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.