The Power of the Positive Mindfuck

Hello my Fistful of Readers. And, welcome to yet another rant by yours truly. Today I will be talking about a couple of different things, that tie together like a pearl necklace. No, not THAT pearl necklace! The type that Marge Simpson wears. A big nugget of wisdom, strung together to another nugget of wisdom. Let's just dive right in, shall we?

For years growing up I found myself looking forward to the Holidays. As soon as that nip hit the air, it was obvious that the holiday landslide was about to come barreling through. First, it would be Halloween. That time of year where you can hide behind a mask, and pretend to be someone else for a day or two. Then (my favorite) was Thanksgiving. A day devoted to eating and spending time with people that supposedly loved you unconditionally. Then, came Christmas. Now, mentally, I've never been on board with any religious belief or connotation. But, Christmas was fucking magical. Not Harry Potter or Elton John type magical. But, it had the power to turn the grumpiest of fucks into people that would hurry to open a door for someone carrying a large package, or help someone up that had busted their ass on a sheet of black ice. It was the time of year that you knew Rudolph would be on TV, and jingly bells and sparkling lights would be on every lamp post and every window. Generally, I loved that whole 3 month stretch. The warmth of the house, the feeling of impending meals with family, and the love that seemed to infect the air everywhere you went.

Then....

Something fucking happened along the way to the New Year. These three months that I speak of have done something quite different to everyone. People no longer think about the meals, the family, the TV shows...they want to slit their own wrists because they can't afford to buy gifts for everyone in their family. They rush through Thanksgiving dinner so they can get the tent out and head to Best Buy because they have a chance at getting a 60" tv for $1.00. People humbug, more than they hug. (which pisses me off, because i'm a hugger) 

Look, I get that the financial crunch puts people in stressful situations, and moods, but it's not about money people. It's deeper than that. 

I'm an Atheist, and even though I didn't know there was a word for what I was until I got older, as far as I know, I've always been one. I put on the tap shoes and did the old song and dance every now and then so that people wouldn't shun me, or so I could have friends, but in my heart of hearts, I knew what my feelings were. Yet, I still supported and encouraged the "Feeling of Christmas". Because, at it's root, it's benefiting and not harming. But, it's no longer benefiting. People are more hung up on what they can "give or get" than the human experience that once existed. If you took away the value of what's in the box, and replaced said gift with...let's say...a rock, in everyone's hand, what would people think? What would their reaction be? Mine would be "Awww, thank you! Now I have something to throw at the heads of all the materialistic fuckwits that have lost the true meaning of the Holidays.", and then give them a hug. But, we know that wouldn't be the reaction of the majority of society. No. People are more depressed, angry, bitter, annoyed, anxious, and every other Eeyore emotion that I can think of at this time of year. People get annoyed at hearing Christmas Carols. They scoff at how many Christmas cartoons are on television. They seem to roll and revel in the darkness that embodies the holidays, and the momentum just seems to be growing.

Which, brings me to my next bit of fuckery: Cheer the fuck UP people!! 

Okay, I know that the way I rant, grind, bitch, and complain that you think that I'm bitter and angry at the world. Which, you couldn't possibly be more wrong. I actually piss people off with my positive spin on the majority of situations. "I'm starving! I have no food!" "Well, at least you'll lose a few pounds. And, look at it this way, when you DO get some food, it will taste better than you could have ever imagined." "Fuck you Johnny." "Come here and give me a hug." "No. Fuck you." 

Sorry...went a little far on that one...

But, it just annoys me at the negativity in everyone. Here, look at it this way; I don't care whether you're Christian, Atheist, Muslim, or Buddhist, you can admit to one thing...from the moment you're born, your physical body is a ticking time bomb that is going to explode out of existence one day. Gone. Kablooey. Yet, people fill their days with such negative words, and thoughts that they just piss away perfectly good seconds, of perfectly good minutes, of perfectly good....well, you get my drift. 

Your clock is ticking you stupid fuck. You could get a stiddy tomorrow and die in a year. You could step off the curb while texting the person you love and get eaten by a dragon....or....is it hit by a bus....some fucking thing. Needless to say, you are dying with each minute that passes. So, when you use words like: can't, won't, shouldn't, never, and even hashtags like #fml (fuck my life for those non-nerds) or other negative shit, you are implanting negative thoughts, energy and feelings into yourself that grown, and expand, and eat away at your psyche. 

I catch a lot of shit for my borderline narcissism. It annoys people when you say you're smart, or handsome, or the life of the party. They want you to be modest, and humble, and (in my mind) weak. But, why? I know my time bomb is ticking, and it will pop when it damn well wants to, and I want to feel like I lived like a motherfucking rockstar when I go out. I want to feel like I was as good looking as I could be. Successful as I could have possibly been, and that this world was MINE!!! If I'm good at something, I want to feel like I'm the best at it. Not, "I'm okay at it I guess.". Fuck that! That's loser talk. Is that how you want to sound on your deathbed? "I was okay at a few things. Generally kind of average." That's not modesty, that's a sad sack of shit is what that is. Own your life. People want you to be modest and humble, because they have insecurities and they don't want anyone feeling (or being) better at things than they are. Be confident. Be assertive. Be charismatic. Be proud. 

Now, don't take that and say "I'm ONLY going to think of myself.", because that's not what I'm saying. Give, love, donate, embrace...but, never feel inferior. Negative words, negative thoughts, and negative reactions only create more of said things. Feelings and thoughts are like a virus, and they spread quickly and without fear. If you have a Happy High, chances are you're going to ride that high and things will shine brighter, feel warmer and be more uplifting. But, if you bottom out on your feelings and thoughts, they snowball, and that's an even harder pattern to break.

Short of being just blatant and telling you that you're a fucking moron for not being happy (no matter what your situation is, because believe me, i've been on rock bottom, and there's always some glimmer of light to concentrate your soul on following), I'm going to tell you to try and change your mindset. It's hard, believe me. I didn't get to this mentality in one day. It takes practice. It takes stepping out of situations mentally and evaluating them as quickly as you can, trying to find a positive spin, and then stepping back in, on a routine basis before you start to see it more often, and respond more quickly when you feel negativity encroaching on your situation and thoughts.

So, with all of that said, I'll leave you with this; Let's as a whole, put the "Happy" back in Happy Holidays. Let's put our fingers on the pulse of those we love around us, and if it feels dark and bitter, try and help them find that flicker of light in the darkness. But, ultimately, as the Human Race, let's remember that love, brotherhood, and family is what makes this world tolerable. If you strip away the clothes, tv's, ipods, and money, we're left with a fleshy shell that embodies feelings, emotions, thoughts, and heart. Concentrate on that, and fix what's broke, and highlight what's well, and ultimately...just maybe...we can figure out how to love one another a little easier.

That's enough for now, remember...think positive, be happy...and most of all...know that I'm better than you.

Sincerely your Secret Santa,

Tony Stark.....I mean....Knuckles

Fucking Ugly Hot Broads....

Here is the flaw in Beautiful Women: If you tell them that they are beautiful, they don't believe you. If you use the word "Gorgeous", then you want to fuck them (and let's face it, sometimes it's true...because, honestly, who doesn't want to fuck a gorgeous human?). And, anytime you use the word "Stunning!", they wonder why you're using such a big word to describe them.

Look women, take note: You are ALL beautiful to someone. Every-Single-Fucking-One-Of-YOU!!! So, when someone, one day, starts up an awkward conversation with you...and says you caught his eye, don't fire back with "Why?". It took that man WEEKS of courage to build up the gumption to say that! He 1) Assumed you were already taken, because he thinks you're so amazing. 2) So hot, that he perfected the best way to say what he wanted to say without sounding like a sleazeball, or a pervert...and 3) He is paying you a compliment. Whether he wants to bone you or not...it's a compliment. Take it initially! Then, feel the guy out. Nooooo....idiot...not feel his trouser snake....the personality, the intention...the reason he's so into you. Believe it or not, most of the time we have good intentions. It's your response that determines where it goes from there. Say, for instance, I approach a woman in a mall that I find MADLY attractive, and say "Hello. There's really not many ways to do this properly, but I find you quite attractive, and I was wondering if you would want to have a drink with me sometime?", and you reply back with "Why would I want to have a drink with some random guy that approached me in the mall?"...*BANG!* here you go....you flipped your Bitch Switch for no reason. He was being kind, and appropriate, and articulate, and you got all Sheniqua on his ass. Well, here's where it goes from here: If he has the charisma to actually talk to women, he will finally convince you to have the drink, continue to woo you, and then pay you back for being a bitch to him, by dropping your ass like Snooki's ass in a techno club. Option 2 is, if you're not feeling the chemistry, but you're a nice human, you say "Thank you. That is so kind, but I'm currently not dating, and prefer to just stay with my girlfriends for awhile."....and then, you have the final...and wonderful...outcome: "That is so sweet. And, I know, it's not easy to approach someone in public, but...yes, you look sincere...let me get your number and we'll see if we can't meet up at a party or something with me and my friends?"

There you have it. We men, look for mates for life also. We have NO idea how to approach you without offending you, causing chaos, or just generally pissing you off. We DO know that if we speak properly, stand up straight (like mama said), and are honest, then we SHOULD receive the same respect.

Here's the sitch...the reason you are attracted to us, and we're attracted to you is for mating purposes. That's just science. So, yes, ultimately, your phrase "You just wanna fuck me!" is invalid, because it is true, in a primal sense. I want to be with you, marry you, reproduce with you (or at least practice doing so), and die with you. But, the attitude that goes along with it...whether questioning, judgmental, disrespectful, or what-have-you...that, well, determines how much turmoil you endure in your future.

Even yours truly has had his heart broke a few times. Yup! I've been the DUMPEE, as often as I've been the DUMPER!! (when i pull a curb job, it's usually for valid reasons that are not aligning for the future of the relationship....which usually include: you're a psycho bitch, and i didn't know this until we started dating)

So, I know...

I was quite shy in my youth. I say "Quite.", but mean, VERY....

I kind of accepted girls that thought I was cute, no matter what their personality was, because I felt inadequate. Then, I finally found out, that we are human...and all humans will EVENTUALLY (by the rule of ratio) find another human that is equally attracted to them, as vice versa. So, I began my life of experiments (a.k.a "dating"), and have enjoyed myself ever since.

At heart, I am a romantic. I speak the truth, and I pull no punches. "Do I look fat in these jeans?" "Nope, you look like you have Jean Colored Skin!"

But, I am also quite sympathetic with the hurdles that women have created for themselves over the years. Which, now, turns out to be more of a competition with one another, than for the attention of a man of value. Because, you know as well as I do, no man gives a shit about your name brand shoes, belt, purse, or nail polish...We want value. Well, men of value, want value.

Another thing that irks me is the "Oh, you only talked to me because...", idea. If you're overweight, you think we're a Chubby Chaser. If you're Black, we have a thing for the Chocolate...Little....Tall...Skinny...you're all fucking so paranoid to the point of loneliness that you finish scaring the good ones off, and leaving nothing but room for the scum. Which, if that's what you want, fine...but if not, listen to my words:

It's a RULE OF RATIO!!! For every attractive female that I tell (honestly) is attractive....1 out of 50 will think I'm sincere. (i dare you to prove me wrong...ask any man) I, myself, am an honest flirt. Not a flirt in the sake of "Let's fuck!", but a flirt in the sake of; Your husband is present, and I'll still say "If only you weren't married.....Oops! Paul, didn't see you there!" HA! Laugh. Giggle. But, you know what, it's an honest compliment, mixed with a worthwhile quip. But, if you have a broad that thinks "Did you hear how Johnny was acting tonight?"...then, things go screwy. Because, here's the thing, I learned a looooooooong time ago, that life is short. If you weren't told you were pretty today, and I can do so, then I will fucking say it. No holds barred. If you look good, I will say so. If you don't, then I will pass on the comment altogether. But, there are those unique few...those...guiding stars...that I go after, and I'll admit, you have to throw a few darts before you hit the Bullseye, but sometimes...there's that ONE!!! And, you say what you mean, and mean what you say and you get....."But, why me?"..............

Fucking really? "Why me?" Now, I feel so deflated that my words mean nothing to you that I want to say, "Because, you have tits?"...because, I feel so emasculated after telling you something honest, that you questioned the validity of, that now I feel the need to hide it with a joke, lie, or a jab.

You see? Your insecurity, is what fuels our response, and vice-versa.

Anyhow, that's enough, you get the point.

Stop being stuck up, shy, and precautionary...

For fuck's sake, if some guy says "YOU'VE GOT NICE TITS!!!", prove him right....

- Forever -

Knuckles

A Fistful of Monsters in my Closet...

"Concentrate long enough on a focal point of negativity, and it will consume you wholly." ~ Knuckles

I submit to you, my version of self help for the weak minded fuckwit.

Well, I guess you can be one or the other, or both, and still need this advice, but it will definitely shine some light on all the above.

Negativity is a monster. I mean a real bad, PMS'ing, fire spewing, cunt of a monster. It causes hate. It causes depression. It causes anger, and resentment, and fear, and a whole slew of other shit. Negativity also causes us to see shit with a slanted view. Now, I for one admit to submitting to this demon from time to time. It's a constant uphill battle to fight off this raging whoremonster, but I do a damn good job. But, what I've also learned is that it's harder to UNDO the effects of Negativity than it is to prevent it.

Imagine this:

You're a child. Maybe, 5 or 6 years old. You've got loving parents that buy you nice clothes, fun toys, and have given you a comfortable life. In your bedroom you have your walls painted to your idea of fun specifications, your toys are where you like to keep them, and your clothes are hung neatly in your closet.

One night, you go to bed, and you leave your closet door slightly open, and (unbeknownst to you, there's a sweater sleeve hanging out on the doorknob, a la Monster's Inc) you are in your bed, with the lights out before you notice this. Something goes *bump* in your closet and #POOF!# your sanctuary has all of a sudden become your tomb. You stare into this void...you stare...and stare...and try to make out what it was that made that noise, and you eventually see the sleeve slide off the handle and "HOLY FUCKING SHIT!! IT'S A GOT-DAMNED MONSTER!!!" *BANG!* under your sheets you go to hide, where you are nearly pissing your pants, and you do your best to stay awake until the sun comes up.

Now, as a child, you'll eventually fall asleep, and awaken and wearily open your closet door to find nothing there. But, now the bug has been planted. "There's something in there!" Now your room doesn't feel so bright and happy. You don't see it as Disneyland anymore. More like a torture chamber of doom that some horrible beast is going to jump out and chew off your little cocktail shrimp sized weenie. (I'm a boy, we think of weird shit like that)

=

Now, this is where I like to relay my 90%-10% view on life. You see, that closet consumed that kid...one little fucking thing...consumed his thoughts, his day, his life...and, after checking to see if there was something there, and finding nothing, all he had to do was reassure himself nothing was there, and move on. But, something that was 10% of his day, became 100% thereafter.

Here's where we do this with adults. Say for instance you hear at Church that it's wrong to be gay. You'd never heard that, but you hear it from your Pastor/Preacher/Priest. You go home, and type into Google: Being Gay is Wrong...and KABOOM!!...a million things pop up and you start reading it. You read it into the night, and go to bed thinking about it. Now, you've piqued your interest, and you go back to some of those pages you visited the previous night, at work the next day. The more you read things from "People that know this for a fact" (self proclaimed), the more you feel like YOU know it as fact as well. Now, you start asking around, and find similar minded people to talk about it with. The next thing you know...you're at ant-homosexual rallies spouting bigoted verbality at anyone that will listen.

You had a perfectly happy life. Full of love, happiness, and kindness...and the Negativity consumed you to the point that you forgot about the 90%, and started focusing on the monster in the closet.

=

I see the same thing happen with my friends that are unemployed, or just out of a loving relationship that suddenly failed, or their life just isn't going the way they want. But, they have a friend like me to turn to...a good friend...that's 10% on it's own. They normally have family, that's 10%. A roof over your head -> 10%....and the numbers keep adding up. But, it's that Negative 10% that keeps their attention. I've written blogs before about how these fucked up partners in relationships find a man or woman that is 90% of what they wanted, but they fart in their sleep, or watch Jersey Shore, or some other knuckle dragging nonsense...and, that 10% encompasses them to the point that they start looking for someone that has the 10% that the person that they're with is missing, and eventually leave 90% for the 10% person, and finish unhappy and realize they fucked up when it's too late.

Look cock-knot, we all have a miserable beast in our closet. The best thing to do, is to nut up, and get your weak minded ass out of bed and kick the fucking door shut with authority, and choose happiness/positivity. Because if you walk through life looking into the closet, you're never going to play with your toys, paint your room, hug your parents, or crank on your noodle the same way again. You're constantly going to be looking over your shoulder at that crack in the door and peering inside to see that lack of a job, or that broken heart, or that exploded fuck doll. (or whatever else saddens you)

I know, I know...it's harder than it sounds...but, Tomorrow's big brother is Today, and what Today says...Tomorrow will listen to.

So, do me a favor, and stop hating others. Stop dragging yourself through the mud. Stop focusing on shit that really has nothing that directly effects your day-to-day reality. Other people have their own demons to fight, without you being another one. Because, when you hate, or your down, or when you are just a fuckhole altogether...you sprout horns, grow a tail, and become one of those raging hatemongers, and who wants that to be their legacy?

Kick that door shut. Live in the light. Embrace love. Duct tape that hole in your fuck doll and get back to plowing it, because Tomorrow just told me that Today said "I may not be at the party tomorrow, so toss one back for me!"

I love you all. You inspire me to write. You give my mind a constant workout. And, some of you give me a reason to rub one out. So, to all of you, thank you...you make my heart love more, my brain more intelligent and my....well....we'll leave it at that.


Monsterously yours,

Knuckles

There's No Other Place That I'd Rather Be...

I've been around this world many times. I've seen other countries, other cities, other continents...but, no other place on this planet has felt like Home, quite like Los Angeles, California. Many years ago, I rolled into L.A. with little-to-no idea of what I was getting myself into. I remember driving in with the U-Haul behind me and passing through various shady neighborhoods and thinking to myself "Fuck me. What have I gotten myself into?", and then pulling around a corner from North Hollywood, into Studio City. Immediately after I crossed under the 101 Freeway it was like Dorothy walking out of her house into Oz for the first time. What was previously gray and dark, was now green and sunny. I pulled into Archstone Studio City and found myself to be in a haven of luxury. I looked over to the olympic sized swimming pool and saw the sunlight dancing off of it. The sun beat warmly on my face, but I wasn't miserable. Unlike the East Coast, or the Midwest, this heat was pleasant. Almost, comforting. I took a deep breath, stretched my creaking bones from such a long trip, and smelled the most amazing things. Later I would find out that these were Lilac and Sage mixing together. Truly, one of the most incredible smells you will ever inhale. But, one of my favorite, and most unique smells of Southern California is hands down the Psoralea Pinnata, also know as the Grape Kool-aid Plant (obviously, because of the smell). That one, if no one tells you, will have you walking around scratching your head for days during the summer, trying to figure out "What the fuck smells so much like Grape Kool-Aid (or Grape Nerds)?!" Another of my favorite things of Los Angeles, is the cultural diversity. I have told many people that, if Canada fucked Mexico, Los Angeles would be it's offspring. Against many misconceptions, most Angelenos (regardless of skin color, country origin, or what-have-you) are very laid back, very kind, and overtly helpful. Granted, there is a Big City mentality, but...it's a big city. I just LOVE hopping on the subway (yes, L.A. has a subway), and zipping down to Little Tokyo to see friends, have authentic Asian cuisine, or to just feel an escape from the world. You can always find a man pushing a cart down the street selling chicharrones (pork rinds), fruit, or tacos. (real tacos, not that Taco Bell bullshit) So, whether you want 5 Star Dining, or a taco from Pedro under the overpass, you're set for whatever your taste buds desire. Along those same lines, if you find the rare "Local/Born and Raised" Angeleno, they are usually of some kind of mixed parentage. "My Mom is Mexican, and my Dad is Russian." "My Mom is Persian, my Dad is Chinese." It's always interesting to see where the ride will take you. But, as I'm a foody, I love the fact you can get authentic food, from all nationalities (made by Mexicans..HA!), in any restaurant. If I was a big "shopper" I'd include how there's Robertson Boulevard, Rodeo Drive, the VAST multitude of malls...etc...but, I don't shop that much, so I'll leave that. I'm also leaving out "Hollywood". People mistake "Hollywood" and "Los Angeles" all the time. Yes, they are hand in hand, but you can live and exist in Los Angeles, and not have to be involved in Hollywood one bit. Granted, you'll still have the occasional run-in with a celebrity at your grocery store, but you never take pictures as others would expect, because we're both just trying to make a living in this city. One thing I should note that is a perk of Hollywood being in Los Angeles, is it brings every wanna-be model, actress, and singer to it's shores, which makes for some FABULOUS eye candy year 'round. Which brings me to my most desirable part of my home city. (after all, isn't Home where your heart is?) The topography of Los Angeles, and Southern California all together. From the moment you drive or fly into L.A., you see snow capped mountains, and the ocean, sandy beaches, tall palm trees, valleys, hills...it's all there. At certain times of the year, you can LITERALLY go snowboarding, and surfing in the same day. You can sit on the beach and watch the sun go down, breathing in the ocean air, and listening to crash of the waves. If you have your own board, you can drive up to Pointe Dume, paddle out and sit, silently, and listen to the ocean speak to you, and the random seagull pass over. Then, you can get in your car and drive over to Joshua Tree and walk 10 minutes into a desert, and find a giant rock, sit in the sun in what I can only describe as a sound vacuum. For awhile your ears ring, because they're always subjected to some noise pollution of some sort...but, after 30 minutes or so, you just hear...silence. Sometimes a lizard will scuttle off in the distance, but you can hear it with almost animalistic hearing, because there's nothing else out there to drown out the little rascal scurrying off. I can sit out there for hours. There are sooooo many more reasons I love Los Angeles, California. The up and coming musicians, the architecture, the history, the museums, the lifestyle...but, if I don't stop here, you're going to get tired of reading. So, here it is, a few of my many reasons I call L.A. home. Normally, I'm ranting, and raving, and angry at the world, but as you can see, there are some things that make a lasting impression on me, that I will always hold near and dear to my heart. There's no other place that I'd rather be. Truly, Johnny

A Fistful of Funny Fuckers...

You know, it's been a weird few months. A lot of ups and downs. But, I've always been the optimistic type, and I continually manage to pull through the darkness fairly easily, into the light. Where most people give power to the darkness, I fight it head on.
Take today for instance. Today marks the 14th year that one of my two best friends (both oddly named Josh...maybe I'm just lazy and didn't want to learn a new name?), passed away in a car crash. It's very easy to look back at the good times, and then let the waves of negative thoughts wash over you with regret, remorse, and loneliness. But, not this fucker. Nope. I fight for happiness every step of the way. I find a happy thought, like Peter-Fucking-Pan, and I hang onto it until I can fly.
Sometimes I need a little help. This is where I throw in the hydraulics. Last night, it was George Carlin. That man can leave me in stitches every time. The night before, it was Don Rickles. He's the original gangster of comedy in my opinion. But, lately, any time I need a true chuckle. I mean, one of those deep down in the cockles of your heart laughs, I turn to the Comedian Luke Francis he has this bit he does about Church's Chicken that he delivers with just a raw honesty that cracks me up to no end.

Needless to say, stand up comedians are always a good source of levity for me.

I can listen to Joe Rogan's CD over and over and never grow tired of it. But, there's something about European comics and their perspectives on life that just have me falling out of my seat laughing. It really helps to find "your comedian type". I know a lot of people that don't watch stand-up. Mostly, I attribute these types as dull and humorless. For an hour or more, you have your own personal Court Jester that you can see life through new eyes. Laugh at similar scenarios, and just generally escape your mundane routine, in exchange for a journey down Funny Lane.

Well, other than just writing down my thoughts today, there's really nothing more to say. Go out to a comedy club, find someone that says something that tickles your funny bone, and make that person your go-to for a little piece of happiness when you need it most.

Jokingly yours,
Knuckles

P.S. Vote for The Stallion here for me. It'd make my soul happy:

RELEASE THE KRAKHEAD!!!!

....see what I did there?....<~~ It's a "Release the Kraken!!" joke....ahhhhh..fuck you, it's funny....

Here's something I haven't touched on in awhile, but really pulls my ball hair.

Self Proclaimed Geniuses/Bitches/Trendsetters/Party Animals....also known as...complete fucking idiots.

Let me start with the one that annoys me beyond all measure. The "Bitch".
"I can go from Zero to Bitch in 1 second flat!" "If being a bitch is what it takes for me to make my point clear, then I guess that's what I'll have to be." and, so on...you all know the person I'm talking about. The female (and sometimes queeny gay guy) that thinks she's being assertive, and aggressive, and Alpha, when all she is proving is her inability to articulate herself well enough to get her pro-idiot point across. "I get called a bitch a lot, but that just shows I stand up for myself." No, it fucking doesn't, it shows you are of inferior intellect and you think that yelling and being condescending will make you feel superior to the person you're locking horns with. When in all actuality, you feel threatened by said person, or else you wouldn't have to act in such a disgusting manner.
Look, no one likes to be made to look a fool. No one, but being a raging cunt only separates you further from the intellectual point you're trying to make to begin with. If you feel that you're a "bad ass", then you're not only mistaken, but also immature in your thought process. Because, life isn't about who can "out-bitch" the person next to you. It's about right and wrong. It's about moral and immoral. It's about being a fucking idiot, and being fucking smart.
Which, brings me to Fucktard Classification #2:
The Self Proclaimed Genius (also known as, someone being "Google Smart")
I will start with a quote from Neil deGrasse Tyson: "With automatic spell checkers running unleashed over what we compose, our era is that of correctly spelled typos."
Yet, you get this onslaught of people that constantly post something to their facebook or twitter accounts that is witty or whimsical that someone else thought up. Whether it's text on an image that says "Fuck This Monday! I'm Ready For Friday!" or a quote by some author or philosopher that they'd never heard of until they'd seen it on someone that they deem "Their Smart Friend"'s wall, and stole it for their own, these people run amok among us. Now, here's where these basement dwellers become scary; They are also the kind of fool that gives out medical advice to people that they drummed up from multitudes of sites they've perused over the internet.
Say, for shits-n-tickles that you have a headache. But, this is no NORMAL headache, it's the headache that puckered your asshole into your lungs. So, you text Fucktardio and ask "You ever had a headache that puckered your asshole into your lungs?" Well, Fucktardio, being the person that he is wants to impress with his superior intellect and begins zipping from site to site with his keywords. "Headache" "Extreme" "Fucking Awful" "Pucker"....what-the-fuck-ever..."Yeah bro, you've got a tumor. You see, my great uncle's aunt was a doctor on my Mom's side, and I was bestowed with all her wisdom. So, trust me, I'm not wrong on this." and then Fucktardio has planted the seed of stupidity into your inferior brain. The problem with the internet is this: There's a difference between fact, information, and news. Any cock-knot can post on a message board, and say he's a Board Certified Physician. (spell check helped him spell all those words, otherwise it would have come out Bored Country Fried Fission) So, you, being Fucktardio, go to this message board and see that this cunt bubble has posted some information for another person that has a similar problem to what you're searching for. You take this as gospel, and go forth with your newfound information, and pollute the world with it. When, all the while, if you would have just said "No fucking clue dude. Go see a doctor like a big boy should." everything would have been fine. After all, your 2 minute Google search is OBVIOUSLY just as reassuring as 12 years of Medical Training.
But, the assholery doesn't stop there. Oh no!! These are the people that ramble adamantly in your face about the most ignorant of shit. Or, if you bring up a topic of discussion, of something...let's say...that they just watched a special on Discovery about, then you have to listen to them correct you, and or "school you" on whatever it is that makes them feel superior. But, as soon as their 1 hours worth of knowledge (including their 15 seconds of knowledge on the new Tide with Bleach...because, let's face it, their knowledge came with commercials) is over, then you get the "guessing" of what it is, and they will fight and argue their point, whether it be true, or not, because they refuse to lose face in such a topic that they just OWNED in their mind. They will bark, embellish, talk over, make fun of your new shirt, or whatever they need to do, just to detract from their lack of information.
Speaking of new shirts...I want to give a massive FUCK YOU!!!! to Ed Hardy and his disgusting and atrocious clothing, and a big THANK YOU!!! to time for slowly making it uncool to wear it.
Trendy-Ass-Posers!!!
By definition, a Poser is: "One who attempts to appear to others as something they are not, especially by their manner of dress; a charlatan". We have in L.A. a time of year we call "Poser Season"....okay, I say "We.", but I mean "Me." It's basically that time of year that Pilot's are being shot. There's a massive influx of 17 to 25 year olds that are looking to be famous, fit in, and be the coolest kid in Hollywood. When, in all actuality, they're just in a pissing contest with one another. Crocs, Ed Hardy, Von Dutch, Juicy Couture, and whatever name brand you can throw at them. They spend more money on trying to be cool, than they do trying to succeed. "I'm wearing sarongs now. Yeah, it's the new thing." Is it reallllllly asshole? Why is it the new thing? Because we're so dumbed down as a society now that we need to look to other cultures to bite off their traditional dress to make a statement?
But, it doesn't stop with clothes. It's their coffee. Their hair products. Their music. It's always so obscure that you just want to punch them. Look, I admit that some things are "better" if they're purchased off the map. But, I don't shove it down everyone's throat I see so that they know I am a "trendsetter".
Here's a laugher. So, I was in Denver a few years back, and my best friend took me to a bar that his wife was dancing at (not that kind of dancing, it was a belly dancing thing, for fuck's sake people, i do have friends with some class after all), and everyone in this joint had those nasty white people dreadlocks and it smelled of patchouli. This broad (waitress) comes over to the table and hands me a one page paper menu and it PROUDLY proclaims at the top that this is an ORGANIC bar. Cool....no problem...
I order a vodka martini when the most annoying and troubling thing comes out of this chicks mouth: "Well, just so you know, our vodka is organic. And, we don't accept credit cards, only checks."
Okay, stooge, you're telling me, rather than me having a piece of plastic that I hold onto for AT LEAST 4 years at a time, cut up at the end, and put in the recycle bin...is somehow WORSE than cutting down thousands, and millions of trees, to make into little pieces of paper that will just get thrown away? Am I missing something here? The lengths that people will go to, just to seem "More organic"...or, in my eyes "cooler and more passionate about life" than the next person, simply amazes me.
And, after all that, I bring myself to my final fuckhole:
The Self Proclaimed Party Animal
This is the person that (male or female) will fit into one of two categories: 1) They know all the cool bars. They know every trendy hotspot for clubs (of which makes them bleed over into the previous category), where the neatest after hours places are, and where everyone is meeting for breakfast. Usually this person has a RotoDial of Skanks and Posers that they can call at any moment and will be at their side. They pretend (or possibly do) know every doorman and bartender, and will consistently let you know so. They throw money around "Even though I don't have to. They know me so well here, I could get comped all night if I wanted.", and do their best to be 'seen'. Or: 2) The person that once had a fairly social life, that hasn't for years, but still proclaims shit like "LET'S TEAR THIS CITY DOWN!!!" when you go out to happy hour. Or "BRO!! I'm going to drink you under the table!!", when you haven't been out with this person in months. Look, dick hole, I'm sorry you had 5 kids, and have a mortgage now, but that doesn't mean you need to try and recapture your youth by excreting pure idiocy from your pores every time we walk through the doors of a bar. You screaming at me and saying "YOU READY FOR SHOTS?!?!?!" does not make a space/time wormhole magically appear around us and scoot us back to a dorm room in college. It looks sad, and desperate and you need to just learn to be secure with your position. And, for the record....No......you fucking can't......[in reference to drinking me under the table: I am a professional drinker, and I should never be challenged, or I shall be forced to expose my true super power]

All-in-all, there's just a multitude of moron in this world lately. I attribute it to this....and, you're going to need to follow me here, it's going to get tricky:

Say, you have an A level student. Pure genius. Knows the subject matter backwards and forwards and is well versed on the whole topic.
This person teaches a class, and a student that also wants to be a teacher/professor (just assume everyone wants to teach after this point), and passes the class with a C.
Okay, so you have a C level student that graduates, and is now teaching students. This teacher teaches a class, and the next kid makes a C in his class. So, what is a C in this class, would have undoubtedly been an F in the first person's class. Yet, he passes, and HE becomes a teacher. Then, you have an ongoing trickle down effect or morons. When, inevitably, you have a knuckle dragging cave dweller teaching a class that he shouldn't even be allowed to collect the garbage for. And, here lies the conundrum...how do we recapture the intellect we once had? Is it a lack of passion? Or just laziness? Is it a lack of knowledge that we're all becoming inferior humans? Or, is it just that we know, but don't give a fuck?

Regardless of what it is, I think that we need to have more people creating quotable quotes, and less people reposting someone elses intelligent quips. We need less people biting off someone elses flavor, and more innovators. We just need to wise up, and start being better humans again.

When we start having a generation of kids that act like drug addicts, without actually taking the drugs, then we have a problem. I don't want to grow old with some kid that watched Jersey Shore all the way through college as President.

We already elected one retard. Isn't that enough?

Anyhow, go read a book, or take a class, or just open your mind to the fact that you're more than the clothes you wear, the labels that surround you, and the quotes your rip off. You're a unique human. One squiggly spooge that made it to an egg. So, stand up, have some pride, and don't ACT smarter...MAKE yourself smarter.

And, please, put down the fucking phone when I ask you a question you don't know...I know you have google on quick launch. Idiot.

Moronically yours,
Knuckles

So, a guy walks into a hospital...

...and, eventually walks out.

That's the good story.

Now, I'm going to update from here, so I don't have to tell the story a million times.

It all started at 12noon yesterday, 13 June, 2012.

I hadn't eaten breakfast, but saw that (for her birthday) my Mom had fried some ham. (similar to that of Thanksgiving) I took a tiny bite, swallowed, and all hell ensued. I started heaving, and wretching, and slobbering everywhere. I tried "waiting" for it to go down...nothing...until after my Mom's birthday cake's candles were blown out, and this is where I decided to go to the Emergency Room.

I wait in the Emergency Room for 6 fucking hours. This is with constant visits to nurses, doctors, and the suck asking "WHAT THE FUCK?!?!"

Fastforward to the first room. They give me a shot to make me puke. But, this makes no sense to me, being that if you take a volleyball, and stick it in a water hose, and then turn on the hose....well, you've seen Bugs Bunny cartoons.

Anyhow, I sit there for 3 more hours. With off and on wretching fits from the stupid shot, until my toes were curling. This is when they decided "Thing's are fucked."

They admit me, and take me to a room. Where I manage to befriend every hot nurse between here and there. (pictures to follow)

I answer EVERY question they give me as comedically as possible. "Do you drink alcohol?" "It's according to what you've got?" "Are you allergic to latex?" "Why? What've you heard?" "Does this problem occur often?" "No way, I was an actor for many years, I've had much bigger meat in my throat than this."...and they rolled on...

Eventually, I was rolled down to the OR, where I befriended some "Nurses in Training" that I had in stitches as well, of which, later would run for their lives....this is where things go a little "awry".

You see, as with any Writer, Poet, Actor, or Artist, there is always that proverbial "Hiding behind the tears of a clown.", but the problem is, mine isn't tears.....you know what, I'll explain what happened, rather than explain the inner demon itself.

So, I have everyone laughing...and "Yes ma'am." "No sir."-ing everyone...but then, they gave me a strong drug, that ALSO gives you amnesia. I liken this to What Bruce Banner has to deal with, because....

When I woke up the FIRST time (i have an ENORMOUS tolerance to all things foreign, drugs, booze, what-have-you), and every surgery I've ever had, I've always awaken halfway through.

Well, let's just say it's never pleasant when I do. By firsthand accounts from multiple sources, I begin to wake up and start pulling cables and hoses out and raise up and point, like the Crypt Keeper from a casket, at the Drug Dude and say "Youuuuuu!!!" "You're the bastard that took my manhood!!" And, begin to lurch forward, (this is where, luckily, my mother had been handy) "Youuuuuu motherfucker!! You took my MANHOOD!!!" and the guy starts backing up asking "Me? What did I do again?" and looks to my Mom, and she asks "What are you talking about "Your manhood?" and I open my mouth and point inside it. Where she realizes immediately what I was talking about. [You see, about 20 years ago, I had a similar incident that wasn't as drastic, where the surgeon had torn off half  my fucking uvula during the surgery, leaving me with...all I can describe it as, Sloth's head from Goonies in the back of my throat]...I keep creeping forward until someone says: "GIVE HIM SOMETHING TO KNOCK HIM OUT BEFORE HE GETS UP!!", where they do, and I fall back to the bed. This is where the gentleman looks to my Mom and says "I'm not sure what I did, but I'm quite positive that if he would have got out of that bed, he is large enough, that he probably would have hurt me pretty bad. I've decided, when he wakes up, I want him to be my BFF!!" and goes back to work.

Hours later, the begin to wake me up...my "HULK SMASH!!" moment far behind us...but, there's an all new problem. You see, I look over, and the guy injecting the "wake up juice" into the needle is none other than Luke Francis (i don't fucking know why). I start jarring around, and say "Luke!! Get the fuck away from that!!" ".....Who the fuck is Luke man?....."Stop fucking with me!! GET YOUR HANDS OFF THAT SHIT!!! This isn't funny, it's DANGEROUS!! I'm not gonna be fodder for one of your bits!" And, this is where the guy quickly goes over and finishes injecting the serum into the little hole, and I went from staring Luke Francis directly in the face, to staring the Drug Dude directly in the face, where I calmly say "So....I didn't talk out my ass too much when I was under did I?" and lie back down.

But, apparently during ALL of my shenanigans, I still managed to flirt with every female nurse (except one that i seemingly called  a troll, and asked for her to go get someone 'prettier' to do her job)....what an asshole.


The rest...well, the drugs have worn off, and the doctor tells me a couple of nice stories. One consisting of "Yeah, there was a baseballs worth of food lodged in your esophagus. It was like a spiderwed of a mess down there. And, that it had accumulated over days, not just immediately. It seems that I'm LITERALLY allergic to abrasive foods, and they enflame my esophagus, causing food to get lodged. Letting the occasional morsel slip by, but, just waiting for that cunning keystone that will fuck up my world.

Doc said "You know, if that would have ruptured, giving it another hour or two, you would have probably died within the hour from being so septic."

Sooo....close call for Knuckles.

Now, I'm lying in bed, with my sternum feeling like someone bashed it numerous times with a sledge hammer, and my throat feeling like someone attached a Brillo pad to a broom handle and shoved it down my throat, and started churning butter.

The sad part is, after paying for a shitload of things, I am absolutely broke, and I know I don't ask for money, but I would HAPPILY accept some donations, to help me pay for my medications. (that are quite expensive)

Well, that's my last 22 hours.

What'd you do?

-Knuckles