“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: May 07, 2006

Tuesday, May 09, 2006

Yes, I know I promised you part 2 to the sweeping travel epic I began in my last fucking post, but I don't have time for that right now.

Maybe tomorrow.

If you're goddamn lucky.

Sending me cash wouldn't hurt the process either.

Cheap bastards.

For right now though I have a little glimpse into my life for you unworthy heathens. I was on my way out to my Mom's Saturday afternoon. Now when I say 'afternoon' I really mean AFTERNOON this time. Not like usual when afternoon is used to describe the five or so hours following my waking up (usually sometime from about 3 PM to midnight, depending on what I have to do that day).

So it was early for me. I don't deal well with early. Brian tells me that when I was crashing at Andrea's house, while in Virginia, the noises I made whilst waking up scared the cats so bad they wouldn't come out from under the furniture for hours, and that was LATER than whatever time it was in the current fucking story.

So I'm driving. This means I'm cruising by on back country roads at a steady, comfortable 80 miles per hour so, as is my wont, when I suddenly have to slow down for the jackoff in front of me who's going 30 miles per hour. Those of you who know me know that I absolutely hate to slow down, and that I'm physically incapable of driving UNDER the posted speed limit.

Anyways, I see that it's not one jackoff in front of me, but several jackoffs. Too many to pass. I begin grinding my teeth. The music in the car is obnoxiously loud, as it has to be when you're going 80 with all the windows down. Well fuck these people, they made me slow down so I'm not gonna goddamn turn my music down.

Dicks.

So we go slower, and slower, and slower, till we're going like 5 miles per hour. Serriously, FIVE FUCKING MILES PER HOUR. I'm having to ride my brakes because my car fucing idles faster than five fucking miles per hour. I'm getting more and more pissed and the music is getting gradually louder and my knuckles are getting gradually whiter as I squeeze the steering wheel in frustration when I see that the cars in front of me are all turning off onto the same dirt road to the right and coming back my direction.

I wonder about this for a moment (remember, it's early for me) before I see the little purple flags on the hoods of the cars...

And I didn't even know there was a cemetery back there.

But what makes the story worth telling is the song that was blasting from my car in nearly tangible waves of glorious, cacophonous sound, when I was in the very densest midst of the funeral precession...

Highway To Hell by AC/DC.

So I kinda felt like a dickhead till I got to go by and resume a more fitting pace.

I didn't feel so bad I turned the song down though. I mean fuck 'em. They did make me slow down. Wh in the hell gets planted at 1 in the afternoon anyways? I'm not getting burried till 5 at the earliest. I'd like to picture my funeral at midnight, but since I'll not be allowed to have much input into the planning I guess I'll have to take what comes.

And that's another thing, I WANT Highway To Hell playing at my goddamn funeral. I've come to see it as my theme song. I guess the above story kinda illustrates why.