one bastard for sale.

[Escape Artist]

this has been a fucked up day for me.

i woke up, tried to explain myself to the apparently former g/f - no dice there.

then i started drinking beer like a madman in a desert with his oasis of water.

i drove, drunk, with my even more fucked up mom, and got more beer. (i didn't take very many risks, i assure you)

here i am, after that, talking to an online porn star chick about the merits and problems of shitting, and i get a lovely call.

apparently some guy wants to seriously know about how much and what dad's getting with his medicare shit.

i told him the roof of dad's mouth had fallen right the fuck out, and that mom was shitfaced, screwball drunk, and that i had no idea what the hell he wanted. this guy took it in stride. fuckin' a, man. great salesman.

"oh, i'm sorry, the roof of his fucking mouth FELL OUT, and that's why he can't personally talk to you!"

great. fucking lovely.

it'd be nice if my fucking life could be a little more SANE! i know i'm a dangerous lunatic, sure - but what the fuck is all this?

i'll just drive drunk to the beer store, flatten a fucking telemarketer guy, and go "yeehaw!" at the end when i get fucking dumped - shit, that's a wonderful series of events!

this sucks, man. i'm sure a lot of you want me to just be normal and stuff (well, juliana probably thinks it's pretty god-damned interesting) - but come on. this kind of crazy shit has been my life to date.

saying "oh, dad can't talk anymore since the roof of his fucking mouth fell out" and a salesman going " that's fine" was the height of my day.

i'm a monster, and that's fine. you kinda have to be to deal with this insane crap.

enjoy the convoluted shite!

[Billyman]

You're funny..................I like you.

[Escape Artist]

oh, this was my fucking day, for christ sakes.

welcome to my life, man!

[SimpleSimon]

oh, this was my fucking day, for christ sakes.

welcome to my life, man!


No, it was mine. Thanks for noticing.

[Escape Artist]

you wish, man.

i have a few stories that'll trump your arm.

if i just keep it together through all this i'll be fine.

that's my mantra, and i'm sticking to it.

[Escape Artist]

ooh, goody. another day.

it's 8 fucking thirty, man.

my day's started with being asked how my my fucking violin is worth on the open market.

i used to PLAY that god-damned thing, man! y'know, once upon a time there was a jason and he made music and stuff. he didn't wake up half drunk, writing bad posts, squinting at the fucking time and hating existance.

jesus h fucking christ, go sell the god-damned thing, and while you're at it, see how much my soul is worth too.

maybe that'll get a few bucks.

i sold my sanity to the devil a good long fucking while ago. somewhere in between "crazy" and "dysfunctional living." you can only enjoy the benefits of this kind of screwed up life before you eventually fall into it yourself.

hi. i'm jason. i tell telemarketers dad's fucking mouth fell out of his head and i enjoy the benefits of cold tapwater at 8:30 am a lot more than i enjoy all the beer i drink. my ex/gf/whatever never got to enjoy stuff like that. her tapwater is rusty shite out of a hole in the ground. i think i'm pretty god-damned lucky. think about that. it's kinda profound.

i quit caring when life started to pick up - y'know, there was a point when i didn't care about the damned interwebnet, and when i liked a good song, and when for a few brief moments i could just escape this existance.

i learned about cool stuff, and i helped people, and i actually *worked* and had satisfaction in making someone else more money than i was paid. that was (and still is) cool fucking shit, man.

now i'm just a commodity on the market, and i either have to be sane - which is pretty god-damned rough - or i have to beat all my previous attempts to date and somehow outshine myself.

hell with that.

y'know, i'm supposed to be embarassed or shameful or self-destructive when it comes to posting crap like this, but i ain't. why not?

enjoy the downward spiral, hell.

[skalie]

teen angst?

[Escape Artist]

yeehaw. selling the neon.

for 50 bucks. yay!

had to move the cavalier - goddamn thing wouldn't start, of course, pushing it didn't work - so i took my crazy ass to mom's car and jumped the piece of shite.

y'know, it fucking figured - i get a car with 269,000 miles on the clock, but the fucking battery is garbage. texas vehicle for ya. only works if it's all warm.

couldn't park her car back on the street - in the 15 minutes i spent kickstarting the god-damned cavalier, all the spaces on the street were taken up.

thanks, dave, and to the arab fucking commune across the street. i hate city life. my existence involves competing for a parking space in front of my own god-damned house.

owning a nearly 200k property in the detroit/dearborn area apparently doesn't entitle you to have a place to park. you gotta mow your lawn, though. that's paramount. "a. roman" will come around and make sure of that, locally. i'm going to eat his fucking heart someday. :) i'll break that snitch's face if i catch him. cocksmoker!

then i argued with mom. i really ought to know better. according to everyone - particularly her - i'm this sorta bastard/saint hybrid. great. i just love living a love/hate relationship with the world.

here's the reality - i was produced as the result of some serious fucking senseless greed by a couple of 40-something people who were so successful that they managed to eke out a living in the ghettos of detroit - shit, man, they couldn't even afford to own a car for half my goddamn childhood.

that's why i'm fucked up. i start out with *that* and apparently i'm supposed to shine up some shite myself.

i don't want to be here. i don't even know why i'm here to begin with. last i checked, getting "live with dysfunctional family, shine shit, succeed despite everything" isn't on anyone's fucking list of life occupations.

selling your first fucking car because you're too broke to fix it back up after a stupid mexican decides to be a road warrior sucks, man. i learned about la fucking migra that day. "oh, hey - that guy's running like a lunatic" is now part of my normal freakin' day. yay for illegal immigration!

having people disappear with your goddamn registration and stuff is normal. least for me.

i know where they live. rick and i found 'em. weren't even trying, either. "hey! that red car, that's the one that hit ya, man!"

i'm not gonna get revenge, even though i probably should.

i actually feel sorry for the poor bastard who was involved in a car wreck and had to fucking flee. really. i'm sitting there kinda dazed at a fucking airbag exploding in my face, and this guy's winning the illegal immigrant fucking marathon.

ehh, fuck - there goes my neon. i loved that stupid little car, i wanted great things, i fucked it all up pretty bad - and someone's gonna get to profit from the ruins. lot like my life so far.

i just wish i hadn't looked. i wish i didn't care about a stupid little car. i sorta wish mom and everyone else would quit telling me what i could be.

bye bye, car, and goodbye to my soul, too. everything i hold dear is getting liquidated.

[Escape Artist]

teen angst?

what, i should try and impress you, or anyone else?

go fuck yourself with a fencepost. :)

[Escape Artist]

well, one nap later, catastrophic posting, no more car, etc...i'm still sorta here.

here's my profound quote for today: "he wants me to watch him stick shit in his ass"

i have some interesting friends.

despite it all, i'm pretty damned numb - you could have a meteor strike where i shot a hole in the roof and i'd just go dump some water on the burning wreckage.

this is kinda average for my atypical day. here i am with half my life ripped out from under me and the other half hinging on fucking violin sales, and i'm pontificating on the world.

hell, why not?

i'm already dreading stuff like christmas, or my 21st b-day, cause it's a little more evident then that no one on this planet cares. i hate the prospect of school, since everyone seems to expect that a superhuman feat of effort will somehow get non-functional synapses firing off. i hate detroit, in general. this place is a cesspool. this...all...sucks.

i doubt it's that bad, though. you all probably got it worse than i do.

enjoy the shizzle. :)

[Mudflap]

oh, this was my fucking day, for christ sakes.

No, it was mine. Thanks for noticing.

Happy birthday.

[Escape Artist]

heh, no shit? here i am bitching about life and how my own birthdays get acknowledged about as much as carter's dog/pills.

i'm humbled. sorry, man.

i don't notice any of that stuff anymore. the axiom of "guys don't remember dates and times" and whatnot is pretty damned true.

from now on, i'll try to make a point of checking that sort of thing. i've been trying to just sorta blaze through everything without taking much - so don't assume my failure to notice is something personal. not actually noticing half the day is the only way i can get by anymore.

i should care a lot more than i have, i think - and i'm gonna work on that. happy pat-day. if ya want a present, send me that mechanical arm of yours and i'll get it fixed one way or another. :)

i don't really have much else to offer you.