Sunday, January 3, 2016

The Year of the Mad Shitter and 2016

I'm glad 2015 is finally over.  It was a demented chimpanzee cranked up on meth while running around a party of adults with a machete and hacking at all of our ankles.  Filthy little bastard!  It wore a t-shirt that said "ZIPPY" in bold red letters and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't shoot the fucker and save us all.

I don't know where a chimpanzee would get meth, or a t-shirt like that, or even a machete.  I'm pretty sure some swarthy asshole outside the party thought it would be fun.  There's always that one asshole who wants to give a primate a heavy drug and a weapon just to add life to a party.  And that greasy motherfucker ruins it all the time for us.

He is the bastard half-brother to Death and the distant cousin to Fate.  He was never given a proper name but I'm sure he thinks he's funny as hell.  One of these days I'm going to lure him into the back of my van where I'll give the dirty shit a bath and wax every strand of hair off his swarmy little body. Then, I'll dress him in plaid pants and a print shirt from the 70's, with a pair of white vinyl loafers before shoving him out into the public on a bright, sunny day.
And that, folks, pretty much sums up my headspace--I'm angry about an aspect of life.  I hold life itself in contempt.

The Judge Dredd comic book had a great villain named Judge Death.  He was from an alternate dimension where the Judges realized all crime was committed by the living, so they judged everybody alive, and sentenced them to die.  It was brilliant.

Sure, I'm angry about 2015, but angry in a way that you are after somebody takes a shit outside your doorway and runs off because you can't see who did it.  The world is full of mad shitters and 2015 was the Year of the Mad Shitter.  Somebody was shitting on our doorstep and running away before we could figure out who needed to be shot.  Piles of shit were everywhere!  In doorways, cabinets, in the middle of the floor, on the hoods of our cars.  Everywhere!  

Nothing is more depraved than a mad shitter.  And I'm almost positive the original reason Springfield Armory developed the newer M1 variants was because of the prevalence of mad shitters in our society.  

Imagine every other day or so finding a pile of crap where you least expected.  Every day, almost. Piles and piles strung out all over because somebody was so angry at you they felt the need to get back at you, but they didn't have the balls to face you or at least make their name known.  

You scream, you curse, you shout, you make oaths of revenge to anybody who will listen.  But you never know who took a shit on the hood of your car while you were asleep.  

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how I would recap 2015.  I think that pretty much sums it up.  

I'm not going to let 2016 even start with me.  I'm still pissed off.  I had high hopes for this last year and it turned into a disappointing flash in the pan.  So instead of me looking around for somebody to shoot and asking, "What the fuck just happened?" I am going to be pro-active and aggressive.  

I pronounce 2016 to be The Year of Aggression.

I am going to be aggressive in all facets of my life.  You name it, I'm going to be aggressive about it. Except for work.  But the rest of my life, you bet.  I'm going to submit more stories and I'm going to publish more stories, dammit.  I'm going to have shit ready.  

And ladies, get ready, because no more of this nice-guy bullshit.  I'm gonna slap some asses and honk some boobs.  My goal for 2016 is to have three pregnancy scares and to break four hearts.  I want somebody to demand I take a paternity test!  I want somebody at work to be knocked up and to have my name on the long list of potential daddies. 

I'm going to leave 2016 on a sidewalk at night, crying, and too shocked to talk about what the bad man in the van did to it.   

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