Random Anger Management

Hello my Good Ol' Three Faithful Readers. Today's post is to do some anger management because, quite frankly, this is simply not my week... it's sucking a lot for some reason.

So, the first thing to nag me was that as I tried to make this post through Blogger everything was in spanish. I know, I know... I know I live in Mexico... I know my natural language is El Español... but I hate spanish when reading my Internet doses, when reading books, when playing videogames, when listening to music and I especially really hate spanish to the point of total and complete disgust that makes me want to regurgitate is spanish in my letter soup!

Point is, I'm reminded of that anger each and every time I go to Google and now - thanks to Google aquiring Blogger - each and every time I visit Blogger. I know I can change the settings... some people have pointed that out for me thinking I'm some kind of computer illiterate... but that works for the normal, common, uneducated man. Because every time I clean my computer of cookies, spyware, malware and all that *evil*ware in the world... I lose my settings.

I understand Google is trying to be friendly, and since they can know I'm from Mexico of course they can be helpful and put every setting in spanish. What they don't know is that I don't care for friendly service. No sire. It seems they missed a marketing class were they talked about personalization. I want things to be my way. Like Whattaburger or a hooker. They do it the way I want it. Why? Because people now-a-days want to have choice. So... stop taking decisions for me because if the fries are not the way I want them to be I'm simply not eating here.

Something else that it's getting on my nerves is people who call your work extension to ask for someone else in another office. Why don't they call the extension of the person they are looking for? Would someone explain that to me? Often they will answer such question with: "Well, I did call his extension, but he didn't answer." Oh really? Why would you think that is? Because he's not there! Ergo, if you call my extension he won't magically appear! Is that so hard to understand? Did people miss Common Sense 101 at elementary school?

Another related thing that gets on my nerves is people who call the same extension forever... I mean... if my co-worker did not answer the first time... why do you call 5 times consecutively which translates as the phone ringing for about one and a half minute? I guess if someone does not answer the first time, he won't the second nor third or fourth time around... which may take some time... anywhere from 1 to 120 minutes. So please... stop...

And sometimes people will come to my office to ask for someone else... why? Would someone care to explain why? Is it not more simple to look at the office of the person you're looking for? I guess if he's not there, then he's no there, nothing you or me can do about it.

What we need is an Invocation Department with employees imported from Cuba, certified in voodoo magic. Then when people are looking for someone who is not at his office, they could phone the Invocation Department who will work their voodoo magic and summon them out of the blue.

There's also the classical doffus who needs 10 computers with a CD burner right now because they need to burn 400 copies of a CD by the evening. WHUT!? Of course I understand! Let me look at my miracle computer tree in the backyard... hum... no... sorry. Still no computers, it needs more watering. C'mon! If you knew you needed that many CDs, you could have outsourced the process; there's special people with special hardware to do that in a jiffy. That's what I call bad planning...

One of the funny things about working in IT, especially giving support to employees... is how no one remembers you unless there's a problem. Otherwise no one knows you exist. It is until their network does not work, they can't print, they can't access a page or bedcause YouTube is blocked that they remember you exist and call you up. No birthday calls, no "how is your day?" calls, no thanks calls... only "come and fix my problem" calls. When things are working okay, ergo when you're doing your job right, people think you're being lazy.

I bet that's how God feels; people only pray and call Him when they want something.

... or maybe I'm just bitter... damn spring...

Cheers God, I share your pain!

---

He couldn't see anything, but knew it was there.

How to Create a Monster, Pt. 2

Hello? Is any body there? Wouldn't be surprised if my Good Ol' Three Faithful Readers had moved on to better things in their lives; things like playing video games, reading books, getting jobs, studying or even making babies. So, not that I am back, how do you create a monster you ask? Not updating your blog for tree months certainly is a way to create some! I shall be honest, from then to now I lost my train of thought, but I have a good idea of what I had meant to say back then.

In the last entry I spoke how the terrorizing monster of yore turn into relatively good men as they grow up. My point, obviously, is that the good kids of yore are the ones who turn into monsters as they grow up. That good manered kid you know today will probably turn into a cold-hearted bastard as he grows up.

My take is this: most of the time these goody-good-two-shoes are a bunch of naive people who think the world is as well intentioned as they are. But the harsh reality is the world is not well intended, and it is waiting to bite right back at you every time it is able to do so. So guess who are the ones bitten most often according to my reasoning? Indeed, the good manered, goody-good-two-shoes because they "thought they cared about me."

So this naive people get their dreams broken, and they realize the hard way - through personal pain, be it of the physical or emotional type - that the world is not a pretty place. Over time, they build barriers around them to protect themselves from the sick, sad world. You can think of this emotional barriers in the same line of concrete walls and fences on our home's backyards: they alienate us from our neightbors because we are afraid of them, afraid of someone looking through our windows at our private lives, afraid of someone coming into our territory and harming us, afraid of commuting with others; that is the reason we erect walls that divide our homes: to protect us.

In this way our goody-good-two-shoes will, over time, build walls around himself which will lead him to turn into a cold-hearted, monster. In that way if he just does not care he will not be hurt. So in time people will come back to him to ask for his help or advice and he will not give a damn; people are gonna be dying when the heavens wash away them away with heavy rain and he will not give a damn; old loves will come back asking for tender care and he will not give a damn. Everything will be crumbling around him in all its glory but he will be alright because he does not give a damn about it.

These are scary monsters not because they are ugly or because they want to directly harm you. They are monsters because, though they do not want to purposely harm you, they also will not be willing to care if you are alive or not. They will as easily greet you with a smile on a monday morning as waving goodbye when you are fired; one day they will attend your son's birthday party and the next day attend your funeral all while worrying about the job that needs to be done.

That's how Monsters are created.

There are some caveats to all these ideas I'm venting in the wild. The first of them is that I am polirizing the situation; going from one extreme to the other: the bully-type monster goes to a hard-working man while the goody-good-two-shoes goes to a monster as time goes on. I must say that at no point is this a law; if we imagined all this as a line with a label "Monster" on one extreme and "Goody-Two-Shoes" at the other, then there will certainly be people who will end up at some point in between - heck, meybe even most people will end up somewhere in between. Also, I think this "in-between-a-goody-two-shoes-monster" is the best position to be in.

Second: serial killers, raping pedophiles and those type of monsters are not normal people; they're sick... way beyond just sick... therefore they are not accounted for here.

Now, if this seems like not my usual post, it's because it is not. I'm at work right now and writing while updating some computers and dealing with stupid user's questions - both the users and the questions are stupid, so I do not have my mind in full writing mode. For other news, my own personal website will soon be put live; which means I will be moving this blog to the my new page. I'll let you know when it happens.

Aaaaah, it's good to be back.

How to Create a Monster, Pt. 1

Hello there! I would be very surprised if anyone - even my Good Ol' Three Faithful Readers - still read all the mumblings of a poor sould like me. But today I just need to vent mysefl so here I am.

Welcome to Part 1 of "How to Create a Monster." Those of you out there who know me are aware that I love horror movies - and I stress the word... love... in that sentence - and might think this is about a sci-fi kind of monster. Well, it is not; it's about creating a real life, human monster. And first, let me begin by defining what a monster is, directly from my favorite online dictionary:
mon·ster // Pronunciation Key(mnstr)

1.

a. An imaginary or legendary creature, such as a centaur or Harpy, that combines parts from various animal or human forms.

b. A creature having a strange or frightening appearance.

2. An animal, a plant, or other organism having structural defects or deformities.

3. Pathology. A fetus or an infant that is grotesquely abnormal and usually not viable.

4. A very large animal, plant, or object.

5. One who inspires horror or disgust: a monster of selfishness.

Since I already established I would focus on real life, human monsters, you can guess I am more interested in the last definition found here: "One who inspires horror or disgust." If there are any American readers, let me put a mental image of what this means: Osama Bin Laden. I am sure just by thinking of him you frowned. But since not all my readers might be American, let me try a more generic image of a human monster: Charles Manson. We all know the attrocities he did and I am sure he surely classifies as a human monster. Unless, of course, you have issues. But these two monsters I present could still be defined as... well... monster for the pain, suffering and death they have caused. In a way, and I will personally admit to this, I might have been a little extremist while choosing this two men.

Furthering my definition of Monster on this post, let me say that I want to focus on the more... shall we call them... subtle monsters; those that walk around in the realm of ordinary human beings. People whom just being around with makes you uncomfortable. Remember that teacher who did not care your mother just died in the weekend, could you please explain why you did not bring the homework? That is a monster. There is a man out there, somewhere in many parts in the world who goes by many names who only cares about himself, whose mantra is to be above all others through power, corruption, money and fear; a man who tricks and cheats and would even use his own son's as objects with the selfish purpose of getting him advanteges through fixed marriages, exploitation or selling them because, honestly honey, we cannot afford a baby in the family, especially not after I just adquired a new Jaguar to pay so why don't we make happy a sterile family and give him away? Then he smiles and kisses his wife on the forehead. Or the business man who sacrificed his best friend and competition on the company to ensure his career; the same businessman who is later taken from those he should be with as the days and the years are passing by but there are planes to catch and bills to pay and much to do to teach them how to throw and as he looks from the outside he realizes he is no longer a part of them until one day all his worldy poseesions are crumbling around him in all their glory and in his weakining days he was sure he'd have fun one day only now the sphincter in his chest and a failing heart won't let him get up to see the shinning sun outside his blinding window shades.

Those are monsters I want to talk about. Subtle. Hidden. Destructive.

Some say these monsters are born, not bred; but I digress that idea. Sure, I am not saying I am an expert on the field, but from my empiric knowledge in my very small and insecure life that began at an amanzingly unlikely birth amidst this universe that keeps on expanding and expanding in all directions like a meticulous handcrafted waltz at the speed of life, you know, twelve million miles a minute which is the fastest speed there is, is that there were many such monsters in my elementary school years also know as Bullies: a person who is habitually cruel or overbearing, especially to smaller or weaker people.

The kid that pulled little girls pony tail; who took your lunch money "for your safety"; who constantly took the fun away from your recess games; a ruffian who often made a trip to the principal's office. And even though if you failed your conduct grading three times in a row you were kicked out of school he was not because people deserve a second chance at bettering themselves. Let me make a statement here, which I think is important: I might sound sour at bullies during my childhood, but I am not. For some particular reason I cannot fully comprehend, and even though I think I classified as the nerdy kinda boy, bullies at my school barely messed with me. Furthermore, at certain point during my education, they played particularly important roles in my life as emotional, yet unexpected, support. It's as if for some odd reason they liked me and steered clear of me.

And in that lies and even more awkward situation in my life. Years after I went to middle school and into my professional education I met some of those bullies of yore and found them to be very likable men. Hell, the absolute worst kid at my secundary school, the one who rumors said he sold drugs, beat his mom and many, many other things turned out to be a very faithful christian. When he used to yell "get the hell out of my way, pussy" with a push on secundary school, now he greets you with a "God be with you brother." Another of the most notorious bullies in my elemental years turned out to be my pastor on my Confirmation. Most of them have made one-eighty turns like that.

So, I have discussed people who went from being a Monster yore to a respectable, hard-working man of today. In Part 2 I will try to explore how is it then, that the Monsters of today might be created.

But! That won't happen until I come back from vacations. Where am I going? Albuquerque. I don't know what's there, but I will find out.

I guess I shall find out why this weekend!

Cheeri-o!

The basis of happyness

Hello again! Yes, double post day. :D

In any sense, how happy you are depends a lot on what you base your happyness. Now, all logic and human convention dictates that we should base how happy we are proportional to love. But see here my odd, human logic: basing our happyness in love may lead us to disillutionment which in turn leads to anger and hence: frustation/un-happynes.

But if I base my happyness on how angry I am, the all the disillusion in my life will actually turn to more anger which in turn leads to more happyness.

Hum... that formula seems logical.

And no, I am not that happy today.

Anger Report, Ad infinitum

Yeah, yeah. I know my Good Ol' Three Faithful Readers, I skipped a few days in my Anger Report. So much, that even by now I have begun to understand much of my anger and regaining control. Did I write them? Yeah, I did write them; but if I must be honest, I never allowed myself to post them. "Always busy." No matter, I will summarize them in the following way:

• Anger Report Pt. 2.- It dealt with people not interested in people; only in obtaining the end result no matter the human cost.
• Anger Report Pt. 3.- "Do unto others..." Jesus, you really set a very high standard. Because no matter how much I do unto others like I would like them do unto me, they never do. Sometimes I think I just expect too much of people.
• Anger Report Pt. 4.- Why do we take everything so seriously and forget to have fun? I know I like theater as a mean to have fun, to socialize with others. But how can I have fun when I am being yelled at by people who take it "seriously"?

Actually this is a very, very funny point. So much I will stop and be as acid and explicit as I can. To all of you people who take it "seriously": While you spent sleepless nights wondering why you cannot do a particular scene, while you cry in dispair, while you worry with the lines repeating them over and over, while you flunk you classes, while you kill your friendships to be a star, while you are being "serious" at achieving your dream; I have a Best Actor in a Main Role Award; one of the best directors in Mexico has fought against burocratic bigots to have me in the play and I make my parents proud. All of this while I am having fun.

You know, I will be a good sport and tell the "serious" people the answers to all their worries; the secret behind my small and meaningless succes so they can stop stressing themselves because they cannot do their job right:

1. Have fun! Instead of worrying, enjoy it. Do not think of the end result, thing of the now and enjoy failing, learn from it, laugh at yourself. Fun.
2. If you are still failing and crying, then by the love of God why don't you realize you suck at it and stop making a fool of yourself?

Arrogant? Maybe. But if I suck big time at it, at least I am having fun big time too. In the end, I win.

• Anger Report Ad Infinitum.- I am realizing most of the time I am angry; almost 100% of the time. Only you do not notice because I smile and pretend all is well; and when I finally get tired of putting up the charade, it is then when you realize I am so uptset. Sadly, it usually means I'm so full of it I am beyond reasoning. Do the experiment once: scratch beyond my surface, have a conversation with me, sit by me, observe me. I want to cry out, but I do not want to do it alone.

So... yeah. This did not came as I originally planned. My original plan was to make a quick summary of the Anger Reports and procede with another interesting idea that came to my mind which - oddly - has to do with my acting award; and any other kind of award given to any person. But I shall leave that for some day in the future for you to read...

... as for me... right now... I just remembered I am angry.

Anger Report, Pt. 1

Hey there, my Good Ol' Three Faithful Readers.

Usually I try to "cook up" my posts; I do this in one of two ways: either something amazing, odd or simply weird happens in my life to which I then proceed to find a deeper, philosophical meaning to my existance - like the case of "Sharing" - or I have a very amazing, odd or simply weird idea that has some philosophical meaning to my existance and then I proceed to invent or look for a previous experience to which exemplify my idea. Hence, more often than not, it takes time for me to cook up a post because either I have a hard time having a good philosophical idea or because my life becomes dull and nothing happens.

But it so happens lately that, as you have seen by yesterday's post, nothing good appears to occur. It is just one constant emotion fed by day to day activities that goes like this: I wake up as rested as I can. Then something crappy happens. I get angry. Then something crappy happens. I get more angry. Then something crappy happens. I get even more angry. Then I crap. I get a little relaxed. Then something crappy happens. I get angry again. Then someth- ... ad infinitum... you get the idea.

So in the current state than nothing of note actually happens, I shall begin an Anger Report. What is this? Heck if I know, I just had the idea to call it that and maybe express all the events that happen day to day that just feed up my Anger Sphere. Some would say this is actually therapeutic. I say I simply have to vent myself. And since you are not helping, maybe the senseless and stupid act of "talking" to a lifeless being such as the computer can do your job.

Now, for your total and voyeuristic pleasure my Good Ol' Three Faithful Readers, Anger Report Part 1!

Today began as what appeared to be a good day. You do not know it since I lost my draft, but I am currently doing social service as a museum guide for hordes of little monsters. Namely: kids ranging from Pre-School to 7th Grade. Over the time I have discovered that I enjoy guiding little children from Pre-School and as they are more grown up I have a hard time guiding them. Alas! Today I had a group of 6 Pre-Schoolers. The sun was smiling on me today.

Not.

I get back to My Four Walls, pick up Daisy, and go to the library to do teamwork. Teamwork on a class that utterly hate and find totally useless... not to my surprise the rest of my team has actually done nothing on the job at hand. Great. At that same time I receive and eMail from another team stating that I have an obligatory meeting at that very moment. Since the laws of physics still will not allow matter to be at the same time in two different places -at least, not modern physics-, I obviously do not go to the meeting. Moments later I receive another eMail from the team saying that they will go talk to the teacher so he flunks me.

I do not know if, at the beginning of the semester, I made my point clear or not to that specific team but I do remember saying this in fron of the class' teacher: "I do not have much time this semester. I would prefer not to have meetings and that you send me what I have to do via eMail; do not worry, I will pull it off." And you see, for two years this system of "Do what you have to do by the time you have to do it and don't care about how or when they do it" has worked perfectly for me and all my teammates in previous classes. Besides, the meeting usually consist of five minutes to give each member a certain job to do and then the meetings are adjourned.

Suffice it to say that I, very politely as I could, sent an eMail to my team and the teacher stating my case. I still have no answer, but I made sure to carry my point across. I finished my current meeting and off I go to my new play's rehearsal. Which is more like a concentration camp.

Do not get me wrong: I like theater. A lot. There is nothing I enjoy more than taking a dump when I have diarrhea, but just below that there's theater. The feeling of being on-stage is awesome, unmatched. I literally undo myself just to have the opportunity to shine. But this semester the play has become more like torture. Atmosphere running dense; everybody is stressed out; people have done many personal sacrifices to be there; undiscipline by most company members; and a completely de-humanized producer without minimal a sense of human tact.

Just for this once theater really has become a time and sould consuming activity; my mistake this time; and I wanted it. But I have already talked about this in the previous post titled "Timmy Likes It!" So I take Daisy to my rehearsals to surf the Internet, code a mathemathics library I'm programming to learn C# and do school related work. Normally I would support the notion that we are all a team and must support each other to make the final play a succes. Under the current circumstances I personally do not care about the rest of the company -they could suddenly implode, spontanously combust or be a bunch of novice actors-; I am going to do my part, I know I do it above decent and that is about all I could care about.

Now, see here, the fact that there's a bunch of novice actors does not mean they do badly... though most do... but there are some experienced actors in there doing a very, very good job -even better than mine- and other novice actors have shown to have what it takes given the right instruction. But that doesn't save the whole company from the ones that completely drag. Honestly, were I the audience, I would either sleep or walk away at the performance. Except, of course, for my acting.

Yeah. Those last statements are very rude. But I do not care because I am angry; and when I am angry I am uncaring about other people; when I am angry I am more incisive about my comments and I will gladly put my finger on the bleeding cut with premeditation. But mostly, I say it because it is actually true.

Even if it is a hard pill to swallow as the truth often is.

Why the Biggest Ass in the World doesn't care for chickens

Hello my Ol' Three Faithful Readers!

 

For reason unknown and beyond my bare, human, limited and mortal comprehension suddenly many people I know have turned into animal protectors of sorts; some even turning to PETA *shudders at thought* and with certain iniciations into the vegetarian lifestyle. I try to respect most people and their beliefs, yes, but vegetarians do not quite make click on my head. I do not know what it is exactly, but I ask myself: "How can I trust a person who does not eat good, tasty and greasy barbecue with his bare fingers like the vile animals we are supposed to be?"

 

It so happens that one day, for further reasons unknown, I find myself at a bar where they are serving free meat - yes, you read right, 100% free. Of course this stirs up some convesation between my companions and suddenly they are telling the Holy Athenian Knight about how KFC breeds and kills their chicken. If I must be honest, I was not paying much attention but I did gather it was kinda gory, messy and sometimes not quite... succesful resulting in the live-roasting of the chicken. Hum, yummy!

 

The Holy Athenian Knight was impressed and upset. Like he had pictured all the headless, tortured, squished and cut-up chicken in his head. After some general expressions of disgoust in the table I promptly and non-galantly add: "Want to know what I think?" I make a strategically well put silence to get their attention as they all stare at me with anticipation; tricks of the trade you learn with acting: timing. After a second that must have seen like an eternity to my audience I finally respond: "Does it matter?"

 

Questioning eyebrowns are raised. Wide open eyes stare back at me. Some recoil with aversion. The Holy Athenian Knight exclaims: "Dude... it's torture... c'mon." To this, I proceed to explain to them my reasoning: Does it matter how they kill the poor thing? It is still going to be killed and served in my plate for me to munch on. So, does it matter at all? Yes, I do understand it might not be in the prettiest of ways, maybe some ways of killing cattle are way too harsh but in the end their are still gonna be dead and I am still going to eat them.

 

Out from the faces of shock at my, I must admit, heartless words I notice a dead-cold stare looking straight at me as if wanting to pierce a cold sword thru my skull. The Annoying Voice tells me with sincere bewilderment and poison in her voice: "You know, sometimes I do not understand you. How can you be so heartless and emotionless and be an actor?" Wow, some would have been taken back to lick their wounds. But I had my answer: "Just imagine! I am so good at pretending I have emotions, that I even win Best Actor in a Starring Role awards!" Following act: I bite me free meat.

 

Yet, when I come down to think about it, there really are reasons for me to be so heartless and maybe on certain ocassions pretend to be so to hide my emotional - or shall we say, weak side - from the others. It is ocassions like these when I open up my true self and suddenly start letting the emotions flow through because of something or someone. I cherish them and I live them; like fantasies and images floating around the air of things I long, passions and care.

 

But what heppens then? People do not show up at appointed times; people dismiss my signs of appreciation; people take my dreams away; people call me mediocre; friends disappear and barely remember me; dogs piss on my boots. And when you sum it all up let me put it in a pretty good mental picture of the idea: It is like this three stage circus announcer standing with a piece of my heart in his hands speaking to the public:

 

"Ladies and gentlemen! In my hand I have right now a piece of The World's Biggest Asshole's heart. For your entertainement I will now squish, spit and step on it. Afterwards you will able to see an amazing, incredible and jurassic mega fat japanese sumo whom we have carefully selected to have the most hairy, sweatty and smelly behind will take a huge dump on the piece of heart. Then he shall take it and clean his hairy, sweatty behind with it but not without first taking on the world's longest pee on a heart world record. Afterwards we shall set it on fire and finally, and ladies and gentlemen this is not for the faint of heart - any pregnant women or people with medical conditions please leave the stage; we will flush it down the toilet!" *flush* *insert general gasp from the audience, ladies pass out, men squirm in their seats and children burst in laughter*

 

So forgive me If I do not care for the poor chickens.

Why the World's Biggest Ass doesn't lead a country

Hello there my Ol' Three Faithful Readers!

I intended to put all my memories from my trip to the Old World in here. But see here, my memory works in misterious ways and I barely remember what I did yesterday.

... okay, that was a plain lie for all to see. I do remember what I did yesterday since it is the reason I have now self-proclaimed my self with the honorable title of "The World's Biggest Asshole." And no, you cannot be a contestant for it. Back in the day, if you remember my second post I called myself an ass; yesterday's story is somewhat related. You can see that here.

But that, as they say, is a story for another day maybe.

Right now, I'm going to write to you about why I don't lead a country. Today, or yesterday rather, London was attacked again; not as big as last time but yet it makes me red with anger. You see, if back in 9/11 I had lead the US, after the images of the people in Irak dancing and smiling because of the attacks I would have used my Executive Powers over the Navy to say: "Wipe the smile off the faces of those children. By any means necesary." Afterwards I would have made sure Baghdad were not in the map anymore; just as a clear point nobody threatens my country like that.

Had I been Blair on July 7 I would have come out and said: "Well, we are here at the G8 Summit trying to work something out to help other countries. Yet, I have about a thousand manifestants outside interfering our work. And after these attacks I think I understand the message you are trying to give us: you certainly don't want our help. So as far as I am concerned, we can all pack our bags and go home to our beds and wives. Good evening, hope you don't die of hunger."

And now, here they go again with the same blues.

Not only that. Want to know more irony? The Live 8 concert was to stop poverty and hunger in Africa. I will and cannot deny it is a noble objective. Still a day after the concert took place I was in Versalles where they were taking apart all the concert's structures and all schitt. But what amazed me was the amounts, and I mean huge amounts of this:

Big piles of wasted bread not consumed in the concert thrown on the streets to rot. My take? Nice way to stop hunger in Africa guys. Would it not be more coherent to send that unused bread over to the hungry? Nah, it is too expensive I guess; at least more expensive than just throwing it in the streets to grow fungus. Oh yeah, but we take the soda back to the warehouse.

For some reason I think we could officially label all this "terrorism" World War III, because that is clearly what it is: a war. And that too is the reason why The World's Biggest Asshole doesn't lead a country; because that is exactly how he would interpret it. Luckily I am just a Computer System Engineering student whom's career doesn't appear in the school's plans anymore and pretends to be an actor in his free time all the while managing to be The World's Biggest Asshole. Which, if I so kindly add, is not an easy job. No sire.

In any case, if you want to find out how good I would be at leading a country you can always check The Rogue Nation of Naked Dancing Chimps by clicking this link over here. It is still a young nation, but maybe one day it will flourish.

Ladies and Gentlement, the World's Biggest Asshole is leaving the stage. *bows* Thank you for your attention.

Full red on anger!

You must know The Queen is my dog. She is the best dog.

The neighbor's dog has been for some time upsetting my dogs. Now, after a fight through the door, the friggin' neigbor's dog bit off one of The Queens fingers... Let me tell you, if I was back home, I would kill that other fuckin' dog with my own hands!

People should have their dogs controlled, either on their backyard's or in their houses. But never should they let them go outside un-supervised! What if instead of my dog it had been a kid, huh? Is it okay for them to shit on everybody's house? Take out the trash out of their containers? No, it is not okay.

Jesus... really... if I get back home, and that fucking dog is alive, I swear by what I hold dear the most I will kill it and I will enjoy every damn last second as a smile runs across my face while I do it. And when finally the live fades from its eyes, I will scream out in joy and victory.

Algo que adoro y odio

Como pueden ver, el día de hoy se ha converito en Double Post Day, y corre peligro de convertirse en un Triple Post Day debido a que mi ida con el dentista me ha hecho pensar muchas cosas raras, hahaha. Ya ven, Marketing se compone de la Parte 1 y Parte 2, la cual probablemente escriba más tardecito. Este pequeño post en particular es para poner en claro algo que me fastidia hasta lo más profundo de mis entrañas pero al mismo tiempo me trae muchas, muchas satisfacciones.

 

Carros pequeños.

 

¿No les ha sucedido que llegan a un estacionamiento que se encuentra abarrotado hasta el término degradante que utilizamos para referirnos a nuestros lindos posteriores que usamos para sentarnos? Y entonces llevan dando vueltas y vueltas como desquiciados cuando repente, iluminado por una luz y coro divino, alcanzan a vislumbrar un lugar libre; pisan el acelerador para que nadie les vaya a ganar el lugar. Sus ojos maníaticos se encuentran fijos sobre ese lugar y la sangre les parpadea en la frente. Comienzan a dar la vuelta para estacionar el carro cuando *¡BAM!* Hay un pequeño bocho estacionado que no tiene una cajuela lo suficientemente protuberante como para que la hubieras notado atrás de esa Expedition. Crap... derrotado te alejas del lugar no sabiendo si gritar, llorar desde lo más hondo de tu ser a los cielos o si del puro coraje embarrar tu auto contra el bocho. ¡No más de pensarlo me hierve la sangre!

 

Sin embargo, mi carro es un Pointer. :D Lo cual es cool porque gracias a su pequeño, compacto y jugetón diseño lo puedo estacionar en casi cualquier espacio que encuentre sin problemas. Eso, además de que en ocasiones muy especiales que necesito aventarme un efecto Matrix  en medio del tráfico para cruzar de un lado al otro de la avenida, pues me es más sencillo abrirme paso entre los apretujados carros que parece se vienen oliendo el trasero como perros. ¡Es más! En alguna ocasión me tocó entrar a un estacionamiento donde por ser carro compacto te cobraban $3 pesos menos que a los otros carros. ¡No más de pensarlo me causa sonreir!

 

Es cómico ya que es un sentimiento de adoración y odio al mismo tiempo. Pretty much like love.