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Tag Archives: fear

I can be dumb, but I’m not stupid.

Someone texted me this week and said I should write a blog about the Vegas Massacre.

Are you out of your fucking mind?

As it is, I get around 100 hate emails a month from people that take exception to the crap I trowel  out on this blog.

That is down from its heyday when I used to post every weekday.

There are some subjects that you don’t fuck around with.

Because writing a hate email is one thing, but you stoke that fire high enough and people begin to seek you out for the purpose of getting a pound of flesh.

And I like my pounds where they are.

Mass tragedies are a dicy thing to spin humorously.

Same thing with pedophiles.

I once knew a stand up comic who’s comedy was based on his level of drunkeness.

I went to one of his shows, and he was supposed to go on at 10pm, so he was pacing his drinking appropriately.

But, at 9:45pm, the bar owner said some friends had come in and were going on ahead of him.

My friend didn’t go on until 1am.

He could barely make it up the stairs to the stage.

What followed was the most vile, upsetting 10 minute spew of truly obscene pedophile jokes I have ever heard.

At the end of his set, the entire room was silent, except for the sound of a woman crying softly in the back.

Half the bar wanted to hold his arms so the other half could beat him with both fists.

It was an ugly night.

And that is how I view Vegas.

Don’t touch it unless I am prepared to talk my way out of an angry room that wants to gang stomp me as part of some sort of cosmic penance for my sins.

 

That being said, HOLY SHIT!

Its Friday the 13th.

And that has its own circus side show of terrifying shit going along with it.

I like to board up the windows on on Friday the 13th just on principal, just on the off chance that some sort of random Purge event erupts around my house. (Roaming gangs out for government sanctioned blood. That sort of thing.)

I see nothing unmanly about cowering behind barred doors with piss dribbling down my leg.

The vile things that happen on Friday the 13th are well documented, so the facts are on my side.

The biggest event that I could care less about, but did happen on the 13th was the shooting of Tupac.

So there you go.

Add that to the homeless guy outside Starbucks with the sign saying he needs money because “Raped by Weinstein, need money for therapy” and you have a bit of a bitch’s brew of evil going on today. (I gave the homeless guy a buck, by the way, for originality and for keeping up on current events. I appreciate dedication to craft.)

There is just something about this day that sets me off on an instinctive level.

On a gut level, I am firmly convinced that the world is out to get me.

I am even giving my coffee the stink eye.

So you KNOW its bad.

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Posted by on October 13, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

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The tell tale smell of fear and urine.

I’m not being a pussy.

There is a fine line between being superstitious about a date on the calendar and living in abject, shit yourself stark terror at the thought of a particular date on a calendar.

You wake up on Friday the 13th and realize that you are laying in a puddle of your own urine.

And it only goes downhill from there.

Someone tried to tell me that “It’s just another day, its no big deal”.

If this was a horror film, they would be the one that decides to investigate the abandoned boat house by themself.

In other words, they will be the first to die horribly.

Fear is a funny thing.

Not funny ha ha, but funny like scared and you turn and run into a pole funny.

I lost my keys on the last Friday the 13th.

That may not sound like much, but if I fell into a wood chipper trying to find them, you would feel differently, wouldn’t you?

See what I mean?

“But you didn’t fall into a wood chipper.”

Thank God!

I got lucky that Friday the 13 decided to find a victim elsewhere that day.

There are only 2 Friday the 13ths this year.

At least that spreads out the horror instead of it being just 1 day.

When its just 1 day, 1 Friday the 13th in a year, that is some powerful mojo.

That is like Y2K, planes falling from the sky, MASS HYSTERIA kind of day.

2 in a year is more of your, cheesy slasher film kind of horror.

That I can deal with.

All I need is coffee and to hear that click on the door of my panic room.

Then I can just sit there naked and drink my coffee and wait for the inevitable.

Why am I naked?

Why are you clothed? (Let’s not get bogged down with a lot of questions.)

Side note. A dog barked next door and I just about pissed myself. Shut that beast up, some of us are trying to quiver in fear, for God’s sake!

The sad part is, I have to go to work.

I showered and narrowly escaped slipping and cracking my head open.

I shaved and almost cut my throat open when my razor broke.

The drive to work was like a Mission Impossible car chase.

I am sitting at my desk, waiting for a disgruntled co worker to go on a rampage.

So I realize I am on borrowed time here.

Tell my kids I love them.

At some point, I am sure a Syrian refugee will commit an act of some sort in my vicinity with dire consequences.

Its kind of a “Anything that can go wrong will go wrong, and it will probably kill you.” type of thing.

So, if I survive the day and I am not in a medically induced coma, (Might be the only way to save me) I will write about my survival next week.

Until then, keep your head down, drink your coffee, and for God’s sake, put some pants on.

 

 
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Posted by on January 13, 2017 in Uncategorized

 

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Anybody dead yet?

Paraskevidekatriaphobia: Fear of Friday the 13th.

Excuse me while I shit myself sideways and die.

Its no secret that this day in particular tends to give me an immediate case of swampass.

And you people are READING it on Friday the 13th as if its nothing.

Well, dipshit, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but…

We’re all gonna die.

Look at the logic, for God’s sake.

There is ONLY ONE Friday the 13th this year, versus 3 last year.

This year has all of the power crammed into one day.

Think this is bullshit?

Anyone want to guess when the last year was that had only one Friday the 13th in it?

2001, the year of 9/11.

Ha!

Now, I know that half of you are ready to get into the panic room I have been building to ride out this evil storm and the rest, morons really, are skeptical.

Anybody ever see the movie the Purge?

That is exactly what is going on.

Anarchy, blood in the streets, dogs and cats- living together. MASS HYSTERIA! (Name the movie and you get sprinkles.)

And the twisted part of it all is that I am forgoing my time honored tradition of huddling in the dark and crying like a little girl for the day.

I will be thumbing my nose at the beast and going hiking.

There is an excellent chance with will be the last blog ever written as I will be dead at the bottom of a cliff by 9am tomorrow, both legs broken and gang-raped by bigfoot and the chubacabra.

I was going to say that there are worse ways to die, but I can’t think of a worse way to die right now, that sounds pretty F-ing horrible.

But, I have been bitten pretty badly by the hiking bug and I am heading out every day off I have.

Like a healthy form of meth, I am pretty deep into the addiction.

It is better for your body than meth and you never have to blow anyone in an alley for a trail.

So I’ve got that going for me.

Turns out, that after a lifetime spent growing up in southern California, I suddenly found out there are amazing trails all over the place.

And it may be the cheapest hobby on the day to day.

Decent shoes are a must, along with something to hold water and food, hiking poles are nice, shade hat and sunglasses.

But you can piece it all together on the cheap and as long as you have the free time, you can go binge on your addiction all you like.

I will get sick of it eventually, but for right now, I am loving it.

But hiking on Friday the 13th has that extra edge of masochism to it that makes it pretty exciting.

I wonder what its like to die in a landslide?

Without coffee?

Now THAT is scary.

Fuck it, I am staying home.

If anyone needs me, they will find me in my panic room, sipping coffee and crying like a little girl. (Possibly masturbating, but this is a don’t ask/don’t tell blog.)

My condolences.

 
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Posted by on May 13, 2016 in Uncategorized

 

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That feeling of being totally screwed.

Have you ever had that feeling of being more than a little screwed?

Like totally screwed?

Like, deep in the bottom of the well of the damned type of screwed?

That was me for about 15 minutes, just now.

I write this little blog once a week for the last year.

twice a week for the week before that.

5 days a week for 2 years before that.

Plus, I write a lot of short sci fi and fantasy fiction.

Even a few novels.

All of it on Google drive.

Why Google drive? Because they are much better at backing up my stuff than I am.

And yet, somehow, I screwed up.

I sat down to write this post and suddenly, my balls were in my throat.

It was gone.

All of it.

Over 700 documents missing. 500+ of them blog posts.

Swamp ass? Thats a gimme at this point.

Making that worse is that my ass cheeks are clenched to the point that you couldn’t get a pin up my ass with a jackhammer.

There is a pressure in my chest that might be a heart attack forming.

Have I been hacked?

Some sort of North Korea/ISIS cyber attack?

FIND IT.

In pure desperation I checked the trash folder, and misread what was there.

And I was back at square one.

ITS.

ALL.

GONE.

And then I figured it out.

Had it fixed in less than a minute from there.

My ass checks remained clenched for another 10 minutes.

It was like a near death experience.

And that is not the over-exaggeration that it seems.

Pure time wise, there are months of work in there.

Not just the writing, but the planning, the figuring, daydreaming, all of it.

To me, it was like the death of a close relative.

Relief is seriously deep in your bones at that point.

And that feeling of how close it was to being a tragedy.

So I am holding the blog to my chest and sobbing at this point.

And nothing will get you stared at in a Starbucks quicker than naked emotion.

But, like most things, the moment passed quickly.

And life goes on.

 
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Posted by on December 5, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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If it weren’t for hockey.

Rain has come to Southern California.

You would think it was a plague of frogs, judging by the over reactions of some people.

Its just water, for Christ’s sake.

Here is a verbatim conversation from the table next to me.

“Look at that.”

“Dude.”

“Man, how am I gonna get home?”

“Dude.”

“Thats not safe!”

“Dude.”

The participants in this little exchange are late teens to early twenties, totally lending credibility to my theory that pretty much everyone in that age range are functionally ‘tarded. (Don’t email me, I mean it in the good way.)

And, just judging from the hip, both of these boy’s Kush cards are up to date and probably well worn.

But, hey, no brains, no headaches.

Back to the subject at hand.

Water.

Its about as basic nature as it gets.

But people like these two still freak out.

And the sad thing is, its not even raining too hard.

This is one of the side effects of living in Southern California.

The ground may shake every now and then, but you can still go surfing afterwards.

But let the skies weep a little bit and half of the local indigenous population will shit themselves.

Could be worse, I’m just not sure how.

I lived in Portland, Oregon for a few years, and they are the exact opposite.

It rains roughly 9 months out of the year, so you are always a little soggy.

You don’t even notice it after awhile.

That is how you know a tourist in Portland, they are the only ones carrying umbrellas.

But, a little after my 3rd month of moving in, there was a 2.6 earthquake, really rare.

Within 30 seconds of a shaker so weak you could barely feel it, my neighbors were out in the middle of the street, some in their pajamas.

There was some talk of the need to hoard canned goods and drink toilet water.

I think everyplace has something that the locals will freak out about.

Its in human nature to pick out something that rarely happens and then treat it like the terrifying first time every time it happens.

Gotta wonder how this started.

Probably in Canada somewhere.

And I only say that because, in the grand scheme of things, the Canadians are the guilty red-headed stepchild of North America who’s only redeeming contribution to the world is the great sport of hockey and Wayne Gretzky.

I am sure the Canadians started the trend of fear that now plagues the world.

Some Canuck ran into something unusual and freaked out. Something that you rarely see in Canada, like a bar of soap or a job, then all hell broke loose.

(I love smacking Canada, they’re such victims.)

All kidding aside, its the frightful superstition that really shapes our traditions.

Most holidays are based on them.

Would we have Halloween without someone, somewhere, being scared shitless about something the Canadians had done? (Did you really think I was done with that?)

Fear is a great motivator in life, don’t discount it.

Fear can be a better motivator than sex.

In that period immediately after you finally get sex of any sort, you can be afraid of something.

Hell, depending on who you had sex with, you could be afraid of what your new found friend might have given you.

(Better hope she’s not Canadian.)

 
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Posted by on March 3, 2014 in Uncategorized

 

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