First Cuts

Almost ten years ago, the world was gonna end. The end of the world as we know it. Apparently we don’t know shit. Nothing happened. Computers didn’t go all bananas on us, nobody came for a second coming. Nothing. Now the date changed to sometime in 2012. According to the Maya calendar there will be no more days after 2012. Just because a bunch of retards run out of numbers we’re suppose to give up and die? They keep perpetuating these doomsday scenarios to keep us in fear. Who are they? Does it matter? I fart in their general direction. There will always be a tomorrow. Then again, that’s what a slacker would say, right? By now you’re wondering, is there a point to all this? And the simple, god honest answer is No. Chronic abuse of alcohol, pot, and cat piss makes you wonder about pointless stuff, scrutinizing them with the most infantile approach ever conceivable. On the other hand though, you develop an acute sense for bullshit and the ability to see through the first layers of appearances. I don’t think I’m special, I know that everybody is special. Not special as in ‘special’, or in some politically correct terms, ‘differently able’ (able to fuck up the most trivial tasks, that is), but you know, really special. Every person is different and unique in his or her own traits. I’ve met some amazing individuals, which enriched my life with inspiration and love. Truly awe inspiring people that have affected me in one-way or another. But then again, I met some people that affected me as a brain tumor affects your neural system. These human slugs crawl their way into your life, just to poison your soul. The sad part is that the ratio of awesome/slug people I met in recent years is gradually decreasing, favoring the douche bags of our race. I can make a list with these human paraquats that would put Schindler to shame. These ‘Jar Jar Binks of my Star Wars’ tug on my life cord and make me wanna kill somebody. And then, well, I remember. I remember that it’s all a ride. That, eventually, we should always look at the bright side of Life. We just have to believe that Rorschach’s Journal gets discovered. That Tom didn’t drop the guns in the river. Because if we don’t, it just wouldn’t matter.