Hello. I'm High. Consider Yourself Warned.Submitted by DaBeast at 2010-05-13 11:32:28 EDT
Rating: 1.34 on 16 ratings (16 reviews) (Review this item) (V)
I'm getting sick and tired of churches and charities. Some days, it's like everywhere I look, there's a cross, there's a donation board, there's a commercial with battered women and crying/starving/dying children with those spooky too-large eyes in a pinched little face that makes you jerk your wallet out in defense. Ye gawds and little fishes. It's pissing me off, really.
"Oh, I donate a hundred dollars a month to support the fight against breast cancer," some old bat trills somewhere in the audience. You old slut. Really? Well ok. But how many hands of breast cancer sufferers have you held? How many times have you offered something more personal than a check? How many lives, really, have you touched, helped? The money's nice and, don't get me wrong, it's a good thing to donate money. But couldn't you also supply a sturdy shoulder or a pair of warm arms or a simple clasp of hands? You know.... something... human instead of merely humane?
I support the death penalty in all it's varied forms. If you're the guy that pulled the switch and dropped the bomb on Ted Bundy, hey, you! I want to shake your hand and thank you and I will personally purchase and give unto thee a bottle of thine favorite liquor if ever we should meet. You do good work. And, hey, the guy that killed Dahmer? You are awesome! Thank you! That fucker deserved it. There are so many people that I would thank with steak dinners and whiskey. Yet, alas, there are those fuckers that make me wish to purchase a large amount of LSD and a tanker fulla whip cream so that I can personally plant one helluva creamy high right in their freakin faces. It would make for a much more interesting political debate, would it not? I've done worse for less reasons, certainly.
My mom will stop at the end of exit ramps and, if there's a tramp or beggar in sight, she gets out her wallet and starts passing out money. I know this guy that carries a cooler in the car and hands out sandwiches and cold drinks, sometimes a bag of chips if he's been near a supermarket. In the winter, he's got some extra jackets just lying on the backseat. Each giving in their own fashion that which makes them most comfortable. Mom's a sucker and so's the guy but they give something in a very personal, human fashion so I don't bust their chops about it too much. I know what draws them to it, though.
There's some small children around, almost always, and they watch the cars driving past with those too-large haunting eyes. I look at them and I remember once, a long time ago, being one of them. The sight of them hurts me but I can't look away. They shouldn't be there. The cops will roust them in a few hours or a few days and then they'll be gone to somewhere else. Maybe it will get better. Maybe it will get worse for them. Their destiny and even their destination uncertain but poor. I remember.
I have more now. A home, an other to make me whole, and thriving younglings to complicate my existence and cars and computers and televisions and etcetera. A far cry from living out of a rented storage unit that we had to sneak into at night. I've lived where there was no running water and the only available toilet was a wooden outhouse that sat about 20 feet outside the back door in country teeming with cottonmouth rattlesnacks (heh, I just remembered that I used to call them that) and diamondback rattlers. The tarantulas that lived in the coal cellar and the scorpions that a cousin had brought back in a bucket of sand from Florida one year. He didn't bring enough so they mated themselves into a weird translucent sterility - you could literally see through the fuckers. They liked toes a lot. I remember cutting firewood and stacking it on the front porch and racing my siblings to get the largest logs, the heaviest pieces to start each new pile. A meager existence that led to other meager things. My life now isn't opulent or rich in the material/monetary sense (well... except for computers...) but I find myself mucking along happily most of the time.
The older I get, the clearer the past becomes and the cloudier the present. My short term memory's shot to hell. I couldn't tell you what I did yesterday but I can describe in tons of detail July 4th, 1976. Oddly, I know that if you'd asked me 10 years ago what had occurred on that date that I would not have been able to tell you because 10 years ago, someone (Mom) did ask me just that question. Why I recall her asking the question is also something I couldn't tell you. I have no recollection of the conversation that surrounded that question so I don't even know why it got brought up. Without that additional information, I'm wary of the memory. Is it true or is it something I've been told about? I'm not certain. I think I'm devolving into the paranoid dementia that claimed my mammaw... or I'm devolving into the hypochondriac spasticity that claimed her oldest son and my uncle. Maybe a mixture of the two? Lovely idea. I can't wait to read what I'll be writing in 10 years. It should be quite interesting.
I like Thursdays.
I want to open a restaurant that has a small little square printed on the menus which reads: Calorie Chart - Everything On This Menu = Good Food = Butter + Pork Fat = Too Many Calories To Count. Enjoy the gravy!
I think libraries are sacred and churches should be taxed and a four year stint in the Peace Corps should be compulsory service for any child with a parent that makes more than $150,000 U.S. a year.
I propose that there are other Earths in alternate dimensions that exist on different wavelengths or pitches where time runs slightly slower/faster than here and that occasionally the pitch can change and harmony can be achieved and one will blur briefly into the other allowing glimpses into that other place and that for every almost broken limb, every almost fall, every almost accident, that somewhere else the accident/fall/break does occur and another you suffers the consequences. Sometimes, there is harmony and balance. Most of time, there's discord, friction between which screens one from the others. I wonder what would happen if one fell from one to the another?
I miss The Muppet Show.
Is there a universe where Seinfeld is funny and,if there is, how can we annihilate it?
I will not watch Reality Television until one of the stars of one of the shows is indicted for molesting one of the child actors because the show is shot in the Southern US and it's hosted by Dr. Phil and Jerry Springer. I want Klan/Biker Gang action in there, too. That's reality. Sadly.
I have a nephew that's 2 years old and he's still bright orange. I call him the "Oompa Loompa" and insist that my sis had an affair with a worker at a chocolate factory. The docs and my sister insist the child was never jaundiced, that he just had too many carrots as a baby. Then ask my sister how many carrots she was feeding him and listen to her response of, "Oh, I never fed him carrots, those are nasty." and see if you, too, don't want to slap her in the mouth.
My mom's great. She's mad at me right now. I didn't tell her Happy Mother's Day. She sent me this cutesy text message that read "Proud 2 B A Mommy" and it gushed about how the sender was a mom that placed her kids first and about how great it is to be a Mommy. Really Mom? This from the same woman that confessed to me how she didn't realize what love was until she held her first grandchild and about how it made her realize she'd never loved her own children. I laughed at her, asked her why she didn't ask me, 'cause I'd known that since I was 5 years old. My sis sent me the same text and she's mad at me too. They both need to lay off the crack pipe.
If a dog rapes a cat enough times will I eventually be famous for accidentally breeding the world's first cat-dog? The animals in my yard are freaks.
Ok, I'm done. Go on with your regularly scheduled asshattery.