2003-10-14 - 6:47 p.m.

Wanted: Interesting People.

�Hi! Call me �Jesse�. I once had a family. A beautiful, rich wife and two strong sons. They were held hostage by a notable emperor � who is not important � and were to be released upon me cleaning up some sticky business in the Middle East. I was sent to kill a man. A MAN! And I did. And my family was taken from me. The rumour is that the blood on my hands is the blood of guilt. Silly bastards. It�s the blood of justice. Know where there's a bathroom around here?�

I was going to leave a note for that saucy tart who authors Idiot Milk after reading she was one of the few who still enjoy the abso-fucking-lutely funnest day of the year. Halloween. It�s like April Fools Day in drag, how can that not be fun?

But I digress.

That first bit is one of the nametags I�m printing up for any parties we go to (or have, not sure � the Lovely Keeper is still wondering what to do about the burned cement floor by the TV). Real long stick-on nametags that stand out like a cold nipple, designed so that it makes people wanna read.

�Hi! My name is, Sandy 8)� and I work in the IT department at Shyster and Schulock�blablabla�what people wanna hear is:

�Hi! My name is, Bla Bla, I play tuba with the Boston Pops and am flying to Mt. Everest tomorrow night where my Sherpa party awaits at Base-camp One.�

And if they can�t run with the story, the LEAST they�ll do is talk about the idiot in the nighty (I�m a Freudian Slip) who threatened to drive nails through their feet, push them in the mud and call them bad, angry things if they removed said nametag.

At LEAST they won�t be stuck with talking about their boring-assed lives.

And that�s just it, innit? People are just so fucking boring, nowadays. There are usually two kinds of people: people who talk about their lives and people who don�t. You can break these people down into two more: people who like to talk and people who don�t.

We all know these people. One does nothing but talk about golf, or cars, or house shit, or a vacation or a fucking wedding�and it bores you to tears. I get ill when these people start to spew that one-step-up-from-small talking. And from there it only gets worse.

Small talk. Oh god smite me now when that happens. If I�ve lasted this long in a conversation as such I try and stir things up with something like: �In the Cogito, one of Descartes preclusions is that God is all things � perfectly. But he oddly fails to recognize that like the good, he�d have to be all things bad, too. Funny, huh?�

That really separates the curds from the whey.

The other kinds of people seem to find each other. Some sorta Biomojo of like attracting like. Sometimes they aren�t there so there�s nothing to gravitate too, but it�s a good time when these people get together.

You know these people too. The ones with the big, unembarrassed laughs that flail like a pantomime with Turettes. The ones telling the dead baby jokes and laughing. The ones on the roof yelling in Arabic at the neighbors. The ones arguing prolifically about anything and everything. And don�t get these people confused with the drunken cock-hole rabble who profanely wield profanity, with no heed to its inherent poetry. No, these people are not the guy with his shirt off and arm wrestling on the porch�no wait�they CAN be those people, they�re just usually wittier than the GOB (Good Ol Boy) fucks I�m talking about.

Digressing again�

Point is, is that it seems these people are a minority nowadays. It�s hard to strike up a conversation with just anyone, because it takes a certain kind of personality to be able to talk about ANYTHING � just for the sake of the exchange. The Art of Conversation is indeed becoming diluted with the vapidness of Small Talk.

I don�t know why and it really fucking bothers me.

0 of you fuckers have been accounted for.

old shit. - newer shit.