Star Wars: A Disney Story

Sorry George, come back

Oh wow, a new Star Wars movie is opening on Friday. Normally I would be putting on my cum diapers and buying tickets to cheer like a Kindergartner to the sounds of laser swords making “woong! wung! wong!” noises swinging through the air but for some reason I don’t care at all. Oh wait, now I remember why I don’t care. It’s because The Last Jedi was the most disappointing and personally ass blasting piece of shit garbage movie that I have ever seen. Don’t get me wrong, the movie looks good. Children and mongoloids love clapping to 4k pictures of porgs but they’re incapable of following a story, but it looks good. The Last Jedi is the perfect example of a chocolate covered AIDS dick. It looks yummy but as soon as you swallow it you’re full of AIDS and it ruins your love for something from your childhood, which is chocolate, and it also fucks you in the ass.

I am not a religious man but I would be willing to pay upwards of $2000 for a lock of Rian Johnson’s hair for the purpose of making a voodoo doll in his likeness to drive needles into his eyeballs for writing and directing The Last Jedi. I know what you’re going to say, “Y-yer just a toxic male that hates Disney’s New Wars because of its strong female characters!” Nope, let me quickly lay out why Rian Johnson’s script belongs in the Smithsonian next to the Holocaust exhibit for coming in second place to Hitler’s disrespect for humanity. The Last Jedi is cockpoo, garbage, absolute trash.

Are you a Star Wars fan? Good. So following The Last Jedi, please tell me what is the plot of the new sequels? Did that stump you? Because that question stumped me. Or wait, Rey is the main character of these new sequels, what is her motivation for fighting against the First Order? Yeah, I got nothing there either. This third installment of the sequels should be called Hurricane Katrina because it’s dead in the fucking water. The Force Awakens set up the whole story as the Empire was making a comeback and now calls itself the First Order and Luke Skywalker was the only hope for the rebels to defeat them. Skywalker was hiding on a bumfuck nowhere planet that could only be found on some map that required a code because Skywalker is a fucking badass that couldn’t be bothered with the petty troubles of youngling bitches, then they cracked the code and R2D2 lit up and started beeping because Skywalker was near, and we were left with the scene of Rey handing Luke his light saber. Holy shit I am rock hard! It was a somewhat predictable but satisfying ending that left us excited to see Luke Skywalker in the next movie. Us Star Wars elders were aware that The Force Awakens was just a rehash of A New Hope, but we didn’t care, it felt good to see a Star Wars movie that felt like a Star Wars movie, the prequels just didn’t feel like Star Wars.

How does The Last Jedi end? Luke Skywalker unceremoniously poofs into thin air after thinking himself to death and the rebels get away. Wowzers, what a zinger. And what did we learn from the movie? Kylo may have been lying but Rey is a nobody. Snoke was the leader of the First Order but he was a nobody that shouldn’t be explained. Princess Leia can fly and survive the vacuum of space if she has enough heroin in her system. Luke Skywalker is no longer the optimistic nice guy and most powerful Jedi in the galaxy but became a beta male NEET that weans himself on sea walruses even when a girl is watching. Oh, and Star Wars has been turned into a Marvel Avengers-esque quip fest full of knee slappers. Yes it’s a space fantasy movie but Star Wars always had that lore and seriousness to it. When The Last Jedi began with ships dropping bombs in zero gravity outer space and Poe calling Hux to say “who dis? why it’s yo momma!” and Finn is walking around in a silly billy water suit that’s making silly billy squishy sounds I really did stop the movie to see if I was watching some sort of parody that had been included with the movie. But no. The movie was mindless trash made for idiot children to watch while they peed on the floor and chewed the upholstery off of their dad’s favorite chair.

I usually find a way to watch big movies before they come out in theaters because I don’t mind watching a cam rip that was recorded on an Iphone 3 with Korean subtitles and horrible sound and people walking in front of the screen, but I haven’t seen The Rise of Skywalker yet and I don’t plan on putting in any effort to see it either. I’ll just wait until it’s on Netflix or something and have it on in the background while looking at porn on my phone. I don’t expect the movie to be any good either. I expect it to be one long apology for The Last Jedi by slapping as many nostalgia inducing scenes and characters into it and reminding the fans that ‘oh my god this is like the last Star Wars movie that won’t go directly to Disney+ so watch it in the theater’. Rey will be a relative of Emperor Palpatine because what a shocker that would be. Kylo will become a good guy and then probably die. Yada yada yada.

I’m just venting. The Last Jedi tanked Star Wars and my asshole gets super itchy whenever I talk to somebody that likes the movie but are unable to understand why it’s such horrible story telling. I expect The Rise of Skywalker to be an even bigger chocolate covered AIDS dick with Cadbury Creme Egg testicles filled with bubonic plague. I love Cadbury Creme Eggs and now Star Wars is going to ruin that for me too.



There are three types of people in this world. There are people that are aware of somebody else that is either sleeping or performing a task, so they tiptoe and try to be quiet as to not disturb them. Then there are people that are loud and completely ignorant of the sleeping or busy person either because they don’t care or they’re too immature to know that it would be more polite for them to be quiet. And finally there are the passive-aggressive shitlords that intentionally make noise to wake someone up or break their concentration because like a wounded puppy they just want somebody to notice them. I will give you a moment to let you guess which one of those examples lives in my apartment building. Don’t get me wrong, really nice guy, but holy shit man.

So I am currently living in a four story building designed by the Silver Thomas Hanley Architect group that you are probably familiar with for designing the construction of theRS Pondok Indah Bintaro Jaya Hospital in Jakarta, Indonesia. They also designed the Good Samaritan Hospital up the street in which their helicopter rattles all of my windows every time it flies over. I doubt when this building was constructed over 50 years ago that they could have imagined what a whirly-bird was, let alone know that they should tighten the doors and windows for whenever one flew over. Shoot, I’m sure if someone had even hinted at mankind one day having the ability to fly they would have burnt them at the stake for witchcraft.

So anyway, there’s a guy that lives in the suite on the fourth floor that’s a super cool dude, great guy, but Christ all fucking mighty someone needs to tell him to shut up. He doesn’t have parties or friends or anything and he isn’t blasting his stereo. He tries to but he has a little pussy stereo made by Playmates Toys and I have a monster melt your face seven speaker surround sound stereo with a subwoofer made by Yamaha so I can crank it up to make his floor shake while I’m underneath him with my brains coming out of my ears. But no, he isn’t loud in a party animal sense. He’s just, really annoying in an overly passive-aggressive way.

There is a fully equipped gym in the basement. Every other night usually starting sometime between 9 and 11 o’clock he will go down there and crank up the most hardcore music that any melodramatic middle aged Creed and Nickelback fan could possibly imagine while he’s working out. And he stomps up and down those fucking stairs as loud as possible, in fact I think he puts on tap dancing shoes just for walking up and down those goddamn stairs. And when he’s playing those songs downstairs, let’s take the song ‘In the End’ by Lincoln Park for example, which is a horrible song by a horrible band, he sings along to it. And when I say sing along I mean he’s really singing the song as loud and boisterous as possible. He isn’t singing it like guys do when they’re alone in the car, he’s trying to sing it like the actual singer, with passion. Whenever somebody does that around me I’m like “hey who sings this song?” and they’ll say “oh Elton John” or whoever and I say “yeah that’s what I thought, so why the fuck are you singing it?” and then they’ll shut up. But this guy. A week ago at like 1:00AM he was sitting at the top of the stairs auditioning for The Voice on live television loudly playing his guitar and singing ‘I Wish You Were Here’ with such grace that I know at least 3 chairs turned around. And what’s more pathetic is that he does this while admitting that he doesn’t drink alcohol. But it’s like he’s just sitting there strumming his guitar and singing loud as fuck with oh so much passion, waiting for me or someone else to peek out their door and say, “oh wow, you sing so soft and so sweetly” and he can act bashful and say “awe shucks, I just like to play the guitar and sing my soul out now and then”. But it’s all fake.

In the morning he’ll go downstairs into the fully equipped gym that also has a washer and dryer in it and slam the fucking dryer door over and over before doing laundry and playing horrible soft rock while singing along to it at SIX OH CLOCK IN THE WHAT THE FUCK AM! And he’ll pull this bullshit six days a week. In fact, he just slammed his feet down the stairs wearing his wooden clogs from Holland and now he’s playing ‘Highway To The Danger Zone’ from Top Gun and holy shit as make believe as that sounds, it’s not. He always starts with songs from the Top Gun soundtrack and then goes into Van Halen and Lincoln Park and Eminem and other songs thuggish white kids played in their Pontiac Grand Am during high school. Oh wait, this is different. He’s playing ‘I Get Stupified’ by Disturbed. What a dumb piece of shit song that is. He’s grunting and slamming weights while saying “come on one more!” too.

And getting the mail. I swear to fucking god he plays nick-knack-paddy-whack with a ball-peen hammer on his mailbox in the hallway every goddamn day when he gets his mail. And singing some gladly forgotten hit from Casey Kasem’s top 40 back in 2005 while he does it.

And the front door. He’ll whip his apartment door open, Riverdance down the stairs in steel toe boots, open the front door, slam the front door, go to his car, come back and whip open the front door, slam the front door, curb stomp up the stairs, slam his door, and then repeat the entire process four more times. He does this shit daily and nightly.

Don’t get me wrong, he’s a nice guy. That’s what bothers me so much about it. I know he isn’t an idiot that’s completely unaware of everyone else. He’s doing this shit because he’s the sad little puppy type that wants attention and it’s so damn pathetic that it makes me angry. I have walked out and given him that look after the third time he walks in and out of the building at midnight and he’s all “oh hey what’s up bro?” and acts like he wants to hang out. When I first moved in he saw that I was a four time Mr. Olympia winner and that I keep my body competition ready year round so I wrote him a workout and diet plan and showed him how to lift for size and he would be knocking on my door at least twice a day to ask questions or talk or whatever. I’m a social butterfly, but I need to be left the fuck alone for most of the day. He just, he has that aura of lonely desperation about him. And nobody likes that. Not even other people with an aura of lonely desperation like people with auras of lonely desperation.

I haven’t even talked about the super drugged out alcoholic named Eddy that lived across the hall for a week. His friend Gene was shitfaced and pounding on my backdoor at 1:00AM on a Monday because he thought it was Eddy’s apartment. He was wearing sweatpants and a button up Christmas sweater and I was wearing my bathrobe. As freaked out as I was I let him in. He apologized profusely and then we had a drink together in my kitchen talking about how he went to art school in Pittsburgh and then I lead him to the hallway to Eddy’s door.

The landlord kicked Eddy out right away because of the noise he made and the cops coming over multiple times. I get along with the new landlord really well. He doesn’t speak a word of English and I don’t understand the third world jibber jabber he motor boats out of his face, but we both speak handshakes and smiles. And that’s what really matters.

Groundhog Day

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It’s October and everyone is trying to watch as many horror movies as possible. I watch horror movies year round so this month isn’t any different from another. I chose to do something different, but not that different because it’s still watching movies, or the same movie everyday. I chose to watch the movie Groundhog Day everyday this month, and although I didn’t start watching it until October 2nd, and I’m only watching it for the fourth time right now, after this I’m done. Groundhog Day is my favorite Bill Murray movie and I’ve already seen it close to 30 times anyway.

That doesn’t matter. I just want to talk about the movie Groundhog Day. If you have never seen the movie Groundhog Day starring Bill Murray then I assume that you’re not reading this. Everyone knows that it’s about Bill Murray being an asshole news reporter doing an on location story about the famous weather forecasting groundhog Punxsutawney Phil in the western Pennsylvania town of Punxsutawney on February 2nd, Groundhog Day. While in Punxsutawney Bill Murray’s character, also named Phil, angers his cameraman Larry who happens to practice witchcraft offscreen, and Larry performs a ritual in his hotel room that night that curses Phil to live the exact same day over and over until he finally changes his attitude to become a good enough person to move forward in life. It sounds like a really touching and somewhat uplifting movie, and it is. But I want to touch on the darker side of living the same day over and over, what such a thing would do to a person’s psyche.

According to research and an interview with Harold Ramis, Phil lived the same Groundhog Day back to back for roughly 8 years. Think about that. Think about who you were and where you were in life 8 years ago in comparison to who and where you are now. It’s two different worlds isn’t it? Now think about if everyday of the past 8 years had been the same day over and over with no ability to escape. There would be no avoiding insanity. The movie shows a montage of some of the darker days where Phil commits suicide everyday only to instantly awake in his bed at 6:00AM to the song “I Got You Babe” by Sonny and Cher playing on the radio alarm clock that he had smashed to pieces before leaving his room to commit suicide an hour earlier. According to psychology, a person will try to change their environment using increasingly drastic methods before they ultimately commit suicide. Some resort to drugs and alcohol, some resort to abusing others, and some watch anime and shitpost with quotes and infographics on Facebook. So I know that Phil did some horrible things before the suicide montage and the movie skips over that entire experience for the sake of maintaining a PG rating.

What I’m trying to say is that Bill Murray’s character literally raped and murdered thousands of people. Groundhog Day is labeled as a comedic romance but it really is a horror movie. It’s set up right away that there is no hot water in the bed and breakfast that he’s staying at, and it shows that every morning he is unable to take a hot shower. I’m sure that there was a year or two where he adjusted and took cold showers, but there was also the 3 to 4 years where he stalked a person or an entire family to learn their habits, and then broke into their homes and brutally murdered them just so he could take a hot shower in their bathroom. I’m sure he spent 6 months learning how to properly field dress a deer as well as sew a tuxedo so he could murder the entire Punxsutawney high school cheerleader team in the locker room and after taking a hot shower in the girls’ locker room, he skinned several of the bodies to make a girl suit. And then he did a cheerleader dance outside in the snow wearing his gruesome bloody girl suit and waving pom-poms surrounded by the entire Punxsutawney police department pointing their guns at him pleading with him to get on the ground and put his hands behind his head, and then he raised one pom-pom towards the sheriff and died in a hail of bullets. Then he instantly wakes up to Sonny and Cher playing on the radio. And yeah, I left out all the creepy sexual stuff that would have happened too.

For 3 to 4 years Phil devolved into the most evil human being on Earth and nobody saw the change happen. Nobody could have stopped it from happening. It’s shown that he gets drunk and runs from the cops with the other 2 drunk guys, you know the whole “is it too early for flapjacks?” part. Then after getting arrested he wakes up in his bed, getting off scot-free. You know that it didn’t end there. You know that Phil pushed the boundaries of being able to commit any and every crime imaginable and unimaginable and be able to get away with it. Phil isn’t a psychopath either so you know that doing that shit ate at his mind for years before he was able to pull himself together to become the person he wanted to be. You know the lady that taught him how to play the piano? How many times do you think he raped and murdered that woman while learning to play the piano? How many times did he have a vile sexual orgy with the dead bodies of the piano lady and her cats and then played one of those nocturne songs by Chopin in the nude wearing nothing but their blood and cat skins?

And you know he turned to religion and witchcraft to escape his fate. He didn’t just accept the fact that he was doomed to live the same day for eternity and said, “welp, guess I’ll learn some dancing, and ice sculpting, and piano and then I’ll be happy”. No, he turned to Satan. The old guy begging for money on the corner that dies, he dug up his body every night for 2 months in a row, performing Satanic rituals to resurrect him. He murdered the living shit out of Ned Ryerson so many times that killing Ned alone would give Phil the highest serial killer body count in human history. Phil killed thousands of people and then had to talk to those same people again less than 24 hours later. Phil devolved into an absolute madman before trying to better himself, and the movie completely skips over that part. And I think that it’s the most important part of the story, but we don’t get to see it.

The Best A [man] Can Get

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Look, women are sluts. Women use their bodies to manipulate men and the media into giving them what they want because they have sexuality but no brains. Women are gold diggers that are incapable of making a living on their own so they cling onto a man that is smart and financially successful and then use the law to rob him of his income with no consideration of the man’s well being. Women also want to rob men of their rights to see or take part in raising their own children. Women are the most evil creatures on Earth. Oh, and let’s not even bring up the fake rape allegations.


Did I forget to mention that not ALL women are like that? And am I also saying that the only way to prove your worth as a woman is to stop all other women from being evil cunts that ruin men’s lives otherwise you too are a gold digging whore? If you understand what I’m saying, well, that’s why Gillette’s social justice pandering commercial pisses men off. And I highlight the word “men”. I’ve seen several guys post it on their BaseFox page with praises and yes, I will insult their manhood for doing so. If I am responsible for stopping all men from being assholes then I am also responsible for discerning the pussies from the men, and the Gillette praisers are pussies.

This commercial says that whether you are an asshole or not, if you are a man then you are responsible for the actions of all male assholes, thus relegating you to male assholedom no matter what you do. If you like this commercial I am not going to insult your gender, just your intelligence. You are cheering for Proctor and Gamble which is a billion dollar corporation that is dealing with several lawsuits ranging from selling women talcum powder while knowing it causes ovarian cancer to discriminating against DACA recipients for internships to price fixing with other corporations. You most likely demand that a baker be forced to make a gay wedding cake despite their personal beliefs but you cheer on FaceBook and Google when they de-platform someone and ruin their means of income because they disapprove of what they were saying amongst their friends and fans. You are a sellout thinking that you are promoting something good. That’s the thing about zombies, eventually they forget that they were ever bitten and believe that being a zombie is the normal way of life.

I Live With It


If there is ever a zombie apocalypse then you bastards better protect me from getting bitten. Because if my skeleton can be this goddamn mean to me then I don’t even want to imagine the horrible things it would do to you. What I have is a bad case of a very common condition called costochondritis. Costochondritis is the swelling of the joints where your ribs connect to your sternum and spine. It is a constant dull ache all up and down my sternum and along my spine in my upper back. It feels like a cross between receiving a bear hug and having a heart attack 24 hours a day. In fact, Dr. Internet said that 1/3 of all people that go to the emergency room thinking that they’re having a heart attack end up being diagnosed with costochondritis.

The condition is pretty common and you’ve probably had it before. You know how your ribs get a little sore after you’ve been sick and coughing for days like a degenerate marijuana addict? That’s costochondritis. But if you injure your ribs doing something like, say, lifting overly heavy weights seven days a week for several months on end then the damage to your cartilage can be more severe and it can take a long time for your ribs to heal. According to Dr. Internets it could take up to 2 years to heal if it ever does heal at all. Apparently some people get a life sentence with this shit.

While abstaining from being a stranger to danger you must be chanting the Vedic hymn of “no pain no gain”, and I am no stranger to that lifestyle nor the dangers it contains. It’s why my apartment is a literal shithole, I live in hell. A wise YouTuber once uttered the words “seek discomfort” and as long as I live in this dungeon, discomfort is guaranteed with every moment that my eyes are open.

Anyway, back to my ribs. My ribs are being real assholes to me. I read that the only way to treat costovaginas is to take painkillers until it heals. But what if I have the kind that takes 2 years to heal or it doesn’t heal at all? I take painkillers for life? I hate painkillers and I don’t trust them. You hear of people dying in pain but you don’t hear of people dying from pain, and I’ve never heard of someone dying because they didn’t take painkillers. I know that if I started taking opiates that would be it for me. I would be strung out AND living in a shithole apartment in the middle of nowhere. In no way can I let that happen.

And fucking alcohol doesn’t even work! Getting tipsy makes me forget about how much my ribs hurt but as soon as I move or lay down it feels like Rowdy Roddy Piper just clapped me with a goddamn Brainbuster. I totally freak out when I lay on my back for too long because the pressure on the dumbass rib in my upper back makes it hurt to breath. True story, a few weeks ago I had a filling put in at the dentist and she was so freaked out by my face cringing with pain that she thought she was fucking things up. So she stopped short. Now that filling feels like I’m sucking off the Human Torch every time I take a sip of my hot green tea, because yes, I’m drinking green tea now and also yes, it’s organic. I’m not saying that I’m a vegan that only eats cum and cabbage I’m just saying that I drink organic green tea every morning instead of coffee now. It’s good and my little tum-tum feels better when I drink it.

I just wanted to complain for a while. I’d like to say that I feel better now but I don’t. It’s cold outside and for whatever reason the cold air makes my ribs feel ten times worse. I hope that everyone that I know will one day be forced to suffer from costcofajitas. All of them.

It’s Not the Breed it’s the Owner!!!


In an attempt to be a little more streamlined than tank-like, I am lifting half of the amount of weight that I normally lift and working out every day. The plan has backfired. I am looking more Hulk mode than before and have found myself strung out on protein shakes again. I haven’t taken a hit from the shaker bottle since 2015, but after finding a delicious whey isolate protein powder that fills the void in both my diet and emotional needs, it makes me wonder how I ever had the willpower to quit.

Apparently Walmart has really upped their game when it comes to supplements and protein powders since I shook the whey monkey off my back, because they have some really good stuff now. I found myself standing in front of the many bodybuilding proton containers at Walmart, reading every label because if you ever go grocery shopping with me you should know that going grocery shopping with me is the only thing you will get done that day, because I read every label and internally debate every food item I buy, except eggs.

While I’m reading the bodybuilding proton container labels two young white men that were culturally appropriating inner city gangster rap culture in both their clothing and manner of speech began to look at the supplements next to me.

The first thing out of one of their mouths to the other, “Yo, it’s not the breed though, it’s the owner.”

Oh holy shit. I knew immediately that he was a pit bull apologist. I cannot stand pit bull apologists. The moment I see a person walking a pit bull or they tell me that they own a pit bull I instantly question their intelligence. Pit bulls are hell demons with heads evolutionarily made to eat other creature’s heads with. And that’s what they do, they actually attack your neck and your head.

So these two privileged white boys speaking with basketball accents continue their discussion of how pit bulls are loving dogs that lost their angel wings, and that if you show the dog who’s boss then it will be obedient and never harm a soul. I know lots of random information because my brain prefers to fill itself with useless bullshit instead of making me into a wealthy genius doctor. One of those random bits of useless bullshit is that pit bulls are only 11% of dogs in America and yet they’re responsible for over 50% of all dog attacks and are also the dog attacks that are most likely to be fatal.

So I told them, “You know, pit bulls are only 5% of the dog population but they commit 75% of all dog attacks, and 90% of those attacks are fatal.”

“For real?”, said one white male.

“Yup. My sister works at a dog shelter. They won’t even accept pit bulls because they’re so dangerous to the other dogs and the workers.”

Look, I don’t have a sister. But I do know a girl that I haven’t talked to in over a decade that may work at or did work at an animal shelter at one time but I’m not sure. And any friend that close to me is like family. She has never given me her stance on pit bulls but her and I can pretty much read each other’s thoughts, so I know she hates pit bulls. A lot.

“Still though. You can train a dog not to bite. It’s the owner’s fault.”, the white male said in his best Eminem voice.

I didn’t say anything back to them. I bought my $49.99 protein and left. But there was an uproarious debate about pit bulls between me and my jug of protein powder on the car ride home.

Dymatize Whey Isolate: “Yo, it’s not the breed though, it’s the owner.”

Me: “Dymatize. Have you ever heard of a sheep dog?”

Dymatize Whey Isolate: “Yes.”

Me: “Why do they call it a sheep dog?”

Dymatize Whey Isolate: “Because they herd sheep.”

Me: “Shit, you’re right. They’ve been bred to herd sheep so they just naturally herd sheep. Now Dymatize, have you ever heard of a Golden Retriever? Now why do you think they have the word ‘retriever’ in their name?”

Dymatize Whey Isolate: “I’m not liking your snarky attitude but I’d imagine it’s cuz they probably grab stuff and bring it to you.”

Me: Oh Dymatize I think you’re starting to catch on! Dogs are bred to do certain tasks. And some of those dogs even have what they were bred for in their name. It’s why certain breeds of dogs are used for hunting or protection. Because they have been bred for specific purposes. Now, why would they call a breed of dog a PIT BULL?”

Dymatize Whey Isolate: “Ease up on your tone son. And there’s a wrench in the trunk you can use to adjust your dickhead attitude with. But I dunno, maybe pit bulls were used to fight each other or other animals for sport, like in a pit or something.”

Me: “It’s like you know what I’m thinking Dymatize. But yes, you’re correct. And is it just a coincidence that practically all pit bull maulings happen with the dog taking the victim to the ground and then attacking their face and their neck to kill them? Do you think that maybe they were bred to do that or do you think the owners of all disobedient pit bulls taught them to attack that way?”

Dymatize Whey Isolate: “You know, you’ve made some pretty good points about dog breeds and why you should avoid buying a pit bull. How about you slip into your bathrobe while I make you an ice cold protein shake. We can watch a movie or some porn together.”

I know that pit bulls are a generalized term for a mixed breed of dogs but they were bred for fucking up other animals. It’s what they were made to do and denying that makes you an idiot. And when I Googled ‘pit bulls’ the first thing that popped up was that just the other day some lady was mauled to death by her pet pit bull that she had raised since it was a pup after her husband stepped out of the house for 15 minutes. Dogs operate according to the behaviors that they were bred for. I would imagine that if you only allowed sociopaths to breed with each other you would eventually end up with an entire race of Mark Zuckerbergs. It’s the same reason that there should be a law against redheads being allowed to marry each other.

In short, don’t buy a pit bull. I don’t care that you’ve never been bitten by one or you knew a really nice pit bull when you were a kid. The bastards are dangerous. Not every zoo that has lions has had somebody attacked by one of their lions, but it does happen. But the zoos that will never have a lion attack are the zoos that don’t have any lions. I should have said that to Dymatize.

W-Wait! Wait! Stop! Listen to me! D-don’t don’t!

W-Wait-Wait! Listen to me! Stop! Stop!

I was in Denver for a full week signing autographs and overlooking the construction of my HAARP funded ionospheric electron stimulator that generates a 12 megahertz frequency band using only a 3.2 megawatt signal. I originally made it out of a blue Linksys wireless router that I hadn’t used since Myspace and a pair of Dr. Scholl’s Memory Fit Massaging Gel insoles for the purpose of getting rid of some wrinkles on my face, but if you see me in person you will understand that the machine was far too powerful at turning back the clock on my appearance. So now the machine is being built bigger and will be used to weaponize the weather.

Anyway, most people wouldn’t know it but I have a history of anxiety and occasional panic attacks, just like the 95% of single women that tell you about how they are braving their anxiety problems everyday on FaceBook. For whatever reason my panicking bullshit came back in spades while I was in Denver. Decades ago I conked my bonkers in a car foul up and it resulted in me having some mental issues, physical problems too but mostly just shit in my head. One of those problems is panic attacks that leave me zero fucking clues as to what causes them, or at least what causes most of them. For years they would knock the wind out of me and make my mind go crazy every time that I was in a car, either driving or sitting while someone else was driving or even when the car wasn’t moving. Everyone else in the car would be having a sensible chuckle talking about Ren Stevens buying the $4,000 pair of lizard skin pants with the money that Louis gave to her to guard and I would be sweating bullets and losing my shit and silently struggling for survival within my own head. That’s what it’s like. Somebody will be sitting in the passenger seat while I am driving, looking out the window and relaxing as they watch the passing corn fields and construction cones, but what they fail to see is that I am driving 500mph on the interstate weaving around cars and doing everything to stay on the road and Jesus H Christ I am having a heart attack holy shit now I can’t breath this is it we are going to die! It’s just a massive mental and physical freak out with no obvious cause.

Well I went to a shrink to help get rid of my car anxiety and it definitely helped, but it isn’t entirely gone. If you ever see me sitting in a car you might notice that I never seem to be all that comfortable. I have found that certain foods tend to aggravate my anxiety too. I avoid eating grains, mostly wheat, because within an hour I get this pain at the top of my stomach that makes it hard for me to breath and sometimes I feel a little pukey. I feel really on edge with a pissed off attitude when I’m eating stuff like bread for days at a time and it takes about a week for it to go away after I stop eating it. So avoiding certain foods helps but some of the anxiety bullshit still goes on.

As far as finding the other causes of anxiety, I am a Freudian when it comes to human behavior. I have a firm belief in the existence of the conscious and unconscious mind. The conscious mind is the part of your brain that allows you to think and choose your actions and the unconscious mind is the part that stores feelings and desires and influences your conscious mind without your consent. It’s like if a guy pulled a gun on you and told you to give him your iPhone. Your conscious mind would be saying “well just give him the fucking iPhone so he goes away” but your unconscious mind would turn you into Superman and you would feel your muscles pump up with blood and adrenaline and you would use that newfound potential strength to throw your shoe at him and run away screaming like a kicked puppy. You control the conscious but the the unconscious controls you.

So anxiety and panic attacks are under the control of your unconscious mind. You cannot choose to be scared or anxious, it’s just a natural reaction to something around you. People that see you being anxious or having a panic attack and tell you to “just relax” or to “stop thinking so much” are dipshits that you should ignore. I can’t relax because for some unknown reason I feel like I am about to die, and I can’t stop thinking so much because if I think about not thinking then I am doing even more thinking than I would if I weren’t thinking about not thinking on top of the thinking that I am already thinking. You cannot escape thinking unless you are in a coma and I gave that up in high school.

Here’s what it is. Your unconscious mind is causing panic attacks because it is trying to make your conscious mind aware of something that you are doing regularly and you know deep down that you should stop doing it, or there is something that you should be doing but you are avoiding it. There is the possible PTSD factor where your brain has recorded something, like being in a car in my case, and then placed that recording into the “holy shit this is bad” part of your brain. You probably need therapy for that. But no matter what the reason is the only way to get rid of the anxiety is to find the problem and face it. You shouldn’t try to ignore your anxiety or treat it with prescription drugs or weed or alcohol. Alcohol helps, it helps a lot actually. In fact it’s a downright cure for anxiety that takes effect almost immediately, but it doesn’t resolve the issue and makes it worse over time. The only way to get rid of anxiety and panic attacks is to take note of them and figure out what is at the root of the cause. Then you have to face that. Once you face it you can either try to accept it or fix it but fixing it is the best option.

I have acknowledged my anxiety problems and I am now facing them and taking action. I am taking immediate action. Now is the time to push my life in the direction that I have always wanted it to go. Today alone I bought $1600 worth of clown face paint and my new pre-built aluminum shed and neodymium fishing magnet with 1146 lbs of pulling force are scheduled to arrive in the mail next Wednesday. After that I just need to figure out where I can find Mac and Me on VHS and buy a couple bottles of hydrogen peroxide, and then I will have all of the necessary materials to build my dreams with. I am also writing everyday again.

I am confronting my panic attacks and deepest fears because I will no longer be a pussy that’s getting’d by my unconscious mind. I am confronting the cucking black bull that is harpooning my life without my consent. What do you need to confront so you too can stop being such a panicking little bitch? You gonna cry little bitch? Yeah, that’s what I thought.