Parker Dorsey woke up to the sound of a car alarm going off in his driveway. Parker did not own a car with an alarm in it, nor did he own a driveway, so the situation muddled him greatly.
He stepped out of his bathroom, having passed out next to the toilet several hours earlier due to a tragic love of Cabana Boy Rum and Wild Berry Airborne. Parker had a cold... or a hangover… or maybe he just liked the bubbles. What ever. He was a grown man, and he had needs that could only be addressed by drinking coconut flavored rum that had a Tom of Finland-ish pool boy on the bottle until he had to vomit in the magazine rack next to the toilet bowl. He justified chundering on the issues of Redbook and OK! That had been there since he moved in two years ago by claiming that puking in the toilet only made him puke more.
Ah, but back to the car alarm in Parker’s nonexistent driveway. Stepping out of the bathroom of his first floor apartment, Parker discovered that a lime green PT Cruiser had crashed into his kitchen. It was empty, save for someone’s discarded clothes and a clearly un-ironic dashboard Jesus.
“Mmm,” grunted the lanky, twenty five year old hipster with the ironic mustache. Empty, crashed car, discarded clothes. This was clearly the work of the elderly that he so despised. And now, there was a naked elderly Christian running amuck on Munjoy Hill who must be destroyed.
The alarm was still blaring. He’d deal with the nude codger that had wrecked his little slice of heaven after breakfast, but first he had to find some way to shut that wailing banshee up. Why did the PT Cruiser even have a car alarm anyway? No self-respecting car thief would want to drive one of those geriatric fail boats. After flinging an empty bottle of Cabana Boy, a meat tenderizer and the entire contents of a bottle of hand soap at the accursed vehicle, he gave it two squirts from the sinks sprayer attachment, and the alarm shorted out.
After a moment, he regretted his decision. Having a car alarm constantly blaring from a shitty geezer mobile was kind of ironic or something. At the very least, it was a conversation piece for when he’d invite the girls from MECA who came into his shop back to his house.
Parker ran Peter Pan Complex Records, a specialty thrift shop that did not actually sell records. He mostly sold shoes he found at garage sales. And by mostly, I mean he sold a pair of vintage white and neon green Rebok Pumps to one of his employees. His parents in Connecticut truly understood that the shop was a labor of love and paid his bills. He was actually scheduled to open the shop at eleven today, but like most days, he hadn’t planned on getting there until at least two, and now that there was a naked old man or woman skulking about the hill, he didn’t really see the point of working at all.
Such was life for Parker Dorsey.
Saturday, May 21, 2011
Friday, May 13, 2011
CHAPTER 868: CROMATOLGISTICS
Recently, a large collection of books by a certain litigious religion found their way into the break room at work. Upon perusal of this material, I was amazed at just how brilliant these books were in terms of utilizing the utter meaningless of buzzwords in a way that makes the reader feel like they are unlocking the secrets of the universe. It was like someone had taken a McDonald's pamphlet on how they help the inner city by providing low paying jobs to the disenfranchised and turned it into a religion.
And it inspired me to create my own set of texts regarding the the proper reverence of Crom. Check it out!
What follows is a passage from CROMATOLOGISTICS: BOOK 12: SELF-HATEFUL-MANAGEMENT PART VIII - HATEFUL CLARITY AND THE POWERLESSNESS OF BUZZ WORDS
There was only ever one to Avatar and Prophet of Crom. His name was H. Russell Cardigan. He was an amateur science fiction and horror writer from Durham, ME who hoped to follow in the footsteps of fellow Durhamite, Stephen King, but the only thing that he ever managed to get published was an embarrassing, traced drawing of girl-Ranma in an issue of Nintendo Gaming Quarterly.
Shortly before his untimely death (attributed to the misuse of a Swedish Body Enhancement Device while driving), Cardigan came to believe that Crom, a Proto-Celtic deity with a tenuous connection to Valhalla was speaking to him in his dreams and started writing everything he was told down in wide ruled note books. While the vast majority of what Cardigan transcribed was an unbelievably long-winded string belittling comments about Cardigan's lack of masculinity and his mother's poor personal hygiene, as well as a diatribe about how Star Trek the Next Generation was better before Jonathan Frakes grew a beard, selected portions of these transcripts came to form the 125 volumes of Cromatologistics: A Logical System of Hateful Thought. In this selection, we will look at Cardigan's maxims regarding caution toward the manipulation of words in the Cromatologistic directed, self management systems.
An average person is asked "What is it that you hope to achieve, how do you intend to attain it, and why?".
There is a pause as this average person considers the question. Being an average person with average goals, they want what most people want - stupid material bullshit, hot sex and the ability to make people they dislike grovel before them. Being an average person with average motivation, intellect and patience, they have not actually accomplished these things because they have not figured out why they have not been given them as a reward for little or no effort. Eventually, this average person answers "Get rich by winning the lottery or American Idol, because I want stuff."
A Hateful Man is asked "what is it that you hope to achieve, how do you intend to attain it, and why?".
There is no pause. The Hateful Man knows the answer because he has long since achieved hateful clarity. The answer that he gives is clear, concise and to the point, because the hateful man has focused his life.
In a state of Hateful Clarity the Hateful Man sees his potential in the observation of reality, not in speculative accumulation of material gain, because he knows that it is only through the manipulation of reality, not the manipulation by fantasy that one can actually fulfill his or her needs and prioritize his or her wants in a manner that may allow them to be attained.
In order to achieve that which is a state of hateful clarity, one must be stripped of all endoingness - that is the intent to use nonexistent buzz words to seem more actively engaged in their own achievement than their average intelligence dictates. A person with an endoingness may or may not maximize their potentialness visa vie the use of such jargon, but they will never be born an elderly Chinese woman unless they are Chinese, female and have progeria.
Without an endoingness, there is no empowerment, and within that void one may actually find power. It is power that one should strive for, as it is power which our Lord Crom wields from his mountain throne on high, and its power that will enable you to rise above the powerless, not a sense of empowerment bestowed upon you by your ability to add extra suffixes and prefixes to words that do not require them.
There are some who would argue that this maxim invalidates their central beingness, that it strips them of purpose because it makes a mockery of their profession and their entire system of belief. Have they not accomplished, they exclaim, a station in life that enables them to enable others through the application of new linguistic dynamics into the field of embetterment of ones pillar of self-esteem? And they would be right, for their purpose is the viral spread gibberish to placate the unaccomplished with self-aggrandizing nu-speak, and Crom mocks them, for to him, their beingness of endoingness is the application of meaninglessness and where there is no meaning, there is also void, and from this void, one can seize ridicule and fling it back in the face of those who seek to attain nothingness for the accumulation of meaninglessness like the proverbial monkey with so much dung.
To be hateful is to realize the potential of reality, to realize that reality is real and meaninglessness is dumb, and to act as a smirking beacon of solace to those who also see the meaninglessness for what it is. That is why, when asked that initial question, the hateful man hisses "Don't fuck with me. I am Ahab.", bag tags the questioner and continues on his way to the food court, because those people who stop you and ask you questions at the mall are one step above carnival barkers.
And it inspired me to create my own set of texts regarding the the proper reverence of Crom. Check it out!
What follows is a passage from CROMATOLOGISTICS: BOOK 12: SELF-HATEFUL-MANAGEMENT PART VIII - HATEFUL CLARITY AND THE POWERLESSNESS OF BUZZ WORDS
There was only ever one to Avatar and Prophet of Crom. His name was H. Russell Cardigan. He was an amateur science fiction and horror writer from Durham, ME who hoped to follow in the footsteps of fellow Durhamite, Stephen King, but the only thing that he ever managed to get published was an embarrassing, traced drawing of girl-Ranma in an issue of Nintendo Gaming Quarterly.
Shortly before his untimely death (attributed to the misuse of a Swedish Body Enhancement Device while driving), Cardigan came to believe that Crom, a Proto-Celtic deity with a tenuous connection to Valhalla was speaking to him in his dreams and started writing everything he was told down in wide ruled note books. While the vast majority of what Cardigan transcribed was an unbelievably long-winded string belittling comments about Cardigan's lack of masculinity and his mother's poor personal hygiene, as well as a diatribe about how Star Trek the Next Generation was better before Jonathan Frakes grew a beard, selected portions of these transcripts came to form the 125 volumes of Cromatologistics: A Logical System of Hateful Thought. In this selection, we will look at Cardigan's maxims regarding caution toward the manipulation of words in the Cromatologistic directed, self management systems.
An average person is asked "What is it that you hope to achieve, how do you intend to attain it, and why?".
There is a pause as this average person considers the question. Being an average person with average goals, they want what most people want - stupid material bullshit, hot sex and the ability to make people they dislike grovel before them. Being an average person with average motivation, intellect and patience, they have not actually accomplished these things because they have not figured out why they have not been given them as a reward for little or no effort. Eventually, this average person answers "Get rich by winning the lottery or American Idol, because I want stuff."
A Hateful Man is asked "what is it that you hope to achieve, how do you intend to attain it, and why?".
There is no pause. The Hateful Man knows the answer because he has long since achieved hateful clarity. The answer that he gives is clear, concise and to the point, because the hateful man has focused his life.
In a state of Hateful Clarity the Hateful Man sees his potential in the observation of reality, not in speculative accumulation of material gain, because he knows that it is only through the manipulation of reality, not the manipulation by fantasy that one can actually fulfill his or her needs and prioritize his or her wants in a manner that may allow them to be attained.
In order to achieve that which is a state of hateful clarity, one must be stripped of all endoingness - that is the intent to use nonexistent buzz words to seem more actively engaged in their own achievement than their average intelligence dictates. A person with an endoingness may or may not maximize their potentialness visa vie the use of such jargon, but they will never be born an elderly Chinese woman unless they are Chinese, female and have progeria.
Without an endoingness, there is no empowerment, and within that void one may actually find power. It is power that one should strive for, as it is power which our Lord Crom wields from his mountain throne on high, and its power that will enable you to rise above the powerless, not a sense of empowerment bestowed upon you by your ability to add extra suffixes and prefixes to words that do not require them.
There are some who would argue that this maxim invalidates their central beingness, that it strips them of purpose because it makes a mockery of their profession and their entire system of belief. Have they not accomplished, they exclaim, a station in life that enables them to enable others through the application of new linguistic dynamics into the field of embetterment of ones pillar of self-esteem? And they would be right, for their purpose is the viral spread gibberish to placate the unaccomplished with self-aggrandizing nu-speak, and Crom mocks them, for to him, their beingness of endoingness is the application of meaninglessness and where there is no meaning, there is also void, and from this void, one can seize ridicule and fling it back in the face of those who seek to attain nothingness for the accumulation of meaninglessness like the proverbial monkey with so much dung.
To be hateful is to realize the potential of reality, to realize that reality is real and meaninglessness is dumb, and to act as a smirking beacon of solace to those who also see the meaninglessness for what it is. That is why, when asked that initial question, the hateful man hisses "Don't fuck with me. I am Ahab.", bag tags the questioner and continues on his way to the food court, because those people who stop you and ask you questions at the mall are one step above carnival barkers.
Friday, May 6, 2011
CHAPTER 867: Chain Restaurant Sexuality
I don't even know how to preface what follows. I simply woke up in the middle of the night on Monday, thinking about eating at certain moderately priced chains of microwave steakhouses and how they strike me as incredibly tacky, unsexy places to take a date, and a bunch of disturbing, jocko-homo-tinged corporate sexuality began flowing out of me.
Behold!
STEAKHOUSE STEAKHOUSE PRESENTS: HOW TO GET SEXED - A GUIDE TO PITCHING WOO AT THE SALAD BAR FOR MEN
Hello, loyal Steakhouse Steakhouse customer. We value your patronage.
At Steakhouse Steakhouse, we specialize in three things - steak, seafood, salad, and giving you the opportunity to potentially fornicate, all at a reasonable, slightly above fast food price point. That is why we, along with our co-sponsors Ovulite Weight Loss Formula for Pregnant Women and Zorba the Greek Sheepskin Condoms have compiled this helpful guide to charming the pants off of your date, starting with a relatively pleasant dinner at Steakhouse Steakhouse .
Doubtless, tonight is a special night. Maybe its alternative adult continuing education prom night. Maybe you found out that they hand out condoms in the guidance office. Maybe your girlfriend's annoying chihuahua with a mildly incredibly racist name died under mysterious circumstances involving pliers. Regardless, you've come to Steakhouse Steakhouse hoping to end the night by getting sexed, and as such, you have made an excellent choice.
ATTIRE
Getting sexed and tossing a salad have a lot in common, and the secret is under every runny nose at our world-famous Three Mile Salad Island. Of course, we're referring to dressing and not ham cubes. How you choose to dress yourself can go a long way to sealing the deal at the end of the night. Think about the message that you want to send to your lady friend with your clothes. Consider wearing a button down shirt and a tie. You can never overdress for Steakhouse Steakhouse. Make it a clean shirt, bolo tie and cowboy boots, then throw in a thick mustache and a cowboy hat and your date will know that you are hungry for more than just our mouth watering All-You Can Eat Steak Stampede.
THE WAITING ROOM
At Steakhouse Steakhouse, we know that you may have to wait an inexplicably long time to be seated, even though you can see that half of our dining room isn't even in use. That's why we give you those light up coasters which you can use in the bar. And speaking of the bar, when a member of our suspiciously pleasant wait staff asks you if you would like to order a beverage, he or she isn't JUST asking you if you would like to order a beverage. He or she is asking if you are planning on getting sexed tonight. The answer should always be yes, and the longer, stupider, and more culturally insensitive the name of the beverages you choose are, the more likely it is that your date will consider doing the sex with you.
For example, ordering a pair of colas for you and your date might get you the old "John, you're a really nice guy, but I find you sexually repellent because nothing about you is even remotely virile. In fact, your very being exudes impending death and the sounds you make every time you you breathe make me vomit a little. Here. I saved my vomit in this Pringles can, which i expect you to empty after you drop me off several blocks from my house so that walking through the night air can cleanse me of your stench before I get home."
However, if you order her our Hey Mon Jamaican Rum Fire Burn Ya Bloodclot Colada or our Provisional-Schmovisional Potato Famine Vodka Infused Gin-Blossom Having Ted Kennedy Approved Irish Car Bomb, there's a good chance your date she wont even bother with words. She'll just lunge at you and growl like a panther, which either means that she wants to sex it down with you, or she's some kind of lycanthropic panther and is going to devour your larynx. We sincerely hope its not the latter! Me-yow!
Assuming you and your date do not wish to imbibe in any of the nearly two hundred and sixty specialty beverages served in our bar while waiting to be seated, we recommend talking loudly on your blue tooth headset to anyone besides your date. This will show her that you know people who take priority over her, impress her with how important you seem and cause her to become flushed and dizzy with lust or carbon monoxide poisoning.
APPETIZERS
Do you know who forgoes appetizers? The guy who doesn't get sexed. So order at least one, if not two of our sexy, microwaved to order batter, fat and translucent meat concoctions, but choose carefully. Appetizers are like foreplay. They tell your date how you are going to proceed when its time to get sexed. We recommend a combination of our most expensive and our most decadent ones, like our Fried Lobster Fries and our Smoked Bacon Cheddar Onion Ring Sliders. You're sure to slide into home base with that combo. Shucks, if you throw in some of our Jumpin' Jack Flask Whiskey Pepper Poppers you might even slide into the dugout. By that we mean the butt.
THE MAIN COURSE
To really seal the deal, you pretty much have to buy her one of our Fin-Steak-Tional Surf 'N' Turf Favorites. You'll be amazed and possibly a little sickened as she becomes uncontrollably aroused like a mandrill in heat while supping on our award-winning Captain Horatio Steakhaus's Fresno Lobster Tank Fresh Imitation Imitation Crabmeat and Texas Toast Steak-Um Combo or our Veal-Hauled Sea Cow Fried Seafood and Veal Slider Platter. For a less disturbing, but equally sensual dining experience, you can show her you care about "the issues" and imperil her wetlands with our Deepwater Disaster N'Orleans Crawfish Gumbo served in one of our world-famous Steakbowls. An insignificant portion of the proceeds from every Steakbowl we sell goes to help support British Petroleum's off-shore drilling public relations campaign.
THE JUST DESERTS
Ladies, we know you're reading this and we know that you have appetites too... For cheesecake! Don't shamelessly give it up to the schlub who dragged you here unless he buys you one of our twelve delicious cheesecakes. They're sinfully moist because they're amorally high in saturated fat, corn syrup and cholesterol.
In closing, we at Steakhouse Steakhouse sincerely hope that you actually manage to make whoopie on top of your date before you begin to really digest your meal and become stricken with the inevitable, mysterious, socially crippling case of irritable bowel syndrome that has absolutely nothing to do with your mediocre dining experience at one of our 1,250 locations in the United States and Canada.
Behold!
STEAKHOUSE STEAKHOUSE PRESENTS: HOW TO GET SEXED - A GUIDE TO PITCHING WOO AT THE SALAD BAR FOR MEN
Hello, loyal Steakhouse Steakhouse customer. We value your patronage.
At Steakhouse Steakhouse, we specialize in three things - steak, seafood, salad, and giving you the opportunity to potentially fornicate, all at a reasonable, slightly above fast food price point. That is why we, along with our co-sponsors Ovulite Weight Loss Formula for Pregnant Women and Zorba the Greek Sheepskin Condoms have compiled this helpful guide to charming the pants off of your date, starting with a relatively pleasant dinner at Steakhouse Steakhouse .
Doubtless, tonight is a special night. Maybe its alternative adult continuing education prom night. Maybe you found out that they hand out condoms in the guidance office. Maybe your girlfriend's annoying chihuahua with a mildly incredibly racist name died under mysterious circumstances involving pliers. Regardless, you've come to Steakhouse Steakhouse hoping to end the night by getting sexed, and as such, you have made an excellent choice.
ATTIRE
Getting sexed and tossing a salad have a lot in common, and the secret is under every runny nose at our world-famous Three Mile Salad Island. Of course, we're referring to dressing and not ham cubes. How you choose to dress yourself can go a long way to sealing the deal at the end of the night. Think about the message that you want to send to your lady friend with your clothes. Consider wearing a button down shirt and a tie. You can never overdress for Steakhouse Steakhouse. Make it a clean shirt, bolo tie and cowboy boots, then throw in a thick mustache and a cowboy hat and your date will know that you are hungry for more than just our mouth watering All-You Can Eat Steak Stampede.
THE WAITING ROOM
At Steakhouse Steakhouse, we know that you may have to wait an inexplicably long time to be seated, even though you can see that half of our dining room isn't even in use. That's why we give you those light up coasters which you can use in the bar. And speaking of the bar, when a member of our suspiciously pleasant wait staff asks you if you would like to order a beverage, he or she isn't JUST asking you if you would like to order a beverage. He or she is asking if you are planning on getting sexed tonight. The answer should always be yes, and the longer, stupider, and more culturally insensitive the name of the beverages you choose are, the more likely it is that your date will consider doing the sex with you.
For example, ordering a pair of colas for you and your date might get you the old "John, you're a really nice guy, but I find you sexually repellent because nothing about you is even remotely virile. In fact, your very being exudes impending death and the sounds you make every time you you breathe make me vomit a little. Here. I saved my vomit in this Pringles can, which i expect you to empty after you drop me off several blocks from my house so that walking through the night air can cleanse me of your stench before I get home."
However, if you order her our Hey Mon Jamaican Rum Fire Burn Ya Bloodclot Colada or our Provisional-Schmovisional Potato Famine Vodka Infused Gin-Blossom Having Ted Kennedy Approved Irish Car Bomb, there's a good chance your date she wont even bother with words. She'll just lunge at you and growl like a panther, which either means that she wants to sex it down with you, or she's some kind of lycanthropic panther and is going to devour your larynx. We sincerely hope its not the latter! Me-yow!
Assuming you and your date do not wish to imbibe in any of the nearly two hundred and sixty specialty beverages served in our bar while waiting to be seated, we recommend talking loudly on your blue tooth headset to anyone besides your date. This will show her that you know people who take priority over her, impress her with how important you seem and cause her to become flushed and dizzy with lust or carbon monoxide poisoning.
APPETIZERS
Do you know who forgoes appetizers? The guy who doesn't get sexed. So order at least one, if not two of our sexy, microwaved to order batter, fat and translucent meat concoctions, but choose carefully. Appetizers are like foreplay. They tell your date how you are going to proceed when its time to get sexed. We recommend a combination of our most expensive and our most decadent ones, like our Fried Lobster Fries and our Smoked Bacon Cheddar Onion Ring Sliders. You're sure to slide into home base with that combo. Shucks, if you throw in some of our Jumpin' Jack Flask Whiskey Pepper Poppers you might even slide into the dugout. By that we mean the butt.
THE MAIN COURSE
To really seal the deal, you pretty much have to buy her one of our Fin-Steak-Tional Surf 'N' Turf Favorites. You'll be amazed and possibly a little sickened as she becomes uncontrollably aroused like a mandrill in heat while supping on our award-winning Captain Horatio Steakhaus's Fresno Lobster Tank Fresh Imitation Imitation Crabmeat and Texas Toast Steak-Um Combo or our Veal-Hauled Sea Cow Fried Seafood and Veal Slider Platter. For a less disturbing, but equally sensual dining experience, you can show her you care about "the issues" and imperil her wetlands with our Deepwater Disaster N'Orleans Crawfish Gumbo served in one of our world-famous Steakbowls. An insignificant portion of the proceeds from every Steakbowl we sell goes to help support British Petroleum's off-shore drilling public relations campaign.
THE JUST DESERTS
Ladies, we know you're reading this and we know that you have appetites too... For cheesecake! Don't shamelessly give it up to the schlub who dragged you here unless he buys you one of our twelve delicious cheesecakes. They're sinfully moist because they're amorally high in saturated fat, corn syrup and cholesterol.
In closing, we at Steakhouse Steakhouse sincerely hope that you actually manage to make whoopie on top of your date before you begin to really digest your meal and become stricken with the inevitable, mysterious, socially crippling case of irritable bowel syndrome that has absolutely nothing to do with your mediocre dining experience at one of our 1,250 locations in the United States and Canada.
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