Wal-Rant.

I went to Wal-Mart with Nima today, and for the first time in a LONG TIME, I felt terribly depressed.

WM (Wal-Mart) depressed the fuck out of me. As soon as I walked in, a heavy sensation of GLOOM weighed me down. The world seemed like a mundane, suffocating place as I passed by the long line of obese children waiting to buy their double quarter pounder with cheese happy meals and into the Men's clothes section, where all the articles of clothing looked like they were meant for Cholos (elbows up, side to side). The WM employees didn't help the situation at all. This is going to sound mean, but I gotta say it, because this is what I felt. THEY WERE ALL DEPRESSING TO LOOK AT. Each employee I saw seemed like they could be the next serial killer to make it big on the local evening news, on some KTLA/KCAL9 shit. They would be the serial killers who get caught easily because they are heavy and can't run away from the cops. The lighting inside Wal-Mart just sucks any vitality out of the place. The aisles were beyond beige and fantastically dull, to the point where I could paint the Last Supper on them shits and no one would notice. The customers (most of whom were fat as a blimp) looked like they were about to hang themselves while shopping for an 8pack of Fruit of the Loom underwear. AND WHY IS IT SO BIG? AND SO FULL OF UNORGANIZED MERCHANDISE?! Fuuuuuucccckkk. Fuckin' depressin'. I felt like I was in a jail cell of consumerism, trapped till I buy something with my hard earned Andrew Jacksons. What killed me was that if you want to leave the place, you gotta go through a fuckin' checkpoint manned by some old white lady. If your receipt is irregular and/or you have other items, you can't even leave the fuckin' place until that shit is sorted out. If you manage to get out in time without slitting your wrists in the kid's section, leaving a pool of blood near the Parker Brother board games, you still feel depressed because of the fuckin' humongous WAL-MART sign that watches you as you leave the fort. That sign is fuckin' depressing too. It's huge, blocky, white, and says 'Even if you feel like shit while you're in here, you'll end up coming back because of our low low prices. Bitch.' AND WHAT IS UP WITH THAT BIG ASS SMILEY FACE?! That shit creeps me the fuck out. The only thing smiling inside a WM is that mascot. You know why it's smiling? Because it's fuckin' evil. That's why. It's the devil reincarnate, in a fuckin' yellow smiley face for fuckin' WM. Do you remember the way it bounces around in those WM commercials? If you can remember that, then you know what I'm talking about. I could go on and on, but I think the smiley face is watching over me as I type this, since I still have the essence of WM on my shirt.

So, the moral of today's story is....

DON'T EVER GO TO WAL-MART UNLESS YOU WANT TO FEEL LIKE SHIT.

I'm going to need years of therapy for today's WM visit. Years.

FUCK WALMART.

In The Mood

I'm (title) for some adventure, yet no one wants to trek with me. I'm ready to go. Who else is ready? Let's do this shit. Death Valley. Brazil. Munich. Tibet. Laos. Egypt. Amsterdam. Los Angeles. Quebec. Peru. Pyongyang. Queensland. Bristol. The world is waiting yo.

I'm not (title) for uni. My grades from studying abroad were crap, and I'm not motivated by anything academic right now. My courses start on Sept. 4th, and I haven't prepared anything.

I'm (title) to move away. I'm a man without a country. I hate too much. I hate people in general, I hate surfers, I hate hippies, I hate conservatives, I hate liberals, I hate geeks, I hate thugs, I hate males, I hate females. The hate never ends. But, there are a lot of things I love too. It's just that I seem to hate more and more and find myself loving less and less. Everything seems bothersome sometimes yo.

I'm keepin' myself busy though.

Let Me In

Singing like a madman while driving on Beach Blvd. with the windows down after midnight could be one of the best things ever created by God. or Darwin. or Toyota.

I got offered head by three white girls in front of an AMPM in Cypress. All I had to do was buy them booze and redbull for their beerpong party. I declined. They proceeded to verbally abuse me with distasteful words like 'asshole' and 'fucker'. Bitches.

Apparently I've been flirting with a customer at our video store. And she has been flirting back. This is news to me. I thought I was just servicing a customer (in a retail-minded way). I think my coworker reads too deep into things.

I'm addicted to peaches. Costco's white seedless grapes are much too big to be organic. One of 'em was so big that I put it in my mouth, rolled it around with my tongue and took it back out because I couldn't believe how big it was. That's what she said.

I would like a nice and upstanding woman with a firm booty. Okay. I'll be honest. I just want the booty. What can I say? I'm a pirate. It's all I seek. Laughter ensues.

Bourne Ultimatum. Two Words. Fan. Tastic.

I have an erection. A stiff, attentive, Napoleonic erection for driving. I spend mucho pesos on gasolina. Meet up with me. Let us drive-o.

Benny Sings

I'm feelin' crummy fam.
Got a double dose of frustration and a couple pounds of blubber to go with it.

Sick of Southern California.
Hate school.
Love being anti-social.
Want to get out.
Reiterate, Need to get out.
Could cut all connections.
Would cut all connections.

This is out-of-character for me. This isn't me being whiny. This is me being semi-serious.

Maybe I'm lacking sleep....

Nah.

Books.

I've been reading a lot of books lately.

It saddens me that all these used book stores are closing down in the OC area. Book Baron (on Magnolia and Ball) is having a 50%off sale, so I've been spending the last couple of days huddled in it's dusty aisles, reading chapters from novels with unique titles (those are the only ones that seem to catch my attention) and judging other customers by their book choices (How many biographies of the Beatles do you REALLY need?).

For the past couple of years, the books I seem to start never get finished. There are no endings to most of the stories I have delved into. Do I lose interest? Do I not want to know the ending? Maybe some comfort is found when my mind decides that reading halfway is the best relationship you can have with a paperback. This way, I don't know the ending, leaving me the option of creating my own celestial/scornful/romantic/abrupt finish, or creating a situation where I'll always end up telling myself 'I should finish that book...', just incase I END up craving a need for an END.

FUCK.

I'm having the most fucked up week.

Shit. Everything decides to fuck with me this week. EVERYTHING.

I'm not the one to be mad and angry at the world, but right now? Fuck the world.

Shit is going good one minute, and then life just decides to fuck around and fuck with me the next. Didn't even give me a warning or nothin.

Fuck it.

Excuse me while I get fucked a bit more.

FUCK.