Sunday, December 30, 2007

a little bit of silliness to get you through...

i think many of you non-existant readers have probably been reading long enough to have a vague idea of how my mind works (i say vague, cause even i, at best, have only the slightest notion of how my own mind workds) in that you should know it latches upon tiny things and expands them into massive stories complete with several little barely-related side trips:

i was thinking, if they made a movie of my life (based on the magnum crappus, (which, let's face it, is probably about 85 to 90% based on my real life and what really happened and the rest is made up of nonsequitor tangents, bizarre observations of life, and certain embellisments and wishful thinkings) and which would, furthermore, require me to finish said magnum crappus (which i am actually thinking is going to end up being at least two, possibly three, seperate magnum crappi) and, even less likely, would require the magnum crappus to get published ( i know, i know, i am laughing incredulously as well) by a company that would, no doubt, upon releasing my ill-fated work upon the world, quietly close its doors, pack its shit up, and shift surreptitiously to the bahamas or some other place where ex-pats who don't want to have a past or be recognized end up, and, beyond all ability to comprehend, would require a largish group of people (who would've clearly donated their respectives brains to science) to decide it were film-worthy in the first fucking place and back it with monies and such), i would like the opening scene to go as such: (and this really happened not an hour ago)

fade up on interior shot of a bedroom. floor is littered with toys, two messy twin beds occupy opposite walls, star wars poster above one bed and godzill above another. blinds are closed on large window. door opens, enter darth, a mid-thirties male with short dark hair, large, black-framed dorky glasses, and rumpled joy division t-shirt and jeans. he is in mid-sentence as he enters the room.

darth: (loudly) ...the fuck do we need all the doors shut? and let's open the damn blinds and let some light into this place. soak up some su-(steps on toy) motherfucker!! goddamn legos! (continuing to window) i swear to god, i am gonna fucking chuck all these toys in the trash, or give em to kids who actually listen to their parents!

darth stands on one of the beds, favoring one foot, and open blinds, the pullstrings of which become entangled, causing the blinds to stop mid-way.

darth: (loudly, but seemingly under breath to self) god fucking dammit! que joda! (fiddles manically with the blinds, the pullstrings, ultimately leaving the blinds at half-mast and storms out, stepping on a different toy with the same foot) ouch! jesus fucking christ!

another scene would involve (this happened mere minutes ago) darth discovering muddy footprints across the carpet, and lecturing the oldest on taking his shoes off before running into the house. oldest is apologetic, and darth calms to say, "it's ok, just remember to take your shoes off before you come inside." darth vacuums. darth is putting clothes away and hears oldest come into house again. "did you take your shoes off?" "oh. ummm."

much cursing and anger and unprintable things are said as darth extracts the vacuum cleaner again.

now, here's the thing: who would play me if all these shenanigans and goings-on ever found themselves on celluloid? i mean, i know who i might like to portray me: brad pitt, clive owens, maybe the guy from 300. but let's be realistic. i am not even remotely as good-looking as any of these fellas. also, whoever did it would have to be able to pull off the attitude. attitude would certainly be more important than actually looking much like me.

so i mulled it around. and it was a toughy, let me tell ya. cause frankly i would puke up my cheerios if someone like brad pitt or jude law portrayed me. cause it aint me. cause i am not good-looking (well, ok, in the hollywood hunk sense of the word i guess, since krissie lectured me so heavily last time i referred to myself as not good-looking), maybe if jake gyllenhall was a little older. (i probably misspelled his name. who cares? i could take on jake.) so, because i have no life, i started pulling out my dvd's and looking at some of the actors on em.

here's a few i think could pull it off and by whom i would be honored to be represented: john cusack (did i mispell his name? shit, i am too lazy to look em up), who i think would outdo me. honestly. a cross between his better off dead, grosse point blank, and hi-fidelity characters. yeah, he might be a better me than me. hmmmm. ewan mcgregor. he'd have to speak yank though. but along the lines of his trainspotting character, renton. though maybe slowed down quite a bit. but ewan is waaaaay too fucking good-looking for me. but hey, we are talking about hollywood, that likes to pretty things up alot. (and if he does play me, my wife would like to borrow him for a night. or two. i dunno, maybe not, she might not give him back. nevermind.) but my number one choice for playing me in the movie would be sam rockwell. scary as fuck in the green mile. funny as hell in a nerdy doofus kinda way in galaxy quest. and more than just manic enough in hitchiker's guide to the galaxy. not ugly. not hot. probably a really cool guy to hang with. i wouldn't have to worry about my wife putting some fine-print clause in the contract about conjugal visits.

here's what i want though. put some thought into it. look at my pic (though, again, it is less about looking like me, and more about having the proper attitude). and give me your ideas, o my beloved non-existant readers, on who you think might do a good job of playing me in the movie that will never be. i would love to read them.

have a happy new year's everyone.

darth sardonic


Thursday, December 27, 2007

the numbers don't lie

but mainly due to the fact they are incapable of speech.

i wish the cat would hop down off the computer chair. i am currently performing some bastardization of a flying fellini gig because ever since we got a new computer chair, pepper has decided it's hers, and has been a real twat about relenting and letting me have it. as a result, i balance precariously on the front of it (on a unicycle and juggling chainsaws) and she curls herself up into an angry (and uncomfortable) little ball.

there are a couple guarantees about the holidays with my family. my aunt l will be there. my aunt l has hypochondria down to a science. and she is more than a bit of a whiner. she only half follows conversations and will then interject something from her personal experience that has little or nothing to do with what was being discussed in the first place. then, loudly, from the other room, my mom will jump her shit for something she has said. a short argument will ensue, with my mom playing the loud berater, and my aunt l playing the cowtowing apologizer. my mom's friend b and i will get into a heated discussion of the world's ills and i will get carried away, forget, and use the eff word loudly. she will wince and say, "god! i hate that word, please don't use it." and i will feel like an ass. my father, my brother (unless he is present, which completely negates and changes the current set of guarantees), and my ex will be discussed at least once. mom will bring up at least one dead relative that i have never met (most likely dead before i was even an itch, o my beloved non-existants) and drag aunt l into the conversation. this may or may not spark another argument.

cool, the cat has relinquished the chair. now i can type in my preferred writing posture, which i am sure every keyboarding teacher i ever had said was the worst possible posture for typing, that is to say: leaning back, feet up, wrists resting on the desk, and eyes at half-mast. the cat is, however, still hovering close by, alert, lest my ass lift itself a few inches off the seat and she might insinuate herself back into it, and thereby force me back out of the territory that she has apparently claimed as her own.

there are a couple guarantees about the holidays with my wife's family. food and drink will abound. if you go hungry or thirsty, it won't be for want of readily available (and extremely tasty) fare. there will be laughter. my wife's father and i will get into a heated discussion of the world's ills and i will get carried away, and forget, and say the eff word. repeatedly. without any kind of chastisement from him as long as the kids aren't too close. we will disagree. disagreeing won't change a fucking thing. familial issues are discussed in an open, matter-of-fact manner ("oh, so-and-so never comes to these things if i am here. we had a falling out years ago, and he has never quite forgiven me."). i am made to feel like i have been a part of their family since the dawn of time (in some ways, i feel more connected to her family than i do to my own). my stories are guaranteed to be laughed at. (well, except the whole "fut off" story. everyone seemed quite shocked that i would tell my kid to fuck off, and as a result, the story didn't go over very well.) maybe it's because they haven't heard many of them before.

in my mind, the holidays aren't over till after new year's eve, but as they stand to date, they have been good times, o my droogs and only friends, the very best of excellent times.

darth sardonic

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Monday, December 24, 2007

hindi transliteration

i love foreign languages that don't look anything like ours. i think arabic looks more like a painting than a language. but my favorite is cyrillic. that has nothing to do with anything at all.

and that is the way i like it.

lest we have forgotten (they say that "Don't know what you got till it's gone"), i would like to dedicate this line from a song to my wife, whom i love dearly (as we all know, as we have suffered for four tough months of hearing about little else, heh heh): If only I had one wish, I'd want a million trillion lifetimes/that I could spend with you.../Fall in love with you again and again.

goddamn, but i am a bawlbaby.

'tis the season, and every year round this time, this line pops into my head: So this is Xmas/And what have you done cause every year at this time, i reflect. on the year. on my life to date. on the world.

i still firmly believe that we need a fucking plague to thin us out quite a bit. is it just rosey memories, or were people more geared towards giving at this time of year when i was younger? seems like they are just in a fucking hurry and sod everyone else this time of year now. i hate going to the malls within two weeks of christmas because everyone is shoving and yelling and glowering and i just want to start throwing knees and elbows whilst humming my most angry mosh songs. and that is so far removed from the reason for the season.

but more importantly, what have you (me) (we) done the rest of the year? it is all fine n dandy that we are in a giving mood as the holidays approach, but what about in april, or on february third?

when did christmas become about stuff instead of people? i can assure you, the beloved non-existant reader, that the horrendous driving in lakewood has gotten exponentially worse as the holidays drew closer. because everyone is in a fucking hurry. because everyone thinks their issues are the only ones that matter. because jealousy and anger abound in a season that should be full of peace and giving. maybe it has always been that way, and i am just opening my eyes to it. i never was a big believer in "things were better in my day" because i think the shit has always been there, we just start noticing it more the older we get, but honestly, i am half tempted to say, "people didn't act that way when i was younger" (younger, hahaha, krissie says i always talk like i am 80 and could drop dead at any moment. some of my other friends say i have an "old soul." maybe that is why i talk that way, i don't know.)

whatever the case may be, o my beloved non-existant readers, i wish you and yours a very happy holidays. i say holidays simply because i know not everyone celebrates christmas. and that is good, and as it should be.

and with that, and fueled by a post at snuffleupagus' blog, and further fueled by some of the comments made by others at said post, begin rant: the beautiful thing about this dumb little marble in the "hungry hippo" game that is the universe is diversity. how beautiful to sit down with a national geographic and discover that people who look, act, dress, and behave completely differently than myself still all have the same basic feelings and needs and wants. someone with green skin (and i choose green simply because i don't want to pick any one specific ethnicity, o my beloveds) is not devoid of love, or avarice, or happiness, or anger. and that is a great thing. we are so different, yet all the same. and bad things happen when we either try to make everyone the same, or eschew the differences. how wonderful it is to sit down with close friends and discuss such things as the "black man's tax" or whether my wife has ever felt she needed to prove something because she was a woman. how my mind expands during these discussions. how i gain a greater knowledge of the world at large, and even myself, by embracing and attempting to understand our many and varied differences. and not just learning about them, and embracing them, but accepting them, and respecting them. let me repeat: respecting them. by respecting them, motherfucker. because i have been afforded respect of my beliefs and ways by people who didn't like them, or agree, or maybe even understand. and that respect goes both ways. and when i haven't been afforded a modicum of respect, i have felt attacked, and angry, and i have even come to blows. so why then, should i act shocked if i am not affording respect to my fellow man, that he then should get pissed off? exactly, i am not allowed. he has every right. but if i am attempting to understand, and respect (because it all comes back to simple respect) his ways, then we all gain. we all learn. we all near ourselves to becoming god-like, and expand our understanding. and that seems to be, to me anyhow, our reason for occupying this humble rock. that being said, it is impossible to not offend someone somewhere along the line, and some people are actually looking for any reason to be offended. i try to avoid these people.

end rant.

by sheer dumb luck i left the house this morning attired completely in black. i didn't set out to make any kind of statement, i just grabbed clothes and hey, presto! gothboy emerged.

thanks for playing along, o my beloved, beleagured, and patient non-existants. have a good one.

darth sardonic

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Thursday, December 20, 2007

a letter to myself, aged 13

i believe i told wuastc several days ago that i would post with her tag "tomorrow." (and as far as the link goes, well, dude, she is right there to the right in my pals list. if you can't figure it out, i dunno what to tell ya!)

the words you're looking for, o beloved non-existants, are "bout goddamn time!"

dear 13-year-old darth,

god, you are a whiner, and you know what? nobody fucking cares. that is both good and bad. good, cause you will learn to count on yourself before anyone else, bad cause if you keep it up, you aint gonna have any friends.

however, if you learn to turn it into a sarcastic joke, people will dig that. they like a guy who has a sense of humor and can laugh at himself.

i know (cause i remember) that you think everything is shit right now, and doesn't show signs of getting better. well, it does get better. but it's gonna take some time, and some patience on your part. but it will, trust me.

you're gonna learn alot about yourself. you're gonna have lots of fun. at the same time, you are gonna hate yourself bitterly, and rail against the world alot.

if i can offer a few tips to you without fucking up the time-space continuum (and what the fuck, cause you aint gonna listen anyhow, so fucking self-absorbed are you), i would say: the sooner you accept the fact that you are both yin and yang, good and evil, and whatever else, in the same person, the happier you'll be. the sooner you quit worrying about yourself so much, and start taking an interest in others, the happier you'll be. the sooner you quit living your life according to the expectations of people that, frankly, you will never be able to please, and start living your life the way you want, the happier you'll be.

pour yourself into your talents, they are your therapy. writing, music, art, any others you take an interest in, these things will get you through the next several years and some very tough times. no, sod you, i aint giving you details, it would completely change my present.

oh, and i promise you, you will grow into your nose and glasses, and you will fill out some and not be so scrawny anymore.

most importantly, all the shit you are going through now, and will go through in the next 13 years, will make you what i am today, which really aint so bad, honestly. actually, it is pretty damn cool. so just tough it out, with the wit and sarcasm, and things will be ok, down the road.

your loving you,

36-year-old darth

hmmm five people to tag. this is always the tough one. i would most definitely love to hear(read) what lady macleod would say to her 13-year-old self, and krissie, blogget probably, maybe queeny, and prada pixie if she hasn't already been tagged, which she probably has, but oh well. one more for the road, heh heh.

oh and i did queeny's drinking test thing or whatever it was (i tried to link it. i fucked it up royally. if you wanna see what i am talking about, go to her blog and click the link. i aint technically savvy enough to pull it off), and i wrang in at 80% for the rank of lush. yeah, sounds bout right, hahaha.

darth sardonic

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Tuesday, December 18, 2007

the pizza joint

my boss, whom i will refer to simply as lucifer for the rest of this post for the sake of simplicity, is, well, lucifer.

his underling is, well, quasimodo, frankly. but this is an insult to good hunchbacks everywhere, because our favorite bell-ringer moves faster and thinks quicker than my under-manager.

under him is poor white trash queen. it would seem unlikely, but she actually has the best head on her shoulders of the bunch. i like her.

mostly, this post is about quasimodo.

being not very quick and not very bright, he tries to cheat the system by using little underhanded techniques to make the numbers look better in the computer. i hate this. cause invariable my ass is the one getting fucked.

yesterday, right around the time i walked into the pizza joint on the banks of the river styx, quasimodo's "techniques" were in full fail mode, and i, and several of the other drivers and in-stores, where about to get our anuses stretched beyond anything we could've ever dreamt up in our wildest, most freddy-krueger-esque nightmares.

several large orders had come in. one of them was for lucifer's daughter's birthday party. so lucifer is lurking about the store, not in his usually-quite-noticable red manager shirt, but incognito. the phones are ringing off the hook.

quasimodo had bumped many of the pizzas off the board, (one of his cheats) and then was going back, along many of the other in-stores, to make them one by one. the bad news is, pizzas were being added to the list faster than he could make the ones he had already bumped off. so the pizzas being called in were backing up the board, and beginning to flash (for being on the board too long). the in-stores are confused about which pizzas they are putting together, further gumming up the works. chaos, confusion, and pandemonium reign.

i jumped on the cut table to field the pizzas flying out of the stove like something out of maximum overdrive, a well-oiled machine (i have, after all, been doing this something like three years--god! how admitting that depresses me) cutcutcutcut, slam bam! "delivery up!!" lucifer is lurking nearby, noticing that half the pizzas of his large order aren't getting made. deliveries are popping up "ready" on the computer screen, even though the pizzas that need to be taken haven't even been put into the oven yet, and begin to tick off to going late. the foyer is full of people waiting for their pick-ups. quasimodo looks as if he has actually rung the bells of notre dame with his cranium while he frantically tosses out dough.

cutcutcutcut slam bam! "pick-up for 'unlucky pizza eater' is ready!"

"darth, how we doin' on deliveries?"

"fucking horrible! (the beauty of having left this job after letting many of them know i hated the people there, and then returning after all, is i say whatever i really think, and no one really gets mad about it! i love it.) you've got two that aren't even in the oven yet that are sitting at 34 minutes and 28 minutes respectively, and actually go with other orders that haven't been put in the oven yet."

more pizzas poor out. lucifer goes on a tirade about how long everything is taking and why aren't his pizzas even in the oven yet? in-stores mumble death-threats to themselves while bumping into each other trying to make the pizzas that still seem to fill up the board no matter how many they stuff into the oven. customers frown, growl, tap their toes, and check their watches.

finally, i am routed. the routing slip says the elapsed time is 43, but i know that due to mix-ups and one dropped pizza (yes, i admit. i knocked it down in my manic back-and-forth attempts to keep things going smoothly), the elapsed time is closer to one hour. and i say that to the anarchic mass behind me as i zip out the door.

i bag 'em, and rush out to the car. into gear and flipping through the ipod to find something with the appropriate punch. ah, there it is: stupid kid.

i actually drift out of the parking lot and into my lane of traffic (yes, drift. yes, really. yes, it was fun. no, i have no fucking clue how i did it and couldn't do it again if i tried), and zoom away.

and the people who had every right to tell me to "get bent!" in regards to a tip actually gave me what would turn out to be some of the best tips i would get for the evening.

with pure adrenaline and caffiene flowing in my veins, i get back to the shop, where everything has died down to nothing. dead. zip. zilch.

i inform pwt queen that i would rather be gangraped by angry giants with saguaro cacti for cocks with tobasco lube than ever have to pull that shite again. she laughs.

but i wasn't fucking joking.

darth sardonic

p.s. tomorrow a post that wuastc tagged me with. should be fun. stay tuned.


Saturday, December 15, 2007

it's not your fault you're worthless...

rick, of kill cupid, (and linkable through my pals list) has their first video up on his blog. i rather like it. wife said it was "too angry" for her. but if you're so inclined, check it out. if it is, like my wife, too angry for you, check out some of his mp3's, "decency" is a little more mellow and easy on the ears.

jamie's blog has disappeared again. if you recall, she disappeared. then she reappeared, but the last post was dated august 2nd. now she has disappeared again. considering her condition, i am a bit worried. i am loathe to take down the link, because of the apparent finality that doing so bears. for me, and within the confines of this (unimportant, insignificant) little blog, removing her link is almost like saying she never existed at all.

in a strange way, even though it really doesn't lead to anything anymore, leaving it there is like saying "someone saw you, someone knew you, someone cared. you matter."

which makes me think, something that has been rolling around in my cranium like a pea in a boxcar lately, why is it, when we are clearly so tiny in the universal scope of things, do we fight to make such a big splash?

the universe is vast. incomprehensibly huge (i think i am channeling both monty python and adam douglas right now, hahaha. which seems to ease the solemnity of where this post seems to be heading--and i will warn you, i am spilling it as it comes to me. it either might be a massive epiphany, or it might leave me with even more questions when it is done, i make no promises). the universe is, plainly put, beyond our ability to ken.

so from the vastness of space down down down to a single individual sitting in front of his computer with his dorkboys on and his hula-girl pajama bottoms.

i know that i am a fragment of a thought. i know that the earth, in the grand scheme of things, is maybe an electron inside an atom. then there are billions of us individuals crawling around this electron's surface, growing, eating, fighting, fucking, loving. and dying.

but we seem to spend the time we are granted (again, a whisper when one thinks of time in a geolithic sense, or when one dives into the immense depthless ocean that is eternity) fighting tooth and nail to make our presence felt.

i listen to punk music. the very basis of which can be boiled down to: i will not conform. i will fucking live! i watch movies that lend themselves to thinking how important the mark we leave behind is; how important life is (i've been thinking alot lately, for whatever reason, of the tenets presented in the movie bladerunner: how an angry and destructive android, at the final moments of his existance, could reach out a hand to his nemesis, because suddenly life, in and of itself, was more important than anything else).

here's the thing: universe is space. infinite space. and what is infinite space? well, i am no philosopher, and i am not trained in the arts of deeper thinking, and i do not have a phd from a well-respected university somewhere important, but to me, infinite space seems to be made up of varying sizes of finite space. how do we chop up finite space? with walls, real or imaginary. and some of this infinite space is made up of finite spaces confined by the walls of our brainpans, o my beloved non-existant readers. however small, in the grand scheme of things, the spaces within our skulls are still part of space.

and within the finite space of our skulls, we are gods. in my head, i am a god. (well, ok, mostly. a demigod, maybe. or a pretty important under-angel. anyways, i digress.) within the space contained by my melon, i am the most important thing. because, frankly, within my cavity, if i cease to exist, so does everything else around me. for me, anyways. you see what i am getting at? this is why i warned you i am no philosopher.

and as a result of my own importance (sorta) within my bean, that importance seeps out to those who are also important to me; family, friends, this dumb little blog, etc etc etc. and that, o my beloved droogs and only friends, is how we become significant in the walloping big, fucking interminally huge universe that will eventually swallow us all to whatever oblivion we choose to believe in, by the lives we touch. by the importance of our existance within the scope of other existances. this is how we leave some legacy that spreads like the ripples of a pond when the fish has already disappeared from view down the gullet of the heron.

and that, my dear, patient, beloved, and significant, o so fucking significant non-existant readers, is why jamie's dead end link will, most likely, be remaining for a very very long time.

darth sardonic

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Tuesday, December 11, 2007

more on the tattoo

so dedicated am i, o beloved non-existants, to bringing you pics of my tats, that i woke up early so my wife could get this before i go in and have more added and my back looks like multi-hued hamburger, heh heh.

wife says, "can i include your booty in the pic?"
me: "well, i am going to be posting it to my blog, my tattooednation, and my suicidegirls, so your call."
as you can see, she opted not to include my naked ass. consider yourselves lucky.
darth sardonic


Thursday, December 06, 2007

a proposal

why am i here? i thought, staring at the light in front of me.

now, as much as i would like to pretend that this was the beginning of some huge interpersonal existential debate, the truth is, i was stuck at a red light. by myself. with no one else coming. twice.

so here is my proposal. no doubt we have all found ourselves with time that we feel has been violently taken away from us for reasons beyond our ken.

what if we had a voucher? something that would give us back the time of which we were robbed?

when the angel of death, or whatever harbinger of the impending doom that you, o beloved and bemused non-existant readers, happen to believe in, comes a-calling, you would simply hand it your voucher:

"err, what's this, then? hmmm, let me see. ah. so, if i do my math correctly... carry the two... yes, well, i guess i will be back in about a year and three days, 14 hours, 26 minutes."

so all the time i have spent sitting at red lights by myself (and there have been many--the most heinous of which was at 4:30 a.m. the morning of my first son's birth, with my wife kicking the dash and screaming "run it! just run it!" and me trying to remember how many margaritas i had had the night before whilst simultaneously trying to figure out where the cop is hidden), half the stories my mom tells me about relatives dead before i was born, freddy got fingered and the legally blonde travesties, high school assemblies where motivational speakers ("...and i live in a van down by the river") attempted to make us feel better about our shitty little existances, holiday dinners with relatives you can't stand, the time spent reading this blog, in fact, any time you have ever thought now that's fifteen minutes of my life i will never get back, all that would be returned to you at the time that death comes to take you away.

we need to get someone to work on this right away.

darth sardonic

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Sunday, December 02, 2007

cause dj kirby said so...

i smelled a smurf because the voices told me to. yep, that about sums it up.

for fun, the wife's was: i yelled at a goat because i'm sexy and i do what i want. again, yeah.

no. 1's: i danced with a cardboard cut-out of luke skywalker because i'm sexy and i do what i want. yep.

no. 2's: i kicked a cardboard cut-out of luke skywalker because my underwear were tight. ummm, hmm.

anyone have a life i can borrow? even for a little while? i really need a life.

darth sardonic