‘Til Sux in the Mornin’

It’s 1:15 CST right now and I am still awake…and sober for some reason.  Wanna know why?  I just got done watching what looked like the first of a series of episodes on the Food Network where they emotionally kick the shit out of ten or fifteen people for several weeks.

After making the contestants jump like monkeys for my amusement, the network will eventually declare somebody the “winner” and give them their own low-budget cooking show that will likely air at 9:30 a.m. on Tuesdays for a few weeks.  Then they will cancel it and send their winning ass back to Humptulips, Washington or whatever.  I abhor this shitty excuse for television.  In fact, I am the guy that wrote this.  Sadly, I somehow found myself sitting on the edge of the bed, praying to some undiscovered reality television deity for the judges to give that fucking Howie what he deserved.

That’s some powerful stuff.  Good thing it’s not yet possible to concentrate it and inject it directly into my veins.  If it were, within two weeks somebody would find me lifeless and hunched over on a bench at the AMTRAK station downtown with a needle between my fingers and surgical tubing wrapped around my wrist.  I can tell you how dangerous that stuff is…I can tell you that you shouldn’t do it and why…I just can’t save myself…they’ve fucking got me.

So instead of going to bed, I sought out something that might make a depressed junkie who was mostly dead inside laugh.  I ended up going with Fireland.  I looked at the McMuffin drawing and thought highly of Angela Black, who is funny and talented and pretty.  Then I briefly got pissed that Allie Brosh could also get to be as talented as she is attractive.  Then I summoned all my ugly power to yell at whichever middle management dunderling is in charge of handing out pretty as well as the department across the hall that hands out talented.  Those fuckers need to communicate.  Funny and attractive…bullshit. You get one or the other…not both.  Shit’s unfair.

So then I go back to Fireland and listen to the O Canada song from that Andrew Smales guy.  I tried to provide a link to one of Smales’ pages there, because he is a pretty important guy in the whole grand scheme of things, but there wasn’t anything other than his diaryland that immediately screamed, “this url captures the essence of the guy that created two of the important precursors to ‘social media’ as we know it.” Now that I think about it, that would be a weird thing to scream.  Anyway, I tried http://www.andrewsmales.com.  There is nothing there, but I admit I got a little excited when I realized that I might be dialing up a gay pimp named Andrew.  I bet Smales has heard that joke before.  I bet he hates me now.  I know I do.

So this got me thinking about diaryland, and more importantly pitas.  Then I remembered my favorite pita from Cananopie.  It’s still there, but in it’s weird final form where Rob got all geography teacher on us.  For some reason, I honestly cared about the rock paper scissors strategy guide. I cared about his quest for the most powerful flashlight.  I could give two fucks about Kyrgyzstan (which happens to be Cananopie’s favorite former Soviet Republic).

I guess what I am saying here is that I watched the Food Network until one in the morning because I was concerned about Rob.  How’s he doing Lucas?  He’s not pretty AND talented too is he?