Bigotry: The New Profanity

Posted: August 26, 2014 in Rant
Tags: , , ,

“What I’m saying might be profane, but it’s also profound.”
Richard Pryor

I am no stranger to cursing.  In fact, my command of the colloquial stops just short of iconic.  Sure, I can fuckin’ censor myself on the fly– but when it comes down to brass tacks…  Even I have a line.  There’s a line where my words will inevitably stop being weapons of psychological terrorism (like the time someone foolishly invited me to be on the dais for a roast) and become a means of social suicide.  It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to fucking figure out the point where the magnificent bastard would become the muttonfucking bigot.

… and no, fuck you, this isn’t going to be a plea to drop a gratuitous n-bomb.  Pay attention, I’m about to blow your fucking mind to the back of the auditorium without so much as a whisper.

Bob Dobbs didn't brace himself properly.

Oh yeah. Breaking out the Subgenius reference.

Back when our grandparents were kids, people were seriously up tight.  Trust me, that’s part of why their slang was so goddamn eclectically creative.   Sure, you could make like Prodigy and smack your bitch up (and still be considered an upstanding citizen), but the kinds of words termed “vulgar” by modern standards would turn you into a social pariah.  Yeah, back in the day, being able to swear like a sailor wasn’t a matter of vernacular nor comedy– it was a quick way to get everyone you know to disown you.

Wanna get some strange looks?  Don’t yell “fuck!” in a crowded store.  Try quoting SLC Punk! and yell “Union Jack is a fag!”  See how fast people start getting that uneasy look.  Actually, try that, I want to know how many people high-five you for the reference.  Anyway.

The very definitions of profanity and obscenity include the fact that such language will reflect poorly upon the user. Now tell me… which individual is going to be looked at in a harsher light: the guy in the middle of a crowded mall screaming, “Fuck off and die, you shit-eating cock waffle,” or the same guy dropping an n-bomb with the same imagined animation?

You see where I’m going with this.

Fuck yeah.

That’s right, I just 720 cockslapped it like a linguistics major would…. Take THAT, Eng 502!

“Classic” profanity has wormed its way into the common lexicon as pervasively and effectively as steroids in sports.  The acronym WTF is common on the news, and don’t try to claim that we all don’t know what it means.  I can say “fuck” pretty much anywhere, and nobody will bat a goddamn eye.  I can say “shit” with even more gusto.  Damn and ass?  Bitch, don’t make me laugh.  Sure, the language still serves the purpose of lalochesia—but if that’s it, does it still fit the classification?

I maintain not.

However, there’s a kind of language that is ill-defined and constantly growing—and that’s the vulgar tongue of the bigot.  I’m not going to skip around dropping N-bombs just to retain my shock factor, nor am I going to toss about any other slew of slurs—because fuck you, I have class.  Right here, ladies and gentlemen, is the very illustration of what I’ve been going for.  Am I going to argue about times where this type of language is appropriate?  Fuck no, I’m not completely retarded—that’s a pile of shit for someone else to shovel.

Not to mention, this nebulous stretch of vernacular varies from region to region—culture to culture—and is starting to include homophobic slurs as well.  If you think I’m wrong, ask fucking Jonah Hill—whose tirade (though pretty tame compared to the shit people say during fits of road rage) got him lit up like Times Square.  Not to mention, what language is most used behind the semi-anonymous veil of online gaming?  If you answered basic vulgarity, you’ve clearly not had the joy of hearing a tween rattle off ill-formulated barrages of bigotry.  I chose the term joy not entirely out of sarcasm—because it’s pretty fucking hilarious to hear.

Take note—the language, she’s a-changing.

And I still want to be the first seated President to say “fuck” on the Senate & House floors.

Unplug.

“I was me, but now he’s gone…” – Metallica, “Fade to Black”

 

In the wake of Robin Williams’ suicide, there’s been a lot flying around Facebook—and the ‘net at large. Talk of how suicide is/isn’t selfish, and how depression is a disease and not a character flaw. More irksome is the self-righteous standpoint most people take when addressing the issue, as if their opinion is the only one that’s right. When it comes to issues that involve psychological disorders, especially those caused/exacerbated by chemical imbalances, there’s more than one answer to every situation.

Unfortunately, when someone decides to invoke the mercy kill rule on themselves before the game is over—there’s nothing else that can be said or done.  It’s kinda final like that.  No respawn.  No save point.  That’s pretty much it.

Come on, how can I not be glib?

Smile or not, that’s pretty much what it is.

One thing I’ve noticed is how some people rail about how debilitating depression can be. This is true. Not many people realize this, but I’ve been so far down that road before—I actually quit college and moved home with my parents for a semester. I had reached a point of malaise where I could hardly take care of myself—and I even had zero interest in my vice of choice: booze. Let that sink in for a whiskey soaked second. Lucky for me, I happen to have a failsafe built into my psyche that keeps me from totally destroying my life—so I at least kept going to work. I’m not sure if it was the call of the almighty dollar, or just the promise of things getting 1000x worse if I stopped going to work, but my job was the only part of my life that I didn’t completely abandon. To say that part of my life sucked would be an understatement of Biblical proportion. I had completely given up.

Now if that wasn’t a dark enough window into a part of me few are aware of, let’s get downright morbid. I’ve danced the masochistic tango with depression on and off since I was a teenager. I’ve been put on at least a dozen different medications, with varying degrees of success. Pills aren’t the complete answer—but I’ll get there soon enough. For the longest time, I freely admitted that I had an “armchair death wish.” There are two translations for this. One—I didn’t give a rat’s ass whether or not I was alive or dead. Two—I didn’t have the stones to be actively suicidal. Both are partially true, the former more than the latter. It was just how I found terms to explain the consuming emptiness inside.

It’s not just down. It’s not blue. It’s not sad. It’s a fucking void that consumes joy, sadness, anger, and everything else on the emotional smorgasbord. I eventually learned to use that ravenous maw to consume my fears and perceived inadequacies, because I was a total chickenshit when I was a teen. I’m lucky it didn’t devour me…

On second thought… Maybe it did, and I am merely what clawed back out of the pit.

Boba Fett ain't got shit on me.

Speaking of pits.

You’re probably wondering why I never tried to take a dirt nap on my own terms. Cue the record scratch, because that’s not entirely true. I deliberately tried to drink myself to death once or twice, but my liver wasn’t about to put up with any of my bullshit. Thanks buddy. Mathematically, both times I would have blown over a .4– so I should theoretically be dead twice over on those occasions.

This is the first I’ve spoken/written of it, because it’s stupid. However, therein lies the rub—I can see the stupidity now because my liver went full Johnny Badass in my moment of despair. In the moment?   That’s a different story, and it’s nigh impossible to comprehend unless you’ve made the effort to call ol’ Thanatos for a free ride across the Styx. This experience is probably why I’ve been able to stop two people from making a terminal mistake.

Suicide is selfish, but not in the connotation. People are constantly coming up with trite things to say to depressed people, what not to say, et cetera ad nauseum. When it comes down to brass tacks, you can have the most wonderful family and friends in the world—but once you’ve reached that nebulous line where pulling the plug seems like a good way to stop feeling like complete shit—you don’t see them as a safety net. They’re people that you don’t want to burden. They’re the good things in your life that you don’t want to drag down with you. Depression doesn’t mean you can’t see good when it’s there. It keeps you from reaching out to touch that good, because you don’t want to tarnish it—or change how those people treat you (and yes, you do get treated differently.)

You’re not selfish as in thinking only for yourself—you hoard the suffering because that’s just what happens. It’s cyclical and self-sabotaging, and is one of the reasons real depression is so awful (none of that Google-diagnosed attention-seeking fuckery). If you’re depressed, you don’t want attention, you don’t want pity, you just want the whole shit and shebang to stop—and paradoxically you stop caring about pretty much everything in the process. It goes far beyond not giving a fuck. This is the bad kind of not giving a fuck. There’s a distinct difference.

And no.

Wait, we got to 50%? That’s shooting high.

Now let’s roll back to the whole concept of medication—let’s face it, depression is a condition as opposed to a disease. It’s not communicable; it’s not caused by a fungus/bacterium/virus. The meds can help to correct the chemical imbalance inside your brain box, but unless you ardently try to break out of it—you’re fucked. End of story. Game over. At the end of the day, all the medication and therapy in the world cannot fix someone who cannot be open to fixing themselves.

Confused yet? Good, you should be—because depression doesn’t make sense. Medication and therapy is a tool, not a fix. Once the tools are in your hands, only you can fix you, and if you can muster the drive—these tools are valuable to solving the problem. When people ineloquently regurgitate, “you just have to deal with it,” this is what they’re trying to nail home. Of course depressed people want to get better, but turning that want into ability and motivation is where the medication/therapy/friends/family come in to play.

I had to find a use for the picture, come on!

Yeahhhhhhhh not quite.

My motivation and savior was my anger. I despised who I had become. I loathed what I had become. I tried being positive and that inevitably felt like a trite pair of rosy sunglasses, and I inevitably backslid into another malaise. Medication gave me weird side effects, and that roller-coaster often made the chemical component of my condition worse.

So I fed that void every ounce of my hate. I served that emptiness my indomitable wrath. I force-fed that void until it burned, and then dumped everything else I didn’t want on it—just to watch the blackness burn. My unusual skill for compartmentalizing my personality built a wall around it while it gagged on the overflow. I funneled everything I loathed into that maw, and then sealed that dismal oubliette shut. … and yes, I can still hear it howling somewhere in the recesses of the mind where I don’t like to tread.

even got a big sign in neon lights....

That’s how it goes. Burn that shit and don’t look back.

I can already hear someone muttering, “that’s not dealing, that’s repression.” Maybe you’re right, and maybe that’s why I feel those empty tendrils working their way back into my head from time to time. However, it’s what worked for me—and this ties back what I said in very first paragraph: When it comes to issues that involve psychological disorders, especially those caused/exacerbated by chemical imbalances, there’s more than one answer to every situation.

No matter what answer is chosen… there’s only one answer that you can’t take back.
Always pick a choice that you can reflect on later– because you never know what might emerge from the wreckage.

Unplug.

Depressurizing the Noggin

Posted: August 24, 2014 in Rant
Tags: , , ,

Well, half of my skull has business as usual– no issues no nothing.  The other half feels like I got cracked upside the head with Mr. Chin-Up-Bar.  I’ve hit this bastard with sinus meds, migraine meds, and comfort food.  Unfortunately, I can’t shake that bullet loose that’s keeping the cracks open– so let’s depressurize the whole thing with my favorite past time: venting!

Buckle up, this might get brutal.

HERE WE GO, BITCHES!

… and you all know I’m a mean motherfucker when I’ve got a headache.

Should I do a bullet list?  Yeah, why not, it’s not like I can be paid to give a rat’s ass right about now.  I’d bite the face off the Incredible Hulk if he made this headache worse.  I’d probably get utterly Loki-ed afterward, but after getting my head smashed– at least the headache would be gone.

  • If people spent as much time improving themselves as they do bitching about [insert popular -ism complaint here], maybe they’d make some actual fucking headway with life instead of sounding like a crybaby asshole.  Seriously, fecklessly trumpeted rhetoric is as useless as a dick on an air conditioner– and everyone is tired of hearing it.
  • This is the 21st fucking century; there are free literacy programs everywhere.  If you can’t read, you aren’t trying to learn.  If you aren’t trying to learn, go buy a Robin Williams Necktie and quit wasting space for everyone else.
  • I don’t believe that human life has intrinsic value.  I have an unhealthy contempt for humanity until I actually meet them face to face, and they prove they aren’t like the rest.  This may only take an initial “hello,” but without that differentiating moment– you can go skydiving without a parachute for all I care.  The only attention you’ll get from me is watching the splat video– after all, there are billions left to replace you.
  • There’s no difference between extreme-left libtards and extreme-right teabaggers…. except teabagging is fucking hilarious, so their “derisive” nickname is better.
  • Acceptance of willing/deliberate stupidity is the downfall of society.  Hooray for “no child left behind,” huh?
  • We need to legalize sword dueling.  Think about how much of the douchebag population would be dead inside of a week.  Not to mention– I’d rack up an impressive body count, and my stress levels would go through the floor.
  • People will not develop ambition when failure is rewarded.  Anyone who says otherwise is either incredibly stupid or mentally ill.  Nobody will try when they don’t have to.
  • Dudes should shut the fuck up about women’s reproductive issues.  Unless you’ve got a vag– the only opinion you have is the flavor you like best.
  • If the US Government spent half as much time and money on the American people as it does swinging its collective dick around the globe, social problems would actually be dealt with.  They aren’t because social problems are what keep the system moving.
  • Animal testing is obsolete– we have a lot of pedos and other violent sex offenders who should be experimented on instead.  At least that way we can get shit to the open market faster since we will know what the shit does to people from moment one.
Yeah.  Yeah I did.

On the upside, my headache’s all but gone.

Now… I feel a little better.  Depressurization goes a long way, right?

Unplug.

Sweet Anonymity

Posted: August 20, 2014 in Self-Deprecation
Tags: , , , ,

Saturday, I was gifted a ticket to see Young Frankenstein down at the Erie Playhouse.  First things first, the stage adaptation was a skull-popping homage to the Mel Brooks classic.  There was one part of the show that was completely out of place.  It wasn’t the song, nor the dance, nor the fact that it wasn’t the cast from the movie…  no…  it was in fucking color.  Otherwise, fantastic highlight to a fulfilling evening– but you’re right, I started my entry with a tangent.

I lamented recently how I have become a forced hermit due to both location and recognition.  Conditions since that post have not changed, in fact– I’ve actually leveraged my small-town “hey, that’s the mail man” flavor of notoriety (it’s as palatable as a bowl of chalk) to get out of a traffic ticket.  To clarify, when the cop asked me if I knew that my inspection was up two weeks ago, I nearly shit a brick and explained that I drive my car maybe once a week.  I didn’t even get a written warning– yet we’re on tangent/win number two.

You’ll have that shit when you write a post over the course of a couple days.

I know, people, I know, you wanna know what the fuck I'm on about...

As everyone has already said: GET ON WITH IT!

So, I’m not sure how much of a faux pas this is– but my friends and I are the kind of people who pregame a stage performance.  Some people bring booze to the movies, some pre-game sporting events, and some others pre-game the bar–  oh wait, I’m all of those.  Anyway, I also happen to be one of those who will also pregame an off Broadway show.  I’m not talking dropping a few shots before stepping out the door– TeeJ and I got old-school shitty shitty tanked tanked.  That’s been our modus operandii since forever, but I digress a third time.

Yes, he drove, because I was– as I vaguely remember telling him– “incompetent at life.”  So what does he do?  He takes me to fucking Erie Days– a place crawling with body-armored bacon and the vulgar masses.  Mind you, when I lived in Erie– I avoided this spectacle of fail like a fat kid avoids celery.  Yet here I was, smack in the middle of a rather large clusterfuck of people.  I had not previously realized that he was taking me straight out of retirement– and throwing me back into the way we used to roll when it came time to go out.  He is still in practice, whereas I am not (which only added to my level of intoxication).  However, that was where it happened.  I rediscovered what it felt like to vanish into a crowd– a complete unknown.

Believe you me, there’s a certain joy that can be felt when you can be completely obliterated– and nobody has a fucking clue, because nobody cares to pay any damn attention to you.  It’s a beautiful thing to be able to effectively disappear.

Or... is this a metaphor?

Yeah, I had an idea for an image break…

I didn’t have to give a rat’s ass about who I stumbled into, literally or otherwise.  There wasn’t going to be some random neighborhood kid striking up a conversation– oh yeah, that shit happens sorta regularly since I walk to work.  There was no chance of some silver hair asking me work-related questions when it’s clearly inappropriate.  By the way: office hours, people, learn to fucking respect them.

Most importantly, there was no way some douche canoe was going to start the gossip chain because I wasn’t acting like me.  News flash, me at work is most definitely not me.  It’s in my best interest to maintain that inflexible distinction, and for one blessed evening– there was no chance of that facade being in danger because I decided to enjoy being unconscionably blitzed.

… and then the motherfucker took me to the theater– where it turns out he’s one of those theater-famous people.  Getting in the joint, grabbing the tickets, and getting to our seats took almost twenty minutes.  I made it thankfully to my chair, buzz solidly intact– still just another smirking face in the crowd waiting to laugh his ass off at Young Frankenstein.

I seriously need to get out of the public sector.

Unplug.

This. Means. War.

Posted: July 27, 2014 in Rant
Tags: , , , , ,

*ahem*  Let’s see how good my faux German accent is today.  Buckle up.  *snicker*

…before we begin our next phase, I would like to take some time to address a rumor floating around ze fleet.

Some of you have come to believe zhat I.  Like.  War.
I vish to dash these rumors.  I do not like war.
I.  Love.  War.

Through my life, I have discovered so many forms of war.  You get up in ze morning.  You get into your shitty car, und you see a rich CEO who works half as hard as you do drive down the street in his Porsche.

Class war!

Zen you try und post about it on your Facebook, but zen all your friends start arguing about vhat’s right und vhat’s wrong–

Flame war!”

– The Major, Hellsing Ultimate Abridged (Episode 4… definitely NSFW…  Check out Takahata101 on YouTube)

Ah, now that feels better.  The whole speech truly encompasses the goddamn euphoric feeling I get when I am gloriously justified in loosing my wrath.  I never once anticipated that my current Bitcoin obsession would eventually result in me picking a fight with the powers that be in Albany, NY.

Those of you that live in The Empire State are already facepalming, realizing that I am voluntarily preparing to stick my size 11 boot in the biggest pile of sycophants and fail found outside of The Federal Beltway.  Why would I take on such an implacable edifice of feckless bureaucracy?  Well, let me cut to the chase– they’re poised to shit in my Wheaties.  In short, fuck that noise.

GET SOME.

Bet you were expecting Alucard to show up here. You were mistaken.

I will not sit idly by and let some six-figure-pulling jackass destroy my opportunity to make a decent living using my own ambitions and abilities.  Sooooo, here’s where things are about to get interesting.  Why, you ask?  Well, it comes back to war.  Waltzing into a fight without allies is more stupid than a bunch of technophobe Baby Boomers trying to regulate a global cryptocurrency.  It’s bad enough that Wall Street is under their jurisdiction– and wouldn’t you know?  They failed at regulating that so hard, it hatefucked the USA into another recession.

I’m not letting them screw my ambitions just because they’re idiots.  Luckily for me, there’s a state assemblyman who has his head screwed on straight…. and I happened to have met the man a few weeks ago in person.  The following is a verbatim copy of the letter that I’m sending to his office via certified mail tomorrow to fire my opening volley.

Have a read:

Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t have opted for such an informal salutation, however after meeting you while I was working at the [redacted]—you told me this is how you prefer to be addressed. I am writing you to express my concern and disdain for NYDFS’s proposed regulation/licensing of Bitcoin-based financial ventures. As you once said, NYS has a disturbing habit of squashing ambition and incentivizing failure—and I believe the proposed actions of NYDFS to be yet another sign of your observation. They claim that this is to strike a balance between protecting consumers and setting common sense rules—but the proposal is precisely the opposite in every way. No private individual or business entity can or will be affected by Bitcoin that does not choose to deal with it. Furthermore, virtual currencies like Bitcoin are of no danger to the public—contrary to this reactionary proposal. Truth be told, it’s plainly obvious they consider Bitcoin to be a criminal endeavor only—and they wish to destroy opportunities for residents who aren’t among the financial elite.

Firstly, as you plainly know—economic and employment opportunities in Western New York are pitiful if put politely. This proposed burdensome set of licensure and data-collecting measures reflects two things about NYDFS—and namely Superintendent Benjamin Laswky. One, they have no grasp of what they are trying to regulate. Two, they do not care if innovation and businesses continue to flee from New York State like first class passengers from the Titanic. Their myopic and alarmist set of measures betray their lack of understanding for what Bitcoin is (how it works, how it’s produced, and how it’s used)—and demonstrates deliberate ignorance of the IRS’s ruling that Bitcoin is a commodity and not a currency.

According to the IRS’s decision, virtual currencies like Bitcoin are to be treated in the same manner as birdhouses produced in one’s garage.  Similarly, individuals like myself who have the technical knowhow to set up a Bitcoin “mine” have the opportunity to lift themselves from the current economic climate—and potentially return more to our respective communities than if we were stuck in the traditional job market. With their current proposal, any small mines like mine (in my case uniquely benefitting from the inexpensive electric service by the Jamestown BPU) would be driven out of business– or out of New York State. This is an economic boon that NYDFS will deny enterprising individuals, and exclude from the state’s taxable revenue.

It is very obvious that this proposed direction is an alarmist and reactionary move in response to articles on MSN, Yahoo (et al) that demonstrate that Bitcoin may be used for money laundering purposes.  In the case of Bitcoin mines (the production side of the equation, where specialized computer hardware generates Bitcoin for sale/usage), that is impossible. I am not surprised by the myopic response by the NYDFS—it is on par with individuals who lack the technical abilities to handle the simplest of tasks like setting up their own email client. These cumbersomely stringent (and presumably expensive) licensing and documentation procedures reflect their erroneous understanding of virtual currency, from production to purchase/sale.   If Mr. Lawsky has his way and this proposal becomes law, the only individuals with the resources and capital capable of accommodating the regulations/licensing will be large businesses. There will be no room for forward-thinking individuals to better their circumstances through their own ability and ambition. So much for the American Dream of creating opportunities from your own hard work and ingenuity, right? I am not surprised by this disregard for the common citizen as the NYDFS members have little first-person experience with the current job market and economic climate. Their six-figure salaries and stock portfolios are already taken care of.

This brings me to my final, and probably most ireful, point. NYDFS has already failed pathetically at regulating Wall Street (which is already under their purview, and has harmed the lives of millions of Americans through their questionable practices.)   After reading their proposal—I have little doubt that these individuals are borderline computer-illiterate, Mr. Lawsky included. If you will pardon the phraseology, they have no business attempting to regulate a technology that they only understand through diluted third-party explanations. I am further disgusted by the fact that public funds were wasted on drawing up this reactionary policy, instead of focusing on aspects of public business and finance that do affect the majority of citizens in NYS and beyond. Instead of focusing on the spate of problems already on their desks that they have shirked and ignored, they have chosen to collect their salaries while demonstrating their clear lack of priorities—and understanding of the digital world.

Andy, my Bitcoin-generating hardware is at a stage where it pays my personal electric bill for my apartment—and part of a credit card payment. Currently, I can net roughly $120 per month, and while that is modest—it is a beginning of my business, one that Mr. Lawsky clearly seeks to squash through ill-conceived overregulation. I have a degree in English composition, and even I lack the words to properly express how much this effort by NYDFS must be publicly and permanently ceased.   I cannot stress enough the immediate need to generate a vocal and decisive opposition to his measures in Albany among the decision-making members of government.

Thank you for your time and consideration. I hope to speak with you in the near future about how to stamp out these measures before they permanently drive more ambitious, youthful, entrepreneurs from New York State.

You feeling that joyous quiver in your loins yet?

And the moral of the story is...

Next step, picking five or six other officials to receive similar letters… and then the media….  I don’t take prisoners.

Never piss off a guy with an English writing degree.

It’s showtime.

Unplug.

I’m sitting here, minding my own damn business, and my brain decides to take a little walk down Random Thought Boulevard.  I know, this is fucked up territory, so check it out.  My brain knows full well that this street’s poorly paved, overrun with seriously weird shit, and ultimately tees off on an Escher kind of level.  If that whole train of thought derailed on you, welcome to how my randomized brain works.  Now, throw being a little loaded on top of that.

This isn't half as weird as my day.  I saw a legit MCI phone bill today in the mail.

About to load your mind with fuck in three. two. one.

Back to being loaded, I’m sitting on my ass like a lazy pile of waste and surfing the same stupid pages I do every night.  I hop onto LinkedIn because I wasn’t kidding about that waste bit– and I hit this article.  I breezed through it until I happened to hit the last paragraph.  For those of you who aren’t going to waste your time on the unimportant sections of the article, here’s the part that blew my mind into the back of the fucking auditorium.

Remember that partitioning our lives and identities is a trap. When we segment and partition our lives into work life, home life, sporting life, community-service life, etc., we deny a truth that often our greatest strength comes from integrating all the different and diverse network interactions, and ideas into a unified and integrated whole. After all, the etymology of Integrity is from the Latin integer, meaning wholeness, or the unit of one.

Ready for the record scratch?  I deliberately taught myself to be very good at partitioning my life and personality, as well as tailoring the experience to the people I’m around.  It’s goddamn automatic for me.  If this assjack is right, I must be some kind of fucking sociopath.  Right?

I am either too wasted for this.... or not wasted enough.

Some of you shit your pants. Now see why I shat mine.

Let’s see, do I slip from situation to situation pretty seamlessly?  Yup.  Do I tend to curb parts of my personality depending on whose company I’m in?  That’s a big yup.  Is this precisely the kind of segmentation that Mr. Probably-not-PhD’d-in-This says is contrary to being a unified and integrated whole?  Damn skippy.  Does it change the fact that I have more integrity than most people?  Nope.  Guess that classifies me as more of a high-functioning sociopath… but still, I have to look at the facts.

Very little affects me.  I’m a shameless narcissist.  I have about as many “segments” to my personality as most chicks have shoes.  See where I started thinking too much?  I tend to relate to strangers more on a causality level than an empathetic one.  For example, I don’t punch stupid people because I’m too pretty for jail.  If something does somehow get to me, it’s like getting hit in the soul with a C-4 wrapped baseball bat.  I’m easily bored, yet easily obsessed.

Then I realized something else–
— I have no reason to trust a goddamn word that this goofy-looking motivational speaker has written.  It’s perfectly alright to compartmentalize, especially if you’re good at it.  Bottom line?  Always be yourself, but don’t fucking show your hand to everyone at the goddamn table.

… or I could just be a sociopath trying to justify himself.  (Which would actually defeat the clinical diagnosis, since justification is irrelevant to a true case.  Flawless victory for the powers of sarcasm!)

Unplug.

Anything I feel is worth doing should be worth going utterly overboard. Whether it’s Tough Mudders, Halloween Costumes, Homecoming Alcoholism, or college (I was an undergrad for only a decade)– if I’m going to do it, I’m taking it too far.  It’s just who I am.  Yes, I have lately shirked my passion for the written word to have an affair with my first love– tech.  Believe you me, it’s getting torrid and she’s offering to pay me to stay.

Let me pause to let the slow kids catch up with the metaphor.

There, now that we’re all on the same page (the part where my old laptop has a part time job), I decided to take a step outside my comfort zone.  I like to be solely responsible for all of my successes– and therefore my failures.  I realized my Bitcoin mining operation was not growing fast enough– or rather, I have learned all that I can at this stage.  My current hardware is earning for me, yes, but not at a rate where I can get ridiculous.  I don’t have the funds for that kind of hardware, either.  So I did something that I’m not comfortable doing– I asked for help.

Ladies and gentlemen, Hunter S.

Exactly why I bit the bullet… I wanna get back into the thick of life.

So I went ahead and looked at Kickstarter after hearing about the dude that cranked in over $50 grand for a $10 potato salad, and upon realizing that my “fund” is just to start a business (as opposed for public benefit)– I had to look elsewhere.  I ended up landing on GoFundMe.  I usually scoff at this sort of thing, and if I can’t do it myself– I don’t deserve it.  My pride can be a personality flaw at times.

Realizing that I will never have time to write, nor really do the things for Cortana that I want, I started off my own page.  If, by some amazingly unlikely galactic twist, this works– I’ll finally be able to put all of my talents to use.  My tech background will provide the funds to get me in a permanent writing mode–  and who knows, maybe Cortana will get her way sooner than later and I’ll bring about the apocalypse (by reproducing… it’s the 8th Sign, after all).

So, everyone, share the link wherever you may.  After all, it’s a starter for a business– and pretty much a totally revamped life.  I guess we’ll see what happens.

Exactly.

The mindset.

Seriously though.  Give it a click and give it a share if you can’t give it a buck.

Unplug.