The End is Near

Checks this out:

Drake drops $400,000 USD for an OVO-branded iPhone case

In Canadian dollars that translates to over half a million dollars.

Celebrities and bureaucrats have been flushing money down toilets for years but for some reason this story is extra annoying.

Maybe it’s because a regular working-class person would buy a cellphone case to protect his asset, not to put tacky diamonds on display.

Champagne Papi, I hope this falls in the toilet when you are dropping your next turd, er, I mean album.

Am I the only one sickened by this? I would love to hear from some of the other sheep out there.

Clutter Doesn’t Kill People…

…people who are pissed off about clutter kill people who clutter.

Have you seen Season 2 Episode 5 of the once-popular crime drama, CSI? I’m going from memory so I might be paraphrasing a little here, but it goes a little something like this:

Grissom finds the killer’s wife stuffed into a water heater in the basement. He asks him, “Why?”

The killer responds in a defeated tone, “She nagged me.”

“She nagged you?”

Now, replace “she nagged me” with “she left clutter”. If you assume “she left clutter” to mean, “she left clutter all over the house, even though I repeatedly begged her not to” then you’ve got a people killing people over clutter situation. Now you understand my predicament.

Fast forward to my jail cell.

“So, what’re you in for?”

“Killed my wife.”

“Caught her cheating?”

“No, caught her cluttering.”

“Bitch.”

Don’t worry. She’s not in danger. She’s going through a “Jennifer Lopez’s 2002 movie, ‘Enough'”, phase right now. She’s getting up early every morning to “work those abs” to fitness videos. Really, she’s pumping iron and learning to kick ass so she can entrap me in some kind of clutter-induced “murder my husband in self-defence” scheme. Who will perish, the clutterer or the cluteree?

Time will tell.

In the meantime, It’s rant time. Mo’ clutter mo’ problems. I’ve got 99 problems and…

  1. Things Get Lost – I didn’t really lose any of my stuff for a decade. That’s because my things had a place and clutter had no place. That was before the clutterer and I started occupying a domicile together. She has a key fob attached to her keys that wirelessly locates her phone and an app on her phone that wirelessly locates her keys. She uses them daily. My phone is in the phone place and my keys are in the key place. End of story.
  2. Tasks Don’t Flow – You know when a surgeon is about to do surgery and she has everything that she needs on a stainless steel tray? Or how a mechanic has all of his sockets in order by size, and none are missing? Good luck achieving that kind of order around here. Here, clutter is King. Every little task is made more frustrating, from opening a package (where are my scissors?) to taking the dog for a walk (where the fuck is the fucking dog leash?  FAWK!!!)
  3. It’s Not Harmonious – Looking around at all the bits and pieces of junk mail, socks on the floor, hair elastics, and the like makes me feel like I’m in the feces-splattered bathroom at Burger King. It’s fucking gross.

Look at any industry where safety is paramount. No clutter. Or at least there shouldn’t be.

Look at any industry where the participants are at the top of their game and you will be unlikely to find clutter. Why? Because it doesn’t contribute anything. It detracts.

Hopefully, my partner and I can get through this with lots of therapy, since common sense is not working. I would hate to fall victim to more domestic abuse (see Domestic Crimes).

The truth? If you consider clutter as heinous as I do, then you will know it is already too late.

There’s Always One More Move On the Board

Are you feeling low? I am.

I can’t find a cure for this. Society tells me I am broken, but never in so many words. That would not be politically correct. I am told I might feel better if I eat some pills. Millions of years of evolution have created a specimen that requires a pill from GlaxoSmithCline to function.

I’ll feel better if I get three squares a day from the government-endorsed food groups. Canada has been revising its food groups to “meet the needs of different Canadian audiences”.  Shouldn’t the food be based on what our bodies require from an evolutionary standpoint, not how politically correct it is? How did cavemen evolve if they needed to find a loaf of bread, a head of broccoli, a jar of peanuts, and a cold glass of cow’s milk at every meal?  Did they even sit down for three meals a day?  Where did that construct come from?

So, Let’s Talk!  That’s the name of the day Bell has coined to talk about mental health issues.  That’s the day when Seth Rogan and other celebs record 30 second sound bites to let us know it’s okay to talk about it.  If you need help, that’s okay.  There is someone to talk to.

It doesn’t seem okay.  It doesn’t seem like I get treated normally when I tell people I can’t work even though I have a long list of valuable skills.  My mind just can’t take it.  I can’t take the email.  I can’t take the bureaucracy.  I can’t take the lack of common sense.  Sure there are people to talk to.  Some are free and some will charge you $100 per hour, but they can’t fix the real problem.  They can’t fix stupid.  They can’t fix society.

He’s a blamer.

That’s what my wife will sometimes say.  Blaming everyone else for my problems.  It’s my fault I’m depressed because we live in a world where we are lied to about Santa Claus, JFK, and 9/11 (false flag or not, even the “declassified” reports are highly redacted).

“He’s paranoid.”

Maybe.  When they told us to learn history so as not to repeat past mistakes, they must have meant to ignore all the parts that had our worst interests at heart.  LSD testing on children.  Operation Northwoods.  Carcinogen testing over Manitoba during the Cold War.  Thalidomide.  But that was back then.  Our governments would never do anything like that nowadays, would they?

The list goes on of shit that fills my head.  These are memories of things I’ve read, not predetermined chemical imbalances, right?

To be fair I have to reason, “maybe I do I have mental health issues?”  Nine out of ten people who know me would probably agree.  Those nine people are playing Candy Crush while I’m trying to learn how the pyramids really got built.

“Oh, is someone talking about the pyramids,” I hear someone ask, “That’s easy.  My grade five teacher told me how that was done and I haven’t given it a single thought since.”

That’s right.  Thinking too much may cause anxiety.  If you’re turning on your own light bulb instead of getting caught up on the last season of Game of Thrones, you might have a problem.  Pills, cow’s milk, and TV not settling you down?  You need sports or a sports car or a sports bra.  And some Bud Light.  A blonde with big tits.  That’ll make you feel normal.  Don’t fret over how 80-ton blocks were pushed around in the desert so long ago.

Seriously though, I’m not denying true mental illness.  I believe in science.  There are real chemical imbalances and conditions that can benefit from pills, but that’s not what I and many other people are suffering from.  I don’t believe early humans were lying in bed until noon with the covers up over their heads because Prozac wasn’t invented yet and they couldn’t find eight to ten servings of vegetables.

Those like me are hurting because their program is written for Windows 95 in they’re living in a Windows XP world.  Actually, this world is more like Millenium Edition.  They’re not locking up because their program is poorly written, it’s the operating system that’s at fault.  They’re blue-screening,  balling up and shaking because every piece of code they try to execute isn’t compatible with this world.

“That certainly sounds like mental illness to me.”

It can’t be chronic.  It didn’t start until adulthood.  When I was a child exploring the woods with a slingshot and a bag of rocks, I did not feel this way.  Outdoors.  Reality.  Nature.  Fresh air.  That’s what the world was to me.  Not Facebook and Facetime.  Not Instagram and Instapot.

The doom and gloom started when I opened my eyes.  Everything I had been told, from Santa Claus to World War II, was a lie.  I discovered careers were not made on what skills one has, but on how extroverted they could be.  The extroverts become CEOs and the introverts become unpaid stay-at-home bloggers.  Or fucked up school shooters.  Or Incels (whoever the fuck they are).

Then came the smartphone.  People who used to shun the computer because it was, “for nerds” are staring at these mini-computers 24 hours a day.  They’re not learning about the Antikythera mechanism, though.  They’re not outraged about a global pedophile ring, they’re outraged because Jordan Peterson got his picture taken with a Pepe the Frog flag.

I’ve been doing the math on my sanity for years and I’ve come to the conclusion that it doesn’t matter what position I hold, or what diet I’m on, or what pills I ingest.  As long as I’m seeing dead dolphins on one channel and Kim Kardashian on another there is no hope for happiness.

The only consolation in this mire called capitalism is that there is always one more move left on the board.  I’ll leave that up to you to figure out what it is.

Most Outrage is Laziness

Dolly Parton’s Breasts.

When someone says Dolly Parton, I think of breasts.  I’m not a country music fan, what can I say?  All I really know about Dolly Parton is that she has great big tits.  For me personally, her name is synonymous with double D’s.

If you’re one of my millions of followers, reading this award-winning blog while you sip your morning coffee, how outraged should you be by what you just read?

My opinion: Not at all.

Sometimes I’m guilty of looking for news stories about people getting outraged over nothing so that I can get outraged over nothing.  It’s like going on Donald Trump’s Instagram page and reading the comments.  It’s probably not healthy for me but I do it anyway.

The thing I have noticed as I get older is that topics and situations I grew up with that were always okay are now potential no-nos. Like singing “Baby It’s Cold Outside”.  Or the Soup Nazi episode of Seinfeld.  Or saying that someone who is balanced on a skateboard, at the top of a staircase, about to wipe out and slam his balls on the handrail, is a fucking retard…

…or talking about Parton’s breasts.

The day after Dolly Parton’s Grammy performance, the men of The Today Show were in hot water in the media for making “crude” and “disgusting” comments about Dolly Parton’s boobs.  Put your earmuffs on kids.  Here come the actual quotes, straight from the locker room:

“She is age defying and gravity defying.”

“Seeing those two on stage, I thought, was fantastic… and Miley of course,”

Shocking stuff.  Hardly in the “grab her by the pussy” category of what one might consider really disgusting.  Look, Dolly Parton has been poking fun of her own breasts during interviews for as long as I can remember.  Just like Jay Leno pokes fun at his own chin.  Just like Kim Kardashian pokes fun at her own enormous ass.

Outrage has become too convenient.  In my day, if you were offended, you couldn’t just sit there in your pyjamas and tweet about it.

First, you would have to gauge the situation; decide how worked up you actually were.  That’s where your lifelong friends would come in.  They would be your compass as to what direction to go with your incensement.  One might say to a buddy, “Hey man, did you hear what Tom Steinfort said about Dolly Parton’s breasts?  I’m going to make a sign and march on down to NBC’s head office to protest.”

He would probably say, “Really dude?  That seems a little extreme.”

And he would be right.  It is extreme.  But sending a tweet – any thirteen-year-old with an iPhone can do that.  It’s laziness, pure and simple.

The truth is I don’t even think this is a real story.  It’s another distraction.  While we are fretting over the utterances of The Today Show hosts, the real news is happening in the background, and I can guarantee it bears a lot more to get outraged about than Dolly’s Double Ds.

Free Speech.

Anyone can speak.

A woman shouts into a megaphone. A man waves the Confederate flag. A religious group holds up pictures of dead babies. Nazis walk the streets of the U.S.A. The president talks. People clap.

Speech is free, amen for that, but just like wifi signals, too many messages can be hazardous to our health.

We’re bombarded by idiots speaking freely. The Alex Joneses. The Kanye Wests. The news media. Their messages flow into the palms of our hands.

Our prehistoric brains aren’t equipped to handle it. Our fight or flight mechanism doesn’t know what to do with all this information.

Speech is free. It should never be censored, but from time to time, we need to unplug. For our own sanity.

Pyramids (The Song)

I was thinking

about the great

pyramid the other

day. And I thought, “How did they

build that

thing so long

ago?”

So I looked it

up in the

history book and I found

out that they said

it was built by

hand. Thousands of

men pushing

blocks in wet

sand. And I thought that sounds like,

Bull

shit

to me.


How to play:

Pretty basic. Key of Am.
Dm-G-Em-Am chord progression.
Each new line is a chord change.

Bull shit to me is the chorus and uses F-C-G chords.