Daryl G.'s Blurty|
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Daryl G.'s Blurty:
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|Wednesday, February 11th, 2004|
I'm actually going to start writing in here.
See, everytime I wrote in my LJ, it felt as if I were writing to a specific person.
Aside from that, I'm sure people there are tired of me bitching about that whole situation. So here I am. I've deleted my livejournal account though.
So, even though nobody reads this, it's good to be back, and go fuck yourself.
|Tuesday, August 12th, 2003|
Whilst having a meaningful discussion with a nameless party, I came across as a greedy and insensitive asshole who only seems to want money.
Is this true? Of course it is, and I'm damned proud of not being so ignorant as to think otherwise. Anyone... ANYONE, no matter who it is, is the hugest moron if they think that money is of no real value. I'm sitting here, 4000+ miles away from home, and all I have is one single dollar. Oh. And five cents. It's an eye-opening experience, I'll give you that much. I went to Chinatown for probably the only time in my life and didn't buy a damned thing.
But that's all beside the point. Money DOES grant happiness. Money CAN bring love and enjoyment to someone. Money CAN buy anything. ANYTHING. The movie Richie Rich starring Macauley Culkin (sp?) was supposed to teach us that money can't buy friends. What people didn't seem to notice while absorbing this bullshit mantra that everyone repeats is that nobody would've given two halves of a rat's ass to notice Mr. Rich had he not been the soul heir to $700 Billion. Money can't buy love? Just ask any slut out there if she'd date a homeless guy on the street. Hell, a good 90% of women wouldn't ever even ponder the possibility of maybe thinking about taking a guy out on a date on her own damn red cents. If a guy doesn't have any money, he's as good as that homeless bum on the side of the street.
Money can't buy happiness? Well, what IS happiness? Comfort? Money can buy that. A significant other? See above. Entertainment? Seeing that movie tickets are upwards $8 per person, I shouldn't even have to talk about it. Food? Drugs? Music? Talent? All these things you can go and purchase. Yes, you CAN purchase talent. How does one learn to do anything? Take the almighty bartering tool THE DOLLAR out of the equation, and you really can't do anything at all. You can't even go to some churches if you don't donate money. You can't go to school to learn things. You can't just rot away; you must pay the government something at some point.
There's not one damned thing that I can think of that I'd like or like to do or anything at all which pays no merit to money. There's going to be people reading this right now that think I'm just a cynical bastard, but then, if they're not that retarded, they'll realize that they're ON A COMPUTER which is most likely on a desk in a chair on a floor wearing clothes breathing clean air while not getting tetanus or a variety of other diseases for which they've been innoculated, and when they're done they're going to go do something else that is only possible through a certain degree of wealth. Then they'll try to justify something by calling me a bastard, but that won't work either. They'll sleep late at night on a high-quality matress (or sofa) and cover themselves up with a blanket while enjoying climate control and possibly listening to music or watching television. A good 99% of things that we take for granted as just being there are only there because we're in America, a rich country.
Not that I hate America for being rich; we've earned every last damned penny of it.
We are born, and from day one we are programmed to earn more and more money. No matter how much one denies the importance of money, they never ever want their children to go without it. Why do they read to the child and not yell at them? It encourages mental growth, and yelling may stunt such growth. Why should someone have a properly-working brain? So they can do well when they start going to school. Why would anyone want to do well in school? To get good grades. Why for that? So they can get into a good college. College? Why? So you can be learned and get a good job. A good job? Why? So you can make money. Everything comes down to money. There's nothing that ever goes on in life without money being a variable in the equation.
Money is the root of all evil. Life is all about making money. Everyone is damned to be evil from the start.
So next time someone says that they don't need money to be happy, make sure to be around when they don't have any so that you can spit in their faces and laugh when their children can't afford a hospital visit so they're sitting there taping their baby's broken limb together with popsicle sticks. Make sure you're there to laugh at them when they get kicked out of their house. Make sure you're there to push them back down when they try to get up. Make sure that they know that you're laughing at them when they can't eat. Make sure that you make it clear that you can help, but that you choose not to. Make sure you're there to deny them a helping hand when they reach out for it. Wave the few dollars you may have in their faces when their children do everything they possibly can in their lives so that they don't ever turn out like their parents did. Do whatever you need to do.
"In God We Trust" is on our money for a reason. It's not because we need to display our deity, it's because we need to fool ourselves into thinking that our god isn't the bill itself.
|Friday, July 25th, 2003|
I don't even know why I'm writing this.
My brother, see, he came over while I was in the shower. When I got out, he was taking his medication for Multiple Sclerosis. He had this weird can in his hand, and I asked what it was. "An alcoholic beverage," he said. I thought that he was lying, but I guess it was this stuff called SPARKS, which is made by the makers of Steel Reserve, and it has 6% booze by volume, and it was like one of those hugeass Arizona cans. Looks like one of those sports energy drinks.
Anyway, so I guess he'd overdosed on his MS medicine and pills, and the ambulance had to come and transport him. They'd stopped down the street, and when I went up to them to tell them where to go, I was ordered to show my hands. How cool is that? They thought I was just a mexican criminal. So they took him in last night and now he's still in the intensive care unit. The hospital is nice, it's different than the TV/movie perspective of hospitals.
My friend Rebecca works there. She's cool and pretty and what have you, but she has sex with a mammoth-cocked negro. But he's a cool negro, so that makes it ok. Anyway, I went to the hospital because my parents were supposed to be there, but they weren't. I found Rebecca and she showed me to my brother, which was really weird. I haven't been inside of the real part of a hospital since I saw my friend Jonathan with leukemia. And about 6 years before that when I was 5. So after not even 10 minutes, I half-ass passed out. I knew it was going to happen, so I'd asked where the bathroom was and began to walk away, but a few steps out of the room my vision went totally white and I was trying to walk straight, but it wasn't working, and apparently I walked into a computer. On the wall. So Rebecca started kicking my ass and threw me in a chair and I just sat there, but apparently my brother could see me. Then I felt like I was going to hurl, which hasn't happened in years, but I pushed it back. Cause I'm great like that. And then I came home.
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why I was nowhere to be seen for a great deal of today.
|Monday, July 21st, 2003|
I've been writing in this thing for three years, which is probably longer than most of you have had pubes, but in those three years I've written 385 entries, including this one, and have gotten, as of yet 1809 notes. There's a definite line in there somewhere that I just stopped writing about me, having anything be about me. Even notes that were questions asked of me or related to me in any way were deleted after that point. I'm still in that point, but right now, I'm going to let the world into my life; something that probably won't happen for twenty-six years, 4 months, 19 days, and however long it takes for me to finish watching that porn. So enjoy it.
I'm terminally unemployable. I don't know what it is, but I am. There are many people out there probably slapping their foreheads, or snapping their fingers, but most of the stuff I write is during odd hours of the night when most people aren't working anyway. It's a terrible thing, not working when you want to. Ask anyone who's gone a while without a job. After about the tenth place, you just kinda give up on stuff.
Any hobbies? Not really. I sit around and listen to music, and I hang out with people. I'm trying to become a student, but so far, I'm not one of those either. THAT makes me sad.
So after spending so much time as one of those Garbage People, people that really just take up space, one gets to notice things. There's many different types of people, but what really makes them different from anyone else other than what they do or what they like? Most of what people do is work for money.
Most people sell their lives for one hour at a time, letting someone else tell them, within the dollar, exactly how much their lives are worth, hour after hour, day after day, year after year. They work under these conditions for years, until that same person tells them that they can go back to doing what they wanted to do. This is called retiring. Then they save up the money they've been saving their entire lives. What do they do? They save it some more. And then they die.
Some people actually do something productive, maybe they're a designer, working for the next big leap in technology, or a scientist looking for the cure for (insert herpe here). There's entertainers who love to entertain, and get paid to do it. They don't care about money, they never truly retire since they are doing what they feel like they were meant to do. And then they die.
Other people just waste away. They know it, and they don't care. They live paycheck to paycheck, and they don't want to do anything else. They figure that they shouldn't have to waste their lives saving up money for someone else to spend. Trailer park folk, you know who I'm talking about. They die, too.
And as someone who's not really a part of any of these peoples, you just sit there and watch them. You try to figure life out, but you just can't. Everyone, and I mean EVERYONE else seems to have some sort of purpose, a niche... a reason. Everyone either has a great purpose, or a great sorrow, and that sorrow becomes their purpose.
But the people that just watch? They don't have a purpose, or a sorrow aside from the lack of purpose. They wake up every single day, wondering if today is going to be different than the last day, if something or someone will come along to make the time go by faster if nothing else. And then after a while, they go to sleep, trying not to think about the fact that this day wasn't any different but only worse than the previous day, but only blindly hoping that the next day will be a little better.
Maybe something will happen.
But then, the next day comes and the next day goes, and nothing happens. There's no revelation that's awaited, there's no lightbulb that goes off. They sleep just to pass the time, and that seems to make the uneventful days seem longer sometimes. The days blend together, and real people seem to be living in a totally different world. They get up for a reason. They have an obsession, a great desire.
But the people that just sit there and watch do exactly that. Just watch. Nothing changes, though, so watching loses it's reason. So then I just sit here. And that's all I do.
|Thursday, July 10th, 2003|
Once again, I'd like for my friend Kandi not to be MIA, but she is. Undependable prostitutes, I swear to it.
|Monday, April 7th, 2003|
I just hate stuff, man. Today sucked madass.
I called about 4 places today that I'd dropped off applications and they gave me the complete runaround. "We're not going through the applications for another couple of weeks." Then why the hell did you tell me you were hiring last week? Bastards, I should go in there with a shotgun and just start blasting.
See, months ago, I wasted my entire day (practically) sitting at court for a ticket I'd gotten back in December for speeding. A whole 73 in a 60. What the hell kind of speed limit is 60? So I have to pay this damn fine by April 8th, 2003, or else my license will be suspended.
Well, I was selling something on EBay to get the money for it. I needed $96, and the item was selling for $114. I figured I was ok, because $114 is a really good price for what I was selling. But no, it took until yesterday for the damn thing to sell. I was using Miranda's paypal and ebay account, as mine is all sorts of messed up. I asked if she had a Paypal Debit Card when the item sold so that I could use the money instantly. She said yes, but then it turns out that she really didn't. So I can't touch that money until probably around Friday. So that leaves me about $96 dollars to raise.
Oh, but it'll be ok, because my family had this old 79 camaro in the backyard that didn't work too well, but it had a unique clutch system and my father was always bothering me to sell it to some guy he knew that really wanted it, but personally I always wanted to fix it up someday. But see, seeing that I don't have a job, and I was really hurting for money, and $200 seems like a whole lot to someone who has no money, like a month ago I was like "Ok, sell it to that guy."
He hadn't done it as far as I'd known. Today, I go outside and it's not there. I don't know how long it's been gone, but I asked my mother, since my father is at work, how much he got for the camaro and she said that she thinks the guy just paid to have it towed away, and he might have gotten $100 maybe.
And my brother accidentally erased my tax returns. Yippee.
|Monday, March 24th, 2003|
Looks like not only the rest of America, but also the elite Acadamy and various celebrities are on my side with the whole war thing.
When some faggot won an award for the crappy film "Bowling for Columbine" he started ranting and raving about George Bush and blah blah blah. I couldn't hear him because everyone was booing. Then Steve Martin said later, jokingly (hopefully not) that he was being escorted to his limo's trunk.
Woah, wait a minute! I thought the majority of America was against the war?!?! What's going on here?
I think people are starting to see the truth is all.
|Friday, March 21st, 2003|
|fo'get those anti-war peeps
Yes, peeps. Like those marshmallow chick things.
Anyway, every time I tell people that Saddam is some sort of evil guy, they say "Hey, it's his people, leave them alone."
Yeah, even though he kills his people and refuses to let his people flourish for what they're worth, he oppresses them and kills them if they bother him too much, which sounds a whole lot like what my regime would do. That's why you don't see too many Iraqi movie stars. Did you know that Cheech Marin is Iranian?
But Cheech got me to thinking about an evil dictator that has a moustache, a mean haircut, and likes to kill people. His name was not Saddam. It was Josef Stalin.
By the time he died, nearly (if not more than) 60 million people had died due to his direct actions against certain groups of people under his ruling. That makes the holocaust look like an amusement park accident.
For you fags who say that everything I say is wrong, until I pull a source out of my ass like everyone else is, just look up "Stalin, Josef" or his real name "Iosif Vissarionovich Djugashvili" in your own damn history book or encyclopedia. You can also check out rotten.com's new "encyclopedia" for him as well.Here you go, whores.
So next time you say for people not involved to mind their own business when there's a murderous tyrant about, just say "piss off" to those 60 million people, plus the 8 million in the holocaust, the few more million from the rest of WW2, and so on.
War now saves lives later.
Oh, wait, time out. This is all about oil. I forgot that since our President has family and financial ties to oil industries that every single thing he does is motivated by oil. In that case, I would sure like to see the gas pumps go down in price, so pro-war on that idea too. Current Mood: thirstyCurrent Music: "Red Room" by Klaha
|Friday, March 7th, 2003|
I really, really hate vegetarians. Why? Because I can. Why the hell are they vegetarians? I want you to think about that before you go on reading. A few ideas might come to your head.
1) They care about animal life.
2) They don't like the taste of meat.
3) They can't due to medical reasons.
Well, I'll take this issue by issue.
1) This is total, 100% bullshit. I always knew it, but now I've got reasons to know it. As I've learned from Maddox's website, "every year millions of animals are killed by wheat and soy bean combines during harvesting season." And that's a pretty logical fact, and I can and will pull sources if you PETA fags try to get on my ass. Not only are those animals not RAISED for the sole purpose of being killed, which isn't that bad of an idea (I'll explain later), but nobody really cares about it that they die. Not that I do, but it points a finger pretty well.
2) Meat tastes good, you dyke whore. People are made to consume meat (see: your freaking teeth).
3) Nobody has ever been able to explain why meat would be inconsumable to anyone. They claim that it's for medical reasons, but nobody has been able to prove this to me, the only reason I saw being that they were fatasses. If someone CAN, however, please feel free to enlighten me. I will give this person a dollar, as they are missing out on a very good part of life.
As for being raised for slaughter, as pointed out again by Maddox, all animals love to eat. That's all they do. They don't have jobs, they don't raise families. They eat. When they're raised for slaughter, they eat and they eat GOOD. Then, when their lives are as good as they'll ever get, they are killed fairly quickly. They don't have to die miserably like most people do. And they get the satisfaction in heaven that they've provided someone with a stomachfull of hearty goodness. So go find your neighborhood vegetarian and give them, courtesy of me, a first class ticket straight to hell.
Oh, except for people who can't eat meat for some medical reason, which nobody has been able to explain to me yet without massive amounts of bullshit, but just incase there is someone out there who really can't, I'm putting that disclaimer. If you're that person, please tell me why the hell you can't eat meat.
I frickin hate vegitarians, too. They should all rot in hell.
|Sunday, March 2nd, 2003|
Damn, in Ireland in the year 2000, each adult on average drank over 15 quarts of pure alcohol.
That's not 15 quarts of vodka or anything. That's 15 quarts of pure pure alcohol. You would need to drink 20 quarts of most beers to equal one quart of pure alcohol. 20 quarts is 5 gallons.
So sad. Makes you wonder where America is on that list.
Alcohol's worse than crack, I tell ya.
|Tuesday, February 25th, 2003|
|Monday, February 24th, 2003|
On a more personal and rare note...
My ex girlfriend Katie instant messaged me. She's the one that took my virginity and ran away with it. She said that her boyfriend for "x" amount of time left her and she's feeling bad, so she was apologizing to me for how she probably (did) made me feel during the summer of 1999.
Wow, it's been almost four years.
The urge to throw it in her face overcame me.
|Sunday, February 9th, 2003|
| For ye to clicketh
That's a link to a page that has all sorts of link to verify that you can get $20 from record companies, so all you slut fags out there that say I never do anything worth while, if you learned about this lawsuit from me, then you'd better take that broomstick away from my delicate rectal tissues.
In short, CD companies overcharge and there was a bigass lawsuit. Part of the settlement allows anyone who's bought any CD, vinyl, or cassette between 1995 and 2000 (there's some specific dates but whatever) to get between $5 and $20 as part of the settlement. So just do it, it's not like you've got to go to court or anything you lazy incomprehensable bastards of black men.
|Thursday, February 6th, 2003|
Oh, and Cristy, that means please tell me how to change my name.
|Tuesday, February 4th, 2003|
|Tuesday, January 28th, 2003|
Well, Angel... I'm in your club.
I feel like complete and utter shit today.
Nothing seems to really fix it either.
|Thursday, January 23rd, 2003|
Kandi called me. Didn't get to see her, but it's still cool.
|Sunday, January 19th, 2003|
Apparently there was an antiwar protest yesterday in DC. I wasn't aware of this, but one of my friends decided to go. And she made the mistake of sharing with me.
"I went to the anti-war protest in DC and it was so great!"
"Why," I asked.
"Because it was so cool!" she replied.
"It doesn't bother you that they found chemical warheads in Iraq the other day?"
Well, as most of you should know, they did, so all her credability went down the toilet right there. She continued onto say some stuff about how she's all about peace, which is respectable, but seeing that doing nothing is just letting innocent lives die anyway at the hands of their own leader, I think war is the only solution. If not, I haven't heard a solution that makes any damn sense. I mean, if she went to an anti-war protest, then they should've educated her as to WHY she should be anti-war. I mean, hey. I didn't have to go to a pro-war protest in order to learn my facts.
On top of that, McDonald's is great, Wal*Mart is great, Nike is great, but Kathy Lee Gifford still sucks.