08 mars 2010

Attack of the crazies

So i've made my craziest decision yet. After getting roundhouse-kicked in the stomach and spat in the face one too many times by the very people to whom i owe my presence in the New World, i have decided, if the bureaucratic process works out, to accept the mostly uncertain future (and i quote: "i can't guarantee that you'll be able to pay the bills, much less the rent") that a pretty prestigious world-saving organisation is offering me*.
To be fair to the aforementioned organisation, it really wasn't that hard a choice once the very people to whom i owe my presence in the New World (who will henceforth be referred to as "those fuckers") led me to understand that they would rather i left within the month than keep me on for another two years. And it was made even easier after i gave my reply to the aforementioned organisation, who then proceeded to say: "Thank you for making this decision. I hope it won't be detrimental to you".
An entirely different class of individuals, then.

Is this cryptic? Cryptic enough? Too cryptic?
I need help. Mostly of the psychiatric variety, but i'll take any i can get.

Having said that, if the bureaucratic process doesn't work out... well. I will need more help, and so will the Old Continent.

* Also, i need to stop mixing my social-networking websites (if such this might be called) because i almost finished this in the third person.

03 mars 2010

Commuter's rage

Right. I know i'm broaching a topic i've broached before, and I know i'm an impatient cow, and i KNOW i have a serious anger management problem.
Actually that's not true. My anger management is top notch. My inner Patrick Bateman is thriving, that's how good my anger management is: my Patrick Bateman is still INNER.
However repetitive and redundant i might be, the great truth is: i repeat because it is!
Today, i give you: the armpit of America.
New Jersey commuters who go through the World Trade Center Path station should be gathered on a island*, and... starved until they eat each other.
Holy cow, this is such an awesome plan. The last one standing could be left there until more obnoxious people, which i'm sure it wouldn't take too long to find,
are corralled up and sent over... and on we go!
And there you have it, peeps. My inner Patrick Bateman, ridding the world of its morons, one cannibal reality show at a time.

*Nice try. A remote island. Manhattan is not an option just yet.

01 mars 2010

Blinky blinky

I'm having a sort of staring contest with the page screen. It's been going on for almost 24 hours. As far as staring contests go, it's probably a record (it is! in fact).
Considering that, in those 24 hours, i have, in no particular order other than alphabetical,
gone on cigarette-break walks, got dressed, left the state to go to work, "made" "food", reentered the state to go to physical therapy, showered, slept, and watched Glengarry Glen Ross, it is safe to assume that the number of times i have blinked has probably broken a record as well.
In short: The page screen is kicking my ass.
Which, let's face it, isn't that big of a news story: i have pages of posts that scream that exact conclusion to anyone who's read them -- clearly not to the one person who wrote them though, but i'll blame that on the way the Internet keeps telling everyone that that book that everyone has in them? the Internet is so. ready. for it.
Anyway. Where was i? Ah yes. Well. The really really good thing -- and "good" doesn't really do it justice -- is, i'm willing to train my writing muscle(s). The Internet is going to be sorry it was born. And that, my friend(s), is how i will kick the page screen's ass right back.