For you, the dress code is casual.

Wednesday, April 13, 2005

The ADHD Chronicles: 04/13/05

Ze Fingie
Originally uploaded by scribecalledsteff.

Do you ever wonder if race purists like Nazis consent to eating hybrid foods?

Nasty Married Man across the way is out on his balcony, smoking, watching me as I write. Any second now, I will glare at him and drop my blinds. Or maybe I'll let him get his kicks. He seems so fucking repressed anyhow.

I buy my dope from a publisher of a punk rock magazine in Vancouver so I am literally smoking what the rock stars smoke.

But what are they smoking over at Blind Justice, a show about a blind cop who carries a gun? And who creates pun-based drama anyhow? (Justice is blind. Get it? Hardy-har-har.)

Who do I have to kill to stop acid-wash jeans from coming back in style?

When I grow up, I wanna be an adult.

When I was a kid, I used to think it'd be cool to get stigmata.

Is there any way we can freeze Johnny Depp's age and promote him to being an immortal? If anyone deserves to overstay his welcome, y'know.

Could somebody please, for the love of God, tell Simon Cowell that pale blue is not ever going to be his colour? Buy the man a fucking wardrobe.

I like to order milkshakes that are half chocolate and half butterscotch. In my mind, I always think, "I'm going to have a buttolate shake." I just like saying the word to myself. Just a little hybrid I came up with.

I've used the word hybrid twice now, so now I'm thinking if I say hybrid twice more, I'll have said hybrid five times in one posting. Now I'm impressed.

Creepy Married Smoking Man is out watching me again, smoking. It's only been 15 minutes. What, am I by the hour now? Freak.

Letterman is better than Leno. And Johnny Carson deserved a better successor.

I dislike seafood. I don’t know why, but I have this delusion that living and swimming in all that pollution is more disgusting than just breathing it. I realize this is sort of insane, but still.

I haven’t gotten over vegetarianism yet. What the hell is that? “I won’t eat anything that had a heart.” Yeah, whatever. “I have principles, therefore, I have anemia.” MEAT IS GOOD, people. Get off the bandwagon and have a meal.

(I worked in a bookstore for a few years and can’t tell you how many people eventually came in asking for books that could gently return them to the land of Carnivore. And they all wound up admitting they felt better with meat back in their diets. Come on. You know you want a double-double.)

I love to say the word fuck. It’s cathartic. It’s freeing. It’s fucking moronic that it should somehow be a bad word. It’s an adjective, people. Sometimes it’s a verb. And a noun. In fact, I have an entire book about the work fuck. It’s called, English as a Second Fucking Language. In it, it gives examples of all the varied uses of the word fuck, plus a complete history of its origin.

I’m a freedom fighter. Down with oppression, says I. This is why I say fuck like there’s no fucking tomorrow. Sometimes I don’t, though, because there’s this misguided notion that those who cuss a lot are somehow inarticulate. Occasionally I like to show ‘em how wrong they are, so I behave. Cussing isn’t an indicator of inarticulation--it’s the words in between that are.