Ode to the Morning

Ever have one of those days where you just feel like pissing on the world? Not just pissing on the world, but like laughing while you're doing it? I feel like shit. I look like shit. And I feel like I look like shit. Things are not going well. But then again, this is the way I feel every morning. That's why I usually sleep through it. It's
like this completely disgusting and awful thing that is absolutely unnecessary---like finding a green chip all of a sudden in an otherwise perfectly good bag of Ruffles. In fact, there is only one thing in this whole fucking world that I hate more than the morning, and that's onions. And rap music also. And my ex- roommate. I swear if I ever went to hell it would be this eternal morning with this huge fucking alarm clock blaring rap music. And then I would have to get up and eat onions all day with my ex-roommate who is so stupidthat he would probably stare at a wall for days unless someone told him to stop. He actually asked me to help him shave his back hair once. I'm sorry Colin, I'd rather have the entire Love Boat sailed up my ass on a regular basis than touch your back hair you enormous wad of snot. He came down the other day and told me that his new goal in life is to rob a bank because he was inspired by the movie "Wisdom." Demi Moore has inspired me to do many things in life, but robbing a bank has never been one of them.

Lately I've been working on this theory that seems to remedy all problems--it's called violence. Guns, knives, an armored tank, large farm machinery, piano wire, a rusty bear trap, a random light socket, dental floss (preferably waxed), or even a dollar bill (that's George Washington if you're nasty) could do the trick. For instance, you enter your neighborhood Taco Bell and say, "I'd like three soft taco's without the fingernails or pubic hair...oh, and add sour cream," and they say "Excuse me sir, but I don't appreciate the smart ass comment." And then you say, "Well I don't appreciate the hair growing out of the mole on the side of your face." And then they say, "OK mister, I've had just about enough of you." And that's where you pull out the gun.
By the way, if you ever get Taco Bell, don't look on the inside. I had a friend once who opened up her seven layer burrito and I swear it looked like someone had just after- birthed in it. Speaking of afterbirth (I've always wanted to say that), there was this kid in my creative writing class last semester who had friends of the family who saved their afterbirth and fried it up and ate it. I mean do you use a lot of ketchup? What about leftovers? Is that stuff re-heatable? I mean what kind of fucking fuck eats afterbirth? And why the hell does my ex-girlfriend (a.k.a. dyke of the universe) keep calling me? It's called a year and a half bitch! A year and a fucking half since we broke up so why do you call me every other day and ask if I'm dating someone else? I could have a herd of sheep in my bed every night and it's none of your fucking business.
And that's beside the fact that she looks like someone screwed an ass onto her neck and stapled a cheap wig to the top of it.

I went to a movie the other day and there were these two people sitting infront of me about to inhale each others faces. It was the most disgusting damn thing I've ever seen. This guy actually licked the entire length of her arm and then stuck his tongue so far into her ear I swear it was going to come out the other side. And they were ugly too.
There is absolutely nothing worse in the world than watching ugly people kissing in public. Two sweating, hairy, fat people wearing black concert T-shirts licking each other in public (preferably near a restaurant or eating area). I mean this is what laws are for. I saw
two ugly people at the State Fair once sharing an ice cream cone and they actually licked it out of each others mouths. I mean ther is no discreet way to do something like that. If I lit my ass on fire and hung it out of the window of a speeding automobile it would still be considerably more discreet. Not to mention the bodily fluids involved in that kind of public display of affection. About the only thing more violent than that is the food in our cafeteria. The other day they actually served Pinto Bean Loaf. Yes, Pinto...Bean... Loaf. I mean what does that look like? I don't know, that work "loaf" just makes me very afraid for some reason.
And then there's three bean delight. Which word does not fit in that phrase--three, bean, or delight? I'm sorry, anything that has three beans in it is not a delight. Yesterday we had Breaded Perch. BREADED PERCH. Isn't Perch like something actual real fish eat? We don't have just chicken, we have chicken with the feet still on them. We have turkey that floats. We have gravy that becomes a lumpy green substance within minutes of exposure to the air. And they have these official sounding names for all the foods. For instance: Vermont Cheese Soup--as if the cheese soup from South Dakota would inspire laughter by everyone in the cafeteria. And out of everyone in the breathing world you would want to handle your food they have to choose people that look like extras from a prison rape movie.

About the only thing that annoys me more is poetry. It's nothing personal--it's just poetry. It's this sick, twisted, perverted cult that wants to transform the world into a bunch of fairies and nymphs skipping from flower to flower in a bunch of rhyming couplets. It's all satanic you know. What do you think happened to Elvis? The poets got him. Where did the bullet from the grassy knoll come from. That's right,the poets. River Phoenix? Yep, he was getting too close to their L.A. based operation. It's called "The Texas Chainsaw Massacre"--that whole damn family used to be poets before they decided to chop up all those teenagers. They were just sitting there one day reading "In a Station at the Metro" and they said, "I know what it means!" It's all subliminal. They trick you into trying to find a deeper meaning and it ends up saying the same damn thing in your head no matter which poem you read: "Get a gun and kill your grandmother." They're evil and they must be stopped. Every line has something Satanic in it. For instance:
"Hail to thee, blithe spirit" if read backwards really says "Satan is the king of the world and he drives a big fucking Buick." The world is not a safe place for the normal people anymore. The people that like to watch re-runs of "Welcome Back Kotter," the people that eat dog biscuits on occasion, the people that get a strange sensation while watching those three chicks on "The Price is Right." I beg you, do not read or write poetry. It seems so innocent at first. You open a book, read a few lines, and BAM! you've just cut up the neighbors and are keeping them around the house in lots of little jars.

It's a sick world we live in. Just look at the headlines--incest, child molestsation, cattle mutilations, Michael Bolton, gangs, AIDS, serial killings, drug traffic. And what does our school do about any of it?--we have Hillary Clinton and a guy wearing a huge mask handing out Pop Tarts to everybody. And how come I'm the only one I know who still checks the closet before I go to bed every night? Who knows when you'll randomly open the closet door and all of a sudden there's a mental patient with no face standing there with a hook for a hand just pissing everywhere?
Or if under the bed one night there just happens to be an unusually large number of severed human heads just sitting there? Or if behind the suspicious looking bulge in the drapes there is a naked bleeding woman with a drill coming out of the end of the guitar she's playing? I have to say that I'm a firm believer in corn field circles and in alien abductions, especially in small towns in Iowa. I also believe in the Loch Ness Monster, Bigfoot, and Elvis. And that Jim Morrison is alive and living in a small town in Africa. I believe in Chinese food, southern accents, and that "Twin Peaks" was a damn fine TV show if I do say so my damn self.

By the way, in case you were wondering, my Astronomy mid-term was such a nightmarishly impossible thing that I was going to throw myself out of my window (I live on the first floor, but that's beside the point). I just stared at the test for an hour and a half and then fell on the ground and started flopping like a fish. And my T.A. in the class is
one enormous walking penile implant. The man should be run over by a large vehicle driven by Tina Turner if there's any justice at all in the world. And I still haven't found the air nozzle on the back of our teacher yet that blows him up. I swear the man is the equivalent of a human inner-tube. He should be thrown into a pool and have little kids
ride on him. And he's one of those teachers that puts one of those cheesy multiple choice problems on the end of a test:

Professor Dulk is...
a) my favorite teacher in the world,
b) the bestest Astronomy teacher I've ever had,
c) the equivalent of an orgasm in the field of Astronomy teaching,
d) like butter, etc.

I would love to do one of my own:

Professor Dulk is an enormous gyrating...
a) penis
b) penis
c) penis
d) all of the above
e) all of the above and penis

But I mean that in the best possible way of course. I'm really not a negative person at all. When I mention death or severe maiming for instance, I don't mean in in the negative way. If my Astronomy teacher happened to be backed over eighty three times while innocently crossing a parking lot and the car for some reason was registered to
my name, I wouldn't be so quick to focus on the negatives of the situation. In fact, I'm a very positive person. I usually try to concentrate on the positives in most situations, but I probably don't have to tell you that. I find it refreshing to spend my free time helping out at homeless shelters, rescuing a stranded kitten out of a tree, or accompanying a senior citizen across a busy intersection. On weekends I like to plant trees in the community. And when I'm not doing that I teach an adult literacy class in my spare time. My hobbies are bird watching, winding thread around an enormous spool, and skipping through fields with Wilford Brimley. I also like to ponder world problems while laying on a rock; such as: What's the deal with Bob Barker's hair? One day it's brown, the next it's white. Was Dillon really worth breaking up a good friendship like Brenda and Kelly's? Does the Coyote secretly like the Roadrunner, and if so will he send him a Hallmark card on his birthday?

It's enough to make a man do something drastic.

I'd like to end now with one of my favorite quotes. Except it has absolutely nothing to do with this paper. But then again, this paper has absolutely nothing to do with anything anyway. So like I said, I'm going to end with one of my favorite quotes from the movie "Bull Durham": "Well, what do you believe in then?" "I believe in the soul, the cock,the pussy, the small of a woman's back, the hanging curve ball, high fiber, good scotch, that the novels of Susan Sonntag are self-indulgent over-rated crap; I believe Lee Harvey Oswald acted alone; I believe that there should be a consitutional amendment outlawing astro-turf and the designated hitter; I belive in the sweet spot, soft-core pornography, opening your presents Christmas Day rather
than Christmas Eve, and I believe in long, slow, deep, soft, wet kisses that last three days."