Throwing Poo

I've been avoiding writing anything remotely personal this week because I've been in a bad place and didn't want to sound too bitchy, neurotic or whiny (those may be the three gayest words I have ever used to describe myself).  I also have trouble focusing my thoughts when this happens.   As a result, I thought I would purge the demons through a little free association exercise (i.e., write whatever comes into my head).   My apologies in advance for what I am sure will be a gratutious amount of f-bombs and bad syntax, but remember it is for a good cause. Here goes...
 
 
Most of my family and friends know about this site, and I am constantly struggling with finding a balance between being candid and being ostracized.  I worry that I am one minor case of writer's block away from severly reducing my Christmas card take.  Maybe this would be a good time to invoke a little reverse Armstrong Williams scam to earn some extra cash. 
 
 
The fucking Kinks fucking rule!  Why the hell did I wait so long to replace my old cassettes that replaced my 8-tracks, that replaced my vinyl, that is now probably being sold on Ebay for mad dinero?  By the way, how many recurrences of an "album" do I need to buy before I actually own the rights to the music?  There must be a number, and I've got to be getting close.
 
 
My iPod took a dump this week (iPoop?  iPile?).  I love my iPod, so it felt like my dog had been hit by a car.  By all appearances the problem seems to be fixed, but consider me duly reminded of the fragility of life.  Never mind the fact that I work with dying people every day of the week.  Never mind that I am an insensitive prick.
 
 
I just ate a giant Tootsie Roll, and now I feel like puking.  Goddamn evil giant Tootsie Roll, I know you're in there conspiring with the cheeseburger and pint of Smithwicks to fuck up my evening.
 
 
I don't watch a lot of mainstream television, so I tend to be behind in trends.
Apparently Taco Bell has announced a new campaign to promote the "Fourthmeal" of the day between dinner and breakfast.  Having already cornered the drunken college kid market, I guess they thought there was an opportunity to expand their bottom line (and our increasingly fat asses).   I sincerely hope that the American public does not buy into this idea, but deep down I believe it will be welcomed with open, flabby arms.
 
 
Watched a Frontline special on the sex slave trade in Eastern Europe last night and wanted to kill myself.  It completely shattered the dwindling remnants of my faith in mankind.  It sure would be nice to see or hear some good reasons for being a white man besides being videotaped taking one in the nuts.
 
 
My knee is still fucked up after 10 weeks of physical therapy and worthless fucking opinions from doctors.  Sometimes it feels like I'm paying weathermen for their forecasts.
 
 
Speaking of the devil, the doctor and associated hospital system I've been seeing about my knee problems have something wrong with their accounts payable system.  I never receive a bill until it's been referred to a credit collection agency.  If I have a religion, it is that I pay my bills on time.  That said, it pisses me off to no end that these assholes can't even bill me properly for their useless advice.  Every time I call the billing department about it, they treat me like a fucking deadbeat and keep interrupting me with not-so-subtle attempts to get my credit card number. 
 
 
How the hell am I ever going to catch up on 25 hours of Opie & Anthony podcasts?  It is just me, or does anyone else ever buy subscriptions, books, etc., as a personal treat only to have those things begin to feel like obligations?
 

That's enough for today.  Thanks for playing along.  Now back to your regularly scheduled poppycock.