existential dread

“Your test results are positive,” the doctor said as he sat grimly behind his desk.

I took a deep breath. “What does this mean?” I asked.

“You’re perfectly healthy. Not a damn thing is wrong with you. You are going to live a very, VERY long life.”

I sighed.

“This is terrible news doc.”

THE END

breathing is underrated 2

Now I do have to breathe like everyone else

But I walk around with a mask and oxygen tank.

I don’t breathe the same fart-tinged air that you all do. That’s disgusting.

But there ain’t nothing that a deep breath can’t fix.

Pissed off in traffic? Take a deep breath.

Standing at the ATM when someone puts a .22 to your back? Breathing can fix that.

Got an itchy trigger finger in Home Depot and want to take your frustrations at the world out on yourself or others? Just breathe.

Everything will be alright.

If things get REALLY bad, just shut the garage door, turn on the car, then sit back and relax 😀

So calm down, chill, be cool 😎

ac/dc

It’s never a good idea to drop acid around Halloween. But definitely make an exception for Highway To Hell (1991)

Is it funny?

Not really.

But then again, I’ve never laughed before.

Yet where Highway to Hell lacks in being funny, it makes up for in imagination. It’s certainly a more enjoyable journey through hell than say What Dreams May Come. (Hellraiser II slams as well)

Honestly, I don’t remember the plot. Something to do with Kristi Swanson getting kidnapped by a cop from hell and her boyfriend attempts a rescue. Ben and Jerry Stiller make an appearance. So do Lita Ford’s boobs.

But what makes this movie stand out (other than Lita Ford’s boobs) is it’s eclectic mix of genres and lack of fucks given.

The special effects are mostly shit, but who cares? Obviously they were trying and they get an easy A for effort.

Kids forget, but there was a time when people actually tried to make memorable films. Even when they are clearly taking the piss out of you it’s a more engaging experience than most Oscar bate that’s trotted year after year nowadays.

Hell, modern schlock sucks too. Just a bunch of dorks behind a computer throwing “special effects” on the screen like that’s supposed to be impressive. They don’t care anymore. As long as it makes $11 trillion at the box office, everything’s fine.

So shout out to Highway to Hell (and to Lita Ford’s boobs)

another underrated experience: walking

“What are you going to say now James? That you’ve never walked a step in your life?”

That is correct.

But I get the appeal.

And I’m not talking about “hiking” or “speed walking”. That’s some white people bullshit.

I’m talking about walking in a straight line on a flat plane. It’s great: putting one foot in front of the other, just wondering aimlessly because you’ve got nowhere to go because you’re unemployed and your kids won’t talk to you.

Nothing beats it.

Except for black tar heroin.

sleep is underrated

Of course, I’ve never slept before.

But YOU should sleep more.

It’s really the only thing worth living for.

(I seriously wasn’t trying to rhyme there)

Think about it: you don’t have to do anything. Just lay there.

Why it’s so hard for people to do, I’ll never understand. There’s probably something wrong with you tbh.

It’s like we’re so conditioned to do something all the time. Fuck that noise. When you get an opportunity to do nothing, take it you freak!

“😭 But I can’t sleep! I always got something on my mind 😭”

That’s called having a brain dumbass. Everybody’s got one. And your brain don’t work because you don’t sleep.

So let me help you.

Ever tried having a pill addiction?

Problem solved!

midlife crisis

I ain’t gonna lie.

I did exactly what I wanted to do for nine straight years: drink in excess.

So it’s hard for me to say that I regret nearly a decade of my life. There were some great fucking times.

But were there regrets? Situations I could’ve handled better? People I could’ve been nicer to?

Oh yeah! You bet!

The truth is, where I came from, I overstayed my welcome. A good friend told me, for my own well-being, that he better not see my face in these bars ever again.

He meant it.

I never returned. Never spoke with him again.

Some things are meant to be forgotten.

But I can’t help but think: do all my old friends hate me? Do they think about me as much as I think about them?

I suppose that we all separated for the better. It just nags me that there are those I spent years with, whose lives instantly got better once when I left.

Of course my life got better too when I left them.

Maybe I’m just overstating my self importance.

Maybe it’s hard for me to accept that time is gaining on me.

shane

Shane by Jack Schaefer is good.

Not great. But good enough.

The film is clearly more influential (I’ve probably seen it, but I’ve drank a lot since then). Clint Eastwood was inspired by it. That’s obvious in Pale Rider, but Unforgiven has some echoes of it. Logan was also heavily under its influence but I don’t watch that kind of shit.

I’m intrigued by the subject of reality meeting myth. Which is why it’s high time for the book or film be updated into a “neo-western”, or whatever buzzword the kids are using, albeit with a more pessimistic ending.

The story is told from the perspective of a kid. And when we think of our childhood, we recall the magical times we had. But when we think objectively about it, we miss all the fucked up shit around us.

Remember that cool neighbor that would let you shoot his Glock? He was a registered sex offender.

Of course none of that occurs to you because you assume everyone is nice and pure.

Now I’d never write an updated version of Shane, I’d instantly lose interest. But maybe someone with more discipline would be willing to put pen to paper.

I imagine a story set during the Great Depression or some shit, where banks are harassing farmers and threatening to take their land. Then a mysterious stranger with a dark past comes into town and befriends a family.

The boy is instantly taken by the stranger. The father is handicapped in some form or fashion, unable to tend to his land properly, so the stranger steps up. The boy eventually begins to look up to the stranger more so than his father.

Then, of course, the banks and henchmen come in, threaten the townsfolk, blah blah blah…we all know the story: Shane essentially sacrifices himself, his death is ambiguous, and he achieves mythical status in the town.

But I’d like to see a more pessimistic conclusion. And as I think about it, my ending sort of resembles that of Blood Meridian: decades later, like the 1960s, the boy runs into Shane, very much alive, but the truth about him is revealed. Shane was nothing more than a drunken murderous hitman who actually cuckholded the father.

Naturally all of this went unnoticed by the boy, now a man, but he chooses instead to remember that summer as a magical time when a stranger came into town.

I’m sure that story has been told a million times. But good stories are worth retelling.

Of course I ain’t retelling it. I’ve got fart and cum jokes to write.