Children are assholes

Looking out the patio door of my apartment, I am observing two small children, a boy and a girl-brother and sister, I am assuming-between the ages of 4 and 6.  The girl is clearly the elder, judging by the authoritarian tone she is taking with him; the lad is screaming and crying whilst gliding across the sidewalk on a pink scooter, his keeper chasing him on a tricycle, ordering him to “wait up.”

I had to snort when I first heard and observed the cry-baby pass my building.  It amuses me that he was upset enough to carry on with a pissy-pants tantrum, but not so bothered that he couldn’t manuever the scooter, and quite expertly, I might add.  I mean, this boy here, he really flew over the pavement, his right, filthy bare foot paddling at the pavement as if it were a Goddamn body of water.

The poor little girl peddling the fucking tricycle cannot rival her brother’s pink scooter and his mad scooter skills, as she is now throwing a fit of her own, having been left so far behind, coughing in the dust.  That’s right, Miss Boss, kick the bike…and now toss the bike…yell for your mother.  I guess you shouldn’t have pushed young Jason off of his treasured tricycle, eh?

That’s right.  I watched you do it.  And I watched the thieving of your stupid pink scooter, too.

Bitch.

An example of an exemplary government

Okay, so I was watching a travel show on PBS recently-the one hosted by Steve Something-featuring Switzerland, which I believe to be the birth place of Swiss Miss hot chocolate and the Swiss Army Knife.  I have a pink Swiss Army Knife, which includes a mini pair of tweezers and a tooth-pick that I once used to clean out my pot pipe.  It was a magnificent pipe, made for me by a kid I went to high school with. 

Anyway, Steve traveled to Bern, where the government has in action, some sort of drug program for fuckhead’s addicted to heroin.  Since the early 2000′s, or whatever, Bern, Switzerland has been providing addicts with said drug, citing that studies prove a pronounced decline in the abuse of other illicit drugs and their related activities.

My understanding of the program is that addicts are allowed a daily dose of pure heroin, which is served to them at some kind of fucking heroin station.  I think the shit comes out of Goddamn vending machines, in pre-measured syringes.  And holy fuck!  There are restrooms equipped with special blue lighting that allows the user to see his/her veins more clearly,allowing for an easier, less time consuming injection. 

It is a very nice accomodation, I’m sure, as I can imagine it must be difficult to prod forever and ever at a shallow vein under less than sufficient lighting.

I think that passing out heroin is totally awesome.  The only downfall to the program is that I think one must be incarcerated to qualify.  But I can’t say for sure.  I was far too fucking lazy to research this topic any further than sitting on my ass in front of the t.v. 

It’s on the web.  Look it up yourself.

 

Catalyst

You’re right, baby.  I am an empty shell.  Hollow.  So, what?

Yes, I’m a fucking coward, a fucking liar, a user.   And you fucking hate me.  So, what?

So, I’m a piece of shit-self-serving, undeserving of love. 

 So, I’m human garbage. 

 So, I’m a fucking whore.

I never loved you, or burned for you.  I never felt pain for you, or sacrificed for you.

I never fucking fought for you.

I never fucking cried for you.

I never tried to find my way back to you. 

I never considered you…

I never considered you anything at all, but a catalyst.

So-the-fuck-what?

You’re broken?  You’re brooding?  You’re vengeful?

You want to slander me?  Wreck my shit? 

So, you’re just a school-yard prick throwing sand in my eyes.  And I don’t want to fucking play with you anymore.

 

 

 

 

 

Easter Musings

I have just returned home from the convenient store.  I went out on this fine Easter Sunday to purchase a sixer of Miller Lite.  As a rule, any establishment that stocks alcoholic beverages for purchase, be they restaurants, stores of convenience or supermarkets, is prohibited to sell said goods until noon.  But today is a holiday-Easter Sunday, the day we celebrate the Risen Lord with egg hunts, chocolates, jellybeans and that bastard who sports a cheap bowtie, The Easter Bunny.  Naturally, I wondered if I would be denied the sweet nectar I craved. 

As I approached the counter, my precious package tucked in my cradling arms, I imagined the clerk scoffing at me, saying, “Silly drunkard, put that beer away!  It is Easter, you heathen, and I am not permitted to sell the devil’s juice on holy days!”  This would have been a bold-face lie, and I certainly would have called the bitch out by stating, “Haha!  Every Sunday is counted among the holy days because it is God’s day.  And as you know, one only has to wait until noon to purchase alcohol on Sundays!  Why should Easter be treated differently?!”

As it happens, Easter is not treat differently.  Upon placing my sixer atop the counter, I asked the blondie clerk, “Can you sell beer on Easter?”   To which she replied, “Yes.  Christmas Day is the only day you can’t buy beer.  All day.”  I paid and thanked her kindly, shaking my head ever so slightly as I exited the store with my liquid gold clutched to my chest.

It amuses me that Easter, the day of which we ‘celebrate’ the Resurrection of the Lord, is not held in the same regard as Christmas, the day of which we ‘celebrate’ His birth.  Hell, we aren’t even ‘celebrating’ the birth of Christ on the right fucking day, so why the fuck should we be denied the purchase of libations on a day we inaccurately call Christ’s birthday?

Anyway, I have never attended a birthday party, sans beer.  That’s just lame.

For the duration of this holiday, I will drink my beer in solitude, as my beloved daughter is currently enjoying dinner at her grandparents’ homestead with her father.  I was not invited to the ‘celebration,’ most likely because I am divorcing the hosts’ son.

R.J. Reynolds To The Rescue!

It is the general consensus amongst non-smokers that those who do partake of the tobacco, which is laced with many deadly, yet delicious chemicals, neatly wrapped in pretty paper, are the literal equivalent to the literal scum that resides on this earth.  In the name of health, and in efforts to rid our society of such foulness, or merely to straight up piss off highly addicted, murderously stressed to fuck smokers, bars and night clubs across the nation continue to ban smoking within their establishments.  So, not only are smokers shunned by McDonald’s and other choke ‘n’ puke eateries, but they are also segregated from their fellow booze hounds and barflies.  Boohoo!

Fortunately, leading tobacco manufacturer and evil genius, R.J. Reynolds, has devised a brilliant solution that will benefit both smokers and non.

Dun-duh-duh-duuunnn!

Introducing…tobacco products that conveniently dissolve in the mouth!

Camel Sticks come in the form of a stick, hence the clever name “Stick.”  Camel Orbs are fun little pellets of poison.  Camel Strips bear a resemblance to those Listerine breath strip thing-a-ma-fucks.

Each one of these dissolvable treats melts in your mouth within 30 minutes, the pellet sized Orbs lasting the longest, making them economically, the bestest best choice.  By comparison, these little trips to flavor country far surpass those of a cigarette, not only in longevity, but in strength, too! Typically, a smoker intakes 1 milligram of nicotine.  Camel Sticks, Orbs and Strips deliver up to 3.1 milligrams of nicotine!  Woohoo!  And as an added incentive, these particular smokeless tobacco products are spit free.  POW!  Put that in your pipe and smoke it, you nasty ass chewers!

Thanks to the forward thinking of R.J. Reynolds and the fucked up ethics of our government and it’s factions, i.e. the FDA, millions of people will soon be able to kill themselves more quickly than slowly without slowly killing those around them.