pizza

thank god for domino's. its the christmas miracle on bulldog avenue.

the "we"kend

for some time now, I have been plagued with the so called "work disease". I don't really recall how I contracted it, but it might have been from the time when I slept with my first cousins, best friends, mother-in-laws twenty dollar bill.
to be quite honest, I don't think its a disease. being a pathetic socialite might be the actual disease.
work is a quick antidote for people like me who have a hard time compiling the "to dos" on my to do list.
work is like smoking weed. time goes slow like a bologna sandwich on a plate. also, it tends to keep you thinking that you're doing something worth your time. and after you come down from it, you always wonder what the fuck you were doing.
so in essence, work is a natural drug. and we are trying to forget what we might have been doing at the time we are doing it.

where was I? to dumb it all down, i work to pass the time, and also to collect paper in to my wallet dispenser. then proceed to habitually use the money to buy things to pass the time. and then i utilize the object i bought to pass the time even quicker and so on and so forth. the cycle goes on.
so, why is time so valued in this time and age if we are in constant struggle to not look at our wristwatches? why do people try to preserve it like its the fucking manatees?
when people ask me why i work so much in a negative way, it makes me feel like i'm doing something terribly wrong. usually they tend to say things like "why don't you go back to school and get a real career" or "hiro, you are my hero".
now, why the hell do i need a career? so i can someday support people who i can call family that will go through the same moral dilemma as I?
my analyst keeps telling me that the reason why girls won't love me is because i don't set my own path. and that the goals in my life has goalies the size of a black man's cock blocking it. i believe that the real problem is that i have a make-believe shrink that tells me things while i try to type my blog, and also that i use a racial stereotypes for my metaphorical analogies. if only i had an imaginary spice girl singing in my ear, inspiring me to tell them what i really really want.

i do want to apologize for the collar not matching the cuffs. the title really didn't resemble anything i had to say in this blog.

4 effs sake

christmas time is just around the bend, and it seemed like a proper time to conjure up a new blog. like most pseudo christian, i start feeling the christmas spirit this time of year. but what really is this christmas spirit that everyone seems to get? and why come we succumb to it so swiftly? in light of my new aged outlook, i felt as though there should be a simple answer to this question. I don't want to sound cliche' and start talking about the marketing geniuses that comprise the mass sell of selling. but instead focus on the sellers of the spirit in itself.
adults are the #1 consumers of this make believe entity. unlike believing in santa himself, we adults believe that kids need to be coerced into believing the magic of christmas. many speculate that a child's exposure to impossibilities will multiply the child's left brain activity, thus spawning a different breed of adults. ones with broader imaginations, or an out of the box thinkers so to speak. the paradox of this is that in adult-land, they hate anybody that won't fit the mold of the average. normality is human nature. its like a bird already knowing how to spread its wings and fly.
so, why do most parents put kids through this torture? is this a path that every child needs to take in order to ease into the so-called "reality". in the movie "the matrix", neo has a hard time adjusting to the "real world". morpheaus gently tells him that it is hard for an adult to take such harsh reality, and it's much easier for a kid to adjust to the brutal concept of reality. so, why don't parents just skip the foreplay and tell the kids from early on that santa is as real as a unicorn shooting marshmallow farts. wouldn't the innocent child be more sculpted for the real world in his/her midst?
now, the reality is, I have no fucking clue where i'm going with this. it seems as though i broke my train of thought by thinking far too much. the irony in all this is that if i would have been a more avid thinker, i wouldn't have run into this sort of conundrum. so let me just end by saying, to be continued..... maybe...

saturday nights

philly steak pizza, stargate, one cigarette, high cassian, josh everett, bret, and blogspot. if stargate shows boobs, would just about be the best night of my life.