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Friday, October 24, 2003
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PRACTICE MAKES PERFECT
I guess I'll start off by telling you teenagers about my day so far. In true dead, bloated, Jim Morrison fashion, I woke up this morning and I got myself a beer. I suppose I'm making up for lost time. Yesterday was one of the worst days in a life chock-full of bad days. It was actually so bad that I couldn't even persue my favorite hobby, drinking to escape. It took me five hours to drink three beers. It was pathetic.So, I figured that I'd follow some of the worthless advice I often get and give, (mostly because I'm a shameless liar) that "your problems won't seem as bad once you sleep on them." So, I took a handful of my "nappy-go-night-night" drugs and passed out for 6 hours.
When I woke up, I actually didn't feel that bad. Then I remembered who and what I was. Unfortunately, Nytol doesn't work if you take it as soon as you wake up and I don't have the energy to go Doctor shopping so I can get the pills necessary to render me comatose at will. Frankly, I'm amazed that Nytol works at all anymore. If it weren't for my Elvis-like understanding of polypharmacy and years of calibration, I'm sure that they wouldn't.
Once I awoke and was satisfactorily in the grip of immense sadness, I finally felt normal enough to go about my daily routine. This routine almost always begins with jerking off. So, down come the underwear, in goes the Jenna Jameson tape (while I do have porn on DVD, it just doesn't feel dirty enough) and.....nothing. Not even the finest Jenna three way lesbo action could get a rise out of me. Don't you folks love it when I share? I then, in an unusually limp-dicked fashion, went to the only solace left me, my blog. Oddly enough, there's something about writing about how much I hate myself that shelters me from how much I actually hate myself. Go figure.
Ordinarily, after the jerking of the cock, I proceed to the blog and check whatever imput my loyal readership has left me overnight. The snotty comments from my best friend and ex-girlfriend, I've grown used to but there was a new comment today that peaked my curiosity from someone named Dave. It appears that my solicitation for a psychotic marksman in the Greater Toronto Area to blow my head off my shoulders and the attendant photo of what I'm looking for upset Dave. Not 30 days after Dave declared his unconditional love for my blog and, indeed, all things MJ; Dave left a comment that he would no longer be reading my blog. Memo to Dave: "Hey Douchebag, didn't you notice the GIANT FUCKING BOLD FACED DISCLAIMER BY THE LINK? What did you think would be there, given the subject matter of the post? Pictures of small children playing with puppies? If you're looking for reasons to be offended, go somewhere else. Fuck you."
Dave's comment did, however, give me the opportunity to address a subject that I've been meaning to get to for awhile now, anyway.It's a new policy here at "Enjoy Every Sandwich". For anyone who comes here expecting to read about how wonderful life is and how I yearn for sunshine and sugar and spice and puppy dog tails and all of that.....do go away. I'm serious. I'll even make it easy for you. You are no longer allowed to read my blog. Go to shinyhappypeople.blogspot.com or something. Just leave me alone. This is the one forum I have left where I can be honest about any number of subjects, including but not limited to, what a desperately worthless human being I am. Don't like it, don't read it. I'm not running a popularity contest nor am I particularly interested in how cute any of you think that I may or may not be. If you find this amusing, great....we'll have a great big "hate me" hootenanny. If I offend your delicate little sensibilities, tough shit. Go somewhere else. I refuse to be tsk-tsked on my own website. I have a life, such as it is, for that.
I'm sure that some of you are thinking, "Well, MJ can't mean me. I'm his (insert your relationship to me here.)" I say to you that I especially mean you! Tell you what, if you're so uncomfortable or annoyed by anything I write here, don't read it! Pretty simple, huh? We'll talk in person or on the phone or in PM and I'll tell you all about how life is all Lois Armstrong "It's a Wonderful World" pretty. I'm good at lying like that.
Wow, I can go off on a tangent when I'm full of fun, can't I? Now where was I? Oh yeah, I was playing with my blog.
Since a friend of mine told me how I can actually add my own links to my blog on Tuesday, I figured I could do all kinds of neat things to my blog on my own. After all, I now had Mad HTML Skillz and could therefore stop bothering Zombie and let her have a life.I added all kinds of new links and I felt like a goddamned genius. That should've been a warning sign. Once I finished all the links that no one will care about but me (although, I do recommend the Wide, Wonderful World of Death section. It's funny), I figured that I would categorize them all in a neat and pretty way so that my audience would know precisely what they're ignoring. I was almost proud of myself. I then previewed the page in Blogger to bask in my own glory....to find that I fucked up my page horribly. Once again, I had gotten ahead of myself and forgotten that I'm a moronic dipshit. Opps.
So I did what anyone in my position would do.....I went to Zombie. She's getting good at crawling through the wreckage of my life and contending with my fuck-ups. Thanks again, Zombie, you're a pal.
Instead of wallowing in my own despair I decided to persue my new passion, looking at suicide webpages. I've long had a deep fascination with suicide notes. I suppose that if you're ever going to write something compelling in your life that would be the time to do it. That's why I was so disappointed by Kurt Cobain's suicide note. This was a guy who wrote some of the greatest songs about death and suicide ever and his note was just dashed off....I think it detracts from his legacy. Maybe it's just me that feels that way.
I was thrilled to discover this site. An entire website devoted to suicide notes. I was in nirvana (pardon the pun) when I found it this morning. The site was created by John Smith, secretly, without the knowledge of friends and family. It appears that Mr. Smith felt the same way that I did about the Cobain note. In keeping with his perfectionist site, Smith wrote several drafts of his own note before killing himself with a shotgun. He was 25 years old.
The single most beautiful thing about John Smith's suicide was the fact that, despite his multiple drafts, he didn't actually leave a note. His drafts were later discovered by his family and friends after they went through his desk drawers, post-mortem. The irony is perfect.
Who knows? Maybe I do have some faith in humanity after all....
"The ones who love us best are the ones we'll lay to rest
And visit their graves on holidays at best
The ones who love us least are the ones we'll die to please
If it's any consolation, I don't begin to understand them"
Bastards Of Young (Westerberg)
The Replacements
Tim, 1985
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