7 Years... Rest In Peace Darrell....

Malignant Self Love....

Hello. Recognise me? No? Well, you see me all the time. You read my books, watch me on the big screen, feast on my
art, cheer at my games, use my inventions, vote me into office, follow me into battle, take notes at my lectures, laugh
at my jokes, marvel at my successes, admire my appearance, listen to my stories, discuss my politics, enjoy my music,
excuse my faults, envy me my blessings. No? Still doesn't ring a bell? Well, you have seen me. Of that I am positive. In
fact, if there is one thing I am absolutely sure of, it is that. You have seen me.
Perhaps our paths crossed more privately. Perhaps I am the one who came along and built you up when you were
down, employed you  when you needed a job, showed the way when you were lost, offered confidence when you were doubting, made you laugh when you were blue, sparked your interest when you were bored, listened to you and
understood, saw you for what you really are, felt your pain and found the answers, made you want to be alive. Of course
you recognise me. I am your inspiration, your role model, your saviour, your leader, your best friend, the one you aspire
to emulate, the one whose favour makes you glow.....


But I can also be your worst nightmare. First I build you up because that's what you need. Your skies are blue. Then,
out of the blue, I start tearing you down. You let me do it because that's what you are used to. You are dumfounded. But
I was wrong to take pity on you. You really ARE incompetent, disrespectful, untrustworthy, immoral, ignorant, inept,
egotistical, constrained, disgusting. You are a social embarrassment, an unappreciative partner, an inadequate parent,
a disappointment, a sexual flop, a financial liability.
I tell you this to your face. I must. It is my right, because it is. I behave, at home and away, in any way I want to, with
total disregard for conventions, mores, or the feelings of others. It is my right, because it is. I lie to your face, without a
twitch or a twitter, and there is absolutely nothing you can do about it. In fact, my lies are not lies at all. They are the
truth,  my truth. And you believe them, because you do, because they do not sound or feel like lies, because to do
otherwise would make  you question your own sanity, which you have a tendency to do anyway, because from the very
beginning of our relationship you placed your trust and hopes in me, derived your energy, direction, stability, and
confidence from me and from your association with me. So what's the problem if the safe haven I provide comes with a
price? Surely I am worth it and then some.
Run to our friends. Go. See what that will get you. Ridicule. People believe what they see and what they see is the
same wonderful me that you also saw and still do. What they also see is the very mixed up person that you have
obviously become. The more you plead for understanding, the more convinced they are that the crazy one is you, the
more isolated you feel, and the harder you try to make things right again, not by changing me but by accepting my
criticisms and by striving to improve yourself. Could it be that you were wrong about me in the beginning? So wrong as
that? How do you think our friends will react if you insist that they are also wrong about me? After all, they know that it
really is you who have thwarted my progress, tainted my reputation, and thrown me off course.
I disappoint you? Outrageous! You are the one who have disappointed me. Look at all the frustrations you cause me.
Lucky for you, I have an escape from all this, and fortunately my reputation provides enough insulation from the outside
world so I can indulge in this escape with impunity. What escape? Why, those eruptions of rage you dread and fear. Ah,
it feels so good to rage. It is the expression of and the confirmation of my power over you, my absolute superiority. Lying
feels good too, for the same reason, but nothing compares to the pleasure of exploding for no material reason and
venting my anger with total abandon, all the time a spectator at my own show and at your helplessness, pain, fear,
frustration, and dependence.
In fact my raging is precisely what allows me to stay with you. Go ahead. Tell our friends about it. See if they can
imagine what it's like, let alone believe it. The more outrageous the things you say about me, the more convinced they
are that it is you who have taken a turn for the worse. And don't expect much more from your therapist either. You may
tell him this or that, but what he sees when I visit him is something quite different. So what's the therapist to believe?
After all, it was you who came for help. No! That's what this is all about. No! That simple two-letter word that,
regardless of how bad I am, you simply cannot say. Who knows? You might even acquire some of my behaviour yourself.
But you know what? This may come as a shock, but I can also be my own worst nightmare. I can and I am. You see, at
heart my life is nothing more than illusion-clad confusion. I have no idea why I do what I do, nor do I care to find out. In
fact, the mere notion of asking the question is so repulsive to me that I employ all of my resources to repel it. I
reconstruct facts, fabricate illusions, act them out, and thus create my own reality. It is a precarious state of existence
indeed, so I am careful to include enough demonstrable truth in my illusions to ensure their credibility. And I am forever
testing that credibility on you and on the reactions of others.
Fortunately my real attributes and accomplishments are in sufficient abundance to fuel my illusions seemingly
forever. And modern society, blessed/cursed modern society, values most what I do best and thus serves as my
accomplice. Even I get lost in my own illusions, swept away by my own magic.
So, not to worry if you still do not recognise me. I don't recognise me either. In fact, I am not really sure who I am.
That's probably a question you never ask of yourself. Yet I wonder about it all the time. Perhaps I am not too different
from everyone else, just better. After all, that's the feedback I get. My admirers certainly wish they were  me. They just
don't have the gifts I have, nor the courage I have to express them. That's what the universe is telling me.
Then again THE universe or MY universe? As long as the magic of my illusions works on me too, there really is no need
for distinction. All I need is an abundant fan club to stay on top of it all. So I am constantly taking fan club inventory,
testing the loyalty of present members with challenges of abuse, writing off defectors with total indifference, andscouting the landscape for new recruits. Do you see my dilemma? I use people who are dependent on me to keep my
illusions alive. So really it is I who am dependent on them.
Even the rage, that orgasmic release of pain and anger, works better with an audience. On some level I am aware of
my illusions, but to admit that would spoil the magic. And that I couldn't bear. So I proclaim that what I do is of no
consequence and no different from what others do, and thus I create an illusion about my creating illusions.
So, no, I don't recognise me any better than you do. I wouldn't dare. Like my fans, I marvel at my own being. Then
again, sometimes I wish that I were not the person I am. You find that confusing? How do you think it makes me feel? I
need my own magic to stay afloat. Sometimes others like me recruit me into their magic. But that's ok. As long as we
feed off of each other, who's the worse for wear? It only confirms my illusion about my illusions: that I am no different
from most other people, just a bit better.
But I AM different and we both know it, although neither one of us dares to admit it. Therein lies the root of my
hostility. I tear you down because in reality I am envious of you BECAUSE I am different. At some haunting level I see my
magic for what it is and realise that people around me function just fine WITHOUT any "magic".
This terrifies me. Panic stricken, I try all my old tricks: displays of my talents, unnecessary deceptions, self-serving
distortions, skilful seductions, ludicrous projections, frightening rages, whatever. Normally, that works. But if it fails,
watch out. Like a solar-powered battery in darkness, my fire goes out and I cease to exist. Destitution sets in.
That is the key to understanding me. Most people strive for goals and feel good when they approach them. They move
toward something positive. I move in the same direction but my movement is away from something negative. That's why
I never stop, am never content, no matter what I achieve. That negative thing seems to follow me around like a shadow.
I dowse myself in light and it fades, but that's all it does. Exhausted, I ultimately succumb to it, again and again.
Where did it come from, this negativity? Probably from before I learned to talk. When you were exploring your world
for the first time, with the usual little toddler mishaps, your mother kept a careful eye on you, intervened when she saw
you heading for danger, and comforted you when you made a mistake, even if you cried.
Well, that's not how it was for me. My mother's expectations of me were much higher. Mistakes were mistakes and
crying was not the way to get her approval. That required being perfect, so that's exactly what I became. Not the little
awkward toddler that I was, but my mother's model child. Not the brave and curious little person that I really was, but
the fearful personification of my mother's ideal.
What you were experiencing through your little mishaps and mistakes were small doses of shame. What you were
learning from your quick recoveries was shame repair. At first your mother did most of the repairing. Through
repetition, you gradually learned how to do it by yourself. Shame repair brain circuitry was being laid down that would
carry you for the rest of your life. I had no such luck. I simply did not acquire that skill when nature had intended my
brain to acquire it. No one enjoys shame. But most people can deal with it. Not me. I fear it the way most people fear
snakes.
How many others like me are there? More than you might think, and our numbers are increasing. Take twenty people
off the street  and you will find one whose mind ticks so much like mine that you could consider us clones. Impossible,
you say. It is simply not possible for that many people  – highly accomplished, respected, and visible people  – to be out
there replacing reality with illusions, each in the same way and for reasons they know not. It is simply not possible for so
many shame-phobic robots of havoc and chaos, as I describe myself, to function daily midst other educated, intelligent,
and experienced individuals, and pass for normal. It is simply not possible for such an aberration of human cognition and
behaviour to infiltrate and infect the population in such numbers, virtually undetected by the radar of mental health
professionals. It is simply not possible for so much visible positive to contain so much concealed negative. It is simply not
possible.
But it is. That is the enlightenment of "Narcissism Revisited" by Sam Vaknin. Sam is himself one such clone. What
distinguishes  him is his uncharacteristic courage to confront, and his uncanny understanding of, that which makes us
tick, himself included. Not only does Sam dare ask and then answer the question we clones avoid like the plague, he
does so with relentless, laser-like precision. Read his book. Take your seat at the double-headed microscope and let Sam
guide you through the dissection.
Like a brain surgeon operating on himself, Sam explores and exposes the alien among us, hoping beyond hope for a
resectable tumour but finding instead each and every cell teaming with the same resistant virus. The operation is long
and tedious, and at times frightening and hard to believe. Read on. The parts exposed are as they are, despite what may
seem hyperbolic or farfetched. Their validity might not hit home until later, when coupled with memories of past events
and experiences.
I am, as I said, my own worst nightmare. True, the world is replete with my contributions, and I am lots of fun to be around. And true, most contributions like mine are not the result of troubled souls. But many more than you might want
to believe are. And if by chance you get caught in my web, I can make your life a living hell. But remember this. I am in
that web too. The difference between you and me is that you can get out...

The Narcissist....

Another way that the narcissist’s ego gets special attention is through the role of being a victim. Welcome to the victimized extreme narcissist. Most persons recognize ego as arrogance. At the same time they fail to see the subtle deception of ego when it takes the role of a being a victim. As kind and compassion-driven human beings, we easily are fooled by this form of extreme ego…..

 The deception of the ego is that the narcissist can hide behind misfortune and victimization in order to shame you into feeling and believing that they suffer more than you do. They will say that you don’t care enough for them. They will make you feel that you have not done enough to help them. The ego wants attention, control, gain, and power over others by positioning itself as a “poor and helpless” victim. It does this all the while it soaks up the attention and control over others. In the eyes of an extreme narcissist, their situation is always right and totally justified. Instead of taking responsibility for self and consequences, the extreme narcissist tries to make others feel responsible for their plight. Because extreme narcissists are incredibly adept at the game of manipulation, they will always find a way to turn the tables on you.

 They will try to make you responsible and feel guilty for not helping them or taking their side and cause. Extreme narcissists often shift gears from visible grandiosity to acting that they are better than others because they suffer more than others. You can see an extreme narcissist who hogs the limelight and credit from achievements and self-praise also getting similar recognition from milking an injury or a seeming misfortune that has occurred to them. Victimized extreme narcissists are on the constant prowl looking for any gullible soul that will believe their version of calamity whether it is real, exaggerated, or fictitious. What they claim that makes their calamity different is that it is worse for them. Beware of this kind of extreme narcissism. It is just as selfish and manipulating as that of a pompous egotist. The moment they see that you don’t “fully” cooperate and act with extreme concern for them, serving and pampering them, they will eliminate you from their list of “loving” folks.


 They may even badmouth you and gossip or slander you as being selfish and uncaring. Imagine that! I have seen these types over and over again in work I have done in the field of pain medicine management. It is usually the individuals who are humble, full of gratitude, and joyful who are the ones most capable of coping with their injuries and pain. Those who are selfish, moaning, and full of self-pity take much longer to heal or sometimes never heal but go further downhill in their health. My recommendation is to avoid treating this person’s misfortune as the ultimate suffering of all humans. Be polite. Recognize their pain and no more. Don’t be pulled into their web of emotional manipulation. Stay away from extreme narcissists.

I Guess It's Time....

Everything, and I mean everything, has crumbled away faster than it was built. These relationships, points of view, and ideals that we have all been building our lives upon for the last two and a half years have washed away like a sand castle at high tide.
 Maybe it was the fact that in some strange,drunken stupor we became comfortable with this monolith that we had created; and that comfort led us down this path..... Maybe the thought process was that " We're all Fuck Ups and Degenerates... Nothing can stop this juggernaut now". Then you wake up one day to realize that every post that you leaned upon when you were tired, and every "safe haven" have become pillars of hell fire and snake pits. The sad fact is that we all have made it this way. The party can only last so long before the proverbial " cops" get called.
The only comfort that you can throw yourself into is the fact that everything happens for a reason, and I truly believe that.

Maybe it's because that's all I have left.

It's the only thing I can say out loud to myself, and know that it still rings true. Do I know why all of this happened?
Honestly?
Absolutely not...

I have no idea. 

Now some of you reading this may think you know what I am speaking of...
You're wrong.
 That's only one piece of this tragedy.
No, I speak of everything.
Realizing you made a mistake a "year and a quarter" ago.... Realizing that no temptation is worth losing the the things you love,and that if you are going to hold values and voice them, then stick by them, or you will lose yourself in the storm.
 I am speaking of the state of us as individuals, not as a Unit. Because frankly, there is no more unity. And maybe I am speaking only for myself... I can't remember the last time I felt this empty, this vulnerable. Nothing feels normal or right,...nothing.
But, in the long run, that's what its all about. There is NOTHING you can do that will be a "magic fix".... 

You can choose to put things back the way they used to be, but it won't fix anything. It's all about the discomfort. The discomfort means things are changing. It means you are about to embark on the next chapter. Sure, maybe the last chapter didn't end the way you wanted it to, but always remember, the success of the next chapter all depends on how you deal and respond to this transition. If you fight it, nothing will change and you will be in the same position that you have grown to hate. So please, I beg all of you... Embrace this change.
Let old feuds go.
 Let those longing feelings for the past go.
There is a reason its the past.
I would like to sincerely apologize to everyone I effected.
Everyone.
I am sorry for doing my part to make things end this way, and I hope the next chapter of all of your lives make all of the pieces come together.
I hope that in the future you are at least able to look upon these days and say "Yeah...That's why I am here now, because I lived through those days".
I wish only the best for each and every one of you.
And in closing, I just want to say...
I will miss the days when we ruled the world....
And I am sorry...

I Just Wanted To Say....

I'm movin' on up son, haha

Are You Fucking Kidding Me?

Mere moments ago, I was yet again harassed by the Franklin, NH Police Dept.. What the fuck? Are you kidding me? I was walking to the store minding my own FUCKING business cx  , 

Tell Us How You REALLY Feel... (again)

Not my proudest moment, but worth the read regardless... This is from well over a year ago. All is well these days. It's amazing how much I can go off with a hair across my ass...... I just needed to vent. Fucking GOLD.


Am I that much of a fucking asshole? 


How can two people be thick as thieves one minute, then complete fucking strangers the next? We all have our moments, to be certain... But, what the hell? Being sober the last few weeks has put me on extreme edge. I'm borderline fucking psychotic half of the time. I thought I'd be able to deal with this better than I ultimately have... To say it's been a challenge would be a massive understatement. But I'm doing it for me. I don't need a support group. All I need is a little understanding from the people closest to me. When someone's tells you he's going to quit drinking, you do what any best friend would do. As a show of solidarity, you too, quit drinking. Even if they never asked you to... You just DO. You have to... You know that their being sober won't last very long hanging out with your drunk ass...So you take one for the team. When they starts drinking again, you too, may then abandon your strike against booze.


Thick And Thin.... Brothers....No Matter What... It's what we do. 


Almost four weeks ago, I started having some physical "complications"... So I decided that, until I see a doctor, I would stop drinking as a precautionary measure. Yeah, it sucks.. But, hey... Gotta do it... I thought. I hadn't had a physical examination (by a doctor...haha) in over a decade. It was time. A few days after that, Big Cat decided that he too, would quit drinking permanently due to completely unrelated circumstances. Cool. It wasn't absolutely necessary for him to be sober too... But, fuck it.. This should make it easier...




Somewhere along the line, I kinda started enjoying not being hungover every morning. Sure, everyday stress started to get under my skin more... I became perpetually irritated by just about fucking everything... But I physically felt better... Better enough to sorta put off calling the doctor to make an appointment another couple of weeks... Not the brightest idea, but I eventually called them up and got in there. Still gotta run some tests... but I think I'll be OK. But fuck drinking for a while. I had a good run. I beat the living piss out of my body for the last 15 years. It needs a break. Will it last? Who knows... But for now, I'm all set. It's very, very, very, very, very fucking difficult.. But, I believe, in the long run... It's for the best.




Now, when Big Cat kinda, sorta, jumped off the 'ol wagon, I was initially disappointed, but the one thing I would NEVER do is judge the fucking guy... Been there, done that.. A thousand fucking times. He was hanging out with other friends, chilling with Stephy Mac. Cool. This shit's been hard... The last thing I wanted do is project my fucked up, irritable, shit show on him. Who the fuck am I to impose my new lifestyle on a motherfucker... He's doing his thing. I'm doing mine. Same shit, different dynamic. He's my best fucking friend.. If I were to sit here and type out all the horrific/hilarious shit we've been through together in the last couple of years, I would be typing until next fucking Thursday... So I'm not gonna. Instead, I will tell y'all that we're pretty much fucking blood. We're that tight. Nobody on this Earth knows Big Dave better than Jayson Fucking Jordan. No one . He understands where I'm at. He's been there. Recently. No Big Deal. Or so I thought....




Next thing I know... He's being all fucking weird. He knows that I'm not drinking... Yet, he continues to invite me to his friend's house a goddamn hour away to watch them get fucking shit faced.... But I can't be around that shit right now. Don't get me wrong... Those guys are all cool... Emeney is a Bad Mother Fucker and a super talented guy that I get along with really well... But, I'm doing really fucking good. And I know how that shit ends... I go down there, end up getting fucking TANKED...With no way home, and I gotta be back in Alton at ten the next fucking morning.. I'm all set with that shit right now... Nothing personal.. I just can't handle it. Sorry, man.. maybe next time...




So now, because he's pretty much fucking living there at this point, I hardly see the guy. Again.. disappointing... but nothing I can't deal with.. I'm dealing with my own shit, anyway. I'm a ridiculous fucking mess... I'm tired all the time.. I fucking snap at the drop of a hat... I drink three pots of coffee a day. I chain smoke Marlboro Special Blends like I'm looking for a Golden Fucking Ticket in the filters... A mess. And now...What's really helping... I don't ever see my best friend anymore. And if I do, he's with Steph, and I feel like a third wheel asshole .. What the fuck, guy? Why are you so angry? Dude.. I'm NOT angry...I'm just going fucking NUTS...You need a fucking DRINK ... You think so, Captain? OK.. So.. Peace out, man. We're going back up to Penacook...Cool.. Thanks for taking time out of your busy schedule to stop in long enough to fucking remind me how much of a mess I am and why. Good to know my best friend is being super fucking supportive in my time of need. Not for nothing... But how the fuck did I earn the back seat on this bus? By having his fucking back through every single bit of adversity he's gone through in the last two plus years? Even if it meant letting my own shit fall apart? This is my reward for being a good fucking friend? Fuck you, Wife and kids... Jayson's having a crisis that I must tend to.... I don't expect shit. He doesn't owe me anything. It's not like that... But the last thing I ever expected is that I would become the nerd in gym class... Then, before I know it, I can't even schedule a fucking meeting with the guy.... What the fuck is going on? Have I lost my Project MayHAM brother to booze and a fucking skirt? No fucking way, I thought. This too, shall pass... But no... It doesn't. I can see it in his eyes. I can hear it in his voice. He's giving off the distinct vibe that he thinks I'm making this whole thing into a me or her fucking deal.... Like I'm jealous or some shit....Maybe, to a certain extent I was... But certainly not to the extent he would have been had it been him in my situation. Just so we're fucking straight here, I'd like to clarify that, up until this point, if this whole thing was reversed, Big Cat would have been so far up my ass about Ahhh.. Fuck me, right?.... Don't worry about me.. Had he EVER pulled into McDonald's and seen Jill or whoever wearing my PM cut, he would have flipped the fuck OUT. Guaranteed. If I ever blew him the fuck off to bring Thaisae well... fucking anywhere... He would have immediately deleted my number from his phone....


What the fuck? Was I supposed to jump for fucking joy when I suddenly became PLAN FUCKING C? Especially in my current fucking condition?


But I let it go.




That is, until last week. We made plans to actually hang out... Then they were casually dismissed because (once again) something else was more fucking appealing.... So when Saturday rolls around, and my phone blows up with Big Cat talkin' about how he was on his way down.. And I was having a SHIT day to begin with.... I wasn't in the warmest of moods on the phone. I was a dick. Plain and simple. But I was still looking forward to seeing the Jamoke... But what does the fucking guy expect? I see what's going on... Emeney has his kids... The Girlfriend is working... I guess I could check in with Dave. Thanks, Asshole. Truly. Thank you. Anyway... I make a comment about his girlfriend being late for work (for me...) and he starts giving me shit.... I give it right back. Yadda yadda yadda... Whatever. Ten minutes later, I see him pull in, so I finish up what I'm doing and head for the door to smoke a butt and hang out with him for a minute. By the time I get to the door, he's screeching down the road. Already gone. I turn around and go back inside, confused. I ask his girlfriend where he went, and she mumbled something about him sending her a text about me being an "asshole"... Fine. We've been here before. He goes to the Den to cool off... I'm out in an hour... We can have it out and that's the end of it. Fifteen minutes later, I go outside and walk towards my car. It's raining, and in the mist, I see something on the trunk of my car.


Are You Fucking Kidding Me?


The colors...His Project MayHAM hat. His cut. Left on my car in the rain.


That's it, huh? No mas? 




Thick And Thin.... Brothers....No Matter What...? Bullshit.


Fine. It's DONE.




I realize I sound like an angry ex- wife or some shit... And I am comfortable with that. I am enlightened. I'm hurt. I'm not a guy that's ever had friends. Real friends. And this cuts deep... It is what it is.... True colors shine through, motherfucker... Whether or not that symbolic gesture truly meant the end of our friendship and the conclusion of your affiliation with Project MayHAM is irrelevant....Instead of having my back like I had yours a million times, you kicked me while I was down, you selfish, disloyal, self-important, inconsiderate, fucking asshole... . 

Yup... exactly. Don't read into that too much. I'm sensitive... Like a chick. Those days are far behind us...

Major announcement tomorrow. Stay tuned

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The Revolution Will Not Be Sanitized...

Marbles...

Sometimes… Kids eat marbles

Or.. At least they did.. When marbles were still around.  Some kids eat quarters. Unfortunately, when you’re a little kid.. You don’t really know how your digestive system works… so when you eat something… you think it just disappears. Nobody at 7 years old connects eating with pooping. If they did, I’m sure they wouldn’t eat quarters or marbles. The thought of those objects passing through your asshole would probably prevent children from eating such things. I ate a marble once… You would think I’d remember shitting it out. I don’t. I wonder if it’s still inside me…

Tell Us How You REALLY Feel....

I just had this idea...  I was flipping through some files, when I happened to stumble onto some absolute gold. I had the whole idea of  this blog, because of my old habit of recapping my many shitty days at work or at home on paper... I think I'm gonna start doing that again. Just stream of consciousness bullshit. Check this out... It's from June of 2008.... Apparently, I was writing it to Big Cat... Whether or not I actually sent it to him is a mystery... But I love it and wanna fucking share. No editing... As fucking Is. Check it out:


dude... today was the closest i've ever come to fucking killing myself at work.
what the fuck?
some things never change. i was there like an hour late the other day, helping amin and doin fucking interviews, plus i was there monday at 5 fucking am on my day off so ty could show me the fucking op report for when she goes on fucking vacation. ( last week too ) and i switched with mike so i could watch the fucking celtics game last night.. so i closed for him tonight. his schedule was 5 to close.
so, when i close, i usually come in at 3 but since i put in all these extra fucking hours this week, i figure it's ok to come in at 5...
NOT FUCKING LIKELY..
ty calls me at 3:20...
"hey, you um... comin' to work today or......?"
ugh.
so i get fucking dressed.. stop at wayside for butts... grab a dew for her royal fucking highness and walk in the office, gift in hand.


Bigtime fucking attitude. apparently drew ripped her fucking head off today, and i was just in time for the recap.
I tell her to not let it bother her.. that's how he is. she works her ass off and she should be proud of what she does regardless... fuck drew and the eternal hair across his ass. i thought everything i said was perfect.(which is rare) if someone had said that to me, i would have instantly felt better... but then.....
she sees 4 dollars hanging out of my shirt pocket and asks if it's for the safe.........
......
......
"no"
"oh... cuz the safe was short $25 last night"
SO? WASN'T IT MIKE's FUCKING SAFE? 
"well, did he count it before you left?"
since when is it my fucking problem? how many goddamn times have i had to pay hundreds of fucking dollars to the safe because I... that's right... ME didn't have the fucking time to count the safe before another manager left? "it is your responsibility to verify the safe because when the manager leaves it becomes your responsibility "... RIGHT?  isn't that the rule? apparently that's only the fucking rule for me, cuz i TOLD him to count it @ 7:15....
45 fucking minutes? not enough fucking time? according to ty now it's MY responsibility to make sure the manager taking over counts the safe before i leave....cuz.. you know it's ALWAYS fucking short on my shifts, right? i'm the only one there that even knows how to count.... i flipped the fuck out. mere SECONDS after i was calming HER the fuck down, i was fucking screaming at her. "this is fucking BULLSHIT!"
i take off.. go up front.. look at the line bar. apparently, gianni called out.. cool. one of my closers. on a saturday. all i have is corey and this brand new girl that makes hannah look like chadbourne. "WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS SHIT?"
i guess he called out the NIGHT BEFORE and nobody bothered to cover it. awesome.
ty says " you're not the only one whose ever had someone call out on their shift"
"YEAH, WELL WHEN IT HAPPENS ON OTHER PEOPLE'S SHIFTS I AT LEAST TRY TO FUCKING COVER IT"
i could tell you it was bad, jay... but that was only the fucking beginning. ty's really, really ready to quit. and at this point i'm not so sure it would be a bad thing, because when she's being a complete fucking douche, it completely ruins my fucking day. i bitched about this jill chick closing and she tells me  it's because all the closers are quitting because all the managers suck. "even me?"..."everyone" "michelle can't stop crying... josh doesn't know what the fuck he's doing.. they're sick of it"
ok...um...
jeremy quit. he works, like 4 hours every other week.
krystal is leaving cuz she's MOVING.
Chad got another job making $11 an hour, 48 hrs a week.
arielle is being FORCED to quit cuz she's FUCKING THE ASSISTANT MANAGER...
and don't even get me started on that kid...
kinda funny.. now all the kids bitch cuz all shane does is yell at them. and then goes out to smoke a cigarette EVERY TEN FUCKING MINUTES...exept when tony's there. then he doesn't even come back inside until tony leaves. makin out with that fat cow whore in the parking lot.. it makes me wanna fucking PUKE.
he's always asking to go home early cuz he doesn't feel good.
he's already called out because he couldn't get out of bed.
( on arielle's senior skip day..hmmmmmm) then goes home early the next so he can go to bed and goes to his parent's party and gets drunk. 2 days ago he came into the office while i was doin the deposit fucking BAWLING HIS FUCKING EYES OUT cause "he feels "ALL WRONG" and he can't take it... his head is spinnin blaghblah blahblahblah....
i ask ty if shane can run the shift instead of me cuz me and the warden almost got a fucking divorce the other night and i don't really feel like bein the boss today and she says " shane's worked 8 days in a row" yeah? cuz he had to make up for the goddamn call out last week! i've worked more fucking days than him in the last two weeks.. WHAT ABOUT DAVE?
FUCK HIM... HE HAS NO FUCKING CLUE WHAT'S GOING ON IN THAT STORE. NONE. who was covering that piece of shit, no questions asked,the other day. ME.


oh my god.. i didn't realize how much i just typed. i've been typing for an hour.
holy shit.
but i feel better now.


Love it... Peace....

Wake Up, Big Cat...

It's not Furbush that's sinking the ship....

It seems the gauntlet has been thrown down.

Look here...
It's really REALLY fucking easy for Mr. Cat to attribute my lack of artistic production to good ol' fashion laziness or indifference. This coming from a guy that has contributed exactly ONE fucking paragraph to Project MayHAM related endeavors in the last 3 months. It's like W. Axl Rose calling out Metallica for taking too long in between albums. Apparently, it's Furbush's fault that MAYHAM with Big Cat And Furbush is "on a break". Please excuse me... my bad. Furbush needed a little time to regroup after the Dunkin' Donuts debacle, and had to come up with a suitable excuse for Big Cat's indifference towards the podcast by slingin' this "between seasons" bullshit. And when I went and got myself some guest co-hosts, everyone's favorite large feline would get his little wet crotchless fucking panties in a bunch... I even rocked a semi-daily UStream webcam thing to sorta "fill the gap", so to speak...

But it was SHITTY.

It was a sad abomination with a complete lack of focus and almost zero inspiration. The point of me writing and podding going forward was to step up my fucking game to a near-professional level. That wasn't it. Not. Even. Close.

It was forced and practically unwatchable. My writing felt contrived and uninspired. The only time it was even readable, was when I was bitching about shit that was pissing me off at the time.

When I quit my job at Dunkin' Donuts, I sorta decided to just kick back and enjoy life. It's been a LONG time since I've been able to just chill out for a month and not worry about producing anything or being somewhere for someone else. I got back to my roots.. Paving driveways, smoking weed, and listening to The Black Album on cassette. Fuck writing. I need some inspiration... And I had almost nothing to bitch about... But that didn't deter me from trying to entice Big Cat to get down to PMS for some recorded shenanigans... neither did his flat out fucking REFUSAL to drive to Alton to do so. I continued to chip away at that stone on a weekly basis, despite the constant resistance. So, take it easy with the finger pointing, Fuck Stain....

Lo and behold... When Furbush DID acquire himself full time employment again, it just so happened to be in the same restaurant AS Big Cat, StephyMac, and the mythical Dave Emeney... And I've been balls deep in learning how to be a server, and memorizing the ingredients of a rather extensive menu. So back off, man...
I'm not really interested in starting shit... Things are looking good for MAYHAM to resume production this week, and honestly, It's shaping up to be better than it ever was before. Think about it... All four of us.. Working at the the same restaurant... Waiting... in real time. The possibilities are fucking endless...

As for the blog...  I don't know about y'all... But it gets a little ridiculous to me to only have tributes to dead musicians and birthday celebrations on here... I'd much rather wait until either A. I have something to say (in a way that ONLY Furbush can), or someone else's shit inspires me so much, that if I didn't repost it HERE, I would be doing the public an enormous disservice...

I think that about covers it. Get some rest, Big Cat... MAYHAM resumes serious production this week... You're gonna need it. ;)

Test/This shit is out of control

What the fuck is going on here, for fuck sake, as if its not bad enough that the podcast is withering and dying, now apparently the blog is being neglected like a black baby in a catholic, pro-life family... I am testing my ability to post to the blog via my Android right now. I at least I have an excuse, I am too cheap to pay for the internet, Furbush, on the other hand, is dumb enough to actually pay for the internet, and only uses it to listen to lullaby versions of his favorite, washed up rock albums and so his live-in girlfriend can watch days of our lives. For fuck sake man, stop beating off to videos of Zak Wild in his "god I wish I were randy Rhodes" hay-day and put that sticky and unused keyboard to good use and be the "passionate writer" that you claim to be and.... FUCKING WRITE SOMETHING ON THE BLOG! This is the end of my broadcast day.... tune in next time.... cunts...

The Politics of Normalcy...

...from PARALLAX...

“…if you are not like everybody else, then you are abnormal, if you are abnormal , then you are sick. These three categories, not being like everybody else, not being normal and being sick are in fact very different but have been reduced to the same thing.” Michel Foucault

Perhaps you noticed it, too. The word ‘anxiety’ appearing more and more in conversation, ads and media. People talking, not about ‘being anxious,’ (a moment that can pass) but about ‘having anxiety’ (a permanent affliction).
Social anxiety disorder did not officially exist until it appeared in 1980′s Diagnostic and Statistical Manual, the DSM-III — the psychiatrist’s bible of psychological afflictions — under the name “social phobia,” the same book which once classified homosexuality as a mental disorder.

By the 1990′s pharmaceutical companies received F.D.A. approval to treat social anxiety and poured tens of millions of dollars into advertising its existence.

In 2002, statistics furnished by Anxiety Disorders Association of America reported that 19.1 million, or 13.3%, of adults ages 18-54 were affected with a form of anxiety disorder. Now the percentage has climbed to 40 million, or 18.1% of the population.

The current version of the DSM-IV describes diagnosis as warranted when anxiety “interferes significantly with work performance” (italics mine) or if the sufferer shows “marked distress” about it.

So in other words, according to the DSM, if you can’t adjust to your life as an employee, you may have a disorder. If it affects your productivity within the system, that’s the true indicator of a problem.

In Madness and Civilization, Michel Foucalt notices the link between society’s labor needs and their attitude towards the socially maladjusted:

Before having the medical meaning we give it, or that at least we like to suppose it has, confinement [of the insane] was required by something quite different from any concern with curing the sick. What made it necessary was an imperative of labor. Our philanthropy prefers to recognize the signs of a benevolence towards sickness where there is only a condemnation of idleness.

Interestingly, angst (often interpreted as “anxiety”) in the philosophical sense, as put forth by existential philosophers Kierkegaard and Sartre, refers to the spiritual dread one experiences in the face of one’s own freedom.

In that context, there begins to appear something ominous about the medication of such a feeling, which may be uncomfortable, but also suggests the presence of our own grand possibility. If anxiety is a natural reaction to the experience of our own overwhelming freedom, what will it mean to repress that sensation?

“The day may come,” says Susan Cain in her recent New York Times article, “Shyness: An Evolutionary Tactic?” ”when we have pills that ‘cure’ shyness and turn introverts into social butterflies [...] [But] the act of treating shyness as an illness obscures the value of that temperament.”

As a culture we need both the shy, sensitive introverts to ponder the deeper meanings of things and the assertive, bold extraverts to take action and get things done. Diversity in a species is an evolutionary advantage.

Case in point: evolutionary biologist David Sloan Wilson performed a simple but telling experiment on a school of unknowing pumpkinseed sun fish. About 15-20 % of animals display introvert characteristics of caution (interestingly, the same percentage as in humans,) called “sitters,” compared to the more curious, assertive “rover” types…

The biologist lowered a metal trap into the water and a large number of  ”rover” sunfish went inside to investigate — only to be caught. While the more tentative “sitter” sunfish, who sat back and watched, remained free.

“Had Professor Wilson’s traps posed a real threat, only the sitters would have survived,” points out Cain. “But had the sitters taken Zoloft and become more like bold rovers, the entire family of pumpkinseed sunfish would have been wiped out. ’Anxiety’ about the trap saved the fishes’ lives.”

Wilson then caught all the sunfish and took them back to his lab. The rovers acclimated faster, eating a full five days earlier than their sitter brethren. In this case, the rovers had the evolutionary advantage.

“There is no single best … personality,” Professor Wilson concludes in his book, “Evolution for Everyone,” “but rather a diversity of personalities maintained by natural selection.”

Yet we live in a culture which treats the sitter personality as freakish. “Just do it!” our slogans roar. Action is prized over contemplation, assertiveness over timidity. One way we manifest this bias as a society is by encouraging perfectly healthy shy people to see their tendencies as problematic, needing to be cured.

Studies show that introverts, who tend to digest information thoroughly, do better in school than their extroverted peers, despite having the same I.Q. The careful, sensitive temperament from which both shyness and anxiety can spring is not only rich in observational skill, insight and inner vision, it may well be essential to the survival of our species — a point well illustrated by our friends the pumpkinseed sunfish.

As science journalist Winifred Gallagher points out: ”The glory of the disposition that stops to consider stimuli rather than rushing to engage with them is its long association with intellectual and artistic achievement. Neither E=mc2 nor ‘Paradise Lost’ was dashed off by a party animal.”

Back to the original thought: being anxious vs having anxiety. This is a shift of language I have witnessed in my lifetime. And what a consequence the simple replacement of “having” with “being” implies: one is an emotion that passes through you, another is something you are stuck with, a state, part of your personality, even your identity.

And could it have anything to do with the multi-million dollar pharmaceutical companies filling the airwaves with the language of “having?”


What great symphonies, works of literature and philosophies would not have been created had the sensitive temperaments creating them been medicated? And what will our society look like in 100 years if it continues down its current trajectory?

Southern Independent, Vol. 1...

GiveMeMyXXX.com and Black Country Rock is proud to present 'Southern Independent, Vol. 1' the first official XXX compilation, absolutely FREE. All you have to do is register an account with us and download the compressed archive file to your hard drive, and crack it up!

'Southern Independent, Vol. 1'

1. Road to Hattiesburg / Robert Earl Reed
2. Southern Family Anthem / Shooter Jennings
3. Introducing Drake Savage / Slackeye Slim
4. Carolina Sunshine / Dallas Moore featuring Jody Payne
5. City of Shame / Rachel Brooke
6. Skateland Baby / Jimbo Mathus
7. The Fall / Fifth On The Floor
8. Guilty Until Proven Innocent / Last False Hope
9. Road Bound / Bob Wayne
10. I'm Bitter / J.B. Beverley and Ronnie Hymes
11. Used To Be A Cop / Drive-By Truckers
12. Rusted Up Old Pickup Trucks / Hellbound Glory

Click HERE to download NOW!

Happy 43rd Birthday, Phil Anselmo...

My Guns N' Roses Pipe Dream...

by Dave Furbush. ;)

To preserve the integrity and extend  the longevity of the "old" Guns N' Roses...

Back in 1991... This is what should have happened:
They release ONE cohesive, flowing album that both properly followed up Appetite for Destruction/GN'R Lies and showed some growth...

Use Your Illusion

Side 1
1.You Could Be Mine
2.Right Next Door To Hell
3.Dust N' Bones
4 Double Talkin' Jive
5.November Rain
Side 2
6. Civil War
7. Don't Cry
8 Back Off Bitch
9. Perfect Crime
10. Don't Damn Me
11.Locomotive
12. Dead Horse
13. Coma
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VC9L-BZ1PI0&playnext=1&list=PL26C25A5D3A55101B

In late1992, after the World Tour supporting UYI, they would release an EP of one half live shit, one half acoustic shit... Pretty much following the same mold as GN'R Lies... with 4 "new" songs, and a couple of previously unheard live covers: "The Godfather Theme", and McCartney's "Live And Let Die"... We'll call this E.P.

GN'R Sucks
(A JOKE title, and one of the potential album titles that was thrown around for UYI)

Side G
1 You Could Be Mine (Ritz '91)
2. Live And Let Die ('91)
3. Godfather Theme/Double Talkin' Jive (Rio '91)
4. Welcome To The Jungle (Rio '91)
Side R (all acoustic studio recordings)
5. Bad Obsession
6.You Ain't The First
7 .Don't Cry (Alt. Lyrics; Acoustic)
8. Just Another Sunday
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mtONTmBTAsk&playnext=1&list=PLC140D589BD014FBD

Another round of touring... Axl (for the most part) behaves... Izzy sticks around... They begin to write, and in 1993 release a new record that showcases the quirkier, bluesier, ummm.. "interesting" songs from the UYI sessions and further solidifies their versatility...

Use Your Illusion II

Side 1
1. Pretty Tied Up
2 .Bad Apples
3. Ain't Goin' Down
4. Yesterdays
5. Estranged
Side 2
6. So Fine
7. 14 Years
8. The Garden
9. Shotgun Blues
10.Garden Of Eden (different title, maybe?)
11.Breakdown

Hidden Bonus Track: 12. Get In The Ring

http://www.youtube.com/playlist?p=F6E445CCB496B71D

Then they finish up what they've already written on the road through '94 and go into the studio to record what I think would have sounded like a cross between Izzy's 117 Degrees, It's Five O' Clock Somewhere, and the more Use Your Illusionish material from Chinese Democracy...  Around '95/6... maybe drop The Spaghetti Incident in the interim.

Maybe things would have been different. We can only dream, I suppose...


Yes.. This is what I do... Sit around and think of scenarios like this... Fuck Off. ;)

Ryan Matthew Dunn....

June 11, 1977 – June 20, 2011

Seth Edward Putnam...

...May 15, 1968 – June 11, 2011

Seth was the founder of grindcore band Anal Cunt. He was known for his brutal screaming and lyrics that either shock, offend, or invoke morbid humor. Throughout his career, Putnam had been involved in many side projects, including backing vocals on Pantera's The Great Southern Trendkill.

Coincidentally, Anal Cunt was the first band I ever witnessed live on stage when they opened for Pantera, White Zombie and The Deftones back in 1996.

Rest In Peace, Seth...

Bradley James Nowell...

....February 22, 1968 – May 25, 1996

Randall Mario Poffo

... Better known as  " Macho Man" Randy  Savage

November 15, 1952 – May 20, 2011

Inconsistencies In The Osama Bin Laden Story....

.. Via The Punk Patriot




First thing I want to know:

If it's true what they first said, that they have facial imaging technology to confirm that their target was indeed Osama, and the folks in the Whitehouse really did see the whole thing go down as it happened, why are the details of the story changing every time they tell it?

First version of events: Osama lived in a multi-million dollar mansion, there was a firefight, and Osama went down guns blazing. He hid behind a women and used her as a human shield. She was killed. He was killed.

Second version of events: Osama lived in a relatively expensive house in the suburbs. There was a firefight, but Osama wasn't armed, but had to be killed, because he violently resisted arrest. The lady in question wasn't actually killed, she was injured when a stray bullet hit her in the leg. She was later taken to a hospital.

Third version of events: Osama lived in a concrete chicken coop. Only one person fired a gun, he was killed. Everybody else was disbursed throughout the house, but were unarmed. They were either shot and killed or arrested. The lady in question was actually shot and killed, but Osama didn't hide behind her, she used her own body to protect him out of her own free will.

Now there are weird bastard child versions of all three events floating around news agencies on the web.

These are all drastically different versions of what happened. Drastically different. If a 10 year old kid told me a story like this and changed the details around as much as the White House has, I would tell that kid to his face that I thought he was lying to me.

Especially if that kid had a long history of lying to me.
Like about how Saddam Hussein sought significant quantities of yellowcake uranium from Niger. 
Like the Gulf of Tonkin incident. 
Like the circumstances around Pat Tillman's death.
Like the Jessica Lynch "rescue."
Like how in the 1990s iraqi military pulled kuwaiti babies out of incubators and threw them onto bayonets. [pdf]
Like that flight 93 was shot down (or that it was crashed by the passengers? Or was it both?)
Like the Anthrax attacks after 9-11 being from Saddam Hussein (it was from a US military base.)

I don't fault conspiracy theorists for thinking everything the government says is a deception. Our government faces a crisis of legitimacy, like the boy who cried wolf.

Second thing I want to know:

Why is it that we're so goddamned surprised that Pakistan's ISI "didn't know" where Osama was? Really? Because it was reported in mainstream news a long time ago, that Pakistan's ISI was letting Al Qaeda use their training camps. Yeah. ISI training camps were Al Qaeda training camps. We knew this BEFORE the wikileaks report, in which we learn our own government knew this was true, and has known for some time.

Why don't these news reporters get off their ass and do FIVE MINUTES of investigation of their OWN NEWS AGENCY REPORTS. BBC anchors are wondering aloud why Pakistan didn't know where Osama Bin Laden was. And the BBC reported that Mohammad Atta's paymaster was an official in the ISI. And the BBC reported that the ISI's camps were used be Al Qaeda.

Here's an article from the NYTimes in July of last year, that all but says this was the case.

This film, "Aftermath: Unanswered Questions" was one of the first "truther" films. It was produced by the Guerilla News Network, a pioneer in internet based news, the organization has since gone defunct. But their material is still floating around. There is conjecture in this film, and also lots of facts. One fact reported on in this film, is that the ISI and Al Qaeda trained at the same camps. Wikileaks confirms this.



Third thing I want to know:

This is all looking shady as fuck. The Pentagon is paying money to Pakisatn's ISI, and the ISI is giving money to Al Qaeda.
Is it that the Pentagon is THAT STUPID? Quite possibly. We have been, after all, paying off the Taliban in Afghanistan in order to move weapons and supplies to our troops who are fighting with... the Taliban.

But it's easy with just the few facts and anomalies here, to make an assumption that 9-11 was a self-inflicted wound either on purpose or on accident, or that the story of Osama Bin Ladens death is a "Wag the Dog" moment. There is also no actual proof of that. But you have to ask yourself:

WHAT THE FUCK?!