Off to The Waste Lands

Well, it's 12:47 pm local time and I woke up about fifteen minutes ago. I'll tell you why that's peculiar and of note. It's because I was scheduled to work at 11 am this morning. That was one hour and forty-seven minutes ago. I'm not sure what happened exactly. I don't remember my alarm ever actually going off, nor do I remember turning it off. It was set for 9 am. I fear it was a mystical intervention of some type or that time is slipping like it's prone to do in the Dark Tower Series by Stephen King. Either way, I'm just as screwed.
The problem is, at Wal*mart, if you don't come to work when scheduled and you don't call, you are considered to be what is called, a No Call, No Show. It's very bad from a keeping-your-job stand point if you pile up too many of those. So, I called in sick. I know, I know. That's a dirty dirty liar thing to do, and if there is a Hell, I'm going there, not only in a hand basket, a very poor and shoddily made hand basket, but in that hand basket on a an ethereal train of death with a broken air conditioner... That likes riddles.
So, I told them that I was throwing up until 4 am this morning and that I turned off my alarm and such. I wish I really was sick. I feel bad enough.

Blaine is a pain...

There's Room On the Bandwagon For Everyone!

This picture is from way back when I first met Shawn while we were still living in the Couch Tower dorms. Man, those were good times... When we'd just sit around doing nothing important and play Halo all the time...Oh, yeah, that's pretty much all we do still. I guess times really haven't changed all that much.

Some Mental Junk Food

Alright, as promised, here's a rant I wrote some time in the last three years. Not really sure what was on my mind at the time. Btw, it's unedited and un-spellchecked. Enjoy.

Why Death Sucks

If when you are done dying you are dead, then what happens when you are done living? A friend of mine says that the question is easily answered. After you are done living you are dead. The end of both is the same. Death.

I hate death. People often fear the things they hate. That’s why they hate them. I fear death. Not all the time but sometimes more than others. I think it depends on the time of day.

Death is unfair in that it is always a taker and never a giver. It takes your life, it takes other’s lives, and it takes people away from you. So greedy death is. I think we should get rid of it. Make it a crime or something. From now on it is illegal to die no matter if it is your fault, anyone else’s fault, or no one’s fault at all. Those who are found dying, trying to die, or causing others to die shall be found guilty of a heinous felony and will be subject to due process of law and sentenced to capital punishment.

That makes no sense. If a state put a person to death for trying to kill their own person wouldn’t that mean that that state was breaking its own laws? It’s almost like suspending a truant child from school. What’s the point? Why give a criminal what he, she, or it wants?

Let’s do it. Everything is illegal. From murder to procreation to breathing. Even the mere act of being, of existing, is illegal. All crimes are punishable by death. What a great nation that would be, huh? Lots of death everywhere. Even law enforcers would be killing each other. It would be great for life to become one giant metaphorical, paradoxical, oxymoronic, symbol of death.

I hate it.

It’s fun.

And funny.

Down with death.

I think of all the ideas that man has come up with, death is the worst. It may have seemed like a good idea at the time; good way to keep down over population and a damn good punishment for crime. But, to make everybody have to bite the dust at some point? Not cool. Not cool at all. Bad idea. What about the all the people who don’t really want to die. Or what about the people who don’t have a convenient contingency plan like religion or insanity. We’re all screwed. Good job, man. Way to go. I hate it. So it goes.

P.S. Jennifer is in Florida until sometime in July. That makes me sad. Also, work is a lot more boring without her.

Nothing To Say

Me working all the time and being away from the kind of shit that generates stuff for me to post has left me a little speechless, blogwise, as of late, so I'm gonna start posting some of my old rants and maybe some tidbits from the book that I'm supposed to be writing when I can't seem to find anything else to say.
I think that maybe you people would enjoy that, plus, I'm really lazy. And I need more criticism. I like criticism.

Too Lazy

I've decided not to kill myself and play Morrowind instead.

A Thought Experiment

I've finally figured out how to know for absolute fact whether there is a God or not. I'm going to kill myself on Wednesday. I'm not sure how yet. Preferably something not too painful. I'll let you folks leave comments with ideas on how. I'm waiting until Wednesday because this is my weekend and I never do anything worth doing on the weekend.

P.S. That dinging makes me queezy.

Ah Geeze, My Brain

I can't think of any single metaphorical phrase to describe my condition so I've come up with a couple to combine. I feel like I'm floating on egg shells. I'm not entirely sure what that means, but it just feels right.
I can't figure this chick out. Last night, the first time for the two of us to hangout outside of work, she managed to wrack me, twice, with the same little rubber ball and gave me not one but two nipple twisters. The second one coming after I warned that if she was going to do it again I would reciprocate. And yes, I tried. She managed to squirm away. But it didn't seem to bother her that I tried give her a nipple twister. I mean, wtf?

I confused.

I can't wait to go to work tomorrow.

People are stupid stupid animals

I have no major problems with my job if I am allowed to ignore the customers' (and sometimes other associates') incessant stupidity and ignorance, one of my pet-peeves. Oh let me tell you, there is high quality intelligence at your Moore Wal-mart Supercenter. It's usually pretty easy to get past it when I'm working a regular register. In fact, I've gone whole days without having the urge to slap some lady with an open hand. (seriously, how many times have I got to tell someone to flip there card over and slide it black-bar down before they get it right?)
Well, today I had the pleasure of working self-checkout. H-o-l-y shit, rocket scientists everywhere. There is a fucking Skip-bagging button that appears Every GD time you scan an item. You don't have to try to fit your fucking swimming pool into the "bagging area". Look around for once you ego centric, I-want-to-hurry-up-and-get-the-fuck-outa-here, prick. And when I walk up to the moron (or Mooron[?]) and politely point it out to them, they look at me like I just showed them the holy fucking grail that's been sitting on the bill of their hat and they say every time, without fail, "Oh, I didn't see that before." I'm going to make a gigantic flame-pink sign and hang it up above the self-checkouts that reads, "If needed, push the skip-bagging button, you stupid, red-neck, bastard."
That's not all. I mean come on, with a little practice, you've got to be a complete idiot to not be able to work with this technology. I guess that's just about every body who's too stuck up to let a trained professional scan their purchases. The whole damn system is based on weight, that's force for you laymen (the effect that gravity has on your mass). If you scan an item then the computer expects one of two things to happen: One, you put your package of cherry flavored back-door condoms in the freakin' bag, or, you press the skip bagging button. Simple shit. But what does every paint-sniffer do after they scan something? They pick-up the fucking bag and try to put their shit in a different one! What the fuck?! Of course you're gonna have a God Damn weight error! You retard! Not only do they do this until I tell them what they're doing wrong, but they do it again! And then they get mad at me for they're incompetence. And they get mad because they think the thing is fucking-up. That's such bullshit. From beginning to end, it tells you, like you are a retarded child, exactly what to do. Then we have the idiots who think that picking up anything from the bagging area will get you a weight error and they try to pile all their shit like a freakin' pyramid there.
If these people weren't so fucking impatient and unable to listen to simple instructions, they'd be out so much sooner.
Oh yeah, and "please select your payment type" doesn't mean, "please try to shove as much money into the dollar slot as possible," or, "please try put your written check into the change receptacle." It means, push one the giant fucking buttons on the touch screen that's marked in your particular flavor of money, you dumb-ass. It makes me angry just thinking about it. There is so much more, I can't even talk about it anymore.

Fate is working against me. Ever since I decided that I had the courage ask this girl out our schedules have not overlapped in a way for me to have the chance. The only time I've seen her in the last few days is out on the floor while we're madly checking people out. Not exactly the best time for such a conversation. Plus, she's off tomorrow and I'm not, then, I'm off on Friday but she isn't. That leaves Saturday and Sunday. I'm working on it.

Please, pardon all the 'fucking's.

P.S. About all these movie reviews you guys do, I'm going to stop reading them. I don't like movie reviews, I don't usually care much if other people like movies. A two or three line reaction would be acceptible. But this multiple paragraph breakdown of actors performances and the quality of the sound and light shit makes me feel like I'm reading the newspaper. I usually skim the newspaper. I do care if my friends like movies, but I like to talk about them face to face, like right after I watch it or something. I'm not dogging on your blogs or anything. I have no right to do that. It's your blog and you have the right to talk about whatever you want. Shit, I know I post some weird shit that not everybody's interested in. Just saying, that's why I don't do reviews. Other than that, I love your blogs. I'm glad it grew on everyone. I don't think I could get through the day anymore without reading them. they make me laugh and make me cry. Keep up the good work folks.

Arg.

I want to see Batman, dammit.

I didn't get the chance to do my deed today, will plan on it for tomorrow.

Talking about religion still kinda makes my stomach hurt, so I have no rebuttal on the current topic. Pick up your jaws and rejoice.

Kirk out.

I'll write about Sunday too

I love working on Sunday. I get paid an extra dollar an hour for working on Sundays. I'm not really sure why. I think it has something to do with the Sabbath, so I'll have to thank the jesus folken for that one. Go Wal-mart. That rocks.
Today wasn't so great because I had to work an extra hour and a half to make-up for the hour and a half late-itude. I misread my schedule like a moron. My boss called me and woke me up this morning. That's never pleasant.

In the romance department, I think I'm progressing a little bit. I almost asked out that girl at work today. I couldn't though, because it just wasn't the right time. I'm not really sure what is the right time, but that wasn't it. I've almost worked up the Gawl to vow to myself that I'll do it the next time I see her.
I dunno. I'm afraid. I'm not afraid of rejection or anything. I'm used to that. What I'm not used to is the awkwardness that comes after the rejection. I hate it with the passion of an angry squirger. Nevertheless, IT must be done. I've decided that I like her and that I need to ask her out before we fall to far into the friend rut. Before we become too familiar that it would be weird for me to like her. It's not often that I have this kind of a chance. In fact, if I'm not mistaken, I've never had the chance, at least, not since my last serious girlfriend in the 10th grade. Since then, all the girls that I have realized that I liked had been friends with me for quite some time and the results have never ended up good for either party. Also, at this early stage, it might give me the chance to woo her before she becomes familiar with all of my repulsive qualities that seem to repel all the ladies from me. Wish me luck.

Got No Balls

So, there's a really cool girl at work that I wouldn't mind asking out but I can't because I'm spineless, spinelessness spawned by my natural shyness that I'm pretty good at hiding and several unfortunate girl experiences that I've had in my life. Comments are welcome.
Interesting side note; A good chunk of our conversations seem to end in us talking about being naked, whether the subjects is fake-baking(tanning beds) or walking around the house naked because you're home alone. I'm sure Freud would have a something to say about that.

P.S. Dirty work

I've put my pants back on

Working until midnight is way lame. I get to do it again tonight. Ya-freakin'-hoo.

P.S. Death. I'm pretty sure that was the latest one...Let me know if I'm wrong.

Swayin' in the breeze

You ever just take your pants off, not because you want to, but because you can?

I wanna get layed

Tomorrow through Sunday is supposed to be some kind of Hawaiian themed thing at work which is cool for us associates because we get to wear shorts and Hawaiian shirts. W00t. I hope some really hot Hoola dancer lays me.

Raviolis are cheaper than Big Macs.