A Hell-Ride in the Trust Me Car

21 Sep 2010

There was a time in my life, when I had a near-death experience.  Though there was no tunnel of light, and the ghosts of my loved ones to greet me or anything quite as dramatic as that.  Since I did not actually achieve cardiac arrest, thankfully due to the fact that fortune smiled upon me.  For once.

Several years ago, I used to work for a small-time computer wholesaler, and one of my co-workers was this Russian guy named Dmitri.  Dmitri’s family was originally from Moscow, they fled the soviet bloc in the 90s due to the political changes taking place and the sudden dramatic rise in the crime rate and corruption, as well as the higher cost of living.  That’s all I really knew of his family’s situation.  Dmitri himself seemed to wax nostalgic about the good-ole days growing up in Russia.  He said ‘it wasn’t that bad.’  He was semi-built, but shorter than me by about seven or eight inches, had brown hair center-part and almost shoulder-length, to give you an idea what he looked like.

Dmitri and I actually had no reason to get along, he was my opposite in terms of what he did for fun and what his hobbies were. He tended to like really heavy rock and metal, either screaming lyrics or dumb shit like Saliva.  You know, the guys responsible for that obnoxious ‘click-click boom’ song.  He was also a car enthusiast, and would often tell me about his car, which was a Mazda RX-7.   One time giving me a ride in his, he managed to achieve a speed of about ninety five miles per hour on the highway adjacent to our building.  A ballsy move considering the speed limit was only forty five. Often these fairly one-sided conversations were about the supposed superiority of rotary engines to the standard, and he would often download engine sounds and play them at me, explaining the differences in great detail.  To me all I heard was a bunch of obnoxious and loud noise, but his eyes seemed to light up with excitement every time, which I never understood why.  In addition he had a tendency to really like clubs, and drinking.  Especially drinking.

What we had in common was twofold.  First we hated the working conditions we had to put up with at our place of employment.  The wages were low for the technicians, even though not everyone could do what we did, but the sales people made about a thousand a week.  We were barely making three hundred.  We were working for Chinese Jews though, so perhaps some stereotypes can be true on occasion?  To give you an idea, the owner was this old Chinese lady, who sat in an office filled with gold and jade statues and wall-hangings, behind a massive mahogany desk that had to at least have cost a small fortune because the top was surfaced with a jade slab.  She would pull us in this office and tell us how they could not give us raises whenever we asked for better pay.  I myself, worked there for almost four years without even a slight pay increase.  They probably still wonder why I stopped showing up on time.

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Hot Tub Waste-of-Time Machine

06 Sep 2010

Other equally good titles for this article could have been:

Craig’s List Hot Tub (And Other Bad Ideas)

Build Your Own Home Mosquito Nest

Like Hammer Onto Big Toe

Creeping Mold in the Carpets and Other Tales of Horror

They were not chosen due to the fact that they only cover one aspect of this spiral of fail that could only have been achieved through a combination of gross incompetence, stupidity, testosterone, and stubborn defiance which has become increasingly obvious to be par for the course when dealing with my brothers.

So, this spiral staircase into Hell begins at a familiar destination, Craig’s List.  Part online trading post and part hooker solicitation service Craigs List is home to (mostly) defective and useless junk that other people attempt to sell to suckers for a quick buck.  With that in mind, in walks my brothers deciding to purchase a hot tub to go into my mother’s condo.  Of course a discount hot tub that they haven’t even planned the logistics of how the fuck to even get it inside of the house could be nothing but an amazing idea.  So the younger of the two brothers of mine shows up at the house one day with a hot tub in the bed of his hitch trailer (in true alcoholic conservative fashion he runs a lawn care business), several of his retarded ‘friends’ (people that hang out with him so they can smoke his weed), and absolutely no plan whatsoever.

There are many layers to this onion of failure, but I think it would be wise to reveal them in the same order I figured them out, for maximum comedy.   I’d like to preface the following by saying that from the start I thought this hot tub thing was a terrible idea.  A local radio guy I listen to recently had purchased a hot tub on, you guessed it, craig’s list and it was defective to say the least.  I think I even told my brothers his tale of woe, but being young and with that ‘whatever I do what I want’ attitude they basically ignored me.  Allow me to also state, and I say this with as little arrogance as possible, that usually when I think something is a bad idea (especially when it’s a plan or idea of my family’s)  it usually turns out to be even worse than I imagine it to be.

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‘No Hero’

26 Jul 2010

Over the course of my life I’m made a few mistakes, who hasn’t?  The particulars aren’t terribly exciting, and frankly bore me to explain them.  Think the typical boy-meets-girl realizes girl is fucking insane and leaves girl (or gets left by said girl) fare.  Afterward you kinda feel like the world is over if you’re the one on the other end.  It reminds me of a line from a video game, Max Payne.  ‘There are only personal apocalypses, and nothing is a cliche when it’s happening to you.’  Oh how true those words are.  In all truth, in all these cases it’s my own fault for simply not seeing it coming.

Recently actually the ball started rolling early for once.  In other words, I saw the breakup coming like a freight train.

Jeen-o been-o wrote something on her personal blog over on Open Diary (oh how I thought I’d never go back to that place again) speculating about why relationships fail, I then posted the subsequent reply:

“I think in relationships, especially long ones, people tend to believe that they love someone when in fact they only love certain aspects of their personality and so in a very passive-aggressive way try to bend them towards their will. Which leads to friction, which leads to arguing, which if not confronted leads to either a kind of bitter acceptance or total failure of said relationship. Of course that’s just my particular experience on the subject, it also may have something to do with some people being inherently cowardly or unwilling to assert their own will and so succumbs to a sort of domination by the other party.”

I have moments, between my weirdness and internal chatter where thoughts like that just bubble up out of nowhere and hit me like a truck.  These moments only seem to come for me when I’m extremely tired.  For years I used to intentionally stay up late hoping to be able to calm my defective ADD brain to the point where I could actually produce focused thoughts.

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Bangoria Tour Guide – The BEARMASTER

13 Jun 2010

Bangoria… a land torn by strife and war.   Upon it’s shattered planes and rocky mountaintops the fires of battle burn like a bloody candlelight vigil for all the warriors who have fallen in the conflicts that sweep this ever changing land.  Warriors, mercinaries, assassins and even more unsavory types constantly sell their blades and sometimes their very souls to the highest bidder all in the name of profit and a chance at spoils.  Yet many also hope to change this world, make a difference for good but those guys are total pussies and we’re not going to talk about them.  Nay, we shall talk only of the legendary man and women who grace this theater of death.  Fir though the most well-known ones shall be revealed.

The most deadly and legendary warrior that roves this land is the mighty…. BEARMASTER.

The BEARMASTER skates into battle, on roller blades forged in the darkest mountain and infused with the blood of two liches, a red dragon, and a werebear.  The skates, as he rolls across the land, leave a perpetual bloody streak on the ground, to signify that the BEARMASTER has been there.  His weapons are two bears, that are attached to whips.  The bears are named Cuddles and Fuzzywuzzy.  In battle the BEARMASTER skates doing flips and turns while wiping his mighty whip bears into foes, causing them to suffer an instant mauling.

The BEARMASTER is a mysterious force, for he never seems to have any motive to these mauling attacks.  His glorious tanned body and loincloth (woven from the hair of powerful swamp hags that he killed because they were ugly) forming a blur of flesh toned death as he buzz saws his way across the various battlefields. His long uncut blonde hair wafting dramatically in the wind as his bears maul his foes.  Their blood splattering on his perfect white teeth that glisten brightly as he smiles enjoying the sheer carnage of war.  His loincloth bulging with a possible erection, he is truly at home on the battlefield.

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Retarded Inventors

07 May 2010

Sometimes a combo product can be useful, like, say the swiss army knife.  Other times, combining two things together can only lead to great accident potential.  Factor in the chance that stupid people are going to buy said products and pretty soon you’re bound to get someone fucking hurt.

With that being said the device I’m talking about it very unassuming in it’s retarded design.  It’s a combination flashlight/mace can.

Well how can that be stupid you ask?

Simple, when say, your mother hands you hers and asks you to look in her house under the couches for something she dropped when you’re over and hands you a flashlight.  You think to yourself, hmm, well I don’t see anything with this flashlight.  Guess I’ll just turn it off!  That doesn’t sound so dangerous right?  Well how about when your mother fails to mention that the bottom half of the flashlight is actually a can of fucking MACE and that button isn’t the off switch but rather the mace dispenser?  Yeah, I got maced today.

It was super pleasant, see, I had the hole where it comes out of angled just right so that when I pressed it…. it shot right up my fucking nose.  Now, I’ve never been maced before so I didn’t know how much it truly sucked.  It felt like someone had taken concentrated habenro extract and poured it right inside my sinus cavities.  The burning was so intense that I felt like a black man at a Klan rally in the 30s.  Seriously, it burned so bad and the best part was I inhaled some of it into my lungs causing me to go into a fitful coughing spree all the while sneezing constantly from the delicious peppery goodness burning inside my nose like I just snorted the contents of an active volcano.

I don’t know who designed this damn flashlight, but they must have hated humanity.  I’ve seen other combo/mace flashlights but most of them didn’t think to make it so integrated you couldn’t tell the difference.  What good would those two be anyway?  Oh gee the power’s out, let me get the flashlight and turn it — AHHHH MY FUCKING EYES!!!! Crash bang boom, assorted household objects and personal injuries sustained.   Just brilliant.

… and my nose still burns.

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Monolithic Horizon; Act 1: Heathen – Chapter 5: A Better Future

03 Oct 2009

When I first met John Seifer, it was at a press conference.  This was after a failed assassination attempt on yours truly.   The speech was my glorious assurance to the people that those responsible were brought to justice and that the threat has passed, but my heart wasn’t in it.   The speech was flat, but no one seemed to notice that I didn’t even seem to believe what I was saying anymore.  This is because I realized that I had become so used to lying that it came natural to show the correct inflection and emotion at times, like a reflex.   While I didn’t summon up any feeling, there was no difference.   This made me wonder what the point in me being a figurehead was.   It was clear no one really paid attention to the government anymore, the people more that likely felt that I was totally irrelevant.  Therefore I eventually came to the realization that I was most likely going to die.  It wasn’t, as they say, a matter of how but when.   The Commission’s market research data showed that most people didn’t even realize the government was still in operation, and therefore my termination was inevitable.   That’s what Seifer told me after the conference was over.   Off the record.  It  was the first time anyone talked to me like I was anything more than a tool, so I suppose that my guard was lowered slightly.  Maybe that gave me the false pretense that he actually cared if I lived or died.   Which, I should have known was far from the case.

This was over a year ago.

We only met about a dozen times, and each time it was off the record.  From what I was led to believe about that sort of thing, with enough money you could say and do whatever you wanted and it wouldn’t be used against you.  Which, was rather stupid in retrospect, but I was desperate for someone to talk to.   Desperate to speak about the things that concerned me after ten years, almost seven of which I felt like a walking corpse, barely capable of functioning without being told what to do and where to go.   Over the last three years the headaches would get more frequent and more terrible, a cackling electric fire across my synapses, feeling like my brain had been replaced like a teeming swarm of fire ants.   The thing about the noises, is that I could hear faint sounds, almost like voices.   Yet, it wasn’t English or slang or anything human.  It kinda sounded like a phone connection.  A modem.  You see some of those in the more low tech areas of Europa.  For the like of me I don’t know how I knew that.   There’s a lot of memories in my head, unbound like that.  Little fragments of information, little factoids but they aren’t based on any experience of mine.  This, combined with my normal experiences day in and out has accumulated over the years into this growing hatred for The Commission.   Like lighting a waterproof fuse, once ignited there is only one possible outcome.   

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The Times, Theys a’ Changin’ Sis

15 Sep 2009

Ten years ago, I was a hurt, lost, stupid, angry person.   This was the first time that I began to write.   It was on a blog site called opendiary.com.   When I was that age, around 16-17 I was so angry.   It was eating me up inside like a cancer.   There were all those cliche’ feelings that one normally associates with being a teenager.   The largest and most prominent feeling was that no one cared about or understood me.   My family and I had nothing in common, and in being adopted, I discovered that in some way I felt like I didn’t belong.   Still don’t.   Likewise my school days were awkward for the same reasons, but in the group of misfits that hung around with they were loyal to me and they understood me, to a degree.   I lost contact with a lot of people that I really got along with, time rolls on, you know.   I turned to blogging because it was anonymous, I could say how I really felt to people and see what they really thought about me without the fear of being lied to or used or whatever.

The schools.  My parents, my real parents.  My life.   How I looked.  There were a lot of things that were wrong with young Chris.   My adopted father left me.  My mother made me live with my control freak grandparents, and this is where the story began for a lot of people.   One thing that I have noticed about personal blogs is that most people speak in vague generalities about their lives, delving rarely into the specifics.   It’s like how you would imagine a support group meeting would go.   Everyone already knows why they are there, everyone already can infer the details based on subtext.   The ones that didn’t do that were the ones I read.   People who were there to infer through subtext.   People I could relate to.

People like Morgan (aka Dublin Sublime aka Lachlan), who became a lesbian stripper sometime between then and now.   Nothing wrong with that, she seems happy about the whole thing.   Fanboy wanted to be a journalist, he said it was to ‘give the weak a voice.’   I don’t know if he was successful in that endeavor.  When I first posted my story, Monolithic Horizon, the first chapter, unedited, raw, sloppy, he read it.   I always assumed that because it was so awful he avoided reading me from that point on.   Probably wrong about that.   There was old real life friends that between then and now have faded away.   There was Serenity, no seriously that was her name, whom wrote about being so lost and confused that when out with friends she ended up in car wrecks and drinking binges.   Sometimes I wonder what ever happened to her and if she’s alright.  Belowblackstar, Jesus Chrysler, and Wire were all roommates.   Blackstar became an egotist who hurt his friends with his selfish behavior.   On my last site I eventually had to rid myself of him.   Jesus was a mysterious figure, he faded in and out again.   I don’t remember much.   Wire… Wire is a bastard.  That’s all I’ll say on that matter lest I go off on a tangent.  Doomed, doomed was an odd fellow from Australia, humorous and weird, but ultimately dropped off the radar.

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Random Quote

The ultimate in disposing one’s troops is to be without ascertainable shape. Then the most penetrating spies cannot pry in nor can the wise lay plans against you.

— Sun Tzu, The Art of War
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