Episode 87: Dante Aligheri Was Wrong...Hell Is A Wal-Mart

Author's Note: This is my angry rant about my shopping experience at a nearby Wal-Mart. In this post, you'll see my darker side come out. I will not apologize for you becoming frightened or if this seems disturbing...you have been warned.

If some of the products I normally buy were available anywhere else, no matter the price, I'd gladly stop shopping at Wal-Mart.

I got the bright friggin' idea to go to Wal-Mart Saturday rather than Friday. Why? There were groceries that needed restocking and I was all outta my damn Xenadrine. So, I call up a friend of mine to borrow the car as per our arrangement and off I go to that fucking monument to consumerism.

Getting there and getting in wasn't the problem. Hell, even the greeter there was really nice to me but that's her job isn't it? Still, I felt the smile was warm and genuine (and was enough to cut through any man like a hot knife cuts through butter on a hot sidewalk) and was enough to make me smile back at her and wish her a good day as I would any other well-meaning person.

Still, that's when I found that I had finally descended into the Ninth Circle of Hell. First thing to grab was the Xenadrine, lest I forget it. I'd cut back the dosage on the first bottle, only taking two per day rather than the prescribed four. Now, I think I'll up it back to four again and run a savage burn on my midsection. Using my street maneuvering skills I pulled one of those Mr. Fantastic twist, bend, turn tricks and grabbed a bottle off the shelf, having to slip past someone (or two) to do it. Then, much to my horror, I saw how long the line was and I sat in for a long wait. I ended up carrying on a conversation with the woman in front of me about the new workout routine, how the Xenadrine worked for me the last time and how this time would be different for me...for 20 fuckin' minutes.

Once I was done there, I made a bee line for the footwear department. The soles on the shoes I'd obtained from the Dollar store in a pinch were no damned good. The soles had worn down in less than four weeks and had actually broken where the ball of the foot would create the most pressure...all the fuckin' way across. Needless to say, I thought better of getting the same pair of Dr. Scholls sneakers from the last time. Those had fallen apart after three months.

It's no secret that I'm hell on footwear and the only footwear that has been able to withstand the torture through which I put them are combat boots and S.W.A.T. Team-Style Police Boots. My pair of boots has lasted me almost three years now but I've gone through sneakers like Imelda Fuckin' Marcos. I picked out a pair of Starters, tried them on and decided that was the pair for me. Let's give this bunch a try, I thought, they make a helluva ballcap and jacket.

On to the food on the list. I grabbed a huge bag of cat food, 40 cans of soft food for Izzy, the kitten and then...food for me. I stacked up on two cases of bottled water, foregoing the soda this time (I still have a large remnant of the 24 pack I'd bought before Misty left on the 6th...and the beer which I've barely touched) and then all the rest. Foods high in protein, mostly meats, shells and cheese, body wash and two new scrubbers as mine are worn smooth out. The more food that was piled into the basket, the harder it was to maneuver.

Now, I know you're asking, "But Damien, how the hell hard can this kind of shopping be?"

Ok, it's not the difficulty in choosing foods, that was done prior to my shopping trip. What presented the greatest difficulty is that I'm a typical man. I have a damn shopping agenda and you're either in or in the way with it. I know how these evil corporate fuckers work...I used to work at this particular Wal-Mart about eight years ago and I'll go back to washing cars before I EVER work there or at any other Wal-Mart again.

The inner workings of Wal-Mart are a nightmare. During the day, those motorized carts creep and crawl like a lowrider fulla Mexican Cholos about to do a drive-by in your neighborhood but at night, someone drops a bored-out 454 Big Block on NOS into those bastards and they run like something out of The Fast And The Furious: Tokyo Drift. The most fucked thing about those carts aren't the carts themselves but the people driving them. Most of them who utilize them do not need them and if you think I'm just being an asshole, take this one and try it on for size.

I'd been working in the aisle with the condiments one particular night, stocking with my coworker Joe. A little old lady had whipped that cart around, came to a screeching halt, got up off the thing, grabbed a couple of items, tossed them into the basket and then proceeded to run right into the side of Joe's thigh, deadlegging him. I know the pain of motor dysfunction when something hits that mass of nerves and it made ME wince. Joe nearly dropped the case of mayo jars that he was holding over his head and he uttered, "Oh shit!"

Granted, it was only loud enough for me, him and the old lady to hear but still, it's against policy to cuss...even on your break. They simply will not tolerate it for any reason, right or wrong.

Joe managed to save the mayo and the old lady from being bombarded by fully-loaded glass jars and he did manage to stick them onto the shelf...their original intended destination.

Joe quickly recomposed himself, favoring the other leg upon which he stood and asked politely, "Can I help you get anything?"

She had asked him to retrieve something just a little further down and he did so and as he put it in the basket even I was astonished and stood in slack-jawed horror as this little elderly woman said in an even louder voice, "Now you think you can move the fuck out of my way?"

Joe did and apologized. Later on we were both called in to talk about the whole rotten mess to the supervisors. It wasn't just Joe's job on the line, it was mine too. They nearly didn't believe that the woman had said anything of the sort or performed such a deed until someone driving the electronic pallet jack had confirmed our story.

Now, I told you that story to tell you this story. It seemed like everywhere I went people blocked the aisles left and right. At one point, I was trapped and no amount of "Excuse me" would work. There was nothing more that I'd have loved to have done than grab a Mossberg 12-Guage Pump Action Shotgun from sporting goods, load the fucker and proceed to blast anyone in my way the hell out of my way. Hail To The King, Motherfucker!

There they were, the Backwater Inbred Nation with families in tow, completely blocking every route or stopping short in front of me and it was all I could do to keep from wrapping a chain-link dog leash around my fist and begin beating the Holy Shit out of them. If that weren't enough, every elderly person was having a goddamned reunion in just about every section of this fuckin place. I wanted to take some of them by the hair and stuff their heads into the deep fryers in the deli...that'll fuckin' fix 'em. Still, I bit my tongue and kept trying to move in other directions.

But wait, there's more. There were people cutting me off left and right or just plain being goddamn rude by nearly shoving me out of the way to get to something and then having the audacity to ask, "You don't mind, do you?"

Not if you want to keep your fucking spleen I thought but continued to let them through.

Sure, I could have been a little more aggressive, however, the soles on my shoes were not allowing me the traction necessary to move the behemoth that was once my cart. If I got the thing moving, it was hard to turn and even harder to stop. Perhaps the employees couldn't cuss but I have no loyalty to Wal-Mart and I'm damned sure no longer employed there.

By the time I was done and had made my way to the front, that's when Irony reared it's ugly head at me.

Now it's not news that they have something like 1,426 registers but only 2 are open and one of them is the express lane for 20 items or less. Let me ask you guys a question, if you've ever worked there in the front, maybe you can help me out. Why is it that the self-checkout lanes still require some stupid motherfucker with a code to authorize your purchases? Goddammit, man a register! Talk about corporate inefficiency!

I find the shortest line which is closer to the exit furthest from the damned car and I pick it.

This is where I receive confirmation that I need to begin training on Carl Cestari's (God Rest Him) video Iron Fist, Iron Body whether I like it or not. I literally made a knuckle bleed by scraping it against the cart on accident. I know, I should have stayed, filed an accident report and blah fuckin' blah but let's get one thing straight. I have the balls to put alcohol of any potency on a cut or scrape to quell an infection. Why should I have to stay through this fucking hell one minute longer than is necessary to perform a huge beaureacratic function I can perform myself. Incidentally it was the first knuckle of the middle finger on my right hand and if that doesn't tell you something I don't know what will.

Anyway, I get out of Wal-Mart and, by this time, all I wanna do is fucking leave the premesis. I packed my things into the trunk and made like a stoner and smoked that joint with a swiftness.

By now, I'm so stressed out that I could scream. I come home, put everything away and by the time I bring the car back to my friend I have my PSP loaded up in the passenger seat. I tell him he doesn't have to bother bringing me home, I'm walking it. I could use it since I'm now working out.

Now, I ask you this. Why is it when you've made up your mind to do something and they can see you're serious do they ask you that stupid fucking quetion "Are You Sure?"

"Nope!" I wanted to respond, "I was just getting ready to see how long it would take you to answer me there, Skippy. Heeeere's your sign."

My feet hit the street, clad in my new shoes and I found I had a spring to my step.

Problem. You see, when I left the house, I had my hoodie on. It was plenty windy outside and chilly as hell but now, the air is still and the sun is blazing. It took me roughly an hour to reach my house and by then, I'm sweating my balls off. I'd initially decided that a workout was not in my plans for the night but I wasn't so stressed out anymore.

I decided to do the damned workout anyway.

More to come on that.

Episode 86: Goin' To Hell And I Ain't Comin' Back pt. 1

Three Days, that's how long I've been working on the 15 Minute Hell program and I can tell you one thing...believe the hype.

The last time I weighed myself, I was a 212lbs. That was several months ago and not all of it was muscle. Not to mention, I was getting nowhere fast. I was killing myself running (sometimes up to 20 minutes at a time), dieting was getting me some results but it was slow as hell, even weights were doing nothing but packing on more pounds because muscle weighs more than the excess fat.

I was sick of my lack of results.

Having tried everything else, I decided to try 15 Minute Hell.

After three days, I weigh in at 196.5 lbs. Not bad, considering I was doing nothing more than sitting on my lazy behind at this computer a lot if I wasn't watching movies. I drank Cokes and Pepsis left and right, very slowly phasing them out until now. I never went to the gym. I never used the AbLounge I got. Finally, I was sick of my jeans (size 36) only getting tighter...boy wasn't that a sign. Just two years prior to that, I could tighten my belt to it's last notch and was contemplating getting a smaller one. Now, I just wear sweatpants a majority of the time. While I've managed in the past several months to lose a little bit (the pants weren't so damn snug all the time) I still wanted to get back down to a size 34 and have those fit somewhat loose on me. In three days, I've already lost two and a half pounds. Not bad. In eight weeks it's going to be even better.

The physical progression hasn't been very noticeable to me but now, when friends view me on webcam, they're telling me that my jaw is becoming more defined. That's a fact that I'm loving and more reason for me to keep going. I'm getting to where I feel better, more energetic...after only three days! Want more details? How's this?

Day 1: I began by just doing the typical 15-Minute Hell workout. I was sweating my balls off and winded as shit after it was all over. All I wanted to do was sit down, regain my breath and get back to normal. Geez, when they called it 15-Minute HELL they weren't fucking about. It's pure torture in areas. A few hours later, my legs were killing me but I still went for a long, brisk walk to work the kinks out. I felt alive despite my crazy intention to follow this shit.

Day 2: I was up most of the day waiting on a phone call that was hours away. Since I had the time and it was less than 13 hours later, I packed up, headed back to the gym and did it again. This time, I didn't feel as winded as I did before, and I hit the treadmill for about five minutes before I did the actual workout. I actually breathed a little better and it felt good to do this workout. It was still a bit grueling in some areas but I knew one thing from taking that before pic and printing it up and posting it to my fridge. I could quit doing the most grueling parts and continue to wear sweatpants everyday I was off OR I could keep going and finally look the way I wanted to, feel better and, furthermore, drastically reduce any health risks I may face years from now.

Day 3: My back and legs were killing me. I didn't want to do this again but I thought that if I picked up and went to the gym, I might just change my mind. I started with a run on the treadmill...this time, 8.5 minutes. I did some free weight dumbbells next. Just some light weight exercises for the shoulders and triceps. Cable rows were next at three sets of ten reps at 85 lbs. Same for the tricep extension machine at 55 lbs. Then, the stationary bike and the elliptical for about 10 minutes each. All to the tune of the Adrenaline CD. Since I'd already done so much, I figured I might as well use the 15-Minute Hell DVD to wrap it all up. So it was back to the dojo section with the portable DVD player to go through it. This time, the workout didn't seem as grueling as it did before. It wasn't as labored but I still have to do it awhile before I'm able to fully keep up.

More of me, as of right now, is stiff but I still feel better than I did three days ago and the physical progression and the mental discipline (habit) is becoming more and more ingrained into my head. No, I'm not posting that before pic yet. That only comes out once I'm done.

Don't worry, people, I'll keep you posted on the progression.

Episode 85: In The Air Tonight

Stepping outside to mail off the letters made me realize something as I felt the first ever morning chill of the year. Winter looms in the distance ready to grace me with her touch. I felt it and I closed my eyes. I didn't move. I just stood there on my front porch, letters in hand and felt that beautiful chill in the air.I could feel vitality begin to renew itself in me but what I can't understand is why have I been so restless this year? I've barely been able to sit down and write. I've barely been able to sit down and do anything. Reading only gets accomplished when I'm on the toilet and even my attention span is short for that. My mind has been going a million miles per nanosecond and I couldn't seem to slow the hell down.

Things this year have just been all-around wierd as hell. For anyone that's been following this blog as I've written in it as faithfully a manner as I could muster, though, at times, it has been a bit labored.

If it's one thing I don't like doing, it's complaining a lot. I don't write about work much because, quite frankly, there isn't much other than a few coworkers who've somehow deluded themselves into thinking that I'm being groomed for lieutenant. Bullshit. I'm under no false pretenses. I've been blacklisted for the past four years. If it were so imperative that I be promoted, it would have happened already. Incidentally, I never took that test. Not by choice it's because no one bothered to tell me that I had to fill out paperwork for it. Not that it matters. Right now, my supervisors are of the firm belief that I did it on purpose.

Schedule it for a day I'm off. There is no way I'm staying up to take that test only to come in on maybe a couple hours of sleep. Mike had put in for a lieutenant's position again recently and was edged out at the last minute...again. Even he's given up. I can't say I blame him on that one. It's just a job, people. Now that we have a new governor elect it may become much worse. This one had expressed an interest in privatizing the whole rotten mess. If it happens, I walk out early. I'll be out of that front gate so fast, I'll amaze the likes of David Blaine and Criss Angel with how fast I fly out of there.

I'm getting way off base here. The first few signs of Winter making her approach are here. I checked the weather. By the time my vacation starts (Monday, the 22nd), the lows will be in the upper 40s...beautiful. I've been sitting here, eagerly awaiting the arrival of my long-lost world of the bitter cold. Fine time for me to do the opposite of what most do.

If you think it's staying up all night, I do that anyway. Nope, time for me to whip my nocturnal ass into shape. Granted, I'm not one of those gigantors out there that is suffering from dunlap syndrome (belly dunlapped over the belt) but, let's face it, I could be a lot lighter and feel a lot better.

Enter 15-Minute Hell.

Chris "Lt. X" Pizzo designed a system based on Judo to lose weight and build muscle you'll use in everyday life. I just got my DVD and my Adrenaline CD in yesterday and checked it out. All these exercises were specifically timed to be done in 15 minutes and that is the entire length of your workout. Over an 8-Week period, it's supposed to tone your muscles, "blow torch" excess body fat make you more flexible and heighten stamina. Let me tell you from just having tried that workout yesterday, it was about 50 degrees in my living room and I was sweating like I'd just been on a bike ride through Death Valley wearing black leather from head to toe. They're not screwing around, this thing's intense. Screw Bowflex and that gym membership...I'm just gonna go steady with this instead. By week Eight, I should have the physique I've always wanted. I've been close once but now, I'm going to get it. I've already been shedding some size off of my waist from the dieting but I think if I combine that with this...yeah, I'll have the look I want and, yes, I'll even post the pics.

Now, onto other things, the show is about to undergo a few final tweaks. First, we're going to be doing more shows. Monday Nights from 5pm - 9pm Central, Wednesday Nights from 5pm - 9pm Central, Friday Nights from 5pm - 7pm Central on KrushRadio.com and then the usual Tuesday slots from 7pm - Whenever on DarksideRadio.com and we're looking forward to it. Leave it to the detractors...they're suddenly distancing themselves from the fact that they've inspired me to be on the air a little more. These guys are a real howl, aren't they? Whenever you come across them, be sure to thank them for bringing you more Genocyde. Second thing, I'm also going to do a show on Devil's Night (The Night Before Halloween) and would like to hear your ideas for what costume I should don next year. Before you go ranting about me being like a damn kid, you should know by now that I am. I'm a huge kid. I like having a lot of fun and, to me, getting into costume and running around, checking out the other costumes is fun to me. This year I'm gonna go as this Michale Graves-ish zombie. Why? I love zombies. BTW, before you call into the show, claiming I should run around in my monkeysuit, going as a damn C.O., forget about it. I am most certainly not doing that one for any reason. I also draw the line at skirts (kilts don't count) so get those fairy costume ideas outta your head. We're going to do a Devil's Night show just for the fun of it. After my vacation ends...expect more Genocyde. Third, certainly not the least of the items and one that I'm most proud of...new theme music. Normally, I'm changing the theme with the music I have. First it was my rock remix of The Imperial March, then it was Faith And The Muse "Cantus," then it was Hatebreed "I Will Be Heard," and after that, KMFDM "Stars And Stripes." This theme, however is very special. Why? Glad you asked.

A few months ago, I'd emailed Todd Ruzicka in the UK. For those of you familiar with my show, you know I play Immune System like it's nobody's business. Well, that's Todd's baby and I was interested in how march-like many of his songs were. I approached him about a new theme and he happily took the job. He played with it and played with it and couldn't come up with anything. He kept apologizing for how long it was taking but I kept reminding him that I am patient. I'd rather wait a year and have something good come out rather than something that was just kinda cooked out of stuff from the cutting room floor in a week. Finally, he'd given up. I assured him that it was all good and that we had the utmost faith in his musical talents (not to mention the heavy doses of underlying metaphysical strength his songs bear) and that he could continue or lay it to rest. Either way, I wasn't disappointed. Had he chosen to quit, at least he'd given it his all. He contacted us back and told us that work would continue. I was elated.

I just got the theme today...Immune System's "Total Genocyde." I was bouncing all over the damn living room as I listened to this song. It was huge in sound and in scope, it definitely sounds like a march being played that you'd rather not hear, as it's the herald of my oncoming occupation forces and the drumbeats are simply brutal. I could see the images in my head and I thought, "The only tragedy to this is I'm not a wrestler or I'd use it in that respect too." This song doesn't have anything in the way of lyrics except Todd repeating the title "Total Genocyde" three times toward the end. I think it's perfect. I just have to make two tiny editions and then...that's it. It will be ready for airplay with the next show.

Ladies and gentlemen, Lady Winter approaches us. Once again, I ready myself for the magickal world of crystalline frost everywhere and the welcoming bite of the cold outside. I ready myself for the longer nights and shorter days. How I've longed for these nights and now, they're coming and I couldn't be happier. Well, then again, Misty could be down here so I could quit snuggling a damn pillow in her place but soon...soon.

As for me, folks, time for me to hit the rack. I've got a workout routine starting tomorrow where Lord Genocyde will begin to take shape and I will forge myself into something resembling the comic-book ubervillain...on the outside, anyway.

This is the winter of Total Genocyde.

The Genocydal Empyre Rocked Again By SiNDADDY!

Episode 84: Let The Insanity Begin...

I woke up this afternoon to find Misty snuggling me from behind. That always feels good. Not only is she soft but she's warm and, if I didn't have to go to the damned bathroom I'd have stayed there. Nevermind that it was nearly 6:00 p.m. Still, I had to check the mail to see if some of her meds came in and I had to drain myself like you wouldn't believe. I slipped my sweatpants on, slipped into my house slippers and ventured out. It would be dark soon. It's been getting darker and darker more and more early lately. This is the great sign for me. Winter, oh my sheltering winter, is on it's way.

Spring, to me, has always been a nice season. It turns, however, into the biggest prelude to a beating I'll take all year. Summer is the season I dread. That intense heat, the heated arguments, everything going chaotically faster are enough to drive you insane. When you're not having to deal with that...then comes the next part...storm season. If you're lucky, you'll avoid hurricanes, tropical storms, tropical depressions, severe thunderstorms, tornadoes, etc. If it does happen to rain anywhere near you, then you have the humidity to deal with. Great Scot, what a reason to stay indoors! If you're like me, everything gets magnified. The sunlight hurts, you can't go out without shades on and nightfall seems like a million years away. Then, the autumn comes...that's when things begin to calm a bit and then...oh, soothing Winter and your world of fragile things, how I've missed you! The nights are bitter cold, your teeth chatter, you huddle into more layers of clothing. It was always like hiding. You put on another layer and then fall back into them. This, for me, has always been a magickal time of year. Everything seemed alive even as the town slept.

I thought of all of that as I crept out of the room so I wouldn't wake Misty up. I opened the door and looked into the mailbox...nothing but my doormat had been moved and a box marked ThinkGeek.com was half obscured by the doormat. I wonder if the UPS man knows that the doormat isn't much for subterfuge and obfuscation.

Hot damn, I thought, my books have arrived! Books have always been a love of mine. Now is no exception. These books, however, are essential. I put the box of books aside and closed the door. The message light on my phone was blinking. Checked the messages...ah, yes, SiNDADDY again looking for a repeat interview. I remember how the last one went. Though it was a great time, I still can't listen to the playback and like myself for how I practically kicked my own ass drinking tequila during the show. We schedule that one for the 23rd. My vacation will have just kicked off and I'll be relaxing and telling the daisy-chain-of-command at work to kiss my ass for two weeks. I'll vanish like a ninja in the dark. That will give me time to enjoy the books.

Among the titles were The Zombie Survival Guide, Sneaky Uses For Everyday Things, Sneakier Uses For Everyday Things and Steal This Computer Book 4.0. I start looking at them almost immediately. I'm still waiting for The American Truth by Nick Shelton and Debunking 9/11 Debunking: An Answer To The Popular Mechanics Article And Defenders of The Official Conspiracy Theory by David Ray Griffin. The first four books were obtained from ThinkGeek.com and the others from Amazon.com. I had to reorder Nick Shelton's book because Amazon's squirrely nature sent that one to my friend Ann instead of me. Hope she likes it and doesn't think me cracked for reading something like this.

*Author's Note: This particular article had begun before Misty left. I'm now picking up where I left off and including some stuff that's happened recently*

October 8, 2007:

I'm sitting here looking through the pictures we took a few days ago. There we were, clowning like hell. I, of course, took some rather seasonal Halloweenish photos. The kid in me will never ever tire of Halloween. I was in my mask, t-shirt and gloves. The mask was one Misty picked out and has to be the hottest thing on the planet to wear. I lose 40 pounds off my head sweating under the latex rubber of the thing and that long hair hanging off it makes me resemble a stocky version of Michale Graves but there I am, ghouled out and me and Misty have taken pictures on nearly every deserted street corner in town...then...we moved to the playground. There, we got pics of me crawling all over monkey bars, swinging on the swings and a very bumbled picture (due to low shutter speed) of me on a winding slide...which I don't remember being so long. Misty was too busy laughing at me the whole time. Our antics turned out some really great pics and some really terrible ones but we had fun nonetheless. Plus it gave me an excuse to use my messenger bag for the first time which will hold nearly every damn thing in Creation.

Saturday was the hardest day for the both of us as she left. I got maybe a few hours of sleep for work that night or else I'd have gone to the damned airport with her to see her off. I got so used to her sleeping so soundly right next to me that I had forgotten what it was like to sleep alone. I woke up to Smudge headbutting me trying to get out of the room. He's a great cat to have around but I just wanted to wake up to Misty snoring again while some zombie flick's menu played on and on incessantly.

This is the weird time for me. This is the time where I linger on thoughts that are borderline insane. I have to read, watch, listen and dig in now more than ever. It's important that I learn things. That's what it is, now is the time for me to learn things. Things that I can take with me and never lose. Why? Because the more things I know, the more chances I have of surviving, rising, adapting and overcoming. Geez, I sound like my dad now. The ex-marine that he is, he always stressed that. Maintain, yes, that's the key, isn't it? Failure is not an option. Not this time.

No, the stakes are too high for that failure rot. This time, it's all or nothing. I'm putting the bank on this baby and crazy-gluing myself to the front of this bullet train and riding it to the end, for good or ill. Why? Because I'm looking at these pictures and I see what it could be. It's something I want more than anything. I'll take this winter to begin. One way or the other, I will succeed where I have failed before or I will go down doing it.

I've seen the glory of Deuce McAllister taking a field full of 200 plus pound men on his back into the end zone with him to score that critical touchdown last year for the Saints and, by hook or by crook, I will make it this time.

*******

Dream Sequence: October 9, 2007 6:58 a.m.

The world swims. My whole head feels battered. So does the rest of me for that matter.

Smack!

I hear the sound again...that sound of packing meat as that fist bounces my head off the canvas again. The crowd's chanting has become unintelligible...and the world blurs and looks as though I'm looking through water.

Smack!

It happens again and this time, I'm not sure that I can pick my head up. That left eye is swollen shut. There are a million places on my face and head from where I'm cut. Sweat and blood mix in the wounds and light them on fire and those shots to the back of the head are getting annoying.

Then...something happens. I feel something coursing through my veins, quickening me one more time.

Thunk!

This time, the fist lands it's mark on the back of my cranium but the world comes into focus and the volume gets turned way the hell down on the crowd and I hear those words in my mind...

Now...is the time...for me to rise...to my feet
wipe your spit from my face...wipe these tears from my eyes...

I put my hands underneath me and spread my legs. My muscles burn and battery acid courses through my veins.

I've got to take my life back...one chance to make it right
I've got to have my voice be heard...and bring meaning to this life...

I grit my teeth and clench my jaws together tight and suck in that one critical breath. I can feel my opponent, his confidence leaving him. He throws wild punches. Now...they mean nothing...I can't feel them.

'cuz I've trusted for nothing...I've been led astray
I've been tried and tested...but I won't accept defeat...

Now, he panics and starts beating me about the shoulders. He's trying to cause nerve dysfunction...make my arms give out. There's just one thing he didn't count on...

NOW I'VE DONE THINGS I REGRET...AND IT'S TIME TO REVERSE THE ROLES...

I push with everything I have left and suddenly, he finds he can't hold on as I rise, the crowd goes silent as I scream in a mix of agony and determination, anger and rage, hatred and ambition and the frustration of every being that has ever felt discarded and left on it's own. This one's for them...

NOW I JUST WANNA MAKE GOOD ON...ALL THE PROMISES I HAVE MADE
I WILL BE...
I...WILL...BE...
I WILL BE HEARD....

He tries some kind of desperate attempt at hanging on until I put my tongue to the roof of my mouth and quit screaming, clench my jaws once more and drive the back of my skull into his nose. I hear a scream and a crunch. I suddenly feel a weight drop off my back as I turn to face my mangled enemy. Then, the roar is accompanied by brutality...namely mine.

I...WILL...BE...
I WILL BE HEARD...

He can do little to nothing to stop the onslaught and I go blindly into a focused fury, raining hammer-fisted strikes down upon him before finally picking him up by the throat and bringing his mauled face to mine. His face is a mask of fear and mine is one of insane anger. I hurl him into the wall and continue beating him until finally he goes limp and the bell rings, snapping me back to reality. I stand over my humiliated opponent. He lies before me, battered, broken and tortured. He knows firsthand what everyone else in that crowd knows by watching...

The Beast is Back...

Episode 83: A Summer Spent, A Winter Earned

I'm sitting here at my computer. Misty's in the kitchen cooking. I'm thinking. I'm thinking hard...again. We all know what happens when I do that. What usually results is something really horrible.

I've come to learn things this summer. I've learned things like a hurricane on radar can look like Jason Newsted slinging his hair around during a Metallica concert. I've learned that there are places in life that are huge on irony. Work is a prime example. I've watched people who haven't been around near as long as me get promoted while I haven't even been considered. Now, my captain is not giving me a choice...as of the 16th of this month, I have to take the lieutenant's test whether I want to or not. Funny how things work out isn't it? Yeah, fuckin' hilarious. Sure, a promotion to Lieutenant would be a jump up but I can't get my ass promoted one place up in the totem, much less two. I've even watched a guy who is far more qualified than me, who was doing a wonderful job get edged out of the spot of Lieutenant at the last minute. Personally, I think this is just to make me think that they have some kind of confidence that they really don't. It's patronizing, it's insulting and if this is a joke, I'm not sticking around for the punchline. I honestly pray for one of those efficiency consultants to come in. I'd give them the one thing the want most first...right out the gate. I'd give them me. I'd give them a full list of the offenses I've committed...including the ones at which I haven't been caught and then, I'd tell them why. Picture that scene in the movie Office Space and you'll know exactly what I was talking about. I'd fuck off nine ways to Sunday and pray that my attempts at self-sabotage were a complete success. Why? Well, sure I'd go down but can you imagine the entire Good Ol' Boy Network coming apart at high speed? I'd laugh, all the way out. You can imagine how frustrated I am with being there. The job used to be something to talk about until I reduced it to simply a case of "as long as they're cutting the checks, I'll keep cutting the throats." Sadly, my dear readers, a once-noble role to me has lost it's nobility. I now see myself as nothing more than a mercenary...if that. Maybe you won't agree with me, maybe you will. Maybe you don't even understand it. That's alright. Just know that I no longer associate myself with the job unless I have to. When people ask what it is I do. I tie-dye t-shirts, I promote music, I host a show on the internet, I'm into independent research, I do all of that and, oh yeah, I have a night job. Don't worry about the night job...it pays the bills...that's a wrap.

That's when I think back to just how or why I've opted for the life of internet radio over that of a rock star. I remember the inspiration behind it all. If you've ever seen that old movie Pump Up The Volume you'll know what I'm talking about. Shy kid, introverted, decent writer and many of his own classmates looked up to him and never knew who he was. How could they not know? He had a harmonizer on that deepened his voice. In his bedroom, on those radios that his classmates used to tune in, he was a legend and he walked among them but no one ever knew until the end of the show when he's being loaded into the back of one of those F.C.C. vans as everyone recognizes him. Shy kid, introverted, decent writer, glasses...almost a nobody but then he takes off the glasses and he goes from that version of himself into Happy Harry Hard-on mode, looks back at them all with that sly smile and says the two most memorable words in the movie.

"Talk hard!" he said and then he disappeared into the van. I have to hand it to the writer of that movie...it was original.

Was that what it was really all about for us? The few, the proud, the psychotic personalities of the information uber-highway? Were we all just wanting to be different versions of ourselves? Ourselves amplified to near-earth-shattering volumes? Did this technology suddenly open the floodgates on a veritable melting pot of personalities all rushing to find their niche somewhere in what DARPA had once set for us as a giant electronic mall? Now, you can be a rock star by night, everyone can be famous. Everyone can be the star that my generation was taught to be.

I still remember Brad Pitt walking around in Fight Club saying, "We were all brought up to believe we were all going to be rich. We were all going to be famous. We were all going to be rock stars and celebrities...but we're not...and we're very pissed off about it."

It was an enlightening phrase at the time. At the time, it was true. We didn't have a great war or a great depression that defined us as a generation. Our great war was a spiritual war and our great depression was truly our lives. Now, we're faced with the most awesome clusterfuck since Vietnam and the biggest depression since the one biting the heels of World War I. Now, suddenly, our generation has the validity it has been seeking but the problem is we were raised amidst such mediocrity that we have doomed every generation following us. We've set the precedent and are now scrambling to run like hell to get everything fixed before the other jackboot drops it's heel onto us. I suppose it's true that you can't convince some people that things are going terribly wrong when they're too comfortable to really take notice.

I look at the many frustrations of many summers past and I think, Where are the solutions? Where is the end of it all? Where can I rest in reasonable comfort assured that the personal destruction will end?

There it is. It's right up ahead, ladies and gentlemen and, soon, we'll be entering the fog just like I did when I was 18 years old, spooking my friends with that old quote that we were entering another dimension of sight and sound and of mind...

What if I did it? What if I did take us into the wrong dimension? What if this isn't the world I'm meant to inhabit? When I passed through that fog at 18...was it just a fog? If not, could I forgive myself for taking the four of us into a world that wasn't made for us? This would mean that none of the horrible events of the past ten years happened to any of us. Everyone back home is alright and they're wondering why it is their children have gone crazy.

God, get me off of this train of insane intent (locomotive anyone?)

Winter is our destination. The bite of the cold and the chill of the night air. The nights get longer and the days get shorter and some of us can come out of our restlessness and finally get the rest we've been seeking so desperately. Beautiful hibernation of sorts. Enveloped in darkness, shrouded by night and shielded under blankets dreaming peacefully of that world that should have been.

"Now...let's talk about gettin' me home."
-Bruce Campbell "Evil Dead III: Army of Darkness"