“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: August 12, 2007

Saturday, August 18, 2007


Thursday, August 16, 2007

So I just got back in from my 8 AM appointment to have my stitch, that's right STITCH, as in SINGULAR STITCH, removed from my ankle.

I'm not sure which I'm pissed at more. Having to go there for ONE FUCKING STITCH, or having to have it done at 8 in the GODDAMN MORNING.

Fucking Daywalkers...

Anyhow, it didn't take that long so I went to my family doctor to get my speed prescription refilled since I'll be out of town when I run out of my little pals (oh, how I love them so) and then I ran to K-Mart to pick up some of that mane and tail shampoo and conditioner.

See, I've been growing my hair back out. I started doing it just so that I could get a decent haircut after the last time I butchered it trying to thin the sides out myself. I continued growing it when I saw that it was coming in really nice because of all the niacin in the drugs I've been taking. The two side benefits to this are that it really annoys my brother (who started losing his hair around age 19) and chicks really dig it.

So, despite every manly instinct in me, I got the special shampoo. I assuaged my maleness by reassuring myself that, while it may be a special shampoo (AND conditioner, which is even worse), it WAS designed for farm animals and was therefore ok.

I had to go to K-Mart for it because I only know of two places that carry it and FUCK WAL-MART.

Anyhow, while I was there I had another of those 'mortality moments' I've been going through. I was looking through the meager grocery selection while I waited for the glob of shampoo on my forearm to react with my skin.

See, my sister used the stuff a few years ago and broke out in a bright red rash everywhere it touched her skin. Given that I wasn't about to pay twelve bucks for this shit (it's two big-ass bottles, but still...) without a test.

So while killing time waiting for a rash to break out I found myself looking through the diet products when it occurred to me, why am I looking at diet products when I'm having major surgery in seven days? Given my propensity for shuffling off the mortal coil, why not enjoy myself?

So I picked up a double-feature DVD of Friday the 13th parts 1&2, seven days worth of liquor and Krispy Kreme Donuts. And not just any goddamn Krispy Kreme's, oh no, the cream-filled, chocolate-dipped motherfuckers!

I'm going out in a blaze or refined sugar!

Cause the way I see it, you gotta face death the way you lived. In my case that's jerking off while teetering on the edge of a diabetic coma.

Fuck. I just realized that I spent an awful lot on a bunch of shampoo I may never get to use.

Even worse, if I do die I know my hair's getting cut before I go into the box.

Oh well. It's booze and pills time, so very soon I won't care anymore.

See ya in hell motherfuckers!




PS: By the way, several people have asked me who I was talking about in my last post. It wasn't anyone that has commented on, been pictured on, or even read this blog. Someone that I haven't spoken to since before I even had this blog. She is, however, largely to blame for the insanity you've all been enjoying here so much, so you all owe her some thanks.

So here's another song that comes to mind when I think of her.

And I do think of her.

Far too often.


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Monday, August 13, 2007

So I was at the grocery store the other night and had kind of a strange moment.

It was like 2 AM, because that's when I do all my shopping, because I'm the only one there and people fucking suck. Especially people at the grocery store for some reason. At least I wasn't at fucking WalMart though. There's always people there and they suck worse.

Anyhow, I'm in the dairy aisle and I'm looking at the dates on the milk and wondering if I's finish a whole gallon between now and the day of my surgery...


LEFT BRAIN: “Hmm, We're going to be gone for five to seven days so whatever we don't finish will probably go bad before we get back...”

RIGHT BRAIN: “Yeah, but it's not that big a deal. We'll finish most of it and it's not that goddamn expensive anyway.”

LEFT BRAIN: “Well we could get one with a really long date and maybe finish it when we get back...”

RIGHT BRAIN: “Well we may not have to worry about it at all, as we may not be coming back.”

LEFT BRAIN: “Well,yeah, there is that. Maybe get a half-gallon?”

RIGHT BRAIN: “Get the damn milk you analytical homo.”

LEFT BRAIN: “Hey, fuck you! You subjective asshole!”

RIGHT BRAIN: “At least I don't have our shorts in a knot over a lousy gallon of fucking milk!”

LEFT BRAIN: “Well you wouldn't worry about anything would you?”

RIGHT BRAIN: “What do you mean by that?”

LEFT BRAIN: “You spend all our time masturbating!”

PENIS: “HEY!”

RIGHT BRAIN: “See there? You just had to get him involved didn't you?”

PENIS: “WHY THE FUCK AREN'T WE MASTURBATING?”

LEFT BRAIN: “Half-gallon then?”

RIGHT BRAIN: “I guess...”



I often have these little internal conversations. Explains a lot doesn't it?

But it wasn't till after I got home and masturbated that I realized that I've become so complacent with the idea that I might die in this next surgery that it just factored into my fucking shopping and it didn't even register.

That's probably not a good thing is it?

I mean, I suppose it's healthy to accept that something might happen and it's good that I'm not afraid of it, but fuck, I've become so desensitized to the idea that it doesn't impact me at all anymore.

Eh. No point in worrying about it now. Only got 11 days left anyhow...


LEFT BRAIN: “See that? I blame you for that attitude.”

RIGHT BRAIN: “Me?”

LEFT BRAIN: “Yes, you! You and your defeatist attitude!”

RIGHT BRAIN: “Fuck you! I'm tired of your shit!”

ME: “Uhh, guys? We're kinda done with the brain internal-conversation gag.”

LEFT BRAIN: “Fucking Jerk...”

RIGHT BRAIN: “Tell me about it...”



Sorry about that. Anyhow, in the interest of getting my house in order before I go, I'd like to dedicate a song to my first love. Things ended really badly and every interaction since then has been awkward and uncomfortable. So much so that I've avoided her altogether for several years now.

And while I could be smug and take pleasure in knowing that she's still exactly where I left her while I've moved on, I'm not a heartless bastard. I still care, in my own way, as I hope this song will get across:



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Heh, I'm just kidding. I don't really care.

Burn in hell you stupid cunt! :D

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