Where is my damned scribe?

Most days, I wish I had a scribe running around behind me. I have so many thoughts I want to write about throughout the day — some big, some small — that I can’t remember a fraction of them to start with. Even when I can, by the time I sit at a computer and have time to type them out, I’m no longer interested in exploring that thought. If I had that damned scribe kicking around while I’m driving through town or getting dressed after a massage, I could simply verbalize a whole post and just come back to edit it before posting it online. Damn, that would be easier.

Another option would be a voice recorder. Actually, I think I have one of those. But then I’d have to listen to my own voice and transcribe the words, and I wouldn’t like that. Listening to yourself speak is only slightly better than seeing video of yourself — anyone who is not a delusional narcissist will wince at both of those things. It’s a terrible thing to see the way your mouth twists to one side when you speak, or hear the tiny lisp or annoying sing-songy cadence in your voice. I find that stuff horrifying.

So I don’t know what I’m to do. I mean, today alone, I had at least three, maybe four things I wanted to write about. What were they now? I don’t know. I think one was about how we should be forced to see both the upstream and downstream costs of everything we do. For example, if you buy a car, you should have to sit through a seminar that details the destruction and waste caused by each step of the cars construction (like the mining of the metals and fabrication of the plastic moulding), as well as the destruction and waste associated with drilling for and refining gas and oil so that the car can run, and also the amount of pollution that car will puke forth in its lifetime, and so on and so forth. I think the same approach should go for everything else, too: the food we eat, computers and phones we use for a few years and then throw away, the cheap clothes made by slave labour that we wear, etc. People in the first world should be forced to confront the vast waste and destruction we are responsible for, and we should feel guilty and miserable for it. We deserve it.


Buy chocolate, and you are responsible for rampant deforestation in the Amazon — animals are literally going extinct because you have a sweet tooth. Sleep well.

And that’s just one of the gems I thought about today that I DIDN’T have a scribe to write down for me!

Now it’s a few days later (I’m writing this in fits and starts), and today while I was on a run, I thought of something I wanted to write about. But when I got home, I couldn’t remember the damn thing. I retraced my steps and remembered other things I thought about during other portions of the run, but couldn’t remember the thing I wanted to write about. If only I had a damned scribe with me then. Fear not, though, dear readers — while laying on the floor doing yoga after my run, I spontaneously remembered the lost idea so I jumped up, dashed to the computer, and jotted the basic premise down. I will be delving into this latest masterpiece soon.

But my point is I need a scribe, stat. I can’t keep working like this. I’m hamstringing myself, like Michelangelo being forced to paint the Sistine Chapel with crayons. It’s insanity.


I’m just goofing around. I know I have more in common with this Michelangelo.


newsflash: acting sexy is not sexy. also, my generation loves silliness and retro references.

speaking as a real person, i want to let women know that ‘smouldering’ eyes, come hither glances, languid movements, and lip- and teeth-licking are not sexy. at best, any half decent mate should find these things mildly irritating, and at worst, repulsive and puke-worthy. when i see a girl make those kind of phony gestures, i think “she’s imitating something she’s seen on TV. she’s trying to act like some kind of hyper femme fatale from a james bond movie but it’s clearly false and forced. she must be a psychopath. i’m going to walk over here to get away from her.”

fuck you

get real


wipe that stupid face off your head

the only guys who will buy into that kind of act are douchebags who are equally fake and insecure, and strut in the same phony way but with different mannerisms: wearing shirts as tight as possible to make them look bigger, buying shots for every pretty girl they see and driving huge trucks so they look flush, saying “fuckin” every second word to appear TOUGH and MANLY but then talking about how hurt they were by their ex-girlfriend to show how sensitive they really are. barf.

the only douchebag pics i can find are SUPER FUNNY MEMES that aren’t funny at all but i did find a plethora of underwear model jerks making the same goofy faces as the ladies.


just as bad. destroy.

fuck, i could go on for DAYS

i guess that’s all ok though because the phony girls should be landing the phony guys and vice versa. that should keep them all pretty busy and distracted from me and the few other sane humans kicking around.

hmmm. bearing that in mind: keep doing what you’re doing, douchebags and douchebagettes. good work. but please consider getting vasectomies and hysterectomies. there are plenty of you as it is and the world is running out of food, water, and space.

on an unrelated topic, every time i make a new post on here there is an interim screen that says ‘beep beep boop’ while wordpress prepares the template or whatever. and when i empty the junk folder in my hotmail account, it says ‘you have no junk mail in this folder now – hooray!’ or something like that. i’ve noticed similar lighthearted, mock childish comments/jokes and retro references in ads for banks and car insurance and whatever else that are aimed at people around my age (early 30s-ish). it strikes me now that my generation really loves this sort of unprofessional, uber casual, ‘child of the 80s’ retro reference. i find them hit and miss. i thought ‘beep beep boop’ was kind of cute but usually i find them asinine and annoying. yes, i grew up loving transformers and GI joe but i think the goofs my age who put decepticon stickers on their ford focus and say stuff like “DUDE, DUDE, i LOVE raphael, he’s totally the best ninja turtle, totes” must sadly grow up. i feel like they need to check out some serious and heavy stuff like documentaries on WWII death camps or listen to NIN’s ‘broken’, realize that life isn’t as carefree and fun as it was when we were kids, get depressed, and stop pretending that all it takes to be happy is a beer and a netflix marathon of 80’s cartoons. there’s a whole world of shit out there, waiting to crush you. once the overgrown kids acknowledge that, i’ll find them a whole lot less annoying.