Here is my delightful E-Mail / Survey page. Right now this is all backlog, so those of you I have a lot of e-contact with will find some of the stuff familiar. Almost all of it is amusing (I think). so this is all light reading in case you were worried you might hear my thoughts on something. No one deserves that much doom and gloom. There is a couple of snippets on the last section.

People! People! I am not feeling the love here!

I am the weakest link

Toils

Writing from my Subaru Outback, Mate.

Know your attacker: Matt survey survival

Doom and Gloom

A few things that slipped into my mind when I wasn't paying attention:

1st: Words: Two things grabbed my attention. First the State of Connecticut. Look at that name, Connect ticut. I guess that is because it connects states. I don't know which states, but the name is fucked up, especially if it don't really connect shit. I mean why not just call it JoinsThisShitTogetherWithAHighwayTucky. It would be no dumber, just longer. next one that has me: Sheraton (the hotel chain) it is pronounced like Share A Ton. I don't know if that was the intent, but whether it was or not, it is so damn dumb I just don't have the words. If it was an accident, and started by someone names Joey Sheraton VIII esquire, then why didn't someone catch on that it looks like Share a ton? "Hey Bob, shouldn't we tell Joey that it looks like Share a ton?" "Naw, fuck it, only Burnz will notice, and you know how Joey is...." Moronic, just moronic. Why not call it what it is, OverChargeYouATonForUselessCrap. Now I sound like a stand up comic, fuck that moving on.

2nd: Months: Ok, I don't know why, but I just put some months together. Like November and December, I figured that if there was like a month congress, then those two would always vote together. They just seemed like the months that were really tight to me, I don't know, I may be on crank. I don't know where I bought it, but I took it anyway. August and September seem to either be really close, or hate each other. I haven't decided. June and July seem to agree, but I think that is individuality that just makes them similar, not teaming up. I don't know how I decided on the personalities of the months, I just did. March also seems like a pussy month to me, I don't know why. April semms too happy, I could go on, but I should really organize my thoughts on the matter first.

3rd: Numbers: Just a quick thing here, I always thought of 9 as an elegant number, but when I write it, it looks silly, so I worry that I am not doing 9 justice.

It was uncomfortable for a while with some of these suits spookin' the hallways like the goddamn industrial gestapo. If I start a band they will be called Industrial Gestapo. Our first album will be Farmaggedon. I did get to straighten a safety pin and then curl it around a pen, nice to know my skillz are not going to waste.

I think cats are bitchy little fuckers. Any animal that looks down on me with that haughty face needs to go right in a blender, fuck em. Dogs are loyal and helpful, not to mention protective as shit, you gotta dig that. (And when I say dog I mean something with some goddamn bass to its bark, a shitzu ain't a dog, I don't know what it is, but it ain't a dog.)

"I didn't want chop sticks, what the hell would I do with them?"
"You eat with them."
"I don't. So they would be useless to me, and there are only two, which means I can't even pitch a tent with them really."
"But darling, even if you could you would just sit under it while it was pissing down rain and wonder why the fuck you went camping in the first place."

I found a long closet to sleep in at lunch. It is darker than the abandoned office. Abandoned isn't really the right word, it's not like the office is sitting by the side of the road with the engine stalled.

Just had a 10-day mood swing. I might be menstruating, which would put any guy in a pretty shitty mood what with the cramps, bloating, and fact that they don't have a menstrual cycle. Well, I mean other than the one on their washing machine. It doesn't get their clothes cleaner, it just bitches and gets hormonal at about the same time every month, and then cries for no reason. I was up all last night trying to comfort that damn thing. I hate appliances.
I'm not sure if that was sexist, what with saying a woman is like a washing machine. I don't think that, naturally I think of women as more of a pretreater, or a color safe bleach. More something you soak your clothes in. Just try to derive sexist attacks from that drivel, it doesn't even make sense. However, if you think the offence at being called a washing machine is bad, just think how the washing machine feels being compared to a woman.

Wiped the hard drive on my computer this weekend. It works better now, but I have to rebuild my 500 megs of goddamn mp3s. I copped a nasty music habit back in the 60's. We all did, it was a different time, we were young and free. How could we have known that first fix, that first radio play would be the best. Every time man, every song you are looking for that first time. Pretty soon, your strung out, it's three am and you are trying to beg the quarters to hear "Head over feet" by Alanis Morisette on the jukebox at the all night diner on the corner. And you wonder where the years went, how much of your existence was flushed down that terrible CD collection. Breaking into Best Buy with a brick through the window to use the free headphones, and all they have on is Iron Maiden. But you don't care, just so long as it is noise man. Riding the elevator up and down just to finish the Kenny G rendition of saxophone "Wish you were here". Then you know you are at rock bottom.

So I know how I am going to be making my money, I am going to copyright the name Jesus. Then all churches have to pay royalties for the retention duration of that copyright. Then I will make Jesus brand cigarettes. That should fuck with them. Or just go totally sacrilegious and make "Jesus Brand Sterile medical grade abortion tools and pharmaceuticals" let the pro-lifers deal with that shit.

Wearing a shiny blue shirt and khaki slacks. (Khaki, color or style of pant? Both?) Yeah, now that is style. I missed basic coordination 101. I had to, Huggy Bear was having a rummage. That or it was the one-day Smack Up sale down at "Pimp gear for scrawny crackers B us". It isn't like you just pass that up for "Higher education"-lets be realistic.

I hate women who say the word handle. Not like "I have a leather handle on my suitcase" more the ones that say "I think that of all classical composers, Handel was the best" (ha fucking ha) no the "can you handle this?" type of I am too much woman for you attitude. Unless of course they are a fucking orca, then hell yes they are too much woman for my skinny ass, then I'll turn them loose in the bullpen when they are in heat and wish them the best. I may be an egoist (and that is very light emphasis on the may) but I have never met a woman so beautiful, brilliant, and interesting that I couldn't "handle" her. Actually most women are recycled out of the same mold, so if you've handled one, you can use the same reins on the next one. No offence to women of course most men are the same way. And I hear American's can get all kinds of laid in Russia, they are nuts for the American dollars. Might have to just pack my shit up and land a little Siberian love puppy. Wouldn't want a woman based on my money or ethnicity, so fuck that. And I turned down guaranteed weeks of sun beach and pussy. I think I am a failure as a man. I don't know one motherfucker that wouldn't have jumped on that, but not me, oh no, I am all hung up with "I am sure I am hung up on something".

MMMMMMMMM, It is shocking how happy you can be with a sudden apple fritter and hot chocolate. Now I need a huge pillow to curl up on. And keep quiet about it, but there was a cinnamon roll that I think I need to lay my hands on. SHhhhh. I'll try crawling though the vent system and luring it away with Cinnamon roll bait....which would be....fuck, I think I will just go with the outdated "walk down there and pick it up with my hand" method. I will call it "Operation Poppin' Fresh". Might have to refill this chocolate too...my god sir, you ask the impossible. I am silly. Cute though.

That or I think I will take a stroll out into the ocean and just trial and error until I either drown or learn. I think that would prove to be a very short endeavor. Get sick of the damn waves and just hold still out of protest. "Mr. Byrne, how did you pass away?" "Thought I would show the Atlantic (or Pacific, I have no idea) that it can't shove people around just cuz it is an unstoppable force of nature. I will not be bullied by millions of gallons of water."

Grays and blacks today, plus it is a pretty day for me. Should go out and flash my teeth at some jiggly young thing. Take her home and commit a felony. Or at the very least a level 2 misdemeanor. Use my usual defense of permanent insanity

They have a 24-hour fitness clinic and dietary center. Now, sure, some people need to work out at night. That I can understand. But the primary purpose of this establishment isn't the gym, but the fitness consultation. I don't know about normal people, but I don't usually get that 3:00 am desire to know how to eat a balanced diet. I just don't come awake after grease-laden dreams and have to dress in the dark to hear about carbo-loading.

How could someone even be insane in the membrane? I mean, a membrane is a thin wall of tissue that usually grows over something. It can't make you nuts, you can't be crazy in a thin wall of prtective tissue. Unless you are completely covered by it, then you are litterally enclosed in the membrane and insane, ok then it might work.

I must say you have a nice little town up here. Quaint without being quite so...miniscule. It has a certain...Je Ne sais qua about it.When spelled correctly that means something like indefinable style. A savoir faire, if you dig me. Am still without job. This causes great pain to the cavity in which my
heart would sit. Se la vie...apparently it is a "I am a French poser" day. I think that exhausted all the French I know, so there is little risk of anymore coming out.

Someone should sue Spic and Span for the obvious slur against Mexicans.

Tanya and I are getting along fabulously (that or I imagine we are and s/he is secretly slipping me low dosages of arsenic or aspartame to weaken me until I can be caged and sold for cheap labor in Canada. Little does s/he know that the only substance that effects me is Kryptonite.)

We verbally abused three frat bitches that were out wandering around the same time we were. They were just adorable when they fumed and yelled back. It reminded me of the good old grade school days. If they had been in possession of a ball I would have taken it from them and mentioned how poor the appearance of their mother is.

That is all the news up to the minute. More reports will follow. For security reasons if you are called to testify then the Burnz will deny knowledge of any communication. This message will self destruct in 7 to 10 years or will be rendered unreadable as soon as a new operating system is developed by incompatible Billy Goats (oh Jesus Christ, the least you could do is be clever, I mean Billy Goats? I think I just have a hang-up with goats due to the severe conflict I encountered when three of them managed to cross my bridge...Those were the days.)

Oh lord I am sick of pop music. It is all the same damn thing. "I love you" "I stopped loving you" "I wish she would love me" "She/he/they/it/Jigga doesn't love me anymore and I can't go on" "Just after I got done loving you I discovered that I still loved you but you fell in love with someone else that you wish would love you and fucking none of us can go on" I am not even sure how you would get done loving someone to discover that you still loved them. You know lets spell still with an e (stille) or would that be pronounced stYle? I hope so, because that would be the new spelling for that.

What music isn't about the same thing though? "I killed a cop" "I shot some pigs" "I fucked a ho" "I sold some drugs" "I killed a cop dressed as a ho selling drugs to a pig" or "I hate living" "Life is pain" "There is no hope" "Existence is the fire life burns in" "I don't know where I put my keys and want this godless earth to swallow me" or "Beep ba daa dedede bang bang" "Slam boom boom whirrr whirrrr whirrr bang beep beep beep" "ding ding ding ding bong ding ding ding ding bong" can't listen to any of that shit.

You know what I listened to in the car on the way to work? Just guess? Write it down, go ahead, write it I will wait.....got it? Well I am sorry, time is up on that question, what did you put Samuel? "What is the beanstalk jack climbed" sorry that is incorrect. Sally? "What is the Washington monument" that is wrong too. Jimmy? (haha guy on jeopardy named Jimmy. welcome to trailer park jeopardy, I am Earl Jones your host. Our categories tonight are Trucks, Tractors, John Deere, Other Deer, Gun Racks, and Flannel.) your answer Jimmy? "What is some big fucking thing" please go back to trailer park jeopardy Jimmy. The question was "Some say this object, visible from space is mythical" the correct answer is "What is Matt's dick" because he wagered nothing Jimmy is tonight's winner, and we ask that he not fire into the ceiling in celebration.

Gotta talk about his cock, good god, why does anyone put up with him?

You know something else, all these songs say things like "I would love you if you didn't have any money" "my love don't cost a thing" "I don't care if you didn't have anything in the world but me" "Even if you were broke" it is even if, not even though. None of these songs say "I love you though you are indigent" "I don't care that we live in a box" "You are my only one you silly file clerk that lives with the parents" Nope, because getting laid takes ducketts man. Law of the jungle baby. Money = ass = raw dog = asking "how old are you?" = trial. That is how mumsy and daddums got together anyway. He was a prince, she lived with 7 dwarves. Kinda meant to happen, what with Doc and Grumpy getting no play. Fucking bitch, they give her a house, and a bed. They don't do that shit out of the goodness of their heart you goddamn hussy ho rag.

Calm, gentle waves. Oh wait, that relaxes me not at all. Pills, many many pills, and seals to club...ah I am Jell-O now. Lotta quotes in this letter I thought. Trying to impress the ladies with my text prowess, quotes are the written equivalent of colors to a peacock. Anyone hot yet?

I know a chick that would love him, sadly enough it just occurred to me last night. They are both children. Won't let it happen though, why? because for me to bring happiness to another would end the world what with the paradox and up becoming down and black becoming white and zebras getting all fucked around with that. So better to just comment idly and return to the land of radio. Guten Tag (I think that is a greeting).

The unnappreciated scholar (if I spelled unappreciated wrong...I did, I could change it, but what would that really prove?) """""""" oh god yes """"""""

I should just get some sappy ass to live in my closet and when I want to try and say something that isn't cruel and sarcastic I can just conjure him out to weep about the sunset and ramble on about the beauty of love and life and how much apple (and or cherry ) fritters mean to me. As a Poke master you would think that I would already possess a WeepsLikeABitch, the early form of CriesAtMelGibsonMovies

Crystal is going to be an actor, something you may have heard. Now I don't mean to insult them, but that has all the sense of me going off to become a flight attendant. "Can I get you some, coffee? Did you order the eggs? Want to see if you can fly there skippy? And remember that bouncing doesn't count." Honestly, s/he has managed to amass all the sense of your average to above average turtle or other shell carrying reptile/ crustacean. Two years before s/he is making a living letting some guy named Tiger Roxmore stick it in any hole that is wet. Pardon my overly gentle language. I would bet my left nut on it if that had not already been taken in a fluke game of Go Fish. And the right one has to be kept for body identification....I would explain that if there were and explanation.

I wonder if Santa has unemployment insurance, because that naughty and nice thing is about to backfire.

I want to date a woman named Vicky that is blind in one wandering eye and has an overwhelming fear of Carburetors...oh Jesus why does that sound like just my type?

The essential Fear and Loathing.
Woman cheating on you, what do you do with the guy? "I think we should go up there and blast him out of bed with a fire hose."
Trouble with the law? "I knew it was a crime I did it anyway, I am guilty."
Traveling? "Abuse every rule Las Vegas lives by. Burning the locals, abusing the tourists, terrifying the help."
Where do you eat? "You can get 5 tacos for a dollar."
What do you pack? "Two bags of grass, 75 pellets of Mescaline, 5 sheets of high powered blotter acid, a Saltshaker half full of cocaine, and a whole galaxy of uppers downers screamers laughers. Also a quart oftequila, quart of rum, a case of Budweiser and two dozen amyls."
Where to stay? "As your attorney I advise you to head over to the Tropicana."
Trouble in love? "Put the knife away."
What to order? "Another shrimp cocktail." or "Pure Adrenocrom." Any question can be answered with Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas.
T rouble with the job? "What we need is some opium."
What to wear? "The fucking golf shoes." or "Dress uplike human peacocks."
What do you do about your boss?"I think we should just leave that poor fucker alone."
Money problems? "Just peddle her ass at the drug convention, she can make us a grand a day. These pigs will go 50 bucks a head to beat her into submission and then gang fuck her."
Boyfriend problems? " I take a lot of shit, but I don't have to take it off no spic pimp." Yes, you too can use Fear and Loathing to make your life a richer place to be. "The decision to flee came suddenly."

Work Related:

I am so jealous of the Internet connection I have here at work. It is just a terrible waste of vulgar amounts of data transfer power. I could be multi-task downloading whole films, but no, I can do nothing more than write and read, because you know how they get when you eat popcorn at work while watching "Steel Magnolias" and I do so love that movie, the beautiful tale of female strength in a tough southern community. The way they supported and loved each other. There are just so many feelings, so so many beautiful feelings.

They're moving shit around and doing construction on the building, such an aggravation. More people, less space, and I know they are going to want to pester me, or I will get stuck training another temp. "You see this, this is a computer.... what do you mean you speak no English?" Fucking Muslim temps, I am tired of them, just sick and bloody tired of them and their right to left writing and constant bowing to the east. Plus I don't think Muslims are allowed to have oral sex so....fuck em totally.
They have moved the other temp girl into the same office, thus dividing my once hallowed room into a smaller fraction of male contribution. Two women, and naturally they are banding together. Pack animals, terrible, already sitting around in their pajamas, drinking hot chocolate, braiding each other's hair and giggling, giggling, giggling. Impossible to file in this racket, the air is thick with nasal cackles and bitching about hip sizes.
Too much more and I will be forced to use extreme measures to weigh the testosterone side of the scale. Mount a moose head on the wall. Wear camouflage and "No fat chicks" tee shirts. Put a recliner in front of the computer and repeatedly refer to all my co-workers as "woman" even the male ones. Drink beer, smoke cigars and maybe utilize a brass spittoon. If this is what must be done to maintain my heterosexuality, then I shall do it lest they infect my mind with inane sewing and cooking tips.

I wish I had a job with a hammer. I would like it for about 10 minutes, but still, I just want to rip a wall down. Knock out some drywall. I do it anyway; at least I could be picking up a check for it.

Speaking of checks, they sent me one for a week that they don't have a timecard for. Evil bastards are watching every move I make. Can't do anything, not safe. They are cruelly calculating my hours and then paying me for it. Son of a bitch, I won't like in this Orwellian box drama.

Now they are running a vacuum, on of those big loud motherfuckers that are best for replacing the act of oral sex when you don't have any toothless women tied to your manacles in the basement. You don't really tie someone to manacles, but the concept still fits. Noisy goddamn thing, giving me a headache, and when they turn it off I know that I will miss it. It may be splitting my brain with its ancient fan noise, but I do love it in a way that cannot be articulated in a simple letter. If they take lunch at the right time I might be able to get a little midday nookie out of the thing. Drywall, insulation, and Burnz pure seed. Better not now that I think about it. Were I to release my potent 600 proof spore into the cleaning device it would surely rupture. Even if it survived the initial blast, corrosion would occur in a manner of seconds. Little backed up as well, sheer force of volume is deadly. Could blow the back of a woman's skull off with this unused load, and that would be with a simple hand job.

Some guy just got done talking about military file drawers...he seemed to think that it was an amusing anecdote, I didn't quite follow how. But I just chuckled along and tried to look distracted from my work so he would leave me alone. He did eventually. The son of a bitch does look like an aging albino Hun though, so I envy that...no wait, no I don't because no person in their right mind would want to look like a Hun. Mongoloid without the cranially deficient overtones. He does however bring me boxes from a place called "The Vault". I need to have a house with a room I call the vault. And I want to call my real estate "The Compound"- fence it off, Doberman attack dogs, electrified perimeter, that is big pimpin' if ever I saw it.

Well, an hour this morning, and all of lunch was spent learning about the wonderful world of scanners. Let me weave you this tale. First, I have learned that all the scanners in our office are (for some fucked up reason) possessed by a demonic force. Apparently (so the legend goes) and beautiful princess was once married to the CEO of the company. One day an evil Warlock tried to court this princess. She refused him (because the average annual income of an evil Warlock is measured in chicken bones and shrunken heads, not useful except in a Shaman based barter type economy). In a fit of jealous rage, the Warlock cast a curse over the techno-crap of CIG (then COGC and CIC). This bit of techno-mancing opened all equipment to possible possession by any terrible lost soul seeking respite. So now there is a bunch of fucking crack whore demons up in all my damn scanners making it so that they will not scan in color.

Then, I had to play with the internal programming itself. Which was gadget-orgasmic. I learned, through hours of systematic trial and error experimentation that you must take this with a specific scientific method. Very Socratic- You must beat on the machine while chanting a mantra of "You fucking useless piece of power sucking shit. When I get this done I am going to fucking turn you into a goddamn cocksucking blender toaster combo. I hate you you dumb fucking thing, if you were a bitch I would slap you you big fucking pig swine ass fuck whore". I am sorry about the general uncouth nature of this mantra, but I didn't write it.

They love me, sure, but love only goes so far when you are not out putting (in many cases love only goes so far when you are not putting out, but that is different...they don't pay you to put out).

And I am sick and bloody tired of filing this shit. It isn't the task itself. But it isn't like I am inputting data that could possibly have any bearing. They are just clearing out a warehouse where they have stuck every piece of shit for the last 40 years. Now I am bringing this information into the 21 century by updating such information as "Pictures of So-and-So fuck all that retired in June of 56." Three photos of some fossilized dipshit, grinning into the camera and shaking hands with the secretary he molested for the last 21 employed years. Oh, and wearing his "Going out to lunch with the Money guys, which means I have to kiss ass like a toadie" suit. So when he gets back to the office, you can bet Charlene in Records is getting violated extra hard to reaffirm his manhood. Well, she does after all earn 11 cents on the dollar, so why not? Most women have to do that for nothing, they are called housewives.

I got to throw a marker against the wall though. Wait...it might have been a pen. I am not 100% sure. Either way I got to rub my head angrily and get that satisfying thump as it hit drywall. Always a pleasure. My fucking boss is a dippy 40-something who is giving me the wrong information. Not like it matters what information I have, just so long as I am numerating these stupid files. For Description on the file I am going to just enter what it is. "Shit the bureaucrats decided I needed to waste my time on". Or "Pamphlets of 50-esque propaganda put out by the mind rapists in PR." shit like 'Gas is Best' and 'We lay pipe for you' and 'CIG demands the heads of the filthy Communist' and 'We employ more dirty Mexican gutter diggers than any other 2 countries combined' and 'Wait a few years, we'll rip a hole in the sky so you can drive an 80 cylinder chrome rocket that gets fucking 2 miles to the gallon of leaded shit that we pumped in cheap pipes under the water source for your town. How's your mama's tumor by the way.' Oh yeah, it is one of those days.

Oh ick, that is enough fucking "sharing" I am going to go sit around the campfire with a bunch of shirtless guys and hold hands while we sing "Kumbayah" and talk about how daddy didn't love us enough. "I was never good enough for my father, he always expected so much, and never cared about me, about who I was, about why I dressed up in Mommy's clothes and made the neighborhood boys throw rocks at me. Hold me Rodney, you sweaty sack of Beer gut flesh."

Well, I am sure this pile of boxes behind me is indication that I should be doing something. I just can't put my finger on what. I tried dancing with one, but all boxes seem to have two left feet. The rolling chair and I did a nice number, that ergonomically designed bitch has a great Lambada routine that fully utilizes her lumbar support and all three adjustment functions. She really is a creature of rhythm and movement.

There is a woman doing stuff in my office. I don't know her, she didn't introduce herself, she just sat down and started scanning. I tried to be a good host, got out the nice silverware and took her jacket after politely asking just what the hell she thought she was doing. She asked me what time it was, and I vengefully replied that it was 2:20...naturally this was at two twenty, you always tell someone the right time, even if you hate them. But you should have seen the gleam in my eye when I did it. Oh, she caught it to, it was pure daggers. And I would lash out at her, but they say that patience is the hunter's best friend, and cowardice is patience('s) roommate, so I thought I got pretty close by magnificently exercising the will of the roommate.
Going to go mutter hateful things about people under my breath somwhere, and I will misspell where just as badly.

Got to work 2 hours late today. I had a fuck of a time getting to sleep last night. I used to have oodles of trouble sleeping (because I had a damn harem to keep satisfied).
And god I was hot, might be menopause. I haven't ovulated in 19 years, so I figured I could be having some kind of hormonal imbalance as a result. (Little do I know that I don't have a uterus, somehow I went all this time without once looking down.)
Found a fly body in the bottom of a box from the 60s. Which means this dead insect is older than either of us. So we sat and spoke of many things past. Of times change and life the same. We laughed like old friends, and cried like old lovers, and then I blew his multi-eyed ass right into the trashcan because the bodies of dead flies are fucking nasty. He had a bombin' tie dye fly VM microbus, and the smallest refer (reifer...reefferr...I just realized I never had any reason to write it...das refierino) butt I had ever tried to smoke in my life. Had a little beret on too, might have been a black panther. Fight the power my 6-legged brother, fight the power.

Add Staff just called "Hey Matt, you looking to work next week?" what do I say here? I mean, I need the money. But goddamn, I would have liked a week off. So: "Yeah, I suppose so." "Great we have a data entry position with" here there should be dramatic music, "Young Life" My heart froze, my blood ran cold. Of all the organizations in all the realm (we live in a realm?) it had to be young life. The great dark cloud of Christian Conformity. The housing of the Coalition for Christian morality. A place with ethereal blonde women with high grades and chastity belts. The one group that it was seemingly my sworn mission to piss on and destroy is now busting out 10 bones an hour for more data entry for the next 5 days, from 8 to 5. Will I have an office? Doubtful. Will there be closets I can sleep in? Highly questionable. Will they let me smoke in the parking lot? (Insert large pointing finger descending from the heavens and declaring) NOT ON MY HOLY GROUND BURNZ, I THINK YOU HAVE DESECRATED ENOUGH SANCTIFIED EARTH IN KANSAS WHEN YOU FED YOUR HABIT IN MY CHURCH WHILE BOOZED UP.

Young Life is the A number one organization dedicated to corrupting the minds of our youth with Biblical gibberish. Their avid followers were among my most despicable examples of humanity in my younger years. Awful people, prayer meetings and chastity. Make my skin crawl with hypocrisy and preachy conversions. Especially when you take into account the WASP community I grew up in. Bout as diverse as a Klan meeting. More churches than grocery stores or restaurants combined. Apparently people need God more than food. Couple of fires and I managed to put the eateries and chapels neck and neck for demographics if you get my meaning. I need the money, but I don't need preaching, Christ-y paraphernalia, or kind, paternal type advice and support. Leave me to wallow in sin and destruction. I'll brand myself with the mark of the beast just to establish early on who is going to be punching my timecard. Boss is named Scott, bet he is blonde and friendly camp leader type. We'll use the head-butt greeting customary between Christians and those that prefer to be right. Just so long as they pay in green and not salvation I will be fine. Take me years of toil and labor to work off all this sin.

Do you suppose I should sabotage the young life database? No, bad thoughts, impure thoughts, the devil is in me. I am sure one of these nice people would be more than happy to give me an exorcism. They are all so chipper and content here in their shitty little gray boxes. I was right about the guy that I met, my supervisor, if you can call him that. Red haired, not blonde, just nice and casual and friendly as can be. Has a good word for everyone and is always smiling. Nothing makes him happier than a job well done. What? I am shocked you would even suggest my plunging this red pen into his jugular vein. He is a kind and productive member of society, he has done nothing wrong, why do you want me to lift this monitor off its base and break it upside his sheltered little cracker skull?

Oh holy god, some guy cleared his throat and Scotty boy reached for a cough drop. Where I come from if someone clears their throat you ask them to shut the fuck up, or stay back so as not to get you sick. I knew there would be more love and support here than I could stomach. I think I blew that cough drop far enough out of proportion. Hey everyone, pop quiz, favorite inspirational quote. I bet they would all have an answer. "I live by the words of Obi Wan Kenobi, may the force be with you. My force is Jesus." Icky nasty freaky shit up in here. I live by the words of William Wallace, every man dies.
Check this out. Woman across from me is looking at shit about the Olympic Committee. Scott is talking to some guy about North Carolina, and shit. Two guys behind me are finding runners with the same last name as them. How does young life continue to function? The big boss man, oh he took the day off. Came in for a while and decided it wasn't a work type day. Packed up his fleece vest and gay little key necklace thingy, and hopped his khaki wearing ass right out the door. I wore a tie and got looks like "Whoa sucka, what the fuck is that thing round yo neck?" Only in hyper-christ speak so "Pardon me sir, but might I ask what it is you are wearing round your throat? Praise our Lord and Creator. The Father the son and the Holy Ghost. Take my hand now, oh ye of things round his neck, take my hand and let us give thanks for the fashionable attire you have chosen...Oh lord, thank you for giving Matt something to put his head through, thank you for allowing it to match his pants and shirt. Please oh Lord, guide us through this life of designers and retail stores to deliver us unto your kingdom of style and personal statement. Amen"

Anyone else think I am taking this whole Young Life thing a little too far?

I am not sure, but I think I saw someone do some work. Silly bastards.

Thought I would take this time, an hour and a half into my new job, to take a nice break. The stress factor is killing me. My neck is in knots, my back is all wound up, I can't seem to concentrate...oh thank you Pierre, could I get another Mai Tai for the lovely lady, what did you say you name was? Yes, tis truly a straining existence, and the 10 bucks an hour I am getting to do this is simply not worth it. Next they will be reaching for the whip. Please, help me...excuse me. Doug is making a pizza and beer run. Just pepperoni? You nazi pigs, I need greenpeppers, you see what they do to me...how much do I owe you Doug? Oh, it is on you? Fine, you evil leash master.

I even sent a resume for a position with the county sheriffs office. Just imagine that, there I go walking into work reeking of beer with 6-inch pupils and a concealed firearm.

Things I wrote to aussie Sarah:

Thought of you today and got a little tear in my eye...from the nerve gas the fucking cops were using.

Why do you hang around chat rooms? This has been making Goopers pace. Why? He keeps saying and throwing his arms up. Back and forth back and forth. Does she have a hunchback? Only the socially degenerative slum the e-waves, what is it about her that makes her live through a pixilated world? He is in great distress and was holding his head in his hands after a sleepless night when I left for work this morning. I am worried about the poor thing, sure Muppets don't ever sleep, but it is the point of the matter, he is getting that harried look in his little button eyes. I didn't like leaving him alone with the guns in that condition, but worst-case scenario, he starts a holy war over it, and we were doing that anyway.

Well, everyone I know thinks you are just after the great Burnz fortune. I didn't think that 11 Hawaiian shirts and a collection of hats with costume jewelry qualified as much of an estate, but it seems that it is a fortune. You'll get none of it. There isn't enough ass shaking in all the realm to get me to give it to you. I will leave it to one of those big ass turtles that live 400 years, so good luck with that.

I've decided that we should have an inaugural sexual act to help relieve the tension. I will mail you a jar off my pure seed, and then we won't have any awkwardness later on. Please for your own safety use only an eyedropper full, my spore is very strong, and normally I require a full physical examination by no less that 3 physicians to guarantee physical capacity to withstand the anatomical shock. I am the only person that has a proof label to display potency of semen. Dilution of a 2 to 1 ratio might also be wise on the off chance you have a heart palpitation. Just be forewarned to also lie on your back, typically any failures are spinal, something about uteran pressure, I am not a doctor so I don't know.

I wonder if perhaps usual shit gives a better gauge of one's persona than they could ever convey with all the lovely speeches about their life. I would say a combination; you must gather the roots and branches to gain a full pictu......roots and branches? What the fuck are you talking about? Is this amateur hour at the coffee house reading? Get off the goddamn stage you wanker; go write more terribly repetitive poetry. Bitch.

So a friend of mine, Laura, asked me how I felt about you. I sat and stared at her, astounded that she would ask ME the illustrious apathetic Burnz how I Felt.

Go easy on your hurt little self love, can't have you dying on me, not for another 80 years or so...course I will only live 15 with my habits, so having you keep my body around is strange...why are you so sick as to do it for so long? That is all, I think I should do whatever it is they pay me to do.

So one of my bosses came in and asked where a chair was. I didn't have the heart to tell the alhzimers (spelling: Why didn't I just spell it Allzimers) bastard that he moved it out. I also didn't have the heart to tell him that he doesn't actually work there anymore. I also didn't have the heart to tell him I wasn't his son, and I wouldn't be coming to dinner with my fiancé this Sunday. I always do this, I am just too polite.

On an unrelated subject, I would call you on Sunday, but I just made plans. My bride to be hasn't met my father so we are having dinner at his house. I wonder how long I will have to keep up the pretense of being in his family? Oh well, assuming my wife is going to be hot I think I could live with it. I have been such a bad son to him. I mean, I didn't even really know who he was until very very recently. I just kept all this distance between us, and treated this other family like they were mine. He is so good to forgive me.

I am odd, I mean...seriously.

So I have an hour of work to do in like 2 and a half. I am so tired of this brutal Trojan pace. And my own father cracking the whip...the misery. Hot damn, Cher is on the radio. You know, that is such a gay name "Cher". I am going to start calling myself "Geuve" or "Taek" yeah, I like that one. Maybe "Skrach" another likeable one.

And I will spell style with an upper case Y. stYle. Now I am really on to something.

I want to tell Brittany Spears to shut the fuck up. Just once, I just want to sit back and say, "You know, shut the fuck up. Wanna sling your tits this way?" Maybe flip her off as she throws a drink in my face and stalks out of the room. I may do it this Sunday when she and I are at dinner with my father.

Again, I persist in my abject refusal to accept normality.

Stovepipe hats get back to me on this ASAP.

I wonder if I could officially change my name to The Burnz? You better have balls like moons to put an article in front of your name. Or maybe A Burnz, like we are a tribe and I am just one of the collective. "Did you read that book by A Burnz?" "No, no one would publish his shit, what the fuck are you talking about?" "Never mind, he was my son, stole a chair but is usually a good boy."

Kinda beating that father thing to death. Sorry about that, but I will make it up to you...I have no idea how I would do that. Maybe some nice flowers...or a blanket...or the heart of snow white so that you are the fairest in the land. Maybe just a combination, nothing like a blanket with the heart of a pure maiden in it. Now if that isn't love...then I am sure someone could come up with something a little flashier and less bloody that would work just as well.

So I was wondering if I naturalized to Australia if I could get dual citizenship. And if I did, then I wonder if I would have immunity from selling secrets to your people. Like, we have these magic boxes that plug into the wall and you can make things hot with. I can't give you the specifics here because the Ranger Holds all the Cards (conspiratorially winks, fails, and looks rather foolish trying to conspiratorially shrug and toss dice. Settles for a conspiratorially delivered foot rub.) I could be a spy. I've always wanted to be a spy. And a ninja, but some dreams are just too big.

And you never told me why you snap pictures of yourself while painting...I mean, sure, I have occasionally been putting on a second coat and said "hot damn, where is a mirror I need to capture my headless image right fucking now" but I never actually did it. There was that one time, but I was putting on water seal, not paint. And you get around a good water seal in a closed room and ho doggy you start to do some strange stuff. Why would I need water seal in a closed room you might ask...and I might tell you to mind your own goddamn affairs, but I also might have to realize that damn few hurricanes hit my den. More than you would think, but still damn few.

And I will get citizenship the same way as anyone else, I will be born there. It would be useless the other way, I think we know most of your international secrets, although I must say that how you got a whole continent under the equator is mystifying all of us. Sure, South America (I think you will find my geography leaves something to be desired...namely it leaves knowledge of geography to be desired) and Antarctica did it to, but they are awfully damn tight lipped about the matter, being penguins and amazons and so forth

Hopefully this finds you safe and well, and if not, hopefully it finds you without a banquet stuck to your shirt and trousers. Hot damn, I said trousers. Knickers...I am on a roll.

This working thing has been so done; I think I'll just retire. Feed some birds, play the slots...do you all have casinos down there? Just what I don't need to do...so do you? "Come on, I had a ticket back, I just lost it at the blackjack tables. Let me on the plane...no huh...then loan me 20 bucks, I'll win it back. I just hit a slump in my luck, I was hot earlier, I can get it back, I swear. Ok, ten...5? Then can I just rifle through the plane seats for change...and peanuts.
Naw, I would just sell an organ if I got desperate...would have to be an eye, nothing else works that I could spare. Asthmatic lungs, abused kidneys, totally unused testicles. Maybe the testicles, not sure how many people need those though. They still have the manufacturer warrantee on them...sad, I suppose this makes me a failure as a male. I am jacks complete lack of surprise. I am also jacks repetitive nature.

I warned you....:

Better to lament someone that is unreachable than to hate someone that is always there.

Sometimes you feel lucky when the roulette chamber is empty and sometimes that is just one more fucking thing to go wrong.

When you are effectively addicted to a person, there are times when you need them there, like a staple to survival. Life becomes a big daily fix, wherein you sacrifice as much as you can to see them. Chemicals are always there when you want them, and never when you don't. People are not like that, sometimes you want nothing to do with them, since you have had your need fulfilled for a period of time. Then you hate the sight of them, they are just in the way, an addiction you would sooner forget. You never actually enjoy them; you just have to have them there. You pick up their habits. You do things you hate just to please them. There is a thing called the Cartman drama triangle, you take care of them, in some way or another, then you feel victimized by the fact that they are not as nice to you as you perceive being to them, and then you turn on them to revenge the kindness that you decide was unreturned.

Burnz favorite thing can best be summed up in warm and quiet, usually shared with another person. Waking up with them wrapped around you, listening to the house creak, sitting out on the deck, in the sun on some Sunday morning. Lying next to someone staring at the ceiling, holding hands, whispering for no reason. Someplace far away from screens and noise and masses and even the usually rapid spouting of my own mouth. Being there, just being, not having to think and do but simply exist. Put in a womb of limbo. I love that.

Also high on my scale is actual communication. I had a friend, Mike, which I saw on a nearly daily basis. Mike and I never had an once of true conversation. We talked about traffic, weather, bowling, cats, fucking, spices....not once did we really talk about anything. I loathe that. There is a big place for all that shit, daily chatter, but if you never once go any deeper than that, what is the damn point of talking to anyone? You never really understand them, and they won't ever get you. I like knowing I am talking to another human being, not just some video drone automaton (sp).

I like women best first thing in the morning, when they are all sticky from sleeping, before they have had time or drive to gussy up their fancy ass. Draped in sweats or a T-shirt, hair all frizzy. It is such a personal thing. Not affected, not created for the sake of attraction. Just how they are after sleep, rubbing at their eyes and smoking the first cigarette. A very human thing.