I was thinking...

There’s a reason why I’m not in a relationship. I want to be in a relationship, believe me. Few things sound better to me right now than to have a significant other to fight against humanity as equal partners, and, ideally, always acting wary of the other, just in case they want to usurp all power and take over the whole operation. I guess this is a great time to finally admit to something I’ve been dealing with for years. So, to my parents, siblings, friends, associates and to you, the reader: I’m a homo-erectus . Well, a distant relative, like you. That means that I’m naturally inclined to certain behaviors and fears, which leads me what I’ve been holding on to for years: I’m terrified of women. Now, I’m not too afraid of women to avoid entering yet another relationship with one. On the contrary, the terror and intrigue are part of what drives me to them, time and time again. Everything is incredible as long as you take their side. The side you want to be on. T

We live in a dark age. A cloud hangs over this generation of humanity, a dirt-black cloud of distrust--the condensation of broken promises and disillusionment. Steam from the forgotten corpses of dead, unburied dreams has gathered so great that the sky over our society is raining tears. You might be thinking, what in the living garbage is he talking about? Or, more likely, I can’t believe I’ve actually read this far. I’m going to stop reading. To answer both of your thoughts: I am, of course, talking about locking mechanisms on paper towel and toilet paper dispensers. There are people in the world--living, breathing humans capable of acting out their choices--that have, somehow, created the need for locks on paper product dispensers. Someone, somewhere, has done something so vile, so ill-advised and so detrimental to their immediate community that corporations like Kimberly-Clark were commissioned to start locking their products. You know, for protection. Maybe it was

1. Teenage rebellion What are you, the teenager, rebelling against anymore? Each other? Your parents? What do you have left besides those two things that we, as a social whole, aren’t already rebelling against? Do you have too much privilege to be concerned about real issues, like surviving one more day? 2. Justin Beiber He’s an idiot poisoned by wealth and fame. He's also not the first, and won't be the last. Get over it. Move on. 3. Nude celebrities If you’re still totally hung up on seeing celebrities naked to fulfill your fantasies, try meeting more people. And if you’re married, you’re pathetic--discuss your sexual frustrations with your spouse or get divorced and try to be sexually active afterward. See how that works out for you. 4. Celebrity gossip You need to examine the quality of your life if you're compelled to vicariously live through the missteps and suffering of others, espec

Pain and Fear are sisters. Yes, they are sisters. As in they are women. And I have irrefutable evidence: they hurt you, a lot, almost menacingly so, but it’s for your protection and simply for your own good. Pain is the friend that, lovingly, yells at you when you’re about to kill yourself if you don’t quit being a moron. Fear is Pain’s sister who always feels uneasy when everyone else is trying not to, even though there’s a very good reason to feel uneasy in that situation. They both come from the same place: the desire to stay alive. It’s this which is the truest proof they’re both female: it kills you when they’re in your life, but you know you would quickly die if they weren’t there.

As a man, I’m feeling a cold breath on my neck. It’s breath from the same mouth that hovered over palm pilots, rotary telephones and spats: it’s the breath of obsoletism. As early as the late 1700’s, there were experiments in artificial insemination in humans, notably done by John Hunter, a Scottish surgeon. This was the first step to making men completely obsolete. The only thing we men had going for us was the production of life-juice! We’d already ransacked every corner of the world, centuries before, for who knows what reason, now there wasn’t even going to be the excuse that we were needed to make babies. Why would we do this to ourselves and each other? An example of this ill-advised procedure came in 1884. An American physician by the name of William Pancoast artificially inseminated a woman, by her and her husband's request, who gave birth to a child nine months later, as expected. However, this married woman was not aware that she was pregnant any of the nine mon

Exactly who is offering the world as a trade? Whomever it is, you’d think they would have given up by now. No one seems willing to take that offer. Not even the people that have the worst things for trade. “My life sucks, but I wouldn’t trade it for the world.” ; “Some days, I wish I’d never had kids, but I wouldn’t trade them for the world.” ; “My crippling anxiety has left me with no friends and no money--I’m barely alive, and miserable every passing second--but I wouldn’t trade it for the world.”  Good. No one actually wants to give you the world as trade for your crappy stuff.  It’s like one giant, imaginary swap-meet where everyone has brought their checkered history and emotional baggage, and one person is walking around offering the world as a trade. When someone declines the trade, that same someone is compelled to tell anyone within earshot that they had been offered the world in exchange for their refuse, gathered over a lifetime, but declined. It could be a ve

Advertisers will tell you, “You spoke, and we listened. Now our product [has the thing we discussed]…” Everyone’s head perks up when they hear that, because they want to know, What did we say?! Like it’s a little surprise party, and you hope all of the presents you get are things you’ve been hinting that you’ve wanted throughout the entire year. You might be saying to me, “Advertisers don’t tell you that, actors do! You f*** (silly.)” Actors may say those things, but actors are little more that PVC pipes: they funnel source-material through their hollow, plastic bodies and hope whatever comes out of their mouths actually matters. So, in light of this premise, it truly is the advertisers who are telling you what the actors happen to say. When I hear that I’ve spoken and companies have listened, my mind goes completely off the subject of the ad. I am, relatively, quite outspoken, so the chances I’ve unwittingly told an advertiser all about what I want out of ever

First, allow me to just come out and admit that, no, I am not as “American” as I should be. I’m a backstabbing, baby-killing, freedom-hating, liberal socialist. Did I leave anything out? Oh, and I’m not a real man. Now that that’s out of the way... Toby Keith put it best when he exclaimed, “We’ll put a boot in your a**, ‘cause it’s the American way!” setting an excellent example for our up and coming children of freedom. Truly, what other options are there to attacks or threats than a kick in the tuchas with a boot so hard that the boot gets lodged in our enemies’ orifices? It’s bad enough that our current president threatens then refuses to risk detonating civilians in another country (after giving orders that have led to multiple civilian casualties,) why not just go over there with the simplest, most complete solution of violently shoving footwear into their collective anal sphincter? And, by “over there”, I mean anywhere that’s not America. Excuse me, anywh

I can’t be the only person that gets unsettled when someone asks if they can get me anything, it’s just not possible. And it’s because no one who makes that request is comfortable with 90% of the possible responses. "Can you get me anything?" Yes. Get me out of my crippling debt, please. Naturally, one can assume the question isn't a question at all, but a point of conversation. A polite gesture to welcome guests. The wording might be very much on purpose, too: they say "can" as in is it possible. The question itself is a yes or no question, at any rate. A very finite query. Even if you were to respond to the person by saying, “Yes,” that should be enough to answer the question. (“Can I get you anything?” "Yes." "I thought so." *silence*) On the other hand, if they were to phrase the question so it could be clearly understood, then it would become the makings of a nightmare. The dreaded, “ May I get you something?” sends sh

Police officers experience tattle-telling as part of their profession. They pull you over and literally tattle on you TO you about what you did wrong. As if that wasn’t enough, the bulk of them have gone to lengths to turn the whole ordeal into a little pop quiz, “Do you know why I pulled you over?” It feels like some kind of trap, doesn’t it? Even in elementary school, the teacher never caught you doing your work at your desk and then stopped you, took you aside and asked, “Do you know why we’re out in the hall?” What they’re aiming for is to prick at your conscience. They want you to cower and confess of your transgression. A position of authority will do that to a person; it creates a sense that what they’re doing is actually important, so they use that righteous indignation as fuel for their wrists to write a note to give to their superiors, telling on you. The biggest difference, obviously, is that you actually have to answer to their superiors in some way and take their

Here's a lesson in futility: when you drive down a road that is decades old, you aren't sharing in the experiences of the thousands who have gone on that road, before you. In actuality, that road is not in the same place as it was before; the physical position of the earth is constantly changing and has changed long before you drove down that road, so your experience of that drive is not the same in a very physical sense. You are in a different sphere of time and space compared to the others. With every driver, the condition of the road is also changed--microscopically, but changed, nonetheless. Who, then, has driven down that road first? The ones who made the trip at the road's inception? Or is it a constantly ever-changing entity, making you the only one to experience that road in the only state it will be at that given time? This is the same with life experience. For instance: my experience of a "refreshing" drink of water will differ from another'

I don’t claim to be an avid proponent of racial equality, nor do I think of myself as racially prejudice. However, I am very embarrassed when I see white people dance. It’s not natural. The white people that can dance and not make it look like a humiliating skeleton that’s lost its self-control--like a socially challenged cousin trying to flirt with your sister--are few and far between. I don’t care to list them off, because it’s not worth getting up the hopes of everyone else that rightly have no hope. White-dancing is an equal opportunity employer in shame. Man or woman, LGBTQ+, disabled, smoker or non-smoker, etc. The only real people it discriminates against are staunch Christians and the inebriated. Those two demographics are targeted victims, attacked with the most humiliation because they feel no shame, making them the most shameful dancers. The root cause of this issue is emulation: white people try to dance like everyone that’s not white. Salsa? Yep. Hip-hop? There

Whenever I see a person jogging, my thoughts quickly veer toward the image of the jogger not exercising, but instead running for their lives. Some of them even look like they’re struggling to get away. At the very least, it appears as though they are trying running away from something, even if it’s apparently innocuous. I saw an older woman this morning running from her age. The previous evening, I saw a couple running from their relationship. And earlier that day, I saw a college student running from his life. Around the same time, I saw two twenty-something women running from their independence. Other times, it looks like the jogger is merely trying to keep their faces above the ground. Like they’re not running so much as pushing their upper-halves as far as possible before toppling over. Who am I to judge, though, right? My only concern is that I’m usually going around 30-45 m.p.h. when I see this indigenous sub-species of joggers, taking my eyes off the road as I stare in