What’s shake-in’ momma? It’s been all like a month and such—-I needed a bit to incubate some more only-funny-for-me-and-people-that-know-me humor. I can’t hold a candle to the witty quips that fat-greasy guy that lives two floors above you is hammering out everyday…two, three times a day. As you know, self deprecation always makes for a great read; fat guy writes…..oh sorry—blogs (fags) about discovering he can fart the first few chords to Stairway, the bohemian slut….oops I mean “freespirit” names her latest bout of Chlamydia “Larry the bummer,” and then there is that hero who quit his hedge fund gig to mail cans of Goya beans to Darfur orphans——oh the faux-pas’s he chronicles in his new found holier than thou existence; “I mention Hang Seng nowadays and people ask me if it’s good with soy sauce. No but seriously, it’s all about the kids now. They just saw their mother hacked to pieces and I make it all better with some good ole frijoles negroes” (That means black beans—pick up a Spanish dictionary you fucking racist). Haha-I’m a massive self important mega-douche-oh me-I’m saving the world.” Not really self deprecation there…just me getting all cunty I guess……stupid do-gooders with all they’re do-goodness. So please take all of this into consideration when you size up the fact that I consider myself better looking than your boyfriend and really don’t have that much to complain about. As much I would love my debilitating neurosis to kick in on a daily basis and write about the spiders singing constantly in my head, I love even more the calm of an uneventful month.
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As much as I promised myself I would not get all political, I think I just might have to. This is because I can’t keep promises. I lie to everybody. Minds as well lie to myself too.
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So word on the street is we are getting a new president. Every self respecting hipster is getting up at the ass-crack of 11am, doing an entire gram in one line, and making their way to the nearest Whole Foods to sit out front all day to register people to vote. These 364 day-a-year-garbage-pales turn into civic superstars even if it is just for a blink of an eye. On any normal day when I want to go get the best yellow fin tuna salad on earth, I already get solicited to sign up a petition to stop global warming, get asked if I want to adopt a puppy, save a whale, plant a tree, name a tree, and hug a seal. I have my responses for all memorized to rebut each in rapid fire so that I can safely navigate to the front door of the store without getting caught up in some mindless banter in which I would quickly lose interest anyway because in mid-conversation a white boogey would fall onto your petition clipboard and you would nonchalantly rub it on your gums without missing a beat. So I try to hit them with “Sorry but my family-my family that is allergic to whales that is; well our baby seal jacket factory is powered by the demise of the planet. To toast our record breaking profits everyday, we sip puppy milkshakes and uh we uh um……fuck trees too. Thank you—gotta go get my tuna.”
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I have that all down to a science and it gets me through with no problem but now I am confronted with, “Hey bro. Are you registered to vote?” “No, sorry I don’t vote.” You know what happens when you tell people you don’t vote? Time stands still. You look around and everybody is staring at you like you are holding an Ebola sandwich. I could get into the whole spiel about how I feel my vote is irrelevant and the Electoral College is flawed but I would be mostly regurgitating something I pulled up on Wikipedia. I want you to know that I think you are smarter than that and would easily catch on…..your so Colombo. But in a nutshell that is pretty much how I feel. Be it the black guy, the white guy, or that guy in the painting in Ghostbusters II, I could honestly care less who is running this country because in all seriousness, at the end of the day it really does not affect how I go about my business. Yes I did go to college—and if you went, there is a really good chance mine is better than yours. So I’m no dummy but just have my own little take on things. I think it’s great that you vote because that is your thing. However, I can’t put up with being judged by people who justify their existence with their little political hobby that comes around once every four years. All those tee shirts you are making with Obama’s name rhyming with different words, the clever bumper stickers, the hours registering people, the colorful signs, the rallies you attend while screaming a candidate’s name over and over again is for me; the biggest fucking waste of time. You will have a bigger impact on the world painting a barn. I will be honest to admit that the majority of this cynicism is birthed from experiences in my neighborhood with a certain type of person. These are the borderline destitute hipster-ish folk that make my neighborhood so posh.
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Most of the year: Blah blah blah I can’t pay rent..blah blah my friend’s gallery blah blah shitty coke..blah blah blah I can’t believe I’m working the day shift…blah blah good coke..blah blah I fucked him too..blah blah I dunno, like 5 shots of Jack blah blah.
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Election time: You live in a democracy and have the privilege to have a say in who runs your country. God, it’s so easy to be blasé about it. In some countries, people are dying to cast a vote. What? Your too cool to vote?
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Yup- That’s it guy. I’m too cool to vote. I’m also too cool to sing Happy Birthday. You nailed it right on the head.
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I know there are the good eggs out there that genuinely mean well and want to make a difference. They won’t bother me when I want to get a bite to eat. They don’t wear their affiliation like a tangible accessory….like a patch….like in the same font as those Black Flag patches….wait a minute?….Is it still cool to like Black Flag and if so is it still cool to rock the patches?…..That’s punk dude—punk is so dead. Are you sure? Yeah I’m sure bc my friend’s gallery said so. That doesn’t make sense. Your face doesn’t make sense. What? Whatever bro-Vote or Die