Life's not fair

The world is full of injustices.

Why are some people left starving when I nonchalantly toss bugles to my dog?

Why does that guy get away with turning right on red when I know I'd get caught doing it?

Why now that I have the iPhone 4 and I have transferred all of my games and music over to it do I have to re-beat Angry Birds?  No fair as Cage would say at the end of Pet Cemetary.

No Fair.

I have spoken of the darkness within me.  Granted its not all really dark, just anger.  Anger at things that I can't repair, anger at the things I'm unable to change.

Had a big weekend, UFC last night, new champ.  THE MEXICAN won (their marketing, not me being racist).  I admit that I was rooting for him.

I just deleted two paragraphs that didn't have a point to anything.  There's really not a point to any of this either.  Just voicing my displeasure at how unfair it is that I have to play Angry Birds through again.... And yes it is a matter of Hafta, there's no choice. It's a must.

You know what though, If angry Birds is my only problem then I don't have anything to worry about.

I will keep on smiling when that guy breaks an arbitrary traffic law.

I will not raise my blood pressure about the neighbors dogs.

I am not going to worry about anything anymore other that what is immediate to Joe.  Life's too short to follow destinies and Life's not fair enough to let you achieve them.

Ask Brock Lesnar how he felt when The Mexican won.

I'll paraphrase "I'm going to work.  Because that's what champions do."

~J

Cry Havoc! and let slip the dogs of war

Okay so for six months I've been living back with my parents.  Things have been going well, not completely without their hiccups.  My dad isn't a dog person but I am, farts and all I heart my Gracie

My biggest issues are with the neighbors on this community.  They open their garages and back door and let their dogs run free all over the neighborhood.  I drive down the street on my way to work, boom, dog just jumps in front of my car.  It's happened on many an occassion.  Also my sweet sweet Grace as a part of her probation with my dad has to wear a bark collar.

The collar works but when these asshole dogs come up to the gate to agitate her she gets the shock treatment.  Rough to hear but I went through it myself and know that its just a mild discomfort.

But my dog doesn't bark unless they make her.

I was driving and almost hit this guys dog's for the last time.  I have a talk with the guy.  I told him to watch his dogs, they belong on leases, I'd really hate to hit one.  I was stern, yet compassionate.

I was like one of those guys in Deadwood or Rome who gets the upperhand and has some modicum of power.

Then last night I drive home.  I decide hey I'm on a running kick but want to stay more local so I reset my trip meeter at the driveway and do a lap.  The dog park cadre were at the middle of the street, like 5 dogs running free and a few kids on big wheels on the curb and a couple of what I believe were well lubed up adults.

I drive by.  The drunkest and oldest yells Hey Slow Down!

Maybe its a confidence thing or swagger. but I stop.  A guy very threateningly says "Hey pal you lost"

"no Im not lost I live down there.  Whats your problem now?"

There are kids on the road and adults and youre doing like 30 the old man slurrrrs.

It was nowhere near thirty, 15 tops he was just mad i didnt veer out of the way of his booze parade.

"I am aware of the kids, I see them right there.  No worries.  But the dogs, and I've talked to him about these dogs before, they need to be managed. "

"Bahhh slow down."

I start to accellerate and boom, two dogs jump in front of me.  I slam on my breaks.

The politcal gamesmanship and upperhand I had is now gone because these 3 douches will collaborate something against me.

In fact just the mere thought of what those tools said about me when I left made my blood boil.

I see a red door and I want it painted black.

There is a darkness in me, but on the plus side all the confidence and bluster is making me a better salesman.

Update on the 600 lb man

Enough is enough and it's time for a change.

Watching The last seasons of Heroes on Netflix...ever the masochist.

So here I am 6 months into 30 and I have been facing that line between sweatpants and not being able to tie my shoes for a while now.  Happy to report that I am looking at the man in the mirror.  I'm asking him to change his ways.

Not asking him to be more tolerant or more racially sensitive, just asking him to eat a salad every once in awhile, keep drinking water instead of all the soda, run more often, lose the muffintops.

I ran today, three miles... only about a quarter mile of which I pussed out and walked through.  Some jackass tried to F with me with a little drive into the bike lane chicken.  I gave him/her a nice long glare.  I was feeling brave mainly because I has just passed a speed trap and knew I had backup if need be.

My back hurts a bit but that's because I haven't run in months.

But I got out there.  I made the first steps toward recovery.  Ran like a monster toward the end, maybe too hard.

Some people have their yoga, I have running, and my ghosts.

I'll be back to fighting shape in due time.

J

Life: Narrated by Sigourney Weaver

So here I sit at my new laptop (Thanks money tree!!) watching LXD via Netflix direct streaming and I ponder/bemoan my very existance.  No I'm not contemplating an OD or sharpening my suicide blades in any way just ticked about Life in general, growing old, being chubby, and having scars (physical and mental)

So I begin...

Genetics are a bitch for starters.  I have a poor hairline.  I'm going bald like most people but it's not happening gracefully.  No widow's peak penninsula of hair here, more like and island chain.  That's right I have Hawaii in folicular form utop my dome.  So naturally I bic it down.  Shaving of the head is annoying, thus I put it off and only do it once a week, twice if there's a special occassion.  Either way it annoys me.

Another tasty tidbit about my lumpy body and genetics is what some fondly refer to as "The Flaherty thighs."  Tree trunks these things are, strong no doubt but still large enough to generate friction in the wrong pants.  So there's also that.

Those are my only to genetic hang-ups, the rest is just bad luck that I am literally going to have to live with until, well until I don't anymore.

I'm also a hairy man, torso hairs everywhere, but not Magnum PI well orchestrated hair, more like the poke through your tee shirt wild mane type.  I have thought about lasering them off but what's underneath aint no picnic either.

I'm not a healthy person.

I don't take good care of my temple.  I eat wrong if at all and just don't treat myself well in that department.  For example, the other day I was leaving work and realized my only sustenance all day was a can of diet Dr Pepper and a 20 oz Mountain Dew.  Driving home wanting to correct such an error of judgement I stopped by Los Favoritos for a quesadilla.  Flour tortilla and about a half pound of cheese, what could go wrong?  Montezuma's revenge.  I was liquid for the rest of the day.  Yes I'm talking bowel movements.  It was a bad call.

I'm trying to right the ship though, I at least drink water now instead of the neverending soda I was drinking in it's place.  There comes a point with water though that you end up just pissing like a fountain.  It's a vicious cycle, but it's better for me I think.

I have also started taking my meals to work, meals in the form of protein shakes.  Sure its bland and no fun to drink your meals but my rational is that it is the foodstuffs of the future.  Think about it, Alien, Firefly, 2001.  They eat protein bars and drink weird gray liquids.  It's boring but it's sustenance.  You don't live to the year 2500something by having 2 tacos and a Jumbo Jack for lunch.

It's not that I'm even FAT per say, although my muffintops have sprouted blueberries, or chocolate chips... yeah they're chocolate chips.

I watch things like UFC, or LXD (Legion of Extraordinary Dancers BTW) and see people at their peak, and this is why they get to do what they do and be with who they're with, because they aren't lazy like me.  In the case of the UFC though I need to temper my expectations because sure this guy is my height and 60 lbs lighter but he doesn't have a job but to train and fight.  If I had nothing else to do all day but exercise I'd... no, who am I kidding, I'd still be doing this.  The fights are a good motivator though and always get me on a week or so jag of wanting to put the time and effort in but then I stop.  My body quits or my mind or both but I just stop.

You know how sometimes you see that 600 pound guy at the grocery store and you say to yourself I wonder if he got to that point when there's no turning back?  Well I'm at that crossroads now.  I'm not super psyched about my body and know If I try hard I will lose some weight and fit into my ever so ironic tee shirts better.  So perhaps today I'll start running again, perhaps.

I have this thing on my face, not a zit, not a mole but this thing that I can see out of the corner of my eye.  It will be there on my face until I die.

I got blackout drunk last May laying out by the pool, I have a farmer's tan across my fat thighs that is still quite prevalent.  Again I suspect it will be there until the day I die.

But my own mortality aside I want to touch on other mild life annoyances.

If I were to find a magic genie lamp or talking fist or whatever the legend is and be granted 3 wishes here's what they would be in order:

1.  I dont want to have to worry about cutting my finger or toenails anymore.
2.  I'm tired of having to wipe my ass, The shitting can be satisfying don't get me wrong but the rest of it, meh, just genie that away.
3.  Cure cancer.

Am I selfish?

Kinda.

What if the genie stops at wish 2 and I never get to cure cancer?  In that case I would raise a well manicured middle finger to said genie and be angry.

Scars, scars, scars.  I was reckless in my youth and did some awful dumb things.  I have a scar on my right hand from putting out a cigarette there on a bet.  I was a masocist and an attention whore which was a bad combo, but here I sit.  I made it through but not without a wide variety of "adornments" the least of which being a line cutting through Oahu from a brain surgery last year.  Now some may call me a hypocrite on account of the tattoos, but those are bad ass and will be even badasser when I'm 90.

Then there are the mental scars.  Everyone has them sure but not everyone has my memory.  I remember everything to the most minute detail.  In some cases this is good, but in most cases not so much.  I am haunted...That's as far into it as I'll go.

Well there we go,  I typed far too much about far too little and have exercised my brain to the point I can start to put in real work.

Until next time.
Mister J

The unsung heroes, Or I hate George Lucas.

I am back and more clown shoes than ever.  Was playing my third pass through of Dead Rising 2, yes video games are replayable and my dog farted on me.  I was inspired to write again, the inspiration was fast acting as my mouth was open.

I promised months ago in my last post to write about George Lucas' penchant for whoring out his franchises.  I still plan to write said expose but I wish to also cut the pure colombian bullshit I spew with some baking powder and household chemicals.  It may not be as strong but it is still addictive and will get you arrested.

So recently I've been grinding my way through life.  Work, work, family, my flatulent pup, its all overwhelming at times.  Most nights I need to step out of my wing of my castle and take in some fresh air.  I breath, following the advice of a good friend and clense myself of illwill.  I look up to the sky, which is quite clear out in the sticks and admire all of it.  I ask myself, and God why.

You know, like who am I?  Why am I here?  Who else is looking at the sky right now?

It makes me feel very insignificant, the mysteries of the universe.   Im a speck on the radar, less than a speck, im the vapor from someone's breath as the look at the radar, the annoying mouthbreather that sits next to the big guy.  And he's all like "Oh great Jerry is sitting next to me again, shut your damn mouth Jerry!"

But Jerry keeps on exhaling... loudly. and viola, ME!

But a part of me wants to say that there are no little people, we all play a part, I'm not just a sales rep for a nationwide leader in Autoglass repair and replacement, I make a difference.

Be it the old lady who just wanted to talk, or the wiper blades I sold which could safe a life.  I'm not bit player, neither is the sandwich artist who gave me extra banana peppers, or the dude in line behind me at the WalMart.

Neither is... Willrow Hood.

  Willrow Hood is my new hero.  He's the kind of guy you see walking down the corridor in his orange jumpsuit and you'd say

"How's it goin' Willrow?"

and he'd say something clever like

"you know, putting in a mediocre days work"

Oh Willrow where do you come up with this stuff?

Then you see him at the urinal, you wonder how he pisses in a jumpsuit.

"How's it goin Willrow"

"I can't complain.  They stopped listening."

LOL, you should write a Mad magazine book of snappy comebacks my man.

Now loyal reader you ask, who the fuck is Willrow Hood?

He's a nobody, an extram a bit player.  Hell up until about a year ago he probably didn't even have a name.

Which brings us to point two...or three, whatever.  It's all pretty pointless if you ask me.

George Lucas is a whore.  No amount of money is enough for this man.  Case in point,  our friend Willrow Hood.

Willrow Hood, according to Lucasfilm "we pulled this out of our asses to sell more figures to collectors" lore works for the gas mining company on Cloud City.

Fair enough, that explains the jumpsuit and the belly, but why the blaster Willrow, why further the stereotype that all miners are packing?

The package description continues, telling us theres more to Mr. Hood than we knew:

When the Empire siezes control of the city, Hood destroys a computer memory core to prevent the empire from discovering information about transactions with rebels.

Here it is for you all to see

Bet you didn't see him the first time you watched Empire... Bet you'll notice him every time from now on  though.

This is typical Lucas revisionism.  Just like Anakin was a famous pilot, just like the force is akin to an STD, so also is Willrow Hood a rebel hero.

If you ask me he sees the way the wind is blowing, knows the empire is about to shut shit down and wants to find somewhere quiet to bang that ice cream maker.  The look of abject terror on his eyes gives way to lust, and look how he cradles that thing.  It's not rebel plans, its a sex droid and he's about to party like its 1999.

further evidence to his pervervion is the fact that this particular figure comes with a droid part in the packaging, as if I or anyone else would actually risk Mint in box status to construct HK-50.

Whats an HK-50?  In my day only 2 droids had names, R2, and 3PO.  But that all changed with Dengar.  Lucas sold a nondescript bouty hunter and never looked back, every extra gets their own figure, but my nerd is showing and I digress.

The droid part in question:

You know he jerks off with that thing right?


So, in summation, none of us are insignificant.  We can all be rebel heroes if we want to be.  You may not be a Lando but you can be a Willrow.

Also George Lucas sold us out.


Until next time where I discuss the problem with life, and living in general.

WWWHD?