misery and agony

there are so many things that have happened in this last week that i wish i could have written on here, but i don't even have the motivation for that anymore. doing this shit alone among seven billion idiots is just fucking sad. the fact that i can't make friends with a single one of you idiots. draggin' your dogs on leashes, draggin' your pants on the ground. why should i have to fit in with that?

i just tried to use the restroom at the library. it's bad enough that before each and every single time i want to use a 'public restroom', i have to wipe off the seat before i can use it. that's just fucking sad. that means that basically no other male on this planet knows how to use a 'public restroom' properly. do women have to deal with this shit? ladies, when you use your women's restrooms, do you have to wipe your fucking seats every single time without fail? do you think that's mature? fair? excusable? what the fuck is wrong with these idiot men? do they not grow up? do they not mature? are they standing there in the darkness aiming for the toilet like a kid playing with a star wars toy? what the fuck is wrong with these men? it doesn't matter where i am, seattle, portland, san francisco, i've been a lot of places, it's not just one town. it's... every day. every town. every bathroom. right now, there's some idiot guy, probly in his thirties, standing there purposely pissing on a toilet seat just to be an asshole, cause there's no other reason to piss on a toilet seat. is that not obvious? do we have to be potty trained again? did your mothers not smack you enough? what the fuck is going on here? every day! every fucking toilet! every restroom! every fucking time! i have to at least wipe off the seat, if not the floor underneath. what the fuck is wrong with you! how old are you? do you do that shit at home? my mother would be looking for her gun right about now.

can someone explain to me the mentality going on there. grown men pissing on toilet seats like it's a fucking ritual. what the fuck is wrong with you! you're children and i can prove it on a fucking toilet seat! i've got my proof, that's all you need to worry about. you fucking childish scrumfucks, i cannot stand any of you. the fact that i have to go through this shit because of you. you talk about responsibility. and you know the worst part? i ask the librarian lady, she says it's up to me to clean it. every time. i can't ask anyone else. ever. it's my duty to scrub down every other guy's piss on this planet off that seat, each and every time.

this time. i walked in the bathroom. observed. took a look around. you smell piss as soon as you enter the room. i looked at the floor. i always look for light reflections on moist surfaces. like when you see street lights reflecting off rainy streets, i look for those reflections. if i see shiny moisture anywhere. but i go in this time, and whoever was in there before me... my mother is shooting ghosts right about now, i can feel her ranting and doing her evil eye. whatever jackass, childish fucking moron used this restroom before me... must have pissed all over the floor. the whole floor's wet with piss, you can smell it... so i walk out and try to ask the lady, i tell her about it... she says i have to clean it. so i go back in there, reach for the toilet paper... it's dripping. what the fuck, how did he... did he have to aim upward for that? did he have to stand on his fucking knees and aim up in toward the fucking toilet paper roll? what the fuck, that defies physics, goddamnit, these children are so fucking retarded, there's no explaining the shit that they fuck up anymore!

my mother and i had my friend ben over once, and his little brother tim. tim was a fucking moron. a thirty foot tall shrek mutherfucker, a goddamn oaf at the age of fourteen. my mother and i don't know what the fuck this kid did, but whatever he had to do to get this to happen must have been fucking extraordinary, he would have had to have levitated at one point just to walk out of there, i don't understand these fucking kids these days, man. beyond destructive, to where you have to try to deduce in your head what the fuck events must have happened to get this mess you're looking at to be this particular way... you're getting chemistry sets out of the attic in your head just to figure out, i have to know what the fuck this kid just did. i'm sure no one else has experiences like these, it was just my mother and i, the only two breathing brains on this fucking planet apparently. but ben's little brother tim, walked out of our restroom into our hallway and sat down. by the time he sat down on the couch, the water was already creeping down the hallway. he fucked up that toilet so bad. my mother and i never had a clue what the fuck he could have done in there, though we theorized and hypothesized and contemplated like fuckin' scientists. what the fuck could he have done in there to get that result? was he sliding down the fucking wall? how the fuck did that happen?

what the fuck is wrong with these seemingly grown humans that walk this earth and use credit cards in starbucks, how the fuck... it's bad enough when i have to wipe the seat every time i use a public restroom, but to walk into that fiasco once in a while? that magical little surprise treat?

would that make anyone else's day, or are you all zombying off into videogame heaven already. 'oh, he's just bitchin' about stupid shit again, yawn, pass me the meth pipe, i need to focus, i got aliens to kill'.

you're children. you want my proof? walk into any public restroom, and tell me you don't see what i see. you're all fucking children. any doofus fuck on this planet with a wanger danglin' between his disgusting legs, you know you're a repulsive creature, those products don't make you a better person, they just make you look like it, and you fucking disgust me. you should all be ashamed of yourselves. i can't use a men's restroom without encountering the worst of boys and all the immaturity this planet has to offer. i fucking hate men. i haven't met a mature, responsible one yet. each one of you fucks has to have some stupid opinion that you use as an excuse to dominate me, and try to get me to do what you want. you don't see it the way i see it. i don't think even otep shamaya sees it the way i see it. i would hope someone does, but i have my doubts. but i see naked men walking this earth. every man, i see them inside my head as naked. those dangling fucking phalluses just waving around. and this is what i see. if there's something that needs to be done... that guy is certainly not going to do it. and i don't see any wallet or exchange of cash. i just see the dominant guy lean over the weaker one, waving his phallus in the smaller guy's face, and using that image, that threat, to get his way, to get what he wants, pressuring, pushing, forcing, even before the dick enters anything. just to get their way, just to get what they want, that's what i see happening. every bit of money spent, i see that image happening. the weaker man, aka the man getting paid, has to be down in a submissive position, and the guy with the money, aka the guy with the dick, has to be standing up, leaning over, with his one foot propped up on some rock or cement wall or something, so he can really dangle that cock out openly. and men just force their way around the planet with this. every building that has ever been built, every political agenda. and it's not necessarily sex they get threatened with, it's usually death. they use that phallic dominance to just barbarically kill the problem. and i picture the mentality. that neanderthal brain inside that skull, and what chemistry is going on to make what thought, i fucking study that. debate me all you want, you already know i've entered territory where you've never gone. try and tell me how to think more like you now, go ahead, fuckin' try. try to see what i'm seeing in my mind, when i look in your direction, and then try to justify whatever the fuck it is you're doing. you scrotal sack of shit. i fucking hate men, if this is all men are, then men are fucking pigs, every goddamn one of them, i fucking hate you, and i want you to know it, to feel it, you repulse me, you disgust me, you don't deserve to get to use public restrooms or wallets, you fucking children! you make me fucking sick. every fucking day of my life i have to deal with your shit. sometimes literally. creatures that shit all over this planet, yet live in some delusion that they're not. you're boys. with your fuckin' little star wars toys, and your fuckin' little...

when i was a kid, there was some children's book, where they called a boy's wiener an 'acorn'. also around those years, i found out that they used to word 'dork' to describe the same thing. when i was a kid, i remember looking down once, and not being able to formulate the words, but basically thinking in my head... i looked down once and thought, 'what the fuck am i gonna use this stupid thing for?'. i didn't want to have my mother explain it to me, and i sure as hell wasn't asking anyone else. mom, you were right. more than you knew. you cannot trust these idiots. not a goddamn human on this planet is responsible enough to be a human. they're pond scum. primordial play pen rejects. a living organism on this planet is... in this mental state? so deeply that i can not only identify it, but gauge it? measure it? is this really this sad yet? or do we still have some red line room left?

they talk about the doomsday clock being closer than ever... yeah, wonder why.

so this is what i have to deal with every time i encounter a human, pretty much. wiping down toilet seats every day of my life, being harassed by authorities every day of my life, seems to me like if i'm cleaning all your piss off all your toilets, you could at least stop harassing me, and maybe thank me. toss me a nugget of weed some time, and say 'hey, thanks for continually cleaning my piss off that toilet seat, buddy, hope you haven't sat on any, i got trouble aiming, i pissed on my glasses', something! but no. the mentality that would piss on a seat would never thank anyone for a fuckin' thing. i've seen that mentality be raised straight out of the parent's house, and they still think i don't know what i'm talking about. i challenge you, anyone reading this, if you really want to know, you can look back through all my stories, and find the story about this kid i knew when i was growing up... named alan crowder. not sure of the spelling anymore. you want to see what i'm talking about, you want me to illuminate this for you? you honestly want to open your mind to what i'm saying for once in your pathetic life? look up this story. this kid didn't know how to blow his nose. when i was in my mid to late twenties, i heard through some family member, that they heard that alan crowder is now a fucking doctor, graduated early... i'm thinking... you're talking about the same kid that couldn't blow his fucking nose? what the fuck happened? how did he find the catapult, and i can't? what the fuck? is that just how i get ripped off in this world? that happens here? seriously? you excuse that?

you want to know about the mentality that i'm talking about, be brave. do your research on me. walk into any public restroom, and look at the seats. ladies, i challenge you, too, to do the same thing. randomly walk into any men's restroom, take a quick glance at the toilet seats, the floors, and come back out, and you tell me, would you want to deal with that shit every day? would you marry the guy who did that? no? cause you're probly getting fucked by him tonight, you dumb cunt. you've been fuckin' that guy cause he showers and has a wallet, when you could have been pulling this world in another direction, a better direction, it's essentially up to you who shows up on this planet, you do know that, right? you wonder why men stare at your asses... fucking duh! it's time for you to fucking grow the fuck up and figure it the fuck out! we stare at your asses because that's where we all come from! of course it's going to look beautiful and attractive to us! it's not a bad thing that it does! you dumb fucks!

what if, just play with my brain for a second, what if... let's stretch our minds real wide here... what if... just hypothesize... what if... women planned on what spirits they spit out onto this earth?

i know, just what if. follow the thought through for a minute. don't be impatient, it takes time for that seed to take root. but theorize, what do you think you would start to see after a few generations of planned births. they use the term 'planned parenthood'. i think i just proved you have no clue what words you're spitting out of your mouths, let alone the definitions behind them, whenever those two words are anywhere near you at the same time. yeah, what if we planned on who showed up here?

i picture someday, there's a girl that gets pregnant, and she goes off and decides, 'i'm going to raise the next timothy leary'. so thirty years later, she emerges from the woods, and hey, comes driving out in a psychedelic bus with rainbows flowing around it, a shitload of hippies in the bus. i'm sure we could reincarnate half of our heroes just by having fewer sluts on this planet, not knowing where to aim those asses they're packin' around behind them. now, i know how crude this may seem, but try to see it from my perspective, and not your own selfish one. since that's obviously all you've been doing for the past twenty generations. yeah, oops. been peering through the same two eyes for too long now, and because of it, your kids have never heard the word 'clean'.

so what the fuck had to have happened to that alan kid for him to graduate fucking college? i still wonder curiously. no one ever said. did he eat his fuckin' wheaties, or what? i don't get it. if i had jumped off that same catapult as him, i would have landed flat on my face. i'm not even lucky enough to find a catapult on this planet, but that kid somehow stumbled across one, and didn't die?

was he one of tim's turds that lived? are they birthing immortal humans out of roach turds, or was that just the luck i got in this life? no one ever believes me when i talk about my body. i don't know why, what could you possibly have to doubt when it's not your life to worry about? how could it possibly hurt your ears when i talk about my pain? are you just that immature? childish? fearful?

i'm dealing with some horrible tooth pain lately, still dealing with my stupid stomach that can't leave me alone for a second of my life, can't decide if it wants to fart or not... it's worse than a little kid... it's like when you open the door to let the stupid little puppy run outside, and the puppy darts up to the door, and just before he runs far enough out the door for you to close it, he teases you by not being able to make up his feeble little mind, and he'll stop, right there on the carpet, and just sit there, staring at you, like 'are you gonna pick me up now?'... that's what my farts are acting like. i get all this rumbling going on, that interrupts whatever else i'm having to do, whether spitting or popping my neck, or the ten billion other annoying bodily emergencies i have going on at all moments of the fucking day, the rumbling will actually interrupt most of that, just to rumble around, so i go and lean away to let the fart come out, cause it ain't brave enough to come out right onto that concrete that is not conducive to gas release whatsoever, but okay, keep up with me here. i lean out to let the gas out, and it acts like that stupid little puppy. it'll just stop, like 'oh, i'm not ready to go outside just yet'.

i keep looking down at my stomach and screaming 'make up your fucking mind!', or 'shut the fuck up and leave me alone!'. still think that's normal and something you should ignore? by that rate, you won't hit mental puberty till jesus returns. nothing on this body will stop hurting long enough to let me enjoy a moment of life. never has. but doctors won't even believe me when i say that. cause that's how they're conditioned to think, but you try to tell them that, and they're so deep in denial you can smell satan's ass. and they'll just blame you for everything. cause that's how they're conditioned to think. but you can't tell them that. not even if you owned the concept.

you people make me fucking sick. if you were brave enough to read my blog, you'd see all the proof you need. but you're not brave enough, nor do you have the time, so fuck you all.

so those three pills i took earlier, to coax this three month long snake out of my ribs... irrelevant.

do i ever get to make a plan?
study my history and answer that, you get extra credit.
do i ever get a chance to make a plan and have it happen?
have i ever gotten to?

i agree with sonic syndicate...

i try not to make plans, plans are for people in control of their own lives.

i fucking hate you all. you want my proof?
you can grow up and clean it off the fucking toilet seat.
you human fucking swine.

you think yourselves to high and mighty, so above the rest.

you're just caught in a bubble of delusion at the edge of this fuckin' pond, asshole.
and the rest of us are looking at you wondering who the fuck you're talking to.

ask any psychiatrist. when you tell a delusional person that they're delusional, what reaction do you get?

get back in the fucking pond till you can piss through a straw, asshole.

that should be like a requirement for something... like taking your driving test, if you can parallel park, you get your license, if you can't parallel park, you get to try again.

you shouldn't be allowed to stand on your own two feet unless you can piss through a pineapple ring and still eat it. new rule. if only bill maher had thought of that one ten years ago, i might be able to shit like a human right about now. thanks.

so thank you, library patrons, for your responsibility and maturity, and thank you library staff for being adults and owning your own library including the adult human responsibilities that usually come with a house. something tells me, if these people honestly don't know how to clean their own restrooms... if they don't know anything you ask them... every library i walk into lately, i ask them something, doesn't matter what it is, their answer will be 'i don't know'. you're a fuckin' librarian, am i the only one here? what the fuck, you work in a library, are you saying you're underqualified for the job? are seven eleven clerks too incompetent to push a fucking button? and why are they so prejudiced toward poor people, that should be their bread and butter, it's a fuckin' seven eleven! that's poor people territory, yet they discriminate against poor people constantly. then buddy, perhaps you should have gotten a job at fucking olive garden feeding old people with dentures and diapers.

it's not my fault you chose the wrong line of work, asshole. it's not my fault you don't have that many options. it's not my fault this entire pyramid is built on the kissing of asses. it's not my fault your mother never showed you how to piss in a toilet. or father, whatever. i never needed a father, so figure that one out. pussy.

i think i've gauged your immaturity rather well. but go ahead and debate me on it, that'll definitely raise the bar. it's a clue you'll never get, and you're still not getting. are you even making an honest attempt, or are you just dreaming of your videogame at home.

my mother warned me about kids like you.
why do you think i never played videogames.

coffee.
energy drinks.
beer.

all that other horseshit you idiots pour down your gullets.

you're fucking pathetic. and my proof to back up that statement is right fuckin' here. the longer you debate it, the sooner i win.

...
side notes:

i've been sucking down ibuprofen eight hundreds like skittles.
they're doing nothing for the pain.
so i figured i'd try to call sarah today, and see if she's willing to help at all.
my teeth hurt, i can't keep my eyes open, my back is fucked, my stomach, my neck, my fucking sobriety, my constant spitting, my knuckles.

i wish i could die.
i would so love to die right fucking now.
there's no reason to stay here.
why should i help you people.
you obviously don't want my help.
you reject it at every mention.
you're children, you're not ready yet.
i'll come back in a couple hundred years.
don't be scared, the reincarnation portal works better than you.

see that roach over there?
how do you know you weren't just him?

figure it the fuck out, kids.
grow the fuck up.

i'd love to do some sort of study, and find out for fact:
how many adult males piss on toilet seats?

keep flappin' that wacker around.
i'm gonna laugh when a bus takes it.

the librarian lady, the manager just walked over to me, and told me that i spoke about the restroom earlier, and i can't be using that language... and then starts to walk away after she says her piece. i said 'can i respond?'. cause no one ever seems to want my two cents, even though i wrote the fucking high coup on it. they just spit their rules into my head, and walk away. do they not see that words are trying to come out of my mouth? do i not make it obvious enough to these complacent, apathetic fucks? so i told her the reason i just wrote in this blog, and got no response, she just walks away.

there's no excuse for this shit. if i'm acting more mature than you are, you can't keep telling me i'm not. i will fucking prove it once and for all, to end this fucking childish debate, by pointing out the real child in the fucking room! take that veil of delusion off you, and reveal what you should finally be ashamed of. now we adults can finally fucking breathe. fuck off, kid. go find a porno and grow the fuck up. don't come back till you got hair on your third eye, you pansy fuck.

they should segregate restrooms into 'adult' and 'child'.
the children's room should have the security guard.
and that kindergarten teacher from billy madison.
can we get kindergarten cop in there, too? my grammy loved him.

i won't have any faith in anyone till i start seeing dry toilet seats. fuck the rest of you.