Pain Man
I’m sitting here writing this post in my Kmart underwear … and nothing else. Yes, even though Kmart sucks. Maybe because of it. I gotta be me. We all know how much I enjoy humiliation.
I don’t know much and what I do know seems to be shrinking on an almost daily basis. My existence is increasingly consumed by thoughts regarding my sanity.
For those keeping track the opening paragraph was “underwear” and the follow-up paragraph was “shrinkage.” This is known as a progression of ideas. I’m building up to something. You are wise to still be reading this.
Aside from all that, there seems to be something else going on.
My rate of “Rain Man” moments seems to be on the rise. There’s been an uptick in momentia, if you will.
No, we decidedly do not refer to them as “senior moments.” Despite being a grumpy grandpa and standing on my lawn and yelling at kids, I’m not ready for that schtick just yet. Not while I’m still young and in my prime.
Besides, I’m an excellent driver.
Then I was responsible for a car accident after going to the pharmacy to pick up my “meds.” Oh, shit. Did I just use the word “meds?” This is the end.
So yeah, that happened.
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School’s In For Bummer
Greetings and solicitations!
It used to be that the school year was a happy time. A time when the junior-sized asshole humans were (mostly) out from underfoot. Ahhhh. Those were the days.
No more.
You can blame it all on politics and unions and Tea Parties and partisanship and vouchers and hog wallerin’ and mud slingin’ and clean campaigns and dirty campaigns and COLA and inflation and school boards and lots, lots more.
Is an army of darkness one of the seven seals of Armageddon? Or maybe it was a vial? I can never keep those things straight.
Make no mistake. Let me be clear. War has been declared. And war is Hell. Tranquility has been attacked and tranquility will be defended. Even if I have to asplode.
If you want to enlist, make the jump.
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Feeling crabby about the clap
If applause is what you wanted then Mission Accomplished!
How about a big round of applause for this post?
Put your hands together and let ’em really hear it even in the cheap seats!
Let’s have a warm WordPress welcome for that wacky and sarcastic negatarian.
Give it up for the guru of grumpiness!
Come on all you humans, and all you seals, too, don’t be shy now…
Aim your hands at each other and strike them together vigorously creating waves of energy that will travel at the speed of sound to tickle our eardrums.
Yes, I am ordering you to participate in a mass behavior that will both please your performer and reinforce your position within the group. Failure to comply would not be wise.
So seriously, make that mother-fucking noise for this jewel of a post brought to you by none other than Tom from the abyss!!!
“Thank you. Thank you. It’s really great to be here. Please, please. Take your seats. Anyone here from out of town? [beat] Let me say this: if I hear anyone – and I do mean anyone – ever dare to utter the phrase make that noise as a way of asking for applause – even just one more time – there will be blood.”
“Make no mistake. Do not test my resolve. My sensibilities have been attacked and my sensibilities will be defended. I will smoke out that phrase dead or alive. Especially dead.”
“Mr. Nick Cannon of America’s Got Talent – this especially means you! As of now you are a fugitive of justice and public enemy number one.”
For the future of humanity I have immersed myself in reality TV ad infinitum. It’s a rough job but someone has got to do it. As always I’m willing to do my part. After all, the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few – or the one. But seriously, folks. There have got to be some limits! After I hear a phrase often enough I begin to twitch like a pack of rabid Pavlovian dogs and then the spittle flies. Trust me. No one wants that.
There is no polite way to say it. The phrase “make that noise” needs to be killed. It needs to be shot, stabbed, thrown out of an airplane with no parachute, taken out by an IED, poisoned, lethal injectioned, beheaded, tripped down a flight of stairs, pushed in front of a bus, electrocuted, drowned, folded, spindled and/or mutilated. Preferably all of the above. Go for death by dismemberment and I don’t even care if that is covered in the insurance policy. Hell, at this point I’d settle for it being Jodie Fostered on a pinball machine. And then taken out back and killed.
The origins of the phrase are somewhat unclear, at least to me. Even the wise Wikipedia seemingly holds no answers. My guess is that the phrase is pretty young. Perhaps even too young to die. I don’t care. It has to die. The future of humanity depends on it.
Grumpy grandpa attacks
Grumpy Grandpa was lurking in the shadows. Grumpy Grandpa wields Walking Cane of Grumpiness. Grumpy Grandpa attacks with grumpiness and hits for 27 points of grumpy damage! You flee. Walking on Manicured Lawn bonus fades…
So. Would you rather be attacked by a grumpy grandpa or a grue? I know. It’s a tough choice that could go either way.
Ooops. I just let that cat out of the bag. Yeah, I’m a grandpa. If you are super clever, you can now safely deduce I’m at least 18 years of age or older. Approximately. Yeah, I like to be mysterious that way and keep folks guessing.
Today is also my birthday. Yawn. So the fuck what? Some people think that is a day worthy of celebration. First of all, I’m not so sure I was birthed. I have a strong suspicion I was hatched. Secondly, what’s the big deal about the number of circuits of a planetoid around a big ball of gas being an integer. How many circuits you got, Bob? Oh, about 3.14. Ha! Such a real number. It’s 4.9999 for me! I’m much closer to an integer than you. Loser.
Also, because it’s my birthday I have to make a special trip to the DMV. I’d rather have hot needles stuck in my eyeballs. So I have to write a check to renew my license, get my photo taken, and take time off work to deal with that bullshit which costs me even more money. Lovely.
Two nights ago a package from Amazon.com arrived. The ceremonial exchanging of consumer goods in honor of those circuits around the sun courtesy of Mrs. Abyss. The package sat there on the dinner table as we ate. She looked at me and asked, “Would you like to open that now?”
“Sure,” I answered. “What the hell. That’s two more days we can enjoy whatever is in there before we die. If we wait, that’s two days we’ll never get back.” I was rather pleased with myself for that one. 🙂
Inside the package were three items. A new Creed CD entitled Full Circle. I didn’t even know those chaps had a new CD out. That was quite a nice surprise. Yes, I’m an atheist who likes Creed and even though he’s an ass, I like Scott Stapp. Also in the package was a Steve Martin CD featuring banjo songs. Cool. Lastly, a hardcover edition of Outliers by Malcolm Gladwell. I recently read another book by Gladwell entitled Blink and he’s my current favorite author.
Okay, that’s enough of that crap. You kids keep off of my damn lawn or you’ll get a blast of buckshot in your ass, ya hear?!?
Shouts from the Abyss 
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