Category Archives: Blogging

People hate me, redux

Ah, it’s amazing how one insight leads to an avalanche of other thoughts.

I think people are afraid of what they don’t understand. And people, generally, think I’m weird, which is, of course, a euphemism for “I don’t understand you.”

People also generally don’t like what’s strange and different. People don’t like (aka “fear”) what they don’t understand. Ref: the Large Hadron Collider, evolution, atheists, other cultures, or “anything that doesn’t fit my worldview.”

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So there we were, it had been many months out to sea, and we were in the midst of, oh, I don’t know, or 45th-ish day straight out to sea. One tends to go insane. Or one tends to do things to relieve bottled-up tension.

Wouldn’t you know it, General Fucking Quarters was called. There I was, off watch, enjoying my game of Freecell on the computer in the office. “Goddamn it,” I yelled, and probably a few other choice words. At the time, my GQ station was up in the hangar bay. Probably a hose team leader or some other fire fighting leader. Shit. It’s fucking HOT in the god-forsaken Persian Gulf and I’d have to wear a full Fire Fighting Ensemble. Shit!

Joining me was Terry, a spry little guy that people also thought was weird. Probably why I liked him.

Anyway, were were standing up in the hangar bay. We had gained, through escalation of the issue to senior management, the right to wear our coveralls throughout the ship. Fucking topsiders.

Terry and I were chatting and I made some sort of joke about the flashlight in his pocket.

In the Navy, you have these monster flashlights. They’re grey and they have this slider and a little button on it. They’re pretty indestructible. And they’re pretty good sized. Possibly porn-sized.

(I’m building to a crescendo, bear with me.)

So there we were, bored and making “or are you happy to see me” jokes up in the hangar bay. Keep in mind that women were fully aboard the carrier by then. Did I mention that I hated the Navy? Yeah, I hated it. I particularly hated this ass-sucking fucktard by the name of Master Chief Lore. This guy was only a Master Chief by way of doing his time. He was sincerely one of the worst managers I ever had the displeasure of working for, mostly because I couldn’t respect him because he was SO GODDAMNED RETARDED. He just didn’t get it, and didn’t have to because of his rank. So we all suffered under him. And we all looked as retarded as him, by proxy.

Master Chief Lore was put in charge of herding the cats, as it were, on the hangar bay. What else do you do with a useless Master Chief? Give him real responsibility? Ha!

Meanwhile, the joking between Terry and I had escalated. I thought it would be SUBLIME if I reached over and stroked his flashlight, which was deep in his pocket. More like down the front of his pant leg, towards the center. Like a ginormous, erect cock in his jumper, if I must spell it out.

So I did.

I reached down and stroked that thing like it was going out of style. I stroked it and stroked it and furrowed my brow and bit my lip and Terry played along and threw his head back and was letting out moans of pleasure.

(oh, shit, I’m laughing so hard that I’m crying right now!)

In movies, there’s a scene where the record scratches and the music stops, and everyone suddenly goes silent. Sometimes a glass shatters. That happened right there with 1000 people in the hangar bay on the ship. I thought Master Chief was going to crap his pants right there. And maybe he did, a little. Eyes were bulging and jaws were on the deck.

“Oh my god, is he really – ”

I couldn’t take it any more and I busted out laughing and Terry, with his perma-grin, slowly pulled out the flashlight. He joined me in my hysterics.

There was a collective sigh of relief and a return to the general static as people turned away, possibly in a futile attempt to purge from their brains the scene to which they had just bore witness.

I think Master Chief Lore hated me just a little bit more that day. Jealousy? Disgust? You decide.

Hypnagogic reality

Sometimes life is really just one massive hypnagogic state. Seriously. Like, yeah, you know. It is! I’m telling!

But really, I often wonder what would happen if I really DID finally close off of the brain->mouth filter? What would people think? Would I be locked up for thinking the things that you all think but are too chicken-shit to say out loud?

Like that look from the person across the conference room table. You just KNOW he’s totally freaked out by your black fingernails. What I want to do is play the part he sees in me (but has totally misread) and go over and maybe fondle his testicles. Because then he’d just drop a 10lb turd in his shorts and THAT, mein freund, would just make my inner self giggle like a schoolgirl.

Then there are other times when I wish I could just bare it all. I had a quick lunch at McDonalds yesterday, for example. The lady behind the counter was a particularly beefy, front-butted Mexican abomination that actually said, “yer fries, they coming.” I wanted to bust out in a cackle of insanity, to reach over and grab her goddamned stupid McDonalds kerchief and strangle her illegal ass with it. All the while laughing hideously, of course. Of course!

Then there are the immature moments that I relish internally. Today, our system was down when we were trying to do something at work (as a team in a conference room). Everyone kept talking about how their systems were freezing up, though they kept saying, “I’m hung – hey, are you hung?” I visualized milk streaming forth from my nostrils as these innocent people were going on and on about how hung they were. Holy crap, that shit was funny, and it was completely lost on them.

Shut up, Beavis, before I kick your ass!

I often get songs stuck in my head and I like to see how they fit into my every day consciousness, flightless birds stuck on my island of Steve and afraid to leave, lest the seals eat them for lunch. Today has been 2 Tool songs, Stinkfist and ’46 and 2.’ Awesome songs. Stinkfist is a song I’d like to play out loud because, on the surface, it’s a song about fisting someone’s ass. That’s mildly amusing in itself and would freak out the people with no more than 2cm of depth to them. But the song is REALLY about how Maynard is so damned DONE with everything fake and how he’s so desensitized to the world that the only thing he can do to actually FEEL again is to have someone jam their fist up his nasty cornhole until they’re buried to the shoulder. This is better than not being able to feel anything at all in our uber-commercialized world.

And I sometimes feel the same way. The constant thrum-thrum of everyday doldrums drive me to want to bash my fucking head against the wall even as I’m having a seemingly normal conversation with someone I actually like. Because I’m laughing at myself on the inside and I’m laughing at them and I have to play the game, I have to revert. I have to desensitize.

I have to pretend it’s all a hypnagogic state and I’m okay with it. Really, Dorothy, just click your heels together and repeat it and everything will be okay. “You were there, and you, and you, and you! And remember when Toto licked my snatch?! Damn, that dog’s a wonder.”

People hate me

People are afraid of me.

I’m coming around to realize that this has always been so. I’m not complaining, just stating. I think it’s actually all very interesting.

The first time I realized anyone was afraid of me was back in the Navy. I was in Nuclear Power School and, of course, I liked to mess with people. Being particularly anti-religion and pro -“piss off people indiscriminately,” especially so in my younger days, I used to do things that bugged people. A lot.

So let’s back up a wee bit here. In after-hours study, we had to “sign out” to go to “silent study,” where you had a private little desk with walls and sound-proofing material. To go to silent study, you had to sign out on the board (you had a certain number of mandatory after-hours study time, so you were treated like a child, of course). It was a chalk board (does anyone still use chalk?).

I used to sign “husted” with the “t” as an upside-down cross.

I thought it was benign, and I thought it was pretty damned funny. There were, apparently, people that didn’t think it was a joke. Or perhaps they were still waiting for the surgery to remove the well-lodged corn cob. I dunno. But I used to come back from silent study and the “t” was corrected to a normal T. And nobody had the balls to fess up.

They were afraid of me.

This group of 30 sailors, probably 29 of them could kick my 135lb ass (at the time), and they were fucking all afraid of me. WTF?

I figured it was this tall, dorky ass pirate that made it a point to shove his religion down your throat. And to talk about Jebus, as if I cared about that. I never did find out, but I would stare at him sometimes in class, making sure he knew I was staring at him. Sometimes I’d even blow him kisses, because the way I figured, as a Christian, he was SURE to be a homophobe. I’m not, so I think it’s fun to freak people the fuck out. Sure enough, he would avert his gaze.

But I KNEW he knew, and that was enough. I’m laughing as I write this. I’m evil, yes, but only to small-minded dipshits that thought it was super-important to change my T. Fuck his god.

I’m still here

I’m still here, but I went back to work after a 2 month sabbatical! I’ve been busy, there’ve been holidays (and there’ll be more), my birthday was in there somewhere (and the acquisition of Guitar Hero III, which is a good excuse not to post to your blog), and my *other* side biz is picking up steam. I’m hoping for funding by the end of the year but it may be mid-January (sigh).

My weekly drawing thread over at Wet Canvas has been slim pickings for several weeks now. I’m waiting for something fun to crop up and the pictures just haven’t been at all interesting 🙁

I’ll get back into the swing and get posting again. Until then, you keep practicing because, as an old art teacher once told me, “It’s not like turning on and off a light switch, you know.”

-s