Flash On.

“Just so you know, those camo pants clash with that shirt.”

This girl in ninth grade said this to me. She was mistaken. My clothes weren’t supposed to match. I wanted to wear camo pants to feel like I was in the army. I had a blue shirt so I could be as calm as a clear blue sky.

She should have minded her business.

I’m not a fashion person. I know the dos and don’t because there was a few months where I was doing research for an unoriginal rip-off The Devil Wears Prada I was going to write. I had to come up with wardrobes for all the characters. It was an enjoyable nightmare. I might go back to that script someday.

I have a philosophy about what clothes I buy. I find the most generic bland forgettable cheap clothing and wear them until they are worn out. It’s much easier to get away with not tipping when you’re forgettable.

I also buy clothes to support bands and shows that I’m into. I wear wrestling shirts occasionally as bait to find wrestling fans. It’s worked out pretty well. I was mobbed by people in Summer 2011 when I wore my CM Punk Best in the World shirt.

And I always make sure to buy the most obnoxiousness straight edge shirts.

Like this one.

469x470

This shirt is hilarious to me. My best buddy once told me that it’s fine to be straight edge just don’t throw it in people’s faces and be a jerk. U bought this shirt with him in mind. This shirt is throwing straight edge in people’s faces. I think it’s hilarious. Just the word over and over again then in red font in the middle.

I’ve been looking for a straight edge shirt to top this. It might end up being this one here.

470x470

But this might be funny to other people and not just me. And I don’t know if I want that.

Change of Pace.

Past posts have been too dark so here’s a picture that’s made its way into my heart this week. I hope it finds its way into yours.

He’s controversial. He’s a cheater. I know I’m supposed to hate him, but I can’t quit Bellichick. There’s a comforting warmth behind his eyes. You know not to trust him, but you can’t help but give him the benefit of the doubt.

Billy's Smile

Last Words.

In movies, last words are so important. Everyone has a speech or something to reveal before they die. They finish off their character arc and leave the audience somewhat satisfied. Real life ain’t like the movies.

This is a huge discrepancy. Death is dignified in movies and given all this time. It really the most vulnerable moment in a person’s life. Real last words are not cool. They’re not usually known to be the person’s last words at the time.

“Oh shit!” , “Oh my god!”, “Fuck!” and “Help!” are destined to be many people’s last words. There is no time for a speech. You don’t get to tie up loose ends. You’re cut off in the middle of a thought.

I feel like a lot of people have those movie last word speeches within them though. They have important feelings to share or reveal to the people in their lives. But they don’t say what’s on their mind and in their heart. They act like they’re going to get to have that big moment where they’ll say what they want to say.

Better to say what needs to be said before it’s too late.

Moo?

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Is sexual attraction biological or social? The real answer is some sort of mix, but I’d want to test that. The only problem is how do you separate biology from society? Only a being with absolute divine power could do that sort of heavy-lifting.

I came with this experiment that I would do if I had divine power.

I’d take a thousand straight dude of various ages and put them in a space ship. Why a spaceship? They’re going somewhere. But not before I use my special machine. This machine would have the power to zap all their memories and social experiences regarding romance and sex. All these guys would forget what the ideal woman looks like. They’d forget how to love and who they’re supposed to love. They’re back to zero, only instincts. And then I’d wipe their memories of women entirely.

I leave their sex drives in tact because I need them for my experiment.

Then using my great divine power, I would create a planet. I’m not very original so it’d be just like Earth. The only difference being women have been replaced by cows. This would be an entire world where man and cow are lovers. I’d use my divine power to give them a cloning machine too because I’m not allowing half-cow half-human creatures. None of that while I’m in control.

I would transport all those now sexually primal men here to this man/cow love planet. Normal guys from our normal version of Earth with our normal human man on human woman loving. They’d get off the ship and see billboards with men kissing cows. On television, they could see relationships develop on bad television between man and cow. They’d see cows walking around hoof and hand with a man.

I wonder if after sometime in this man/cow love world if these guys would start warming up to the idea of a cow being their soul mate. Would their primal instincts drown out all the social noise and remind them that they are supposed to be into human women?

Is societal pressure so strong that men would ignore their instincts and do what everyone else is doing?

These are the types of things I think about when I’m on long car rides by myself.

A Silent Man.

“You’re a quiet guy. You’re don’t talk much to anyone. ”

This girl at work said this to me out of the blue on a normal work day.

This was not the first time I was accused of being too reserved at a job. Before I left my last one, I had a boss strongly suggest I go to the Christmas party. I didn’t want to. I knew I wouldn’t have any fun. I’m not much for parties. My boss was a bit ticked.

“It’s like you don’t want to make any friends here.”

She was half-right. I don’t go out of my way to make new friends. I have my trusted few. They’re getting the job done well. It’s going to take some time before I bring someone new into the fold. I have long arduous screening process. Becoming my friend is not easy.

There are people out there who love people. I am not one of those people. I don’t hate people either. I’m not a misanthrope yet. I think it will take another five years before I get there.

I once was more sociable. The elementary school me would get in trouble all the time for talking too much. I had my name on the board permanently for talking out of turn and trying to make the class laugh. I would sing songs while the teacher would try to teach class. I’d introduce myself to new students and make them feel welcome. I made up games during recess to try and include everyone.

I do have my tries to be more sociable now, but it goes horribly every time. So I stopped. Now I only speak in public when I have something to say.

It’s not very often.

I can do anything better than you! Even suffer!

“OH MY GOD! GIRLS HAVE IT SOOO EASY! COACH GAVE THEM 15 POINTS!!!!”

-Twelve-Year-Old Me when a shutout kickball game became a tie.

In seventh grade kickball on Fridays, we’d play boys vs. girls. The boys always won in a slaughter but it was not a cakewalk. We’d have to kick with our left feet if we took an early lead. The gym teacher would give the girls more points if the gap got too big. One game we weren’t allowed to run. The concept of male privilege would have been as lost on Twelve-Year-Old Me.

It would be five years later that I’d faced with this idea of male privilege. My twelfth grade sociology teacher taught a class on the struggles of women through out time. I was slightly smarter at seventeen than five years prior so I took notes and paid attention in class. I was a good student. I had no trouble accepting that women hadn’t cruised through history. But then my teacher dropped this bomb at the end of her lesson.

“Even today men have it much better than women.”

My hand zipped into the air! I had to ask a question.

“You said men have it better. How can men have it better if you can be drafted to go die in a war just cause you were born a guy?”

My pencil was all ready to scribble down her answer. My brain prepped to soak in that sweet knowledge she was about to lay on me.

“I don’t think anyone should be able to be drafted.”

And then she gave us worksheets and that was it! I was left confused. I wanted to see her after class, but then decided to talk to my friends about video games in the hallway instead. So that question remains unanswered.

Do men have it better than women?

Virtually everyone would say it’s axiomatic that men have it better than women. I remain skeptical when it comes to the Western World.

I love reading crime statistics. That was a favorite hidden hobby of mine back when I was seventeen. I used to compare the trends of violence over the years to the portrayal in the media. It was like the more violence went down, the more violent stories were covered on television. Quite the dangerous inverse proportion.

One thing I’ve learned from all my fun time researching is that men are much likely to be the victim of a violent crime than women. They are far more likely to murdered, beaten, robbed, and a bunch of other nasty stuff. The only violent crime women outrank men is rape.

Men more successfully kill themselves more than women. Men die more on the job more than women. Men are more likely to end up in prison or become homeless. Can you say someone has it better if society is more likely to drive them to be a violent criminal? I’d have some trouble.

If you look at the tops of society, you will find men soaring. Men are more likely to be doctors, CEOs, and a bunch of other kickass stuff. But not many people look down and see the bodies of men laying on the ground. Men get to soar to the top, but they also sink.

I wouldn’t go as far to say women led easier lives. They have different equally as bad crap to deal with. I have trouble in general saying anyone has an easier life than another. It’s easy to observe someone else and pick out the good parts and not see what you might have over them. You might also miss what sucks about their life. Grass is always greener.

If you think I’m absolutely wrong and that men objectively have better lives than women, I’m open to hearing out your opinion. I’d love to have a discussion about it.

Man-vs-Woman

The Carey Show “The Secret in my Son’s Closet.”

WARNING! THE CAREY SHOW MAY CONTAIN MATERIAL NOT SUITABLE FOR CHILDREN OR THE OVERLY SENSITIVE! PARENTAL DISCRETION ADVISED! ALSO THOSE OTHER DISCRETIONS THAT NO ONE TALKS ABOUT!

SECOND WARNING! THIS SHOW DOES NOT PASS THE BECHEDEL TEST! YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED! TWICE NOW!

A rambunctious AUDIENCE stands and applauds.

AUDIENCE:
Carey! Carey! Carey!

In front of us, a standard afternoon tabloid talk show interview. CAREY, mediator and host, stands in the audience and talks to the camera.

CAREY:
Today on the show, we have a son hiding a dark secret from his own father.

The audience gasps!

CAREY:
Say hello to Mr. Treble.

Mr. Treble, loving father in a ten gallon cowboy hat, struts his way to the interview area. He waves to the audience. The audience claps for him a bit too enthusiastically. He takes his hat off and finds his seat.

CAREY:
Mr. Treble, tell the audience what secret you think your son is hiding.

MR. TREBLE:
I think my son might be a gay.

The audience gasps!

MR. TREBLE:
And he’s ashamed of it.

The audience gasps!

CAREY:
Tell us more.

MR. TREBLE:
Bout a month or two ago. He got some new posters. Hung em on his wall. Posters of half-naked men.

The audience gasps!

CAREY:
That does sound pretty gay.

MR. TREBLE:
I asked my boy about it. He took em down. Looked in his room under his bed other day, found a copy of Playgirl in there.

The audience scratches their heads.

CAREY:
That’s the girl version of Playboy if some of you don’t know. It has a strong following in the gay community.

The audience gasps!

MR. TREBLE:
That’s not the strangest thang. I woke up late at night to check in on him. Round two or four a.m. My own son. I seen it with my own two eyes. He had on a woman’s dress!

The audience ooohs!

CAREY:
Was it his mother’s dress?

MR. TREBLE:
Don’t know bout that. I don’t give a lick of attention to what that silly woman wears.

CAREY:
Did you talk to your son about it?

MR. TREBLE:
No. I don’t know much about the queer folk. Didn’t know what to do. That’s why I’m here.

CAREY:
Put a picture of Lance up on the screen.

A picture of Lance, fifteen-year-old skinny white kid in a wifebeater, pops up on the screen. The audience awes.

MR. TREBLE:
Ain’t got no problem with the gays. Not raised that way. They people just like us. They just smells nicer and got sillier haircuts. I want my son be true to himself. Come out of the crawlspace as them queers say.

CAREY:
You mean come out of the closet.

MR. TREBLE:
We don’t have closets in my house. Don’t believe in ’em.

CAREY:
Right….

MR. TREBLE:
I’ll always love my boy no matter what. I just want him to talk to me.

Mr. Treble wipes tears from his eyes.

The audience awes.

CAREY:
Let’s give him the chance! Bring out Lance!

TWO SECURITY GUARDS carry a confused LANCE out by his arms and plop him into his seat.

LANCE:
What the hell’s going on here?! Pop?!

CAREY:
Calm down. We’re here to help you, Lance. I’m Carey. This is the Carey Show.

LANCE:
I’m on TV?!

CAREY:
Your father asked for my help so you could tell your little secret.

MR. TREBLE:
Anything you want to tell me, boy?

LANCE:
You had these men kidnap me from school to go on this terrible show?

MR. TREBLE:
Boy. That’s not what we’re here to talk about.

CAREY:
Be honest with your father. You got a secret you want to share.

LANCE:
No.

MR. TREBLE:
Why won’t you be open with me, boy? I love ya. I love ya with all my heart.

CAREY:
I thought this might happen. That’s why we have an expert here with us today to help. He’s a member of the local chapter for Lebgetiqu? Leebgootkwu? Libgitoo? Am I pronouncing that right? Paulie Dianger.

Paulie, a rotund balding slimeball in an marriage equality shirt, steps forward to an open microphone stand.


PAULIE:

It’s L.G.B.T. Not a word. An acronym.

He smiles into the camera and licks his dry lips.

MR. TREBLE:
What’s all that then?

PAULIE:
L. G. B. T. Lesbian. Gay. Bisexual. Transgender.

MR. TREBLE:
Lesbian, a gay, bisexual?What in tarnation is a bisexual?

LANCE:
Pop that’s when-

PAULIE:
Sssh. Let the expert in queerology explain. A bisexual is a person sexually attracted to men and women. They know how to have a good time with the ferocity of the male penis and the elegance of flowery vagina.

MR. TREBLE:
You telling me, there’s people who like BOTH?! WHAT?!

LANCE:
Pop, you never heard of that before?

MR. TREBLE:
No. You kids and your new fangled fascinations. I can’t keep up.

LANCE:
Bisexuals been around for like fifty years pop.

MR. TREBLE:
All these letters are too confusing. Can’t you cut it down for the older folk? Lesbians and gay same thang. Ain’t it redundant having both? These “Bisexuals” seem to be a gays too. Make it GT. For gays and those transatlantics whatever them are.

PAULIE:
There’s also a Q and sometimes an “I”. Forgot to mention that.

MR. TREBLE
What in the hell do those stand for?!

PAULIE:
I don’t know.

LANCE:
WAIT! POP! YOU THINK I’M GAY?!!

CAREY:
Lance, settle down! Let Mr. LMFAO continue.

PAULIE:
Lance, you need to come out of the closet. It’s 2015. Have no fear that you’re queer! Scream it to the world! I am gay and you should support me today! All of you here today can support Lance and his queerness by buying a T-shirt! Support the cause! One marriage equality shirt here for a 13.95! Two for 32.65!

He reaches down into a box and starts pulling out shirts.

AUDIENCE MEMBER:
That’s almost a deal! I’ll take seven!

PAULIE:
Be the first on your block to show your support. Spread the awareness. That’s the most important part of any movement. Make everyone aware! Buy a shirt for your mom and your dad! Don’t forget little Jimmy.

SLY AUDIENCE MEMBER:
Gay marriage is already legal here. What’s this money going toward exactly?

PAULIE:
Listen to this one here with his questions. “Where’s the money going?” This is a sophisticated form of homophobia. He’s afraid of gays being equal. Don’t ask where’s the money going. Ask where is this country going. And that’s forward. Ignorant people like you are getting left behind. You should all buy an extra t-shirt just to spite this homophobic bigot.


AUDIENCE MEMBER:

I’ll buy three more!

LANCE:
I’m not gay!

MR. TREBLE:
But son….those posters of naked men. And the playgirl under your bed.

LANCE:
You found that?! Pop. I’ll give to ya straight. No pun intended. I’m working out now. Those Playgirl models are in great shape. I appreciate their aesthetics without deriving any sexual satisfaction. I aspire to be them, not be in them.

MR. TREBLE:
What about the dress?

Lance blushes.

LANCE:
What? Pop you talking crazy.

MR. TREBLE:
I am your only father. Don’t lie to your own blood. You wear a woman’s dress at night!

LANCE:
It’s not a woman’s dress. It’s mine! My dress!

MR. TREBLE
So you admit it then!

LANCE:
Yea I do! I wear a dress! I love it!

The audience is too preoccupied with buying marriage equality shirts to gasp.

LANCE:
I hate boxers! I hate briefs! I hate boxer-briefs! Pop, I WANT TO BE FREE! From all the restraints of cotton. Free to feel the breeze between my knees! Free to be pretty!

BEARDED MAN IN A DRESS:
Preach on brother!

LANCE:
I ain’t no queer, pop. I’m as straight as you. Just I like wearing dresses like Carey like wearing those pants.

CAREY:
I hate these pants.

LANCE:
You shoulda talk to me at home. Why on this show? In front of millions of people who can’t afford basic cable and have to watch this crap?

MR. TREBLE:
I didn’t know what to do. I saw this show on the TV and I called and they a said they’d help. I’m sorry. Pop did you wrong, boy.

LANCE:
Shows like this exploit pain. Only the scummiest of the scummy make a living off exploiting other people’s suffering.

Carey hides his face. Paulie pockets a wad of cash.

PAULIE:
Be sure to get a bumper sticker with that t-shirt. Don’t forget to download the marriage equality app! It’s on Google Play. Only 4.99!

MR. TREBLE:
I shoulda talked to ya. I’m sorry, boy.

LANCE:
It’s alright Pop. I forgive ya. You still me pop. I always love ya.

MR. TREBLE:
You too good to me, boy.

The two hug. Mr. Treble starts to choke up. The audience awes.

Paulie rubs his double chin sinisterly, then waddles over to the father and son.

PAULIE:
Now this is a sight to see. Father and son reunited. I can feel the love. Kid, let me tell your story. We need to spread awareness of cross-dressing. I see shirts, bumper stickers, posters, Facebook profile pictures and more. I’ll talk to some people. Maybe we can add a C between the B and G.

MR. TREBLE:
That’s alright, Mr. Gay Man. We don’t need your-

PAULIE:
Woah buddy! I’m not gay. Ew. I’m a straight ally.

LANCE:
Pop. I got this one. Cross-dressing don’t need help. You ought to spread awareness of crushed nuts. Not too many folks know bout that.

PAULIE:
Crushed nuts? What’s that?

Lance KNEES him in the crotch. Paulie drops.

LANCE:
Now you’re aware!

MR. TREBLE:
That’s my boy!

The two walk off stage as the audience claps!

CAREY:
Isn’t it great? Up next we have a couple going through some trouble. She has a foot fetish. He lost the lower half of his fighting for our freedoms overseas. Should they stay together? Can you love someone when they’re only half a person? Stay tuned.