evil villain will be roundly castigated. There is no excuse for not telling the story of a legendary bouncer who finds love and confronts his demons at a small bar just outside Kansas City."


- From the book: Mike Nelson's Movie Megacheese

Having said that, I hold Road House as the epitome of 'junk-cinema'. It's like a Snickers bar. It's full of unrelated, sticky, gooey, crap, none of which is any good for you, but the end result is quite satisfying.

I hadn't seen it in years and I was a bit worried, but it's still a fun movie. It's total crap, but you can't look away. Except during Swayze's multiple helpings of man-ass, that is.

"Keep watching, my friends, and, above all, enjoy yourselves. Together we will find another Road House, and every last one of us will be bouncers who find love and confronts our demons at a small bar just outside of Kansas City. You know, metaphorically speaking."