Shit I think up late at night when I'm alone

...and I'm alone a lot, lately. Don't know what happened to The Babe but she apparently fell off the face of the Earth and isn't answering voice mails, text messages, or any other form of communication. Call me whacky-obsessive-stalker dude but one would think someone who claims to love you would walk a long way to let you know they're at least alive. It's been since Saturday since I last heard from her (my call, it's always my call) and almost two months since we've been together. The hiss of whatever-it-was deflating has long since sputtered off into the void.

*Sigh* I feel like my heart is the tire on an old used car that no one wants, kicked and kicked and kicked and always with an "eh" as the prospective owner walks away to see what's better on the lot. Eventually, I'll end up in a demolition derby as someone's tax write-off. By all means, feel free to spit on the seats and spill beer in the console, no one's driving this old clunker.

Oh well, when one door shuts, another one opens - on a deep precipice with some jerk standing at the bottom screaming, "Jump already!"

Why is it that every time I pass the mortgage company's "First Funding" sign, I think it says, "Fist Fucking"?

Whenever traffic up the pass is at a standstill it's because some geriatric swinger's cult in a massive RV is flashing sagging tits/dicks at the next -5 MPG behemoth and sporting "Texasshole" or "Kansasshole" plates. Tell me to take off my tinfoil hat but it's no coincidence.

BTW, it's not "tinfoil" but aluminum foil; us psychotics know our Reynold's Wrap.

Does anyone else hold spammers just a tick above child molesters and think they should be cut off at the knees with a rusty axe to be beat with a bag of broken vodka bottles? My email addy on this blog is a graphic - not text - and yet someone lacking a real life or any real gray matter went to the trouble to add it to a list so that I get a few emails every day advertising bogus investment advice and crappy Hoodia come-ons. Get a clue you robotic shitheads: I'm flat fucking broke and at six-one and 145 pounds (with change in my pockets), do you really think your daily idiocy gets anything other than a smile as I send your emails into oblivion?

I've been posting the flyers I make for my friends Boondoggle on the bottom left but no one seems to notice. I figured I had mad skillz as an amatuer graphic artist but I guess I suck. Really, I'm not indulging in self-pity (OK, maybe I am, this whole damned post is a freaking bore) but would it hurt you to click the link and visit their site? BTW, I'm the "Bipolar Boonie" and it's another place I blog when I'm in the mood. If you're so inclined, leave a comment at their "bitching board" - you can see my flyer designs by scrolling down.

There will be never be another Beatles or Bach or Coltrane or Keats or Joyce or Picasso, so move on. Technology is rapidly changing the paradigm of aeshetics and there's no reason to look to the past to wonder what will happen with the future. Will "Toccata in D" last as long as "Johnny B. Goode"? Most likely. Get over it.

I've added ~d to my blogroll for pimping the latest mixmania! just for her effort; if I haven't added you to my blogroll (and you have me on yours), by all means, slap me around and get me to add you. In the pantheon of dumbasses, I hold "the gilded turd" award. Whatever, if anyone else pimps this next mixmania! I would appreciate it because I think it's important, vital. If you'll indulge a little hubris, I think this bit of writing from that post is spot on:

Use this mix as a therapeutic exercise. As a country I think the US suffered from collective PTSD (vivid memory being a feature of that) and maybe a little group therapy is needed to put things in perspective and help us move foreward. Whatever it is we're doing as country isn't working. If the highjacker's intent was to put us Americans at each other's throats, they've succeeded.

So please, mention this mixmania! endeavor to get a few more on board with this bit of group therapy. If you do, I'll be forever grateful, as grateful as I am with the opportunity to iron out all the demons.

Wow - having read this I realize what self-indulgent dreck it is. Maybe that's why you read me, looking for the train wreck. If that's the case, enjoy the carnage.