It Just Won't Die
Mark bitched me out when I tried to kill the site. I honestly don't know what the fuck I'm supposed to write about anymore. Ever since drunk stories started becoming increasingly prevalent I've gotten complaints.
But you know what, I have learned at least a little something recently:
I am the last sane person left on Earth.
Oh, scoff, do you? Well allow me to elaborate.
I live with two guys, one of whom has been drinking himself "straight up retarded" for the better part of a year, blowing $200+ at bars and then drunkenly wondering (quite seriously) where all his money went. If, God forbid, I ever try to go a night without drinking myself, he becomes enraged, throws furniture about the house, and then stomps on the floor above my bedroom for two straight hours with a Polack and a hotdog-vending college graduate to make sure I don't enjoy a sliver of rest. He cut down the most expensive tree in our yard with a bowie knife. Does he sound sane? No.
Then the other guy fucked half the female population of Raleigh while he had a girlfriend, enjoying, in the words of Homer Simpson, "That sweet time between when I tell the lie and when it gets found out." One day the girlfriend finds out. By all rights, my roommate should feel the full force of her wrath, in order to reap what he has sown. But he doesn't. He's not there. But the wrath has to go somewhere, and nobody's sober enough to drive the fuck away, so I get to catch it. All of it. I get to deal with three hours of shit, and the next morning Dusty has to put up with a much calmer 35 minutes. Meanwhile he still plows both girls, and the girls don't care. Certainly, then, the girls aren't sane (especially given that Dusty looks something like a ten-pound ball of ugly sat atop a giant blob of crisco), and while one could argue that Dusty, for his ability to work out such a situation, is in fact the most sane of us all, I will argue that he is, in fact, a sociopath who exploits any weakness, real or perceived, in everyone around him in order to satiate his sole motivating drive, a constant desire to fuck something.
So none of THOSE people are sane.
And then let's work our way outwards, shall we? My dad, in his wisdom, is letting a recovering alcoholic whose life isn't worth the price of this keyboard use my grandparents' house to get back on his feet. My uncle is in jail at the moment. My editor at the Technician quits his job there 7 times a day and my first article was so apalling to the campus' tastes that no fewer than two threads were made in the wolfweb attacking it. I can't get some fucking laundry detergent without GI Joe trying to beat my ass. I live down the road from a guy named "the Cockadile." Someone tried to tie segments from "Garden State" into a discussion of the Christ story in my Honors class. One of the most popular shows in America revolves around INXS, for Christ's sake. The President has to ask his cabinet for bathroom breaks. And don't even get me started on Louisiana, except to say that even Wolf Blitzer lost his fucking mind, saying, "They're soooo poor...and soooo black."
Drunk tanks who hang out with teetotallers. Stupid girls, fat girls, even stupid fat girls. Horndogs. Naive fools. Manipulative bitches. Outright retards. Psychotic soldiers with keyed trucks. Modern remakes of "Lord of the Flies" all along the Gulf Coast.
And where the fuck did that guitar case full of water come from?
What the FUCK is going on?
BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHRRRRRRRR!!!
OK, I'm done now.
But you know what, I have learned at least a little something recently:
I am the last sane person left on Earth.
Oh, scoff, do you? Well allow me to elaborate.
I live with two guys, one of whom has been drinking himself "straight up retarded" for the better part of a year, blowing $200+ at bars and then drunkenly wondering (quite seriously) where all his money went. If, God forbid, I ever try to go a night without drinking myself, he becomes enraged, throws furniture about the house, and then stomps on the floor above my bedroom for two straight hours with a Polack and a hotdog-vending college graduate to make sure I don't enjoy a sliver of rest. He cut down the most expensive tree in our yard with a bowie knife. Does he sound sane? No.
Then the other guy fucked half the female population of Raleigh while he had a girlfriend, enjoying, in the words of Homer Simpson, "That sweet time between when I tell the lie and when it gets found out." One day the girlfriend finds out. By all rights, my roommate should feel the full force of her wrath, in order to reap what he has sown. But he doesn't. He's not there. But the wrath has to go somewhere, and nobody's sober enough to drive the fuck away, so I get to catch it. All of it. I get to deal with three hours of shit, and the next morning Dusty has to put up with a much calmer 35 minutes. Meanwhile he still plows both girls, and the girls don't care. Certainly, then, the girls aren't sane (especially given that Dusty looks something like a ten-pound ball of ugly sat atop a giant blob of crisco), and while one could argue that Dusty, for his ability to work out such a situation, is in fact the most sane of us all, I will argue that he is, in fact, a sociopath who exploits any weakness, real or perceived, in everyone around him in order to satiate his sole motivating drive, a constant desire to fuck something.
So none of THOSE people are sane.
And then let's work our way outwards, shall we? My dad, in his wisdom, is letting a recovering alcoholic whose life isn't worth the price of this keyboard use my grandparents' house to get back on his feet. My uncle is in jail at the moment. My editor at the Technician quits his job there 7 times a day and my first article was so apalling to the campus' tastes that no fewer than two threads were made in the wolfweb attacking it. I can't get some fucking laundry detergent without GI Joe trying to beat my ass. I live down the road from a guy named "the Cockadile." Someone tried to tie segments from "Garden State" into a discussion of the Christ story in my Honors class. One of the most popular shows in America revolves around INXS, for Christ's sake. The President has to ask his cabinet for bathroom breaks. And don't even get me started on Louisiana, except to say that even Wolf Blitzer lost his fucking mind, saying, "They're soooo poor...and soooo black."
Drunk tanks who hang out with teetotallers. Stupid girls, fat girls, even stupid fat girls. Horndogs. Naive fools. Manipulative bitches. Outright retards. Psychotic soldiers with keyed trucks. Modern remakes of "Lord of the Flies" all along the Gulf Coast.
And where the fuck did that guitar case full of water come from?
What the FUCK is going on?
BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHRRRRRRRR!!!
OK, I'm done now.