November 24th, 2008 - Fuck You Number 17

Sometimes, I feel like I want to leave this place for good. No, no, not the Earth. I would have a harder time taking my own life, than the Denver police department would have figuring out who took Jon Benet's. I'm talking about this God awful city. This city can turn the most beautiful people into the fakest, greediest, and most self-absorbed schmucks. Something in the air causes people to care about two things; money, and how many red-lights they can run during their one-hour lunch break. The latter being a truly awesome phenomenon. 

In the four years that I have lived here on the face of the sun, I've seen three good friends come to inhabit this city, only to watch it suck every bit of decency out of their bodies. Three friends of mixed sex and race, who were once good, genuine, and caring people. Three people who have in one way or another, had a very positive affect on my life. Now, I sit back, and watch as they destroy themselves, their careers, and worst of all, their souls. I've watched this city suck the life-force right from their very being. Video tape an apricot sitting in a dehydrator for eight hours, put it into an editing suite, and apply a time-lapse filter to it. Then, watch it. You'll see a pretty good representation of what I am talking about.

But why? 

It is such a beautiful city. And the weather? Aside from the three months a year you dowse yourself in Gold Bond hoping to feel some sort of cool sensation, this place is paradise.

Who knows?! 

I've been trying to figure this out for quite some time now, and quite frankly, I've become exhausted while doing so. If anyone has any idea, please, help me out.

For now, I'll just chalk it up as fuck you number 17.

Fuck this city. Fuck you, Phoenix, Arizona, and your ability to lift your leg and piss on us all, like we're fire hydrants placed strategically among your busy streets.

Cheers. 

November 10th, 2008 - Fuck You Number 15

What is the point of telling a person a little "white-lie?" Is there some sort of satisfaction that I'm apparently unaware of, for spreading these ridiculous, untrue tales? Is there a point to flat-out lying to someone? Maybe this is something I will never understand, but I feel like it is easier, and more beneficial to everyone to simply speak the truth.

As I was walking through the airport today en route back to my lovely (and when I say lovely, I really mean wretched) home, I overheard two gentlemen discussing the recent Monday night football game played between the Colts, and the Titans. As I scanned the electronic board of departures for my flight, I heard one man tell the other he was beating his Fantasy Football opponent 370-something, to 100, and that he still had to tally the points that Peyton Manning would inevitably score during this game.

False. And, false.

I've taken part in my fair share of Fantasy Football endeavors, across an array of different Fantasy Football providers. CBS Sportline, ESPN, Yahoo; they all work roughly the same. And for a person to score 370-something points in any given week, is an outright lie. Even if you were playing with a bunch of trained gorillas, who allowed you to stack your team with the Peyton Mannings, and the Larry Fitzgeralds, while they took Kerry Collins and Wayne Chrebet (does he even play any longer?), it would still take everything short of a miracle to score 370 points.

Sorry dude. Not buying it. And what did you get out of it? Your buddy looked at you and said, "No WAY!" So you received a minor erection for approximately 20 seconds, until he looked at you with that, "Wait a minute, I'm not that stupid, you're out of your fucking mind look."

Fuck dishonesty. Fuck the compulsion to feel like you need to fill others with crap, in order for you to feel a little better about your current situation.

Cheers.