Happy Birthday Dear Martha.
Friday, August 21

Typically talk back doesn't interest me and I could not possibly care any fucking less about what the internet bottom feeders think about a movie, but hearing everyone praise Inglorious Basterds is really something special. I'm glad that all the talking doesn't scare the freaks who are really just anime watching rednecks. That's truly proof that Quentin is a fucking genius filmmaker. When a man opens up his war movie with a ten minute scene of two men talking about milk in three different languages and gets away with it, keeps the audience hungry for me, then you know that that man is something special. He is capable of doing the near impossible. Awesome. I don't really like reviewing films, due to the subjectiveness of art, but I'll say that I really did love it. The dialogue is textural and rich and flows like whiskey, the tension is daunting and atmospheric, never does the fate or introduction of a character seem superfluous or forced and the action is vibrant and electric. It really does have all of the elements. Can't wait to watch it again.

All right, so I want to do a trilogy. An unhinged one if one at all. The stories are all similar and share themes in the same world. The first in the trilogy obviously being Death Face which is about the destabilization of security, both personal and social. The second is a portrait of a revolution and how it does not require brute force and war to see results. I want to call it Commercial and it's about a twenty-something with enough time, resources, patience, and intelligence to overthrow a network feed that is public enough to garner attention and then spread virulently into the homes and minds of the country. He hijacks the feed to a screen overlooking Time Square and broadcasts a message and a warning. The warning comes first to illustrate the point that will be made in his message which is that there are some things you really can't stop no matter how hard you try and that the people are stronger than they think. The last is a little bit harder to accomplish, but I have a core at least. It'll be called Capitol and it involves a sect that reaches out to and secures the sons and daughters of rich and powerful Fortune 500 types who basically control and don't even know it. These kids then commit an act of patricide after gaining the trust of their fathers/mothers and ensuring themselves as usurpers of the thrones. After they accomplish this they burn it all to the ground and never look back. They sell the stock, they scuttle the company and divide it up into smaller more intimate locales that interact with the public. The day of the corporate figure head is over and anyone who attempts to recreate that which was destroyed with such ease and brilliance will be met with paranoia and hardship. I want the films to be called "Revolutionaire" as a whole.

I spend way too much money on movies. I don't spend enough money on movies.

 

Gay Guys Have Night Vision.
Thursday, August 20

I don't know how or why it's possible, and that sucks because my job is fixing computers, but somehow my router has learned that I love two things more than anything else on the internet: my website and the Criterion Collection website. With this knowledge, it's realized that in order to make me most unhappy while using the internet I must lose connection to those two things entirely. Now, I'm not quite certain why the router has decided to do this, but I'm coming ever closer to the conclusion that having a parked car on top of the router would definitely solve all of my access problems entirely. Thinking about it, parking a car on a lot of things would help me out. That would be my first wish, "Mr. Genie, if you could drop a truck on everyone in the world that doesn't like Ang Lee's 'Hulk' that would be splendid indeed."

So, this gym thing. For some big dumb god damn reason I've joined the gym. I'm tired of being fat, I'm tired of being tired, I'm tired of feeling insecure and angry when I'm in public and this is supposed to be the way to stop it. Monday through Friday I arrive late at night to watch a movie and run on a treadmill. If I persevere, I usually burn about five hundred calories in one hour. Somehow this is going to make me lose weight, but I don't know how. Emily bought me a book called "Eat This, Not That!" that details substitutions in your daily routine that will help you lose weight by eating fewer calories. Okay, so taking into consideration that I eat about two-thousand calories a day, that means that losing five-hundred leaves me with fifteen-hundred by the end of the day. Well, there's a calorie calculator online that says that in order for me to lose weight (at my current weight) I'd have to eat under twenty-five hundred and maintain exercising. But it doesn't say how much I have to burn. What do I do then? Do I get to eat twenty-five hundred?! Or should I stay at two thousand? Because, god damn, I'm starving at two thousand and twenty-five sounds like a great fucking idea. Less is always better though, but I don't want to starve if I don't have to. What the fuck. Who's giving me the better information? What's right and what's wrong? Some guy at the gym today told me to stop eating animal protein. MOTHERFUCK NO-WAY. Animal protein is all I've got! The only thing I'm left with otherwise is peanut butter and beans. Don't get me wrong, I'd buttfuck a complete and total stranger (regardless if said stranger was alive or dead) for a jar of peanut butter if that's what it took, but a man should not live on peanut butter alone (even if that seems like a dream world). Who fucking knows. I'm just going to run and run and run and run until I'm skinny again and keep my feeding to a moderate and reasonable level. Hopefully it won't take too long before I start seeing results and these ideas of suicide and liposuction can just be a thing of the past.

I said skinny "again". I was never skinny. Being skinny is probably going to terrify me. I can't wait though. T-shirts that don't have X's in front of the size, no more man boobs, self respect, who knows what else. I'm assuming that the second I get under two hundred pounds that a gaggle of naked ladies is going to jump out of a window just to land on top of me. This kind of things happens to skinny guys all the time.

 

I'm Guilty Of It Too.
Friday, August 07

I've started thinking a lot about these governments and the secret cabals of the world. Specifically our government and what a 9/11 cover-up would really mean. It all rests in the values that the "strongest", or wealthiest, maintain throughout their endeavors. Someone smart enough, rich enough, could pull off almost anything and that same person having like-minded compatriots with similar resources at their disposal? Horsemen of the Apocalypse. What would it mean if our government, our scientists and experts, realized that eliminating a fraction of the population was the only real way for American to push forward? Let's say nothing changes and the uneducated remain uneducated and continue to raise uneducated children and the lower class expands exponentially in only a matter of years. It is statistically proven that the smarter, more successful upper-class of this world have few if any children and that the lower class essentially breed like rats. A few reasons have been suggested but scientists still debate as to why this is. Perhaps it's an instinct. Maybe they are just like rats, just like the weak and preyed upon critters of the animal world; breeding to save their genes. They have no choice when they live in a competitive world, a "rat race" if you will. Without the strength and imbued genetics the weak are just built to lead to slaughter so they make more to keep from being eliminated. Or perhaps it's a social stigma. One without luxury must discover and rely on the satisfaction of kinship and pairing. Kids make the weak-of-mind mind less and that's a fact.

But, is this okay? Is it all right to let an entire classification of people run rampant, over breeding, rearing children when they don't even have the resources to keep themselves? What if our government, in a last ditch effort to reestablish the pride and power of the nation, decide to weed the lawn? As we speak, the person who took the Presidential office made a drastic and unprecedented move by putting into motion the wheels that carry universal healthcare. Are we really going to see if this works? Keeping the weak alive? Families, or whoever has power of attorney, are put into control as to whether not the plug should be pulled or not, am I right? It's because the person in question can't make the decision for themselves. Why put these people on life support if they're not going to get any better? Why is it the lower class requires more care? It's not a money issue, it's a genetic and social issue. These people are from weak parents, having weak children and have never been taught the meaning of responsibility. You can't just give someone medicine and expect them to take pride in their work and raise responsible and intelligent children.

All it takes is someone smart enough to realize that this isn't the world that they want their children to live in. One day this country has to learn this lesson, one day we're going to have to listen to what the Earth has been telling us for millions of fucking years. Change, or die.

All this wants to come out of my fingers. I've got this idea about a small town, airwaves, mind control and paranoia. These weak, sheep-like people who are shoulder deep in materialism and a false sense of responsibility are mind fucked by a government controlled operation to take over their t.v. sets and inspire panic and paranoia. The week are brainwashed into killers, the critical and intelligent are forced to outthink an enemy that doesn't think, only acts. What am I going to call this thing?

 

That's Gonna Be The Blow.
Thursday, August 06

Just an over all good day.

I woke up to a beautiful girlfriend kissing me. I opened the gift her mother sent me which was an assorted group of skull beads that she picked up at the gem fair in Franklin, NC. Everything looked great. Bounced around the internet for a while until Emily got back home. Afterwards I opened her gifts, all awesome stuff: Road to Perdition poster (favorite poster of all time), nickel nips, toblerones, giant Reese's cup, Complete Monteray Pop Festival, personalized clothing and BACON AIR FRESHENER. Woot.

We relaxed for a bit and talked about our feelings about things for like, probably, three months until she let me watch Repulsion. Great movie. Once that was done my sister came barging in to deliver to me a package full of Criterion DVDs that I finally got from Barnes and Noble, she also gave me 25 bucks. Dexter: 2 - World: 0. Damn, I'm hungry, time to fucking eat! The Misses treated me to Red Robin where I ate a Bonzai Burger in a personal record breaking two minutes. I'm going to quickly mention that it's really hard for me to not think about all the murder I wanted to throw on that god damned guy in the bird costume. He's still alive and mouth feeding his giant costumed babies somewhere because today was my fucking birthday and I made myself a promise ten years ago that I would never again kill a scientist on my birthday and I couldn't tell if the person inside was or was not a scientist.

Then it was onto MovieStop where I bought F is for Fake and the second season of Frasier for my baby, because she worked so hard to make today work out so well.

Now I'm home and I've lost 22. 23 is here and I'm wondering what it's going to be like. If it's another 22, then I've got nothing to worry about because 22 was great! If it's another 21 then, fuck 23, fuck it in it's stupid face. I've got to wait for the signs. Any day now I'll begin noticing the trend and catch on to the manner of events that begins every new year of my life and I'll be able to tell definitively as to whether or not I've got a storm a' brewin' or if this is just the first step towards the top of the slide that bottoms out as a pit of ice cream.

One of my life long dreams is to be rich enough to afford that giant gumball machine from Double Dare attached to my bed so that every morning when I roll out I just fall into the gumballs and slide happily out of the bottom. I'd also require a crack team of man-servants to clean the place up and fill the machine back up. I've always figured that you could never have a bad day if you started it out like that. C'mon universe, show me the gumball machine tomorrow morning. Work with me.

 

I Have Terrible Death Perception.
Monday, August 03

As I begin writing this I just realized that Emily TURNED THAT MOTHERFUCKING FROG SO THAT IT'S FACING ME and this is an injustice that will not stand. I rearranged my room today so that the Ratchilla is on top of this new dresser I Bogart'd from the trailer. Right next to her cage was a bunch of empty space and I figured there was no better place to put that god damned frog than right beside her peering in. She needs something that knocks her off that ego-totling pedestal she's been on since the day she was hatched or what the fuck ever. So what if you've got 60 hairs per follicle and that's why you're insanely fluffy and perfect. That pedestal is for animals that deserve special treatment, like Grizzly Bears and Lickitungs.

More gym after work, tons of more gym. So much gym that my legs hurt and I want to cut them open just to make sure they still have bones and aren't full of down feathers. TK can somehow manage to run for five solid minutes every ten minutes and he does this entire circus for forty-five. TK'S A BIG FAT GUY! What the hell. I'm a third of what he weighs and he outruns me like it's a joke. I'm three years younger than him, I weight nearly a hundred pounds less than he does and I'm tenacious. Those three things are surefire-bulletproof arguments as to why I should be smoking him at this treadmill nonsense.

"Ran three-point-five miles, burned seven hundred and thirty calories. How'd you do?"

"Two-point-three miles, two hundred and forty calories."

*Laughing* "Wow, that sucks."

The fat man exercises better than me!?

Horsefeathers.

 

You're Red Right Here.
Sunday, August 02

So this chinchilla bitch that I willingly adopted feels that 4 in the morning is a great time to tumble around her cage and scrape bedding into a corner. This is the very same morning that I had my alarm set to wake me up at 8. So, with four hours of sleep in tow I felt the only recourse was to reach inside her cage and collapse the platforms so that everything just laid on the bottom in a big damn mess. It would be assuredly impossible at this point for the furry whore to wake me up this time. WRONG. Very wrong was I. Turn out random things piled in a confined space only become a moonbounce to the small, cute and retarded. I'm not sure what got her to stop, but after twenty horrid minutes of this I sat bolt upright in my bed and stared at her, thinking of how far that cage would soar were I to pick it up from the bottom and hurl it like an olympian shotputter. Maybe she sensed this. Maybe her fun and games were over now that the only source of food and sustenance she has no longer wants to feed her, but instead wants to watch her explode after she's held out of a car window and swung into a roadsign.

Well, the alarm goes off anyway because we're all alone in this universe and I'm so fucking tired from Chinch-Jenga that I fall back asleep after mumbling something to myself about depression and suicide. My internal alarm clock thankfully works just as well as it did when I first bought it. I woke up at almost exactly 9:30, just enough time to realize I'm fucked before I speed down the driveway with my pants only on one leg and a toothbrush still in my mouth. Oh yeah, I almost forgot, right before I left my dad told me how useless I was for not helping around the house. I set my alarm for 8 so I could help out around the house.

So, I'm darting in between cars and using the shoulder as a lane, utilizing the basic late-for-work batshit crazy skills that I've accrued over my years as an awesome person all the while realizing god's true plan and what futility really means; WHILE HITTING EVERY FUCKING RED LIGHT. I've counted them before. 26. I hit 26 consecutive red lights. What the hell was going on? Is my luck so unbelievably bad today that I stepped out of my house as an astronomically low percentage of person? Apparently.

I roll up at work still kinda finagling my shit together like a toddler getting ready for a funeral. I open the car door, I put the toothbrush in my pocket, and OUT OF NOWHERE THUNDERSTORM. Complete downpour, quite literally the second I stepped out of my car. My misfortune was remarked by a patron parked right next o me when she said, "Oh shit. He JUST stepped out of his car." Zeus? Buddha?! Who's doing this? What does all this mean? Is this foreshadowing future doom? Is something going to happen tonight that is going to ruin my li--oh shit...

Mystery Can

Round two starts tonight, ass, I'm going to get pearls in a can and I'm going to have to eat them. Today sucks. Why didn't I just get hospitalized by a stray lightning bolt? Does the universe want to make today so obviously bad that the shit that's going to go down tonight seems reasonable by comparison? Let's see.

Boss yells at me for being late. Douchy French guy calls me a scam artist and implies that I'm an idiot because he doesn't understand something. Didn't eat breakfast so I starved. Today's the last day to get Repulsion for 20 bucks and I've got no way of putting cash into my bank because it's Sunday. Some guy left porn in his computer and I excitedly posted a picture of it on Twitter only to probably piss of my girlfriend's mother (who follows me). Yup, brazed corneas in a can, I know it.

After work I bought my last can, a joke can of Fruit Cocktail to interrupt my otherwise terrifying selection. Now, there was no turning back. Everyone was at Ted's and they were waiting for me. I show up with my armful of cans and dump them in a giant Hefty bag. Friend Mandy shakes up the bag and starts handing random cans to the table full of idiots who now realize what they got themselves into. "Here Dex," spoke the doomsayer as she handed me a perfectly square can with an old fashioned twisty-remove metal thingy on it. "Damnit, sardines or some shit."

My day ended with corned beef. Never have I been so relieved, eating corned beef and watching everyone around me eat "asian delight" and drink clam juice. Brilliant.

 

So The House Can Get Built!
Saturday, August 01

Yesterday was the first day of the rest of my fat life. Gym. I came prepared by bringing a towel and wearing sandals. I showed up in a Hawaiian shirt like I was going to the fucking beach. What the hell was I thinking? The first thing TK said to me was, "Dude you didn't bring any shoes?" Not "Hi" or "Hey Jew" because my feet stuck out like sore thumbs sewn onto someone's eyelids. Quite obvious. Thankfully no one else at the gym was like "Look at this giant gelatinous doofus." I'd probably have been scared for life. Anyway, needless to say, I ruined my god damn feet on that treadmill by running in sandals. Tennis shoes, got it. You can tell that I haven't really done this before. Not because I'm fat, BUT BECAUSE I SHOWED UP IN SANDALS. Holy shit, that was so embarrassing. We watched I,Robot in this cinema deal they've got set up that let's you exercise while you watch a movie. I put the speed to "3.0" and just walked fast the entire time.

24 months to go of this, hopefully I stop being fat long before then. Maybe I can spend that second year building muscle and not looking like a chemo patient. The guy who signed me up has arms that look like legs. That's not necessarily what I'm aiming for, but it's definitely an intimidation factor when I look at my arms and think "I could fit four of my arms inside one of his." Fuck, I could fit four tires inside one of his arms.

So there is this blatantly gay guy who walks up to the window. Being generous, I let the customer I was then dealing with know that I'll scan his machine behind the counter while he waits on the couch so I can get this new guy out of the way. Well, somehow this poofter got a virus. Only thirty days after he bought the computer. Fine, whatever, there's nothing we can't fix for $199. Oh wait, that's when the airbrakes bring the whole operation to a grinding fucking halt. This moron sincerely believed that since he got an infection only ONE MONTH after he bought his computer that he's entitled to a free cleaning and it's completely and totally ridiculous of us to otherwise charge him. So I fought with the guy for several minutes when my supervisor steps in and shushes me away. I carefully explained to this stupid person that Toshiba made the computer, not Best buy. I informed fucktard that Microsoft makes the shitty operating system that's full of easily exploitable holes (a concept he can assuredly understand). Using logic, I demonstrated how the security software that he bought was written by SpySweeper. So HOW, I posited, HOW EXACTLY is Best Buy responsible? His response: "Well I'm in the service business myself and I charge people 120 bucks for my labor and I understand that I have a commitment and a responsibility that when I give them a product that it's gotta be done right the first time." What are you talking about numbnuts? What service do you provide? Blowjobs? It can't be computers, because - A: you wouldn't have paid us 30 bucks to install the bitch. B: you wouldn't be coming back to us complaining about how your computer done broke itself. Don't try to liken your cum-swallowing to my ability to re-direct pathing on registry values. I'm not like you, you're not like me, I understand HOW THE FUCKING INTERNET WORKS. Regardless, the asshole also asked me "Well how do you know it's a virus?!" So, placing my dick back in my pants now understanding that it's presence on the counter would no longer intimidate this shithead it would probably entice him, I sternly returned with "I am just letting you know that I've had to fix this same problem almost a thousand times and have come to know it well. It's a virus. I am your proof."

I understand that this sewer rat has nothing better to do than blame all of his problems on other people and feel entitled to free services on top of that, he also probably voted for Obama. I'm not an enabler. I'm what defines his boundaries. Someone has to set the record straight and punish the irresponsible. That's why I like grievance fees. Right when he started denouncing Geek Squad and declaring that we were running some kind of scam "back there" I should've started spitting out percentages. "20%."

"What does that mean?"
"That's how much extra you're going to have to pay if you want us to fix it."
"You can't do that. That's not fair!"
"It's not? Your demands seemed completely fair to you and totally unfair to me. What makes them any different than mine? You wanted me to work for free. I want you to pay money for manual labor. Nothing sounds unfair about that to me."
"Well I'm a democrat and everything sounds great when it benefits me and other minorities. Working hard and being smart just doesn't make any sense! I like stuff when it means I can be completely irresponsible with my actions and get other people to fix them. I hate it when I have to learn from my mistakes and work hard to improve myself!"

Maybe I hyperbolized some aspects. Can you blame me for bringing deeply rooted social issues to light? You call it hyperbolizing, I call it dissemination. I'm the hero, he's the crook. Remember that.