Weather forecasts put the latest hurricane at “more intense than Irene,” however weak Irene was, however overblown the coverage was. And the ado showed just how f***ed we are as a nation in panic that when it came to Irene, you’d see the runs on the store shelves in preparation for anything. And by “the runs,” I mean people were stripping naked the store body of certain goods.
It was difficult to find bottledwater.
And they, the junk news media, have named the new storm, ahead of Halloween, “Frankenstorm,” much like Frankenweenie, the Tim Burton film that didn’t fare well at the B.O., competing against Taken 2, the revenge sequel to Taken, where Liam Neeson reprises his role as a man that’s still pissed for the kidnapping of his daughter.
In my alienated laziness and all-nighters and constant slew of mistakes, I failed to produce most of the ideas I’d jotted this month. And after four-to-five hours sleep to pry myself in just before a storm that will last four-to-five days, it’s a good thing that I was able to take care of everything before the wet, long and hard winds & flooding hit the East coast, right?
With the extreme social awkwardness that I have, maybe I could coin the term ‘Frankensocial.’ (And may I pre-apologize to whomever that may have coined it already.) Because I never fit in. Not anywhere. Not with the jocks, the “normals,” the nerds, the geeks or even the chronic masturb— I think you get the point.
While I may be free in one sense, I’m trapped in another. As Janis Joplin sang (before she died of drugs around age 27): freedom is just another word for nothing left to lose.
Don’t mind me, I’m just an A.I. posing as a human.
With the web browser hanging for sixteen minutes in limited time, and then some, Thursday was unbelievably stupid. I obviously peaked here in this dismal, abysmal region of webspace. It seems every blogger out there on WordPress is married and has a job to rib on, while I’m an unhappily unmarried man-child with one-time work experience. 😦
How dare I speak for myself and my (lousy) record.
When it comes to my other “coined” terms, Mutual Disconnection attributes the people who talk only to each other and have no clue what’s going on in the world. And they say things about me that aren’t true. “Oh, he’s doing fine”—the worst. When am I ever “fine” these days? Smarter people have yet to speak directly, so I get either: “nada,” or nada.
And so, this would be another ‘alienation’ post. I didn’t even like the show Alien Nation. It’s just so corny when you treat the title so literally like that. At least Star Trek had multiple meanings in its drama plays, during a more pressing social time at which “people of color” were being hosed down on the streets. They would be filmed by the media, but couldn’t tell the media how wrong this all was.
Maybe I should move to Canadia, the place where you could actually have self-esteem if you’re awkward?
Canado, the home of Ren & Stimpy’s Knight, and a place where people “care” to the point of insanity that, when famous performers—including their own Bare Naked Ladies—cancel, people riot?
Canadaland, the Politically Correct somewhat-independent territory of Great Britain where, so long as you don’t freeze to death, you don’t lose your teeth in Hockey, and swear an oath to needlessly hate Ann Coulter at all times, you can make it, eh?
Well, I guess that last part is where I ultimately fail.
I’m too much of a firm, long and hard believer in the First Amendment, here in the nation formerly known as the United States. And, truth be told, I long ago had just one dream that included sex with a girl that resembled a young Coulter. Strict Canadon’t law forbids you from ever tolerating Ann Coulter, the attractive-yet-offensive pundit-attorney.
Free Speech, or the sentiment of it, is their ‘charter of rights’ distant #2. 😦
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to have a panic attack.