Archive for the ‘Uncategorized’ Category

So it’s been over a year since I’ve been on the blog, but hey– whatever.

I saw something last night that didn’t just set dominoes falling in my head, it rage-flipped the table and hit me with a chair.  Concussive realization aside, it all comes down to one thing: World War Fucking Three.

tumblr_m26nvnNG5o1qkk10ro1_500

…and then it all went dark.

Yes, this sounds a bit tinfoil hat at first, but stay with me.  A couple weeks ago, I stumbled across an article online that floored me.  Giovanni Gambino, yes one of those Gambinos, told NBC that “the rise of global terrorism gives the Mafia a chance to show its good side. … We make sure our friends and families are protected from extremists and terrorists, especially … the Islamic State.”

Well, historically speaking, the Mafia was supposed to protect their own from the abuses of others– among other things.   Hearing the son of the Teflon Don making a bold comment like that on a mainstream media source gave me a huge grin.  Yes, every last one of my great grandparents came from Italy, and no— I actually have no clue how to get in with La Cosa Nostra.  I know, I’m disappointed too.

Looking at it from the outside, a famously criminal organization is better suited to tackling another such organization.  Naturally, thanks to my heritage, I grinned and drank my wine thinking about how profound his commentary was.  Guy’s smart, and his points were valid.  There are certain kinds of things that no amount of surveillance can unearth.  You need to know how to look, and know people who know people.

nose_tap

Makes sense, right?

Yesterday, I came across a series of articles where El Chapo (the head of the notorious Sinaloa Cartel) had some choice words for Abu Bakr Al Baghdadi– and although they ended up being false… well here’s the thing: pit a ruthless cartel that gives fewer fucks about collateral damage than China (a nation ISIS has also managed to piss off) against a ragtag group of fanatical assholes… and well… I’m not the only one who would be positively throbbing to watch it go down.

Why?  Because fuck yeah, these guys play by the same lack of rules– which boil down to one premise.

MjAxMy01NDkzNGQzZTZhMTFjNjg1

— and everything you hold dear.  Really anything around your general vicinity.

That kind of no-Geneva Conventions firefight would be precisely what it would take to eradicate ISIS.  Right?  Right?

That’s when it dawned on me.  This is how World War 3 kicks off.

Think about it this way.

  • ISIS has pissed off pretty much all of Western civilization (I’m including Russia in this lump sum).
  • ISIS has also pissed off China.  Big Red doesn’t come into this equation just yet.
  • ISIS has pissed off La Cosa Nostra.  The days of Capone may be long gone, but if you think the Mafia is out of cement overshoes– you’re just dumb.
  • If ISIS fucks with the Sinaloa Cartel’s operations, or even has the ability to compete, I’m pretty sure El Chapo will react as the now-debunked reports depicted.
  • ISIS lacks popular/global Muslim support because fuck those guys, they don’t speak for Islam.  They look at those Daeshbags the same way Christians look at the Westboro Baptist Church.  (Yes, I realize WBC doesn’t kill people, but they’re still sanctimonious fuckpiles of shit stew that would have served the world better as a stain on their parents’ mattress.)  In fact, ISIS kills more Muslims than anybody else.  Then again, considering their “home turf,” this should pose no surprise.

Now you’re saying, “Yeah, we get it, fuck those guys in particular. What’s the point?”

get_on_with_it.png

With the exception of Big Red, class, what religion is generally associated with the aforementioned nations/organizations?  If you said Christianity, you’ve just found the lynch pin I was going for.  Let’s say Daesh does piss off El Chapo… and the Sinaloa Cartel decides to hatefuck them with a steel pineapple.  The day Santa Muerte starts soaking sand with blood, the terrorists will make it out to be a Christian vs Muslim thing.

Ponder this for a few hours.

The common attitude towards this particular cadre of assjacks is pretty well known.  Let’s play a probable hypothetical situation here.  If a cartel decides to take a plane full of whoop ass overseas, it will take a token bribe at best to have law enforcement look the other way.  Why?  Because everyone is saying, “Fuck those guys in particular.”  See a pattern yet?  Good.

These guys have fewer fucks to give about a little thing called “collateral damage” than Big Red.  You get a war party of contract killers together, and now send them on a no-holds-barred fragfest somewhere far from home.  How many are going to know how to speak any of the languages over there?  If you answered “probably none,” you already see where this is going.  They’re not going to try and root out those Daeshbags with any sort of delicacy.  Nope.  They’re going to fight every bit as dirty as those Daeshbags– which is appallingly thrilling on a visceral level.  Because fuck those guys right?  Except this kind of insurrection is exactly what they want.

Those bastards are going to call it another fucking crusade… and they’re going to call for a plausible jihad that many otherwise-peaceful people will blindly follow.  Think about how many players are in town right now.  Big Red and Russia have oil interests, with Russia spanking the shit out of both rebels and Daeshbags.  Oh wait, Turkey just shot down a Russian jet, and apparently they’re on the same side as us– whatever the fuck that is. Pretty much anyone with a bomber is hammering Syria with anything they can get their hands on.  It’s already a fucking war zone, and everyone’s already scared, pissed off, or both.

All of the rules of engagement would go sideways at that point, because when you live in a shitty, bombed-out country… your life flat out sucks in ways neither you or I can comprehend.  Suddenly assholes from across the Atlantic show up, and prove that those crazy “fundamentalist” assholes that were killing your neighbors were right all along.  Boom.  You have a front that will rapidly rise, and will see both the whoop-ass squad and the foreign militaries in the same light: as crusaders.  You have to protect your own, right?

This is how war starts.  I’m not talking the kind of war that has been fought over the past 70 years.  That’s timid compared to what would happen… battlefields on a scale not seen since WW2.  Not to mention, a totality not seen since… oh… the last of The Crusades.  By the way, the F-35 can’t dogfight or much of anything else.

we-are-fucked

Tell me I’m wrong.  No, seriously, with the cards already on the table– and knowing what complete assholes people generally are these days…  It doesn’t take very much of a stretch of imagination to see how this could all get much, much uglier.

Right now, I am glad that I’m too old to draft… the The Force Awakens in less than a week.  Time’s on my side for this one…

Unplug.

Advertisements

Bigger and Better Things

Posted: November 23, 2014 in Uncategorized

This little corner of paradise was carved out, left handed, out of the madness of infirmity.  Rather, I was drugged up, bored, and gimped by wrist surgery.  Back then, this place was great.  People read and commented, and it shed some comedy on an otherwise screwy situation.  Some of you know the whole story.  The rest should go back to the first entry and rehash some of the better entries.  Even when I devolved into rants, drunk stories, an other fuckery–  there’s one thing that stayed the same….  the catchiness of the name.

That’s why I’m going to be moving this blog to a new location…. like…. soonish.

You read that right.

Thanks, Loki.

Snark and Circumstance will be a namesake for something bigger, something I’m going to have a hand in building.  I was approached by an old friend of mine– one far more successful in the writing world after college.  Details aside, primarily because they haven’t been hashed out yet, we’re going to take this catchy name and do something bigger with it.

Sure, my biting sarcasm will be a contributing factor– but you know what?  I finally get to do something with what I love– as opposed to sporadic instances of text vomit.

coming soon—

–Snark and Circumstance.

Unplug.

Andiamo!!

Posted: September 23, 2014 in Uncategorized
Tags: , ,

When in Rome, do as the Romans do, right?  Well I worked on a road construction crew for four summers during college (so I’m no stranger to professionally playing in traffic), and these people are fucking nuts.  Traffic patterns here are not unlike the bastard child of a Zerg rush and Lemmings, and pedestrians give positively zero fucks about the trusty dead-weight-tonnage-rule…  chaos and balls are the name and spirit of the game if you wanna get anywhere.

I could get used to it here.  Actually, who do I think I’m kidding?  A living, breathing city that is deeply in touch with thousands of years of heritage is the perfect place to live.  The food, the architecture, the art, the culture, the everything is the reason I could totally expat here and get used to it…. but the madness associated with driving?  Screw that noise, I’d rather navigate the winding alleys and blocks on foot.

The land where no SUV may go....  seriously.

Oh yeah, and everyone drives micromachines. To the point where riding a scooter isn’t something you’d ever be made fun of for riding.

That’s right, the name of the game here is go.  If you were there first, you have the right of way, and other people stop for you.  Traffic signals are a nice suggestion, but ultimately feckless.  Oddly enough, everyone seems pretty calm and accepting of what would otherwise be a road-rager’s worst-case scenario.  It might also have to do with the fact that the only places you can do better than 10 mph are on the main thoroughfares– and those are clusterfucks of Biblical proportion.

Speaking of Biblical– we spent most of the day today at the Vatican Museum…  or Musei Vaticani as the locals call it.  I’ve seen pictures of St. Peter’s Basilica, and many of the works of art in the museum proper…  I’ve seen pictures of the Sistine Chapel…  In no way did I once feel like this was going to be like a Lucy/Desi rerun– just on a bigger screen.  In fact, I was pretty much awestruck by the whole thing, finally seeing with my own eyes the works of masters like Michelangelo and Raphael.

Here, let's do the time warp...

Or how about Raphael throwing Dante Alighieri into one of the Vatican murals.  Dude’s wearing red, and rocking some serious olive branch action.

I would write more….

… but I’ve got a ticket to an audience with Il Papa Francesco in the morning.  Not to mention, I’d have to somehow cover the territory spanning the 500 pictures I took today alone.  The Italian word of the day today, children, is andiamo—  GO!

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.

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.

 

Overhauled.

Posted: July 15, 2014 in Uncategorized
Tags: , , ,

No, I’m not fucking dead.  I’ve been otherwise occupied (read: lazy when I’m not busy).

That’s about as much of an apology that’s gonna come out of me this time, especially since there’s a title up there that suggests I’m up to something.  That title would be correct, since I spend more time here ranting than I do mocking the fact that I’m frequently gimpified.  Right about now, I’m betting that you just noticed the header title’s changed to match the URL.  Good job.

Most self-imported assjacks would probably write out their manifesto here, like their readership actually gives a fuck about that self-aggrandizing introspective bullshit.  Isn’t that right?  The sad part is, most reader-bases feel tritely entitled to that kind of pompous asshattery because it gives them the feels.  I’m a goddamn narcissist at heart, so I guess it’s safe to venture that I’m not the kind of guy who indulges such desires either.  Right?  Right.

You know you missed me.

But anyway.

 

Speaking of deal with it, am I surrounded by a culture that wants nothing more than to be a goddamn victim?  Seriously, when did it suddenly become the “it” thing?  Lemme wrap this into a nutshell, and it comes down to a single term that I loathe in ways that Erida couldn’t fathom: trigger.

I’m not talking about the decisive part of a gun.
Nor the decisive part of a boobytrap.
Nor the name of the Lone Ranger’s fucking horse.
Yeah, now you see where I’m going with this.

Some people are exposed to horrible situations that cause them to develop medically-diagnosed psychological conditions– and then there are self-diagnosed attention whores that use their Google-fu to justify not being able to handle life like a mature adult.  Oh yes, I’m talking about those triggers– and the fist raised SJW trash that enables them.

What the fuck is wrong with just outright admitting that someone pissed you off?  Oh, I know, because as a victim– you can never be responsible for what you say and do in retaliation.  If something, or someone, in life or online, pisses me off…  well I have this miraculous quality that helps me handle whatever comes my way.  What’s that quality, you say?  Self fucking respect.

Get a forklift and shut the fuck up.

Awwwwwwww, let’s all rally around.

If I make like a chimp and rip someone’s face off (verbally, obviously), I just might face a scary thing called consequences.  We can’t have those, can we?  Fuck no, we’re victims here, right?  Someone that plays that passive-aggressive “trigger” card, and they suddenly get carte blanche to be a carton of butthurt douche that must be catered to.  It’s not hard to see the allure, and I’m willing to bet the vast majority of people that play this card have a Google diagnosis– and haven’t set foot in a doctor’s office.  If they have, it’s leveraging an old diagnosis that they haven’t been treated for in years.  You know, because that’s how it just is.

Yeah.  I went there.

If you’re under medical care, hey– I’m truly sorry for the fucked up things that happened in your life.  I’m completely serious.
As for the rest of you?

You’re the worst kind of human being.  You hide behind a self-diagnosis (read: lie) so that others will blindly defend you for being a maladjusted attention whore.  Instead of creating a support network for legit victims– you’ve made it vogue to wave that flag (and spat in their faces in the process.)  Everyone has to have a trigger now, and everyone has to cater around yours.  What’s worse is that some of these delusional wastes are smart enough to exploit the right doctors into continually lending legitimacy to their failure at life.

Fuck you and admit the truth when it happens:  you get pissed off.  For once in your life, own your stance as yours and handle it– and whatever fallout you may cause later.  You just might find that living life like you want it is more satisfying than convincing yourself you regret it.

See all the fucks I give?  They're in the background.

Offended? Good. Admit it and act on it, don’t just whine like a feckless douchenozzle.

That overhaul I was talking about?  Yeah.  It’s more than just a name and style change.  I’m just going to let my voice go where it will, and stop trying to maintain a modicum of decorum.  I was starting to feel too antiseptic to be genuine.

Unplug.

Since you asked…

Posted: June 8, 2014 in Uncategorized
Tags: , ,

Show of hands here, how many people cook without recipes because [reason]?  Doesn’t it make you want to slap the corpse of Julia Child every time some method cook asks for your recipes?  Well, wind up a flying 540 pimpslap of doom– I’m writing this one down right as I’m eating it (read: while I have any Goddamn recollection what I did).  I realize indulging such requests is like feeding a mogwai after midnight– but fuck it.

So first up, get shitfaced.  The rest of this will make more sense after your intoxicant of choice.

I give you–  Coconut Fried Rice.  So yeah, get back to step one then go get the following shit:

Coconut oil
2 tiny boiler onions
2 cooked chicken breasts (I’ll explain in a minute)
3 bell peppers (red, yellow, orange)
2 cups of rice (dry)
2/3 of a decent sized eggplant

Fuck you, the melanzana is perfect because I’ve been on this whole fusion kick lately.  Either that or I was just wasted–had it handy– and it seemed like a fucking great idea– which it totally is.  Now quit questioning the smashed savant and get the rice started.  Make sure you throw in a good heaping tablespoon of coconut oil with the now-cooking rice.  While that’s going, you get to play with sharp objects.  If you can’t figure out what to do at this point, especially seeing the picture below, I can’t help you.  Just make sure you keep the chicken separate from the rest of the stuff because this is a total throw-together meal and timing is possibly crucial.  I have no idea.

Because I can, that's why.

It’s creations like this that make it worth Cortana’s while to let me get loaded whenever the mood strikes.

Now, once you’ve got your prep work done– redo your shitface while another good scoop of coconut oil heats up on the stove.  Oh, by the way, if you didn’t already assume that you need a big-ass saucepan for this– well you’ve probably realized it by this stage.  Toss in onions.  Wait till translucent, toss in everything else besides the chicken.  Sizzle the Hell out of those for awhile.

Now, we get to the chicken.  Why is it cooked before?  Because I’m on a diet kick, trying to lose ~20lbs before my last Mudder.  Yeah, I said “last”– but that’s another rant entirely.  At this point, I dumped some Parrot Bay into the saucepan because…  I really have no damn clue, because it turned out not to do shit.  Skip that, or don’t, it’s your choice at this stage.  Stir in the cooked rice with another big blob of coconut oil.

Sizzle, some more then toss in a quick blupp (yes, that’s a technical term) of soy sauce.  That’s it.  Too easy to make, and holy shit… it turned out even better than I’d anticipated.  I didn’t do the math on this, but I believe this is pretty freaking healthy too.

If I were a hashtagging kinda guy, I’d probably throw in something like dontneednostinkinrecipes…. or couldbehealthy… or maybe smashedchef.  However, this is a blog, I’m too verbose for twitter, and I’m not a douchecanoe.

In other news, if you’re a fan of this whole quasi-healthy eating kick, check out my kid sister’s blog.

Unplug.