Thursday, August 28, 2003
I'll make this short and sweet
I'm not the nicest guy in the world. I swear, I drink, I make racial slurs, I'm slightly sexist and yet I believe in feminism (in that I believe women should be allowed the same opportunities to pursue any course of action just as men do, so long as they do not infringe upon the rights of others or make men look bad), I'm a little bit conservative and I'm a little bit liberal, I'm a Republican and voted for Dubya even though I don't agree with a lot of his policies (anything beats Al Gore in the Oval Office), I'm pro-choice (insert "well why in the fuck did you vote for Dubya then" question here) and anti-gun control, my turn-ons are hockey, beer and chicks, and my turn-offs are old people behind the wheel and fat people behind the buffet table when they should be behind the salad bar.
There! Now that I've broken the ice a little, I suppose that I should let you in on a little secret; I am not politically correct. How is that relevant, you may ask? Well, to put it in Zelmo's terms, I don't give a damn about your feelings. Nor do I expect you to give a damn about mine. In fact, I don't even know who in the hell I'm talking to right now, though I suppose that over time I will slowly begin to discover just who in the hell reads these stupid things.
Needless to say, over the course of my stay here in this blogworld that I have allowed myself to enter, I will be discussing a wide variety of topics ranging from the political, to the religious (or preferably, anti-religious), to the racially charged, to your basic everyday bullshit that you've probably read on a thousand other blogs on a thousand other websites. Why am I so hellbent on discussing these issues that come along like johns to a whore, you ask?
Simple.
I like to vent. I like to talk about bullshit. I like to bitch and moan and complain to no one in particular about shit that pisses me off, whether it be the fat lady standing in front of me in the express lane at the supermarket with her WIC card in hand and her cart overflowing with junk food and baby formula while her cell phone is ringing and her remote starter is getting tangled up in her car keys to her brand-spanking-new 2003 Mustang convertible, or the stupid old fart that drives 20 mph down a 45 mph stretch of godforsaken wannabe-civilized country road stuck smack-dab in the middle of East Bumfuck, Illinois......and my ass is stuck behind him in traffic (okay, so I don't have a car...I don't even have an Illinois license, but that's not the point here), or the fact that I absolutely hate to wash dishes, or the fact that I believe that the world is actually a better place without Saddam Hussein in power over there in Iraq, but leave it to the bleeding-hearts in the United States of Americanically-correct to question how our government is providing them with the freedom that they take for granted.
Yeah, I know. Everyday life is one grand catastrophic mess on this carbon-based, biologically-enhanced rock floating in a vast sea of eternal cosmic pitch. But hey, a 6-pack of Icehouse makes it all good in the end, negro. *lights a cigar*
Don't worry though, dude (or dudette. Remember, equal rights for women here), not everything that I post here will be negative. I'm actually a pretty nice guy. One of the nicest fucking people that I've ever met, to be honest. I have to be nice in order to keep my charming facade alive, since that is what disguises Zelmo from the rest of the idiots in the world who wouldn't understand the fucker.
"But wait a minute," you ask, "Aren't...you Zelmo?"
Well, yes and no. You see, Zelmo is the identity I assume when I feel like letting my hair down and being a prick; when I have something worthwhile and utterly unapologizing to say, I become Zelmo. Any other day, I'm just some mild-mannered halfbreed Eskimo from Alaska living in Illinois named Roger. Of course, Zelmo thinks that the name Roger is the kind of name that you give to faggots and dogs, and the guy who I look at in the mirror doesn't look like a dog to me, so that kinda narrows it down. Am I gay? No. Now piss off.
Regardless, whether you love me or hate me or don't give a shit about me is inconsequential. All that matters is that you are you, and I am Zelmo, and the world is what we live in, and the universe is what that world consists of. In this mortal coil of three-dimensional sequential carbon-based time, that's really all that matters. A wise man by the name of Hutton, immortalized by the punk band Bad Religion, once said: "There is no vestige of a beginning, no prospect of an end...". And the more I hear that phrase, the more haunting it becomes. Until I realize that, in the end, what sins we commit in this lifetime, or what accomplishments that we achieve, matters little to the grand scheme of things. The measure of a man (or woman. Feminism, remember!) is not in the man or woman themselves, but in what other people think of them. This depends also upon what this person has accomplished in their lives and what lasting effect that their accomplishments have had upon others who share the same society as they have.
So the next dumbassed moron who comes up to you and says "I don't give a shit what people think of me", you have my permission to slap them across the face; you can tell 'em that Stone Cold Zelmo said so. Because what other people think of you does matter. Deep down, it matters to you because you are a human being, and human beings are naturally social parasites that feed off of the opinions of their peers. Those who say otherwise are only fooling themselves, and to prove it, the next time you encounter one of these lone wolf rebels, just tell them that Apathy Is For Queers. If that phrase goes over their heads, laugh at them for being naive, and then tell them that you're better than them because you know what "apathy" means and they don't. Then watch their pride kick in as they say something smartassed right back at you, to which you can reply to them, "See? You do give a shit what other people think about you. Why else would you be pissed off at me for belittling you? Come back when you become a man/woman, Spanky. HA HA HA!"
Write this phrase down so that you don't forget it. Or better yet, make it your motto. In fact, this will be today's Daily Motto, to use on the next dipshit that tries to mentally herniate you with their ghetto-stylin' indifference (you know, the "G" Thang).....
Apathy Is For Queers
Have a nice day!
(0) comments
There! Now that I've broken the ice a little, I suppose that I should let you in on a little secret; I am not politically correct. How is that relevant, you may ask? Well, to put it in Zelmo's terms, I don't give a damn about your feelings. Nor do I expect you to give a damn about mine. In fact, I don't even know who in the hell I'm talking to right now, though I suppose that over time I will slowly begin to discover just who in the hell reads these stupid things.
Needless to say, over the course of my stay here in this blogworld that I have allowed myself to enter, I will be discussing a wide variety of topics ranging from the political, to the religious (or preferably, anti-religious), to the racially charged, to your basic everyday bullshit that you've probably read on a thousand other blogs on a thousand other websites. Why am I so hellbent on discussing these issues that come along like johns to a whore, you ask?
Simple.
I like to vent. I like to talk about bullshit. I like to bitch and moan and complain to no one in particular about shit that pisses me off, whether it be the fat lady standing in front of me in the express lane at the supermarket with her WIC card in hand and her cart overflowing with junk food and baby formula while her cell phone is ringing and her remote starter is getting tangled up in her car keys to her brand-spanking-new 2003 Mustang convertible, or the stupid old fart that drives 20 mph down a 45 mph stretch of godforsaken wannabe-civilized country road stuck smack-dab in the middle of East Bumfuck, Illinois......and my ass is stuck behind him in traffic (okay, so I don't have a car...I don't even have an Illinois license, but that's not the point here), or the fact that I absolutely hate to wash dishes, or the fact that I believe that the world is actually a better place without Saddam Hussein in power over there in Iraq, but leave it to the bleeding-hearts in the United States of Americanically-correct to question how our government is providing them with the freedom that they take for granted.
Yeah, I know. Everyday life is one grand catastrophic mess on this carbon-based, biologically-enhanced rock floating in a vast sea of eternal cosmic pitch. But hey, a 6-pack of Icehouse makes it all good in the end, negro. *lights a cigar*
Don't worry though, dude (or dudette. Remember, equal rights for women here), not everything that I post here will be negative. I'm actually a pretty nice guy. One of the nicest fucking people that I've ever met, to be honest. I have to be nice in order to keep my charming facade alive, since that is what disguises Zelmo from the rest of the idiots in the world who wouldn't understand the fucker.
"But wait a minute," you ask, "Aren't...you Zelmo?"
Well, yes and no. You see, Zelmo is the identity I assume when I feel like letting my hair down and being a prick; when I have something worthwhile and utterly unapologizing to say, I become Zelmo. Any other day, I'm just some mild-mannered halfbreed Eskimo from Alaska living in Illinois named Roger. Of course, Zelmo thinks that the name Roger is the kind of name that you give to faggots and dogs, and the guy who I look at in the mirror doesn't look like a dog to me, so that kinda narrows it down. Am I gay? No. Now piss off.
Regardless, whether you love me or hate me or don't give a shit about me is inconsequential. All that matters is that you are you, and I am Zelmo, and the world is what we live in, and the universe is what that world consists of. In this mortal coil of three-dimensional sequential carbon-based time, that's really all that matters. A wise man by the name of Hutton, immortalized by the punk band Bad Religion, once said: "There is no vestige of a beginning, no prospect of an end...". And the more I hear that phrase, the more haunting it becomes. Until I realize that, in the end, what sins we commit in this lifetime, or what accomplishments that we achieve, matters little to the grand scheme of things. The measure of a man (or woman. Feminism, remember!) is not in the man or woman themselves, but in what other people think of them. This depends also upon what this person has accomplished in their lives and what lasting effect that their accomplishments have had upon others who share the same society as they have.
So the next dumbassed moron who comes up to you and says "I don't give a shit what people think of me", you have my permission to slap them across the face; you can tell 'em that Stone Cold Zelmo said so. Because what other people think of you does matter. Deep down, it matters to you because you are a human being, and human beings are naturally social parasites that feed off of the opinions of their peers. Those who say otherwise are only fooling themselves, and to prove it, the next time you encounter one of these lone wolf rebels, just tell them that Apathy Is For Queers. If that phrase goes over their heads, laugh at them for being naive, and then tell them that you're better than them because you know what "apathy" means and they don't. Then watch their pride kick in as they say something smartassed right back at you, to which you can reply to them, "See? You do give a shit what other people think about you. Why else would you be pissed off at me for belittling you? Come back when you become a man/woman, Spanky. HA HA HA!"
Write this phrase down so that you don't forget it. Or better yet, make it your motto. In fact, this will be today's Daily Motto, to use on the next dipshit that tries to mentally herniate you with their ghetto-stylin' indifference (you know, the "G" Thang).....
Apathy Is For Queers
Have a nice day!
(0) comments
![[ Registered ]](http://www.diarist.net/registry/button3.gif){kind=small}
