So I have this asshole neighbor. It almost came to blows with him one time; but apparently he's laundering money or something; but he seems to be trying to fob it off on me, somehow. I'm most certainly not going to be left holding the bag for some crook. I'm not Miguel Martillo for nothing. I don't know what the fuck is going on; but I will fucking find out, and I'm also gonna be there for his perp walk. Shit, Imma be the guy taking pictures and setting off fireworks. First rule of choosing a scapegoat is make sure it's a goat, and not a liger.
It's fun to be single and go out with different people; but what's nicer is when you find the person that gets you. Baskin Robbins has 31 one flavors, dating has billions of them; but when you find one that you like, stick to it; because eating shit ice cream is not fun. If you already know you like chocolate gelato, don't try the garlic ice cream.
So I've been fucking around with the Brits for publishing that article on the top ten worst national anthems, in which they even included the fake Borat Kazakstan anthem. What is wrong with these assholes? But it is very fun making fun of them. They are not witty at all. They actually critized American cuisine in response to one of my posts. Who wants some haggis with mermite on it? You serve me that and I punch you in the face. That is not fucking food. Why can't they eat normal food? I don't like McDonalds; but I'll eat that shit if the other option is black pudding or jellied eels. That's probably why all their teeth look like shit; because that's what they eat. The choice part of the cow is not the intestines, that's why when someone is lying to you, and you know it, you say "DON'T FEED ME THAT TRIPE!!!" Either that or you bitchslap them a few times, they'll tell you the truth. I've never met a Brit that I didn't want to punch in the face, and didn't know it, and was scared of me because of it.
I just want to say that my relationship with my mother was somewhat strange in some aspects; but sometimes, I dream of her, and when I wake up, I can't believe she's gone, because I was dreaming that we were living right here in this house, and having conversations, going about our days, watching Moonlighting, and whatnot, and it actually takes me time to discern dream from reality when I wake up; because well, it's a little hard to believe that she's been dead for almost seven years. That's really kind of it. I mean, I KNOW she's dead; but there is a little part of me in my subconcious that doesn't believe it, and it's hard to shake those dreams off. It's harder than you might think. It's hard as fuck. The other day I actually woke up and started yelling through the door "hey, mom..." And then I realized, well...I'm talking to somebody that doesn't exist anymore. Somebody that never got to meet her granddaughter. Somebody that I know where to find; but I'd need a shovel to dig 6 feet deep, and she's only bones by now, and to realize that, is fucking heartbreaking.
I don't really have much of a point for this post, except that I just found out that a friend of a friend committed suicide, and I think that's just generally a shitty thing to do. You don't know how much pain you are causing other people if you kill yourself. If I could have either a billion dollars or my mom back, I wouldn't even hesitate, I'd want my mom.
