Regarding de-stresser's.

As a defense mechanism we all have a destresser, something to vent the days little frustrations, I usually find that picking off the pixilated head a hapless gamer at 200 yards with a high powered sniper rifle a very good way of releasing stress. But there is a time for video game violence and a time for creativity. Writing, whether it be poetry or heaven forbid blogging (cough) do about as much for me as gaming ever will. This is actually a rather new discovery in my life, for the longest time I thought, "If I'm sad write happy, If I'm happy write jubilated". I never really felt comfortable writing little stories about wonderlands were bunny's barf rainbows and unicorns the shit skittles when I felt like smashing my head on a hard surface. So I decided instead of buying a helmet I would try my hand at being morbid, writing in a way that would make my problems seem trivial to the subject of these demented little poems. After I read the finished product I could honestly say I felt like singing in the rain. My issues were obviously trivial to those of the masochistic literature I scrolled down on paper. Well this is what I came up with, keep in mind it's a dramatic exaggeration of a frustrating day, not true apathy in any life threatening sense. Enjoy!

Fingers numb as they wrap around the muzzle feeling whiskey numbed pain,
a white sock covered foot pushing down on the trigger in vain.
Ignorant to life feeling the strife of selfish pride
Moments before it's to be spilled from his flesh to feed the gate keeper to the light at the end of the tunnel.
A place with no greed, no hunger to feed a habit, no need for a bottle to kill the pain, laughing.
The splatter a New Testament the resounding bang a hymn on high. One misguided last expression of a frustrated youth,
congealing on a white washed wall.

What could be the worlds biggest fail!

I was having coffee with a friend, as always our conversation took on a weird and Demented turn. "Did you know?" stated my friend with a half mischievous smile. "That certain Evangelist extremists within the US have a plan to start a nuclear war, send Armageddon into high speed by forcing Jesus to come down and save them." after laughing for nearly three minutes I stopped to think out loud. "Huh...Would it not be funny if this group gets their way? Sitting in a bunker waiting for Jesus just waiting and waiting. Finally after realizing the food is low and the water is gone all they would be able to do is regret the really stupid decisions they've made"..That would be the worlds biggest fail you see we can't go forcing others to save us from ourselves, divine or mortal. Higher powers (whoever they may be) are easy to blame for life's little beefs but in truth it's aliens controlin...I mean humanity who has to and ask it's self. "How have I been a douche today." So come on all you crazy doomsday seekers leave your mushroom cloud dreams behind and give some hobo a hug.

Psst, I'm not the biggest sports fan but my buddy loves it, check out his predictions for upcoming games here--->ok here--->http://kr2008-sportsandwhatnot.blogspot.com/                                                          

To Hell and back.

I'm not bitter, I swear, I'm not bitter; a tad annoyed perhaps. In an odd and dark way I'm actually quite amused, people of the world have finally come together, thrown away their barriers of age and race, religion or sexual preference to personally bud into my life. Alright so maybe it's not that dramatic or in any physical sense pushy but one blessed soul I have the pleasure of seeing on the bus I take to and from work everyday has made it her wrinkled elderly duty to inform me that the reading material I'm perusing through will unarguably send me straight to hell. So I ignore her thinking "Old bat thinks anything not having holy intercourse with a bible is in the direct line of Lucifer's touch." In any case I don't believe in a downer place like hell, and if it is there well I'd probably slap Satan in the face and tell him "Send me back I ain't done yet!"

Sharing a drink they call loneliness.

   I remember listening to all the old music in my Grand Fathers basement office, which doubled as the room me and brothers stayed in while we visited various holidays. I also remember my younger, older brother, the middle child playing his Guitar an singing to Piano Man, such a easy song to relate to. Everyone wishes to be somewhere else, to be more than they are, to make some worth of a life that just seems to happen no matter what stick you try to throw in the gears that make it turn like so much intricate clock work. Having a beer, pouring your problems out on the man behind the bar as he stands their smiling sympathetically cleaning a pint glass and pouring a shot. Bar tending may not be a lucrative carrier path but it's easier than becoming a shrink and I love it.
  
   Now this is going to sound oh so emo just bare with me, I promise you can point me in the direction of a palm to stick my face in later today when I'm awake enough to feel embarrassed about my first ever blog. There's a part in that song I was talking about "Yes, they're sharing a drink they call loneliness But it's better than drinkin' alone" 
It makes sense, thinking about it in drinking terms we can simply make sense out of why we as humans punish ourselves to try to at least achieve a mediocre existence and why being stuck in a below average carrier is so heart breaking and soul stomping. We are all lonely in one way or another striving for goals is a way to fill that gap, and coming to the bar for a drink is how we glue it together.