The Road To Dystopia

It was a Sunday, late afternoon.  I'd gotten off work and was invited to a nearby bar where a collection of fellow employees were gathering to watch a WWE (then WWF) Pay-Per-View.  I don't recall many, if any of the matches on the card as only one epic match comes to mind and it was SO over the top, literally, that it shadowed everything else.  I've heard in interviews by the participants of the match that followed, Stone Cold Steve Austin versus The Big Red Machine, Kane, that when they saw the preceding match, they all but gave up on trying to make their match memorable.  The match I speak of is none other than Mankind (Mick Foley) versus The Undertaker in a Hell In A Cell match and if you know your history, you know exactly the match I'm referring to.

While exchanging blows atop of the steel cage, at what seemed like a spur of the moment decision, Undertaker grabs a hold of Foley and tosses him off the top of the cage.  To say this was the defining moment of the match is difficult to say as what would follow was equally as devastating and exhilarating to watch all at the same time.  It's a story that's been told a million times, at great length and detail by both participants so I'm not going to bother.  Google it.  It's quite a spectacle.

The reason I mention this moment in sports history, is that I wasn't present to witness this as it unfolded.  I've only watched this in replays for my entire existence, just as you are seeing it happen in the GIF to my right.  For as I had stated, we were in a bar and we had all ordered food and just as I was paying the waitress who happened to be standing between myself and the video screen so my only reference to the moment itself is the whole crowd roaring in disbelief.  It was truly a historical moment that I will never get to reflect on.

I am proud to say that I was present and accounted for, both in body and mind, to witness the Birth of Austin 3:16.  It was the 1996 King of the Ring Tournament, back when it meant something.  Now, I can't recall all the details, they are somewhat fuzzy, but the Coles Notes version is Stone Cold Steve Austin had gone to the hospital for an injury sustained earlier in the day, but when he returned he was told about an interview that Jake The Snake Roberts had given earlier aimed at his pending match with Austin.  Roberts, who at the time was a recovering addict in a 12-Step program was adding proverbs and alike to his speeches and this further aggravated a powder keg of a human being and long story short, Stone Cold stomped the hell outta the man.  In the interview that followed with former Freebird, Michael Hayes, Austin began chastising Roberts, "You talk about your Psalms and your John 3:16.  Well AUSTIN 3:16 says I just whooped your ass!"

You always hear people retell of what they were doing or where they were when historical moments go down.  I remember being a kid in school hearing about the assassination attempt on President Ronald Reagan.  I recall coming home from a music festival to learn that Princess Diana had died in a tragic motor vehicle collision.  I remember vividly what was happening when I heard that Andre The Giant had died and I remember being parked on the side of the road, my eyes fixed on the radio as the commentator reported that the first Tower had collapsed in New York City on September 11th, 2001.  So when the opportunity came for me, a Canadian, to sit down and watch the Presidential Inauguration in 2021, I made it a point to watch as it was HISTORY happening in REAL TIME.

The Inauguration, to me, was monumental.  The United States and, let's be frank, the entire world was affected by the Donald Trump "presidency" and not in a positive way.  They were dark times, I feel.  Especially, considering the handling of the pandemic, but I'm not here to complain about the obvious, but when the Democratic Party thwarted the intentions of the Dark Republic, there was an air of hope.  That the storm had passed and better days lay ahead.

This was not the sole reason for my tuning in.  No.  This was a historic moment.  America was getting their first female Vice President.  An honourable woman of stature, grace, intelligence and compassion.  I felt America had gotten it right, for a change and as she raised her hand to accept the Presidential Oath of Office, I had tears streaming down my face.  Tears of joy and pride.  Thoughts that maybe things would be okay and in the months and years that followed, things did get better.  Things did seem okay, even with the darkness on the horizon, we as a world collective felt the dark times were behind us all. That the four year hiatus between 2017 and 2020 was nothing more than a tarnished memory and an asterisk in the history books.

Knowing not to count my chickens before they hatch I didn't believe the 2024 election would turn out the way it did.  The Blue Wave seemed real.  The voices were being heard and hope was on the horizon.  I knew that Kamala Harris had a fight ahead of her and who knows, maybe if she'd had the two or more years to campaign like her opponent, she would have faired better.  While I was preparing to celebrate, I was dumbfounded by the overwhelming outcome which was....  Words cannot describe the level of frustration and confusion that I possess.  I know common sense hasn't really existed for quite some time, but holy fuck.

Think about this:  A convicted criminal is not allowed to vote in any election, yet a convicted criminal has been elected as the 47th President of the United States of America.  What the fuck is wrong with the logic of these voters.  And it's only now that the truth behind the rhetoric that Trump and his MAGA maniacs were spouting IS confirmed.  All the "lies" that they denied are now being confirmed by those same people and the voters are realizing this now, 48 and 72 hours later, they wish they'd checked the other box.  Sorry, there are no mulligans here.  I genuinely feel bad for those who voted for Harriz/Walz and lost, but I hold them as equally responsible because they could have done more to educate those who were clueless.

Following his victory in 2016, I began to reference the Mad Max movie series.  I remember watching these films as a kid and wondering: What must have happened in the world to scorch the earth like this.  Then the Trump/Pence regime began and it began to become clear as to what sort of governmental management would cause a violent dystopia like that depicted in these films.  I hope and pray that it doesn't get this bad, but when you consider the stance and campaign promises that Trump and Vance has made for the future of the United States of America, a violent society isn't that far from belief.

I am not a religious person by any means, but I may reconsider that belief in the coming years.  I am literally sick to my stomach and fearful.  That's not a healthy way to live.  As a Canadian, especially one whose country at the moment is at a crossroads itself with less than honourable representation in Ottawa, I fear for the future of Canada and if truth be known, I would not put it past Trump to turn and take inspiration from his buddy Vladimir Putin and invade Canada for our resources.  Oil, Water, Potash and Maple Syrup.  The last was meant as a joke, but given how much of the golden syrup is supplied to the world, I would not be surprised if that Tangerine Tyrant would, in fact, invade Canada.

I'm going to close my eyes, clasp my hands and praise the positive.  It's just about the only hope I have left.

Nutty Professionals

The evening ended much like every other has, this past summer, falling asleep in the armchair in front of the TV.  Prior to my departure into dreamland, I had been watching the latest "Battle of the Brands" (c/o UpUpDownDown on YouTube) where the two hosts, Austin Creed, aka Xavier Woods in the WWE and Tyler Breeze, a former WWE Superstar.  In the video, as they are preparing their individual Raw and ECW matches they get to talking about all sorts of subjects.  One subject in particular that has recurred over the past year or so, was whether or not Creed had seen the 1996 version of "The Nutty Professor" starring Eddie Murphy.  They make no mention of the original 1963 version starring Jerry Lewis.  To be honest, I doubt these young fellas are even aware that Murphy's Professor is a remake.

I will openly admit that I never found the Eddie Murphy remake to be all that funny, but Tyler Breeze sure believes that it's one of the funniest movies ever, if not THEE funniest.  Creed had never seen the film, nor had intended to do so, but after repeated urging, Creed finally succumbed to pressure and watched the film. 

The two discuss the film briefly before Creed explains to their streaming viewers the premise of the Nutty Professor film, associating it with an episode of the ABC comedy, "Family Matters" in which the nerdy character, Steve Erkel takes a potion that magically turns him into the suave Stephan.  A similar storyline to the original Nutty Professor where a geeky Jerry Lewis drinks a chemical concoction that turns him into Buddy Love, a handsome and charming ladies man, a direct opposite to the professor.  Murphy's version is about a self-conscious overweight man who turns himself into a sexy suave ladies' man.  Both films and the Erkel episode are all loosely based on the 1886 novella, "The Strange Case of Dr. Jeckyll and Mr. Hyde" by author Robert Louis Stevenson.

Of course, while the duo are setting up their games, there's music playing in the background and the music for Dude Love begins to play and like a bolt of lightning from the Heavens above, I was suddenly stricken with a stroke of brilliance and theorized that the Three Faces of Foley, Mankind, Cactus Jack and Dude Love are similar to the Nutty Professor and Jeckyll and Hyde stories. 

For those unaware, retired professional wrestler, Mick Foley, portrayed three characters throughout his legendary wrestling career.  Cactus Jack, Mankind and Dude Love and in my hypothesis; Cactus Jack was the perfect specimen in the fact that he was tough and good with the ladies.  Cactus is comfortable in his body and nothing will phase the man.  

Mankind, while being tough as nails, unafraid of anything including monsters and beasts as well as barbed wire and thumbtacks, but there was an awkwardness to Mankind.  Around people, he didn't seem comfortable.  You'd never see Mankind hanging out in catering with the other wrestling superstars, but instead in the darkened corners of the boiler room or hiding in the rafters.  Though Mankind didn't mingle well with his brethren, he was especially elusive to the fairer sex.  Though never witnessed on film, I speculate that Mankind shied away from the ladies.

Enter Dude Love.  Dude was every bit as tough in the ring as Cactus Jack and Mankind, but he was also really good with the ladies.  Often, Dude Love could be seen with a lovely lady on each arm.  Foley's version of the ladies man, however, differed greatly from his Nutty Professor counterparts, for The Dude was always charming and respectful, while the two versions of Buddy Love would turn out to be narcissistic arrogant assholes.  Traits not portrayed by Mick Foley, no matter what the instance.

I've never watched the 1963 version of the Nutty Professor and I'm almost certain that the humour showcased in that film would not hold up for my twisted sense of humour, these days, nor do I believe that another viewing of the Eddie Murphy version would change my mind on how terrible I found the film.  As for Mick Foley...  Well, I had the pleasure of meeting the man a few years ago, shaking his hand and posing for a photo of the living legend.  I sometimes muse at the fact that he "stole" my gold marker.  I had brought a special GOLD Sharpie for his autographs, as I had brought a number of items to be signed.  Books and action figures.  He asked if I was planning to resell the items I was getting autographed, as that's something that people do, but I assured him that they would not be leaving my possession ever.  I may have even mentioned being buried with the items.

It is often said that you should "never meet your heroes" as you're often disappointed in who they actually are away from TV or whatever the case may be and while, this has happened to me before (Lita - and I hold a grudge), Mick Foley was probably one of the nicest people I've ever met.  Probably one of the nicest people on the planet, if I'm being honest.

The Man. The Legend.
 Mick Foley

Profligation

Dreams.  What could they mean?  Merely products of an overactive mind?  Or do they provide a glimpse into an uncertain future?  It's difficult to say for sure, but for decades, there has loads of science investigating the unconscious state of dreaming.  The causes, the need and/or the necessity of dreaming.  That's not what this is about.

My dreams tend to air on the side of strange.  I know this much about my unconscious state.  My dreams tend to be something as stupid as white water rafting with the likes of WWE superstars, The Undertaker,  Hunter Hearst Helmsley (Triple H) and Stephanie McMahon or I've dreamt murder/mystery stories that could be blockbuster films if ever realized on the silver screen.  Most of the really good stuff, quickly disappears once I awaken and I can't remember the finite details.  (Plus, I can barely write this blog that no one reads, let alone pen the next Hollywood hit.)

This morning, I awoke about a half dozen times, from the time of 5am all the way up to the present (8:30am).  Normally when I wake up this often, my head is plagued with a number of images and stories, but not on this day.  I woke up every time, wondering..;  Is trounce a multiple of bounce?

Now before the one reader who mistakenly wandered onto this site and decided "What the hell?" and read it anyway, saw this statement and has declared me a f**king moron, keep in mind, I've already Googled the meaning of both and know that bounce doesn't restrict an item to hitting the ground twice and trounce doesn't refer to three rebounds or more.  If I continued down the path of trying to declare this to be the case would be shear idiocy. This is simply an example of how my brain works.

       

In the back of my mind, I knew there was a difference.  That the explanation wasn't as simple as bi meaning two and tri meaning three.  The English language can be a little f**ked up, but it makes more sense than this.  Again, my brain works differently than other people's.  Always has, even before I had my accident.

I had a dream once, where I was at a Agriculture show with two people of whom I was familiar with (in the dream, but in real life, I hadn't met them yet).  The reason this dream was so memorable was the three of us were speaking to a farmer about emu's.  Up to this point, I had never heard of an Emu, and when I awoke, I had to investigate whether or not this was a real thing.  It is.  Many months later, I was attending a class at SIAST and our class was sent to the local Agribition, where I hung out with classmates, Christine and Derek.  Two people who I hadn't known when I had the initial dream, but whom I was familiar with that day and... Yes!  We stopped and spoke with a farmer who raised... [dramatic pause] ... Emus.  F**king weird, right?

I could fill volumes about the strange dreams I've had and have been able to remember.  Who the hell knows about all the shit I've forgotten?  I'm willing to bet that I probably did have a few million dollar ideas in the mix.  However, I believe this blog has strayed far enough off the initial subject that I had hoped to address in this blog, this morning.  I'm like Hulk Hogan, by which I mean, I can't seem to stay on one subject and am distracted by all the shiny shit that accompanies said subject.  (If you're one of the sorry souls who read Hulk Hogan's book from way back, you'll understand that reference.  It was a painful read, to say the least.)

Bounce: (verb) (of an object, especially a ball) Move quickly up, back, or away from a surface after hitting it; rebound (once or repeatedly).

(noun) Rebound of a ball or other object.

Trounce: (verb) To defeat heavily in a contest; To rebuke or punish severely.

Emu: The emu is the second-largest living bird by height, after its ratite relative, the ostrich. It is endemic to Australia where it is the largest native bird and the only extant member of the genus Dromaius.

Profligate: recklessly extravagant or wasteful in the use of resources. (Or this edition of Brain Matter.)

I don't really have an out for this blog, so I will leave you with this.  If you've made it this far into this blog and liked it?  You're my audience and you may enjoy previous entries.  They're not all golden, but some of them are pretty good.  If you begrudgingly made it this far and haven't liked a single word, except maybe Emu (because it is a fun word to say), you have my apologies.  However, you may want to check out past entries.  They're not all golden, but some of them actually are pretty good.

In closing, everyone have a Merry Christmas! 🎅

The Most Overrated Band in History

 

I was perusing my Twitter the other day (@ToontownJuggalo, for anyone interested) and came across a tweet from WWE commentator, Corey Graves who mentioned that the Canadian band RUSH, sucked.  I can't remember his exact wording, but the message essentially translated to them sucking.  I concurred, adding another band, which I'll mention later on.

Fast-forward to this morning.  The phone rang at an alarmingly early time, which isn't that late for normal functioning adults, but being that I'm not working until springtime, 8am is too early for this guy.  The radio was playing the Electric Light Orchestra, ELO for short, song "Don't Bring Me Down".  I f*cking detest this song.  It's SO f*cking annoying, I can't believe it was ever popular.  Sadly, it's only saving grace is a part of why it's so annoying.  The chorus chimes "Don't bring me dooown, Groos!  Don't bring me doooown, Groos!"  I don't know what a "groos" is, but thankfully, it sounds like "UCE!", which is a Samoan word for "brother" or "bro" (I've seen definitions referring to either meaning).  As a long standing wrestling fan, I can appreciate the term, as it's often repeated by WWE's resident Samoan members, The Uso's and their cousin, the "Head of the Table", as he's known as of late, Roman Reigns.  The ELO song, however, remains as one of my most hated songs, but it's not the worst song.  That honour goes to the 1980's questionable hit, "Come On Eileen" by the one-hit wonders, Dexy's Midnight Runners. No matter where I am, what obstacles may be lying between me and that radio dial, when the first couple of notes float into the air, I will stop at nothing to switch the station or shut the radio off.  It is the WORST!!  

Growing up, I remember hearing music that I never cared for.  Most of Queen's library would have been included in that category, but later in life, I learned to like it and even love it.  The song "Radio Ga Ga" was one that I remember listening to on the way to school and absolutely detesting it, yet when it comes on the radio these days, I crank up the volume and belt out the lyrics at the top of my lungs.  It's a song hated by most die hard Queen fans or so I've heard, but I absolutely love it.  That Dexy's Midnight Runners song has never, nor will it ever appeal to me.

Earlier, I mentioned that I concurred with Corey Graves' assessment that the Canadian rock trio, RUSH sucked and I stand by that statement.  I've never liked the band, but I can tolerate that garbage.  Mostly because I've been able to change the lyrics in my head, to make the drivel more enjoyable.  There's one song of theirs that comes on the radio, from time-to-time, that I call "My New Brown Pants".  I don't know the name of the RUSH song, but singing "My new brown pants" as loud as I can, makes me laugh.  If I'm unable to change the station, this is a pleasant consolation prize.

Also mentioned earlier, I commented that I concurred with Graves' comment and added another group.  This has been met with much pushback for many years, although, not so much in recent memory.  It's no secret for those who know me.  I hate The Beatles.

I've always laid the claim that The Beatles are (probably) the MOST overrated band in history.  Many, and I do mean many, people have disagreed with me on this subject, one fellow, a former co-worker, even threatened to fight me if I didn't take back the claim.  I didn't and he didn't follow through with his threat.  The only song that the mop-headed quartet ever did that I do, in fact, enjoy and maybe even love, is "I Wanna Hold Your Hand".  As for the rest of the catalogue...  Well, that's complicated.  While I find the band highly overrated, they did manage to write some great songs, which have been (more) expertly covered by other bands.  Motley Crue's version of "Helter Skelter" is a great song!  Aerosmith's rendition of "Come Together" is practically flawless.  As well as many other bands and solo artists, too many to list here, have covered many Beatle tunes and done so with greatness.  The Beatles, however..., not so much.

A year or two ago, I will admit this.  I was watching The Late Late Show with James Cordon who caught up with Sir Paul McCartney in Liverpool and they did this huge Carpool Karaoke segment, touring around Liverpool, reliving some fond memories, finishing with an impromptu concert in a local drinking tavern.  First revealed to a dozen or so, local residents which soon swarmed to several hundred or more, packing into the tiny bar and listening from outside.  I found the whole thing to be overwhelmingly sweet.  Mostly because they hold McCartney in such high regard and had an opportunity to see this living legend perform live in their neighbourhood pub.  It was pretty cool, but I came away from that experience with a tear in my eye and retaining the belief that The Beatles are the most overrated band in history.

I'm not claiming to be an expert on what is best or superior in music, past or present.  I know what I like and I don't mind announcing what I don't like.  I love the Insane Clown Posse.  Most people don't.  Mostly because the name alone, scares them away.  However, when people tell me that I'm wrong for liking them for whatever reason, I don't get upset.  I don't honestly care.  "They suck!!" people say, trying to get a reaction, to which I always reply "It's a matter of opinion" and really, that's all it is.  Maybe The Beatles aren't as terrible as I think.  Maybe RUSH is a great band.  I doubt it, but maybe.  One thing is for sure.  Dexy's Midnight Runners' "Come On Eileen" is the absolute WORST.  That and country music.  I feel sorry for anyone who listens to that horse shit!!

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.

The Undertaker -- Then & Now

I remember the first time I ever viewed The Undertaker, in what was then, the World Wrestling Federation (WWF).  He was this mysterious and ominous man who seemed like he couldn't be beaten by anyone in the ring.  No amount of offense seemed to affect "The Deadman".  Even though, as a young boy, I already knew professional wrestling to be of predetermined outcomes, his character, nevertheless, intimidated me.  Death, seemed to surround this menacing foe.  I, literally, feared The Undertaker.

Decades have passed, and the image of The Undertaker have changed with the times.  Each version, having more personality traits of Mark Callaway, the man behind the myth, bleeding into the updated interpretations of what and of whom The Undertaker was and is.

It was during his "American Badass" era, where his form resembles that of a biker more so than that of an old west mortician, is where my respect for the man really began to take shape.  As a long time superstar of the WWF, today known as the WWE, Callaway's role behind the scenes was one of a ring general.  Kind of a Captain of the team, so-to-speak.  One who led by example, and hopefully those under him, the newbies coming up the ranks, would fall in line.

The man today, paints another picture.  He's still same Undertaker he ever was, to some degree, though his role in the company has been dialing back in recent years.  He's not a young man, anymore.  I can speak from experience that the years can catch up to you, if you're not looking in the right direction.  Although, in 'Taker's case, he exercises and works out on a regular basis, and I haven't picked up a weight in years, unless you include my cat.  The Undertaker of today, differs greatly from the one introduced over twenty years ago.

I won't lie to you, though.  The man, Mark Callaway protrays in (and out of) the ring STILL scares me, however nowadays, my level of respect for him equals the level of fear I have for The Undertaker!

Dreamscape

Sometimes life just seems more fun and interesting on "the other side".  When I close my eyes at night, I'm whisked away to a distant, yet sometimes familiar place, where I'm everything I ever hoped I'd be and am accepted by all as an equal or better.  Unlike my waking hours when it seems like all I am is a number.  Something, not someone, to be used and abused for all I'm worth, then discarded like a piece of trash or a piece of gum stuck to the bottom of their shoe.

I'm not crying up a storm, here, sobbing "woe is me".  I'm satisfied, somewhat, for my lot in life.  I find my job fulfilling, though unappreciated most days.  It's just everything else that I wish I could have different.

When I dream at night, it seems like all my hopes have come true.  I'm popular with the ladies, even sought after on occasion.  Hell, I'm popular with everyone.  My opinions and ideas matter.  It's freakin' awesome.  Sometimes I think, if I didn't have so many responsibilities here, it'd be nice to slip into a coma.  Life seems more fulfilling and interesting "over there" anyway, and adventurous.

I remember a dream I had a few years ago, where I was white water rafting with the WWE's Undertaker (whom I was referring to by his real name, Mark Callaway), Stephanie McMahon, and Triple H (Paul Levesque).  We'd stopped for lunch at a small cafe along the river, and when I went to use the restroom, I was jumped by three hoodlums who wanted my ball cap. (I guess not all is perfect in this world...)  Mark, or I mean, Undertaker was quick to help a buddy out and stomped their asses into the ground.  Yahoo!

My dreamscape is a wondrous place.  It sort of resembles Heaven in the movie "What Dreams May Come", a far and spacious place, uncluttered by modern amenities, yet there are pockets of familiarities.  City streets that somehow exist but don't clash with the beauty of the landscape.  They're invisible until you look around and see you're surrounded.

Last night, for some reason, I dreamed about work, but it wasn't my workplace that I recognized.  It was completely different, yet my co-workers were all there.  I was working along side one of the blokes I worked with this week, and instead of treating me like a useless f*ck as he was doing yesterday, he treated me as a equal even requesting my opinion on a pending project.  My ideal scenario, wouldn't be to dream of work for the rest of my existence, but there's worse things to be dreaming about.

For instance, there's a recurring dream I have from time to time, where I'm stuck in this house or building.  The structure itself changes ever once in awhile, but the premise remains.  I can run, walk, whatever, there's no getting out.  No matter the route I choose, different every time, there's no escape and I end up back where I began.  Of all my dreams, this one, I fear, is the closest to my real life.

Not to mention the nightmares that I have sometimes.  I'm fast asleep, but an uneasy feeling wakes me up.  I look up and see a small girl clad in a white dress, standing in the doorway of my bedroom.  She's motionless, quietly staring at me as I sleep.  My cat is usually nowhere to be found, which is understandable, as I don't really want to be there either.  I don't do anything and I say nothing.  I close my eyes again and go back to sleep.  Now I'm fairly certain this is a dream and not an actual occurrence.  As far as I know, there's never been a small child who resided in this house.  Plus, I've had this dream on a number of occasions at a number of my residences.

I guess I just view these dreams as a form of escape.  When life gets me too down, here, I can close my eyes and escape to someplace wonderful.  I did the same as a kid, too.  My childhood was not that easy.  Growing up in an alcoholic home, life is rarely easy.  I didn't have it as bad as some kids, but I felt the brunt of a lot of hate and mistreatment.  I guess that's why I fell in love with the cinema, as a young kid.  I saw it as a way to escape from my day-to-day life, and be somewhere or someone else.  I guess that's why as an adult, I continue the practice, watching way too much television and viewing a f*ck-of-a-lot of movies.  At last count, I can't remember how many movies I have in my collection.

That being said, I can see on the wall that I need to get some shit done and bills to pay.  After all is said and done...; Life is but a dream.., sweetheart.

F*ck Bullies!!!!

Kids be getting soft these days. That's what I'm thinking. Decades of mothers and fathers coddling their kids, teaching them to be soft, rather than calloused to what life brings them. If they fall down and scrape their knee, they're babied until the bleeding stops, rather than dad calling out, "Suck it up you wimp!" The latter is how I was raised. That and a lot more.

I see in the news repeatedly how this teenager and that teenager, is turning to suicide in order to deal with bullying in school. What could be said that is SO bad, that ending your life is better than just coping with the constant scurrility.

I, myself, was bullied relentlessly in my early school years. I recall being singled out in the seventh, eighth and ninth grades, especially. Growing up, I was always a sort of scrawny little guy, and therefore a prime target for those bigger than myself. I remember one fellow, in the seventh and eighth grades, named Jimmy. He was a couple years older than the rest of us, high school age I think, and this f*cker would constantly pick on me and try to beat on me. I don't understand why that was. One time he cornered me on the playground, ready to pummel me with his fists, accusing me of "thinking I was so cool". That statement, for the time, was the furthest thing from the truth. Today, on the other hand, I KNOW I am so cool. (Just look at my hair! Damn, I look good!)

High school, presented me with entirely new challenges. Here I was, placed into a sea of adolescents much bigger and older than myself. A whole new pool of social acceptance. I can remember this one guy, a couple of grades above me, who terrorized me for my entire freshman year. Any chance he got, he'd corner me and just lay into me with the insults. I can't remember much about the f*cker, other than he had kind of a pansy mustache, one of those faggy teenage ones, and this deep-seated scowl on his face. I don't remember ever seeing him with his friends, where he'd have a smile on his face. He'd always be a step or two behind a couple other guys, until he'd see me, then his eyes lit up like a kid on Christmas morning, and the bullying commenced shortly after that. Midway through the school year, I found myself running late to classes, because I had to take the long way around the school, just to avoid crossing paths with that f*cking guy.

Not once, though, throughout all the hazing and bullying, did I ever think that I'd rather be dead than deal with all this shit. I don't know exactly what it took for me to "survive" the bullying. Lord knows that it wasn't that I hit a growth spurt over the summer. I didn't get that until I was eighteen years old. Far too late for any of it to matter. But looking back now, I can only think it was a couple of things that helped me to survive the taunting.

Number one, was I knew the truth. They'd say one thing, but I knew the alternative to be the truth. The goof in high school, constantly had me cornered, pushed back between a couple of lockers, towering over me calling me "a little faggot" and other similar slurs, but I always knew that I was not a gay. (He probably was, but I sure as hell was not!)

Number two, and I had to think long and hard on this one, but it makes sense. I grew up in an alcoholic family. That is, my dad was an alcoholic, the rest of us were on the receiving end of it. Today I harbour no ill-will towards my dad, recognizing the experience as Jeckyll & Hyde. When he was sober, my dad was the best. When he was drunk, which at the time was A LOT, he was a f*cking horror show. Jason Voorhees and Freddy Krueger have nothing on my dad when he was rip-snortin' drunk. And this, I believe is the other reason I survived the bullying I received at school. For I know, no matter what these small-dicked idiots could dish out on me at school, my drunk father could dish out ten times (if not more) worse abuse.

So that is my secret to success, but what about all these teenagers today, who would rather swallow a bottle of pills or eat a f*ckin' bullet, than deal with the atrocities that berate them on a daily basis. Some might argue that today's youth are faced with an entirely different era than when I was a boy. Today, there's something called "cyber-bullying", in which tech-savvy bullies take to the world wide web, and post a plethora of untruths on Facebook, Twitter and whatever other social websites there are. Well I don't buy this a a viable reason for offing one's self. Bullies take to these sites because of the anonymity involved. Why, then, can't the victims return like with like. Fight fire with fire. Do like Sean Connery said in the Untouchables. "If they bring a knife, you bring a gun. If they put one of your guys in the hospital, you put one of theirs in the morgue."

Now as I'm writing that line, I have flashbacks of Columbine and alike. I don't mean victims of bullying should bring small arms to school and open fire. That's a bullshit, p*ssy way out of things. I mean fight your oppressors with words. I personally have attacked many a person with my words, and in some instances have caused quite a turmoil. I'm still receiving mail concerning my pledge that Chewbacca from Star Wars, was gay for Han Solo, and I suspect I will continue to receive mail over that. But that's good. It means I'm always on someone's mind. The victims of bullying can do the same. Post all sorts of shit about your bully. It doesn't matter if it's true. None of the shit they're saying about you is truth (in all likelihood).

Today, there's a large movement to end bullying. A valiant effort, this is true. I don't think we will ever see the end of bullying, to be completely honest, as bullying is everywhere. Corporate America bullies the poor. Big government bullies the other parties. "The Simpsons" has been on TV for over two decades now, and nearly every week, you see poor Bart and Milhouse handing over their lunch money to the school bullies. The WWE, which I have not laid eyes upon since Wrestlemania, constantly pits one super heavyweight wrestler against a lightweight grappler. Tell me how fair it is to see a 400lb behemoth fight against another fellow who's barely 5'8"?

Bullying is everywhere. It's a global epidemic. It will never end, sadly. So we need to find other alternatives to combating it. Teachers need to be more diligent. Whenever I was cornered as a young lad, lots of teachers would pass by, but not a one ever stopped to check and see if I was okay. They'd just smile and nod and keep on their way. I think most teachers and school officials know it to be going on, but are oblivious to recognizing it when they come upon it. I think better training needs to be given to school officials and stronger consequences to those who are caught.

"A show of hands. Who here has been the victim of bullying?" a man said to a group of kids during a television program earlier. A majority of hands were raised, including his own. "Now who here has bullied other people?" No hands were raised, except his own. He, admitting that in addition to being bullied, he too had bullied others. Only then, through that honesty, did one or two hands get raised. Everyone is willing to admit they're picked on, but never want to admit to being the monster themselves. As for me. Yeah. I think it could be said, that I've bullied a couple others. I don't remember who, or what the circumstance, but I have bullied. I'm not proud of it, but it is what it is. I can only learn from it and move on.

The same goes for those who find themselves victim to bullying and ridicule. Don't f*cking kill yourself. That shit doesn't solve anything. It makes your family miserable, because they couldn't help you. It makes the bullies feel invincible because they drove you to it. What you need to do, is LIVE. Live your life. If for no other reason, but out of spite. If your oppressors "hate" you that much, think of how miserable you're going to make their shitty little lives, by living yours to the fullest. Then when your a success, you can look down your nose at them as they fill your car up with gas or give you french fries with your burger order. F*ck them.