blog-0-tron9000 v2.0

28 December, 2008: [362/365], 22:39.29 [Sunday]
Filed under: Life

I don’t believe in making New Year’s resolutions; one, I loathe tradition; two, improving oneself should be an ongoing process and not something one does just as a goal for the new year. There are some things I want to do, but they just happen to coincide with this stupid drunkard’s holiday.

First, I want to get back into getting into shape. I was doing so well over the summer, but I crashed. Part of it was environmentally induced asthma, but a lot of it was the resurgence of my depression. I’m still beating it back, but I’m also starting to think that it’s more of a personality trait than anything else. More trait than state, if you will. Nevertheless, I will still do what I can to fight it, and getting in shape should help, to a certain degree.

On that note, I’d like to take up t’ai chi. I need to find a way to relax. The anxiolytic I’m on does relieve the panic attacks, but I can never actually relax. That part is going to have to come from me, myself. Drugs don’t solve everything; otherwise, I’d be doped up on Vicodin 24/7, and believe me, I’d rather be, more often than not these days. But I can’t do that, so I’ll do this instead. Hopefully.

I need a hobby. I’ve been saying it for years, and I’ve also been saying that I don’t have the time. I’m right, on both counts. But it doesn’t hurt to do some research. I’ve developed an interest in urban exploration over the years, but have never really taken the opportunity to really try it. I guess I’ll have to go out once or twice a month to some hole-in-the-ground one-horse shit town and go haunting. I’ll bring my camera and see what develops (get it, develops? you don’t appreciate a good joke, jerk).

Finally, I need to find some friends. It’s funny, I’ve been telling Jen all this time that friends are extremely important in stressful times, and that it’s vital to have someone to confide in when you’re feeling totally isolated. Yet, despite all that advice I dispense to her (not to mention to other acquaintances), I never practice what I preach. I don’t actually have any friends. Well, that’s not true, I’d be insulting a couple of people by saying that. I just don’t have the right sort of people in my life, for the most part. But sometimes when I’m crashing, I’m alone. Sometimes, for [one] example, my low mood might be due to Jen’s apparently mounting health problems. So it’s not like I can really talk to her about it any more than I already do; therefore, I’m alone. I don’t really have anyone to talk to about these problems I have. It’s partially my fault. I can’t relate to anyone, I can’t connect. Worst of all, though, I am unable to open up to people. I can’t even open up to those who have come to trust me and confide in me when they are feeling down.

I don’t know what it is, whether I can’t trust anyone, or I’m afraid of driving people away with my issues (it’s probably both, and the some), but one thing is for sure: I don’t know how to be human. Until I can learn how to feel joy (yeah it’s weird and almost robotic, but I really don’t know what joy is), I can’t interact with people in a normal human manner.

So there you have it. I need to be programmed to behave more like humans: be laid back, have fun, and trust others.

I don’t have a chance, do I?


what could have been and what should never be
21 December, 2008: [355/365], 19:20.43 [Sunday]
Filed under: Microfiction

Same, same, same, same… different, different.
Same, same, same, same, different different
Same, same, same, same, Arby’s is different!

Those words rang through my head for the last three hours, as I carved a name into my palm with a white-hot table knife. You won’t forget it this time, Rebbie, I thought. My thirtieth month in hell began with a gunshot echoing through the station. Some young punk thought he’d try and be funny and mug me, but I sure showed him. “Hey mister,” he said, “could I have a quarter for the soup machines?”


Try making it though fifth grade with half of your face missing, you little shit. People glared at me with unbridled scorn, but I didn’t care. Nobody asks Reb Cump for a quarter. Nobody. That gap-toothed smile and freckly face will get you nothing but a hollowpoint slug from ol’ Rebbie. Kids.

I dumped the post off into the box, hoping my subscription to Weekly World News and TV Gossip Daily would arrive fresh on my doorstep. Not that the YMCA locker room has a doorstep; not that paper can be fresh.

Arby’s is different!

Keith Franko. He’d be the next one. My bleeding, scarred left hand told me so. As did the oven mitt with Tom Arnold’s voice. Old Keithie. I wondered if he’d remember me as I laugh over his broken, marred body. I wondered if he’d remember the way he ruined my life with his poison-soaked words. I wondered if he’d grown up and realized that Layne Staley was a much better Kurt Cobain than Kurt Cobain could ever have hoped to be, and that both men failed miserably at the task anyway.

Pins and needles in my arm
Pins and needles, what’s the harm
Quit drinking, Reb, alcohol doesn’t make you Superman

I need a hero
Mr. Hero, o my!
Come save me from the ordinary fast food life…

“I’m sorry, mister President, but we don’t have the duct tape to repair your recliner.”
“Fine,” I replied, “but it’ll be your ass when I buy a new LayzeeBoi™ to read up on the latest hijinx about The Donald and Mark-Paul Gosselaar.” I shoved the waitress out of the bathroom stall. I needed a nap. “So, I’ll see you again next Tuesday? Here’s five bucks. Keep the change.”
“Gee, thanks. That’ll totally cover my penicillin prescription.”
“Oh, that reminds me, could I have three bucks back? Thanks, ‘Phillis.”

coming this fall
16 December, 2008: [350/365], 11:50.04 [Tuesday]
Filed under: Microfiction, Stupidity

Coming soon to Prime Time on notCBS:

  • He’s a cop who shoots first, and doesn’t even bother to ask questions later. She’s a woman who won’t shut her goddamn mouth. When the Chief assigned her to follow him on his rounds, he has to watch his back even more, because all she is to him is a bright red bull’s-eye. How the hell do they plan to survive together on the beat? Paul Reiser and Salma Hayek star in Bitches Ain’t Shit, every Wednesday!
  • Germs kill, but not on Dr. Peter Schreiver’s watch. He’s obsessed. Seriously. He’ll freak out if there’s even a speck of dirt in his hermetically sealed compound. He hasn’t actually practiced professional medicine in fifteen years, since he lost his wife to the common cold. Watch as he fails miserably at his attempts to relate to other people. John Goodman and Malcolm-Jamal Warner star in the hottest new medical drama, Biological Warfare, Thursdays!
  • From the twisted mind that brought you Twin Peaks and Mulholland Drive: Jimmy Smits leads a cadre of sexy paranormal investigators, trapped in the warped, desecrated mind of psychotic, drug-addled former comedian Andy Dick; will they make it out with their sanity, let alone their lives? DickHead, directed by David Lynch, will torture you and reduce you into a drooling retard… Sunday nights!
  • You love reality TV, because you have no goddamn choice! This time, we follow the lives, loves, triumphs, and heartbreaks of thirteen culinary school rejects as they compete for a second chance to enroll in The Art Institute of Pittsburgh’s prestigious culinary program! Jim Bakker is Master Chef on Bakker’s Dozen, Monday through Thursday!
  • Stephen Bochco has finally learned his lesson from Cop Rock! He’s got it this time! By day, David Winters is a steaming hot pop sensation in the making, leaving countless heartbroken women in his wake. By night, he’s a cutthroat, ruthless prosecuting attorney, singlehandedly choking the life out of the seedy Chicago underground. But he holds a dark secret, a twist that could put both of his careers—and his life—in jeopardy! The suspense will make you bite your lip until it bleeds! Ben Savage and Christina Applegate rock in Scales of Justice, Fridays!
  • Game shows. They’re cheap to produce, and you idiots lap this up like it’s high-fructose corn syrup, spilled all over the aisles at Wal-Mart. Christ, we’re out of ideas, but you jerks don’t seem to notice… anyway, Regis Philbin apparently still doesn’t have the money to pay for his filthy undisclosed habits, so here he is, with another hosting gig. Ugh. Okay, so five friends compete for one million dollars. Of course, only one will win the money; but the other four will fight tooth and nail amongst themselves for the runner-up prize: their lives, as chosen by the million-dollar champion. Watch them turn on each other and sell each other out in frenzied desperation and repulsive sycophancy! Who will live? Who will be betrayed by the ones they trusted, and die, execution style? When the champion decides, you decide: did anyone really win? Yeah, we have no souls. BFF: Best Friends Forever, Sunday nights, prime time!
  • “Chopper” Jackson is a helicopter pilot working as a bounty hunter in the scorching wasteland of Death Valley. He may be hunting down the criminal scum, but he’s really trying to find his soul. “Chopper” Jackson delivers high-speed helicopter action and a wholesome heartwarming message that’s healthy for the whole family. World’s greatest country music superstar legend, Alan Jackson, is Alan “Chopper” Jackson, in “Chopper” Jackson, Sunday nights after BFF!

    And be sure to catch a sneak preview of “Chopper” Jackson this summer, in the two-hour feature: “Chopper” Jackson: Hunt on the High Prairie, July 21st, only on notCBS! Catch it in Hi-Def!