I Hate You and the Voice

It's true.

Nearing the one-year anniversary of this suck/hate fest, I'd like to say that I've grown a bit as a person, that I no longer harbor all the same tired grudges, and that I finally make more than five dollars an hour at my current job. Unfortunately, none of these things is true. And I'm okay with that. From time to time. When I'm high. On meth. Then I tend to get all loopy and vacuum the entire apartment and my roommate gets all freaked out.

So thanks to the Village Voice and Rachel Fershleiser's excellent taste (send me hot pix haha LOL ;) *** cialis V1agra *** I'm not a stalker don't worry oh wait I am LOL LOL LOL OH FUCK I'M LOL'ING SO GODDAMN MUCH), this Thanksgiving, while my parents search for signs that I'm not actually the miserable person that I actually am, I can now offer them proof via the Information Superhighway that I actually am that person. Wait. Fuck. I forgot what I was trying to do.

Oh right-- somebody please give me money and a small Vietnamese child. Everything will be okay.

With a Whimper

. . . and some gin. I'm also going to beat up some kids.

So here we are. It's been about five months since I first started this thing up in a late-night fit of rage and hate (fistfights are so three decades ago-- tough guys like me type HTML when they're really angry). . .

. . . And it's been an okay run. I didn't expect to build up my media empire or anything, as I only started worshipping Satan recently. (My stock in Hell is still relatively low at this point-- hence my only big payoff thus far was getting hired at Strand.) But rest assured, one day you will all be my personal fist warmers. This much I promise you. (You figure it out.)

Thanks and apologies to those who still visited even as my posts became more sporadic. Extra-special double-secret thanks to managers, their apologists, and even the Big Nance herself, who have deigned to grace this village of iniquity with their ever-watchful eyes. Even though we all know that you only dropped by to glean even more ways to make people's lives miserable, I still salute your efforts, because I can't imagine it's very easy to type in web addresses with those long claws.

And of course, kisses and monkey paws to those who left feedback, particularly if it was negative.

In the end, sometimes summoning up the rage was just as difficult as summoning up the ability to find any humor in it. In, you know, hauling garbage around and having customers sneeze in your face. (Being talked down to daily by the hideously incompetent and misinformed, however, is always a great thrill, I must say.)

As I'm sure many of you know, thinking about that place can be pretty taxing. Not like, Falun Gong-torture taxing, but more like the kind of physical and emotional duress one experiences after taking the morning-after pill. Oh, you know, the self-loathing, the second-guessing. . . and of course, the copious vomiting. We've all been there.

And then there's you, Nancy-kins. Those fleeting glances in the halls, catching one another's designer scents as we share those elevator rides. . . I know you feel it too. Kitten, you will always be my one true love. . . mostly because I was abused by my father, and have since developed a whole range of self-esteem issues. . . but nevertheless. . . it's just not worth my time anymore.

In the end, baby, all you get. . . is my complete fucking indifference. Have a nice life.


[Note: I'm not shutting this down by any means; I still strongly believe in everything it stands for as a forum. The immaturity, the petty grievances, the self-pity and lashing out, the coke, the hookers, I fucking love it all. If any of you still have anything to contribute, please do so, and I'll do my best to either make your voice heard, or at the very least, brutally insult you in front of a small audience.]

So yeah. Thanks for coming.


If you need to get ahold of me, go for it. I do write a pretty damn good email.

Friends, Honestly---

This needs to stop. Enough.

You're little children, that's all you are. Children.

Kool K-9

New format, please excuse site renovations.

Badass.

Customer/Brilliant Thespian of the Week

Mr. Richard Dreyfuss, who stopped in long enough to do an impression of himself before buying a copy of The Sexual Life of Catherine M.

Moral lesson to learn from this event: Richard Dreyfuss loves orgies.


"I was in Jaws!"

Please Clarify

Do I actually qualify for food stamps? Not that that's so hard to believe or anything, but the issue came up in conversation at work the other day.

[I don't actually know the prevalence of government assistance at the Strand. People make me uncomfortable, and I tend to avoid conversations with any degree of personal intimacy beyond whether or not I should grow a Tom Selleck moustache. For the purposes of this discussion, let me make it clear that I'm addressing this issue only in regard to the young twenty-somethings that float in and out of the Strand within a few days, weeks, or months, and not longer-term workers with, oh I dunno, kids or spouses or that kind of thing. You know, people that capriciously spend their money on trivial matters like shoes and diapers, as opposed to, say, jug wine and Interpol tickets.]

So within that demographic: is it clever maneuvering to suck off that fat, milky-white government teat, or just time to get another job? It seems like in the time it would take to file the necessary paperwork, you could just fill out a few applications to Urban Outfitters and Starbucks (I say this with minimal irony-- you get benefits a lot quicker, and unlike Strand, you get to wear a sweet apron).

Oops, almost forgot-- blah blah blah I hate my job blah blah grrrrr blah fuckshitpiss BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH. Blah.

Re: Board Game

$75.00 on a stupid fucking ring would wipe out my entire checking account and erase my brain.

When I finally quit or get fired, I'll see what I can do about throwing a "Strandopoly" prototype together. Then the Big Bucks are as good as made. . . and spent. . . on whores.

"I Cannot Stress This Last Point Enough!"

"Who is responsible for this? I said 'sundry Chilean black-market baby-parts', not 'tiny white novelty cardboard box!'

. . . And for God's sake, get me more femurs!"


(sooooooooooooo bored.)