currently the premise is that only "patients" with a doctors note are allowed to shop at the weed store. whatever tho, because it's mind blowing to watch this store in operation.
it appears to be a normal house, although heavily equipped with survealance cameras at every angle, and a sign on the front of the building proclaiming themselves as care givers. if you have a prescription for weed, you arrive at the building proceed to the glass doors at the back, and ring the door bell, at which point they will buzz you in, and let you start shopoing the store for THC products.
i parked in the back of the house, and waited with my engine running while my friend with the weed scrip went inside to make purchases for his coachella-concert-weekend and to fullfill my order of high grade fanciness. during that time i rapped with the security guard about my signjob... he was curious how much the signwalkers made. i told him $8/hour.
my friend spent over $500 on different weed wonders. pictured above is the THC version of one of those listerine mouthwash breath thingies, expcept this one gets you BAKED!!! how rad.
he bought some THC carrot cake, some THC lollypops, an ounce of some crazy weed, an eigth of some purple weed, hash oil, THC mouth strips, THC rice cispy treat (aka ganja goo ball), and it all came packaged neatly together in a large brown grocery bag.
as we drove away, i couldn't believe it was all legit. legal weed here in hollywood. but if i had any doubts the weed mint strip thingy washed them away.
thanks you one and all. this dad stuff is nothing new, just regurgitated for your trainwreck-viewing enjoyment.
big tanky finally found her japanese friend, S-na... i guess s-na's english has grown progrssively worse since she moved back to tokyo years ago, and welp... we had no idea that she was fine and dandy and traveling with her MOTHER (who knew?) and the missing asian tourist scenario quickly became what tanky and s-na refer to as "fibular" and it basically means, "japanese and english make for some odd conversations."
but it was a big relief to all those concerned, because nothing's worse than losing your japanese friend.
i work a full job this weekend with cesar as my helper, and 8 signwalkers on my crew. i have a BRAND new set of signs HOT off the print shop silkscreen machines.
it should be a slam dunk, all i have to do is make certain that i stay the fuck out of el monte. and then... come home... get stoned... and prepare for my nightlife, which im sure will be gangbang-tastic.
we picked up angelina from LAX at a 1/4 till ten oclock, tanky and i, and headed to A's swank hotel on the santa monica shoreline. and when i say swank, i mean it with a capital "uhmph!!!!"
after check in, and being completely blown away with the fabululousness that is the hotel room, we swung back down to the lobby for drinks, and began touring the grounds. can i just say... Angelina's Employers must be sawing off an arm and a leg to pay for her to party down at such an obviously more-than-i-could-ever-afford type crib.
i like it when im out drinking with fellow nicotine addicts, because that way we have strength in numbers, and besides... that whole treat your body like a temple dealy is over rated.
i subscribe to the treat your body like a casino, belief system.
anyways, there was this reserved section that had couches, and heaters, and a canopy, and poolside ambiance that made us wonder is we had teleported into a miami vice episode.
all in all it's pretty awesome when visitors come to town, especially when theys like to party. (and lets face it, if you rang ME up... you LIKE to party.)
i went and hung with a-dot for a minute today, and we twisted up a doobie and pndered the sciences behind fruity sees candie chocolates. (free chocolates come with the room, illen eh?) and we figured out that the white on white candy thingy was the fruitiest of the fruity chocolates, in fact... i believe angelina dubbed him liberace.
but it makes a helluva chaser for the makers mark shots we took whilst on a minifridge booze raid.
i eventually peaced out allowing the out of towner some time to paint her nails, or throw paper airplanes off of her 4th story balcony, pshhh... who knows.
she used to live here for 5 years, so i am sure she won't be too turned around and disoriented when she hits the highways.
there's also gonna be a visitor from northern california who i have not seen in far too long. and no i dont mean whitey, although even whitey will be in town this weekend. it's a "one of those" kinda weekends.
i'm starved and my clothes are filthy. can someone give me a "whoa bundy!" ?
i gave up and the darkness set in. i allowed the darkness in, because it kept hidden the things that hurt me. and i began to build on the distortion, giving it a foundation and solid ground to rest on.
there's a roaring tiger inside of me, and it had the chance to bite of my father's head, and it did. i chewed up what was left and spit in out an old pepsi can i was using as an ashtray/spitoon.
this big, puffed up, over inflated PEACOCK is gonna step on MY head? who's back is safe from stabbery? no ones.
i saw my shrink tonight. i think im gonn keep seeing her...
1 to screw it in
and the other three to...
pickit up pick it up pick it up
for me, i always wonder how/if i will be able to find the strength i need. i never remember that i've survived much harder things already.
it's easy to justify my doubts, because JUST HAVING DOUBTS should be a red flag, right? if im so fine and dandy why am i suffering from cold-feet-disease? why does every step i take feel like the wrong step? why are things continuing to go wrong with every passing second?
i mean, where is there ANY relief?!?! but the truth is that NO, those things do not justify your doubts. the only thing that any of the struggle you will face confirms is that THIS WAS GOING TO BE HARD, AND YOU KNEW THAT. you knew that from the jump, man.
there is light at the end of every tunnel, and at the end of this tunnel, you will see that all that darkenss and confusion make seeing the light that much brighter and glorious.
the feeling of conquering that which stands in your way is an irreplacable feeling that is more addictive than any drug. and believe me, i've tried a lot of drugs.
rely on faith as little as possible... but never let go of it completely. because you can't control everyting, my friends. when you have nothing more than faith and trust, you will be happy you have AT LEAST that.
you have to be ready TO LOSE EVERYTHING hoping that you finally get everything.
losing everying is ok. it's starting over. it's non-lethal (believe it or not).
getting everything you want is ok too. it's better than you would ever dream.
it all really doesn't matter. all you can do is control your own reactions to these things.
change your attitude. stop living in this "i can't handle this" world. because you are handling it fine, and trust me everyone freaks out when they stare only at the tip of the mountain the whole hike.
just stay in the moment, and worry about the path ahead of you, stay calm, bide your time, and soon you will be on top of that mountain staring adversity in the face.
you are never defeated by ANYthing. you are only defeated by yourself, just like ishe in last sunday's episode of contendor. he got too cocky, he lost sight of the path ahead of him.
but see, some people don't get too cocky. they just get weighed down.
regardless, the hike is possible and it's hard hard work. but wanna know why it's so hard?
because it's worth it.
well on king of the hill, lil bobby hill didn't want to take a shower after PE class because he was scared that all the other boys were gonna talk shit cuz he's fat and had a tiny willy.
hank, his father, told him that being a man means you have to do things you don't want to do, because you just HAVE to.
it's so true. and it's not just about being a man, it's about being an adult. doing ONLY what feels good is for spoiled children, all who have no more charm than paris hilton (blick).
life is balance, and suffering is part of life. so is strife, and having every last thing thrown at you until you are sure you are going to break.
fuck man, life is hard on a daily, and it doesn't get easier, it never does. it gets harder, and the shit piles on top of the shit, and you're burried in no time.
but some people have sense enough to grab a straw so they can still get some air underneath all that bullshit, and others just submit and suffocate.
when you fight for what you want, everything will stand in your way. there's no conveyor belt that effortlessly scoots you to your goal while you take a load off your feet.
you have to jog up an esculator that is going the wrong way, and the closer you get to the top, the faster the esculator speeds in the wrong direction.
to all who have had life bitch slap you in the face with a heavy pimp hand, and rose above the struggle, and live today NOT as a survivor... but as a regular person, who's life has little or NOTHING to do with any wrong that happened.
shit happens, never take it personal... even when it's personal.
can you tell what i did here? it's called an invisible desktop, or something like that. i wanted to see if i could make one. mine sucks. look for more ideas of what i tried to do here.
these are the kind of people that will suck the fun and life and GRAVITAS out of anything man. they just do. they over indulge in talking about bullshit that doesn't matter.
i guess that same is true with any group of anything. take painters for example. there's some of the people in the scene who just want to be noticed at all the "right" parties, and have no soul, becaus they never even have time to do what they love. or to just shut up about it for at least ten seconds.
this one time big tanky took me to this mark ryden painting arteest thingy, and she wouldn't speak to me in front of the art, and her reasoning was that she was so annoyed with art-fags talking pretentiosly about art they know nothing about, so they can appear as though they are "more down for the cause" than the average citizen, and really... it's just a giant fucking gwatt of what makes any scene ugly.
the idiots. either be one, or hate one.
so these fucking people in the video blogging community... they all have these fucking generic lame ideas of what video blogging "should" be, and what merits a good vlog post, and what is the ediquette, and what do other reccomend about this and that...
fucking stop emailing so fucking damn much, and learn with trail and error like the rest of the world. and leave my email box alone. it's exhausted.
at what point do you think you're goin got go faster than 25 MPH? because man, the fucking freeway goes 65, so like, you better get used to giving people tailgating you as hard as they can (like myself) because i'm sure i won't be the last one.
if you have a piece of shit car that doesn't allow for you to zoom off into the sunset like i do, just put up a sign in your rear window. inform the world. don't act like i have X-Ray glasses and can see that your four banger has now blown some of the engine and is running on one valve.
and people wonder why there have been 5 car to car shootings in the freeways here in so cal in the last few months.
the best way to shop at a store is by leaving your money hidden under your car seat, and not having any of it on you. by the time you end up back at your car to fetch the money, you can't remember what you wanted that dumb shit in the store for anyways. it's the same reason i ONLY carry a $500.00 dollar bill... (no one has change for a $500)
limit your ability to easily part yourself with your money. if you're stoned and stupid, and wandering around a discount store generates an irriational need to break your piggy banks... then hide your money from yourself, the odds are when you're stoned and a danger to your own finances YOU WONT REMEMBER where the cash was in the first place.
life is a dream. this ain't eral... this is all illusion. with that in mind... if someone chopped off your head in your dream, you aren't angry at them when you wake up.
i mean, perhaps you have an instant reaction, but you realize that it didn't really happen, because dreams aren't real.
life is an illusion and you should never hold a grudge because it's like holding a grudge against someone for something that you dreamt about
what happens when you forgive someone is that you also forgive a part of yourself. by allowing forgivness you grant yourself freedoms from subconscience guilts that you are unaware that you live under.
people do themselves a dis-service by seeing things as one sided.
good or bad, light or dark, love and hate, pain and pleasure. things of that nature do NOT co-exist... they are ONE. and they exist as ONE, and are manifested within eachother. yin-yang.
we are spirits, living in a world comprable to the matrix, where everything we see is an illusion, and nothing is real. it's best not to worry too much about anything. just make sure that you are able to forgive anyting that comes your way: poor health, bad luck, evil people...
my work week consists of three days. i have a monday, a wednesday, and a friday. then i have two saturdays, and two sundays. can you guess where my priorities in life lay?
im certainly an individual who prides hisself on his ability to LOUNGE it. lounge-core, aggro supreme.
work is such a drag, i wish i could just write checks and spend on credit cards willy nilly like htere was no tomorrow and it wouldn't matter becaues my ultimate scheme to conquer the universe will reign over any prior wrong.
are you with me? or shall i litter the streets with your blood and guts? choose wisely my friend, because the pen is mightier than SOME swords, but not mine.
this is a fucking sharp ass sward attached to a machine gun and a chainsaw. so i dare you, I FUCKING DAR YOU... you son of a filthy dirst cunt of a bitch. (i hate her)
and i hate you.
someone walked past me, and i spit on them, and they asked me, "hey duder, why the fuck are you so damn mad all the fucking time?"
and i looked and them, and i stood back, and i sorta let my jaw drop while my forehead crinked up.
then i whipeed out an aluminum baseball bat and proceeded to turn the silver of the bat into brain-red. it's darker than firetruck red... and chunkier too...
anyways. on a lighter note, i hope you all die.
thank you, drive through.
today has gone smooth as it gets, with the only snag in the flow being that huge motherfucking screw i found in my tire. but i patched that shit for 5 bucks at the local service station, and was ready to rock and roll my way through the city, sight seeing and keeping my sign job in check.
when i was doing my ritual lap through walmart (i walk though all dicount stores to kill time, target, kmart, walmart, even walgreens) and i found this killer bike i want to buy. it chromed out to the max, and i think im in lerve with it.
target didn't have shit to intrest me.
and the client im servicing reported to my boss that "everything lokos great!" and welp, DUH! would you expect any less from the master of all blasters.
i will be home tonight by 7pm, and i can't decide what i want to do with myself for the rest of the night. i think i might take myself bowling. or go to the movies... i still havent seen sin city.
all i know is whateer im doing, im doing alone, because i prefer solitude. and welp... cuz everyone i know prolly already has plans. so fuck them, bitchasses.
i want to blog. but i have no time. such is life.
sho 'nuff, they were good peeps, and to my surprise willing to buy me (a perfect stranger) a tall ass glass of guiness.
i could tell from the give and take between stuart and the bartender that they knew eachother and were pallies at the very least.
big tanky and angela, the afore mentioned lady friend, stepped out to have some private girl chatter, and stuart and i sat silently next to each other. both of us staring at a different TV hung from the cieling, perhaps each of us on a different ESPN chanel. or maybe he was on fox sports west, who knows. and just before he stepped off to the mens room, he leaned in and told me, "hurry up and finish that beer, so we can get you a new one on the next round..."
i remember being so honored and stoked that i was gonna have two beers (and not budweisser!!) and it was nothing but hospitality. the same reason i was nice to them was the reason they were nice to me... respect for mutual friendship.
then there was this one time that it was someone's birthday, i think it was stu's brother kieth. well i was invited, and i went, and it was rad, and i'll tell you why... QUESOCDILLAS! chicken ones. they were free and being served up buffet style all night long baby. well perhaps not all night... i think we boned out before things got as crazy as they can be.
and then angela had this birthday, where she basically got me loaded at her loverly decorated house (it's got feng shue, oh yah) and bigtanky and ang' told me tales of fontana-folklore, and inland-empire-mythology. but when the two longtime homegirls got too deep into the story for anyone but themselves to follow, stuart and i would raise an eye brow at eachother, and then dive back in trying to figure out which particular grubb brother fit into which particular fontana story. ect.
anyways. stuart's blog is new, and he is a dawg indeed. ask anyone. but if you diss him, come answering here first... cuz he's one of anti's dawg's, ya hear me?
it rained in Long Beach slightly today, but only barely. it rained just enough to make the streets damp and smell gross like when it rained at your elementary school, as a kid.
my phone's rinigng
i still have a lot of driving to do tonight, north hollywood and back, but it's all god, i like night driving, and it's worth it for the mega bucks that they pay me.
everyone's being so nice to me lately, it's geting me a little scared. is this some kinda sign that im in for a shit ton of misery? more updates on that later.
over my shoulder while i ignore her, bigtanky is carving up my piece of shit target rug jamming to superfly. how typical. hehehe...
i'm prepared not to like this shrink, just because this costs a fortune, and it's a pain in the ass to shop around fo ra shrink... it still doesn't mean i should fit a square peg into a round hole. and believe me, im as square as they get.
i am so in need of a giant materialistic luxury item purchase type thing. where's the double sign job when you need one? that's how i bought my ipod, i came off a weekend rocking a pocket full of 2grand, and well... what's an ipod when you got loot like that?
i need a PSP. replace need with "can't live without". and i went and checked them out at the game stop next to the east west bank inside the 99 cent ranch market (a chinese assed market if you ever saw one) and they had it for like $259.00. i could save up for that, eh? i'd make a amazon wishlist with that on there, but im stoned not presumptuous. my birthdays in a couple months, maybe if i hint to it enough, it will just happen by june 7th.
i grow increasingly impatient with your inability to recognize my need for maximum lesure time. im noting if im not near a body of water, preferably my always lava-hot-hottub, sipping on a mai tai, toking onna phat one.
your i love lucy lifestyle fits me like Shaquiel O'Neil fits in a prom dress, GET ME?!
when you look at me, and start laughing, it means that you DO get it. you get me. and i thank you for laughing at the clown, becuase it helps the clown feel like he is serving his purpose.
i know where you can buy a car for $500.00. or a few cars for that much. they got it going like that all day in the spot i know bout. werdemup. pay me $20, and i will tell you where in LA to find it.
there has been a debacle with the cashflow... the viking is working to iron out the kinks. he has got my back.
i want to go see some movies at the bridge over in westchester californ-eye-eh. i have never been and a new found pallie has told me to come on down and feel the vip status. im inclined to say "HOW FUCKING SOON?!?!" but as calmly as possible, of course.
to my friends angela and stuart who are perhaps reading this post, or perhaps not... "HI!" when's your blog gonna start, eh?
and to the rest of you scum sucking pig lickers, have bonghit wishes, and hash pipe dreams. nite nite.
either way, go say to Mr. Nunez and tell him anti sent you.
anyways, if you don't know any good shrinks in your area, what do you do? THE YELLOW PAGES! i picked my shrink using the GD guidelines. GD = geograghically desirable.
why do i want to see a shrink? good question. i need help, is the answer.
sure you can call me crazy. psycho. sane. normal. homocidal. whatevs... but i don't see myself as any more or less crazy than the average american (which is still fairly high).
this won't be the first shrink i ever saw. my first one was when i was 6 years old, and the last time i saw a shrink was when i was 16 years old. no i didn't go for ten years straight, but you can safely say i know what im in for.
it's hard getting a good shrink. it's less what they know, or who refered them to you... and MORE about how well you click with that person. social chemestry, you either got it or you dont. so i might have to see a few doctors before i find one that i want to make a second appointment with.
i hope i can get by with something like once a week. i think those 3-time-a-week people are burly.
and ok, let me get more serious about why i am going. im selfish, self centered, vain, and disrespectful. i have zero self confidence, and a low tolerance for being inconvenianced. i have a terrible self image. and i want tips on how i should or should not be handling my dad situation. i don't want reconciliation anymore, but i do want retribution... so we'll see what the shrink says on that one.
and i don't know man. i just find myself feeling depressed and/or sorry for myself far too often, and im going to do something about that.
the current spiral notebook that i scribble in when i am away from my computer is tucked behind the drivers seat of my truck, and it's one of my most prized possesions. as was the case with each and every spiral i ever had, owned, lost or destroyed. those lost pages are the original anti-blog archives. they don't even exist anymore; i lose everything in my life. i think for any serious writer, it is important to practice and appreciate the fine art of writing things out long hand. ball point pen against college ruled, white paper. the soul of the moment is captured better, because of the hand writing, the doodles in the margin, the occasional tear drop stain, the smeared cigarette ash, and the known fact that those pages would never be read by another soul. i found sanctuary writing and re-reading my private, personal honest, unedited thoughts. have you ever longed for the smell of pen ink smeared on the side of your hand?... its from from rubbing against all that freshly laid hand writing, it's hypnotic.
The boy didn't seem to notice, though. He stood there on the sidewalk next to his truck, with his head tilted towards the sky, his squinty eyes have now completely closed shut, and his breathing deepened.
the wind stopped and he snapped out of it when his sweaty hair landed back on his forehead. the boy used the hand that wasn't holding a hammer to push the sunglasses off his face, and hold his hair out of his eyes, and reached for a plastic sign nailed to a wooden stick. it was leaned up against his left left.
he walked back to his truck with his middle finger pointed at the three cars, letting them know that their honking was futile, and perhaps making their situation worse. honking never made anyone go any faster, ever. but this was the normal scenario, people in los angeles rarely showed any tolerance for roadway inconveniances.
as he drove along to the next intersection that needed sign installation, he got a call on his cell phone from one of his signwalkers.
annoyed, he answers the phone, "hello?"
"hiiii it's pennay, i needah watah, i gots monies..."
"save your money, penny, it's on me. i'll be there in about 15 minutes with an ice cold water for you."
and he hung up before she could go on. he had work to do, this was no time to chit-chat with the crew.
on his way to fetch water, he drove by the corner that was supposed to have Norm-the-signwalker on it, and all he saw was norm's signwalker sign laying flat on the sidewalk, and no norm in sight. The boy threw the steering wheel causing the truck to chirp it's tires on into the shell gas station, and the boy came barrelling out of the truck at full speed to locate his missing crew member. he started by pounding on the public restroom door, "Norm buddy... you in there?"
after five minutes of no luck finding norm anywhere on or near his corner, the boy decided that norm was fired with no pay, and grabbed his signwalker sign off the sidewalk.
the boys hands tightened on the steering wheel as he sped down the street. he grit his teeth and shook his head in disgust. and asked himself how Norm could be suck a fuck-off all the time.
He finally reaches penny to deliver her a water, and notices a slack jawed 15year old boy listening to his walkman, waiting for the bus to come, standing across the street.
5 minutes, and a lot of sweet talk, and the boy had the replacement for Norm he was looking for. he also took time on the way back, to explain in further detail the job he lured the kid into the car with.
everything was copacetic, until he arrived to find norm standing on the corner looking very confused and scratching his head.
"sorry norm, you're fired." the boy said coldly.
"what the fuck, mannn, i was taking a shit, i couldn't hold no longer, i no it wasn't break time."
"then why was there no answer when i was pounding furiously on the bathroom door, eh buddy?"
"THAT WAS YOU?!?! i was scared half to death!"
know what revenge does? it doesn't make you feel any better, and it makes you just as low down and no-good as the person who wronged you in the first place. two wrongs, remember what they dont make?
people who easily get mad think the world should be more THIS or more THAT. like sometimes when i personally lose my cool, im freaking out about "how DARE someone do that to ME!" like im some kind of prince or royalty, OR as if the person had any malicious intent.
reacting all over the place will get you in trouble in the end because temper-proned people have wild imaginations.
"did you see that old lady pull out in front of my car?! she did that on porpose to piss me offf!@@@@@@*Q(*!&@^#"
sure buddy, keep dreaming. that lil old lady didn't see you because she's old, and couldn't plan a way to piss you off (a stranger she does not know is alive) because she's senile, and doesn't know that those huge cover-all sunglasses that she wears over her prescription glasses make her look like she's wearing a virtual reality helmit.
know what? shit happens and sometimes you have to just take the lumps with a smile on your face because only immature cry babies stay at home and feel sorry for themselves.
only in the end, i have learned in several situations that zero reaction to a person or to events IS the best revenge. it is the ultimate revenge. it's like, "oh wow, you're out to sabotage me? and umm... what is your name again?" do you see what i mean? dropped like a hot potato.
not to mention that if you believe in seizing the day, carpe diem, live life NOW not LATER... then revenge is counter productive. it's working towards your past, and does nothing to promote your present and future.
not to mention that your brain affects every single cell in your entire body, and you don't want something with taht much power to harbor any negativity. it's bad chi.
i also have three beers left from the weekend, COLD ones even.
i struggled with "feeling sorry for myself" over the weekend for various reasons. btw, all my reasons were irrational and NOT based in reality. the lesson: life is too short to feel sorry for yourself. GET OVER IT, and start having fun already. RIGHT?! right.
i have $6 to my name.
im not a stupid person, i just do stupid things. can you understand that? it's like, i have sense, and i am smart in many ways... but when it counts, and when you NEED me... i'll be sinking in a quick sand pit of crying about my imaginary misfortunes, and sqauking too loudly for anyone to get a word in edgewise.
its called being too proud for your own britches, and its me to a tee.
it's realizing that being interupted is NOT you being prevented from making your brilliant point of view. being interupted can simply be: you being saved from putting your foot deeper in your mouth. thats how it works for me lately at least.
i guess i just want to say for the record that i do know what is rational, and logical, and that my tripper-ness was based on neither of these things. i wanted someone to go, "awwww, poor johnny..." and welp... being finally able to admit that to myself and now to the world feels like a load of bricks off my back. i'm shamed by my need for attention, it's true.
i dont want anyone's pity anymore, i dont know why i did. that was retarded of me, perhaps even slightly psychotic. what i do want is...(the rest of this post has been edited out by the site administrator, have a nice day!)
i guess after the barr we went to the pool, and i danced like a maniac, and passed out in an awkward position, half on my bed.
i hate blacking out because i get so nervous about what i could have done/said. apparently i didn't do/say anything notable (thank god).
i remember bits and peices tho, and mostly i blame the mai tais. they taste like they are just some fruity slushee, but then four or five of them later... you become a human tilt a whirl.
its a big deal for me to get that drunk, because its just not me, man. im a pot smoker who drinks, not a drinker who smokes pot. get me?
i hope to be eating normally by tuesday.
btw, i bought the cheeseburger pizza from dominos pizza... it was astonishingly horrific.
one last day of signjobbing sans helper in the fine city of anacrime. im running out of money, and im winning the local moustache contest. there's like one flimsy bong hit left, and then im dusted.
bunny macintosh from georgia leaves on an airplane tomorrow morning. she was an excellent visitor, like usual. b-mackson slept in the spider room, and miraculously survived the ordeal. maybe the spiders don't like east coast skin.
i called up whitey to come smoke me out, and he flaked on me 100%. but that was sorta to be expected. ryan is like a wild roaming buffalo. it just goes where it wants, nahmean?
and i dont know man, i must be in some kinda lofty mood, because i dont hate the world for once. you can call it what you will, but my cell phone told me something nice, and usually it tells me nothing. thank goodness i didn't smash it with my sledge hammer, in that fit of rage a few days ago. i knew i needed it for SOMEthing.
and on that note, i go full throtle to the beer bottle, collecting the risidual drippity drops, and i shall retire on my bed, face up in my underwear, without any sheets or covers, smoking a dunhill menthol, and burning my chesthair with the lit cherry.
torrance boulevard represent!
things aren't going to go your way the majority of the time. friends and family will let you down, and disapoint you time and time again. the harder you try and control the out come of these things, the more frustrated you will end up being.
but that's the rolling of the dice that we call life. you win some and you lose some. and while the odds are stacked against you, and it's likely you won't succeed, there's just enough chance to make the struggle worth it in the end.
im not saying that life can be equated to being a leaf floating on a river.... im saying you should be more like a powerboat on the river.
meaning that the river is life, and tyou can't control the river OR life... but you can control yourself, hence the powerboat.
but to most things, just say fuck it man. stop caring. realize before its too late that it truly doesn't matter.
so let's say you get fired from your job, you should go out and get fucking drunk as hell that night. because what are you going to do...?? go job hunting at night? deal with the issue when it matters. in the meantime live life to it's fullest.
never wait for something to happen. enjoy every second leading up to the something, and every second after it. this is YOUR life, pal, and you're a human hour glass running out of sand second by second.
don't waste whatchu got.
oh btw, why do people belive in things being fair? they're never fair, life sucks.
it's not fair that i can't sleep past noon everyday without someone calling me lazy. it's not fair that i was born into a cruel world without my permission.
remove that weirdo unjustified sense of entitlement. you're not entitled to shit.
when someone says they don't want to do something, but... it really means, they DO want to.
like if someone says, "i dont want to insult you, but you look like an idiot in that outfit" or "i'm not trying to start an arguement, but...."
everyone with their big but. butt out.
it's like i wanna say, "hey man... if you weren't trying to do what you said you weren't trying to do, then why did you say that shit?". people and their big stupid opinions. thanks for sharing, scuse me while i go barf now.
ugh! i can't even articulate my point clearly. leme re-try.
if i walk up to a fat person, and say, "i don't want to call you fat, but..." guess what, i may not have wanted to call them fat, but i did regardless. if i really truly didnt want to call them fat, i would have kept my big trap shut.
home alone sat'nite, barely any electricity being used in the house, and the sound of my fan stiring up my stale cigarette smoke... is all i hear.
i'm surrounded by an army of empty pacifico beer bottles, and all i can smell is my musty ass feet, because i never remember to wear socks.
i think im moody, or maybe annoyed at the world in general today. but i had to work with a ferocious hangover, and i think thats why im short on tolerance. my stomach feels like it's vibrating, and the inside of my mouth feels like a morgue.
the only relief i get is when im smoking a cigarette. which is why i have been chainsmoking all day. i will have you know that a true chainsmoker smokes at LEAST 4 packs a day, and only lights a cigarette with a lighter ONCE... the fist one.
i dont need to type. it's over rzted just ask anyone.>p and so then i got high. i have one eyes open and one eye shitut,m and one hand on me penis, beciuase i lik e it there. mmm mm fuck you. stop reading this private shitl what are you a s[pyho>?.[/< P> ufgh. html is to ht-m-fuckitsel;f. i hate it.
and so then i got high. i have one eyes open and one eye shitut,m and one hand on me penis, beciuase i lik e it there.
fuck you. stop reading this private shitl what are you a s[pyho>?.[/< P>
ufgh. html is to ht-m-fuckitsel;f. i hate it.
an out-of-towner special anti's-blog exclusive.
i'm going to shave this two week old face grub off tomorrow so that im all clean and sharp looking for my sign job in anahiem this weekend. im using the red tag car sale signs, i have to pick them up at my cousin's house.
my mom expressed concern when i talked to her last, telling me that she's not sure if my "direction" is leading me to anything or to anywhere. i mean signs are great, but can i do that for the rest of my life?
i told her she need not worry, because not only has my cousin mike done it for over 8 years, but it's not also the only basket im keeping all my eggs in.
im not a sign guy, im a freelance jounalist!!! the signs are just how i make the bulk of my $... but my dream is not to be hammering a peice of wood into the ground, and stapling a plastic sign to a pole...
it was hard to articulate to my mother, because it's very abstract at this point. but i calmed her worries, and let her know that no matter what... i can take care of myself.
she raised her eyebrows, let out a sigh, and said, "well, im proud of you."
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