sTmykal

http://www.zeitgeistmovie.com/

Propaganda? Unveiling truth? Biased? It's just as believable as an invisible monster in the sky. Be patient. It's two hours long.

It should not be my responsibility to drop every fucking thing I'm doing and try to troubleshoot/support HTML, Javascript and Flash material that YOU had developed by a third party freelancer. Just because THEY couldn't get the job done right or because YOU weren't concise enough to know the requirements of the project, I SHOULD NOT have to clean up YOUR mess.

That is all.

For now.

http://www.dailygalaxy.com/my_weblog/2007/11/the-consumer-pa.html

Researchers have found that low self-esteem and materialism are not just a correlation, but also a causal relationship where low self esteem increases materialism, and materialism can also create low self-esteem.

There must be an equation - a formula - some sort of calculation that will tell us the optimal number of times needed to repeat something to someone based on the density of their fucking skull.

In the news today:

ANDERSON, Ind. -- An Anderson woman was arrested last week after her two sons -- a 6-year-old with Down syndrome and a 4-year-old -- were found playing in a street wearing only diapers, authorities said.

Concerned neighbors took the children inside and called the cops. We all know how long it takes for the police to respond to a non-life threatening call...

Officers didn't immediately find (the mother), who found out that they had the children three hours later, (the neighbor) said.

This is just days after:

INDIANAPOLIS -- A woman charged with neglect of a dependent after her toddler was found standing near a busy Indianapolis road said Monday she will do whatever it takes to get her daughter back.

(The mother) said she and a friend left the child alone as they went to get groceries. Before she left, (the mother) said she drank three beers. Police said she tested above the legal limit of .08 percent in a Breathalyzer test.

And last year we had...

Nancy Dyer slept as 3-year-old Damon Stewart slipped out the door of their apartment, barefoot and wearing only a diaper and a Superman T-shirt on Dec. 30.

Damon climbed through a hole in a chain-link fence, and motorists found him running on the freeway nearby on Indianapolis’ Northwestside. He was unharmed, but at least a half-dozen cars and a big rig swerved to miss him, witnesses told police.

Police traced the boy to Dyer and found her daughter Gabrielle eating the previous night’s spaghetti off the floor.

Is this just a trend in Indiana? Is there something magnetic about our roadways that attract wandering children in diapers? If only there were.

If you bid up an item on ebay to a dollar within the suggested retail price of said item, not including the jacked up shipping, you deserve to be poor.

Now stop bidding on my shit. Quit it. Retards.

Dirt caked. A rough powder under rubber and canvas - the daily chore of dressing. The one pair of shoes. The one pair of jeans and sometimes a shirt.

Work? Is there any? The tires of the blue Dodge sag under the weight of refuse. Garbage. Tools. Trade. Your ... livelyhood. When did it last move?

Plastic. Cheap, flexible and stressed - but yours. Planted daily, the plastic grows. It spawns. It devours until there is only dirt. Caked. Rotting.

The street is both entertainment and social circle. You yell. You guffaw. You carry your voice to places that it should never go. Your cadence reverberates for all. From three feet away, you yell.

Constant.

From where you sit, in your yard, in your plastic dirt. You and your kin. Your family. Your jackanapes in grime. From where they sit, they yell. They howl. They slaver in chorus, in mimicry, following their leader. In dirt.

Is that your dream? Is that what you look forward to? To come home, to wallow, to waste away in the yard. Yelling. Surrounded by rust. Degraded by plastic. Running stupidly down the street at night, choked on the alcohol that surely sits in the cooler that now has roots. In the dirt.

http://www.ifilm.com/video/2860052

Heh. I wonder how much is scripted and how much is from the heart.

Questions.

Some questions are valid. Some are troublesome. To have doubts, concerns and needs - that's normal. That's human. To question ones existance, wonder about life and relationships - these are things you probably should do. It keeps you from stagnating.

But when you're an adult and you can't seem to move past the five-year old inclination to ask a question about every single damn thing, I want to split your head open.

Here are a few tools to help you not be a dumbass and therefore risk my ire.

Pay Attention
You've made it this far in life. You own a house. You've delt with major life issues. How did you get this far if you can't open your fucking eyes for a second and look at the world around you.

I'm not your keeper.

Help Yourself
Nothing will answer your questions like simply taking a second to investigate the answer yourself. Seriously. It's not that hard.

When you're in a situation, and you have these things called resources available, then you should use them. If I take a second to answer something that you should be able to easily figure out for yourself, then don't ask me again. I told you. I did my job. We all figured it out (whatever "it" is). You can do the same.

I'm not your keeper.

Don't Bite The Hand
I did something nice for you. Imagine it - I thought of someone other than myself. And what do you do? You bitch at me about the delivery, quality and speed.

Ok - that's not you asking some dumbass question that I neither know the answer to or care about giving. But still. Fuck it.

I'm not your fucking bitch.

In short - next time - screw you.

I can't help you as you fumble for all of the crap that you have burdened yourself with. I can't look after your belongings if you forget them. I can't wait for you if you toddle off to get more useless crap. I can't bother to care if you knew about some widget on the web before everyone else did - it doesn't make you cooler in my eyes. It makes you look like you're self-important, which is repulsive.

I won't babysit you as you flail helplessly, awash in your own lifes drama. I'll offer no comfort as you paint yourself into a corner with your own ineptitude, disorganization, and unwavering tunnel vision.

Yep. Screw you.

But six.

Six people.

On skis.

While I shoveled my way out of the record snowfall that hit our region the previous night, Wednesday, I counted six people joyfully sliding along the jogging trail that runs behind my home.

Skis.

This was no desperate attempt to get to the store. This was no emergency run to the hospital in the post-blizzard conditions. They walked down the street, saddled up at the trail and were off, shushing past everyone else who was digging out.

I hate people.