Good Morning. I Hate Your Face.

Waking up before 8:30 or 9:00 in the AM sucks cabbage.  It's not right, and to the lazily inclined, downright inhumane.  It's an assault to the senses, jarred into consciousness by some obnoxious noise generating device.  Everything was going so well.  Eyes shut tight.  Breathing pattern steady and effortless.  Scenarios of a more pleasant atmosphere playing across the IMAX screen of REM.

Twinkle-Beep-Bing, time to get up.

And what is so important and pertinent that one must crackle dormant joints out of the blessed cozy?

Ballroom dance.  Even worse, video taping ballroom dance.  So for the next several days every waking moment is dedicated to the aforementioned task.  Gross.  It's an interesting job until the novelty wears down.  The novelty definitely wore down.  Now it's just raw and bloody.

So, enough of this party.  Time to earn some rent.

Observant

It must be difficult to think of piddly crap to say throughout the duration of a sporting event.  All sorts of fun nuggets spew forth from announcers' mouths.

One of my favorites: "These guys are really athletic."

No shit.  They're professional athletes.  It's like calling a comic book store clerk nerdy.  It's his job to be a thirty-seven year old virgin.

It's Just a Phase

Bachelorhood-as-a-Source-of-Pride checklist:

-Oatmeal
-Scotch
-[adult swim]

Dignity is for the weak.

Dink, with Umbrella

It's barely raining, hardly even drizzling.  One could describe it as a mild mist and maintain dictionary accuracy.

The city core supports high-density pedestrianism.  And it's lunch hour.

So, based on this list of circumstances...

Put your motherfucking umbrella away, pussy!  You don't need it, and it's only twirling about pointlessly, threatening every eyeball that comes near one of its jutting ribs.  The wind pushes against the nylon and whips it to and fro, but you're too busy blathering on the phone, asking your wife if the delivery people installed the new Sub-Zero freezer.

You sir, are a dink.  And your tie is ugly.

Are You a Putz?

Yes.  Yes you are.  And so am I.  And so is he.  So is she.  That is as well.  And those.

The assumption present dictates that everything and everyone everywhere contributes to the putzification of everything and everyone everywhere, at least some of the time.  Some putz out on the rarest of occasion.  Some earn Valedictorian praise for major contributions and achievement in the Putzical Arts and Sciences.

Examples:  Billy Corgan.  AIDS.  Jesus Christ, the Essene.  Bloggers.  Blatant Self-Awareness.

Everything and everyone everywhere.  

This is a safe space, a power cave.  You're an asshole, and it's okay.  However, fuck you.  And that's alright, too.