PISSING VINEGAR Vol. 27: Random Hostility, Book Three
Written June 2002

Okay, here's the situation...

There have been a lot of topics floating around in my poor, fragile head over the past three weeks, with nary a chance to jot them down. And now, they've piled up higher than a hideously ugly nymphomaniac's internet porn bills. So, it only seems fitting that we have another heart-stopping edition (that one was for Pat Quinn) of Random Hostility...

MY FUCKING JOB
Okay, so I'm never tickled pink about my employment, but lately it seems my disease of workplace displeasure has spread like malaria all over the fucking office. And you bet your ass there are reasons. I won't go into specifics, but let's just say when it gets to the point where you're doing enough work for three people, not counting the slack you pick up for other people too fucking lazy to do shit the right way, without getting so much as the occasional pat on the back, all the while knowing beyond the shadow of a doubt that you're the best employee they've got, but they'd still rather congratulate the lazy fucks on their so-called "good work", and oh by the way Willie, that last idea you had was so good I claimed it as my own and let me tell you the suits are mightly pleased with me right now, oh what's that, you want a raise, well that's too fucking bad, when's the last time you had a good idea, you're lucky to be here... I think you see where I'm going with this, and that is ANYWHERE THEY'LL RESPECT ME AS THE EFFICIENT, LIKABLE, HARDEST-FUCKING-WORKING PERSON IN THE BUSINESS TODAY.


THE INTERNET (OR LACK THEREOF)
Let's get it straight for those who don't know: I like to smoke. I smoke a lot, and my doctor will get very rich off my cancer-ridden ass somewhere down the line. Now, every once in a while, someone will suggest that I quit, saying some stupid shit like, "man, you are so addicted to that shit". I'll usually reply "Well, there's worse things to be addicted to". Case in point: the internet. I finally realized how addicted I am to the net when we lost it at work (there's that word again) nearly a week ago. Now, recently, I've enjoyed the services of Vibe at work, and anyone who has it knows how damn good it is. Imagine, then, losing that access to the universe you're so accustomed to. I'm living that nightmare, and I've actually found myself borderline cuckoo at work this week because it's not there. Then, when I come home, the first thing I do is turn on the computer and go. Now, I don't want to knock the computer I'm using, but it's a 33k, and going from Vibe to 33k is kinda like having the best sex in your life with Nicole Kidman over the span of a year, then all of a sudden having her chuck an 8x10 at you (not even autographed) and tell you you've got to take matters into your own hands from now on.

GEOCITIES
Oh, the problems I've had with you. Suffice to say I'm insulted by the notion that you actually believe I would pay my hard-earned cash for your service, even if you do throw in some extra space and a domain name. It's coming down to the wire, folks. Rumour has it that Geocities may soon not be available as a free service, and these yahoos (pun definitely intended) have started the gears a-turnin' on methods to get you to fork over the dough. For instance, over the past two months, Geocities has mysteriously started to give me strange problems, like eating pages, or killing links. I presume this is in a grand, conspired effort to eke ten clams a month out of me. Well, Geocities, allow me to offer you this piece of advice: Usually, consumers don't like getting poor service. I'll put it so you shitheads can understand... Let's say you go to the grocery store, and a nice lady offers you a squid roll. You take a bite, and (surprise) it tastes like burnt donkey balls with just a hint of cat piss. I ask you, are you going to forego the fact that you've just eaten something so disgusting that your taste buds have packed up and moved to your colon for the nicer conditions, and shell out some dough for a shiny box of four squid rolls? Exactly. Now fuck off with the disappearing page act, it's starting to make me think about angelfire... or tripod... you get the picture. Let me play with the dump truck or I'm getting the fuck out of the sandbox.


ON A COMPLETELY DIFFERENT TOPIC...
Don't ask about the circumstances that lead up to it, but I was watching Oprah about a week and a half ago. The subject was, basically, how the media is raising our children, and how negative some of the material is. I won't get into all the examples, but here's the one that really pissed me off. They had a woman on the show whose son got third-degree burns on his body while trying to recreate a stunt he saw on the MTV show "Jackass". She was complaining about how bad these shows are for kids to be watching, and we need to put a stop to it before someone is killed, and blah blah blah blah. Let's back the truck up, lady. Clips were shown of this boy and some of his friends doing all kinds of stupid shit for the camera... shit like running headlong into trees at top speed, and jumping off of roofs, doing backflips on piles of rocks... really stupid shit, and plenty of it, done at a variety of locations. Now, let's ask Mr. Common Sense about the situation... Mm-hmm... Okay... Mr. Common Sense was just wondering how a group of kids could get hold of a video camera, go to all of these different places, do all of these stunts, not to mention find the gasoline and source of flame that lead to that boy's condition... ALL without a parent or legal guardian having the slightest clue as to what was going on? And don't fucking tell me they sneaked off someplace without telling, the roof isn't the most logical hiding place. I'll lay it on the line, folks. What's wrong with our kids isn't on television, in video games, or on their stereos. It's sitting across from them at the dinner table (sometimes; other times daddy needs to meet with a client at the titty bar, while mommy downs a couple dozen valium and locks herself in the bathroom). It's this generation of really shitty parents who have learned that the key to parenting is to let Junior do whatever the fuck he wants until it makes you look bad... then you get to sue everybody. Jesus, you morons, are you that caught up in the fucking rat race that you can't sit down and talk with your kids? When I was growing up, my mom would drive 45 minutes to get to work, slave her ass off for upwards of 12 hours at a time, then drive 45 minutes to get home, then slave over the stove to make dinner for five, but Goddamit, she still had enough left in the tank to find out how our days went, and talk to us about any problems we had. What the fuck happened in between generations that made us think so selfishly as to believe that anything... ANYTHING AT ALL... deserves blame except ourselves. I admit, I really worry about myself, because I know I won't be there for my kids as much as I'd like to (separation kind of does that). But I'll be damned if I'm going to sue Cosmo if my daughter reads an article in 15 years on how to give the best head ever and ends up choking to death on some cock. Take some fucking responsibility, you fucks! The problem here isn't Marilyn Manson telling your kids to shoot their classmates. The problem is you NOT telling them not to. They're calling TV the "new babysitter". And if there's anything on the boob tube that should be taking some blame here, it's the Goddamn six o' clock news. Watch that soap opera every day for a month and see if your views on our shiny happy planet don't slide a bit to the homicidal side.


There, I feel better now. Before I go, I must apologize for the lack of PV this month. I assure you that everything's not fine, and there will be more to bitch about soon enough.

Here endeth the ePISSle.