Hobby's Habit

It's 5:00am, almost. Let's see how long it takes me to write this post about yesterday. I spent the day mostly cooking. Started a batch of chicken thighs in the crockpot by 10:00am complete with chopped onions, garlic, tomatoes, black beans, pinto beans, Miller Lite, and Pinot Grigio. Looked up entertaining internet stories/pictures while watching the cancelled detective TV show Terriers until 2:00pm. Chicken was done by then so I shredded it (fucking hot) and put it back in the crockpot with some hot sauce of my own making. I can't remember what nor how much of what I put into it, but by 5:00pm that shit was delicious.

After dinner/lunch/breakfast I had a cigarette for dessert, my first of the day. Fucking stars man. Decided to watch Celebrity Rehab with Dr Drew so I could relate to people. Two episodes later I decided to watch porn and masturbate, then got into bed to continue watching the series. By 9:30pm it was clear that I wasn't going to sleep without chemical reflection. Got up, poured myself a rum and coke, watched some philosophical gaming lectures, and began to think.

At 11:00pm I was sufficiently warmed up to play some strategy games. Two drinks down I fired up StarCraft 2 and began to play. It's now 5:14am. I lost one game. Six hours. I'm not tired. I'm hyped, mentally. I don't know how I end up accomplishing so much by practicing so many dysfunctions.

Just thought I'd let you know.

The Story of PBoD

The following is a background to how I got my gamer tag/name: Pink Bunny Of Death, or PBoD for short. It was first published in part during my junior year of high school, when I was a part of Yearbook class. It occurred as a "fake advertisement" story in the ads section in order to entice readers to look at the ads. Since then (1997), I've used the Pink Bunny Of Death as my username for everything from Counter-Strike to Halo to StarCraft 2. This is how it all started:

A fluffy bunny flopped his ears and ate. Nothing paid him mind as he frolicked amongst innocence and flowers. The darkness of the dirt didn't bother to contrast with the whiteness of his fur, because he was just so freaking cute. When your tail hole is a sumptuously swaying cottonball, you've got the whole world wrapped around it.

Amongst the fluffy floppy frolicking of joy and peace came a bloody serpent. No really, the snake was bloody. I don't know why. The little bounds of rabbit feet came plummeting down accidentally, luckily escorting part of the snake's body to Shangri La and the other half to Elysium, instantly. The bunny's wet nose snuggled against the bloody snake as best he could to seek signs of life. He nudged, he poked, he thumped the Earth down one hop at a time; but it appeared to be of no use.

Suddenly without warning, a split tongue slashed its way toward our bleached puddle-jumper. The snake coiled and sprung out chasing the swaying cottonball. With his furry innocence now pricked by the taint of pink, he bounded to help from a nearby giant hoe. The hoe swung down violently against the food below, fueled by the male vengeance of a domestic dispute regarding toilet seats. The bunny cried out with all the voice of his ears and feet, which unfortunately, was understood as a "WWWCCHHHAAAAAAIIIIII!!!!" by the would-be rescuer.

The next blow by the hoe was of a different sort, involving teeth and a blade of death aimed at his vital organs. Fearing for the innocence of his swaying cottonball, our hero leapt into action to defend himself. An unfortunate birth defect had replaced the once-white bunny's herbivoric two front teeth with those of a canine vampire, which resulted in severe persecution during his Junior Hop years. The misfortune continued as the man mistook the fluffy pink vampire bunny's fleeing hop toward his face as a reason to die. The man's long shadow shrunk to none near instantly, before the bunny even landed to twitch his whiskers on the ground beside him.

The two lay still. The bunny, wondering what the violent sex act just happened. The man, dead, with the toilet seat status and the hoe no longer an issue. But wait! The hook, I mean, the hoe! Well the hoe fell on the snake and the snake died.

This is the end and beginning tale of the terrible, veracious, monstrous, hideous, ultimately inconceivable Pink Bunny Of Death.

No, my Yearbook wouldn't print cuss words. Yes, this is the original, circa 1997.
Hope you enjoyed it.

It's One of Those Times

1:13 AM, Saturday, October 8th 2011. I'm awake. In fact, I'm still awake. A nap came earlier, but that information is meant to distract you from why I'm awake. I just dropped out of school, threatened myself with moving back to my hometown with my parents, and generally initiated my demotion from adult to teenager. Perhaps I'll get a job delivering pizza again, who knows.

The truth is that I planned on not getting any sleep tonight, just so I could write and smoke under the stars and enjoy the quietness of nobody and nothing. Long story short, I was pretty much forced to quit school because I missed my 3 out of 4 midterms due to Army shit, none of my professors allowed me to make them up (even though they knew ahead of time that I'd be on active duty during the midterms), and I cannot even hope to pass those 3 classes with an "F" on the midterm. So I don't have anything to do tomorrow, why not stay up all fucking night?!!

And drink. And play online video games against Koreans who have nothing better to do (yes, I've actually been doing this for the past 4 hours or so). And scare skunks in my backyard by flicking cigarettes at them. And microwave popcorn. And listen to classical music. And obnoxiously serenade my neighbors with my guitar/singing American Idol audition on my back porch. And pop bubble wrap. And vacuum. And throw glass bottles down my back alley. And take out my gun to shoot at that offensive police helicopter noise.... nah, that's not a good idea. I'm still in control, just going a bit crazy.

Sociologists call this a "paradigm shift." Psychologists call this "self-talk." Christians call this "prayer." Teachers call this an "ah ha!" moment. Buddhists call this "meditation." Scientists call this a "discovery." Mathematicians call this a "proof." Philosophers call this "thinking." I'm the first and the last of that list, a thinking paradigm shift of a philosociopherologist or something. I'm 30 years old, unemployed (kinda), and I'm moving back in with my parents. Without adding details, that's a drastically fucked up change.

So cheers to you all present; my wall thermostat, my bookshelf full of books, my refrigerator, my cardboard box of whatever or empty, my Wii remote, my broken/dismantled old hard drive, my venetian blinds... I'll be awake for as long as you all so long as I can enjoy your inanimate peace.

Let's just stay awake to space.

Immediate Thought I tell myself:
"I'm not doing good enough."

Underlying Principle:
I am not good enough. I don't deserve approval, appreciation, or affection. I deserve only judgment, criticism, and resentment. I can logically and wholeheartedly reject all positive feedback of my good character, worth, performance, behavior, feelings, thoughts, and life goals/accomplishments. Nothing good comes of me.

Truth:
I am doing good enough for everyone, including my parents who never thought I could be a good person. Now my parents love me. No one else cares if I'm good enough because no one pays that much attention to me. No one knows enough about me to judge, criticize, or resent me. I remain hidden so I can do only good to others.

Applicable Thoughts:
If I focus on only my internal thoughts/feedback of my actions, then I am a fucking saint sent from the highest level of heaven. I'm doing my best, which is more than good enough.

Truthful Mistakes of Thought

Immediate Thought I tell myself:
"Every mistake I make is a failure."

Underlying Principle:
I am a failure because I make mistakes. I can only feel good about my mistakes if I make none. I am either perfect or I'm a failure.

Truth:
I'll never not mistakes. Mistakes are temporary but fixing them is permanent. Failure is always a lie of permanence. No one is ever a failure, including you. No one is ever perfect, including you. Failure is not a consequence of mistakes.

Applicable Thoughts:
When I make mistakes I can fix them without ever being a failure. I can accept mistakes. I don't need to fix all of my past mistakes because no one is perfect. I don't need to worry about future failures due to lack of preparation ("current" mistakes) because they haven't happened yet and I can still do something, even if that something isn't a complete success.



     You see that shit? I make my own therapy. Over the past 10 months I've withdrawn myself from 6 of my 8 prescription medications, without ever seeing a doctor about it. Why didn't I see or talk to a doctor while I stopped taking these medications? Because not only wouldn't they allow me to do so, they actually tried to lock me up in a psych ward/"recovery program" for telling them to fuck off. Ever been forced to rapidly flee your doctor's office as they were calling the police because you weren't taking their medication? That was 10 months ago you arrogant dumbass smart people; yes I'm still alive, yes I still drink alcohol, yes I still smoke, no I don't exercise... and by the way I haven't felt this good in a long long time.

     Fuck psychologists, psychiatrists, therapists, counselors, social workers, doctors, and all of you assholes that think you know the mental aspects of a brain. Isn't it ironic and hypocritical for any person with a brain to claim to be an authority on thought because they think they know the mental aspects of a brain? Go fuck yourselves.*










*Consult your physician's physician before reading the above information. Possible side effects might include: lack of pursuit of mental health care, disregard for professionals, loatheful hatred of prescription medication, apathy toward advice from people who think they know more about you than you, wanton belief in the legalization of all mind-altering substances, cease payment for health insurance, and other known and unknown allergies. If you experience any of these symptoms, call 911 immediately because you didn't go to medical school so you suck at your own health. You'll never be happy without a doctor's approval.

Let's Reverse Gender Roles for a bit

Now, as you probably well know, I'm not the most social adapt person in the world. Yes, that's a misnomer, because I'm really just socially fucking retarded. I randomly get the urge to punch people in the face in public places, I've thrown wedding guests over my shoulder when they tapped it to say hello, and I slur and stutter my words/thoughts with expressively specific hand gestures while talking on the phone. Those faults being known to you dear readers, let's try to complete a typical male routine involving a request to accompany a girl to food.

First, realize how much preparation it takes to ask a girl, whether they be a platonic friend or a romantic date interest, to food. You need to start by setting aside some time. After work, before you crawl into PJs, some day you need to prepare as the day you're going to ask the girl out for food on a day you're prepared to sacrifice all of your wants/needs. Prepare the preparation. You'll need to remember two things during this time: money and every little thing she might want before/during/after food.

Once you get those two things settled you'll need to call your work and arrange time off. Saving a few hundred dollars for asking a girl out to food is pretty fucking difficult, but trust me, you need to have saved money and time in case she actually says "yes" to your social invitation. Call your friends and tell them you're "busy" with the hope of a positive response from the girl you're asking out. Make reservations at the restaurant in accordance with what you imagine will be a positive social environment for eating food. Be sure the restaurant local is in coordination with the social plans she wants. Make plans for after dinner that are entertaining, social, engaging, adventurous in accordance with attire, and hilariously fun. Don't forget to do laundry and plan your excellent sense of fashion/hygiene ahead of time. Remember to prepare your manners and politeness.

Keep in mind you haven't even asked the girl out yet, but LOL it's no big deal, right????

Since the logistics are now ready, let's prepare your mental/emotional state. I know you've done a lot already; saving hundreds of dollars, cleaning your car/house, clearing your schedule of work/friends, but you've really only just begun. You've already invested so much into making sure she'll have no problems accepting your invitation that you'll probably just now realize she might just say "No thank you" and be done with you. What do you do when you're rejected? What happens to those emotions and investments you made in preparation for her wishes?

If you're a guy reading this you know exactly what happens next, because you have gone through this. If you're a girl reading this, you need to read the title again and figure out exactly how much you need to start going through in order to socialize with guys who don't just want to get their dick wet, because I guarantee no girl has ever gone through the above, especially that last paragraph. Nice guys finish last, ladies, because you won't.

Pretend Playing

"I haven't played with G.I. Joes since I was 8." Those were the words I told to my mother when she asked me why I hadn't played with my latest 13th birthday present. After all, I was now a teenager. One of maturity. An age of landmark and growth growing. The time to pretend, to imagine myself living with abandon through my little toy army men, was long past with my childhood. I was no longer a child so why should anyone expect me to act like one?

Let me tell you about your life, or at least one day of it. When the day comes when you find yourself not play-pretending to be someone else, look around and notice how meaningful and seriously monochromatic everything has become. How long has it been since you were a princess or warrior? The latest movie perhaps? When was the last time you played as a rescuer or someone to be rescued? How many toys meant for pure fiction do you own?

"Meaningless! Meaningless! Everything is meaningless! What has been will be again, what has been done will be done again, there is nothing new under the sun." -King Solomon, 300BC. Supposedly the wisest man who ever lived would describe your search for a life of meaning as fucking retarded. Dolphins play with ships hundreds of times their size. Monkeys play tag. Kittens play hunting. Dogs chase balls. Puppies pounce on each other. Mice run in wheels. And you're too busy/old/mature/responsible to play pretend?

If you pretended to someone else for a day, whoever you wanted to be, no one would blame you. I certainly wouldn't. I pretend to be someone else as much as possible, which isn't nearly often or often enough.

I pretend to be Raiden from Mortal Kombat (yes, the video game) because I would like to be made of lightning. I pretend to be Batman, inventing new tools for my toolbelt by imagining ways to climb telephone poles. I pretend to be a rockstar master guitarist with a husky throbbing voice that enthralls women. I pretend to be an unbeatable hand-to-hand combat personthing. I am a starfighter, Red Five standing by, stay on target! I am a artist of charcoal and clay, so I can sculpt your face from mud and paint it with bits of plants and pedals. I am a rich inventor kidnapped by hostile terrorists, so I invent an iron suit powered by a nuclear reactor that allows me to fly.

I've forgotten what I was supposed to be taking seriously, how about you?

Electricity - A First-world Problem

Yesterday the electricity in San Diego (and all of Southern California) unexpectedly shutoff for about 8 hours. One of my politically-liberal friends on Facebook complained about how they had to preemptively cancel their college class because of "concern for the health of the students." I wrote this is multiple replies:

The GOP policy of "deregulation" and greedy rich white men are responsible for this. or Bush.

I was unfairly forced to read a book for 6 whole hours yesterday while the power was out. My right to online education was denied, even though I paid for it. My right to air conditioning was revoked while the Patriot Act was in effect. I was dehydrated without access to health care. I tried to protest in accordance with my 1st amendment rights, but my college refused to print my signs. Police with guns and tasers stared at me and forced me to light candles and wave lighters to promote peace, justice and prosperity.

My right to study Maslow's hierarchy of needs was denied by corporate interests. Courts have already ruled that I cannot sue SDG&E for violating my personal comfort, causing distress, and forcing a fatal shutdown of thousands of dollars worth of computer equipment. The leftover pizza in my refrigerator spoiled, and I couldn't order replacement pizza online. I'm starving and thirsty. My workout video cut out unexpectedly and I injured myself mid-yoga, but again I cannot sue corporate-ruled-media-energy companies for my life threatening injuries. I fell asleep while reading books causing me to wake up late for important stuff. My vacuum exhaled all of the dust it had picked up today, causing me to breathe toxic fumes.

I was forced to pray to a god I don't believe in because I was so desperately uncomfortable yesterday during the state-run energy blackout, which is a violation of the separation between church and state. I played "Chutes and Ladders" to try to control the panic, but because I fell off a ladder in 3rd grade, I now have PTSD. Again, the government won't pay for my health care, even though they caused my health, without care. I tried to build a fire to produce light in my house and succeeded, but I inhaled too much smoke and the fire department didn't respond because I'm a liberal Democrat. I had to put out the fire on my own, even after I was too warm. My internet shut off without warning, even though the FCC forbids this by law.

My trash wasn't picked up by people I don't know yesterday. Obama was on vacation while the power was out but I'm still unemployed, my washing machine doesn't work, and my cell phone is uncharged. Why doesn't the government care about my job, online education, sanitary clothing conditions, and freedom of speech? Yesterday I could barely drink enough clean water in plastic cups to replace the sweat I used taking a nap on my couch! I'm even in the military damnit! My bong wouldn't light without vodka for fuel/filtration, so the corporation SDG&E prevented by my treatment for the PTSD that they caused. My rechargeable batteries went dead. My microwave popcorn ran out. My frozen vegetables thawed. DID NO ONE SEE THIS COMING? WHY ARE THERE NO LAWS TO PREVENT THIS FROM HAPPENING?

 No reply has yet been given. I don't expect one, except maybe an unfriending.

I solemnly swear to you two too tube
That I'm completely full of shit, except for grammar
That I'm not to be taken seriously, with exception
That I hear voices and see things that don't exist, without reference

 I avant-garde my way between sleeps and hunger
My conscience is my biggest fault
My conscience is my greatest failure
My conscience is my least admirable attribute
My conscience will outlive me

The stretchable limits between swears and conscience is clean

When you start to teach your parents

By the time you reached teenage puberty, you started to realize you were changing as a person. In your early teens, you realized that you were attracted to certain types of people. By your mid-teens, you were learning about two options: college or career. Oh, by the way, you were in love, remember? You didn't know anything about "love" but you knew that THAT boy/girl was extremely fucking amazing and you wanted them to want you. So, by your late teens you were trying to to secure a life-long relationship. During that time you worked harder than you ever have in your life, both physically and emotionally. You were trying to pursue an education, a career, a life-long relationship, and a religion/philosophy.

When you got to your early 20s, you started to realize that you were stuck with a choice you didn't know you already made. You chose a path that wouldn't work for you in the long run and you began to dramatically change your personality as your idealism fit. You stuck with your responsibilities and obligations as best you could, but nothing could prepare you for how insane life became during your mid-20s. You waffled between sheer joy, depression, pain, fun, fear, adventure, safety, moving in with your parents, loving all you could, boundaries in all you couldn't, and finally settling in where you were. It took many years. You think this matters. You think this is somehow important to your life experience, as if that was a part of your self-esteem. You might even put it on your resume. By your late 20s, you think your life is nothing more than the culmination of your experience. It's been a dramatic experience. It's been a harsh experience. It's been a joyful and saddening experience. It's an experiential experience. It's your life.

In your early 30s, you realize how selfishly fucking retarded you were in your "youth", as if "youth" was somehow a disjointed part of your distant past and not you. You begin to realize how human everyone is, like you. It's almost as if everyone on the planet was somehow related to you. Somehow everyone has faults. Everyone has a sense of humor. Everyone has a reason for doubt and reason for lying. Everyone has a reason for faith and a reason for honesty. In your early 30s, you realized that your mom and dad were not just people with faults and virtues, but they were actually the only two people who would ever want you until the day they died.

Your mom and dad gave birth to you when they were in their late teens/early 20s. Your dad started working quite a bit before then (early/mid teens). They raised you with the expectations of their youth, passed down from their parents. They know absolutely nothing about touchscreen cellphones, hybrid car engines, or HD television UNLESS you (or someone younger than you) teaches them. They don't know that baby diapers are flushable, cars are a bad investment, and toilets don't flush with 2 gallons of water. They didn't grow up with any of this. You're going to start teaching them about the world around them. Teach them about your responsibilities, about your life, about your difficulties and joys and excitements and relationships and everything. Your parents become your children.

By your 30s, you'll realize that your parents will never change. Not ever, until the day they die. Your great-grandparents (if you're lucky) will just now die, your grandparents will start to die, and your parents will become extremely old. You know what's coming. You'll start to become desperate and glean from them every possible piece of advice and hope and wisdom. In that time, you'll teach them more about you than they've ever known, even though they've wiped your self-shitting ass and allowed you to vomit on their shoulder. You will tell them about all. You will ask about all. You will confess. You will comfort. You will try all. You will risk everything. You will want nothing more than for your parents to be happy.

You will teach your parents more in those last years than they ever knew, and not just because their world has drastically changed. You'll tell them everything you've learned, everything you know, everything they mean to you, even if they don't listen. You'll make their life as easy as possible, as happy as possible, as beloved as possible.

You will become your parents' teacher, caretaker, and parent.