Bully

Today, February 26th, 2025 is being touted as Pink Shirt Day, in which people wear Pink Shirts to raise awareness and funding for anti-bullying initiatives.  I did not participate for a couple of reasons.  First and foremost, I do not own a pink T-shirt.  I realize that I probably could have purchased one from work as they really seem to embrace all these causes and alike.  I don't understand all of them and often choose not to participate and at risk of sounding like an asshole, I chose not to participate in this display of solidarity, either.

The second reason I chose not to participate in this endeavour, today, is the fact that I don't see bullying as all that bad.  Before you start throwing hate my way, please know that I do not endorse bullying either.  I just feel that it has it's place in our society and when used properly, it can be beneficial to both parties. 

"How am I a better person for having been bullied?" you ask.  Well...  I, for one, would never have turned out to be the incredible person that I am today, had I not been bullied relentlessly as a kid.  I was bullied by older kids at school.  I was a small kid, so the bigger kids my own age would pick on me, too.  Not to mention my home life, at times (most times) was kinda shitty, being bullied by an alcoholic father.  As well as, just strangers.  They see a small kid and they're going to victimize that kid.  It's natural selection.  Was it all bad?  I guess at the time it was quite devastating.  Especially from my dad, but in retrospect, I can see where I was kind of a f*ck up in his eyes.  That aside, I learned from being picked on and bullied. I used that mental and physical anguish as fuel to shape who I would eventually become.

IF, I had gone through my years without the bullying and lived a sheltered life like the kids today do, who knows what kind of an asshole I may have become?  I admit that, yes, I am somewhat of an asshole, today, but dialed down because of being humbled by bullies my whole life.  I'd be unbearable if I had been sheltered and coddled like the kids today.

Unfortunately or fortunately, depending on how you view it, I did not have social media as a kid, so I cannot speak with any degree of authority on the perils of being bullied nonstop, 24/7, via Facebook, Twitter and the Tik Tok.  Hell, as an adult, I get hammered on by idiots, usually uneducated idiots, so I consider the source, but it's an experience that, doesn't bother me in the sense that it offends me, but it's just a pain in the ass to have to educate these morons.  Does that make me a bully for calling them idiots?  Not when regarding the hateful shit I endure sometimes. 

So, I guess perhaps, initiatives are helpful for those too soft to accept their bullying as a tool to better themselves, is warranted.  People, these days, aren't as strong, mentally, as they once were.  Not everyone, especially today's youth, can appreciate the forest for the trees.

I was bullied heavy, when I was a kid.  I remember entering the ninth grade and a twelfth grader would just bully me relentlessly and would not let up, even when his buddy would tell him to stop, he wouldn't.  I was a pipsqueak when I entered high school and this guy didn't like that I was so small.  All these years later, I imagine I would tower over that asshole, today.  He'd be whistling another tune, that's for sure.  But I digress.

I stated above that bullying is beneficial to both parties.  On one hand, the bully gets to do something they enjoy and that's something we all want in our lives.  The person being bullied, gets to learn about their shortcomings and what to work on to better themselves.  Then later in life, when the bullied person is rich and successful, they can gloat over the bully when they're pumping gas or whatever dead end job they wound up doing.  Bullies often piss their lives away, but also, in some rare cases, a bullied person can snap and beat the ever-lovin' shit out of the bully, then everyone wins.  Except maybe the bully, but...  Blah blah blah, something about broken eggs.

Let's Face It!!

Let's face it!  Kids are stupid!  If they were so dumb, they wouldn't be in school from age five to eighteen and more.  To think that a kid will know what they want to do for the rest of their lives at age sixteen or seventeen is ludicrous.  When I was a wee little kid, I wanted to grow up to be a fire truck.  Not a fireman or the fireman who drives the big ladder truck, but the ladder truck, itself.  Why?  Kids are stupid, that's why.  At such a young age, especially these days, kids are quite unaware of how much work is required to achieve life goals.  I spoke with a former co-worker yesterday, who said they're having problems keeping staff at her place of work, citing one girl turned in her ID card, stating that she didn't know "work was this hard", then quit.

These terrible decisions are also true of those young folks who decide to get all tattooed up.  I'm a fan of good tattoos, but I believe they have to make sense.  Be artistic, yes.  Be meaningful, yes, to a degree.  Be logistically placed, yes, of course.  Be placed upon one's face?  F*ck no.  Unless you're a tattoo artist, a rock star or a lifelong convict, there's no place for face tattoos, and even then, I question the logical decision to do so. 🤔

Unless you're extremely lucky, like former gang member, Jeremy Meeks, who was arrested in 2014 as a result of a "cease fire" campaign by the Stockton (California) Police Department, for weapons violations.  The PD eventually posted Meeks' photo, along with some other convicted felons, on their Facebook page and the LIKES began flooding in and eventually garnered the young felon with a modeling career, from which he's never looked back on his criminal enterprises.  That was a fluke.  A one-in-a-million chance that paid off.  If the Stockton PD hadn't posted his photo, chances are, the young man would have returned to his criminal roots and would likely have been in jail or deceased on this day.

Today's celebrities should be leading by example, not inspiring those who worship them, to make ill-planned body modifications that would not benefit anyone not in their industry.  Face tattoos should be discouraged.

I am a tattoo connoisseur, although I haven't gotten one in more than a decade.  It just hasn't been financially feasible in the past few years.  I once had the belief that I didn't want a tattoo below my elbows, so that I could still get a decent job.  Then my friend Darcy passed away and I thought the best way to commemorate his life, in a way that I would always remember him, I placed a tattoo on my lower arm.  This allowed me to repeat my fond memory of Darcy when asked about the tattoo.  As good of a friend as Darcy was, I would never have posted a memorial tattoo of him on my face.

Perhaps I'm just an old fuddy-duddy, now, complaining about all those tattooed kids, but that's furthest from the point.  I just don't believe that face tattoos are a smart decision.  Case and point: This fellow to the right of this paragraph.  Loved the rap group Insane Clown Posse, so much, that as a young man, he had the group's face paint tattooed permanently onto his face.  A decision that he's come to regret in recent years, as he's never been able to establish a decent job.  Even one of the member's of ICP, commented on the idiocy of this man's decision, on an episode of Your Moms House Podcast with Tom Segura and Christina Pazsitzky (Christina P).  Whoever put that tattoo on this young man's face, (A) did a shit job of it and (B) should have refused to put the tattoo on his face.

Tattoo artists should have some say in the placement of said tattoos.  Aside from just being an artist, I believe tattooists need to be a sort of guidance counsellor, too.  It's their art on display, after all.  They should want it represented in the best light, not something looked upon daily with regret and disdain.

Another case and point:  This seventeen year old discovered the music of rapper, Tekashi 69, and as an homage to his favourite rapper, decided he was going to get all the tattoos of his hero.  He's just a child, making childish decisions, not taking into account the results of these rash decisions.  What makes this case even more jarring, is that his mother paid the bill for her child to look like the former gang member, turned American rapper.  This kid is in Russia, so either he's been drafted to fight in the War With Ukraine or his been imprisoned.  I'm leaning toward the latter, to be honest.

I have just three tattoos, myself.  The first one I ever got, was of Alistair Fiend from Motley Crue's Dr. Feelgood album.  It's an incredible tattoo placed there by a young apprentice who went on to get a job with Dark Horse Comics in New York City.  I wish I could remember the fella's name.  The second is an ICP tattoo, but it's of the Hatchet Man on my left calf.  Then the third is the memorial tattoo on my left forearm.  One day, I'd like to get a picture of my little boy, Monkey, over my heart.

Kids are stupid.  They don't know about cause and effect.  Not nowadays.  People coddle their children so f*cking much that kids don't know what the world has instore for them.  That every choice they make has consequences.  As established grown ups and mature individuals, we have a responsibility to help guide the younger generation, despite their having chips on their shoulders that they know what's best for this or that.  They don't.  They're dumb.

If there's any hope of the younger generation leading our world into the future, they can't have any past bad decisions haunting them as they maneuver their way into the future.  I have hopes that the future will be bright and hopeful, like in Star Trek.  Clean and law-abiding, not dirty and scorched, like that of Mad Max, although the latter seems more and more likely with each passing day. 😕

I'm not against self expression.  Everyone should be allowed to stand out in their own special way, but there should be a line that shouldn't be crossed over.  Perhaps it's not wrong to emblazon oneself with face tattoos, but it's not widely accepted, either.  I know that if I were hiring for a position in my company, it'd be very difficult to choose a highly qualified person with shit plastered all over their face, rather than the clean looking person who is underqualified.  After all, this is a person who would be representing my company.  The face that the public sees and I wouldn't want my product being represented by someone who has dozens of micro-tats placed all over their face like shredded confetti.  Maybe I'm just an old fuddy-duddy, nowadays, but there has to be some kind of order replenished in today's society.

There's a kid who gets on my bus every once in awhile.  He's maybe 17 or 18.  Face tattoos all across his forehead and cheeks.  He doesn't appear to have much of a future.  He just roams around aimlessly, hopping this bus and that bus, without any real destination.  I sometimes will see him laid out on the side of the road, staring aimlessly up into the sky.  He's a young man.  No apparent future, but to get high everyday and roam about without anywhere to go and any responsibilities.  I fear this is the destiny of many people who choose to get face tattoos.  I'm not insinuating that the two necessarily go hand-in-hand, but they're in the same vicinity.

I shouldn't care so much, I guess.  I have my shit in order.  I should only worry about my own situation and leave everyone else to their decisions.  Both bad and good.  As long as my tax dollars don't pay for their bad decisions, which I suspect they do, I should just be satisfied.  Satisfied and well aware that: Kids are stupid!

You Be You, Boo! You Be You!

I glanced at a news article, this morning, that entered my timeline on either Facebook or Twitter.  Whichever the case, it was about an Aussie mother that was complaining about her daughter's teachers abbreviating her daughter's name because it was too difficult to pronounce in it's entirety.  Even written out phonetically, I had no idea how to pronounce it, myself, and I'm pretty good at doing that, if you don't mind me tooting my own horn -- toot toot!!

In the article, it also mentioned that the daughter felt embarrassed about being called the abbreviated name, according to the mother, but I surmised in the comments that the daughter was probably, more likely to be ashamed because her parents were f**king morons and couldn't give her a normal name like Mary or Sharon, but some hippy nonsensical name that can't be spelled, much less pronounced by the masses.

I shared it on my Facebook, as I do with many of the stupid shit I discover on social media.  It got me thinking about names.  My name is Jeff or Jeffrey, a name I detest.  Also a name placed upon me by my late father.  I'm not certain as to why, exactly, but my mom claims that she wanted to name me Jason, but was overruled by my dad who wanted Jeffrey.  Named after a fella he knew, I think, but I can't recall.  What I do know is, I f**king hate the name and I've never met anyone with the name Jeff or Jeffrey, who actually liked the name.

I would have much preferred being named Jason.  It's such a cool name and you can abbreviate in a couple different ways to still make it sound cool.  Jay or Jase are two cool derivatives of the name Jason that still make the named coolness.  Plus, any Jason I've ever met, seems pretty frickin' cool.  I used to work with one, in particular, who if you don't mind me ripping off a line from Ferris Bueller's Day Off:  He's a righteous dude.  Plus, you have all those cool actors, named Jason: Jason Statham, Jason Lee, Jason Voorhees.  Can't go wrong with the name Jason. Ya can't do f*ck all with Jeffrey.  There's Jeff, which sounds very much like a cat sneezing.  You watch!!  Next time your feline friend has a sneezing frenzy, you listen.  Guaranteed, you'll hear my name.  Jeff!  Jeff!   JEFF!! 

I recall the Rob Lowe movie, Youngblood.  A hockey movie that he starred in with his fellow co-star from The Outsiders, Patrick Swayze.  Cool f**kin' movie, but I was quite taken with the name Youngblood.  I often thought that the name would spice up the Jeffrey name.  Jeffrey A. Youngblood.  Alas, I never changed my name, for obvious reasons.  I never wanted to dishonour my father or my granddad or great-granddads memories.  Still a cool f*ckin' name, though.

Over the years, I've come to accept my fate.  Using Jeffrey A. Richards as my go-to professional name.   If I'd followed through with the film school, like I'd initially planned, that's the name I would have gone with, but I failed to follow that dream and instead slid into a pit of mediocrity.  Now I'm just plain Jeff Richards.  A plethora of people too god damned ignorant or stupid to spell my name correctly, so I've discarded it completely.

That little girl in Australia, whose name is impossible to pronounce, may stick with the abbreviated terminology, quite to her mother's chagrin.  Or perhaps, she'll discard it completely and call herself something completely different.  Like the popular singer from the 1970s, Engelbert Humperdinck. Born Arnold George Dorsey, the popular crooner, chose to become Engelbert Humperdinck.  What the f*ck?!?  However, as f*cked up as that is, he chose his own path, his own name and achieved much success in doing so, although I couldn't for the life of me, name any of his songs.  Point is, we needn't be tied down by the names our parents saddled us with.  Life is freedom.  Freedom to be who or what you wanna be.  Whatever makes you happy in this life. 
I like to say: You be you, boo!  You be you! 

The F Word

I try to be light-hearted and jovial in this blog, but sometimes LIFE just kicks me in the nads and suddenly my tendency to laugh at shit is lost.  In my most recent post of Jeff's Brain Matter, I wrote of that chick who tricked me on the Facebook.  Tricked me into thinking I was something that I'm clearly not.  This edition today, may touch base on that, slightly, but this isn't going to be a vehicle to further run myself down.  I just need to vent.  In lieu of lying back on a therapists couch, this medium can be very therapeutic.  I recommend everyone have a blog to work out their thoughts.

Recently, a former high school chum posted some kind of malarkey on the Facebook defending the importance of bees and hornets.  I do recognize that bees are important, but hornets?  I replied that I detest hornets, especially when they fly into my house.  I mentioned that I swat the hell outta them and if they're still twitching, I add salt to their proverbial wound, by taking them out to one of the many ant hills in my yard and I serve them up to the ants to devour that sucker alive.  Circle of life, kind of shit.  She replied to my comment that I was "full of hate".

I don't hate anything, except maybe hate, itself.  On closer inspection, I guess I can add to that, I also hate the F-word.  Not F*CK, but the other F-word.  FAKE!!

I've never been a fan of the word fake, going way back to when I began watching professional wrestling.  While the matches are often scripted or pre-determined, and yes, much of the moves done in the ring are done in a manner to cause the least amount of real harm, accidents happen and people do get hit for real and real injuries occur and sometimes, even worse. 

RIP Owen Hart. 😔

What those men and women can do in that ring, night in and night out is nothing short of incredible and for people to slough it off as nothing more than pretend, is f*cking offensive.

My disdain for fake lies much further across the borders of just professional wrestling.  I hate fake people.  People who pretend to be that which they are not.  People who expend SO much energy into pretending to be someone or something else, instead of working on themselves to be honest to who they are.  By my own admission, I've mentioned that I do mask who I really am from most people.  I don't outright reinvent myself, I just hold back facets of my personality that I don't think mixed company would appreciate.  Is it being dishonest?  Perhaps, but it's not unlike hiding the truth about Santa Claus from our children.  It's a lie, but it's to protect their joy and happiness.  This is similar to what I do.  The only person to see my completeness, a 100% of my personality is my cat and he seems to love me unconditionally so that's good enough for me.

There's a person or several persons on Facebook who pretend to be David Sparks aka Heavy D from TV's Diesel Brothers on Discovery Velocity in Canada (MotorTrendTV in the U.S.)  On Facebook, they will randomly slip into your comments, congratulating you on being a "winner" and invite you to their website, where they will attempt to bamboozle you out of personal information and steal your money and/or identity.  I've never fallen for this fraudulent site, and have repeatedly reported them to the authorities at Facebook, who comeback and claim that they are legitimate.  Meanwhile, Heavy D has posted many times via his own YouTube channel that these sites are fake and shouldn't be followed and to (absolutely) never share any personal information with them.  Facebook turns a blind eye.  F*cking pathetic.  Wish there was a way to police the Facebook police.

This chick that attempted to bamboozle me on Facebook, continued to try and win me over after I busted her on being fake.  "She", if they were even a real she, attempted to tell me that they were a former sex worker and that they left that life.  Meanwhile on YouTube, the very person that she claimed she was, had posted an update to her life in recent months.  On her Twitter, she invited fans to come watch her do a Live Sex Show.  You can't fake LIVE.

Hate is a strong word.  I don't feel comfortable using it.  It's like the word 'love'.  I refuse to say that to anyone, unless I absolutely mean it.  So yes.  If I choose to say "I hate..." then chances are, I really do hate that thing.  I hate liars, cheats and fake people.  I hate the fact that they make me hate.

If people invested as much time and energy into promoting their strong attributes as they do faking their personalities, the world might be a little nicer place to live in.  Don't ya think?

It's All About Perception

A few weeks ago, I made a comment on Facebook, stating my beliefs in the (then) hottest court trial in the world, the Amber Heard / Johnny Depp Defamation Court Case.  I never blatantly chose a side.  I only stated that I believed Amber Heard.  Well, you'd think that I had murdered a puppy on a live stream, given all the f*cking hate that was directed my way.  Seems the world only sees things in black and white, not shades of grey.

People claimed that Heard was "acting" on the witness stand and that her facts were getting jumbled, but given the fact that she's trying to recount occasions where she felt threatened or abused, all the while, the man who (allegedly) victimized her, is shooting dirty hateful looks her way, is going to rattle even the strongest of wills.

I'm familiar with abuse.  Both physical and mental and though I'm not a psychologist or anything alike, I think I can recognize it.  Many people are lucky enough to never have experienced an abusive partner or parent and good for them.  They're among the lucky ones, but I grew up in an alcoholic family, my dad, more specifically and life as a kid was not all rainbows and sunshine.  I can recall on many occasions when I stepped off the school bus and saw that he was home.  Then it was a crap shoot.  Either he'd be sober or drunk and if he were the latter, f*cking watch out!!

The abuse wasn't always physical, though I do have some scars to prove otherwise.  Sometimes, I think the physical abuse would have been preferred. Scars heal, but mental wounds seldom do.  I'm not claiming that Johnny Depp was a monster, beating his spouse about, but sometimes, the mental anguished thrust upon a partner is overwhelming.  Leaves scars that people and loved ones never get to see.  And again, I'm not claiming Depp to be a monster, but maybe he could be mean sometimes.

I've always called it, "The Jekyll & Hyde Syndrome".  My dad, when sober, was the greatest man on Earth.  He was happy, jovial, always ready for a laugh and generous, like no other.  Sometimes people would take advantage of his kindness, but when he got the drink in him.  Sucked back a few brewski's or a 26oz bottle of whisky, ho-ly f*ck, the monster would come out and you'd not wanna be around the man.  I feel terrible revealing this factoid about the man, considering in his final few years, he was sober and attending a few A.A. Meetings and he was the sweetest man you'd ever be lucky enough to cross paths with.

All those years of tip-toeing around and being on the receiving end of threats, beatings and just plain mental hockey, I doubt anyone around me would have ever suspected.  It's all about perception.  If people haven't the experience with something, chances are, they're not going to recognize it.

I don't think Johnny Depp is a bad guy.  I like him.  He's a fantastic actor and seems pretty cool in interviews, but when laced with alcohol and drugs, who the f*ck knows what he's like?  It may be the Jekyll & Hyde Syndrome, all over again.

I only watched one episode of some show on CNN that recounted the days events.  It showed video of Depp, speaking calmly, but I sensed some ominous tone to his voice, all the while, he's slamming cupboard doors and swearing and throwing shit about.  Never laid a hand on Amber in that video, but the overtones of his actions were obvious.  I outweigh Depp by about 40lbs and tower a couple of inches over the guy, but I'd be intimidated if the guy was behaving this way around me.

There's a guy in my class, right now.  He's from what he claims is 'The Eastern Bloc', but the Russian accent is a dead give away.  He's always rude to me and snaps at me constantly.  I've confronted him once on it, addressing it respectively, but it fell on deaf ears.  He continues to be rude and I take great offense to his attitude toward me.  I mentioned it to my instructor, who laughed it off and claims to not notice it.  His perception doesn't matter, only mine, in this situation.  Maybe the fella doesn't even realize that he's being a dick to me.  Maybe in his culture, this is the way they treat others.  I used to work with a fellow from the Ukraine and he'd treat me like complete dogshit, until he needed a favour or a ride home.  Same thing.

Maybe there's that guy in your office or workplace who tells off colour jokes.  He does it to be funny, never thinking that he's making others uncomfortable, but all it takes is one person to perceive the humour as aggressive or offensive, to make in inappropriate.

I had an instructor, years ago, in a Parts Management class.  She refused to call a grease nipple, grease nipple.  Apparently, nipple was offensive to her and she preferred the term 'grease zerk'.  I never knew it as a zerk and in the years since, when I call them zerks, nobody knows what the f*ck I'm talking about.  Whatever, I'm off topic.

The fact that Amber Heard was ruled against, that her mental status was not taken into consideration and that all her claims of mental and physical abuse was denied, is offensive.  Yes, she's a celebrity, but so what?  She's a human being, first and foremost.  I believe her.  I sympathize with her.  And I'm ashamed to be a man, in some sense, because she was victimized all over again.  Having to recount moments where she felt she was a victim of abuse, only to be shunned and abused further by the populous.  I just hope she can bounce back from this.

On Facebook, all I said was: As a person who was abused mentally and physically, I believe Amber Heard.  That's all I said and I received about 80 negative comments that were nasty.  Just plain nasty and rude and abusive.  I'd click on some of the profiles of those ripping into me and I couldn't believe some of the quotes on their profile.  "If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all."  Or "I keep an open mind and listen to all opinions because they matter."   Bullshit, like that.  Ever single person contradicted themselves and wrote some of the most hateful shit I've read on social media in ages. Why do they call it 'social media' when it's the most anti-social concept in history? 🤔

I've never considered myself an overly nice person.  I can act appropriately when I need to, but life has beaten the shit out of me and I'm not always the nicest guy.  There'll be people, friends and acquaintances who'll claim this statement false, but like the make-up of a clown, I've learned to hide the pain and the strife.  Much like growing up, nobody knew what horrors were happening at home, until that one fateful day that I showed up to school with two black eyes and a broken nose.  Should've seen the people kissing my ass that day.

As stated a paragraph ago, I'm not the nicest fella, but I don't believe that I suffer from Jekyll & Hyde Syndrome, either.  I'm nice until I feel pressured to not be so nice.  A character flaw, perhaps, or maybe it's a result of a troubled childhood.  Don't know.  Don't care.  It's just something I work on daily, just like I try to keep my childhood demons at bay.

It's No Secret

 

It's not a secret that I hide from anyone.  It's just a matter of fact.  A part of the lifestyle I choose to live, these days.  Years ago, before it was formally legalized, I would partake in the consumption of marijuana on a extremely part time basis.  If a friend had some, we'd share a joint.  Later on, I found a supplier and decided to do my own experimentation.

I suffer from seasonal depression.  It's something I've battled for more years than I can count.  Not something that my family or closest peers were ever aware of.  I'm not an idiot, doing my due diligence before moving forward and learning that cannabis can reduce or even eliminate depression.  So that first winter, I smoked whenever I was feeling down and it perked me right up.  Sadly, the more I learned about cannabis, the more I realized that my "supplier" knew nothing.  When I made my last purchase from him, I asked if it was a Sativa or an Indica strain and he blankly looked at me and told me he didn't know what either of those words meant. 

Sativa is the strain that perks you up and Indica is the strain that mellows you the f**k out.  Easiest way to remember is what I learned from the comedian, Doug Benson, who quoted "Indica is like 'in-da-couch'."

In the end, I'm not sure what it was that I received from the "supplier", but rest assured, the depression was suppressed.  So imagine my joy when marijuana was legalized in Canada.  The ease of walking into a legitimate business and conducting myself in an open manner.  Plus, now dealing with people who not only know the good and bad effects of the merchandise they're selling.  Nowadays, I'm able to customize the effects that I hope to achieve upon consumption.  Back in the old days, it was like spinning the tumbler on a six-shooter in a game of Russian Roulette.  Spark up and hope for the best.  One night, as I recall, I was quite gleeful, as I cooked up about 2lbs of bacon and consumed it all.  Another time, I got horribly sick, almost like I'd had an allergic reaction.  I couldn't function for about a week. 

These days, I choose to go the route of vaping the cannabis.  It's easier and more compact.  I don't have to empty the chamber and clean my unit every time I wish to smoke dried product as I do with my one device, but simply screw the vape cartridge into the battery I purchased and I'm off to the races.

Gone are the munchies, although I do keep a supply of snacks on hand that require little, if any, effort to prepare, so there's no danger of burning down my house.  No more anxiety or depression.  All that is left is relaxation, happy times and a flurry of ideas and expressions.  The stuff that makes me laugh like an idiot, I often will share to Facebook and Twitter.  Share my idiocy with the world, hoping that no one will steal any of it.

Sadly, there is also a downside...  It's nothing dangerous, mind you, but simply inconvenient.  Prime example is last night.  I was inspired to write a genius blog.  I had the introduction written in my head.  I had many musings and references to make and even a title, which is usually the most difficult factor to come up with, aside from subject matter.  I'd consumed just enough cannabis to know, however, that I was unable to write anything last night, for fear it'd come out like gibberish.  Even now, I question how legitimate this blog sounds, and I'm 100% clean and sober and the moment.

I'm not afraid to admit to smoking dope.  It's not illegal.  Hell, cannabis, despite all the idiot warning labels that the government imposes onto packaging, marijuana is not dangerous to your health.  Cannabis is a necessary tool that I use to escape my demons and depression.  That is all.  Well....  It IS fun, too.  I won't lie about that.

Haters Gonna Hate Hate Hate

Speaking of hate, I hate the fact that I quoted Taylor Swift for the title of this blog, but don't hold that against me.  That annoying song is a part of pop culture and for argument sake, it fits the subject matter of today's blog.

I'm an avid user of Twitter.  I don't have a high number of followers.  Not many people privy to my unique stance on the world.  In fact,  I'm still yo-yoing in the vicinity of 250 followers, after four years.  I still have fun with it, though.  Trading comments, remarks and praises with my favourite celebrities.  

Once in a while, though, I'm greeted with unwelcome comments, remarks aimed to discredit or belittle me, usually on a personal level.  I generally ignore these comments, but once in a blue moon, a comment crosses before my eyes that I simply cannot leave alone.

One thing that I find most irresistible is my ability to point out the flaws, shortcomings and blatant mistakes that people make.  Spelling errors, poor grammar or general stupidity, I find impossible to not point out, or even belittle, depending on it's severity.

I have a friend on Facebook, whom I continually correct spelling and grammar mistakes.  She thinks I do it out of a need to make her feel stupid, despite my repeated assurances that I don't do it for that reason.  Instead, I do it..., simply because I have no choice.  It's as involuntary as deciding to breathe.  The fact that I point out that her poor education is due to growing up in the city of Regina, Saskatchewan, IS by choice, but that's only because Regina is such a shit-hole.  It's true.  Look it up!

Earlier today, while looking through my Twitter feed, I saw a posting from TMZ that remarked: #Breaking: ATL Hawks star, Thabo Sefolosha, in HEATED scuffle with NYPD officers...  They offer up a video, which I did not click on because, frankly, I don't give a shit.  I did, however, make a quick comment, which was meant as a humourous quip based on the fact that celebrities usually get special treatment over regular folks.  "@TMZ Do the police not know that he's a celebrity? #DifferentRulesForCelebs" is what I wrote.  Less than a minute later, I received a comment from a fellow by the Twitter handle of @prototypekicks, who began questioning my use of the word 'celebrity'.  Back and forth we exchanged comments, each response I received, the more disparaging they got.  I'm not proud of myself, but I deduced that this fellow was of limited education and the meaner he got, the meaner I got.  Unfortunately, when I get mean, I go for blood, getting as vicious as I can.  I go for the jugular, with hopes of offending the party so deeply, they'll give up and leave me alone.

I don't know who Thabo Sefolosha is.  I don't watch basketball.  I barely consider basketball as an actual sport.  Given the terrible physical shape that I'm in, I consider any activity that I can do, can't actually be considered a sport.  Even if I can't do it well, if I can still do it, it's not a sport.  For instance, I'll never make it on the PGA circuit, but I can bang the f*ck out of a golf ball, and therefore golf is not a sport.  That withstanding, the goofball, @prototypekicks, begins giving me the basketball player's stats and claiming that his lack of skill, prevents him from being a celebrity.  Even though, by definition a celebrity is: A famous or well-known person.

@prototypekicks apparently did a check on my Twitter account, as he began attacking this very blog.  Upon reciprocating and doing the same on his account, I gather that he possesses a fetish for sneakers as his photos are overrun with pictures of the gayest looking shoes I've ever seen.  There's no way in hell that any self-respecting man would be seen wearing those shoes, unless it were while performing yard work or shoveling manure.  Hashtag: Ugly as f*ck!

As Taylor Swift croons; Haters are gonna hate hate hate, and I'm certain that this isn't going to be the last Twidiot that crosses paths with me.  Christ!!!  I wish I was paid a dime for every f*ckwad that I exchange words with on Twitter OR Facebook.  I've had to stop following many of my favourite wrestling sites on FB, due to assholes blanketing me with a horrendous barrage of hatred if I say anything negative about the WWE.  

In the end, assholes are going to continue to be gaping assholes, so long as a level of anonymity accompanies their dickishness.  I could care less.  I stand behind every stupid comment I make.  I welcome any backlash that may come of it.  I'm not afraid of any of these simple-minded fools.  Chances are, I could Jedi Mind Trick most of them with the wave of my hand...  Or simply jingle my keys to distract.  I'm not saying I'm better than everyone I interact with on the internet, but DO say that I'm smarter than a majority of them.

"Water's wet.  The sky is blue.  Fact is, I'm way smarter than most of you!" - ToontownJuggalo, to the World Wide Web.

Smoke & Mirrors - The Prologue

For days, I've been dipping in and out of a funk.  My own private hell, as I've dubbed it in the past.  I don't know what is the cause of it, but it's something that I've endured for a lifetime.  The hardest part of it all, is enduring these phases alone.  Thankfully, in recent years, I have my cat, Monkey, to distract me from the sadness, but his love and affection only helps so far, before I find myself sad and alone once more.

I've never been clinically diagnosed with any sort of mental disorders, then again, I've never sought any help from my physician in identifying anything of the sort.  I've never been one looking to be labeled as anything, so this condition would run along those lines.  This year, I've managed to cope better than I have in the last decade or more, so that's what's prompting this blog entry today.

As I stated, I've been yo-yo'ing in and out of sadness for a few days.  It began with watching a special that aired on the weekend regarding the (then) upcoming #BellLetsTalk campaign on January 28th, 2015 that addressed the issue of Mental Health.  2015 marks the fifth anniversary of the campaign, which helps in the identification of mental health being a very real disease, rather than something fabricated for attention seekers.  I watched a similar special a few years ago, which helped me identify what it is (& was) that I'd been dealing with for a very long time.  Since then, I've named it "seasonal depression".  Seasonal, because I seem to only suffer (it's worst) from the end of October, clear through to about March or April.  The summer months, for the most part, while lonely, don't seem to affect me too terribly.  It's just the autumn and winter months that f*ck with me.

So how to broach the subject is what has been plaguing my mind.  I am, after all, an artist of sorts.  Writing, at the moment, seems to be my canvass and I wish to paint this picture in broad colourful strokes.  I didn't know what colour to begin with until I took a stupid quiz on Facebook that asked "What colour of the rainbow are you?"  I took the idiotic quiz and got the result of YELLOW.  The description that accompanied the colour, couldn't be further from the truth of how I perceive myself.  It reads as follows:

Yellow is the color of sunshine and symbolizes happiness and friendship! It can stimulate mental energy and cheerfulness and definitely represents you! You love to have fun with your loved ones and your smile can light up a room! Good morning sunshine!

How absurd, right?  I've never felt cheerful and while I do enjoy having fun, I've never done so with "loved ones", whom I assume would be family, and my smile definitely does not light up a room.  Complete hog wash, all of is.  In fact, by re-reading this statement, I can't help but think there is a f*ck of a lot more wrong with me than initially believed.

Initially, I believed this could be discussed and shared over the course of a single blog, but the more thought I put into the subject, the more I come to realize that I need to open up about the past.  Though, it's in my most honest belief, my past is not a contributor to the present.

I Heart Boobs

I was patiently waiting in line at the Bulk Barn today.  I glanced over to another register just as it's teller stooped to pick something up off the floor.  The shirt she was wearing, was not buttoned all the way to the top and as she knelt, I caught a full view of her ample bosom.  Not to sound like a pig, but I suspect the ship has sailed on that, but she had a lot to be proud of.

Fast forward to tonight.  I'm filing through an employment website, continuing the search for gainful employment.  I come across a retail sales associate at a nationwide department store, The Bay.  They're seeking a Sales Associate for the Lingerie Department.  I jokingly mention it to a friend I'm conversing with on Facebook, adding my love of 'boobs' as a benefit.  To my surprise, she urges me to apply.  I insist that I was joking, but she prompts me to apply anyway.  Facetiously, I though of how the interview would play out.

Interviewer: What qualifications do you feel you possess that would be beneficial to you if you were selected for this position?

Me: Well, I'm notorious for looking at boobs.  Morning, noon and night, it's boobs, boobs, boobs.  I guess you could say, "I love tits!"

Interviewer: PERFECT!!  YOU'RE HIRED!!  When can you start?!?

In a perfect world, boobs would be the answer for all of life's problems.  No gas in the car?  Boobs!  No food on the table?  Boobs!  Credit card bill is overdue?  No problem!  BOOBS!  Trouble in the Middle East?  Boo...  Actually, a nice pair of boobs in the Middle East, might be what the doctor's ordered.

As an after thought, I might send in an application for the Lingerie Salesperson job, just as a joke.  I love breasts, so I feel I'm qualified.  (I had to pause while typing that last sentence, as I broke out with laughter.)

The average age of the cliental who frequent The Bay is....  Golden age, I believe.  I'm a pig.  I'm shallow and yes, I like boobs, but not the old wrinkly ones.  Ample boobs and cleavage would be a benefit of any job, provided you can look without being caught, but "they don't pay the bills", as my friend admitted.  It'd be nice and perhaps they do in Vegas, but in the real world, this isn't the case.

Maybe "soapy tits"... ;) 

Negative Press

Earlier today, while looking at my Facebook page, I came across a post that read: FAYGO CORP. ISSUES "CEASE AND DESIST" LETTER TO ICP/JUGGALOS.  I read the article written about the case that the soda pop giant based out of Detroit, Michigan, where the Insane Clown Posse also hails from, and was immediately filled with disdain on the subject.  I clicked the 'share' tab and left a comment, which quickly morphed into social commentary.  Impressed (somewhat) with the literary piece I'd so freely constructed, I decided, rather spontaneously, to put it into blog form.  I hope you will LIKE it and will SHARE / RETWEET it, upon your completion of reading it.   ENJOY!!

Fan Fest

Fan sites.  What the hell?  I can understand people gathering to discuss the latest gossip for their favourite television show.  Music groups, I understand, except maybe for that Justin Bieber kid, unless it's a full on discussion of how he ought to have his ass kicked.  Even video games, I get, to a certain point.  Halo fans and gamers of all sorts of other games, meeting online to discuss strategies and maybe even linking up for some online competition later on down the road.  One fan site I've recently crossed paths with, doesn't make sense in the slightest.

I admit to having a problem.., an addiction, if you'd prefer, with Facebook.  In fact, once I complete this blog, I'll be sharing it on Facebook.  Not only that, but I'm going to specifically post it on the very Facebook Fan Page that I hope to address here.

One of my biggest weaknesses on Facebook is the Words With Friends game.  A re-invented Scrabble game, that up to this point, I've lost more games than I've won.  Despite these horrific losses, I do enjoy the game.  That is until recently, when my game has stopped loading.  I've let it go, on a separate window, attempting to load for well over an hour, on a recent visit to the internet.  The f*cker simply will not load.  This is when I discovered a Words With Friends Fansite within Facebook.  I thought that, most certainly, there might be others who have experienced the same or similar problems, so I posted a comment requesting suggestions on how this problem might be fixed.

No sooner had I posted my request than the slanderous replies start pouring in.  Comments which included calling me a "f*cking tw*t" (the latter word was spelled with an A, not an I...) and telling me to stop whining about trivial bullshit.  That they're not affiliated with Zynga Games, the designing company responsible for the game's creation.  Zynga Games was also responsible for FarmVille and a whole host of other games before going bankrupt in 2012.

For a community that strives for inclusion of fellow fans of the game, they sure have an odd way of welcoming in new fans of the very same game.  Isn't the whole premise of a community to help and assist one another towards a common goal?  I looked up the word "community" on www.dictionary.reference.com, and in so many words it defines the word as: A social, religious, occupational or any other group sharing common characteristics or interests and perceived or perceives itself as distinct in some respect from the larger society within which it exists.  So instead of offering up advice to fellow fans of the very game they are fans of, they instead rally together to offend newcomers seeking their expertise and advice.

The Words With Friends Fan Site is one thing for sure.  A coalition of assholes.  Not a single person of the six that I received feedback from, offered any sort of valid advice.  One fellow, the most civil of the bunch, suggested that the game was refusing to work for me because of my lack of giving to those less fortunate.  Going so far as to suggest that my game's recent dysfunction was due to my lack of charitable work.  Apparently hippies now play word games.  He went on to suggest I delete my account and start over.  This seems a little extreme, considering this shit is supposed to work 24/7, but whatever the hell.  Perhaps this IS fate's way of stepping in and telling me to get my priorities together.  

I do have some stormy weather on the horizon.  This I'm most certain of.  Getting upset over a Scrabble rip-off, should be the least of my problems.