Puerile & Pointless with no Hope for Enlightenment

READY?

WHEN IT'S WARM ENOUGH, FORCE YOURSELF TO GRAB A BOTTLE OF WINE AND GO OUTSIDE. IF YOU WANT TO GET FANCY, HANG A HAMMOCK. BUT LAYING A BLANKET ON THE GROUND WORKS JUST FINE.

DRINK ENOUGH OF THE WINE TO LOOSEN THE MIND MUSCLES. LAY DOWN AND STARE AT THE STARS.

THINK ABOUT THE COUNTLESS YEARS IT TOOK THOSE PHOTONS FROM EACH STAR TO REACH YOUR RETINA. THEN THINK ABOUT HOW FOR EACH PHOTON THOSE YEARS HAPPENED IN AN INSTANT.

THEN FORCE YOURSELF TO THINK ABOUT ALL THE TERRIBLE SHIT THAT HUMAN BEINGS DO TO EACH OTHER.

FORCE YOURSELF TO REALLY THINK ABOUT THE BAD STUFF.

THINK ABOUT ALL THE TERRIBLE SHIT THAT HAS HAPPENED TO YOU. SIT WITH IT. CRY.

FORCE YOURSELF.

THEN THINK ABOUT THE STARS AGAIN AND THE PLANETS AND THE ANIMALS AND GRASS AND TREES AND FLOWERS. THINK ABOUT PEOPLE FALLING IN LOVE AND BABIES BEING BORN AND TODDLERS LAUGHING HYSTERICALLY AS THEY HYSTERICALLY RUN FROM FATHERS AND TICKLE MONSTERS.

THINK ABOUT ALL THE THINGS YOU'RE THANKFUL FOR.

LAUGH. SMILE.

FORCE YOURSELF.

THEN WHEN YOU START TO REALIZE HOW IT ALL DEPENDS ON EACH OTHER HOW EVERYTHING IS INTERRELATED AND BALANCED, AND HOW NONE OF THOSE COULD EXIST WITHOUT THE OTHER, DRINK THE REST OF THE BOTTLE OF WINE.

SING A SONG OR TWO

DANCE A DANCE OR TWO.

AND WHEN YOU'RE READY, FALL ASLEEP.

OR FALL IN LOVE.

WHICHEVER THE WINE PREFERS.

LAURA, THE AGING TECH AT THE PHARMACY AT THE NEAREST KING SOOPERS, WHERE I NEEDED TO GO TO PICK UP SOME AMOXICILLIN, SPOKE TO ME LIKE I WAS A FUCKING MORON.

IN HER DEFENSE, I AM A FUCKING MORON, BUT:

ONE— SHE HADN'T HAD A CHANCE TO LEARN THAT BEFORE TALKING TO ME THAT WAY.

AND:

Manny Furious frying potatoes for a Sunday breakfast:

*puts salt *cooks a few mins *tastes undercooked potato *puts more salt *cooks a few minutes *tastes undercooked potato *puts more salt *cooks a few mins *tastes undercooked potato *dumps approximately 15 pounds of salt on potatoes

*cooks

*tastes

 EL CROW WAS AN OLD SOCIAL COWBOY WHO HAD DROPPED OUT OF HIGH SCHOOL OUR SENIOR YEAR, AND WHO SOMEHOW ENDED UP ENROLLED AT THE UNIVERSITY OF COLORADO IN BOULDER A FEW MONTHS LATER, BUT WAS KICKED OUT A COUPLE OF MONTHS AFTER THAT FOR SELLING STEROIDS TO SOME MEMBERS OF THE FOOTBALL TEAM AND OTHER GULLIBLE JOCKS.

THE THING ABOUT IT WAS--AND THE THING EL CROW NEVER TOLD ANYONE--WAS THAT WHAT HE WAS SELLING WASN’T ACTUALLY STEROIDS. IT WAS AN INJECTABLE FORM OF VITAMIN A. NOT THAT IT MATTERED. IN A PRIME EXAMPLE OF “MIND OVER MATTER” ALL THE FOOTBALLERS WERE SEEING INCREDIBLE GAINS IN THE WEIGHT ROOM.

“This is some of the best shit I’ve ever had,” THE PLAYERS WOULD EACH TELL HIM. “My bench numbers have exploded, bro. Bro, I’m totally crushing the smith machine. It’s fucking incredible. And my balls haven’t shrunk at all. Where did you get it?”

“Oh,” EL CROW WOULD REPLY SLYLY. “It’s just a little place called Papas Dulce down in Mexico.”

OF COURSE, EL CROW COULD’VE FOUGHT THE ALLEGATION AND WON, SEEING AS HOW THERE ARE NO LAWS PROHIBITING THE SELLING OF RETINOL TO STUPID JOCKS, BUT HE DIDN’T. HE LIKED THE IMAGE OR SOME SHIT.

AFTER ALL THAT HE RETURNED TO RIO FRIO BRIEFLY BEFORE MOVING ON TO SAN DIEGO, AND THAT’S WHEN HE PERFORMED THAT EERILY PRESCIENT TARROTT CARD READING BEFORE I HEADED OFF TO COLLEGE.

SOMETIME BETWEEN THEN AND NOW, EL CROW SAW ON TV A MAN WITH A TATTOO THAT SAID, "Playing it safe kills your soul." THE MAN WAS GOOD LOOKING, WELL-BUILT, ADVENTUROUS. EL CROW FIGURED THE MAN PROBABLY HAD LITTLE TROUBLE GETTING LAID SO HE IMMEDIATELY CAME TO IDOLIZE THE MAN. HE TOOK THE MESSAGE OF THE TATTOO TO HEART. HE IMMEDIATELY SIGNED UP FOR FOUR CREDIT CARDS AND WENT OUT AND MAXED THEM ALL OUT BY BUYING A CAR, “GAMBLING” (I.E. PAYING FOR PROSTITUTES) IN VEGAS AND BUYING ENOUGH TOM’S HOT FRIES TO LAST HIM A YEAR.

NOW, THOUGH, HE WAS UNEMPLOYED AND NOT LOOKING FOR WORK. THE DEBT COLLECTORS WERE SUPPOSEDLY ON HIS TAIL, BUT WHAT WERE THEY GOING TO DO? THEY COULDN’T GARNISH ANY WAGES, AND I DOUBT THEY EVEN KNEW WHERE HE WAS. WHO KNOWS HOW HARD THEY WERE EVEN AFTER HIM? THIRTY THOUSAND DOLLARS’ WORTH OF DEBT SEEMS LIKE A LOT UNTIL YOU REALIZE THAT’S ONLY LIKE A QUARTER OF WHAT YOUR TYPICAL COLLEGE GRADUATE OWES.

“Not maxing out all of my credit cards would’ve been playing it safe, Furious,” HE SAID.

EINSTEIN SAID THAT ONE DOES NOT TRULY UNDERSTAND SOMETHING IF ONE CANNOT EXPLAIN IT CLEARLY AND SIMPLY.

BUT….

EINSTEIN NEVER HAD TO TRY TO DESCRIBE DRAGON BALL Z TO SOMEONE HE WAS TRYING TO CONVINCE TO WATCH IT.

I WASN'T STONED, I PROMISE. BUT I HAD TROUBLE FALLING ASLEEP LAST NIGHT, PARTIALLY BECAUSE I WAS PREOCCUPIED WITH ALL THE DIFFERENT USES/MEANINGS OF THE WORD "JACK." JUST THINK ABOUT IT. OFF THE TOP OF MY HEAD:

THE NAME JACK

CARJACK, SKYJACK, HIJACK

GAME OF JACKS

BLACKJACK THE GAME

BLACKJACK WEAPON

JACKS IN THE CARD DECK

JACK OFF

JACK UP— TO BEAT SOMEONE UP

JACK UP— TO LIFT SOMETHING

TO MAKE A MESS OF SOMETHING—"I JACKED IT ALL UP"

PRONOUN— "HIT THE ROAD, JACK"

EUPHEMISM FOR UNFAIRNESS—"THAT WAS JACKED UP"

TO STEAL— "YOU GOT JACKED"

SLANG FOR CELL PHONE

FLAPJACKS

"YOU DON'T KNOW JACK SHIT"

LUMBERJACK

JACK OF ALL TRADES

DUDES WHO ARE “JACKED”

JACKPOT

JACK O’ LANTERN

Issa Furious: Look daddy, a Barbie puzzle.

Manny Furious: JESUS CHRIST.

Issa Furious: What?

Manny Furious: OH, LOOK. HERE'S A NINJA TURTLES PUZZLE. LOOK. THEY'RE TURTLES AND THEY FIGHT STUFF. THEY FIGHT THE FOOT CLAN. WITH NINJUTSU. IT'S REALLY COOL AND STUFF. THEY ALL HAVE DIFFERENT WEAPONS AND THEIR DAD IS A RAT.

Issa Furious: ....

Manny Furious: AND, SURE, THEY'RE ALL MALE TURTLES, BUT THEY HAVE THIS FRIEND, APRIL O'NEAL AND SHE'S SORT OF LIKE A PRINCESS. IN A WAY. KIND OF. BUT SHE WEARS A YELLOW TRENCH COAT AND SHE'S A JOURNALIST WHICH IS BETTER THAN BEING A PRINCESS, BECAUSE SHE GETS SHIT DONE AND STUFF, AND NOTHING'S GIVEN TO HER, SO SHE HAS TO WORK HARD AND DEPEND ON HER WITS. DOESN'T THAT SOUND COOL? ISN'T THAT FUN?

Issa Furious: ....

Manny Furious: ....

Issa Furious: ....

Manny Furious: ....

THE GRASS ON THE LAWN GROWS LIKE THE HAIR ON MY FACE-- SLOW, AND IN PATCHES

PEW-PEW, PEW-PEW-PEW-- THIS MORNING'S BIRD'S SONGS SOUND LIKE STAR WARS ACTION SCENES

MORNING MELODIES... ALL THOSE BIRDS SINGING OUTSIDE... SOME ARE OUT OF TUNE…

HAHAHA.

THE TIME IS HERE. MY EVER-GESTATING EVIL PLOT TO EXACT VENGEANCE ON THE LITARARY ESTABLISHMENT IS RIPE FOR IMPLEMENTATION.

BUT FIRST! MY DAILY WEIGH-IN.

197.4 LBS

…

197.4 LBS

…

197.4 LBS

…

JESUS.

THIS ISN’T MY FIGHTING WEIGHT. NO EVILDOING OR REBELLION IN THE CARDS THIS WRETCHED MORNING. A SUPERVILLAIN MUST BE LEAN AND LITHE AND AGILE. NOT 5'7" AND 200LBS.

ANYONE WITH AN UNHEALTHY PREOCCUPATION WITH THEIR WEIGHT KNOWS ALL ABOUT HOW YOU GET STUCK AT CERTAIN WEIGHTS. JUST MONTHS AND MONTHS AT THAT SAME GODDAMNED WEIGHT. YOU MAY TRY EVERYTHING SHORT OF STARVING YOURSELF, BUT YOU WAKE UP EVERY MORNING AT THE SAME GOD FORSAKEN WEIGHT. THOSE SAME EVIL NUMBERS MOCKING YOUR FAILURE. YOU MAY HAVE A SINGLE DAY HERE OR THERE WHERE YOU DIP A POUND OR EVEN TWO BELOW IT, BUT THEN THE NEXT DAY, THERE IT IS, THAT SAME STUPID FUCKING NUMBER GAZING RIGHT BACK AT YOU LIKE SOME KIND OF ABYSS. (OR AM I THE ABYSS?)

FOR ME IT WAS 185, THEN 187, THEN 190, THEN 195. WHEN IT WAS 185 I CURSED MYSELF AND MY STUPID BODY, BUT NOW I'D NAPALM A PUBLIC BEACH TO BE 185. I'VE BEEN 197 FOR TWO MONTHS NOW, AND EVENTUALLY IT WILL BE 200. THEN 300. THEN 400. AND BEFORE YOU KNOW IT, YOUVE GOT YOUR OWN REALITY SHOW ON TLC WHERE VIEWERS SIMULTANEOUSLY LAUGH AT YOUR INABILTY TO, LIKE, STAND UP OR TURN YOUR HEAD WHILE PITYING AND FEELING DISGUSTED BY IT.

PROBABLY STILL MORE DIGNIFIED THEN HAVING A JOB THOUGH.

UPON DRINKING TOO MUCH RED-WINE UNDER A SUMMER MOON, AND SEEING LEMON CRUSH AT A WORK-RELATED FUNDRAISER, I THINK OF THE OLD GREEK POET SAPPHO, WHO INSISTED THAT LOVE SPRINGS LIKE A VIPER.

THIS MORNING'S CHAI TEA THAT I MADE ALL BY MYSELF --TASTES LIKE DISH WATER

A ROUGH PART OF TOWN-- PRETTY GIRL RIDING HER BIKE FLIPPING ME THE BIRD

THE SMELL OF LILACS ALL THROUGHOUT THE NEIGHBORHOOD --STILL I THINK OF YOU...

Manny Furious: “I'M JUST GOING TO HAVE 5 PISTACHIOS AS A LITTLE SNACK.”

[*295 pistachios later….]

"…SO, LIKE, JACK, NOW LIVING IN A FUTURE DOMINATED BY AKU’S EVIL, AND OVERRUN BY VIOLENT, ENFORCER-ANDROIDS, MUST GO ON AN EPIC TREK TO FIND HIS MAGICAL SAMURAI SWORD, SO THAT HE MAY FINALLY DEFEAT AKU AND RETURN BACK TO HIS OWN TIME WHERE, PRESUMABLY, HE COULD AND WOULD LIVE OUT THE REST OF HIS YEARS IN PEACE, PROSPERITY AND A GENERAL TYPE OF HAPPINESS NOT SIGNIFICANTLY DISRUPTED BY THE TRAUMAS HE EXPERIENCED AS A TIME-TRAVELLING SAMURAI WHO IS THE ONLY HOPE FOR THE PAST, PRESENT AND FUTURE THE WORLD, ALL OF THEM REALLY BEING ONE AND THE SAME….AND BUT THAT’S JUST THE FIRST EPISODE. SO, THEN, RIGHT, IN THE NEXT EPISODE…."

I'M EASILY ANNOYED BY PEOPLE WHO WANT TO FIND THE SILVER LINING IN EVERY SHITTY EVENT. I'M NOT A NEGATIVE PERSON BUT SOMETIMES THINGS ARE JUST SHIT. AND FEW THINGS ARE AS UNDIGNIFIED AS SOMEONE TRYING TO POLISH A TURD.

SOMETIMES YOU JUST HAVE TO ACKNOWLEDGE THE SHIT AND LIVE WITH THE SHIT AND LEARN FROM THE SHIT.

EVERY GODDAMN NOSE HAIR I PLUCK IS GRAY.