June 25, 2008
After reading through my last few entries I've begun to think that I might be an angry man.
No no, really, there is a distinct possibility that I have some genuine rage issues that need to be dealt with. I know, it sounds ridiculous but if you read between the lines (somewhere between the Founding Fathers shit blood and some minimum-wage cunt at the airport) you may detect a hint of crossness in my voice, a touch of vexation, a splash of wrath, perhaps even a kernel of pique, and if you've ever had a kernel of pique you know enough to keep it away from the heat because it can pop and turn inside out, but if you have a whole bucket full of popped pique it can taste delicious with salt and butter, and if you cut a hole in the bottom of the bucket and stick your pud through it, your girlfriend might accidently grab it when she's reaching for more pique, and that's worth the price of the ticket, even if you're watching the long awaited reunion of Sylvester Stallone and Estelle Getty in Stop, Or My Mom Will Shoot Again.
But that wasn't my point. What was I talking about? Oh yeah, the fact that I seem to be a man of ill temper. When did I begin my life as a perpetually irritated prick?
It started during the summer of 1976. Riots had erupted in Soweto, South Africa, an earthquake in China had killed over 650,000 people, and the Viking spacecraft had just landed on Mars in search of soil samples, temperature readings, and a 7-11 with an Indian guy behind the counter who could be tricked into saying the word "perpendicular", providing whoops of laughter for the long ride home.
1976 was also the year that Peter Frampton's Frampton Comes Alive came out, the wildly successful follow-up to his disastrous Frampton Hasn't Been Born Yet.
Here's an interesting fact: In 1976, Lief Garret began his solo career while the Supreme Court of the United States ruled that the death penalty is a constitutionally acceptable form of punishment. Coincidence?
Where was I? Ah, look, I gotta go to bed now so I'll have to tell you later why I became such a cranky old fuck. There's a very specific reason and I'm finally coming to terms with it, but I'm too tired to go into it right now so if you don't mind, I'd like to slap a scowl on my face and shove my dimpled ass between two sheets for a few hours of fitful, grumpy sleep.
Push off, flapjack.
Copyright 2008 John Bizarre