Froot Loops, Frat Boys, and Filosofie

I'm not sure what the fuck's wrong with me sometimes. Other times, I think I probably have a pretty good idea as to what the hell my problem is. Sometimes, I'm absolutely certain about the screwed up conclusions at which I've arrived. If all else fails, there seems to be no shortage of inciteful pricks to point out to me what kind of dumbass I happen to be being in any given situation. Hooray for them!

In case you're planning on blackmailing me, I don't have any money. Unless you just wanna get me to wash your car or something, in which case I will tell you that you'd better make sure to remove all your valuables from your vehicle. Hell, I worked at a car wash when I was 16. Stealing change and weed and whatever else outta the cars was how we all supplemented our incomes. And we ALL did it. Keep this in mind next time you take your car to Buff 'N' Shine. Or as my uncle likes to call it, the Scratch 'N' Dent.

O.K. So I used to semi-legally burglarize cars when I was a kid. I think that this is about the only dark admission that I'll make for the duration of this little blurb of bullshit that you've somehow had the misfortune of clicking yourselves into reading. The shortcoming that I was alluding to when I first acted upon the bad idea of writing this blog is this:

I somehow had the idea that rich white boys were neat and tidy.

This is a little bit racist and very, very classist. And I know better. I might not be the sharpest bulb in the turnip patch, but I've been around long enough to not be shocked to find out that rich white boys have as much potential as anybody else to be disgusting slobs. I guess I let myself be duped. I mean, if you invest very much time into looking all clean-cut, then your dwelling must surely look nicer than the abandoned buildings that I used to live in when I was in my late teens and early 20's, right?

The answer to this sweetly posed question is: Fuck no.

I just recently spent far too long refinishing the floors in a fraternity house. I don't know what the name of the fraternity is. I almost made up something stupid like "Krappa Zappa Pu", but I decided that I'd sound like an idiot if I actually posted those words on the internet. Hell, for all I know, if you utter those words aloud a fuckin genie'll pop outta your computer and punch you in the nose. Don't believe me? Go ahead and try it!

Holy shit, do I ever hope you just said "Krappa Zappa Pu" out loud just now!

Anyhow, I've lived in a lot of fucked up houses. I don't feel like going into the weirder shit that's gone on in those houses right here on blogspot.com, but let me assure you that dogs have been eaten, as well as human embryos. Rigor mortised cats have been skinned, fires have been doused with piss buckets. Robitussin vomit has been eaten by the dog. Aw, fuck. I was totally trying not to say any of that crap, and there I went and started saying it anyway....

The aforementioned terrors weren't the norm, but the abandoned houses that I lived in as a young man were definitely nasty. We were drunk bums, taking up residence in abandoned houses with no running water. Use your imagination to explore all the implications of that (if you've never experienced it yourself), cos I don't feel like expounding on it. The frat house that I just found myself in might've been less nauseating in some ways. But the house that these rich boys' parents pay for them to live in is one horrible motherfucker.

I cleaned a daycare center as a side job a few years back. One a week, they'd feed the little fuckers Froot Loops and I'd have to figure out how to get those goddam things off the floor with a mop. Jesus, that sucked. But those kids were 4 years old or something. I was sanding Froot Loops and Spaghetti-O's and chewed up gum off of these people's floors, and they're all between the ages of 18 and 22. If I was living with somebody who decided to just spit a wad of Bubbalicious out in the middle of the living room floor, I swear I'd fuckin break his ribs.

I hate that shit. Irresponsible gum chewers are why anarchy doesn't work.

Okay. Well, this whole blog is just trailing off into some annoying corner of the basement of my boredom, so I might as well turn around and get the fuck outta here. I apologize if you've followed me this far.