Bah.

Why the hell is life one long, drawn out joke? And not a good one at that. It is the ultimate irony that we exist on this pathetic orb with the ability of grasping some grand truth, the self-awareness to put it to the test and the sheer willpower to make it work when there is, in fact, no real point to any of it all.

Still we linger for sixty or seventy or eighty years, passing from one humiliation to another, a monotonous journey only sporadically broken up by occasional agony of both the physical and mental varieties. Fun!

I should stop making fun of Goths and try to embrace the lifestyle. At least they get off on this futility bullshit.

Shurkthoth Needs a Hug

Much as I enjoy a good Black Metal fest, I cannot help but register bemusement at the...er...shall we say, "conventions" of the genre. I'm not sure just precisely why singular names and long, greasy, black hair are the norm--does Cher have some heretofore unspoken influence over the form?--but its gotten to the point that I can hardly tell one band from another based on pictures alone. And while there is certainly nothing wrong with black leather (I happen to swath myself in it at most every opportunity), the "Hellraiser" bondage skirts and "Hell-O Thailor!" harnesses are a touch over-the-top.

Still, one must admit that the thought of Emporer providing live music to the Today Show with Katie Couric is unpalatable. Genuinely amusing (can you imagine the interview?), but unpalatable.

So, shall we talk about something utterly dull and which we can do nothing whatsoever about, like gas prices?

...no?

I thought not.

A Weekend in the Country

I decided to drive to the mountains this morning. It was raining. The cool mist washing across the windshield of the truck was quite charming. I saw a deer. No, not a doe, a deer (a female deer), but a male deer, which is a buck. I think there should be some capitalization there, but I am too tired to bother.

I discovered they have Wal-Marts practically everywhere, even the rolling hillsides. Its somewhat disconcerting, but I suppose that, if one had some kind of emergency that called for a trip to a discount department store whilst communing with nature, it would be quite convenient.

In any event, once I had had enough of the freezing rain and rampant wildlife, I decided it was time to get the fuck out of Shitheel and head back to civilization. On the way, I was pulled over by one of our fine state police officers. He asked me if I knew how fast I was going, to which I replied that if he didn't know, I certainly wasn't going to tell him! We laughed, and then he explained that, apparently, those speed limit signs on the side of the road are not merely a suggestion! I was quite aghast. Then he asked if I had been drinking, and I had to point out to him that it was eight-thirty in the morning--of course I had been drinking! How else could I possibly function well enough to drive that early?

He didn't laugh that time.

He then told me he wanted me to blow into his "little machine", at which point I told him that I had no idea what sort of man he thought I was, but I was certainly not going to grant him sexual favors just to get out of a ticket. I added that I would be more than happy to go down to the station and tell his superiors just what he'd asked me to do. He was gracious enough to recognize defeat, told me I could leave and go masturbate myself, which I am sure he is fantasizing about even as I type this.

It was a lovely morning.

The Joy of Interwebbing

The interweb is such a glorious place! Where else can one find so very many people who are not as sexy as they claim to be, or will threaten to "kick your ass" despite the notable handicap of being 11 years old and using their mother's AOL account, or--and this is the most charming of all--claiming to be the "first" to have done some thing or other on the web. Adorable. One can't help but wonder whether some of these people really have lives at all.

I was thumbing through my rather worn copy of the Kama Sutra last night and wondering why on earth they would call it the "Grand Elephant Blossom" position when I heard a great pounding 'pon my front door. My porchlight is not functioning, and so I thought I spied the wraith of the late Karen Carpenter when I looked though the window. I was taken aback to discover it was none other than a bedraggled and weeping Lindsay Lohan, her skeletal shoulders trembling and she begged for sancturary.

I realize that a good many men might be thrilled at such an august visitation...I merely thought it might be a good opportunity to feed the poor thing a sandwich.

In any case, I remember what happened the last time I let some rapidly fading teen queen into my abode, and I still haven't been repaid for the expense of the plumber, electrician, and three cases of Absolut (Mary-Kate, I'm still waiting for that check!), so I slammed the door in poor Lindsay's skull-like face and dialed the local constabulary. Did that Herbie film sell more than two or three tickets in this country?