A couple of thoughts about the whole tragedy:
1. NBC News is a piece of shit for airing segments and letters from the package Cho sent them. That's what he wanted, you douchebags. Now every whackjob is gonna know he'll die in infamy if he finally decides to mow down some people. He just needs to fire up the old video camera first. They merely pay lip service to the victims, because it's the actual death that makes the news, not the lives that were lost.
For example, look at the Amish school shooting. The Amish simply forgave the shooter, and then moved on. They didn't plaster his picture everywhere. We Americans can be pretty sick fucks sometimes- we get off on our supposed revulsion to violence by talking about how much we hate it until we're blue in the face.
2. Everybody is bitching about gun control. Gun control is not the solution- creating a society where people tend to not go crazy is. He could have just as easily used a bomb or poison gas or laced the campus cafeteria's food supply.
But since I'm pretty sure we're just going to stay fucked up, here's an idea. Let's allow people over the age of 21 who pass a battery of psychological and background tests to apply for a civilian police position- basically full-time off-duty cops who get to carry a weapon. I sure as hell don't want to wait ten minutes for the cops to show up while some nutcase is spraying students and walls with lead. How many lives could have been saved if someone in the building had been carrying a firearm, been trained in its use, and had a suitably working moral compass?
Gun control doesn't work for another reason- the people who aren't supposed to have them don't care too much about the laws. So decent Americans are left without protection, and the fuckups get to run willy-nilly with the guns they buy from drug sales and smuggling rings.
3. My thoughts are with those who passed away on that campus- I hope you find some kind of peace somewhere.
Saturday, April 21, 2007
Virginia Tech
Friday, March 16, 2007
Perfection Rejection
Am I the only one that has an image of who I would like to be as a person, yet never do anything about it?
Like this weekend, I have things I'd like the ideal version of me to accomplish. I truly think that if I accomplish these things I'd be happier for it. It's nothing groundbreaking, just wandering around for a few hours and maybe working on a paper I have due for class. Instead, I'll just squander oodles of time and piss the weekend away.
I used to play a cheesy racing game called F-Zero on Nintendo. One of its coolest features was that you could literally race yourself. After running the track once, you could race the ghost image of your old race. Really kind of unnerving, if you thought about it too much.
How much would you shit your pants if the ideal version of yourself walked up and looked you in the eye? They'd probably be harder-working, more physically fit, and extremely balanced. Your ideal self would look at you, sitting on the couch covered in Cheese Puffs and glazed over from one too many episodes of McGuyver, and shudder inconsolably. Then it would leave, silently, and throw itself off of a bridge.
Man. That's pretty fuckin' depressing to think about. I need some Cheese Puffs and a plot about an exploding science lab.
By the way, that's not me in the painting. But I have to admit, my abs are about as chiseled as that guy's face.
Indiana Who?
It's a damn beautiful day outside. Earlier it was overcast, chilly, and windy, but the Sun finally woke up and bitch slapped the clouds away.
The bad news is that I'm stuck inside all afternoon working. It's nice to earn a few bucks here and there, but right now I'd give it all up for the chance to just wander around some back roads and waste a bunch of time.
In my state, you find the coolest shit just wandering around in the middle of nowhere. Most people see riding around as a giant waste of time and gas, but I intensely enjoy it. There's a road miles away from any sign of civilization that has curbs and huge oaks trees lining both sides. They're over a hundred years old, at least. My best guess is that it used to be an old plantation driveway that the State paved over, but I just don't know. There's not a whole lot of money in this State to look into those type of things, so usually the secret is lost to the ages.
On my way to work, I cross an old one-lane bridge that was built around 1900. Records are scant, so they're not exactly sure when it was built, but all the old people nearby say it was there when they were born. Parts of it are falling apart, but it still carries traffic. They'll probably replace it in a few years with a much more modern (and infinitely uglier) contraption. Sigh.
There's even a depression in the earth near the Mississippi River that no one really knows how to explain. Geologists just kind of throw their hands up in the air and say, "Fuck it, I got nothin'." It's that kind of strange. It's round, and intensely deep. Quite spooky to behold. Rumor and historical evidence seems to suggest that some of the pirates and thieves that cruised the river used it as a spot to bury their treasure. Also, I can't figure out why it doesn't fill up with water. It's pretty fucked up.
The last time I was there, it was in the middle of summer, so the woods around it were thick as hell. Giant spiders tried to eat my face off, so I didn't explore further. I'm hoping to go back one day with some climbing gear and reach the bottom. I'm pretty sure there's a magical time portal down there. Or at least, some wicked shrooms. Either one would take me to a very special place.
Saturday, March 10, 2007
Take Two...
I think I like this template better than the original. It seems welcoming.
In other words, it's kinda like that guy or girl you knew in high school that you'll never see again, yet never stop looking for. Like a 50 year old woman feeding chickens from the porch of her trailer. Like used car streamers flying in the spring breeze on the frontage road. Like the glint of the sun off the glass while you're driving too fast with good friends.
Sorry. Bourbon makes me wordy, and apparently causes me to grow a vagina filled with erstwhile emotions. Who knew?
Sometimes I feel like a homeless man making sculptures out of plastic forks. Not even classy sculptures either, just the kind that make the other homeless people beat him up and take his shopping cart after throwing the crappy sculptures in his unconscious face.
Friday, March 9, 2007
Sighting
I actually saw Icicle once. My eyes started bleeding profusely from the sheer sight of his grandeur, so I couldn't stare long. Later, after I had gnashed my teeth for an appropriate amount of time, I was able to recollect my thoughts and write them down.
I saw him at Kinda Fancy Mall, which is in MountainVille, an affluent suburb north of Lincoln. The two are so close that it's hard to tell where MountainVille begins and Lincoln ends, but the ever decreasing amount of litter on the side of the road gives a distinct clue.
This was in the early days of Icicle's reign, where pretty much everybody still liked him. I mean, Lincoln was so bad off, it would be pretty hard to imagine he could make it worse. Oh how sweet innocence is, when one has it.
What I found hilarious about the event was the fact that Icicle was shopping in Mountainville, when one of his big selling points had been bringing more business to Lincoln.
There's a mall in Lincoln, but the fact that Icicle apparently won't shop there on a Saturday night is somewhat telling. Basically the Mall in Lincoln is so shady that the light of the sun never hits the building, and it's engrossed in perpetual twilight. It's not an unsafe place during the day (old people walk around inside it like zombies, and everyone that could cause a problem is still sleeping off last night's vices) but at night, you're taking your life in your hands.
Not only that, but Icicle gets his heart fixed in another state. I know our health system isn't the greatest in the world, but I'd like to think that a heart doctor is a heart doctor is a heart doctor.
It's almost as if Lincoln is his personal political litterbox, and he runs elsewhere to get his food, clothes, and medical treatment.
We're left, then, with just the shit.
Icicle Unbowed, Bitches!
Welcome to the rabbit hole, fuckers!
You remember when logic actually played a part in anything? Where shit was somewhat predictable? Where arrest warrants were actually enforced? Because I've forgotten. I've currently got a carrot shoved up my ass, and shit keeps coming out of my mouth. I'm typing this with my toes and standing on my hands. Alanis Morissette's music actually sounds palatable. I swear, it's upside down land around here.
The Magnificent Bastards vacated the arrest warrant and recused the presiding Judge. Oops.
Now, in the real world (which no longer exists) a new judge would pop up, reissue the arrest warrant- because, after all, Icicle has still violated his parole- and we'd just go on with life. But in this new world, I fully expect the new judge to give Icicle a medal before turning into a T-Rex that hands out hot meals to the rich. Icicle will then declare himself dictator and single-handedly destroy the American military solely with his sheer upper body strength, kinda like The Incredible Hulk. Only much more incredibler and hulkier.
And since we've killed Captain America, there's no one to stop him.
I truly hate you all.
Thursday, March 8, 2007
Shit I'd Like To Do Tomorrow But Won't Because Life Sucks
1. Go to the crossroads where Robert Johnson supposedly sold his soul to the devil. I'd like to visit all the purported places- I think there's three. Just 'cause.
2. Drive to Rolling Fork, Mississippi with a pack of Camels and sit in the little gazebo across from the mammoth courthouse and wait for someone to ask me for a smoke, and trade them a cigarette for a story. Repeat until I had no money.
3. Cruise the Natchez Trace with the windows down and "Sweet Child of Mine" blasting on the radio. Once again, just 'cause.
4. Ride my bike from here until I can't ride any further, and then just camp out in the woods next to the road. Repeat until I had no cares.
5. Sit in the middle of the Delta, squish down into the fertile earth, and sing me some fuckin' blues.
6. Smoke a good bit of weed, and then just lay in a canoe in the middle of a lake.
What I'll actually do is go to work and then piss the rest of the night away. I wish I were so stupid I couldn't live out the wretched tomorrow fourteen times before it actually happened.
