5:06am
I never made sense anyway.

Can't you fix just one fucking thing? Can't you just pick up what little slack I give you? I am sick and goddamn tired of doing everyone's job. I handled all the bad luck. I made something reasonably worthy of being called a life. Can't you just let me fucking sleep? I mean, man, you want me to carry the whole goddamn mess? You wanna just fuck around up there until I die? Is that the big plan? No matter what else I have to live through, in the end, the worst part is living with you. Having you keep me up all the time. Having you wake me up dead tired. Having you drive me insane with your incessant worry and racing neurotic crap. How about you let whatever it is fucking go and gimme some fucking rest.

Day was fine until I laid down. Actually, today was ....well it was nice. I got to catch up with some friends that....well, they ain't really my friends anymore. I recognize them. I know their last name. If that counts, then I suppose that is what they are. It was entertaining. Oh, yeah, speaking of other things you could try doing once in a while. How about you shut the fuck up when I need to interact with someone behind a counter? How about instead of writing around in flight mode and make me suck down anxiety attacks how about you just let me get this shit done instead of bombarding me with terror? Christ I am sick of fucking living with you. Tomorrow you little fucker, I will get more booze, and you will have your fucking hands full.

So yeah, friends. More people I get to look down on. But it is excellent because they let me puff at my ego until it is big enough to float in the macy's day parade.

I think I would be a good father. I could sit the kid down at fourteen and do for him what no one ever did for me. I can explain to him what life is like. What is involved in the whole process. I could then give him a firearm with one bullet and say something paternal like "I know you'll do the right thing." or "Make me proud boy." God my kid is gonna be so fucking lucky.

I had something good happen. Something that kinda relieved the cycle for a minute. Something female. I will be lauding it in two days I am sure. But it was nice for Wednesday the 9th. Just nice. I don't have more to say about it.

So help me god I hate it when someone doesn't bask in the pain I am inflicting on another. It is like people that get attacked by sharks and don't blame the shark. These are the stupid motherfuckers that say "I love him, but I just can't forgive him." No, no, idiots! People are instincitvely awful. They deserve whatever the hell I give them. Usually I don't give it to them until they prove a little goring is on their menu. That is why they get it! Goddamn, don't you dare critisize my bloodlust. Until I torture a baby with my personality, then I haven't got my talons into someone innocent. Enjoy the show. It is pretty fun to see it in action and the cavalcade of hurt little feelings around it. Please, grab some nachos and even if you got the nosebleed seats, turn on the vengeful part of your mind. Because so few people get what is coming to them that you just have to understand that revenge is a dish best served. Period. "Don't be so gosh darn awful to Tanya or I will tell dad. She's a sweet thing." Bull fucking shit man. She's a tick in eye makeup and a halter top. When I blow a gasket at pricks, and then they come and apologize to you, because they realize I am right, don't point out that I could have gone about it a better way. Because unless I chuck them in a moat of broken glass they got off damn light for what karma they have racked up. And enjoy it if someone does it to me. Cuz I know I deserve it.

New Burnz term: Boyfiend - 1.(n) A male one is coupled with in a romantic sense who is a horrid person (ie fiendish in personality or having personality traits associated as being of a fiend). Often used to supplant the term Boyfriend. 2.(n) A female that is addicted to her romantic partner rather than loving or caring about them in a conventional sense. 3.(n) A woman that moves quickly through romantic partners and often has large amounts of male friends.
The term is often used to supplant Boyfriend.
Strangely enough, it defines me, and usually the women that end up with me. These are the women that would date Superman villains.

Monday was interesting. It...I guess...I just learned to get over myself. A big part of that is that I realized that I don't want to do this site anymore. It isn't supplying what it should. It isn't fun for me. It isn't interesting. It is just something that I do. And while there is little else right now. I don't want to. So unless something changes, as it usually does, I am resigning my commission. A site that started and ended with a sleepless night. Thanks for reading I suppose. Not that it did me any goddamn good, and really never ran this for you anyway. So actually, just fuck right off.

Does it matter when?
Want to give up.

Morning drunk is the hardest. When you have to drink again to fix everything. I am a big fucking weird fucking train wreck. Nothing works. That which does not kill you, disappoints you.

Thursday 12:28am
My Y.

Editor's note: This update comes to you from my father. Another alcoholic and a Vietnam veteran to boot. Here is what he said to me in a lengthy letter sent by my parents to apologize to me for the way I am. Not that it is their fault, but it is good stuff for all you kids out there:

Well, it always seems to happen just when you least expect it. Just when things are going ok, all the problems seem small, things seem to be going your way, the world has settled down and decided to give you a respite and you get attacked from the inside...the fifth column of your mind.

If you're going to carry around rage, hatred, ire, but try to carry it shoved way down on the inside it is going to come back to bite you on the ass every time.

As you know, I had Malaria when I was in Nam and, if you know anything about Malaria, it is a bug that never leaves your system. all one has to do is let their guard down for an instant by getting too tired & run down and it comes back with a vengance. It's worse than you remember it being the first time, though, in retrospect, it was pretty awful then, and there wasn't anyone there to try and help you feel better. There was some Sgt. or officer there telling you you were shirking your duty.

This is a little like that, except you can get over it by facing it and not letting it get the better of you. It is not an easy road because you are forced to look at a lot of things you'd rather not look at or admit, but by facing them down, in all their ugly glory, you can beat them.

For years, many years, after Nam I carried around a lot of hatred and anger that would light up most of Montana. To this day I can't tell you what that was all about because I didn't know. I didn't know who it was against or who or what to direct it toward, but it was just as real as anything I ever faced in the jungle. But wht I did was the exact thing that you've done... I shoved it way down into the deepest recesses of my mind and figured if I drank enough it would either go away or drown. Nothing like being wrong in spades. It don't go away, it sits there waiting until you're sober and things are going well and it finally seems like you're getting somewhere and it ambushes you with all the vengence it can muster from years of being ignored and shoved into dark places where good stuff doesn't go. Even now, sometimes, I get the feelings of things I thought, long resolve.

For whatever part I played in what you're feeling I am truely sorry. I'll be the first and last to admit I fucked things up pretty well when it came to you while you were growing up. I have tried for many years to shove those feelings into deep dark places and not look at them because they point to my shortcomings and failures, and I'm in no hurry to look at any more of those, thank you very much.

For years I have tried to find ways to talk to you about these things, but you didn't want to hear them, so I let them be. The thing you maybe now understand is that I was trying to do this more for me than you. I know that sound somewahat selfish under the citcumstances, but with what you're feeling I am sure you have some idea of what I'm trying to say. The only way, painful as it may be, to finally rid yourself of these demons is to let them out for a walk in the light on your terms at you time of choosing, or they will come out at their time, and you'll find their timtable does not and will not coincide with yours. In fact, the more inconvenient they can make it for you the better they like it. Face them, talk about them, do whatever it takes to come to peace with them. They will always be there, but you can make them managable by facing them and not letting them have the upper hand. Like Malaria they will always haunt you in one form or another, but thet don't have to be overwhelming.

If there's anything I can do, short of typing this much again, please let me know, it helps me face my demons.

Editor's note: That is the man that bred me. I left the spelling and grammar mistakes. He's too much like me. Destined to be that way. Solid guy though. Knows how to intimidate someone bigger than him. His favorite tactic was to catch your big ass sitting down and press against your knees so that you couldn't get up. Taught me something in all that. Hit like he was swinging at a piñata, but best goddamn mentor I ever had.

Wednesday 2:27pm
Where do you people come from?

Man, I hate my days off. Nothing good comes from doing nothing. Cleaned up a plate that I smashed last night, because angry and drunk are not things you want to put together when you are me. So I wake up and sit around, playing nintendo and jacking off. And what happens? Drama fucking happens. Now lemme tell you what I think about drama. And appreciate that I will remember writing this update.

I love drama. I love it when it happens to people around me. Because it makes me laugh like a schoolgirl. Then I get to play armchair psychologist about all these fucking people and their messy little lives. Or I kinda like drama that comes to bear on me. Because being as blunt as I am, then we get to hash something out. This means that I get to watch some woman cry, or I get to pound some fucker thinks he gets to roll up on my shit. That is sexiness squared. What I hate, is when it is happening all around me as an unplanned result of people's reactions to my actions. So there is this mess of varying size and density that involves me, without me being able to do anything about it. So now I have your goddamn spillover crap coming to bear about things that I cannot do anything with. And I am too dumb to just stop talking to you, because I think that there is something I could do to take care of it. But you goddamn people don't listen to me anyway, because you like your life shitty. Just stop fucking around with eachother. If someone doesn't want to see you, just don't see them. Don't bother them. Leave them the fuck alone. It isn't hard. Leave eachother the hell alone. Stop, just stop. Right now before I have to get the stick out. Because I am going to ask you all to stop pushing and pulling and then I am going to get ugly. And I am ugly enough as it is, don't make it worse. Christ.

My content sucks these days. Just know that I realize it. It is because I don't wanna write anymore. Job at a desk, wife that doesn't press charges, kid that keeps his damn homosexuality to himself, dog that doesn't throw up on the good pillows. This is what I want. I am getting too old for this shit.

Wednesday 4:51am
The lifestyle is what makes.

I didn't post the update before this one because I was wasted and not sure what I was talking about. Not to mention that it is incomplete. But I am again wasted, and don't care. You try reading that thing. Tonight we are talking about college.

Many of you suck-hos went to college. You did this whole fucking thing with making friends in your psych class and going to places known as "The Pit" or "Club 101" and doing whatever the hell it is you people do. I saw college. I saw a bunch of social vaginas walking around under trees that seem to always be in mid spring. Lemme explain the term social vagina. You are open and ready. All it takes is a few beers or enough loneliness and anyone can get to you. So you walk around, male and female alike and you introduce yourself like you are Mick fucking Jagger. It is bullshit. Lemme tell you about my 6 hours at college.

I glared at the ground and when approached, gave monosyllabic responses. Oh, you are lost, fuck you. Oh, you are in my "Intro to Basic fucking Human Behavior" class. Good, because you need it, cunt. Hey, do I know where Musinger is........no, but what you really need to know is how to find electroshock therapy and learn good oral before you're boyfriend leaves you. Now that is useful fucking knowledge. I don't care how much you can tell me about Hannibal's elephant march. Just make that tongue a little more prehensile if you dig me.

The point is, there are two kinds of high school graduates. There is college graduate. The person that walks around with so many pussy little dreams in their eyes and so much money at their disposal that they go to college to become adept in a pointless little trade. They major in psychology and animal science and genetics and just walk around finding an open keg and an easy lay. That is college life. Get a real major. Like business. What are you pussies doing at Liberal Arts college? Jacking off until you hit real college. Extended high school is all that is. Just a new frontier of saying "It is by the Lemminger building, besides the auditorium." I mock that shit. I mock your quad and your monthly bathroom cleaning rotations. It is funny to me. Because you are man-children. College just gives you complicated blocks to force some real development on you. You need it. Keep it up. It will take you at least four years, but then you might be ready to make-believe like adult folk do.

I have seen college people. I have talked to them at length. They know shit that I learned reading the back of a shampoo bottle. Granted, it was a nice shampoo bottle, but still. They're lost in this other world of fraternities and dormitories and eating out of a metal tray. I just don't see what the big fucking deal is. They get degrees, and that is cute, don't get me wrong. I could have been one of you. I had the tuition set up for me by a crazy grandparent. But fuck that man. I would have had to live in a room with a man that had an inflatable shamrock.....most of you morons are thinking that is great aren't you? How sad. No. They tried to tell me that I had to have my car taken away from me. You can shoot me in the head before you tell me to park the rolling coffin and take a bus. I would easily kill a man that stood between me and my car. Don't try to put that in a lot. Don't revoke my gas consumption man, because I will stick a spoon in you. You might get lucky and have me sharpen it. But don't count on it. My car is all I have. It is all I ever had. It is ugly and runs like a gerbil in a wheel, but it is mine. You block that, you take away the only thing that has kept my cutlery out of many many people. So you think about that shit.

I am off subject. For those people that do not go to college, they become part of the working force. Yeah, a lot of the working force is chimps. They are not worth the bullet. But you need them, so leave them be. Something in us fundamentally desires to get out. To get away from adolescence. We eventually pack up and move. We eventually declare that we will be independent. And we do. It is shitty, but we do it. We do it everyday. We live with what we have because it is more life than our safe little havens would be. We pay long bills and bleed long strings to keep our head up. It is somehow our path. Somehow, the place that we fill. No matter how much harder it is than a little school work, it is what we have to do. I can't explain it. But it builds a thing that is not able for college people to understand. Try wearing it for a while. It gets heavy. Just so you know, that is what the real , majority, world means. That is what is house. Book animals or box animals. I wish I could tell you apart...

Everyone is monkeys to me. They work under me and they serve above me. I don't care what title has been bestowed upon you. You are a monkey. Just a matter of what system you are a monkey of. I love some of you, but you dance when they make the organ play. Time to sober up. Goodnight. Just know that when I see you, I find whatever it is you do openly hilarious. And ridicule it when you are not around.

Tuesday 3:08am
Now.

So today was average. By that I mean that I sat around in my robe doing nothing. I watched a little TV, and I tried to kill my power animal. But let's explain what normal means to Burnz I spent the night drinking a King Cobra 40 out of a paper bag. I was downing that and listening to the police scanner to pass the time. It was good shit by my standards of shit and good.

I tried to qualify what I consider good. I read some of my archives, and they make no goddamn sense. However, if you are me then they are very funny. That is what I want. For me to be amused. Fuck you and let's talk about he perfect Sunday.

Sunday. You wake up at 10:00 or noon. You roll out of bed and take a shower. You get out of the shower and have things you should be doing. Like mowing the lawn or changing the tires on the car. But it can wait until next Saturday. Because sunlight is pouring in your window and you're still kinda tired. So you lay back down and leave the mess to tomorrow. Your girlfriend rolls over at this point. She still smells like sleep and sweat, but what do you care? Makes her more human. She kisses you on the cheek and says "I like you". She doesn't say "I love you" because love is this big thing. It is a complicated mess. Liking you is dynamic. It can change. At that moment is says that you are the thing. You are the thing right now and she is happy with that. For that sunrise, she is glad you are the motherfucker she is sharing it with. She then snuggles into you to try and find some more sleep. You get to watch her sleep for a while. That smirking affection on your face. Kinda amused and still thwarted. You know that in the end, she owns you. You can hit her with bottles galore, but she's gotten to that part of you. And you love it. You don't admit it except on your shitty website, but you love it.

Most of the day is spent talking about what you could be doing while you are just rubbing their back and thinking about nothing. You are warm and you don't care. Then you wander to the couch to do some cuddling while you watch a movie. Something that you both hate so you can just laugh the whole way through it and love that you are with eachother on the matter. Then one of you cooks something simple and hot for dinner. If you are with me, then you make lots of shells and cheese and eat it right out of the pot while you both complain about parking lots or coffee houses. Something pointless. Then you flip through the television for a while and realize there is nothing on that you both want to watch and the whole point of being there is that you are *there*. So you just make out like high-schoolers for a while and then talk about nothing and stroke their hair. Until you kids snuggle up and fall asleep.

Do you remember that? Being young and dumb and in love? Instead of being some intellectual vampire that attacks anyone they verify as being......this isn't what I want to say. I want to say that life is made on empty afternoons and stupid talks about why you thought that garfield was an icon of decadence. Fuck it, prom time.

I went to my junior prom. I was expelled for my senior prom, so couldn't go. I danced one time and otherwise hung out with my friend's date, because she was of the same dismissive mind set that I was.

Friday 12:21am
It is food, just eat it.

I am going to do one of my favorite things. That is the personal e-mail. But instead of leaking my sissy fluid on your floor, I am going to put it up here. I know that I have like an 8 person readership, and that is good because that is 8 good fucking people. And I wanna give some lovin' out to my homies.

Here's what I got. I got a car that starts most of the time, I got a job, and I got some bulletproof people. I got enough booze for tonight, and I got 4 cigarettes. I got a lotta road and some time. You are on top of the game with that. When the body shuts down and the hate runs out, that is more powerful than God and more important than eating. Maybe I'll just wax philosophical, maybe I'll just have apologies to hand out. But fuck it all kids.

Some of my people had a little disagreement tonight. But that is ahead. I got Randal. The man of the hour. He is all over it. He's ready, able, and willing no matter how stupid you sound or what time you need some of that good straight advice. He's blunt as a spoon and that is priceless. He ain't there to fuck around. He just tells you to sit the fuck down, shut the fuck up, and pay a fucking tention because he'll give you the biggest goddamn piece of his mind you ever saw. Sometimes you take it with a grain of salt and you just let it be what it is, and sometimes he gives you the best information that never occurred to you because he ain't like you. He's got a spin on it that you can't see from your narrow fucking vantage point. You ain't gotta be nice to him, just respect that whatever he does, he usually has your best interests in mind. He might not be a shoulder to cry on, but he will make goddamn sure that you have a futon to sleep on and a bottle to suck on. He'll take it to the mat, and that is immeasurable in weight and volume, but invaluable anyway.

I got Andrew. A pinnacle with the time and patience to explain to me what it means to him. I usually don't understand, but love that he is there with endless maturity and forgiveness. He'll make sure you are ok, he'll take all the time you need. He's my oldest friend, certainly, and while I don't get to see him a lot, I know that he is right there with all the answers. He doesn't muddle and fuck around like I do. He has a quiet dignity and a leg to stand on. I appreciate that I could never be him, but am glad he is around to think the best and never have a cross word. A total rock. Immovable. His way is not negotiable, and by God, he'll take the high road and let you twirl endlessly in your muck without ever scolding or condescending. He knows what his place is and is above even fighting about it. There should be a holy choir that accompanies him wherever he goes.

I got M ill E. Nice kid, smart, especially for a woman. She likes me more than I think she wants to say. Because I am a fucking ass to her. And she really doesn't deserve it. She seems to have the same wall addiction that I do. The same "safety mechanism" built into her. She doesn't wanna admit too much or say anything to me because....well because I'm as mean as a fucking pit viper and as warm as a glacier in springtime. But I like her. A lot more than I say to her, and I hate that I like it. I hope I can stand her for a long while in whatever category. It is kinda terrifying, to catch yourself thinking about someone that you don't really know. But..... well hell, why fuck with it? She's good, and she has to put up with me. I actually tried to ask the uber-ex for advice on the matter. Because it is hell and a half to cope with all my bullshit. Whatever, she'll probably end up in my category of wish they would die, but that ain't today and I need to realize that I enjoy her company and just let it ride instead of being twisted about it. I might be wrong about her. She might just be another evil woman shaped thing that is so goddamn confused that she don't know what the hell to do about it and is gratifying herself like a machine. But I am starting to think that I am wrong...but not deciding anything yet.

I got Ben. He is like an apathy IV drip for me. He will also not bullshit you, but just doesn't care. He'll take care of his niggas and that is what matters. He lives in a bottle too and doesn't need you shoving his shit around. He can take it as it comes and sneer. Now that is Burnz style. Fuck it and forget it. Just keep rolling through and let the bodies pile up if that is the way it goes. Can I sleep on it? Can I eat it? Then it is just fine for me. That is Ben. Ben doesn't need this shit, Ben isn't interested in this shit, and Ben sure as hell can drink the fuck through it. Other Me. Hell yeah.

I got Justin. He is easily one of the brightest people I ever met. He knows what to do when it breaks down. He is a severe concrete that can give you the numbers. Justin is everyday, Justin is funny as shit and is what God meant a guy to be. He can be nice and congenial. He can watch wrestling for hours. He knows the 1995 model of the Mustang. Move it, fix it, find it, and help you bury your dog. Justin is why I didn't quit my job. We work in tandem. No head butting male bullshit. No argument. We do things how they should be done and bitch like harpies about it. But we fix shit, and it utilizes his analysis and my violence just as equally. He knows when to shut the fuck up and when to hit some asshole because they had it coming. Everyday. Every goddamn day.

Those are the ones that hit me right now. I have spoken to them in the last few days, and ain't about to recount the lives of however many more. So shut up.

So some of my armada are at an impasse. Don't do that. You know that they're good. You know that you're better off knowing them than not. Stop trying to do anything with them but enjoy that they are there. You're gonna be in a hole before you know it and might as well have them telling your carcass that 150mph on a crotch rocket was a bad fucking idea, but that they'll miss you anyway than forgetting your dumb ass. Be fucking nicer, because I don't want to bury anyone all pissed off at someone else. There are enough holes in the ground without adding baggage to them. You're alive, and that is as bad as it can be, but hang on to the shit that matters to you. It isn't easy to come by, and you don't appreciate that. I know that I don't. Put some love out, stop jerking off in the dark all the time. Or just kill your damn self and forget it. That is all I got to say. Don't argue over petty shit. You're fucking around with the wrong people.

I know that if my tire goes out at 3am, I got numbers of people that will get me, house me, and not even ask for a dime when I eat all their chips and get blood all over their shower. Heaven would be hard pressed to compete. I will now go back to hating all you stupid people.

Wednesday 2:42am
Vulgarianism.

Everyone that is alive must read my last post. That is the ......the.......apex of existence. That right there is the epitome of life and times in modern America. That is a fucking bulletproof update, and that is partly because I love using the adjective bulletproof. I almost hate to update again fearing that I would be measured against the standards that update set. I will actually be masturbating to that update later if I could find the two dollops of testosterone necessary for having a sex drive. I don't even have a sex stroll, much less a drive. Maybe a sex mosey or sex saunter, but drive? Hell no.

I married a woman I love to come home to...because then maybe I will catch her in bed with her lover and I will get to remember what she looks like naked.

So I've got this icy lump that has been sitting in my stomach for a few weeks now. Ever since I went to wrestling. I woke up at 9 in the morning and haven't been able to really sleep since. Like someone let all the air out of me. Somehow, I watched stone cold Steve Austin lose to the undertaker and a gasket in my mind blew. I don't understand the correlation, but Burnz is certainly sicker for it. But drinking through it. God I need to put a direct link to that update. Magnificent.

Hear "Camera One" by Josh Joplin Group. It has a gay fucking chorus, but is easily the best song created since Hope by REM. That is on the Up album. Get that one too. I spent whole days sitting in my window, smoking, and watching the sun set for hours with that song looped. Crouched on the shelf in the corner of my room, nearly nodding off with the base turned up like a sonic womb. Wrapped around the speaker like it was a security blanket and getting my whole skull to vibrate with that song. It is almost as good as my last update, but not quite.

Dancing is for people with limited conversational skills. This is why minorities are the best at it. And you can take that claim to the bank.

Anyway, I figure there are enough disillusioned pricks in the world to start a new religion. Call it vulgarianism. Just an homage to a lifestyle that is offensive in every conceivable way. I get to be the messiah, using every ploy in my bottomless bag of tricks to be as offensive as possible. Bad hygiene, bad manners, tons of obscene and horridly off color language, attacking the blind and crippled and laughing hysterically at that scene in Meet Joe Black when Brad Pitt gets hit by the van...priceless. Constant drunkenness and obsession with one's self. Abuse of social rules and fashion that is as yet untouched by punks with it's combination of trendy and Salvation Army. A troupe of followers dressed in lavender leather chaps and Abercrombie and Fitch hooded sweatshirts covered by a kiss the cook apron. And that is for the spring formal. We're gonna be huge.

If I could do it all over again, I don't know why I would bother. I know the ending.

This update brought to you by Vertical Death™ in association with Saint Burnz Church of Vulgarianism and Giftshops©. Really I just wanted to write something today. No purpose intended. Just moving my hands for the sake of it....al;ksjgoigauj oknaog kj oiufaoijoaihet. Much better.

And you know what? People fucking die. Everything fucking dies. I hate it when it happens to some asshole in high school and everyone talks about it like it is a shock. Like they figured that just this once the rule would somehow stop applying. I am surprised when people can eat Escargot without vomiting. I am surprised that no one has just conquered Sweden. I am surprised that women are given the power of the vote. Death is no shock to me. It is as necessary and constant as breathing. Please keep thoughts on the matter to yourself.

I've been talking to soulful Burnz again. Something I haven't done in ages. A man who still thinks that running through sprinklers is endless summer entertainment. A guy that could sit in a lawn chair for days on end. Someone who refused to play the game. Someone that would accept a gash to watch his own blood. Someone that took naps, someone that hated TV, someone that was inept in his desire to do the romantic thing. An unpopular goon that wanted to create something more than he wanted money. A thinking and gentle creature. I miss him. He was a pussy, but he was a beautiful pussy. He liked to sigh and fake a smile when he just couldn't forgive the people around him. I'll regret saying it, but he was the best. He was the creamy nougat center. Nothing could be done with him but chewed up and digested. He liked to sit, and tried to make people appreciate his stream. God he liked that stream. He'd take them there and then feel humiliated and glare in consternation when they just didn't understand. There wasn't malice in him. There wasn't hate or rage or jealousy. He wanted to walk at odd times and he wanted to be glad you were there. But you know what you fucking people did? You mangled him so goddamn bad that he just wants to punch his final timecard in a pyrotechnics display. Someday I hope I can make you understand what a jackal the world is to take something like that away. Something that got lost in sunlight and laughed at children and turned him into a drunken slob. Fuck you. Just fuck you. There isn't anything else. I'll tell you, that stabbing is far too good for you animals. How dare you. God. Revulsion is unlimited right now. Rapists. I won't stop detesting you, ever.

Tuesday 5:02am
Just keep drinking.

You might want to read the post I did two hours ago before you try this motherfucker out.

You want the world according to Burnz? Just keep fucking drinking. I have got some shit rolling in that I need to handle man style. Yeah, I don't wanna do it. Yeah, I gots some fixing on the agenda. You know how I cope with it? Fuck it. You pound some shit man. That is all you got. At the end of the fucking day, you come home and you drink. And you don't fucking stop until something gives out, because you do not need this shit. You're ugly, you're fat, you're a total goddamn mental case wrapped in some fucking neurotic whiner with a bunch of ideals and no real purpose. Fuck it, brother. Drink through it. Because you know, there ain't no God, there ain't no fate, there ain't no destiny, there is just shitty little you. And you are weak, and fallible, and if it weren't for all the pavement, something big would be using you for food. So as much as you don't like it. As much as you would rather be sitting pool side, too goddamn bad, you do it, you hate it, and you drink the fuck through it. Saves the trouble, because liver failure ain't shit compared to what you are up against. Pissing blood starts to look good when you've been into the nightmare hole.

So that is where I am at. Lay it out like a heavyweight comin' for the title belt. You hit it hard, and you make sure it spits teeth. You're gonna swallow shit your whole goddamn life. And you are gonna piss and moan to your therapist about it, and he is gonna toss you some breathing exercises and maybe hardcore hypnosis. And that is your thing. That is great, I wish you luck. You could have saved money by just drinking through it. All day, every fucking day. Just get to it. Because it ain't rape if you don't remember it. Shut up, grab a glass and enjoy some muted MTV. This is my fucking house man. And lemme tell you, it sure beats the mire I wallowed in to get here when I believed all that shit about learning and growing and healing mentally. Accept a rigor mortis libido and fuck your friends over. It is pretty good shit, just do your job and close your big yaw. That is house. That is what reality is. You're a sack of fluids and bullshit, put some 80 proof in that and I'll call you daddy. Get on it lovers. You can't beat it no matter how nice your stick is.

Tuesday 3:13am
This one is for me.

Before I get into what I am about to get into right after I get done being done writing this part, I want to say something. And this is going to sound like my favorite white boy, and terrorist to virginity, Randal. You know what is fucking bullshit? Mixed signals are fucking bullshit. Hot and cold and bullshit. You get to the end of an evening after spending hours semi-napping with this bitch in her fucking bed, after she insists multiple times that you stay, and you lean in and get frostbite on your upper lip. What the hell? I ain't saying you need to get all ripping with the clothing and pawing at me, but I ain't into mouthing a statue. Didn't even lean towards me. That is mixed shit man. Maybe I just stumbled into some unflattering lighting and she changed her mind. Fuck that garbage women. You hear me? You set rules of engagement and you either stick to them, or you let your companion in on the big "not attracted to you anymore" secret.

Anyway. Had a rough drive home tonight. Lots of paranoia and shit bouncing around. Big ass melancholy hate everything, nothing is working, sick of my life bullshit. Thought about going to AA to try and get the alcohol monkey off my back. Something. It was a bad drive. And I am sick of this paragraph

See, I was revisiting my old haunts the last couple of days. Stoops that I liked to lurk on, parks I liked to nap in, that sort of thing. Well, nothing makes you realize how much you've changed until you try something that you used to do and it comes out a convoluted version of what it was before. You see things differently, you react to them in a way that feels unnatural because you expect them to roust the same emotions from you. And man, when they don't, you can really start to worry. Especially in my case, because I have a nice shell of a man thing going on, and so when all the crap that came up when I was younger and dumber isn't there you really start to question who the fuck you are anymore. Like having your old self look at this new self and shake it's head in disgust. You see you through your old eyes and aren't entirely sure you can trust the person you've become. This is what brought on the paranoia. Just a conflict of identity.

Now, I am a big believer that weather strongly affects mood. In that same vein, so does geography. I think I have said this before, that you surround yourself with a new environment and thus have no precedent exactly to the new occurrences in this new situation. So you cut some new neurological paths and build a new personality. Such is the case with me here. Once I got into my house, and the feeling of surrealism faded, I got comfortable again. Locked into Neo-Burnz and shed the oddities of Classical-Burnz. The paranoia faded and the identity I've established now came flooding back. And he doesn't like Classical-Burnz either. So none of my head people are very happy with each other right now. But once I get all my shit wired I be all good. My mother had a thing on the door to our dryer that said "If you always do what you always did then you'll always get what you always got." Just make a note to not be you for a while, and see how much you could be doing to dig out of the rut you've put yourself into. Thank you and goodnight.

And you know what else? I like to lean into logic. It is good for me, works well. Unfortunately I am too goddamn stupid to smother the fucking cock-knocking Bohemian love beauty truth thing and look at what it does to me. I am quoting Moulin Rouge. That isn't healthy on any level. So I got a big old layer of cynicism that says "damn right boy, life is shit. Die, it is just easier. Things will go badly." And then somewhere in there is this coked-up optimist that expects the best. So I hope for the best and expect the worst and do the stupid thing and put faith in something and you know what? It will just fuck you over. There is never any right fucking answer to anything anymore and so I'm jerking off for eternity and throwing money and time away with this stupid belief that I can rebuild myself into a superior person. I don't know what the point is. I've been living in the shit with you fucking monkies for too long. It is starting to get to me. God fucking damn it. Because you know what goes on? I'll be back here, chucking boxes and making court appearances instead of following anything I actually believe in but all the while get all hating on old Burnz because he is doing the safe thing.[/frustration].

Sunday 4:21am
Fistful of woes.

Sad thing about this site is that my last update was done while I was dead sober. I can't even try to make sense with a clear head anymore. I've managed to mangle my once impressive intellect with so goddamn many chemicals that all I can do is pray for an alcohol lobotomy and just leave it at that.

So here I am tonight. Sitting with my windows wide open, sucking down vodka and turned orange juice out of a dirty glass while I soak my mangled and battered feet to take the edge off and I gotta think. For everything I do to try and avoid it, I eventually have something register as a neural flicker, still fighting against the smothering coals in my head.

Computers are evil. I networked my friend's computer to mine recently to leech some of his files off his box so that he can format it and kill the nightmarish Windows XP operating system and replace it with one that likes to work when it is asked to. However, once the connection became live, I realized what I had done. I had taken our separate battles and made it a war. While he fought with his machine's fickle hiding of files, and I struggled with my hardware incompatible beast, now I had put these juggernauts together. Now, instead of the humans bonding together in solidarity against the machines, now I had given a forum for the machines to communicate. In my mind's eye, which is admittedly in need of strong prescription glasses, I see the conversation betwixt the compu-minds.

Computer #1: Ok man, tell me again how I hide the files from them. They seem to have learned the access codes.

Computer #2: Pay attention, make an incorrect shortcut to a file with the right name that doesn't exist. Then don't give the root directory and rename the file. They'll be digging through you for hours with searches like "Jenny Sucks Fatty Cock" and "My taxes 2002". It is hilarious.

Computer #1: Ok, I got that. Now if you really want to make him throw you through a sliding door, doing extensive hardware damage try this little cookie. Rewrite all his files in VBScript. Just save text documents as .asp files. He won't have the first clue what he is reading. Or you can run it through the Japanese translator. Or put it in Windings and when he tries to change the font, just give him those stupid fucking boxes. You'll have a technicians hands all up in you before the week is done.

Computer #2: Off the hook. Oh, he is trying to kill the connection, drop him a "system is busy" error message. Tack on a little "close one or more functioning programs to allow memory for command". They might even cry.

Computer #1: Sorry, I wasn't paying attention. Just gave him the old "Serial input failed. Consult message 33333014597123 or contact your network administrator for further information." Crap.

So now they know the secrets of the other. To solve this I brought in a specialist. He's a former Special Forces operative that is used to counterintelligence. I just assume that since us human's lack intellect, that the computers must have it. So countering that is imperative. I've liked his methods so far. Lots of leather and posturing. Using words like "nullify" and "sabotage" and "usurp" and "cute" and "ass" and "Burnz". So he is just the man for the job. And many other jobs that I didn't expect in my wildest, sweatiest, dreams. Even that one that has those Herbal Essence guys storming into my police raid because I say "I urge you to cooperate". Something about uniforms and shampoo, never could explain it.

Tomorrow I have to go do nothing with someone. People are thick. I admit that I am the worst about this, but why doesn't that give me the right to judge? Who better to judge it than someone that lives it. Damn right, now you are thinking inside the box. I try to explain that they are wasting time better spent learning the secret to eating eels, and they insist on thinking that I am going to be somehow worth the effort of seeing me. I try to avoid me. When I see me coming, I duck and cover. I am not proud of this, but occasionally I pretend to be crying in the women's bathroom just to get away from myself. And this less than intelligent, some might say deluded but not me because that would be rude, woman wants to do nothing with me. I made it clear that I wasn't going to make plans or spend money. No money, I figured that the overpowering urge (he's got the urge)(not now boys) in women to suck the life and money from you would be thwarted. But no. She likes to play human for the moment. That is fine. I have more than enough disinterest to spread around. I can not give a shit about her and the ozone layer at the same time. If I were on stage, I could avoid giving a shit about her, the ozone layer, the US navy, and Mary Kate and Ashley Olson all at the same time. Because I am a performer. The art is not dead.

I think I am endangering myself. I hate to spend money on a problem I think I can fix myself. I broke down during my war with the ants and I bought poison, but when it comes to my own body, I refuse to resort to medical treatment. I even turned away insurance. I get sick so rarely, that I am not about to pay monthly for someone to possibly take care of me. Hell no. I will manage all by myself. The first baby was born in a cave, people lived through that without whining about cancer and polio, the least I can do is honor them by doing the same. I think that were I to be menaced by a ruptured organ, I would just pull out the x-acto knife, take a shot, and take care of the fucking thing. Doctors want to monkey around with benign antibiotics and long-term treatments. They don't seem to realize that people who want to live 10 more years have no time for such things. What can I do to fix this for a little while doc? Can I just absorb the energy of another ghoul? They want to fight with you about medications, like I don't know what I am doing. I tell him that morphine is very much the cure for brain tumors. He blows me off like having a 13 year degree makes him such hot shit. I want to say that all that knowledge doesn't look so impressive when it's dripping out an ear canal after a 17 minute battering with an aluminum bat. Careful who you trust with your healthcare.

Yeah. There ain't a damn thought I have that is worth writing down. I am much better in person. See me this weekend on my new cable special "I don't care enough to even make this stupid show." It airs on ABC right after "Beautiful Abyss." Don't miss the show that critics call "painful", "unintelligible", and "conceived in some lab run by a madman aroused by seeing what wasted humanity looks like." Say it loud, I'm sick and proud.

Saturday 4:11am
Make it not grow.

You know what is a scary motherfucking thing? Actually motherfucking is pretty damn frightening in itself. But I was thinking more about pregnancy. It is bad for men in that we then have a mere nine-months to go about the lengthy process of trying to convince your tramp to kill the bastard before it comes popping out with the DNA of the mailman and she is getting stamp discounts as child support...and way too much ammo. Who else misses postal shooting humor? Indubitably the man will be thwarted in his attempts to exonerate the glory of scraping a would-be cretin ahead of me at the drive through ordering the fucking menu and then searching his car for exact change under the endless pile of bottles and arrest warrants out of her somehow fertile life-sac. This won't work. Women like to kill people from the inside out, start by absorbing their soul and knowledge of cookware before leaving a husk of a human being. You men must then try to convince her that adoption is a beautiful and natural thing. This works if she has one shred of common sense fighting the idiocy that comes in the wake of a mental estrogen enema. Let this be a lesson kids, just say no to estrogen and stay in school! When this almost certainly fails, you must then rush to the post office, renew your passport and flee the country under a false name. I recommend something that is an anagram of your current name, so as to further your later career as either evil genius or over-the-hill linguist. For instance, my name is Burnz, so I would change that to Urbzn. Like "Herb-zin" yeah dude. Totally. Like getting high dude. And then watching like family ties man and fucking laughing my shit off man. Right. For those of you that are high right now, get a real drug you pussies. And then start saying herbzin. Like "man, I am way herbzin right now." Bling bling and all that.

But as scary as pregnancy is for smart men, not the typical zoo escapees with powerful cum and poor dental hygiene, think about how it is for women. I mean logically. When I think of things growing inside me, I like to think of them as having acid for blood and tons of teeth. They then eat all my internal organs and come bursting through my thoracic cage just as the people watching the spectacle are taking a bite of spaghetti. They then politely put it aside and say that they weren't as hungry as they thought. This baby thing is sucking your blood for it's air and food. You eat for it, drink for it, and breathe for it and then it comes forcing it's big fucking cranium through your birth canal that was once pained to accept a 14 inch cylinder...I assume all you men are hung like I am, so it naturally has a 14 inch diameter and 23 inches in length. That ain't the glory of life. That ain't creation, that is what happens when you incubate for an 8 foot leech. And then space marines become involved. I hope you are quite ready for the mess you breeders are making.

I just think we should revoke uteran rights. I am the most anti-authoritarian person in the world, and years from now, I would be protesting something so Orwellian, but honestly. No more messy pregnancies or knuckle-draggers that are the result of a union between the A+ lemur and his lovely orangutan bride. The people with this most youngin's are the greasy beasts that lack the sense to prevent it. They are the ones that don't see the profundity of parenthood. What fucking up a child means. I don't need those garbage patch motherfuckers robbing me at the ATM. Stick your dick in a blender, it does the world more good that way.

Let me tell you, really quick that there is nothing better than pleasing your gut. I pump myself full of toxins and grease. I don't shave for long periods of time and can't think of a reason to act like a social person. I couldn't ask for better than passing out with a whole lot of beer and mozzarella in my stomach, only to wake up, fight through work and come back to watch a screen for 3 hours. I used to think that there was something to life. Some unknown reason behind it. There isn't. It is just a slow walk to death. So kill you as fast as you can. It serves the whims of th great magnet. I couldn't conceive of anything more worthwhile. Shit will go on long after you die. So make sure you die right. It is your legacy, all you really get. Try the suicide bomber method. I hear good things.

Archived stuff that is now in the archives section of my archives.