I am a posting whore

I AM a posting whore. Whore is a good word. I do not know why it offends people. I think I have gotten myself into more trouble over the word whore, be it at work, the classroom or the bedroom, than any other word I know. Except possibly cuculoris, which only SOUNDS dirty.

I channel George Carlin: SHIT PISS FUCK CUNT MOTHERFUCKER COCKSUCKER and tits. Huh. Maybe George Carlin just has Turret’s.

So, yes, I feel much better today than yesterday, which is why I am posting so close together; to clarify, I am not medically tortured, nor am I suicidal or manically depressed or especially paranoid. I suffer from a condition much worse called philosophy anxiety. It is an inability to commit to any one constant and concrete worldview for 24 hours at a time. Sometimes I’m very monist, sometimes I’m deist, other times I’m very evolutionary, and quite often I sadly find myself a nihilist.

I discuss metaphysics with a nihilist, I find his views very limited. I discuss the meaning of life with the King of the Zombies and I discuss ethics with a drug dealer. Then you look at my family and it’s no wonder I’m fucked up.

Ethics; I lie to people. But I don’t do it for political, relationship, or monetary gain, though that’s no excuse. In fact, I never lie to people when it severely hurts them or benefits me. I just enjoy pulling the wool over people’s eyes. I take after my grandfather, who, as my grandmother put it “would rather crosst the street and clumb a tree to tell a lie than to stand whur he was and tell the truth.” He told me that the white streaks of lime on the side of rocky outcroppings was polar bear piss. He told me there was a two-headed little-kid-eating alligator in his tomato garden to keep us from going in there.

Backstory; My friend Kane was working at Tom’s Diner, and of course he constantly hit on all the girls who worked there, except for the one woman who made his life there a living hell. Shortly after quitting, he found a flower and gave it to one of the girls. Later, when I was relating this story to friends of mine, we… ’embellished’ a bit. We said that he had given flowers to ALL of the girls. Then he blatantly snubbed the woman he hated, refusing her a flower. Then we said that he mooned everybody at Tom’s. This was all in good fun, except that the story started to spiral out of control in the rumour mill, cycling to all the outer spheres of friends we knew.

This other time, the Zombie King and I were hanging out in the parking lot behind Station Square, because he had wanted to show me all the road signs and picnic benches that were just sitting there. Now, he had only been back there once, with ‘Uncle’ Tim, to see these, and I had never been. Nonetheless, when we saw our friend Jacob on the other side of the chain-link fence on his bike, we called him over.

J: What the fuck are you guys doing back here?
B: We always hang out back here.
J: What? Why?
ZK: Dude, there’s benches!
(pause)
J: Oh, okay.

This sort of thing is recurrent, it’s episodic, it’s annoyingly compulsive. I’m not really upset with this little personal failing, I just have to add it to my long and ever-growing list of things to change about myself. Trust me, there are things higher up on the list… like knuckle-cracking, arrogance and exhibitionism. I’ve also been toying with the idea of altering my eating habits.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go fight a Peruvian force of jungle warriors as they threaten to destroy the Commerce Area. Zhoom!

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2 responses to “I am a posting whore

  1. exhibitionism? Since when? I missed it….. 😦

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