Parasite

There are those among us that would have you believe what I’m doing is wrong. They think that I am nothing but a parasite, a leach on the system. They condemn what I do. They say I’m not honest. They say that I have no right to rob from them the very money they allegedly work so hard to obtain. They say a lot of things.
However what no one ever says is that I’m smart; that I’m clever; that I found a loophole in the system and can suck the wealth from every one of their dirty, working man pockets.
I am firm believer in Darwin’s survival of the fittest philosophy. One look at me and you would see that I am not physically fit, nor do I care to be. There is no doubt, however, that I am mentally fit; the fittest I would assert in this shit-hole town. You see, I get what I want and I don’t have to do anything to get it that is except to outsmart you all.
I decided a long time ago, just after that waste of time they call high school, what I wanted to do with my life. I had no desire to see the world. I couldn’t stand seeing the faces in the city I was currently living in do you think I care to see the same hypocritical, smug and idiotic faces in a different setting? Perhaps in a different language? I don’t need this.
I had no desire to be with a woman. They have since invented the internet and that is all I need in the way of carnal pleasure. As far as fostering a loving relationship with a woman, I realized in high school that such an endeavor would be a waste of time and money. A lengthy courting process would only lead to that bitch saying “I just want to be friends.” I don’t need a cunt like that in my life.
Along similar lines I realized I didn’t want to have “friends.” I don’t need them. I learned that a friend is nothing but an enemy who hasn’t showed his or her true colors yet. They don’t need to, I see through them. Oh now I have acquaintances. Surely no one could get along in life without some acquaintances. For instance there is Robert, the old black man that delivers my groceries. I have taken to being on Robert’s good side less I wish harm to come to my provisions. He’s a nice enough man but there is a boundary that is never crossed, that is friendship. Mindless, conversational platitudes are exchanged, as well as cash for my groceries, and I send him on his way.
You, dear reader, are no doubt wondering how I live so comfortably yet do nothing?
No, I am not the child of rich industrialists. I do not have a trust fund. Yes my parents are both dead but they didn’t leave me large sums of money in their will. They simply left me this house, a rather shabby dwelling admittedly but I like it; it is my home. No, I was, and to a certain extent still am quite poor.
You see, just after my thirtieth birthday I was involved in an altercation. I was doing what I’m sure you all are doing, working in a menial, soul consuming job. I was a janitor at our local Bank of America. A lowly job moving dirt from place to place, and arranging shit into neat and manageable piles. The way I saw it there was not much difference in what I was doing than what the tellers were doing.
Wouldn’t you know it? The place gets robbed!
“On the floor fat man, and don’t fucking move!” said the ski mask wearing, armed individual. I looked at the tellers, scared shitless, not wanting their lives to end so that they could return to this job and keep the shit moving and continue living in monotony.
I on the other hand saw an opportunity. I struggled with the gunmen for control of the firearm when a bullet discharged and ripped through my shoulder and neck, clipping important nerve endings along its journey.
One of the tellers showing some sign of brain activity in the situation had pressed the silent alarm button under her station and police arrived just as the masked man streaked out the door with a sack full of $300.
I spent significant time in the hospital. The bullet had severed nerves that would result in my having a limp for the rest of my life and of course left me in constant pain, or at least that’s what I stressed to them.
I no longer needed to work. I began receiving disability checks after I was released from the hospital. That is when I knew I could finally live the way I always wanted to live; I cut the few ties I had with the outside world.
I now live in my parent’s house, alone, with internet access and satellite television. I have a nice couch where I spend the majority of my waking hours. Since my change of lifestyle I’ve put on a considerable amount of weight. I don’t have a scale and I refuse to go to the doctor but I’m sure I’m past 600 pounds now. I smoke harsh tobacco and watch old movies.
Occasionally I watch the news. I often see stories about the job market and how horrible it is right now. I see how “normal people” have to work two or three jobs just to get along. They interview these poor people, some of them in tears, hoping that the government or their conspicuously absent God will save them in this time of crisis.
Fuck them.
They are but the ignorant masses who will never find a way out of their hopeless situation. They are not smart like I am. They have no foresight. I knew the way I wanted to live and when I saw my opportunity I took it.
Sure they say I’m nothing but a parasite. A fat leach on the system, a system by the way that they continue to support; that I have no conscience and am taking advantage of program designed to help those in serious need. They say I am nothing but an unfeeling virus, helping to drain the life out of the rest of the populace.
I say survival of the fittest.

Prison and Film

I apologize to my kind reader (hey Cecil!) for my absence in the last month. I’m afraid for the entire month of March I was in prison.

I was given a speeding ticket for traveling at 46 mph in a 45 zone. A minor infraction to be sure but I happened to be driving a stolen police car at the time.

Even the most incompetent of cops tend to recognize a situation is afoot when a bald man wearing purple lipstick and a bathrobe is behind the wheel of one of their vehicles.

I did not resist arrest. I, in fact, gave a moan of pleasure when I was cuffed and asked the officer to cuff me tighter.

I was put on trial later that evening (the judicial system moves very fast in a fictional tale) and sentenced to a month in the Robert Blake State Penitentiary.

The old adage about surviving in prison is to pick out a fellow prisoner and beat the shit of him on your first day. I tackled a 3 foot Australian man to the floor and pummeled him with my best blows.

After he finished kicking my ass I was helped to my cell by two large black men who placed me on my cot and laid down on either side of me. I suppose I fell asleep at this point and had a marvelous dream about Oreos.

Well I’m out of the slammer now and back to work. I sit here on my hemorrhoid doughnut slurping pizza puree watching an old movie, which brings me to this particular rant.

I love old movies. I really do, the storytelling is far superior to that of modern cinema. The ambiance is better, the dialogue is rapid fire and there is no Pauly Shore.

However I am very creeped out by a certain aspect of these classics. When I watch a film from the thirties or forties I have a voice in the back of my mind nagging me with the comment, “Wow, all these people are dead now.”

I find it somewhat off putting to watch the work of a dead person. I don’t know why but it only bugs me in these old films, not in modern ones where an actor had died.

Fuck Heath Ledger.

However it really creeps me out.

The worst is when there’s a baby on screen. If I watch a classic silent film from 1917 or thereabouts and they show a baby in a scene, I have to stop myself from puking. “Wow, that baby is dead.”

I can’t reconcile the fact I’m watching a dead baby. King Solomon or not, no matter how you slice it a dead baby is not enjoyable.

On the contrary, when I watch an old movie say from 1928 and they show a VERY OLD person on screen I feel the complete opposite.

I feel a rush of joy and wonder.

It warms the cockles of my heart to see someone who was born before the civil war getting a chance to be forever preserved on celluloid.

That is why I will only watch old movies now set at geriatric facilities.

There are only about two of them, and I have not seen them, nor do I know if they exist; but those are the only ones I watch now.


I can’t think of a witty way to end this piece so let me just reiterate, Fuck Heath Ledger.