I need to get something off of my chest.
I like to call it the Memo.
The Memo is information that really needs to be disseminated to anyone who reads this blog to save us both some embarrassment.
Well, my embarrassment for you, and what should be your embarrassment if you were savvy enough to realize your mistakes.
First of all, subscribing to the blog, the page on Facebook, or following on Twitter does not make us friends.
I don’t want to promote your hobbies, business, or help you save Tibet.
I am not here to help you promote your political beliefs. For the most part, I try to be non-political, unless I decide to be political, then just deal with it and shut your pie hole.
Got an opinion? Start your own blog.
Even on my personal Facebook page, I will not post your inane, soft headed platitudes to show my love of Country, soldiers, my parents, kids, cats, dogs, or Jesus.
If you need that kind of emotional stroking, seek help.
I almost feel like Jack Nicholson in that film. “Where do they teach you to talk like this? In some Panama City “Sailor wanna hump-hump” bar, or is it getaway day and your last shot at his whiskey? Sell crazy someplace else, we’re all stocked up here.”
Whoever wrote that film deserves a fucking medal.
Always understand that, while I am grateful you read the blog, like it on Facebook, Follow it on Twitter, and/or bought a damned hoodie, we don’t have a relationship going on here.
I am like a free hooker for the mind. Avoid eye contact, lets do our business and get this over with, and leave the money on the dresser on your way out.
No offence, and I mean that. Despite the fact that I do enjoy offending people on occasion, it is almost always a targeted slight.
Also, if I am specifically targeting you, I will mention you by name.
However, I do pull inspiration from various sources, but not enough that you get a cut.
So the act of sending me an email and asking if I am mad at you or am I harboring a grudge is ridiculous, in and of itself.
The nickname Bittermac kind of sets the tone. OF COURSE I HARBOR A GRUDGE.
And no, there is nothing to be done about it.
If I don’t text or email you first, assume you are a gnat on the windshield of my radar and get over yourself.
As for me getting over myself, do you really want me to mouse up on you?
This sarcastic bullshit is what makes the blog run.
Its the money that makes the monkey dance. (Still an awesome line.)
The somewhat mean, belittling commentary is why we are all here.
Again, avoid eye contact.
Or I could tell you about Jesus, if you like.
See, we just lost half the audience.
And as for those that stayed, sorry, I was just fucking with you.
I have a strong personal faith, but I am convinced that it is personal and none of your business.
Aside from religion, I am a huge believer in handling your own shit.
I’ll handle mine, you handle yours. Both mentally and in the socio-economic realm.
The idea for this post came from an email that talked about wanting to “help me” and “as a friend” and even threw in a “If I didn’t care, I wouldn’t say anything”.
I read your email, digested it like bad Thai food on an empty stomach and have regurgitated this:
Bite me, nobody cares.
Try not to speak or email.
You are so much more intelligent with your mouth shut.
See that? Silence. You are brilliant at this moment in time.
Now don’t fuck it up by speaking.
LIKE IT? HATE IT? CLICK THE BUTTONS ANYWAY.