October 28th, 2008 - Fuck You Number 12

Okay, so, please read my previous post. Let's get it clear people. You have to READ the post. You have to understand the words in the context of the sentence they are used in.

For example, if I was to say, "I love this thing, more than life itself," I'm not really suggesting that I love the object in question here more than life itself. That, would be absurd. Life, even in a society characterized by capitalistic schmucks, is better than not-life.

Read into it people. It's the clothing. A metaphor, if you will. I speak of the way we've all begun to take less respect in our appearance. Largely in part to our laziness. There once was a time when we as a society would wear our Sunday's finest out to Wrigley Field to consume hot-dogs, while watching America's finest baseball team lay pine-to-leather in America's most famed ballpark. 

The point is, care for your appearance. Some people can pull the "hipster" look off, because they live the lifestyle, and simply look cool doing it. Shit, Axl Rose wore leather every day of the week...I'm guessing those that followed in his footsteps aren't sitting in on any, "board of directors" meetings. For the rest, dress in a way that's gonna allow you to interact with others on a more personal level. Whatever garb you decide to throw over your head, make sure it's fitting, and it makes you feel comfortable. You'll feel better about yourself, which in turn will allow our society to grow.

After all America, that's my only purpose to composing these posts, to facilitate America's positive growth.

Fuck those people who try to find something to complain about (whoops, kinda me). Seriously, read through it, and try to find the underlying meaning of things. You'll learn more.

Cheers.

October 17th, 2008 - Fuck You Number 5

I hope during your lifetime you find it in you to better yourself physically, and preferably sooner, than later. Head out to the nearest mountain and go on a hike, or jump on your bike with your dog and give the poor mutt a good run, while you yourself get some well-deserved cardio. Whatever you decide to do, do it. We're becoming rather pathetic, America. 

Look up and down our streets. Look at the coworker sitting at the desk ten feet to your left. Look at the children walking through the mall with their mother or father; or better yet (and God forbid in today's society), mother AND father. What do you see? Correct. You see that society I spoke of in a recent post. A society plagued by Burger Kings, BlackBerries, and the internet (I still can't wait to get to this one).

You see twelve year-olds, who instead of coming home with a knee that could use a good spritz of hydrogen-peroxide, come walking through the door with a PSP in one hand, a cell-phone in the other, and a chocolate-covered, Krispy Kreme long-john hanging from their mouth by a strand of creme-filling. And hell, its not only the twelve year-olds. Yesterday at lunch I watched my 19 year-old daughter's boyfriend eat enough food, to feed the entire population that actually find relevant information within Sarah Palin's speeches.

Growing boy my ass.

Seriously, I'm not here to tell you to head to the gym and begin throwing around iron, like Hulk Hogan throws around the word, "brother." And I'm not insisting that you find your nearest YMCA pool and try to achieve "Calista Flockhart skinniness." Just get some blood flowing here and there. 

Oh, and just to clarify one thing, I'm talking about obesity. Not the Alec Baldwin gut, or the Beyonce thighs...and ladies, come on, they're big. I'm talking about Gilbert Grape's mom type shit. 

  

And yep, that shit.

Fuck obesity. Fuck the gadgets and ideas society continues to promote to provoke laziness.

Cheers.

October 10th, 2008 - Fuck You Number 3

In a world plagued by Burger Kings, Blackberries, and the internet, it is no wonder at all we are becoming increasingly intolerant of wait lines; apparently wherever we come into contact with them. Sometimes, they're a line at the grocery store. Sometimes, you will encounter them when on the phone. And every-so-often, a wait line will present itself in the form of a little old lady wheeling herself across the street while you are waiting to make a left-hand turn.

Recently I was standing on the balcony of my downtown condominium with a high-ball of Crown Royal in one hand, and a lit cigarette in the other. There was a slight chill to the air as I inhaled, and the moon had begun to peek out from behind a neighboring building, like the nipples of a braless woman in a meat locker. As I peered down onto the street from above, I noticed an elderly woman staring at the illuminated red hand instructing her that it was not her time to cross. Right then, it flipped to the glowing white man, and she began to push her wheelchair and herself through the river of asphalt. She worked those wheels, diligently, and with great haste. It was obvious that despite her age, she was alert enough to recognize she had a limited amount of time to reach the curb on the other side.

Approximately halfway through her journey, I heard the sound of a car horn. A tremor shot through the woman, nearly paralyzing her with fear. I looked fifteen feet to her immediate right, and there sat a Mexican man, maybe thirty-something, in his shimmering black SUV waiting to turn into the lane presently occupied by the woman and her chair. The sound of the horn stopped, and the man began yelling at the woman, like an officer trying to project his voice over the top of gun-fire, and hand grenades. Screaming at her to increase her speed.

I was appalled. 

Fuck you, impatience. Fuck feeling like you have to have anything and everything, whenever, and wherever you want it.

Cheers.