It’s Tuesday evening, and I’m sitting here in our music room writing while trying not to let snot pour out of my nose. I’m actually pretty happy to have a snotty-ass nose right now, cause that means it’s fairly likely that I don’t have COVID-19. It’s been a weird 24 hours, health-wise- I had off-puttingly lucid nightmares all night last night, I ended up with a sore throat and the aforementioned snotty-ass nose, and since I ate a fuckload of vegetables for lunch yesterday I’ve been shitting green all day.
Not like “if you squint it SORTA looks green” shit, I’m talking “Happy St. Patrick’s Day!” green shit.
Did I REALLY need to share that with you? Yes, yes I did. You guys demand honesty and integrity from a writer, right? Right? I wouldn’t know, cause you pricks never talk to us in the comments. So, in the absence of your thoughts and opinions I’m happy to fill the spaces by documenting my occurrences of interestingly colored shit. Screw everyone else, I like to be honest cause it’s the god damn right thing to do.
Please, please- I’ll need to make room on my trophy shelf before you mail out my Nobel Prize. Plus, I’m out of Pledge Multi-Surface and I don’t fuck with the store brand. I dust FANCY, like Iggy Azalea was before everyone realized she was awful.
In all fairness I always knew Iggy Azalea was awful, but it’s good that the rest of the world caught on.
Who would have thunk it, an Australian white woman co-opting the living shit out of American black culture seems like a hole-in-one right? I jest, but seriously- glad the music world said a collective “no thanks” to that one. What does that have to do with me shitting green all day? Nothing. Not one motherfucking thing.
This is just one of those days where I’m writing for two reasons: Firstly, I like to make sure we keep consistent content coming your way, cause they say that’s how to be a “SUPER SUCCESSFUL WRITER/BLOGGER IN 2020!”. There must be a grace period before the checks start rolling in, I’ll keep you posted. Secondly, today is one of those extremely rare days where I’m just the right combination of sick, fed up, frustrated, and anxious that the only way for me to NOT climb up into a clock tower and throw marshmallow creme-filled balloons onto unsuspecting dipshits is to type my bitterness and sarcasm away.
Like “fucking the pain away”, but way less fun for everyone.
It’s not that there’s any shortage of shit to write about, the bank ain’t empty by a long shot, Ghosties. It’s just that I’m feeling a little overloaded at the moment, and some days the constant stream of worry and anxiety brought upon by living in a pandemic-ravaged country being led by a spray-tanned, water-logged, “drunk uncle at Thanksgiving” just starts to weigh on a guy.
Today was supposed to be a day in which we heard from voices of reason, but the Senate hearing with Dr. Fauci & Co. didn’t seem to offer much reason to speak of. Again. The lack of ANY SORT OF CLEAR MESSAGING OR DIRECTION FOR THIS FUCKING COUNTRY is about 3,000,000,027 light years past ridiculous and I know I’m not the only asshole who’s fucking sick of it.
Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me 768 times, welcome to America.
Everything is a contradiction: we’re testing enough, we’re NOT testing enough. We’re reopening too soon, but everyone’s doing it anyway. The virus isn’t affecting children, but somehow kids are starting to get sick and die in increasingly larger numbers. This will go away on it own, this is going to get worse. Cases are down in one place, but up in another.
It’s as though someone has decided to see what would happen if we were all bit players in “Monty Python and the American Pandemic” and spoiler alert, it’s going as bad as you’d think it would. Shit, I’d trust John fucking Cleese over Donald Trump and I don’t know shit about where he stands ideologically- as long as he’s not a fucking Tory I’d probably give him a shot, what the fuck could we even lose at this point?
So here we are, even the people who are supposed to be the EXPERTS aren’t shooting straight with us, so we’re all left to feel like we’re up shit creek but instead of a paddle it’s a frozen Trump Steak and we’re just smacking the water with it wondering why we’re careening towards a fucking waterfall.
No wonder I’m shitting green.
It’s not that they’re flat-out lying, it’s just that I haven’t heard a SINGLE person give clear-cut direction or information about this pandemic since day one. Even the health experts have been tap dancing around wittle Donawd’s feewings so they can hang on to their fucking jobs, so it feels like there’s not a hell of a lot of truth going around and it’s scary. The way I see it, they keep talking about a “second wave” of something that hasn’t even finished its FIRST fucking wave and that’s a prime example of logic flying out the window like an overcooked PopTart.
No, YOU throw overcooked PopTarts out the window.
Which brings me to my next point- I haven’t had a fucking PopTart in a LONG god damn time. The Hot Chocolate flavored ones from Trader Joes are the bee’s tits, the OG Strawberry frosted ones are the jam, and you’ve not truly lived until you’ve had a microwave-warmed S’Mores PopTart. Toasting works fine, but you REALLY want the sticky-icky-icky it’s ALL about nuking them shits.
Was there a point to any of this? Nope. I’m sick and I’ll do whatever I want thank you very much! My day has consisted almost entirely of being annoyed at being sick, shitting green every hour or so, and being exasperated at the continuing circus of idiocy starring Grand Marshall Dingleberry and his Amazing Flying Dinguses. Hey, we either get four more years of this shit of Joe Biden soooo fuck everything.
We’re setting a high bar for new lows in 2020.
For fucking REAL, amirite? I’m scared green-shitless to utter the words “it can’t get any worse, right?” because I’m pretty sure the universe will shove “worse” swiftly up my ass for even FATHOMING to be so daft. Every time I sniffle I think I may end up dead before sunset, I’ll be shocked to have a day job in a couple months, and my kids will have hair in strange places before they see their grandma again. People are storming government buildings with AR-15s for some reason, Jared Kushner still hasn’t encountered the right stiff wind to knock him over for good, and there has been more than one shooting at a fucking DOLLAR STORE in a three week period than I can recall in the last decade. Do I need to keep reciting our small victories or can we move on? Oh, did I say “victories”? What a bag of dicks! Of course I meant to say FAILURES.
I have nothing inspiring, nothing uplifting, and/or nothing of any real substance to say about any of this shit. I’m gonna go lay in bed next to my hot wife, who I can’t have sex with cause I’m sick, and hate everything for a few hours before I drift off, back into the hellish landscape of my dreams for another subconscious evisceration of my wellbeing. Yay madness! Come ye night sweats! Just leave Nathaniel Rateliff at home, I’m almost out of beer and that dude would SO snake my last one. And just so we’re clear, I did in fact just make a Nathaniel Ratliff and the Night Sweats joke. I’m OK with it, and 2016 said it was cool, so deal with it.
Best wishes and warmest regards,
A blog/website where these happily married, 30-something parents of 2 little minions rant, rave, and speak in tongues. Raw, honest, and riddled with profanity. Get on board and let’s make The Ghost Generation awesome together! http://theghostgeneration.com Twitter.com/Gh0stGeneration