#85 THE PISSED OFF WITH GUNS SONG

Pissed off white guys with guns,
Pissed off white guys with guns,
Pissed off white guys with guns,
Oh yeah, Oh yeah.

Pissed off Muslims with guns,
Pissed off Muslims with guns,
Pissed off Muslims with guns,
Oh yeah, Oh yeah.

Pissed off soldiers with guns,
Pissed off soldiers with guns,
Pissed off soldiers with guns,
Oh yeah Oh yeah.

Pissed off police with guns,
Pissed off police with guns,
Pissed off police with guns,
Oh yeah, Oh yeah.

Pissed off humans with guns,
Pissed off humans with guns,
Pissed off humans with guns,
Oh yeah, Oh yeah.

{repeat, ad infinitum}

PSA: don't shoot yourself!

Okay, this is setting a bad precedent. There was a story in the news about a 90 year old lady who was getting evicted. Sad enough. She goes and shoots herself. Even worse.

But here's the worse part of all: Fannie Mae erased her mortgage. What does that tell all the desperate, possibly unstable, end-of-the-rope people getting foreclosed on and evicted? "Shoot yourself, you'll get out of your mortgage."

I predict more of these "You'll never take me alive" stories. You can't get give people ideas like this.

Oh yeah, didn't MY friggin' tax money go to bail out Fannie Mae? I don't recall them asking me if this lady could get off the hook. I mean, no wonder they're going under, being all soft-hearted just because some old bag shoots herself. <--(I'm only kidding! Jeez)

farewell to all

I pen this missive from what may be my deathbed, but it is at least my sickbed. Death, that old hooded acquaintance, is just down the road, having a smoke and glancing down the street occasionally, looking at his watch. Where does he get a wristband small enough?

You see, I have been stricken by a horrible ailment. The flu. I want everyone to know my suffering because I am a sissy-boy drama queen when I am ill. Let others suffer in dignified silence, but not me.

Oh no, anyone but me.

Love one another. Cherish each day, no, each moment as if it might be your last, because tragically I now know first hand how fragile life is, like a snowflake melting on the smiling cheek of a little child.

Forgive one another! Call your parents. Hug your children. Buy that DVD box set. Dream big.

A wise man once said, in a now long forgotten Marty Feldman classic, "Life is as brief as a butterfly's fart."

Truer words were never spoken.

Don't weep for me world, when I have returned to the earth, and my bones are picked clean, remember me for the good times, for that's all we can do.

notes from the coffee shop

I’m in a Beaner’s Coffee Shop, and there are three young men writing some theological paper for college, something about "God gave man free will", and "Man walked away from God” etc, etc, and they are right at the next table. I want to scream, “You idiots are arguing and spending all this time about something that doesn’t exist! You might as well be arguing about Battlestar Galactica plot points!”

But I’m doing the same thing, because In the back of my mind, I think someone is going to read these words, but that “someone” may never exist.

(later . . .) These idiots are still at it. Now they’re trying to argue why Jesus was put on the cross. I’ve always imagined in my mind Christians sitting around debating how many angels can fit on the head of a pin, but I never imagined a stupider exchange of hot air in my most derisive imaginings. These two are so incredibly stupid.

(still later . . .)and now they’re parsing the word “submit” as in “wives submit to their husband.” The one guy actually says: “So I looked up the meaning of the word ‘submit’ and it doesn’t actually mean ‘submit.’”

I swear I want to strangle these stupid bastards.

Jesus F*cking Christ, will you guys stop wasting my money on this retarded sh*t?

Behold House Resolution 847, one of the many things on which these fucktards in the 110th Congre$$ are wasting time. The intrinsic retardation of this piece of shit legislation transcends satire or mockery. This bill is it's own comedy bit. The very radioactive nature of its stupidity, its disregard for the separation of Church and State, and the blatant use of a loaded issue to coerce votes boggles the mind and reaffirms my 0% hope in anything positive emerging from this cabal of worthless corporate-cock-sucking plutocrats.

Carlin!

baby chimps probably taste like chicken . . .

I’m finishing up A People’s History of The United States by Howard Zinn. If you haven’t read it yet, I suggest you do so right away. It doesn’t paint a rosy picture of American foreign policy and its treatment of the least among us. This country is a good country, but it isn’t a perfect country, and we’ve had our own self-interest in mind from start to finish. I don’t mind that. I just wish they wouldn’t sugar-coat it in the history books they have the kids read in school. I grew up thinking we were the end-all to beat-all people on earth; the greatest country civilization has ever produced. But we’re not. We’re a great country, but we have been cruel, and murderous, and treacherous, just like every other country. Our politicians are just as ruthless and hypocritical as the politicians in any other country.

And I suppose it has to be this way, because we are simply primates. I saw a show on television once where one band of chimpanzees raided another band that was encroaching on their turf. They just bum-rushed the other group and the other group scrambled, but one baby chimp was too slow and the aggressors ate that baby chimp. And we all know how cute baby chimps are. . . It was a show of force to grab territory.

We're like, one chromosome away from being chimps.

And that’s how we are. So everything we do makes sense. And every stupid conflict you see on television makes sense. We’re a bunch of chimps that will stop at nothing to advance our group and crush the other group, no matter what.

And on that pleasant note, I wish you all a good night.

The Vagaries of Human Existence.

#1: The Neighbors

Here’s an example: Let’s say you have a neighbor, let’s call him Bob. You might loan him a wrench, or watch football with him, or borrow a book, or marry his son/daughter. Whatever. You and Bob live next door to each other and you are friends.

Why is Bob your neighbor? What random set of circumstances caused Bob to live next door to you?

A realtor is involved in most home purchases. Some random realtor showed Bob a random set of houses that were available at the time, and he picked one. The same goes for you. You probably bought your house using a realtor. If you didn’t, just play along anyway. This is a hypothetical.

Had you (or Bob) picked a different realtor or a different house or a different time to move, Bob wouldn’t be Bob at all. He’d be someone else entirely.

Let’s say living next door to Bob results in you getting married. (You stole his wife, or you married his son or daughter, or you met someone at a cookout or party Bob throws one evening.) You get married and have kids. Your kids grow up and have kids. (This is all hypothetical, play along here folks)

The existence of your children and your grandchildren hinges on the lives and careers of two realtors, people who have probably been long forgotten.

What if you had bought from a different realtor? What if you had purchased a different home? What life choices did that realtor make to put him in your town at the time when your career and life put you in the position to buy a home?

Your entire life could hinge on when you called the realtor’s office. Let’s say at 9:06 AM Realtor #1 takes a bathroom break, and is away from his desk. You call at 9:06 and 30 seconds. Realtor #2 picks up your call, because Realtor #1 is in the bathroom, away from his desk. Normally Realtor #1 would have gotten this call, but not this time.

You chat with Realtor #2 and decide she’ll show you some available houses. She shows you a different set of houses, or maybe the same set of houses, only in a different order. Bob does not become your next-door neighbor. You never meet the spouse you would have had Realtor #1 simply skipped that second cup of coffee before coming to work.

Your entire life forks to a different future because a realtor you will never meet has an extra cup of coffee and has to go to the restroom to pee.

And this single detail is only rendered after your parents’ choices, your teachers’ influences, your education, your career path, your boss’s career path, traffic accidents, weather patterns, political events, social changes, stock market, and the economy have set everything up.

#2: Why “you” are even “you” in the first place.

And didn’t your parents and their parents end up creating YOU because of a set of random circumstances? How did they meet? Why did they meet? Ask them.

“Oh, I was planning to stay home that night but so and so had a cold so I went . . .”

“I was in line at the DMV when I look over and see this beautiful girl . . .”

“He was going through a difficult divorce, and I just happen to . . .”

#3: What We Can and Can’t Influence

We are responsible for our actions, we are responsible for our choices, but we are powerless over the set of choices we have at any point in time.

We can, however, try to influence our set of choices in the future, by bettering ourselves and building our careers (or by slacking off). We are not powerless in that. But we are completely at the whim of chance regarding our past set of choices and circumstances.

You cannot choose your parents. You cannot choose your grandparents. You cannot choose the subset of humans you have to pick from when choosing a mate. You cannot choose the subset of humans you can pick as friends.

You can choose from the subset. You can’t choose the subset itself.

#4: Yeah, that would be fantastic, but . . .

It would be great if there was a god. It would be nice if we were here for a purpose. I wish there were some intrinsic meaning to our lives. It would be nice if we carried on after we die. It would even be nice if there were such a thing as “luck.” But there’s not. Get that through your head now, and things will make sense a lot quicker.

It would be nice if these things existed, but they don’t; it is delusional to think that these things exist. God, spirits, ghosts, Santa Clause, the Tooth Fairy, and the Holy Spirit: All of these things are fantasies.

This is the world and everything in it: We are a bunch of primates riding on a speck of dust hurtling through the universe for no reason whatsoever.

Oh, and by the way, stop crapping on Atheists. You don’t choose not to believe in God any more that you choose not to believe in Superman. You just know it’s a load of bullshit.

#5: Religion: I believe in the Power of Vaginas

What is religion? What is belief? Let me ask you this: What is the difference between a religion and a cult? What if the Chinese instead of the Europeans had discovered North America and taken it from the Native Americans? Would Christianity be practices in the United States? A United States that doesn’t exist?

Why do you practice the faith you practice? Is it the same faith as your parents? I hate to break this to you believers, but the set of beliefs you hold is not a function of faith, it is a function of which vagina you came out of, and nothing more. Is it a coincidence that most Christians have Christian parents? I think not.

#6: Death: When you’re dead, that’s it.

One choice leads to another leads to another. And then you die.

Here’s what happens when you die: Nothing.

You stop functioning, your body starts to decompose, and hopefully, somebody puts you in the ground. That’s it.

The world keeps turning, but you’re no longer around to know it. People get up for work, they fight wars, make babies, whatever.

Your family and friends get together; they put you in the ground, cry, and get on with making their choices and living their lives. Until it’s their turn.



#7: It isn’t all doom and gloom . . .

If there’s meaning, you make it yourself. You have the warm sun, family, and friends. There are a lot of things to enjoy in this life. Be good to one another, stop fighting, listen to music, watch a movie, and read a good book once in awhile. Have a beer. Enjoy this life now, because, well, see #6.

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