August 1, 2002
The time is 9:52 in the am.
I’ve just driven my girlfriend to work. In the space of 30 minutes and
15 miles on a normal Friday morning I have come to some understanding
of how much I hate this world.
I’m not talking about a
bad day or just...casual hate. No, no, no, I’m not talking about hating
the world in principle or just the world and not it’ s inhabitants.
Nope, I don’t just hate a few people who get on my nerves - I hate EVERY
FUCKER. Pure, primordial hatred. They’re all dicks to me. My new collective
name for society is ‘The Corpses’.
I watch in horror as these
‘people’ drift along in their metal coffins on the roads, shop for non-significant
items in the streets. Not one of them has any idea of the bigger picture
or what any of it is all about. Don’t get me wrong, I haven’t discovered
the secret to life but I KNOW it’s not this; crawling along aimlessly
with your own, and others, puke dribbling down the front of your nice
little outfit. Some of them get REAL lucky, they actually obtain some
worth in the world...they get to drive a nice car and have a good wife...well
whoopey-fuckin’-doo. As I said to my girlfriend in the car "Look,
that corpse is real precious, he’s got a fucking corvette - he must
be an IMPORTANT dead person".
My paranoia is no longer
merely paranoia. It’s founded fact. Every institution is out to get
me and make love to my anal hole as hard as it can. In one week I have,
genuinely, lost count of the times I’ve been fucked over; this is not
just a bad week to me, I do actually hate the fucking world. I can’t
even say that the world is a better place for being adorned with artists
and free-n-easy souls because they too are all insanely tedious and
I was nearly home this morning
when, coming up to some traffic lights, I was hit by the notion that
life and the world is one big movie studio. Not like ‘Truman’ more like
a monstrous graveyard, full of stinking, writhing corpses. As my Mother
says when she sees someone a tad worse for wear "They’re dead but
they wont lie down" - they might as well lie down for all the fucking
good they’re doing here. The day is one that’s trying to break through.
It’s slightly hazy and overcast and as I slowed for the traffic lights,
doing around 95mph or so, I noticed a gap in the clouds that allowed
an unnatural ray of light to beam down upon me. It looked so unnatural
that I thought it was a film studio light shining down on me. Shining
down into the Graveyard Studios.
More than any other corpse,
I despise the one that thinks it is important - that it holds some grasp
over the world. These are usually the corpses that hold menial jobs
like bank clerics and desk jobs. I hear them every day when I go to
knock back my 5 pints of lager for lunch. They speak in a language that
I don’t understand but the old words about being scared of what you
don’t understand don’t apply here. I don’t understand it through choice
- I choose not to subject myself with that evil and malingering garbage.
It always amazes me how a person can go so horribly wrong that they
can actually allow themselves to handle this. They sit next to me in
their ‘business lunches’ and talk about contracts and staff and, the
worst term in history, Customer Care. They LOVE to adorn themselves
with these terms because they don’t have the capacity to strive to a
better level. They like being dead.
I have, many times, leaned
over and asked them to ‘Please stop boring me’ and they look on with
disgust on their raggedy faces. One day, I swear, I will lean over to
a ‘business lunch’ in full swing and look to the fattest, senior corpse
and stab a huge great fucking fork through his hand and nail it to the
table. "Get a fucking grip on yourself man, look at you",
but they never wake up, it’s impossible to resurrect a corpse once they
have switched off. And that’s exactly what they do, they switch the
life support machine off.
Last week I rang my car
insurance company because they had fucked up big style on my policy.
I had to endure corpse after corpse after corpse until the final corpse
broke down and, like a statue made from ash, crumbled in my hands. She
whimpered "I don’t want to speak to you Mr. Whiting", I couldn’t
help myself, "What the FFFUUUCCCCCKKKK do you mean you ‘don’t want
to speak to me’? I’m a paying fucking customer, bitch. You have screwed
something up that I pay a LOT of pennies for and now you ‘DON’T WANT
TO TALK TO ME’? People like you should be damn well executed for your
own security". I think she secretly liked that. She could go home
and tell her little husband what ‘ happened at the office today’.
"Hey guess what (Insert
bland name)? A real person rang the office today. Being a corpse, as
you know from jumping my dead bones for twelve years, I didn’t know
how to handle it and so I followed the rules in the corpses handbook
about dealing with ‘The Rare Threat of a REAL, LIVING Human Being’.
I put on my scared deer look and told him ‘I don’t want to speak to
you Mr. Whiting’, that’ll teach him, don’t you think?"
It’ll be the highlight of
her career. She’ll tell it for the rest of her natural death. They’ll
all sit around a graveyard fire, not too close though, and tell ‘Living
stories’. They’ll all have the BeJesus spooked out of them and act uneasy
in case they might see a ‘Living’ during the night. I also hate Fred
Astaire. He’s doing that shit he did all over my TV - what the fuck
IS it anyway, flailing your limbs about to shitty music?
So, to cap it all off, as
you have probably guessed, I don’t particularly like the world I live
in. I adore it when I hear people’s philosophy on life ‘ Live life to
the max, you never know what’s around the next corner’ hmm...and how
did you get to that infinite wisdom? By sitting in your fucking office,
cowering behind a desk, not knowing what’s around the corner because
all you do is stand there, scared shitless of what’s around that ‘ Corner’
you’re always talking about?
I’m not a bad person - I
just don’t like 99 percent of life due to it’s nature. If you’ve read
this and thought ‘what a cock’ or some such other aphorism then good,
at least I got you using that mind of yours for something other than
changing diapers and washing the car. Now, you must excuse me, I must
go and ‘Live life to the max’. My condolences.