strike out ALS...
partially ejected, pronounced dead at the scene.
did anyone see daniel day- louis start crying on the oprah show over heath ledger???
Barry: Top 5 songs about death. A Laura's Dad tribute list, okay? Okay. Leader of the Pack. The guy fuckin' beefs it on his motorcycle and dies, right? Dead Man's Curve. Jan & Dean.
Dick: Do you know that right after they recorded that song Jan himself crashed his car... Barry: It was Dean you fuckin' idiot...
Rob: It was Jan. It was a long time after the song.
Barry: Okay, whatever. Tell Laura I Love Her. That would bring the house down - Laura's Mom could sing it. You know what I'd want? One Step Beyond by Madness. And, uh, You Can't Always Get What You Want.
Dick: No. Immediate disqualification because of its involvement with The Big Chill. Barry: Oh God. You're right!
Dick: Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald - Gordon Lightfoot.
Barry: You bastard! That's so good - that should have been mine... The night Laura's daddy died. Sha na na na na na na na na! Brother what a night it really was. Mother what a night it really... angina's tough! Glory be!
i've been thinking about life and death and how completely unfair all of this is...
who said... life is full of pain and misery and it's over all too quickly???
a co-worker of mine, his wife died in a car accident and i don't know, you know?
game over. something like that, i mean what the fuck. some fat three hundred pound fuck drops dead of a massive heart attack at least the people around him could be like: well, we saw that one coming a long way off. he ate shit, he drank shit and never exercised. we tried to warn him. maybe that's the reason i still smoke. way back when, i went to the medical examiner's office and they had this woman on the table. wait, back up...
the actual morgue is in the basement of the medical examiner's office and it has more the feel of a butcher shop then a funeral home. there were five or six people working there that day and they all had a body going. the first thing they did was make an incision across the head from the top of one ear across to the top of the other (the same spot where a girl puts her head band) and the next move was to grab the scalp of the head and pull the skin all the way down over the face... down to their chin. i mean it just peels off. i couldn't believe how easy it was, like in the movie face off. i want to take his face off. you're more amazed that someones face (your face) can come off that easy then horrified. at that point with their face inside out and pulled down past their chin they stopped being a person and become a piece of meat, which is what everyone is, if you want to look at it that way (which i imagine for the purposes of being able to do that job every day you would want).
anyway they had this woman on the table and her chest was open and the guy doing the autopsy points to this woman's lungs and says "look at how pink and healthy her lungs look. you can tell she never smoked." and all you could think is, well her healthy pink lungs really didn't help her when she was busy getting creamed by that bus.
but that's life and life's unfair and god is the most insecure twat i...
all these religions all these people they're constantly have to tell him (god) how great he really is. it's a goddamn commandment for me, keep holy the sabbath. where one day a week you go for an hour and tell god that he's the greatest and there isn't another one like him. what a selfish prick.
when i die i think i would want people to say about me "that son of a bitch had it coming".
Saturday, January 26, 2008
Sunday, January 6, 2008
wolves at the door [guest post]
there are times when that old devil comes peeking his head around the corner. Or he knocks on the door, lightly, just loud enough that I can hear him.
He likes to taunt me a bit, give me a hint at what's possible, and he knows that I know what a nasty fucker he is.
The thing about him is that he never actually dies. I can beat him again and again, but he'll never be gone for good. I've just revoked his citizenship. I've taken away his passport. I've cut off his legs, and he has to hobble around. He's the only cripple I take pleasure in mocking. Every time I laugh it's me slicing off another bit of his skin. My pleasure is, almost literally, his pain.
But the fucker's still alive. He can still taunt me, make me remember when he he used to beat me bloody. When he had me on the ropes.
"You could barely get out of bed, you coward. Remember that? You stayed up all night, just waiting for something decent to happen. You were nothing. You couldn't even move. Maybe you're still that coward. Are you? I think you are. I think you're weak. You can't even handle a woman leaving. You can't handle memories of the bad days. I'm going to ruin you."
These days, it's not even a fair fight. I've seen his playbook, I've watched all the video, and he never actually learns any new tricks.
Sure, he fights dirty, but then again so do I.
It can be anything that triggers his threats, really. An oddly warm day in the middle of January, and it's 2005 again, and I'm in hell. The woman I love will never come back, and it's hard to see how to get past that. I'm a couple dollars short, and I'm a failure again, a disappointment.
So I run. And clean. And work. And find someone to run around with.
He goes away. For a while. I can't kill him, but he can't kill me either.
I don't like Sundays.
He likes to taunt me a bit, give me a hint at what's possible, and he knows that I know what a nasty fucker he is.
The thing about him is that he never actually dies. I can beat him again and again, but he'll never be gone for good. I've just revoked his citizenship. I've taken away his passport. I've cut off his legs, and he has to hobble around. He's the only cripple I take pleasure in mocking. Every time I laugh it's me slicing off another bit of his skin. My pleasure is, almost literally, his pain.
But the fucker's still alive. He can still taunt me, make me remember when he he used to beat me bloody. When he had me on the ropes.
"You could barely get out of bed, you coward. Remember that? You stayed up all night, just waiting for something decent to happen. You were nothing. You couldn't even move. Maybe you're still that coward. Are you? I think you are. I think you're weak. You can't even handle a woman leaving. You can't handle memories of the bad days. I'm going to ruin you."
These days, it's not even a fair fight. I've seen his playbook, I've watched all the video, and he never actually learns any new tricks.
Sure, he fights dirty, but then again so do I.
It can be anything that triggers his threats, really. An oddly warm day in the middle of January, and it's 2005 again, and I'm in hell. The woman I love will never come back, and it's hard to see how to get past that. I'm a couple dollars short, and I'm a failure again, a disappointment.
So I run. And clean. And work. And find someone to run around with.
He goes away. For a while. I can't kill him, but he can't kill me either.
I don't like Sundays.
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