Wow, so it’s Friday, tonight it’s just me and the kid, which is cool (he’s a good sleeper, so really it’s just me and the ladies of the internet and the men of the Kentucky hills.) I’m missing a lot of my friends who are in town for one night only, but whatever. I’m a parent, you know? It’s not like I haven’t seen their sweaty asses a billion times. Anyway, this is a chance for me to actually relax and read something or work on some writing or any number of things that hang out under the large umbrella of ‘things to do when you’re alone after you’ve perused the internet porn and had a cocktail.’ Tomorrow, I’ve got a show at the Subterranean on North avenue. Today, I’ve got to work. I’m a little bummed, but it’s not so bad. My friends have a good band called Dead To Me and I just heard a new song that I like a lot. That’s always a good feeling, getting some new music from one of your favorite bands. You can check it here: http://s3.fatwreck.com/sync/audio_track/the_audio_file/234/03_Little_Brother.mp3
Yeah, I don’t link. I’m a caveman on this thing. Whatever, cut and paste you fucking lazy shits! You know, not long ago, if you wanted new content to read and listen to, not only would it cost money, but you’d also have to stand up, put on pants and leave the house to get it. We’re getting soft, world.
So yeah. There’s some sort of contest thing going on and I’m a bit of the prize, in that the winner gets to hang out with me (not for long, you guys creep me out). It sounds lame, I know, but it involves free beer, which I’m a huge fan of, so go over to NationalUnderground.org to check it out. If you’re the type of person who is going to be in Gainesville for the fest (Halloween weekend), has an inquisitive mind and reads this crap every day, this might be the contest for you. Of course, if you’re the kind of person who is going to be in Gainesville for the Fest and has an inquisitive mind and reads this crap every day, you can probably pretty easily end up drinking a beer with me at any given moment without even entering any contests. I’m nothing if not a man of the people, after all.
Fuck. This is real ad space today, huh? The funny thing is, I don’t stand to gain anything by posting any of this shit. This is the story of the life of a marginally talented individual really putting it out there with the zeal of someone who just barely gives a shit but who gets terribly flustered if things don’t just immediately turn out awesome, you know?
It’s a rough life. I gotta tell you.
This reminds me of something I really don’t like. Complainers. Fuck, man. I work with this bitch who just complains from the second she walks in the door to the second she leaves. In fact, the only day I work with her is today. She’ll come in around three and just set in with, ‘I’m so tired, I really don’t want to be here, I work a double tomorrow, my roommate is a cunt, I hate table 72, they don’t know how to tip, I’m bored, I’m tired, man, when I lived in LA I used to hang out with Spencer Pratt” and all I can say is “oh yeah, well, I work with this horribly self obsessed complainer who insists on telling me things about her life that I DON’T GIVE A SHIT ABOUT. Beat that.”
I’ve got this friend who is such a complainer that it’s been taken to the next level and it’s gone from irritating to amazing. He complains about things that no one in the world should ever complain about. I’m not making this next part up, and it’s so amazing that I’m going to surround it with spaces so it sinks in:
This guy once complained to me that two models sucked his dick beside a rooftop pool in a hotel in Sydney.
He complained about it.
“Oh, then next thing I know she’s giving me a blowjob too and I’m like…what are you even doing? Right here? Really?…whatever.”
Only in America or in this case, Australia. Out there somewhere, there’s a kid who has no parents who’s had sex with a grown man against his will, who lives in a dusty hellscape where he’s seen severed arms just laying around getting picked at by vultures. This kid eats dirt by the handful just to keep the hunger pains from making him double over and he’s probably got a pinwheel or a scrap of cloth or something that’s his only friend and he cries at night on his bed made of burlap sacks in his shack made of milk cartons and he looks at his pinwheel and says “Jobobu, my only friend, someday, I will get us out of here.”
Meanwhile, my buddy’s bitching about getting head from two models beside a rooftop pool in a luxury hotel. Oh, you know what? If memory serves, it was actually in the stairwell that leads to the pool. Now, I guess that WOULD suck. So awkward.
Anyway. I’m going to work. Go to these shows Saturday and Sunday at the Subterranean, or go to both. The Falcon (the band I’m in) doesn’t play that much. Good times to be had!