Y2kk Update: You know, I could've sworn there was a point in my life where I didn't have a goddam temper...

... obviously, to some extent, things have changed...

The other week, I blew up at my VCR when the fucking thing blew up in my face first. I mean quite literally, the goddam thing after chewing up yet another one of my old VHS tapes, literally sparked and spanked and coursed its fucking goddam electricity through my bloody hell veins. In retaliation, I overreacted and slammed the motherfucking box of death against the ground. I mean honestly, with my hair standing up from the goddam surge of electricity, it was like time was standing still for me. It was just between me and the machine, and I lost my temper. I simply blew up, end of story...

... and lost to goddam Skynet...

Now, obviously it's hard to blame me for my actions when I was motherfucking attacked by my goddam home electronic. But still, I used to have so much more patience, so much more goddam virtue. What exactly has happened over the past few years?...

Over recent days, I've been thinking back to all those times in the past when I actually did give a shit about things, about the times when I did have a temper or did care about something so damn much that it ended up hurting me in the end. I've written about them all before on this download site of mine, but I just thought on this eve before Hallow's Grand Eve that I might as well reminisce amongst these memories all over again...

I still recall the way I felt the very first day I had failed a Calculus midterm. It was way back in first year, pretty much five goddam years ago if my memory doth serve me right. I was shaking my head in disbelief at the time, wondering to myself just how the fuck I would ever explain a horrible, miserable failure in Calculus to my parents. Sure, already in university by that point, I had flunked out on quizzes and small tests, but never a goddam midterm. Sure, in retrospect, it was just the first of goddam so many, but at the time? As I was wallowing away my head in shame, I really did feel like it was the end of the world...

I was slowly walking up the steps at Toronto Union Station at the time, so damn discouraged and so damn fearful of the fact that my life of ease and success would just never be the same. I was concentrating so damn much on my own goddam self-pity at the damn time and shit like that, that I didn't even notice when my foot began to slip...

Short story short, I twisted my ankle on a stair and starting falling the fuck down. I fell flat on my face, took more than a good lickin' on the chin, started rolling down the steps, bowled over a couple of people behind me in the process, and rammed my ass straight into the concrete floor to finish things off...

... nice...

And as I was staring up at the ceiling of the goddam subway station with my back absolutely killing me by taking the fall? I still remember the exact goddam words I had thought to myself then and there, at that very damn moment frozen in time...

"Wow... university marks really do hurt..."

And then I realized, why the fuck should I care about how I did on the midterm? It was just a damn number, and not some measure of my worth or any sort of crap. I had spent so much damn effort in high school to try to stay at the top of my class, or at least I did until the end of Grade 12. My marks dipped enough in my final year of high school simply because even back then, I had begun to realize just how pointless and fruitless and futile it was to devote my entire damn existence to goddam academics, when they're really just goddam numbers in the end...

But it wasn't until university, it wasn't until that goddam failure of a Calculus test, and it wasn't until I slammed my way through two damn innocents behind me on the stairs at Union Station, that it finally did hit me... after I hit them, of course...

... that caring about this stupid ass shit just didn't matter in the end...

Life became easier after that for me. Much easier, even though there certainly were times where I still managed to freak out like hell (namely when I failed my first year Dynamics course, thinking that I had failed all of first year as a result as well). But I still can't seem to forgive nor forget that one goddam incident in fourth year of university, at a time when I thought I didn't give a damn about marks or any of that goddam shit any longer...

I was in my Multimedia course lab at the time, and already in that class I was feeling the ill advised effects of keeping up with the Jones'. I was at the bottom of all the grades, barely passing a course that everyone else was claiming was goddam easy as shit ass pie. Nothing came simple for me though in Multimedia, as I struggled even on the labs that were supposed to be dirty and quick...

On that very night, I was still stuck frantically trying to finish up my assignment as everyone else in the lab had pretty much already left. And as I was panicking over just how the fuck to finish the damn work and get the fuck out of the TA's iron sights, I started feeling a certain feeling in my lower gut. I thought it was fear at the time, or fucking goddam panic really...

I thought I was having a panic attack, and I really don't know why. And whenever I'm nervous? I tend to fidget. I was already scraping and strafing back and forth, back and forth in my bloody hell chair by that point. I couldn't sit still, but it only got worse and worse as that sinking feeling in my gut got stronger and stronger. WTF?...

I suddenly got that urge to get up and go to the bathroom. But with only ten or so minutes left to finish my lab, I just couldn't be bothered. I just had to finish my goddam work already, not for the marks I kept telling myself, but for the simple pride in knowing that maybe, just maybe, I'm not the fucking dumbest kid on the goddam university campus...

But as I grew more and more nervous, as I swallowed my pride and swayed back and forth in my chair harder and even harder, the feeling in my lower extremities just kept growing stronger and stronger and fucking goddam stronger, until I swear to God, I couldn't hold it in any longer...

I got up and rushed to the washroom, only to find that I didn't goddam make it on time. Halfway there, my fucking dick exploded. I thought I had fucking pissed in my goddam pants from panic...

Until I realized that...

... it felt...

... good?...

WTF?...

No, wait...

... WTF?...

I hadn't pissed in my pants. I had actually instead fucking orgasmed in my fucking underwear. WTF?...

... and man, did it ever feel good...

Now, sure it was fucking embarrassing as hell to basically make the entire trek of a hour and a half back home with soggy wet underwear filled with goddam semen. I had tried to wash my pants out, and in retrospect, it probably would've been better if I had just bought some new fucking underwear from a goddam dollar store downtown or some shit like that at the time...

But the thing is, my orgasm from sheer goddam panic and nervousness (or actually, more likely from my dick rubbing against the soft chair in the lab over and over again as I was fidgeting at the computer) actually helped me out in the end, in more ways than I ever thought possible at the time...

Because simply from my assignment, I wasn't thinking clearly. I mean seriously, why does it matter whether I get a zero on the lab or a hundred percent in the end? What does it really get me but a goddam number and a false sense of pride? Why should I fucking care?...

I still remember exactly how I felt and exactly what I said to myself as I just stood there blankly as my pants exploded in the university hallway...

"Uggh... mmm.... mmm?... mmmmmmmmmmmmmmm"...

... or, umm, yeah... something to that effect...

And finally, I could think clearly. Immediately after washing out my pants, I just shrugged the whole thing off, handed in my assignment, got a measly mark of 50%, and went home actually content for once in my goddam life. I had learned my life's lesson all over again, although this time it didn't require a goddam flight of stairs, a broken back, and two fucking busted as hell knees to do so. The only victim in the end was my goddam bruised ego and pride, along with bloody hell underwear I'd never wear again in my life, but that was a given...

You know what has been weird over the past couple of years though? I can't even remember the last time I've actually had a wet dream from an actual scene dealing with goddam sex (although there was this one time I was doing it with my sister on her back, but, umm... that's a story for another day...). The only times I ever do wake up with underwear wet with goddam semen anymore is when I'm fucking terrified in my dreamstate, either from death or murder or even from a goddam pissed off professor. WTF?...

And maybe that's why I've been having such a temper as of late?...

... I just ain't getting some...

... but when have I ever?...

Either way, my stupid goddam temper tantrums showed up again on the weekend. As my latest Tweakui update will attest, my AMD-64 of a PC blew up in my face on Saturday, even after I had bought goddam new RAM for it (which I can no longer goddam return, might I add). So I started swearing and kicking the shit out the machine, trying to be all powerful and macho, not like it made me feel better even for a single goddam split second...

... until I just stopped, took a deep breath, and quickly asked myself in a lowly whisper of a whimper...

... "What is the point?"...

What is the point of ever getting angry? I used to have so much patience. Where has it all gone?...

You know, I could've sworn there was a point in my life where I didn't have a goddam temper...

... now sure, some things have certainly changed over the course of the past few years...

But really? I'm just getting frustrated...

... frustrated and castrated with life, honestly...

Seriously. What is the goddam point?

I just need to get fucking laid.

Y2kk Update: Halloween is coming up in just a few days...

And just like every other year? I wish I was doing something. I wish I was being someone...

... someone else, you know?...

But I never do. I never goddam do. It's just not in my nature...

... it's just not in my nature to embarrass myself so...

Why am I always afraid of being the pompous jackass? I've tried so damn hard not to care what others think of myself, all the way to the point where over the years, I've kind of learned to not even give a shit about how I think of myself. The thing is, at certain times though, I just can't control how I feel, and I just still get that sinking feeling in my gut every single time that I make a fool out of myself, even around strangers...

Back in summer, I thought I was ready for the golf course. Obviously I was hesitant to even step on a crappy little executive course, considering I was consciously late when it came to tee time. I thought that my brother was bringing his friends along for the game, and obviously I didn't want to embarrass myself in front of them, considering the both of them were reasonably decent at golf already. And of course, I made an ass of myself even more not just because I didn't realize how important it was to be ten minutes early to your tee time (or else you lose your spot for the round of golf), but that my brother's friends had actually canceled on him and that I didn't really have anyone foreign to embarrass myself in front of at all...

... well, except for those two strangers that we were saddled with, that is...

One was a father who was a decent pro at the game, considering he had gone to God knows how many golfing tournaments over the years as part of his business. He brought along his son, just a five or so year old kid with a baby little driver and putter in his bag. The kid was just learning the game of golf and didn't even know how to swing properly, let along fucking hit the ball off of the tee with any sort of consistency. The thing is, considering I knew the dad wouldn't be trying hard just to make sure he didn't embarrass his own son, I couldn't turn out to be that bad looking in comparison when it came to the game, right? There's no way I would turn out that damn shitty in comparison to two perfect strangers like that, now could I?...

Well, the first hole I was on, I guess I was calm and concentrated enough to make a decent tee shot. Well sure, I completely botched and missed my first attempt, hitting the turf a mile away from the fucking ball. But my second attempt turned out decent considering I was a beginner I suppose, as I hit a shot about seventy or so yards with a five iron a little to the right. The thing was, the ball landed and rolled to the bottom of a hill, although I didn't think that would be a real problem at the time...

I've spent my entire "life" of golf so far practicing at a goddam driving range where everything is completely flat. I wasn't prepared for a fucking grassy, lumpy hill in the rough, and I paid for it dearly in terms of face and pride. While the little kid next to me was able to make it to the green in five shots or less, even though he didn't fucking know how to hit the ball off of the goddam grass, I was stuck hitting the goddam side of the hill about ten fucking shots in the row without ever getting close to the fucking ball. WTF?...

Did I give up? No. It took forever for me to get to the green, but I finally managed to do so with the nine iron. Still, I was beaten so damn badly by a fucking five year old, to the point where even he was laughing at my goddam patheticness. But so what, right? It was just the first hole, I figured. I shrugged it off and moved on, thinking that I would improve as the day went by...

... I figured wrong...

It wasn't just a complete lack of skill that did me in, but also the goddam fact that I just can't concentrate, keep my head down, and keep my fucking eye on the ball when others are watching. On the third hole, a bunch of assholes behind us with their fucking cocky caddy hats and shirts and shoes, were pressuring my group and I to finish with the goddam hole already so that they could get a chance to play. The thing is, even though they were complete strangers that I shouldn't have given a damn about, I just couldn't ignore them or phase them out. Even on the fucking tee on that hole, I missed the fucking ball something like five goddam swings in a row. By the time I finally did get a tee shot off, it went soaring into the rough of a goddam hill again. And after swinging and missing the ball another dozen or so times in a complete act of embarrassment, I just picked up my ball and left with my head hanging down in shame...

What else could I do? There was a shot limit, and I just couldn't take the heckling from the bastards behind me. Hell, it's not like they really even annoyed me with what they were saying or whatever sort of crap, but just how they were rolling their eyes and shaking their heads at how much I was getting fucking owned by my piss poor swing and the goddam dirt of the ground...

Did I improve later on in the day? A little bit perhaps, once I started relying on solely the six iron and nine iron along with the pitching wedge, rather than thinking I could even remotely get a straight shot with the three or the five. I still got badly beaten in score by the rookie of a five year old, and it was goddam embarrassing when that kid's father actually came to me instead of his son to cheer me up with a pep talk about my lame ass performance. Still, as embarrassed as I was that day from just how much I sucked on the course, in the end I just shrugged it all off and swore that I would be ready for the next time I would bring my goddam golf set to the nine bloody holes of death...

Later on in that week, I went back to the driving range. And either because there was simply no pressure from wandering eyes or any sort of crap, or simply because I had become far more wise at the game of golf after just one day on the course than I ever did from three years at the driving range, I was absolutely launching almost every single one of my tee shots then and there almost a hundred yards straight with my six iron. It was a small measure of redemption and perhaps even a bit of goddam vengeance for myself as well, as mere confirmation that if only I didn't bow down to goddam outside pressure, maybe I could've held my own on the course. But I guess, until next year at least, I may never really know...

It's just that, no matter how many times that embarrassing shit happens to me, I always just can't stand it the next time it occurs...

For instance, the same sinking feeling of shit happened to me the other week. My company was giving away prizes half out of celebration for a big deal the company had just made with a US firm, and half because we had a contest a while ago for the most creative programming work (done outside of office hours, that is). I had made a goddam god-awful technical demo that had absolutely no purpose or control or practical use whatsoever, but since I didn't have anything better to enter into the contest, I put my shitty ass demo into the entry network box anyhew. I mean, I figured, what really did I have to lose, right?...

... my pride... forgot about my pride...

... I figured wrong...

I don't know why anyone who knew what my technical demo was like would ever think I could win. Sure, I still had my faint hopes out there that maybe the marketing team would've found some promise in the shit that I had designed. But still, even so, I knew in my heart that it was all just some fool's quest for gold. I had seen the other entries in the contest, and they were so much better looking and designed and so much more goddam pragmatic than my own that there was simply no chance in hell of me ever winning a single prize. Which is why I really don't get why people starting cheering me on when the CEO of the company started looking in my general direction...

One of my fellow interns from the summer (we had all signed new contracts for the year, but that's a story for another day) actually patted me on the back then and there, and told me that, "see, you never know when you can win!". Other interns overheard this and started congratulating me, and goddammit, I almost thought for a second that I did win. The CEO was still looking in my direction, and now half of the company was staring at me too, almost as if to egg me on in taking the winner's circle of a pedestal. I didn't want to say anything, considering I knew how shitty ass my demo was and that the CEO still hadn't announced a name. But I just knew that it wouldn't be me, yet everyone around me was already goddam beginning to goddam congratulate me...

Well, suffice to say, I wasn't the winner. I have no bloody hell clue what gave the other guys the impression that I could've ever won with my shitty ass technical demo, when the guy right next to me was making headlines all over the place in the company for what he had designed. But of course, the CEO was looking in my direction, and if he hadn't said the winner's name out exactly when he did, I may have been dumbass and retarded enough to actually start smiling and moving towards him for the congratulatory handshake. But I knew that it couldn't have been I who had won, and I was right. Problem was, even if I didn't fall for the goddam trap of a fool's luck and hope, I couldn't avoid the fact that now everyone at the company had known that I had entered a project into the contest, and that I had obviously lost bitterly to the guy standing right next to me...

Was I embarrassed? Hell yeah, I was embarrassed. And I'm sure I looked the part, considering how small I always appear whenever I cross my legs in panic like a little girl, or start constantly fiddling and fidgeting with the buttons on my coat and dress shirt...

... or pull a Lebron James with the biting and filing of the fingernails...

I just hate that goddam sinking feeling I get whenever I get goddam embarrassed, you know?...

... maybe everyone does, I dunno...

When worst comes to worst, I just don't think straight, and I just never concentrate properly whenever I do. Leading to even further embarrassment, shit that I can never live down even afters years of biting my lips in remorse and heartaching regret, don't you know...

I've just tried so damn hard to not give a fucking shit about what others think of me and how others view me. The problem is, no matter how much I try to block it out, it's just a goddam part of me. I can't ignore it, I can't shut it out, and I can't goddam bury it. It's a part of me that simply cannot die, no matter how much I want it to. I've also tried to accept it, but there are just some times where too much is too bloody hell fucking much...

I've never gone out for Halloween. Okay, maybe a few times for trick and treating way back in the past, but never for parties. Never for dates (obviously). Never in a fucking costume, except when I was too small to know what the fuck I was doing...

And the same goes for this year. Although at least for this Halloween, my brother got a truck load of "free samples" from his company to give out to the kids for Halloween. And I'll be the one on guard duty, so to speak. Which is more than I normally do on fucking Halloween every single fucking bitter year...

Because every other year? I would just stick to my own goddam basement, pissed off and hating myself along with the social circle of the world, for the mere shadow of a fact that I myself never ever have the guts just to do something, to be someone on Halloween...

... to be someone else, you know?...

Because it all sounds like so much goddam fun, now doesn't it?...

And maybe it would be, if only I had the guts, if only I had the glory...

... if only I had the sweet stroke, and maybe if only I hadn't been owned by a fucking five year old rookie?...

Fucking little twerb of a bitch.

No candy for you.

Y2kk Update: That twitch...

... that goddam twitch in my eye is back...

It's been haunting me for months, really. It comes and goes and whisks away, only to return at the most goddam forsaken of goddam piece of shit opportunities...

There's this twitch in my eye. Maybe it's because I haven't been getting enough sleep or some shit like that, but either way, it's there. It tugs at the corner of my left socket night and day to the point where all this bullshit, combined with my incessant nose sniffing every morning, really makes me look like a fucking drug addict in the worst goddam way...

... sadly, the only drug I am addicted to is goddam Halls cough drops, so that can't be right...

But seriously, it's been months since my eyes started to twitch in the first place, yet the problem just won't go away. Why is that?...

I wrote about it to some extent yesterday, about my current goddam complete lack of motivation to have a fucking care in the world. I would've thought that having so much happening in my life right now (or around me, at least...) would help change or improve things, but nothing ever does. Life always remains the same for me...

Yes, I knew that this would be the way I would I feel all the way back in high school, I wrote about it all during my time and tinker tenure at university, and now that it all has come true? Now that it all has come to pass as my life passes me by? Did it all become reality because it all actually is true, or was it simply because I actually did wish for it all and caused it to happen? A goddam self-fulfilling prophecy, where I can never be fulfilled, that is...

I've been spending a lot of money lately. When my best friend came over here from Charlotte, I already spent a ton on my credit card on that one weekend alone on movies and dinners and stuff like that. Sure, it was money well spent, but it was a damn lot of money in the end (at least compared to how much was in my bank account at the time), at least for a single weekend. I would've thought my spending habits would've returned to normal after that, even without any goddam movies to go to anymore, but now I find I'm goddam shelling out just as much cash these days when it comes to video games and lunches and dinners and shit like that. Did I ever really spend this much before? Why is that?...

Okay, so a few hundred here and there out of a paycheque of a couple of thousand ain't so bad, if only because I have no other expenses while living at home. It's just that, I find the fact that I'm so damn obsessively compelled to buy even the most nostalgic of things right now, to be more of a symptom of my current shitasstic situation than any other goddam thing. I'm obviously bored as hell with life to some extent, but my adoration of materialism isn't just simply a temporary solution to boredom. It's also a temporary way out of all of life's problems, the lesser equivalent perhaps of alcoholism and goddam gambling. And while I won't quite get to writing and whining about all those goddam meaningless problems of mine right now in this one download update of mine, rest assured that I'm quite familiar with what is fucking going wrong in my mind right now....

... because that twitch...

... that bitch...

... that goddam bitch of a twitch...

Actually, I kind of snapped at someone at work the other day (though she's not quite the bitch that I was talking about here, but still...). I immediately regretted it of course, myself being a bitch to this goddam worker whore of mine, that is. I wanted to apologize, but I kept my mouth shut knowing what the fuck happened after I did apologize to that original fucking, facist worker bee of a bitch at the government over a year ago. Because that sure as hell went well...

Ah, yes. The memories. All the joys I've felt...

The thing is, I was having a technical discussion with someone at my current work at the time, about programming and 3D development and shit like that. One of the designer artists in the area kept staring right at me though for some odd reason, as she was either completely zoned out or was listening in our conversation. I wouldn't have cared either way, but the thing is, I meant to just make a sly joke or some shit like that about whether or not she could actually understand our alternate, abstract use of the English language, but it just didn't come out right (or not at all, really). Afterall, it had been a real frustrating day for me, or week actually, considering all the meetings and goddam headaches I had had with management over the past few goddam days. So when I tried to make a joke to that staring goddam bitch, I actually for some goddam reason gave her a demeaning glance of a pitching blow back, and I really don't know why...

She immediately apologized, and I of course felt horrible the moment I realized that my innocent joke had turned into a wraith of pure bitchiness. The thing is, being the bitch that she is at work, she hasn't talked to me or even said hi to me since. I felt horrible for making that kind of mistake to her that I did at work, office politics and all. But maybe it was all some Freudian slip really, that I gave her that look because I've wanted to shut her the fuck up for ages? She's always loud and obnoxious and "hip" in the office, gloating about her sexual encounters with the third kind and shit like that. I didn't mean or want to be cruel or anything, but on a really frustrating day, it just came out I guess the way my inner self actually wanted it to come out. And while I still feel horrible for potentially hurting her feelings like that, it's good to know that her completely ignoring everything I say or do now just proves that I shouldn't feel bad for hating on the bitch in the first place...

Like I said, it's been a long week at work, and I sure as hell haven't made many new friends, or kept the old ones either really. There's a senior developer at work there, and weeks ago I had assumed (I should never assume...) that the upper management had actually told him that he had to do some extra work on the side for me. Well, at least management told me to my face in a scheduled goddam meeting that this senior development guy would help me and my team out, but I guess my managers never actually talked to him in person themselves. Because when I finally did ask for the work that this guy was supposed to have done for me in the past week? He was completely clueless about it all. And since I am a junior developer there, it was of course my fault for not e-mailing him in the first place. Whatever...

I took it on the chin though, considering that's what we guys with absolutely no seniority always have to do. The thing is though, I then asked for the programming functions in the client that I needed him to implement in order for me to complete my own tasks at hand, for him to write it by the end of the coming week that is, but of course nobody likes being told to do extra goddam work. Especially when you don't respect the goddam effort and intelligence of the person you're being forced to help out with, of course...

He really gave me a stern look there, like "what are the fuck are you smokin'?" It wasn't just that he didn't want to help me out or my cause, especially considering management later told him that day that he did have to do the extra work assigned. It's just that, he seemed completely baffled as to why the hell I even needed the helper functions for my project in the first place, since everything that I needed him to do for me seemed like goddam child's play in his eyes. Why the fuck should he do all the easy meanial shit for me, he basically said with those stares and glances of cold indifference...

He looked and talked to me like I was a moron. Sure, I just shook and shrugged it off like I always do. But I guess with all the events of the past week, his comments and not-so-subtlely repressed rage of anger really did take its toll on me. Sure, I've experienced this all before in university too afterall, where the top guys in school just mock and demean me for being too damn inept at goddam algebra and calculus equations to ever goddam understand 3D geometry shit. Because that same insane crap was exactly what I needed from the senior developer, and I kind of had to admit to him that yes, as a junior developer, I wasn't experienced enough to handle all that crap myself (when you factor in all 3D situations with the camera, that is). To him, it was all goddam second nature bullshit, and I guess the combination of him looking down at me as not just a lesser employee but also as lesser programmer as well, really did piss me off in the end and seethe a wound on my insides...

I don't know, but I just haven't felt like myself in a long time. Obviously, all the goddam mornings where I fucking force myself out of bed are killing me softly every damn day, but there's more to it than that. I guess I am starting to feel the effects of age, not just on my body but on my goddam mind. I'm started to worry, that is, worry about my future and whether or not exactly if I'm going to be alone and myself for the rest of my life. I don't want to be, but that's where the road of existence seems to be goddam taking me...

I guess I'm at that point where after university is finally over and done with, I realize that if I never got fucking easy as ass pussy back then? Then I probably never goddam will. Goddammit...

Which is why I wasn't completely adverse to the notion of going out to a fucking dance bar with my cousins and their friends two weekends ago. It was my larger cousin's birthday, and since he's now a single bachelor again (obviously, because he's "larger"...), his teen angsty sister thought it would be good for his soul to go to a fucking underage hick bar over in the boonies area of the Greater Toronto Area for some goddm reason. Sure, that logic completely didn't make sense to me, but what do I know, right? I'm the completely anti-social computer nerd still, afterall...

Still, there was a small part of me that was hoping that maybe, just maybe if I went to a fucking night out of clubbing for once, I'd actually start to enjoy it enough to the point where I'd start to meet new people, and maybe be able to talk to some decently hot chicks as well. But of course, I also knew in the back of mind that if I couldn't even fucking deal with any of those goddam bitches back in university (which quite frankly, were far higher class than any fucking bar of Canadian hicks, don't you know...), then I'd never be able to hack it at the dance bar of Big fucking Bucks...

... and big, fucking ugly booties, indeed...

And that's exactly what happened. Perhaps the complete lack of Chinese FOB bitches there sealed the deal for me, as I really didn't find any of the white or even the latino whores there even remotely hot. But even so, even before I stepped into the goddam whore house in the first place, I just knew that I would end up sitting in the corner for the entirety of the goddam solemn night...

And yes, that's exactly what happened. For four fucking hours of my goddam life that I now desperately want back, that's exactly what happened. I watched my female cousin cuddle with her high school sweetheart the whole time in the most unholy of manners, I witnessed my brother and my larger cousin dance to the goddam Geno beats for hours without end (which I promptly blocked from memory, thank you very much), and I even remember watching myself from the outside in some third person perspective, almost as if I were some mere ghost of a shell, being so goddam bored out of mind that I even left my own goddam body. Why is that?...

There was absolutely nothing in that bar of any intrinsic interest or value to me. All the women either already had dates, were gritting and grinding with other goddam women as goddam attention whores on stage, or were just too goddam underage and bloody hell fat. Or actually, in most cases, all of the above at once...

Why the bloody fuck should I care? Sure, maybe I would've at least enjoyed the scene in a multiculteral downtown Toronto bar a hell of a lot more, but that's not saying much. This just isn't me. That kind of shit ass life just isn't for me, and it depressed me like hell realizing that this was what I had wanted to experience for how many goddam years of my life and running? How the fuck could I have been so fucking stupid? WTF?...

Goddammit, Powell...

Sure, I can ask myself, what if I had walked into that bar with an open mind and an open heart, looking for two goddam open legs? Would things have been different? Would things have changed for the better? Or is my eternal bitterness just the way I really want things to be. The self-fulfilling prophecy, of never being fulfilled on goddam, bloody hell birthdays?...

... bloody hell, ever goddam depressing birthdays...

... and bloody hell, goddam work...

Is there really no reprieve? Is there really no rest for the wicked?...

Why the fuck can't I just close my eyes and wish it all away?...

... there's really no place like home...

But I guess wishes just don't come true... not until, well?...

... that goddam twitch in my eye...

... that twitch...

... that bitch...

... that goddam, fucking bitch...

Because it all sounds like so much goddam fun, now doesn't it?...

And ay, there lies the rub...

... but alas, that's a story for another day...

... for when I am haunted no more...