Tag: fuckyou

MEAT IS MURDER EVEN IF IT IS YOURS AND ALIVE.

If the Medical Establishment doesn’t get its ass in gear by about, oh, noon tomorrow and deal with my problem I am going to carry out the first completely left-handed mass murder in history. Currently I have had no useful help from my “primary” internal medicine physician, a physical therapy clinic, a neurologist, and a pharmacy. My best improvements have come from Home Science investigating my shoulder and what makes it feel better. I have, I think, successfully diagnosed a rotator cuff inflammation or tear. If they’d just fucking tell me whether it’s a tear or not I’d write them a check.

Last week the neurologist, who is currently “investigating” me and ordered the MRI, was out of town. No one told me this and I was leaving increasingly testy messages on his scheduler’s voicemail. She didn’t call me back. Finally I called the internal medicine office, because he’d said: If they don’t call back, don’t worry. The doctor is great but the office is a nightmare. Call me. Two minutes after that call, the schedule for the neurologist called me back. Why is this all being done Soviet style?

Currently I am self-medicating with alcohol. Yes, I know that’s stupid. Tomorrow I shall explain to any doctor who answers or returns my calls that I am sliding into Under the Volcano and I need either medically approved relief or a plan for fixing the problem: preferably necessarily both.

Otherwise I will show up wild-eyed and unshaven at the emergency room demanding some combination of opiates, steroids, acupuncture, inaccupuncture. sodomy, and surgery. I’ve had it! So, it’ll be fixed I’m sure.

Finally I’d like to say that I have only been reading back a screen or so a day of the LJ because after I’ve done work and blathered my own posts and had 8.9 margaritas and hugged the cat I still can’t do that much web browsing without flailing and moaning in pain. Yes, that’s self-pity. Yes, it’s for real.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: bodies are overrated.

CHRIST, WHAT AN ASSHOLE

Someone decided to get really, really high and shoot at people in an alley over off Baker & Fairview in Costa Mesa the other day. Killed one guy, hurt a few others. The victims appear to be nice local boys without any known criminal connections. Everyone involved was of Mexican ancestry. Everyone who knew the victims is shocked and saddened; there are little memorials on the street and the people at the surf shop where the dead guy worked are really down. It’s a bad day for the city and for my city, too; we’re so close. But here’s what Costa Mesa’s crypto-Nazi Mayor had to say:

“When you have job centers, soup kitchens and a high concentration of downscale rental units, it drives the city down,” Mayor Allan Mansoor said. “I favor a multi-faceted approach including stronger gang enforcement and overlay zone revitalization, and I also think a social worker holding the hand of a hardened gang member has not worked in other cities.”

Allan, it’s time to go. Maybe rural Arizona would be good for you, or that Pennsylvania town that just passed the “no Mexicans allowed” law. Running the Mexicans and the poor out of town is a solution to a problem no one has but you. What we wanted to hear was “Murder is the most serious of crimes and we’re lucky it’s rare here in Costa Mesa. We will bring these guys to justice and we will all work together for a safer city.” Just in case you have a pen handy, you might want to write that down.

And while we’re at it, I’ve been looking over the manifest for the Mayflower here and I see Smith and Standish and Johnson and Grey… Mansoor? No, no Mansoor. How odd. I was just reading the other day about how people with names like “Mansoor” are involved in all sorts of terroristical activities. Maybe we need to overlay zone revitalize about that.

http://www.dailypilot.com/articles/2006/08/04/publicsafety/dpt-shooting04.txt

http://www.ocregister.com/ocregister/homepage/abox/article_1233749.php

Only Sheriff Frank Booth Can Save Us Now!

So, you remember the guy who wiped out at 162 mph on PCH in Malibu in an ultra-rare Ferrari? Right. And he turned out to be a Swedish criminal and failed video game entrepreneur? Right. And now it turns out that the guy he was racing, another Swedish criminal, had a house full of illegal guns and was arrested for using a fake cop ID to avoid background checks? Right. And that the fake cop ID was from the San Gabriel Valley Transit Authority, who represent themselves as a Homeland Security police organization because they give rides to old people? Right.

Hey, guess what! These guys have ties to our own Orange County Sheriff! The guy who tried to cover up the gang rape of a 15 year old girl because his buddy’s son did it! The guy who additionally covered up the kid’s crimes during his trial! And, of course, the guy who hands out deputy badges and guns to all the boys in the back room so they can crank off shots at miscellaneous citizens at the golf course or over a parking space! Turns out one of those guns from one of those guys ended up in Big Steve Eriksson’s house, along with the other guns that, as a foreign national and a felon, he’s not allowed to have. Gosh. Mike Carona, what sleaze have you NOT been involved in this year?

Deputy’s Gun Is Latest Twist in Ferrari Crash
The weapon of an O.C. reserve officer is found in a raid at the home of the car’s alleged driver.
By Richard Winton and Christine Hanley
Times Staff Writers

April 26, 2006

Detectives are trying to figure out why a handgun belonging to a reserve deputy for the Orange County Sheriff’s Department was found at the Bel-Air mansion of the former European video game executive accused of crashing a rare Ferrari Enzo in Malibu in February.

Los Angeles County sheriff’s deputies confiscated the gun during a raid at the home of Bo Stefan Eriksson, who faces grand theft, embezzlement and DUI charges related to the accident.

Continue reading “Only Sheriff Frank Booth Can Save Us Now!” →

Kreiss, what an asshole

WITH his vintage blue-and-red rep tie, carefully tousled hair and old metal lapel pin reading “I {heart} Grandpa,” Loren Kreiss looks like a typical style-conscious 24-year-old. He collects cool things, like 2,194 “friends” on myspace.com, an antique Coke machine and 15,000 songs on his hard drive. His vintage wristwatch is a fashion accessory, not a tool.

“My watch and all my clocks are set to the wrong time,” Mr. Kreiss said recently. “It’s symbolic of me. I don’t like to look at time.”

But as the scion of Kreiss, his family’s California-based furniture business, Mr. Kreiss (pronounced to rhyme with nice) sometimes has to work at being an iconoclast. He can barely contain his contradictions. For instance, his three-times-a-week maid often resets the clocks correctly, forcing Mr. Kreiss to reset them quirky again. (To avoid missing appointments, he consults his ever-present BlackBerry.)

The rest of the article is here at the NY Times.

But wait, no, I need to paste another quote: Mr. Kreiss writes his graphic novels on his BlackBerry while working out on an elliptical trainer at the gym.

Wait wait, no, here’s another: He hung out with bands like Blink-182 during the height of San Diego’s neo-punk scene, sang in a band and produced three records on his indie Lurid label.

Okay I have to go punch a yuppie now. Brb.

Reposted from a friend’s journal with permission: O.C. Life

Scenes from the class struggle on Pacific Coast Highway, Lady Bountiful:

I was sitting in my car at a busy intersection in Huntington Beach, and a woman pulled up next to me in a giant Escalade. I looked over at her because she was flayling her arms about while she was on one of those “important” cell phone calls one has while in the car. She was blinged from here to eternity, her diamonds almost BLINDED me. Her hair was bleached, her skin was orange, and her sunglasses were Gucci. Fo shizzle.
So anyway, I am looking at this woman and she suddenly opens her car door. Like, at the light, she just opens her door.
I’m thinking, so she’s going to dump out some old water or something?
NO.
Change. I mean, she took the ashtray full of SILVER MONEY and dumped it on the ground and drove away.
MONEY.
ON THE GROUND.
LIKE TRASH.

I’m so glad our boys are over there protecting our Way of Life.

Psychopathic Parking

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Psychopathic Parking, originally uploaded by conradh.

For some folks it’s not enough just to buy the F350 Super Duty truck. Or to buy the crew cab version. Or to get the “FX4 Offroad” package, lift it, and load it up with accessories. No, the important part here is causing a confrontation of some kind, using the truck, so that there can be some manhood and throwdowns and getting up in someone’s grill, as they say. A good way to do this is to take two parking spots in a suburban parking lot where you don’t belong, when all the other trucks are at the far end of the lot because their drivers were grownups.

Freedom Science Strikes Again

If you can’t be part of the solution, there’s always money to be made inventing a new problem. That’s how we got new diseases like halitosis and ring around the collar. There’s a product, so let’s create a need: a disease is a good one.

Our enemies—waxy buildup, salmon going red in the can, the invisible filth on our faces—can only be defeated with the help of heroic product managers. This is an old story.

If what you’re selling is the absence of something, the task is a little easier. Best way is to launch a crusade of health and morals against your target. I recommend just lying like crazy ’cause it works great. Today’s example:

http://www.caffeineawareness.org/

The caffeine-free products industry now has its own Reefer Madness, in which the most harmless and beneficial of stimulants turns out to be the worserest thing you can do! Just ask this scientician!

There’s trouble in River City…

thanks to salome_st_john for this

Not addressed to anyone who’ll read this

Once again this week (not in this forum) I’ve run into the triumphantly ignorant mindset that mental illness and neurological problems aren’t diseases, that people with these problems are not worthy of medical attention, that anyone who hasn’t triumphed over head problems by sheer force of will and/or approved religious or 12 step methods is a weakling, and that people with mental problems are making up stuff.

These people are almost exactly equivalent to those who think that homosexuality is a choice. Somewhere between that and the people who don’t believe in germ theory because germs are really small and you can’t see them.

I can identify a few fallacies that keep recurring when I run into this mindset. Most of them are variations on generalization. They are:

  • Mildly neurotic people annoyingly claim mental problems as an excuse for their behavior, although they could in fact be less annoying pretty easily. Therefore, everyone who has bigtime head problems is also doing this and should just stop being weird already.
  • My own experience with drug addiction/neurotic behavior/weird mental blocks was resolved with 12-step groups/just getting over it/moving to a different town and therefore any other person’s head problems, no matter how different or how much more extreme, should be solved this way too. Otherwise they’re not trying.
  • Drug companies make a lot of money selling lifestyle drugs, and often create new ailments or over-market medications. Therefore, anyone who takes medication for any neurologic or psychiatric problem is making a mistake, because nothing sold by these companies is useful or necessary.
  • I knew someone once who had a lot of head problems and she tried a lot of things to fix it and nothing worked and she didn’t get better and was really annoying. Therefore no kind of medical or psychological intervention works and people with mental problems are tiresome losers.
  • People with head problems are choosing this lifestyle to get sympathy and because it agrees with them somehow, and they’re using medications as a crutch instead of choosing to be healthy, like me. Therefore they are weak and worthy of scorn.
  • Problems that affect behavior and personality should not be treated as diseases or treatable problems. They should be treated in the old-fashioned way as character flaws and sins, and people who exhibit them should be punished, shunned, shamed, and mocked. Only deluded softies and hypnotized idiots believe otherwise. Nothing like this has ever happened to me or anyone I like, the problem can’t be seen with the naked eye, and I keep being told by authority figures who annoy me that it’s happening. Therefore these problems don’t exist, and I’m a unique and beautiful snowflake for standing up to this nonsense. I know this is true because a loud person on the radio said so.

This is all medieval horseshit. I’d like to find the source of it, because it’s both pre-scientific and new. It’s as though someone merged L. Ron Hubbard and Bill O’Reilly and treated this mutant as a medical authority.

Admittedly everyone is insane to some degree about mental health, the way everyone is insane about food and sex and education. But this shit is just off the map. It’s aggressively proud ignorance. I want to collar all these people and take them to a “Scared Straight” tour of the local mental health facilities so they can see how bad it gets.

“Bipolar” isn’t your moody ex boyfriend who used that as an excuse for the time he fucked your sister. It’s people driving from San Diego to Maine for no reason and changing their name eight times along the way. “Phobia” isn’t that woman at your office who hates spiders. It’s someone who has to spend two days in her room if she sees one. And “depressed” isn’t the showy Goth you went to junior college with who wrote sad poetry in large black letters. It’s people who can’t get out of bed or clothe themselves or do anything except wish they were dead for years and years on end. This shit is real, assholes, and it kills and ruins lives.

Shitting on the people it’s happening to just because their lives are outside your cramped imagination is quite literally adding insult to injury, and you ought to be ashamed of yourselves. You should also put down the talk radio and read a fucking book now and then.