Tag Archives: George Patton

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I am so angry that I am going to say Fuck so many times

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These fucking assholes. God damn I try to be a fucking tranquil person and like mother fuckers but the truth is I fucking hate almost everyone. I can’t stop hating them because they’re fucking stupid fucks. Fuck them. God fucking damn it how I hate them almost all of them.

I was just now riding my bike home from a bar, and there were a bunch of people there who don’t give a fuck about anyone and they are mean to people, and they are also stupid and they suck. I hate almost all of them. But I was sitting next to someone that I really like a lot who I like even more the more I get to know them and we had a great time even though all these people who were not only self-absorbed the way that I am, they were self-absorbed without even realizing it. It’s like fucking George Patton said about General what’s his face in that movie, “I know I’m a prima donna! I admit it. I just wish he would!” Motherfuckers so damn stuck up their own ass they don’t even realize someone else is talking. They don’t even realize other people can talk. Fucking hell mother fuckers please shut up for a second.

And so we were having a great time, and then we left. And here my ass is riding the fuck home on a bike and I’m almost the fuck home, like three seconds away, and I catch a light, son of a bitch, and I stop and this mother fucker honks at me from behind.

Now I hate mother fucking bikers like they’re the god damn plague because they are. I thought when I got a bike everyone on a bike was on my team now. It’s us against the cars! We’re saving the earth and shit. Hell no, shit ain’t like that at all. Almost everyone on a bike is an asshole and act like you aren’t on a bike right the fuck next to them and can’t fucking bite their ear lobe off and cut you off actually cut you the fuck off while you’re on a fucking bike! And all kinds of malicious dumb shit that no one ever needs to do and they just fucking do it and why? Fuck knows why those fucks just do it. Because they’re fucking people, I guess, and I don’t know but people lately seem to be really fucking up my day.

And it almost feels like some middle school shit like listening to Nirvana, like oh my god no one else is cool no one understands me but fuck I understand that shit, I know I am the same as everyone else, I am a person. But why is it that no one else gives a fuck about me, or even tries to pretend. I try to pretend I give a fuck about people. I do a damn good job of pretending I give a fuck about someone, but everyone else, almost, is willing to fucking just run into mother fuckers on the street as if they are the only people on earth walking on a god damn street. They don’t even try to pretend.

But anyway, so I hate bikes and I know cars don’t like being behind bikes and shit, I mean fuck it sucks trying to drive around bikers, even nice ones, you wouldn’t know because you’re in a car and they’re not going to cut you off unless they’re super assholes and some of them are. So I understand, being behind a bike is a real bitch.

But fuck Jesus Christ it’s 1 o’clock in the god damn morning and I’m riding home in the right lane and the left lane is completely open and a mother fucker rolls up behind me and honks. Well guess the fuck what. We are both rolling up to a red fucking light. We can’t neither of us fucking go, you fucking bitch ass mother fucker behind me, so fuck you. And you’re fucking honking at me? Fuck you, I fucking hate you you piece of shit.

And they’re honking and you know what, I don’t even fucking hate them, I’m like, ah, they’re honking because when the light turns green they don’t want to be behind me. Fucking hell, I’d probably feel the same way, even though I wouldn’t fucking honk because I’d pretend to understand that this mother fucker on a bike was another human being with a family and desires and a penis or a vagina and some fucking hair on his head and we all got to get through this dumb shit together so why would I ever be like “Hey bitch I’m in a car so honk honk mother fucker.”

But nah, I understand, I don’t give a fuck, mother fuckers are honking.

Well what do you know but I hear, “Excuse me.”

I’m like, thinking oh this mother fucker just wants to know how to get to Dunkin Donuts or some shit.

Well it’s this old drunk bitch in the seat saying “Excuse me.”

And I’m like yeah I just served a bunch of you looking motherfuckers at the bar, and you all were assholes to me but it’s all good, I’ll tell you how to get to Dunkin Donuts, why would I withhold that information just because you happen to resemble a bunch of fucking people that I hate?

Well, this bitch says to me, “Excuse me. Excuse me,” and I nod and she says, “Please pay attention. Just pay attention, please.” As if to say that she really cares about me, and that I’m fucking up right now.

Oh fuck that really pissed me off. What a bitch! I was just riding home, the whole time I was thinking about this person that I was hanging out with and how we were having such a damn fun ass time and shit, and now she’s the only fucking thing that I can think of. “Please pay attention. Thank you.” Are you fucking kidding me you bitch! I fucking hate you! Who are you to say some shit like that, like I’m not fucking Genghis Khan out this bitch, like I won’t slice up your ventricles and saute them bitches to garnish my mushroom soup. Fuck you bitch I fucking hate you. I’m fucking riding home you bitch in a fucking minivan driven by your drunk cohort. You’re drunk bitch, get off the road, go sleep in a fucking lake. God I fucking hate you. God fucking damn it why can’t motherfuckers let another mother fucker live once in a while. Why go fucking other people’s whole fucking nights up. And yes I hate myself for letting one dumb bitch fuck up my whole night, but I can’t seem to change. I fucking hate the whole fucking world, except for some people who at least pretend to be nice.

Just fucking pretend, even if you hate everyone, just fucking pretend that you don’t. The worst thing is that these fucking fucks think that they are nice people. They walk around and say well I’m a nice person! The fuck you are. You are a fucking asshole who destroys days, and you know why you are, because you don’t realize that other fucking people exist. You never once think about other people. You fucks. I hate fucking hate you. God fucking damn it, and you know what I do to people I hate? I say nice things to them. I try to include them, to make their lives less fucked up because obviously no one likes them and they have no friends so their lives are a fucking tragedy and I try not to add to that. Do they do anything in return? Why yes, they do. They act a fucking fool and stick their dicks in my ass. Ah fuck I hate them so much that I want to stick my own dick in my ass and eat a cheeseburger and never see anyone ever again.

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Messy Desk (Rambling and Writing Practice)

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I wanted to get started on something, but I just took too long. Now GF is coming home and I guess she’ll be here in 30 minutes or so. She’s a little sick and didn’t get much sleep last night so I’ll be taking care of her. AKA sitting on the couch and watching movies with her while she eats soup.

Got this big ass thing of coffee all made up, too. Don’t know if I’ll be able to sit still.

Till she gets here I might as well spout off something.

My desk is cluttered looks like the snowstorm came through here. No damn it that’s something my mother would say. What’s the best way to describe a cluttered desk? What’s the most interesting way I could possibly do it? I was reading in The Genius in All of Us by David Shenk about how focused practice is the only practice that makes us better. People do their jobs every day but they don’t necessarily improve every day. Only by trying to go beyond what you currently do can you become better. So he said the best way to become a better writer is to do writing drills, not just write like you always do. The best way to become stronger is of course to push yourself past your limits. George Patton says the same thing in Patton’s Principals. I used to keep a card of this quote in my wallet, and now I can’t think of it exactly. Except he said something like: You have command your body to work harder than it can, that way your body will say, ‘I’d better step it up if I’m going to keep up with this crazy mind.’ Well, it was way different than that, but still pretty colloquial like that. So the best way to get better at writing is to write something you don’t want to. Or something like that. I always want to improve my writing, that way I can just write anything and it will be interesting. That’s what Jack Kerouac ended up doing. He practiced all the time until he could just write about something and it would be poetry.

Ok, then. Cluttered desk. Cluttered desk. Desk is a mess. Desk is a mess. Shit is messy. Got a mess on this desk got to put it to rest. Can’t pass a test with a cluttered desk. I must confess my desk is a mess. Can’t pass a test with a messy desk. Messy desk yes it’s blessed.

Messy desk

Can’t be blessed

Must confess

Can’t pass no test

No not unless

Messy desk

Takes a rest

Checkbooks, textbooks, a clock that isn’t plugged in. Staring past the mess out to the street, out to the windows, out to the snowy clean ness of the rest of the world, everyone’s desk is clean but mine is a mess. There are pens and scissors and ripped up letters and things written on scrap paper things that aren’t scrap paper being written on, things that I have written and then written something else on them four years later. And this desk was not a mess just a little while ago. I cleaned it up for our first AirBnB guest so it was just as clean as it could be. Now it’s got my iPod charger cord and my ripped up copy of the New Yorker that I usually keep in my bookbag. It’s got tickets to The Breakers and my little black books from last year and papers papers papers, an application for a CVS card. And this is just shit I can see from this low slung vantage point, slouching backwards in my chair with no visibility. Old mess gets plowed under and ends up on top of new mess, like water in the ocean, or dirt in a field. What’s that process by which water from the bottom of the ocean comes to the top or something like that…reduction or some shit.

I’ve got to learn some more shit.

I wanted to write a little essay about Trader Joe’s. And about biking, too. I’m thinking that I should definitely start that new blog, but I’m thinking I should plan it out better. Like the whole thing should be an actual project, instead of kind of like a therapy which is what this blog really is or should be (thanks to psmprincess for pointing that out). So basically the new blog should be wholly contrived. Which is a word with a lot of negative connotations. But what is the actual definition? Well it simply means to create or bring about by skill or artifice. That’s not so bad. The essays will come from the heart, but then go through a skillful filter of sorts. But yeah so questions come up about should there be pages, shouldn’t it be simple to follow, and how to create a larger and larger audience for that shit so one day I can sit at home watch the snow and write essays instead of being a bartender. I love being a bartender right now, but I love writing even more, and when I’m 79 I don’t want to have to go to work every day. Man I’d love to live to be 79. I always feel like I’m going to die before that, because it’s so easy to do. Anything could kill you. But that’s a different topic altogether and I’m trying to practice some writing before GF calls, which could be any second now.

The snow is no joke out there now. That shit is truly covering everything and this is one of the first times in my life that I have been able to actually see it accumulate. I don’t normally sit in front of windows for this long. It’s sticking to the trees in shrouds now, and the cars are getting fucked up, you can see their whole windows are crystallizing and shit. The snow’s coming so fast and hard that it’s like a mist out there, everything loses color, it’s all whited out the further away things are. The yellows are less yellow. It’s funny too because once the sun comes out, the complete opposite will be true. The sun will reflect off the white and make everything seem like a movie by Pixar. More true than life. Those are some story telling mother fuckers, too. God damn they know how to grip the emotions.

My hands are so dry when I use a rough cloth to polish dishes at work, I feel like I’m the one scratching the cloth instead of the other way around. I feel like I could sand down sandpaper.

Well GF just called and she’s going to want picking up soon. So I’ll have to get to figuring that shit out. I’ll try to write more later today, but I might just read so she doesn’t have to listen to the tippity tapping of these keys.

 

Nighttime Cool Downs, Not Fit for Public Consumption , , , , , , , , , 3 Comments

And We Would Cook a Corn Meal Porridge

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Readability Index: Weak

Well, shit.

It is almost one AM. It’s funny how some people say, “It’s 1 AM in the morning.” I’ve never done it before, but one day, by God, I’m going to say, “Yeah by that time it was like 2 AM in the night.” I bet no one will think anything of it. Because it makes total sense to me.

Well, but shit.

This is to be my wind down post before going to bed.

God I love hitting that publish button so much. All the words blocked off in their appropriate fences with pretty blue titles. And all the ways to keep track of them. To catalogue them. I love cataloguing. I could totally dig a job where I just fixed people’s iTunes libraries. I love databases, especially the ones with no point whatsoever. Of course those kinds of databases don’t exist.

I love the Mad Hatter.

Yes, but I am trying to wind down, and unlike this morning, well I just can’t stop my fingers. They are moving so fast and with such precision that it almost hurts to watch. God. How did I get born with fingers that work? Jesus Christ. What if my fingers were cut off in a freak trolley incident? What a bitch that would be. What difficulties that would present.

I am so god damned perfect. Like a machine. Like a sad machine. Like a god damned ecstatic James Brown SEX MACHINE!

Well but shit. It is imperative that I calm down now so that I can go to bed. So that I can wash those god damn dishes that led to this beautiful coconut muffin that my super hot girlfriend just made.

She is so super hot that I am afraid of time. I am afraid that she will get older and so will I. I will have saggy balls. What a bitch. She is so super hot that I just want to jump into a drying tub of amber with her and die like that French movie called…The Game. But in French.

But for now. We are both so perfect. No diseases. Ten fingers. What a couple of assholes we are.

Hoo.

Shit. The dishes. The dishes. I think…no, I know that that is what life is REALLY ABOUT. Life is really about doing the dishes. I’ve said it before. I’ll say it again and again. Because I feel that it is true, and I know that I know why, but I can’t articulate it, even to myself. I know that life is about doing the dishes, but I don’t know why I know that.

But that’s neither here nor there, as my friend would say who has gone to Afghanistan for a year and we parted on bad terms. Isn’t that a bitch. We have been friends since High School. We have been so cool together and now he is seconds away from dying and we don’t even like each other.

Yes, but as another friend wisely told me in a funny voice, “Friendship is a long and bumpy road.” Yes. Yesssss.

Well. Shit.

These muffins are delicious. And I never expected to be given the gift of sitting here for two or three hours after work just doing my own thang.

The truth is if it weren’t for my girlfriend I would have no structure in my life whatsoever. I would probably be watching Marley the Bob Marley documentary right now and blogging about it. And I would do that for about three hours and love the hell out of it and not eat a god damn thing. Then I would watch some porn and then I would blog some more and then the sun would come up and I would have not eaten or drank or took my coat off. There are many bloggers out there who come to this and find it a pleasurable state. I do, too, until later when I look back, like when I’m at work and I think if I got anything done that day, then I am not happy about it. So God only knows what the fuck is going on. But my girl makes me go to bed and wake up in the morning and eat and wash the goddamn dishes. And take showers. Trust me I’d be the dirtiest mother fucker alive. I love taking showers once I’m in the shower but I hate undressing and getting in there.

Showers are just about the most luxurious fucking thing anybody could ever do. And millions of “poor” Americans take showers every day. We are rich as a bitch over here! Showers feel fucking great. God damn I am an American! How did this shit happen. In France I had to shower in cold water and it sucked sucked sucked. I have taken many cold showers on the advice of Tim Ferriss and the venerable General George Patton, but those were for a purpose. Hot showers…man they are one big fuck you to the Earth, but I can’t stay away. Yes I know. I’m a terrible Earthling.

Ah, but fuck I will talk about that some other time. I can’t even be bothered to stop typing long enough to pick up that goddamn muffin! Yum so good. Oh god it’s warm and good. It’s so goooood o fuck. Jesus.

What the shit am I doing with my life! Christ in heaven and blazing angels pissing on Willie Nelson this muffin is good!

Yes, so now to do the dishes.

There is so much more to talk about. I can go without sleep. And I totally would. But y girlfriend’s home and the mother fucking hammer is down.

Tomorrow I work early in the morning and she is not going on a field trip so we may be just talking and laughing the early hours away. AKA staying stone cold the fuck asleep because we stayed up until two AM in the night.

So I’ll just be reading Ruth Reichl on the bus and itching to get back here around 4 PM and type my ass off.

Right now…the dishes.