They say that rewriting is the actual art of writing.
Thank god I’m not a real writer.
Writing is homework. I’ve never liked homework. I enjoy the immediacy of art, the spontaneity. Unfortunately writing is the only medium I can do.
Let me be real for a sec: I’m suffering from burnout. Not just from this blog, but from things in general.
Life’s too short. We can’t spend our entire lives looking at a screen. But we’re headed in that direction.
Rarely do we stop and think how amazing it is that we can experience anything. Consciousness is an extraordinary phenomenon.
I watch my son experience the world for the first time. I’m envious. It’s beautiful to watch. He appreciates life far more than I do.
Children understand something that we don’t. They aren’t burdened with the baggage of cynicism and jadedness that life hands us. They see the world for the miracle that it is.
It sounds naive, but we need to see the world as a child does: it’s beautiful, it’s sublime. Words are merely an approximation of what can be described.
Why waste this brief time being a cog?
Why waste it on hate and loathing?
This is just pointless meandering on my part. I’m just a day dreamer. Not a writer. Not anybody important.
I just need a break.
Maybe I’ll be back tonight. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe I’ll never come back here. 🤷♂️
“It’s a tale as old as time: man has fallen from Grace, Creation has been cursed, but God will restore Order in an apocalyptic Revenge.
Chaos will be no more, and mankind will forever live in Peace under this coming Kingdom.
It’s a powerful idea.
It’s also fantasy.
But we are sold this fantasy outside of the religious institutions. This eschatological mentality has infiltrated the supposed secular realm of politics.”
While sitting around the fire, Dale was free style rapping like a shitty 90s PSA.
Then the first explosions went off. A booby trap was tripped. Dale and I threw on our bandoliers, our machetes, and our AKs.
I tossed an AR-15 over to Nicky. “When in doubt, just spray bullets indiscriminately across that tree line,” I told him. “If they catch you, go ahead and use the weapon on yourself.”
Both Dale and I penetrated deep into the woods, deep into the cold of night. Another explosive went off. Someone, somewhere was close.
“Drop your weapons,” we heard.
We dropped them.
We obviously made shitty commandos.
Dale and I were surrounded by men in black uniforms and state of the art technology. They patted us down and escorted us through the dense woods to a large, portable, tank-like structure that resembled something out of Avatar.
How this structure moved undetected through Southern California is a mystery.
We were brought up to the bridge of this mega tank, and just like when Dale and I faced Honda, we were placed on our knees and presented with a series of theatrics that culminated in a villain presenting himself.
“Cut the bullshit, Randy,” I said. “We know it’s you.”
“Damn,” he replied. “But this tank is pretty cool, huh?”
“What are you and the dumb syndicate up to now?” I asked. “Poison the world’s food supply? Creating a race of super humans for world domination?”
“How did you know?” Randy replied.
“Just leave me out of it,” I said.
Then the black shirts brought in Nicky and placed him in front of Randy.
“We found this asshole with a rifle in his mouth. He didn’t even put up a fight,” one of the soldiers said.
“Damn it dad!” I said. “You were supposed to at least get off ONE shot before you offed yourself!”
“Sorry son,” Nicky replied. “I’m just not very good in firefights.”
Randy spoke up.
“Son? Dad? What’s this about?” he asked.
“Nicky’s my dad,” I replied. “I may die today, but at least I’ll die knowing who my family is.”
“Nicky’s not your dad,” Randy said. “I am your dad.”
“Bullshit,” I replied.
“It’s true! I thought I told you. Guess I forgot 🤷♂️. Anyhow, your mom and me were partners in another syndicate before we joined TOILET (Terrorism Or the International League that Engages in Terrorism). Unfortunately it was the 80s, so we were coked up and fucked, then you were born. So she left the syndicate.
Years later, the syndicate wanted to cover up its tracks, so I deployed my other son, Nicky, to kill you and your mother. But then the FBI shot the fuck out that strip club and Nicky got amnesia. After realizing that you were just some loser, the syndicate decided it wasn’t worth spending resources to kill you.
So Nicky, I’m also your father.”
I felt the world disappear beneath my feet. My heart sunk. I knew it was true.
“So what do we do now?” I asked. “I know the truth.”
“Excellent question,” Randy said.
Out of the shadows appeared Anthrax in full battle rattle. “I say we finish the job,” she said.
“Great idea!” Randy said.
“Traitor,” I said to Anthrax.
The soldiers grabbed Dale and placed him up against the wall. Randy took out his flame thrower and began taunting us.
“This has been quite a reunion,” Randy said. “You thought that Anthrax was your friend. You thought that you could stop me. But your plans just went up in flames.”
Randy then unleashed the full wrath of hell onto Dale. There were no screams. Dale just danced around as a gigantic flame before falling to the ground. What was once a man was now just charred, smoldering, remains.
“Was that supposed to scare me? Because I just shit my pants,” I said.
Just then the structure began to violently shake. Then there was a massive explosion and soldiers began to man their stations.
“You know, I lost a testicle too in a savage kidnapping plot,” Dale said to me while we were setting up C-4 explosives.
“Did you get it back?” I asked.
Dale and I were putting up booby traps around his cabin outside of Norco. We knew Honda was going to strike again so we wanted to establish home field advantage.
Nicky (my alleged father) was sitting around the campfire staring down the barrel of his .44.
“No no dad,” I said as I took the gun out of his hands.
All three of us sat around the campfire under the Norco moonlight. The air reeked of cow shit.
“What a god forsaken place,” I said.
Dale took in a deep breath of shit stained air.
“I was born here. I grew up here. I lost my virginity here. I got married here. I got divorced here. Got married again. Got divorced again. Lost everything I had. And never gained it back. I’ll probably die here,” Dale said.
“Probably so,” I replied.
Nicky spoke up. “You know, I’m just glad that you boys are out here to protect me. When the FBI shot up that strip joint, I remember that I completely blew out my pants. Shit got everywhere. When they arrested me, they made me sit in my shitty underwear. Then I cried.”
“Don’t worry about it dad,” I said. “Dale and I have faced Honda before. We know what to expect.”
“By the way,” Dale chimed in. “Who the fuck is Honda and why are we in this mess?”
We all looked at each other and shrugged.
“It’s important to not think too much on this,” I said. “The important thing is that we are family, except for Dale, and that we are all going to help each other out this train wreck we find ourselves in.”
We nodded and started to enjoy the campfire.
Finally I asked Nicky, “So what do you remember about mom?”
He smiled and said, “what a lovely woman. Legs, ass, tits. The whole package. Eyes as blue as the sky. But a warm heart. She knew how to brighten up my day.”
I looked back at the fire and thought that doesn’t describe mom at all.
Finally Dick called.
“Aye lad, I’ve been tailin’ Anthrax all dee. I’m watching her outside a trap hoose n Pasadena,” Dick said. “I donnae think you’ll like who she’s with mate.”
“Randy,” I said.
“Aye”
That bitch, I thought. I knew she was going to double cross me and I fell into her trap. Instead of a battle, we were now facing a war on two fronts.
“Then you might get your M2s, M4s, AKs, AR-15s, 44s, 94, and 22s,” I told Dick. “We’re headed for a Mexican standoff.”
“Perhaps there’s a species in a higher dimension. Perhaps this species is what we commonly refer to as ‘God’.
Perhaps this species has given us free will, creativity, and logical thinking as an experiment…to see how we might use these gifts to bring about peace, justice, and equality for all in a universe that’s seemingly indifferent to suffering.
Edit: I deleted the video this linked to because it was dumb. It implied that I wanted to kill myself (which I did) because a girl recited a terrible Rodney Carrington joke. I think the link now just sends you to my profile page.
I promise that this will be the last time I will post a Tiktok link because Tiktok is the shithole of the internet. (Unless it’s just a damn good joke)
Another Edit: Look, I’m not gonna act like I know what it means to be “funny”. All you’re reading here is the rambling of someone with early onset dementia. But I’ll be honest, Tiktok has me traumatized. Never have I seen a collection of so many narcissistic and unfunny people in my life.
Not even Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, and the graveyard of all the social media platforms that came before can compare.
The experience has left me alienated. I live in a world I no longer recognize. I’ve come to believe in the Second Coming.
Tiktok has got to be a psyop.
Am I still on it? Yes.
Unfortunately it has drove traffic to this site. Talk about awkward 🥲
Another Edit Part II: Never mind. Deleted that shit.
“Stop drinking out of the toilet,” my father told me.
Dad taught me the important lessons in life.
He’d take me to Home Depot and yell at the paint associate. Afterwards, Dad would show me the construction workers, contractors, and day laborers, and say “those are real men,” then disappear to the bathroom for a few hours.
Usually I’d cry myself to sleep when he’d come home drunk, turn the gas stove on, and threatened to burn down the house.
I’ll never forget the lessons he taught me.
Dad never said much. But finally, on his deathbed, he told me, “if I knew it would end in type II diabetes, cirrhosis of the liver, and coronary artery disease, I would have done everything different. I never loved your mother. You’re embarrassing to me as my son. I regret everything.”
I was raising Cain up and down the aisles when an employee came up to me.
“Can I help you sir?”
“Look asshole,” I said. “I need a ball joint. Some spark plugs. Some sea foam. A battery. A rear view mirror. Two 15 inch rims. And no I will not wear a mask!”
“But sir, this is the Los Angeles Community Hospital.”
So I packed too much Copenhagen into my lip and started throwing up profusely.
A woman knocked on the bathroom door and asked “are you alright?”
I said “who the fuck are you?”
She said “I’m your wife, I haven’t seen you in four years and I need child support.”
I said “क्षमा करें मुझे अंग्रेजी नहीं आती”
She said “your son’s here. He wants to talk to you.”
“Which son?” I asked.
She said “Flavio Briatore Alexandro McFinny.”
So I put my ear up to the door and asked “Flavio, is that you?”
“Yes dad,” he answered. “Why don’t you come home? It’s been too long. I miss our time together. You’ve missed too much. I’m getting married this summer. You have a beautiful grandchild on the way.”
“Flavio, I wish it were that easy,” I replied.
“We forgive you,” he said. “All I’ve ever wanted is to be a family. I want you to know your grandchildren. I want us to get to know one another, to make up for lost time. There’s nothing in your past that can’t be forgiven. You just need to forgive yourself.”
Could it be true? Have I been too selfish? Have I been wallowing in my self-loathing for far too long that I’ve missed the important things in life?
“Flavio?” I asked. “What are you going to name your child?”
“Arianna Francesca”
I emptied out all the contents in my pockets: the uppers, the downers, the benzodiazepines, the methamphetamines, the methylenedioxymethamphetamines, the oxycodones, the lysergic acid diethyliamides, the sildenafils, the simvastatins, and my trusty Derringer. I took a deep breath and opened the door.
“You’re under arrest for the possession of narcotics, solicitation, and public indecency. You have the right to remain silent….” the officer said.
The Internet Ruined Everything 