My current theme song.
Bad Religion: Do what you want
Hey do what you want, but don't do it around me.
Idleness and dissipation breed apathy.
I sit on my ass all goddamn day,
A misanthropic anthropoid with nothing to
Say what you must, do all you can,
Break all the fucking rules and
Go to Hell with Superman and
Die like a champion, yeah hey!
Hey I don't know if the billions will survive,
But I'll believe in God when 1 and 1 are 5.
My moniker is man and I'm rotten to the core.
I'll tear down the building just to pass through the door.
So do what you must, do all you can,
Break all the fucking rules and
Go to Hell with Superman and
Die like a champion, yeah hey!
Things have been so odd lately. The everyday has been turned on its ear and I suppose I must not deal with that well.
Just the other day I told a manager at McDonalds to go fuck himself. I know this doesn't sound very weird given the view most of you probably have of me but in all reality I usually pride myself on having more respect for myself and more self control than to do something like that. He just looked at me and I was thinking to myself "go ahead, say something asshole" but he didn't. Smart move on his part.
I was passing the local National Guard Armory the other morning when all our troops got shipped out. I found myself looking at all the children I saw there and wondering if they would have a full set of parents this time next year. How many mothers sons will never return? How many husbands? Wives? Thank you Mr. Bush, you bastard you.
Shortly after I saw and felt all these things I drove past the local hospital and saw the lifeflight helicopter making its way toward Nashville with some poor soul. It was taking the same route it used the morning I watched it fly my fathers body away.
It has been unusual without my family being around this week. Now my wife is gone for the weekend. More weirdness.
My best friend Stephen keeps badgering me to work on the comics. I wish I could just say "hey look, I don't have the heart for it anymore. It's over. It's done. The child is grown. The dream is gone." How anybody got it in their head that I was some sort of talent is fucking beyond me any longer. If anyone happens to know of a pill or something that will silence the inner voice of creativeness then please help a brother out because i've got a voice in my head that needs to be shut the fuck up.
I wish Greg were still here but he's not, he's laying in a big box four feet under the ground a few miles from here. He's in the clothes we picked out for him. His arms folded across his chest holding the pictures of our characters and his pens and pencils. The little skull that he loved so much named George that I gave him sitting there with him in silence. He should be here.
Angie's on my ass about having my surgery done. What surgery you might say? The one I didn't tell anyone about because i'm afraid to have it done. Yep, me. Afraid. Big bad me. The funniest part is I find myself wanting to fight someone lately to relieve tension and i'm afraid to go under the knife by a proffesional surgeon. Well, I never claimed to be bright.
Die from lack of surgery? Die from surgery? Die from old age? Die from random act of violence? You gotta die somehow right? Don't get me wrong i'm in no hurry to die, especially if the Christians are right but I would rather keep things up the way they are right now rather than bleed out on some fucking operating room table.
This is fucking depressing and i'm sorry. I'm not really as bad off as it must seem like I am. I just can't get it all out of my head right now. Sleep is like a fond, distant memory.
I'm just so fucking tired.
Bad Religion: Do what you want
Hey do what you want, but don't do it around me.
Idleness and dissipation breed apathy.
I sit on my ass all goddamn day,
A misanthropic anthropoid with nothing to
Say what you must, do all you can,
Break all the fucking rules and
Go to Hell with Superman and
Die like a champion, yeah hey!
Hey I don't know if the billions will survive,
But I'll believe in God when 1 and 1 are 5.
My moniker is man and I'm rotten to the core.
I'll tear down the building just to pass through the door.
So do what you must, do all you can,
Break all the fucking rules and
Go to Hell with Superman and
Die like a champion, yeah hey!
Things have been so odd lately. The everyday has been turned on its ear and I suppose I must not deal with that well.
Just the other day I told a manager at McDonalds to go fuck himself. I know this doesn't sound very weird given the view most of you probably have of me but in all reality I usually pride myself on having more respect for myself and more self control than to do something like that. He just looked at me and I was thinking to myself "go ahead, say something asshole" but he didn't. Smart move on his part.
I was passing the local National Guard Armory the other morning when all our troops got shipped out. I found myself looking at all the children I saw there and wondering if they would have a full set of parents this time next year. How many mothers sons will never return? How many husbands? Wives? Thank you Mr. Bush, you bastard you.
Shortly after I saw and felt all these things I drove past the local hospital and saw the lifeflight helicopter making its way toward Nashville with some poor soul. It was taking the same route it used the morning I watched it fly my fathers body away.
It has been unusual without my family being around this week. Now my wife is gone for the weekend. More weirdness.
My best friend Stephen keeps badgering me to work on the comics. I wish I could just say "hey look, I don't have the heart for it anymore. It's over. It's done. The child is grown. The dream is gone." How anybody got it in their head that I was some sort of talent is fucking beyond me any longer. If anyone happens to know of a pill or something that will silence the inner voice of creativeness then please help a brother out because i've got a voice in my head that needs to be shut the fuck up.
I wish Greg were still here but he's not, he's laying in a big box four feet under the ground a few miles from here. He's in the clothes we picked out for him. His arms folded across his chest holding the pictures of our characters and his pens and pencils. The little skull that he loved so much named George that I gave him sitting there with him in silence. He should be here.
Angie's on my ass about having my surgery done. What surgery you might say? The one I didn't tell anyone about because i'm afraid to have it done. Yep, me. Afraid. Big bad me. The funniest part is I find myself wanting to fight someone lately to relieve tension and i'm afraid to go under the knife by a proffesional surgeon. Well, I never claimed to be bright.
Die from lack of surgery? Die from surgery? Die from old age? Die from random act of violence? You gotta die somehow right? Don't get me wrong i'm in no hurry to die, especially if the Christians are right but I would rather keep things up the way they are right now rather than bleed out on some fucking operating room table.
This is fucking depressing and i'm sorry. I'm not really as bad off as it must seem like I am. I just can't get it all out of my head right now. Sleep is like a fond, distant memory.
I'm just so fucking tired.
VIEW 27 of 27 COMMENTS
Again if you need to talk dork Im here.