Has this ever happened to you?

My life in a nutshell

The PSW arrived promptly at 08:30 for bed bath time. I felt actually wakeful for the first time since the Post-COVID Droopy Dreary Dead Sleepy Syndrome came along. Washed about half the dishes that four people have accumulated in the last three days. (Three of us have been sick and the other does not do human kinds of things such as dish-washing as he in very few ways resembles a human). Made coffee. Donated another to Eugenius who also emerged from his room looking alive for the first time in days, on this occasion with cell-o-phone in hand; Hank Williams crooning out of it croonilly.

Eugene stuck around for twenty minutes, dancing a two-step and singing along with Hank Williams songs and then with George Jones songs. I refused to be outdone. I don't know the words to any country song whatsoever but that didn't stop me from trying. Wait, Actually I know some words to one country song where he says achey breaky heart a whole bunch of times, but technically those aren't words. That's only one word as neither achey or breaky are words. Or maybe they are now. I don't know.

"Sing it Hank!" I crooned. "Down in Mississippi!" I cried. "Yee haw!!" Eugenius patiently sang the "real" words at me with his two-toothed grin a-grinnin'.

"It's been lonely on the saddle siiiiiince.... the horse died," I sang sagely.

The Bro wondered into the kitchen shaking his head sadly. He stretched out his hand.

"Gimme that phone."

"This ain't - NO! - a livin'..."

"I don't want it making that noise!"

"What yooooou been givin'!"

"Luckily I have to get out of here."

"Yee haw!" I added helpfully.

"I have to go get my new glasses."

"Oh! Can I have your old ones!"

"No."

"Why can't I ever have anything nice!"

"They won't work for you!"

"You're so mean to me!"

"Oh for gods sakes"

"You'll be sorry when I'm dead!"

"Here then. Try them on."

The world went all wobbly. "They're broken!"

"They're not broken!" I snatched the fork. "Hey! Easy! What are you doing with that!"

"EEEEE! EEEEE! EEEEE!" I cried; the Psyhcopath shower scene music. I made stabbing motions with the fork.

"Oh my god."

"I kill tuna!" I cried. "I am hunter!" Bro shook his head. Eugenius continued singing; songs about the great tuna and the mighty hunter I presume. "I kill mighty canned tuna and feed my tribe!" I grunted.

Oh.

Wait.

Did I say nutshell?

I meant nut house.

 

Ask FWG

Bored from Toronto writes:

I'm bored.

Dear Bored: You can't possibly be bored in this world. We've got cell phones, bobble heads, fidget spinners, Kardashians, Joe Rogan, Kim Jong Un, Westboro Baptists, Flat Earthers, Fast & Furiouses, scream-o, planking, edible underwear, leaf blowers, democracy, Christianity and truck nutz to keep us deliriously entertained. What more do you need?

Have you tried a leaf blower?

Please join today!

Please join the CCAC today: Concerned Citizens Against Christmas. I made it up just now. Tell all your friends. Join now. We've only got four days to stop this terrible thing from happening. Thank you!

BRIEFLY: the holes in my life

Let's play a game called Here's What I Don't Have What So Fucking Ever! I'll go first!

1. bedbugs

2. a family

3. love

4. any hope of happiness

5. suspenders

6. visitors

7. a giant pet turtle

8. a wine cellar full of wine

9. emotions

10. a plan

11. a vagina

12. steak

13. remaining interest in this asinine activity

TLDR

Woke up to the sounds of Chrisaster Artist (Chrisaster for short) knocking dishes around in the kitchen while babbling to himself and slamming cupboard doors. It was 1:30AM or so and my movie, Dragonslayer was over, I'd probably fallen asleep in the first five minutes which is fine. I took off my hat, headphones and CPAP mask, moved the laptop off my lap, hauled myself to a sitting position, flexed my legs for a while to gain sufficient strength, heaved myself to a standing position, slipped on shoes and went next door to pee.

Chrisaster spotted me, made some kind of joke about fighting me. I told him it looks like he's busy fighting the kitchen. He cackled like a lunatic and agreed. I squirted and returned to bed, re-cocooned myself and managed to nod off again during a second episode of Comedians in Cars Getting Seinfelded.

Woke up around 4:30 AM to more smashing and babbling from the Most Disgusting Housemate on Earth (Chrisaster for short). He then camped out in the washroom singing songs about being a legend and so on. Chrisaster has a chrisasterous drug problem if I haven't mentioned.

Tried to sleep. Couldn't. Had chocolate-hazelnut breakfast instead of cereal because it was within reach.

Made Irish coffee. Grabbed my coat, hat, notebook, treat bag and walker and toddled out to the sidewalk. Sat in the very very barely present drizzle and sipped. No cat friends or dog friends came by. Got cold and passed on the morning walk. I'll try again later presumably.

Sat in the kitchen, joked with Eugenius and The Bro, and talked about ways we might be able to murder Chrisasterous Crap Head Parasite Weasel and get away with it while said weasel continued singing, babbling and slapping himself behind his closed door. B and E have bedrooms in his immediate vicinity so they were up all night. I only get driven to the brink of murderousness when he slinks and staggers into the kitchen for a few minutes or hours. We've devised many assassination plots but all are cost-prohibitive thus far. Our budget is roughly 45 cents. We're all on ODSP. Bro made us Ethiopian coffee. I covertly Irishized mine (with Irish whiskey BTW; not Baileys. I'm not crazy. That I know of).

The Bro made some progress getting my phone to work more properly. I had gone nuts deleting and disabling apps, trying to make it stop chirping at me for no reasons that I understood. I hate distraction; not just instinctively but because I know very well how distraction has destroyed minds and nations for the last thousand years and how it's still getting worse all the time. Bro seemed to lure my keyboardy widget back into occasional functionality.   

Well. This post couldn't be more boring if I tried. I hope you didn't read it.

Attempt #2

 ... at describing my morning! Not at taking my life! Ha ha ha ha ha! Did I scare you there! Well, don't be such a chicken shit next time!

Lucky (or unlucky?) for me, I am definitely a chicken shit once again so... Nothing news-worthy is going to happen around here.

Let me try to recall that morning: I washed some of the last few dishes from Turkey Fest. Most were done the night before. Took my meds. Went for my walk. Had a coffee which is VERY important!

Now that love is out of my life (had to put it on injury reserve) and I cannot afford a proper addiction to take it's place, I have had to promote coffee from the practice squad to first string. Desperate times call for desperate measures. I gave a generous portion of fishy niblets to Ginger (Kevin) Ferraro and a large milkbone to Moose. He had the Mama translator in tow that morning; not the Papa, and he gave her no choice. Just pulled her to me and drooled all over my coat while I fished out a biscuit. Then he wanted to eat the garlic bread with cheese that I was eating for breakfast but I did not relent. Mama finally dragged him away.

I thought about my family who are boycotting me, trying to force me to do what they think I should. Their ideas are incorrect. My fear is not that they won't relent. My fear is that I won't forgive them. I have dear friends and uncles and aunts who are too medically unstable and either that's why they don't see me anymore or that's the excuse. Maybe I'm just intolerable and don't know it! And then there's Aqualad who is just too busy for me and the Eloquent Potter who lives far off in the Big Smoke and has no car.

All the people I love are not available to me except online and I would rather die than go on pretend-living online. Fuck online. Fuck it.

[he says on his blog.] 

I am empty empty empty empty inside. I now understand why people have addictions I think. Everyone needs to need something. The delusion of identity I suppose. And when it's not people, it has to be things. I can't afford drugs or alcohol or gambling which all sound great. Sex is certainly out of the question.

Empty empty empty empty empty.

Planet Earth is blue and there's nothing I can do.

A failed attempt at describing my morning

Last night Eugenius cooked a turkey dinner for the four of us plus his mysterious quiet houseguest who is here on day 3 of the visit. It's against the rules but I don't care. Even though it means twice the filthy disgusting cigarette smoke that escapes his bedroom window and drifts in through mine; some of it... I still don't care.

Oh I fucking hate the smoke though. I'd say it's a matter of the purest insanity that cigarettes are legal but of course sanity has absolutely nothing to do with politics whatsoever. The bottom-feeding demon spawn which occupy 99% of the elected government make every decision based on the long-term will of their masters (including when they appear not to), including those deranged filthy near-human excrement masters who manufacture tobacco weapons at deliriously evil profit. How nice for them that most of us slaves are so pathetically distracted and deluded and ignorant as to cast votes for their wretched red and blue minions.

To think I was once enlightened enough to love the peoples of this society and to pity us all rather than to slip periodically into the most vile of contempt for we and our overwhelming lunacy.

Well, this isn't going as anticipated! I meant to brag about how delicious and juicy and tender the turkey was, except for the neck. He served me the fucking neck which I found unsettling and unenjoyable but the rest was exquisite and the carrots were perfect and the mashed potatoes were quite possibly the BEST I ever have had! They were deeply saturated in the turkey stock; boiled in the same pan, and generously dosed with garlic and like-boiled onions!

Friggin delicious.

The facts of life

Fact #1: Everybody poops.

Fact #2: Everybody dies.

Fact #3: Everybody poops when they die.

Fact #4: Fact #3 might not be a fact. It's actually just something I've heard.

I mean - I understand the physiology. But what if someone pooped, like normally, and wiped and everything, and then seventeen seconds later they died. Would they still poop again? Would they poop just a tiny tiny tiny bit? I suppose we could arrange an experiment around this but really, I'm not that eager to solve this riddle. Fuck it. Let's not give it another thought.

Fact #5: I have a hole in my heart the size of Tokyo and I cannot imagine still being alive when Christmas rolls around. I would very very very very very very very very much like to please cancel Christmas this year.

Okay. That's not likely to happen. Fine. Well... just know that if it kills me, the turd that I leave behind was not intended a holiday gift to you all and in no way reflects my feelings toward your character or your performance as a supposedly human being - or bona fide human being if you're one of the special few! And hey, if you're reading this blog, you probably are!

 

Warning: not for sensitive viewers

The following video contains disturbing macabre violence. You may wish to look away.

Man being slowly consumed by alien monster poorly disguised as a mustache:

These are the creatures in your neighborhood...

Neighborhood update!

Skittles MacBeth has finally come around again after a lengthy absence and was just as skittish as ever.

When I dropped a second helping of fishy kibblets between us, it spooked her and she ducked under the nearest parked car where she remained until I packed it in for the day, before popping back out for a gobble.

My new young friend Moose has come by on two consecutive mornings now but with two different human translators in tow.

The other youngster, kitten, Ginger Ferrero; it turns out he goes by "Kevin" at home. Ginger Kevin Ferraro is his full name it would seem.

Here's a special message from Ben Stiller:

The engoodening of the lords

So I posted something recently that might possibly have hinted that my landlord company might be... less than stellar. I believe I may have referred to them as "real life slum lords" or something subtle like that.

Well... they got back from vacation and by the next day they'd fixed the main entrance door and the bathroom light fixture. So... let's give them a little more probation before throwing them to the wolves. Let's see if they can keep up the good work.