last week was my birthday, which marked the one year countdown to the end of my second decade of life.
...i suppose that may have been a little dramatic way of saying that i turned 20, but i believe it's completely necessary. after all, turning 21 will begin a whole new life for me. i dont associate with any fortune tellers, but i believe that legally being able to drink could possibly be the greatest time in my life. either that, or it will be a downward spiral of chaos, shame, and regret. chances are i'll be too drunk to notice anyway.
despite the sheer insignificance that turning 20 brought me and brings millions of people every year, it will be remembered for the day i got accepted to ferris. which, to a lot of people, is no big deal. any asshole with a pencil in his hand could one day call themself a bulldog. but like turning 21 will do, it too marks a complete 180 in my life. for the first time in damn near 15 years, i am looking forward to going to school. because i know what the alternative is. work. and dont get me wrong - i realize im not doing manual labor here, but i do feel that i am in desperate need of a change of surroundings. working midnights, being on probation, and moving back in with my parents has done little for my social life's ego.
i would now like to explain how i spent my night at work:
-after almost 3 straight hours of online poker, consisting of buying fake drinks for everyone and flirting with the best-looking braud at each of the tables via open chatroom, i finally won a good size pot. i then lost all of it and then some in consecutive hands over the next 10-15 minutes. this really put a damper on my night.
-on a positive note, i finally beat my all-time high of Mario Bros (on the computer, not nintendo. from what i remember, i dominated that shit.) by beating the 4th level. halfway through the 5th level, though, a flying turtle ended my 5th and final life. if there's a more un-dignified way of dying, i certainly dont know it. however, it would be a great story to tell the grandchildren. next week i'll give level 5 another shot. that duck is going down through firepower.
-i read 1.5 pages of A Fan's Notes, a novel that i bought about a month ago and have yet to reach the 20 page mark. of all the noted reviews this book received, it forget to mention that the author's keen, intellectual dictation is not recommended for the graveyard shift worker. it has almost literally put me to sleep on numerous occasions.
-i stapled a hurdle track to the top of my desk for my fingers to race on. needless to say, this did not entertain me for long. i wish i knew where my fingerboards were.
-during what i like to call the glory hour (which is the hour before i punch out), a gun shot wound victim comes in by ambulance. this is an elderly man, and whatever an elderly man does at 6.30 in the morning to piss you off, please think of me before you decide to shoot him. if you dont give a shit about me, at least try to aim for the toes. possibly an arm, the chest. but the thigh? here i am, pen and paper in hand attempting to get some information on the situation, but all i can do is focus on the grim future lying there on the bed between this gentleman's legs. [note: i say 'grim future' because it is inevitable that mine and your testicles will one day look like this mans. also, i say 'lying there' because this sagging, unshapely sac of ball remnants hung away from the body and formed it's own little comfort zone on the bed, nestled ever so loosely between each thigh.]
i stood there trying to think of every horrific car accident i had ever seen, and realized that this was practically the sum total of them all.
so i'll be dealing with those flashbacks for the rest of my god damn life. that is, at least until i become an old man with my own distinct ball sac.
Saturday, March 22, 2008
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
robots
if you want anything done right in this world, you have to control it with robots.
but the question is, who programs the robots? who is to determine what is right and wrong, what should and shouldnt be done? more importantly, what's to stop the robots from evolving and creating a mind of their own, like that one movie starring will smith? then we're all fucked. (unless, of course, will smith's real life personality was directly related to the roles he portrays in the movie, or movies such as i am legend, enemy of the state, bad boys, or even the legend of bagger vance. then he could just save the world from sure destruction. but when i hear 'will smith', i cant help but to think of things like the fresh prince, oscar the fish, and big willie style.)
as long as you have the human factor of opinion (commonly referred to as fucking up) involved, nobody will ever be happy and justice will never be served. you could apply my incredibly flawless theory to almost any given situation.
'ok andy, you had my attention at 'will smith'. now whats your fucking point?' may be crossing some of your minds. well im glad you asked, you impatient piece of shit.
when a patient comes into the ER after *trying to commit suicide, a psychiatric doctor is supposed to undergo an evaluation with this patient, determine if they are legitimately crazy and could put themself or others at risk again. for the sake of argument, let's say the patient mistakenly took uncle jim's erectile dysfunction pills for vicodins just before swallowing a fifth and a half of jack daniels.
aside from the fact that the patient is sloshing around the ER with a 45ยบ rock solid boner, the real problem is that the psyche doc is an INTERN! a mid-to-late-twenties college grad with everything in the book to prove, with his job on the line. now surely he wouldnt be able to just let this patient go with a pat on the shoulder, showing the patient how to correctly identify a pill bottle the next time he decides to kill himself. no, the doc has to diagnose the man. give him a cube with plastic sheets on the bed and padded walls. write something like 'major depression with psychosis' on the patient's chart. this pre-mature but post-puberty (big boy) doctor has the power to tell this man he's crazy. and he will, and so will the next one.
the most apologetic psychiatric doctor is like the most caring serial killer.
*a very wise hitler-like man (in the form of forceful text messages to contribute to another website) once opened my eyes about this whole suicide tactic known as trying to commit suicide, then failing. to those whom this may apply, i say to you 'fuck you'. if you want to kill yourself, you can kill yourself. hell, if you're not sure it will work, let me assist you! but when you try and you fail, you're the lowest piece of shit on this planet. and if ONE soul reaches out to you with a sympathetic hand, then you had absolutely no reason to try to grab their attention in the first place because obviously, they're just as fucking demented for giving a shit about you.
but the question is, who programs the robots? who is to determine what is right and wrong, what should and shouldnt be done? more importantly, what's to stop the robots from evolving and creating a mind of their own, like that one movie starring will smith? then we're all fucked. (unless, of course, will smith's real life personality was directly related to the roles he portrays in the movie, or movies such as i am legend, enemy of the state, bad boys, or even the legend of bagger vance. then he could just save the world from sure destruction. but when i hear 'will smith', i cant help but to think of things like the fresh prince, oscar the fish, and big willie style.)
as long as you have the human factor of opinion (commonly referred to as fucking up) involved, nobody will ever be happy and justice will never be served. you could apply my incredibly flawless theory to almost any given situation.
'ok andy, you had my attention at 'will smith'. now whats your fucking point?' may be crossing some of your minds. well im glad you asked, you impatient piece of shit.
when a patient comes into the ER after *trying to commit suicide, a psychiatric doctor is supposed to undergo an evaluation with this patient, determine if they are legitimately crazy and could put themself or others at risk again. for the sake of argument, let's say the patient mistakenly took uncle jim's erectile dysfunction pills for vicodins just before swallowing a fifth and a half of jack daniels.
aside from the fact that the patient is sloshing around the ER with a 45ยบ rock solid boner, the real problem is that the psyche doc is an INTERN! a mid-to-late-twenties college grad with everything in the book to prove, with his job on the line. now surely he wouldnt be able to just let this patient go with a pat on the shoulder, showing the patient how to correctly identify a pill bottle the next time he decides to kill himself. no, the doc has to diagnose the man. give him a cube with plastic sheets on the bed and padded walls. write something like 'major depression with psychosis' on the patient's chart. this pre-mature but post-puberty (big boy) doctor has the power to tell this man he's crazy. and he will, and so will the next one.
the most apologetic psychiatric doctor is like the most caring serial killer.
*a very wise hitler-like man (in the form of forceful text messages to contribute to another website) once opened my eyes about this whole suicide tactic known as trying to commit suicide, then failing. to those whom this may apply, i say to you 'fuck you'. if you want to kill yourself, you can kill yourself. hell, if you're not sure it will work, let me assist you! but when you try and you fail, you're the lowest piece of shit on this planet. and if ONE soul reaches out to you with a sympathetic hand, then you had absolutely no reason to try to grab their attention in the first place because obviously, they're just as fucking demented for giving a shit about you.
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