My Patience is Bleeding

Evenin' Ma'am


Let me dive right into it. If I have to read one more facebook update from someone talking about their fucking job schedule I'm going to snap and stab someone in the gums with a corkscrew. Furthermore, if I see more shit about how your children are or how much you love them, I will similarly freak. I don't want to hear about that shit unless something happened, such as your children were mauled by a bear, killed the bear with a tennis racket, and made a full recovery. Because that's bad ass.






Another example that would be acceptable is that your children stole your car, moved to Seattle and became heroin junkies, became music legends and want to give me money, but you still love them.

Barring those circumstances I don't want to hear about your fucking family. No news is good news, and inventing or forcing news out of nothing is a mortal sin. Just as you can't squeeze blood from a stone, you can't make me give a shit with bullshit tales of your equally banal existence.

I don't have an interesting life. It says so on the side of the blog. Which is why you won't find me posting updates on facebook saying things like "Shower from 8:15-8:30." then "Reading a book from 12:00 to 3:45... FML! =(". Or something like "Just got off skype talking to my mom. LOVE MY FAMS LOL".


Fuck off.




Do all the other people you know a favor and say something worth saying. We're not your mobile fucking day-planners. I'm sure there are those of you out there reading this that agree with me. The culprits are usually old acquaintances you don't talk to anymore or family members you aren't particularly are fond of. Or co-workers. God I used to fucking hate them when I wasn't useless.

I may hear retorts such as "Well you do the same thing!"

Don't kid yourself asshole. I do no such thing. I abuse facebook at times, and often when I am bored I post stupid shit. Everyone does, its their right. People do not, however, have the right to post the same god damn shit day after day like a cry for help. Take a page from my book. When I feel I am slipping into that dark abyss of boringness, I remove a finger. I'm down to 8 digits!

Instead of a "Like" button on facebook, I want (exclusively for me) something to say "Darren is going to break your fingers." when I click on it.

While we're on the subject, lets throw "FML" on the ban list too. For those who don't know, it stands for "Fuck my Life." In the movie Superbad, it was humorous when that fat liquor store worker was forced to do extra work, then said these words in utter hopelessness. It is not funny when someone has to go to work, write an exam, finish a paper, update a facebook status, make a sandwich, or do any other menial task and garnish it with these 3 letters. It is not funny because you are not the fat liquor store clerk. You are also perpetuating a stupid fad. Take away 3 years and replace "FML" with "Fuck your couch" or "I'm Rick James, bitch." That was never funny. Because you are not Rick James, but you are a stupid fucking bitch. Why don't you just let the TV say all your words for you? Why do you have a brain which is capable of creative thought? You know what our society is going to be reduced to? This.




I'm sure at this point fans and non fans alike are perhaps tiring of hearing about the World Cup. So let us move onto another stupid "sporting" event. The Montreal Grand Prix. Its not a sporting event, if so then North America is full of professional athletes. Since when was sitting in a car and wearing Ronald McDonald's clown outfit a sport? A big left turn is not a sport. Its not exciting. It is as much a sport as masturbating is a scholarly pursuit.

Anyway I didn't see the Grand Prix. I didn't care to. I couldn't help but see the big expositions on Crescent and St. Laurent. Basically what these things were was a place to gather as many rednecks, wanna-be grease monkeys, perverts, women with no self esteem, weekend warrior dentists and other assholes with more money than taste. Again it is the fans which disgust me the most. Two or three blocks of rue Crescent and even more of St. Laurent full of big shiny cars and to be honest sub par "booth babes" pouring water on shirts and literally just standing around all day. In the same fucking position! Sometimes shouting "woo!" when not making "sexy faces" that looked like they were getting their colons scraped.

While these tightly clad bimbos were wasting my time, the fans were busy trying my patience. I entered the crowd to see what was going on. Godzilla and my Danish friend were trying to walk through the crowd in vain. Every five feet some douche bag would stop in his tracks in front of us and take picture after picture of these fucking gorgons in racing attire. Some of them were cheering and making inappropriate sounds. Some jerking off. Some jerking each other off. We were probably in the middle of a massive circle jerk centered around automobiles and dullness.




Anyway I had more to write but I am le tired. Plus my friend from Minnesota is making Montreal hip again. By coming here. And I have to host him. And show him around. Shit...


A song! A song!


Darwin fucking Deez. I got drunk the other night and could not for the life of me get this song out of my head nor in my drunken state could I correctly spell "Detector".



Kindest regards dear readers,

Darren

Thats no mudslide, its the Italian diving team.

Howdy do!

Its been awhile huh? I told you I wouldn't do it all the time. Reliability is cliche. How do I do that silly e with the accent on it? Fuck it.

Yeah after the first two posts I was all geared up to keep it up everyday, I felt I was in the groove and all ready for the ball but then I fell apart like a Chinese motorcycle. (Props to Rodney Dangerfield)


Writing a blog is annoying until you have the finished product, you know? I usually put like 2 hours into writing each entry, which is 2 hours taken away from my other tasks. Sometimes I have to choose between being useless and writing the blog. Tough choices. No one reads this shit anyway. I would, but thats because I don't do anything else with my time. The other day I was so bored I did research into the World Cup teams. The result of which was that I found out the whole series is a pointless waste of time. Just what I have been looking for!

Thats not true, I'm sure the World Cup has some sort of practical purpose, such as bringing people from all nationalities together to hate the French and Italians.

Play the fucking game, Lorenzo.


No. I think I'm wrong again. It brings the most nauseating meat heads with money enough to travel and buy tickets to this shit together all in one convenient location. Napalm, anyone?

Some of these people really are morons. "Hey lets cheer -- NO WAIT! -- better yet lets put this giant plastic horn to our mouths and simulate annoying droning fart sounds all game. That'll really get our boys pumped up."

Lets take a look at a few of these creatures, shall we?

Oh, how young we are sometimes.


Yeah sure kid. What sign will you be holding up next?

I think Darfur will give us a run for our money.



Yeah with fans like these who needs the Taliban?

Yeah, hail to the king baby.


Put Jabba in front of the goal and switch the ball to a fried chicken and we've got the cup!

These ghouls are not limited to the United States, for that matter. Lets take a look at some other fans.

Dutch Freak, Spanish Morons, French Fans celebrating,


And the Japanese Prime Minister shows his World Cup enthusiasm.


They're not all bad, however. Allow me to show you my list of World Cup winners.


Brazil, Denmark, Holland, and Sweden



Whats this you say? Sweden didn't qualify for the World Cup? Well, they're still winners in my book. These girls look like they know their way around a vuvuzela, let me tell you. I mean just look at the way that they're standing in front of that giant penis!

Don't get me wrong. I'm still watching the games. Its either that or do something productive, and who wants that? Who am I rooting for, you ask? I'll be honest with you and say Denmark. You couldn't tell that I was biased with my predictions, could you? You may find yourself asking "Why is Darren rooting for Denmark?" If you find yourself asking that question, go fuck yourself.


I find the blog is a lot like having a girlfriend. Which is kinda nice. It has all of the positive aspects of a relationship like spending time together and sharing interests. Yeah there's no sex, but there's also no feelings of inadequacy which come with it, either. You gotta look on the bright side of things, you know!



I have to remember shit that happened to me throughout the past days and think of a semi-humorous manner of presenting it, thats shit I don't do for anyone else. Only for my lovely.

We elope tonight, my love.


So yeah. I spent several hours and two cups of coffee on this waste of time and it didn't even come out the way I wanted it to. I suppose I'll be back later with more reporting of pointless cynicism and bitchiness. Get ready and help yourself to some cake.


Some audio splendor for y'all. This time we go Nordic and electric. Enjoy sports fans.




Sorry this post was so picture heavy, I'll do some exercises and trim it down for the next one.

Kindest Regards readers,

Darren

Scratch, Scratch, Sniff.

Morning all.

Its not quite morning as it is 15 minutes (as I write this, certainly not by the time I post it) to noon. I feel how everyone feels in the morning: itchy, pissed off, and basically unable to speak. I say itchy not because I sleep in a hayloft but because I'm a male. In the morning males tend to itch things. Things that are precious to us. Things that help make babies. Our testicles. Did I give it away?

Last night was fun. What did you do last night? - Oh wait I don't care and I only asked you the question so that I can tell you what I did instead.

So I was doing my normal thing, nothing, and then got a text message around 6 PM. My German friend, who was grown to fill the role of "Attack of the 50 foot Bavarian" (Out in theaters this July), informed me that the band Arcade Fire was playing a free show just off of the island at Longueuil. At the time I wasn't too big of a fan of Arcade Fire, and I managed to shuffle my schedule of counting toe hairs and rearranging my canned goods by order of nostalgic value so I was available to go. I informed Godzilla I would be able to join.



So I met up with my fellow concert goer and companion Marcozy, we boarded the large underground allegory for sex, and off we went. During the course of our travels we were sat next to a rather unfashionable gentleman who loved his music very much. In fact he loved his music so much that he had purchased headphones which exceeded the maximum suggested listening volume to the point where they could have been substituted for megaphones.

The young man so was generous that he decided to share his music with the rest of us in the metro car. What did we poor schleps do to deserve an early visit from Montreal's musical Santa? We had all been good this year! It was quite delightful. Of course I mean delightful in the cotton swab-too-far-in-piercing-your-ear-drums kind of way.

The whole way to the station we lucky commuters were showered with recycled beats accompanied by modulated singing. Lovely. I've always wondered what it would sound like to hear C-3PO sticking his dick in a light socket, now thanks to this philanthropist my dreams came true. I can truly die a happy man.



Anyway...

We arrived late to the show, they had already started playing. It was a good show regardless of the fact that the crowd was the size of Samoa and every time the wind blew we couldn't hear the music, but it was good. The crowd wasn't good. They thought that because they were in the same situation as the rest of us it was okay to talk over the already quiet music we were all straining our ears to hear. That and the annoying girl who danced like a fucking moron in front of me and then texted her friend (on her gigantic chalkboard sized fucking phone) that she couldn't have sex with him tonight because she had, as she put it, "Just been fucked by Chuck Norris".

Hey lady, I know Chuck is a running joke now a days because of his pajama kicking, but I'm sure the dude has standards. I doubt you're tall enough to ride his ride, ya dig?



But the music was good. It gave me some appreciation for the band and I have since started to listen to them again. Everyone wins, huzzah!

So then afterward we went to a bar, were joined by some other friends, and sat around our little circle of solitude not talking. We then went our separate ways.


BUT NOT BEFORE STOPPING AT "NOODLES U&ME" AND GETTING SOME GENERAL TAO CHICKEN!!!!

That stuff made my night man. I swear that deep fried grade f chicken comes straight from Mount Olympus after being birthed from Zeus's nether regions. Directly into my mouth. Mmmm. Ambrosia. Its actually the sauce that makes it amazing, but I digress.

"Another order of the General, your Majesty!"


So I figured the first post was missing something, so I figured I'd tack on the last song I've been singing in my head on the end of posts. You know, to give you something else to waste your time to.

Today's gem is:

Someone Still Loves You Boris Yeltsin!
Yes, if you know me then you'll know I absolutely adore these Missouri natives. Here is a cut off of their upcoming album, "Let it Sway".




Kindest regards and good listening!

Darren

Small sounds in a dim hole.

Hi there.

I knew at some point our paths would cross. Not really. I don't even know you mister, so stop asking for change. Regardless if you wanted to or not you've stumbled onto this little slice of venereal disease which has been hastily poured into html. I told myself when I started making this page that I would update it everyday. Ha! I don't even change my undergarments everyday, see if I will keep this up for even 48 hours.

I actually thought of doing this while walking home from IGA, the shittily overpriced grocery store that I thought was not as shittily overpriced as Provigo. How wrong I was. I was carrying my oh-so-valuable groceries home, which comprised of meat, eggs, and other things which will slowly kill you in your sleep, and I passed a young woman wearing a t-shirt. Nothing special about that really. You see it everyday. It is not everyday, however, that I pass women walking on St. Catherine street without shirts on. It has happened though.

Now I know the male readers, if there are any, at this point are silently nodding their heads in approval. Let me remind you, kind gentlemen, that these were not breasts that were proudly displayed publicly at some sort of a wet t-shirt contest or induced by the influence of way too much alcohol and the promise of a trucker hat. These were breasts shown to inmates at Abu-Ghraib to extract information. I'm off topic again.

So I pass this girl with a t-shirt on. She walked past me defiantly, as if to say "I'm getting to where I'm going no matter how much you don't interest me." As she staged her small rebellion facially, I read the print on her shirt. It read "Born to be a Bitch!!!!1!!". Without the one in the middle, in fact I think there was only one exclamation mark. I added the extra to demonstrate the outpouring of attitude this Chinese sweatshop labor t-shirt threw in every unsuspecting pedestrian's face. So during the rest of my walk home, I thought to myself "What a stupid fucking shirt. I hate that person and any person who was involved in the production of that useless piece of clothing." What is a shirt like that supposed to tell people about you? That you're an intolerable twat? Well her arrogant sway combined with her face, so wrinkled and snooty that I temporarily confused her for one of the Californian Raisins, really did a better job than your stupid shirt.




I turned my head to convey my disgust to my friend.

But no one was there.

I then thought about how many times a day that happens to me. When I have something to bitch about or some life changing comment to quip, only to find that it is wasted on myself. So like an asshole I put my finger in the air as if to proclaim "Eureka!", and the entered my apartment, totally forgot to refrigerate my groceries, and made this abortion.

Now I know what you're thinking, if you know me. For if you know me then you know this little farce won't last for more than a few days, at most. I know this too. I'm not going to do this everyday. Nor is anyone going to read it because my life, at present at least, is so unbearably boring that my walls are bleeding. Or that could just be the poltergeists. I put water in the freezer and time it to see how quickly it freezes. "Woah, 20 minutes, NEW RECORD!!!"

But I am going to try to do it as much as possible. I will because I think it is a bit therapeutic for me, it kills time, keeps up my writing chops a little bit, and it is pretentious to say "my blog" in conversation. I love pretension. Its so tense. Anyway, heres to my creative organ growing back sometime soon!


Kindest regards dear readers.

Darren.