Tag: laziness

Another shot at the title (part ii)

Pablo and I made the journey to Trainwreck Studios in Burbank. What a god-forsaken place. I swore to myself that I would never return.

“We’re here to see Kathleen Kennedy,” Pablo told the receptionist.

“And you are?”

“I’m Pablo Dunbar, the agent of James…”

The receptionist’s eyes widened when she saw my face. “You mean, James…”

“Yes, THAT James,” I interjected. “Tell Kat we’re here so that we can get this over with.”

“I thought you were retired…” she began to say as she stumbled through her words. “Anyway, she’s waiting for you. Fourth floor. The only way up there is through the air ducts. Elevator’s broken.”

So we climbed up the ducts into Kathleen’s office. “Damn it Kat,” I said, “when are you going to get that fucking elevator fixed?”

She turned around and was wearing sunglasses. She appeared to be somber over something.

“Hello James,” she said.

“Hello Kat.”

“Can I offer you gentlemen a glass of scotch?”

“I’ll take the bottle please.”

Kat sat down behind her desk and began to shuffle through some paperwork. Pablo and I plopped down in the leather chairs.

“So, what did you think of Antonio’s script?” she asked.

“To be honest Kat,” I said, “it needs some work. Too much talk. Film is a visual medium. ‘Show, don’t tell’ as they say. If I can do a second draft and clean up the dialogue…”

“James,” Kat interrupted, “Fart in a Windstorm is a court drama, there’s going to be a lot of dialogue. Besides, I already promised Antonio that he would get final say in the script.”

“Fine, whatever. But I need to put my stamp on it if this is going to be a film by James…”

“Look, I get what you’re saying,” Kat said. “But in agreement with the writer’s guild, he must get sole screenwriting credit. That’s going to put a limit on what you can do.”

I just stared at her.

“You don’t want to relinquish creative control to me,” I said. Out of my periphery, I could see Pablo getting uncomfortable.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Kat replied, “the studio is willing to put $1.5 billion into this project ONLY if YOU are signed on to direct. Once when this meeting is made public, Hollywood will be in a tizzy over the return of its most famous director.”

“Kat, you know I can’t make a small scale courtroom drama for anything less than $2 billion.”

She learned forward on her desk as she began rubbing her temples. She appeared as though she was about to be sick. I took a big gulp from the bottle of scotch.

“What’s with the sunglasses?” I asked her. “Did you have eye surgery? Did your husband beat you?”

Kat removed the glasses, revealing her puffy red eyes and makeup smeared from crying.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” I said.

“We haven’t had a hit since This Taste Like Ass,” she said as tears rolled down her face. “The board wants me out. I’ve become the laughingstock of this town.”

“It’s no fun when the rabbit has the gun, eh?”

“James,” Pablo said. “Mrs. Kennedy, James and I are both in agreement that this script is doable. Sure, there are problems that need ironing out, but we are committed to making this work. Right James?”

I just shrugged.

“Really?” Kat said.

“Absolutely, the gang’s back together. Let’s have a drink on it!”

We all stood up and Pablo forced a group hug. Kat’s spirits seemed to have been lifted slightly.

As we were climbing back down the air ducts, I grabbed Pablo by the ankle. “You better not fuck me out of this contract like you did last time!” I told him.

TO BE CONTINUED

Preserve Western Civilizashun!!!!!1

I’m assuming Western history and civilization is defined by the culture of Europe and North America from the time of Alexander the Great onward.

Eastern civilization, I guess, includes India and China.

Meanwhile Ancient Egypt is left in no man’s land, along with the Middle East, Latin America, and Polynesia. And African civilization, history, religion, and philosophy gets neglected entirely.

And somehow, if common logic is to be believed, none of these civilizations interacted and influenced each other. Ever.

Civilization itself is a nebulous term. Same thing with culture (I’m not including “society” here because apparently, as some academic jerk wad told me, “society” doesn’t exist. Whatever that means). Yet somehow, for some reason, we’re supposed to preserve these things because that’s what shaped our perspective on things.

I’m not saying that I disagree, I’m just asking people to interrogate these things a little further. I’ve said before that a sense of belonging is necessary to form an identity. We are who we are by our relationship with others.

But how much is culture and civilization, both ill-defined terms, a part of achieving a sense of fulfillment? I’ve heard people from all different stripes…from Conservatives, Marxists, and even libs….that this is the case, but it’s never been explained. It’s not like we have a choice in the matter, and it operates under the presumption that people are essentially blank slates and are nothing like you and me.

It’s just not true.

We’re still cavemen, meant to dwell in tribes of only a few hundred people, yet we’re faced with a constantly changing world. We have fallen into what Benedict Anderson calls an “imagined community”, where no one knows each other, not even our neighbors, but we’re supposed to believe we form some kind of community. I guess our natural instinct is to preserve what we have.

Anderson was specifically addressing the phenomenon of nationalism and how traditional political philosophy failed to account for its emergence. It’s hard for us to believe, but nationalism is a fairly recent development. It is not intrinsic to our understanding of community. But along with all the political paradigms that came before, the concept of nation state will also go away.

I’ve said it before, and we all know it, but change is the fundamental force in the universe. You can fight that, but it’s futile. Permanence is an illusion. The sense of permanent self is also an illusion: our bodies, minds, memories too, are constantly changing

Being a caveman and defining yourself against the “other” is easy. And maybe I’m wrong. But at least be honest with yourself.

not gonna lie, being in a relationship is great

Sucks for all you single people out there. You should really get in a relationship.

I read a lot of blogs from single folks. I get it, dating sucks. Not that YOU suck, it’s just the whole rigamarole.

I haven’t been single in 10 years. Love my family. Best thing that ever happened to me. Couldn’t recommend it enough.

But I’ve been there. I’ve hopped from one dating site to another, scrolling through countless boring profiles. It’s easy to get resentful, I would know. Outside of relationships, I’m the most resentful person you’ll ever meet. So I’ve seen that side.

I’m average looking, got a small pp, have no money, and I’m a dumbass. So if I can do it, so can you!

Here’s my advice: stop overthinking it.

You either feel it or you don’t. If you keep getting rejected, sorry bud…I’m sure you’ve heard it before, YOU’RE the common denominator. Accept the challenge. We’ve all had to spend our time in the wilderness. Your issues probably stem from problems that are hindering your romantic capabilities. You should probably address those. Just sayin’.

A lot of people want to discuss the differences between men and women, but I’ve learned something: other than our physical differences, men and women are exactly the same, at least in terms of needs and wants. No one likes to hear that because projecting their insecurities on the opposite sex justifies their resentment. But it’s true. Sorry.

If you’re looking for a fuck, that’s easy.

But if you’re looking for love, you got it all wrong. If you have a perfect image of “Eros” that no one can live up to, you don’t deserve love.

Love is built on respect, concern, a desire for another’s wellbeing. It requires you to get out of your own head. To many of you single folks haven’t learned how to check your own selfishness. If you’re only concerned on what your “lover” can give you, you don’t deserve love and I hope you remain single forever.

Good luck! 😀

i’ll never write a book

I tried to do one of those challenges where people write a book in a month. It didn’t work.

It’s a good story too: about some dumbass that works at a toilet factory whose boss gets kidnapped. All of this causes uproar in this small town. As the situation grows more absurd and contrived, our dumbass has to rescue his boss. I was exploring my contempt for politics and storytelling in general.

While I think about it, contempt is actually the driving force behind all of my writing. Whenever I begin to write, I have to hold back my urge to say “im gay suck my penis lolz.”

If I did ever write a finished work, it would go something like this:

“Chapter 1: Fuck you

Chapter 2: my dick is small

Chapter 3: my balls are too

Chapter 4: I’ve definitely had sex before

The eND“

Now if I read that, I’d think “that’s a damn good book.” But it would have an audience of exactly one person. Most people expect a novel to be “good”, and “have a story”, or whatever.

My style just doesn’t transfer into long form, immersive storytelling.

Nor into short form really. My way into writing a story consists of how many times I can say “penis”, “gay sex”, “cum”, and have people actually read it. That’s why “A Shot at the Title” is my finest short story. Honestly it’s a banger. Someone should probably give me an award for it. But most times, when the author doesn’t give a shit and hates their audience, the work’s just not gonna be good. Ya know?

That’s why I’ll probably never go back to writing on Medium or any other platform for that matter. I don’t think the shit I want to do would transfer over there. I have complete creative control over here. If I want to post a video of me spreading my ass and saying “this is what I think of Denmark”, no one can tell me no.

I’m a blogger. That’s all I’ll ever be.

happenis

When I realize that there’s other people that are more miserable than me, that makes me happy.

In truth, I don’t know what happiness is.

I assume that it’s a state of contentment. This, as opposed to a constant state of euphoria. Presumably, many people would think that waking up with a blowjob while mainlining pure heroin then driving your Ferrari 95mph through a school zone would be peak happiness. But I don’t know, if someone lived a true carefree existence, that would breed some degree of resentment. Contentment wouldn’t necessarily only entail “being happy” all of the time, but it would be a place where daily struggles don’t cause a sense of existential dread.

Work, family, belonging, or having a sense of purpose in general, would be necessary to achieve this state of happiness.

Contrary to what you might believe about me, I actually have a good career, a loving family, and live in a place that I don’t necessarily love, but it doesn’t annoy the shit out of me. It wasn’t always this way, I just sort of stumbled into it (one of the amazing things that happen when you stop drinking). I’m not “happy” all of the time, but I would say that I’m in a general state of contentment.

My ideal state of pure bliss would be to own a cottage in the English countryside, wear a tweed jacket and monocle, and say “lovely” and “jolly good” all of the time. It’s not fame and fortune. I’m convinced that the only person that has found fame and fortune rewarding is Mark Wahlberg. Everyone else resents it.

So the secret to being happy is to be British.

the injustice

Posted this before and I’m posting it again 🤷‍♂️

Gotta get this blog back on track, ya know?

So I was totally smashing a milf when I said “hey baby, gotta take a shit.”

“Go use the McDonalds down the street,” she said.

So I walked down the road at 1:30am, dick still hard. I clogged the toilet and ordered some hash browns.

“That’ll be $5.50 sir,” the server said.

“$5.50?! What is this….Hardee’s?!”

hire me plz

I’ve always said that my dream job is to be a television writer for some dumb, formulaic show on basic cable.

This is because I’m not only lazy, but I’m also intrigued by entertainment that wants to have it both ways: it wants to display violence in a gritty, realistic manner while simultaneously ignoring the consequences. An example is SEAL Team and SWAT.

I find these shows delightful: many people die, friends get killed or mangled, yet every episode ends with the cast laughing over drinks or in despair over a romantic relationship. It’s completely hypocritical, it wants to show real violence while also numbing us from the true horror of it all.

It’s hilarious.

But all of these programs have identical story beats: the team (SEAL or SWAT) causes disruption, a male lead is banging a female superior, the superior’s superior rips into her, the team is given an imperative to fix the issue, moral quandary ensues, some people die, the day is saved, the team slaps each other on the back, the female superior informs the male lead that their relationship can’t continue, male lead is sad, executive producer credit is shown. (Sometimes there’s a “B” story featuring a secondary character, but no one gives a shit)

These stories can be written sitting on the toilet. And I spend A LOT of time on the toilet.

So CBS, give me a call.

conversations with dennis

Nothing to talk about today.

So I was thinking about a conversation I had with my narcissist coworker. For the sake of this post, I’ll call him Dennis. It’s probably in my top 10 favorite conversations I’ve ever had.

The topic: some woman, Jane, who was allegedly a hoe-bag that once worked with Dennis (and always claimed he never messed around with).

The place: the toilet factory where we work. We use a lot of PPE, especially rubber gloves.

Of course, most of the conversation is paraphrased. But the parts said verbatim are in bold.

****

Dennis: I never fucked Jane.

Me: Did she suck your pp?

Dennis: No, but she sucked Tex’s pp, and Bob Dutch’s pp.

Me: But I thought you two worked on the same shift.

Dennis: yeah and one night I came in and she was sleeping naked on a cot we had back there. I turned the lights on and quickly turned them off. She said (mimicking a female voice) “oh sweetie don’t be embarrassed.” Then she asked me if I wanted to lay down with her and but I told her hell no.

Me: So you didn’t even fool around?

Dennis: she kept asking me if I wanted a blowjob, but because she sucked every guy off, I kept telling her no. Then she started badgering me, telling me that I wouldn’t know how to please her anyway. So finally I told her “alright, let me put some gloves on” and I went back to her cot.

Me: (laughing uncontrollably)

***

So Dennis started the convo initially denying he had sex with Jane, then a few moments later admitted to finger blasting her.

Moral of the story: Dennis’ story is probably completely fabricated, Jane probably wasn’t a hoe. Because I was such a good audience for Dennis, he probably thought he could take the story in any direction he wanted, despite the blatant contradictions, and he thought I would believe all of it.

That’s what a conversation with a narcissist looks like.

That’s it. That’s the story. Bye ✋