Relativity for Idiots; Or, How You Should Learn To Stop Worrying And Love Me
There are some places in this world where the people residing in certain locales fail to either live up to the history of the place or the potential of the place. It's a sad phenomenon, something akin to a gold miner walking out of a mine in disgust because he just discovered veins of platinum, silver, lead, and uranium but deciding it's more worthwhile to instead to take up abstract art that draws every single ounce of its inspiration from some unholy combination of Prince during his I'm-going-to-make-bad-albums-on-purpose era and the United States Internal Revenue Act of 1986 in its full, unabriged glory, being compared to the Internal Revenue Act of 1954. Make sense? Of course not, there are too many commas in that last sentence to make sense. Neither does entire region of Arkansas south of the Ouachita River.
Basically, this place sucks. In terms of the general theory of relativity, where the idea of "suck" can be measured via gravity's impact on the fabric of space-time, I could stand on the fucking surface of Jupiter and scoff as your spine was fused into a single, inch-high vertebrae. Except for people from Jasper, Texas. Those people, as unfortunate as they are to be from that infinitesimal pinprick of suck in an infinitely deep well in space-time, have the insanely awesome ability to go clubbing in black holes with Elvis, Meatloaf, Corey Feldman and all the other celebrities that are dead, whether they realize it or not. Regardless, this place sucks and I will trump any and all of you whom deem it necessary to engage in the timeless game of "My Town Sucks More Than Yours," you pathetic hipster freak.
El Dorado, in particular, is an angry geriatric who's children have left it (gender is indeterminate due to sags, wrinkles, and the distinct probability their genitalia just falling off on the ground with plopping sound that is not entirely unlike an over-ripened exotic fruit being dropped in Kroger's).* It realizes that not only has its glory days of easy ass and high tolerance to alcohol passed, but it also realizes that no matter many Nazis ('cause its a faux pas to acknowledge the Italians actually played a meaningful role in WWII) it killed in the war, it will soon be just as dead as Tampa Bay's hopes for a MLB dynasty in the 21st century or Corey Feldman's acting career.
I've talked this over with some of my friends, my little term for people who will sit down long enough to talk to my bloodshot, fuzzy-faced, mumbling ass to actually listen to me. It's a term that's all the rage right now, you can thank me later after it enters the lexicon. I hear it's que-ed up right after "que-ed up" and "LOLocaust."
Some of them agree. Others look at me, spit out their t'baccy, "say" something in decibels that we call "yelling" that is entirely unintelligible due to a terminal infection of Twang, and promptly fail out of my college. They then gravitate back towards the seductive appeal of El Dorado's suck, where their kind are welcome to interbreed regardless of relation or any other social taboo. These people then enroll in a community college that, bless its non-existent heart, really honestly tries. They then get an Associates degree in incest, drive their well-intentioned professors to alcohol and pills and the high bridge over the Ouachita, and go on to further drain tax dollars from more deserving people by merit of simply leaving footsteps upon our Earth.
The ones that agree with me never cease to amaze me. The main reason is because I take an incredibly long time to get to my point, as you've figured out so far. Trust me, it's at the very end.* The other reason is because I really am an insufferable asshole, but not so much as Corey Feldman.
The fact of the matter is that I can't call a single girl in this town in a platonic manner without being hounded, harassed, and just generally annoyed by some redneck. To be honest, I think it's the same one. I swear I hear the same drawl, the same scratching sound of his drunken soul trying to escape the miserable life it has found itself in and go join Plato as he swoops around the sun, the same disgusting smacking sound that I can only hope is not the result of his ingestion of the nearest stranded driver on a county road. I call him Cletus Bocephus McMomfuck (How in the hell redneck culture came to co-opt the Latin -us suffix so efficiently as they did and with such little protest from Italy is beyond my comprehension).
I would like to take this time to clarify something I said earlier. Simply put, I said that Arkansas south of the Ouachita River was an abysmal hell-hole, devoid of any redeeming human qualities (it's quite beautiful otherwise), a bit of nature that proves that either God is retarded or hates us, and the thing that would make Dante realize his version of hell was as inconvenient as getting floor-level tickets to a Rolling Stones concert for free.* I will not, out of principle, mock other towns the way I have here. Dissatisfied youth always mock their own town, and look to any other town with bright eyes. It's been that way since Goethe (nerds off the starboard bow). I spared you Camden, Hope, Magnolia, Lewisville, Stamps, Buckner, Texarkana (AR), Strong, Huttig, and De Queen. You remember that. YOU REMEMBER THAT!
So, continuing. What bothers me more? The fact that Cletus Bocephus McMomfuck treats his "woah-mayn" like a commodity, a good that can be controlled and regulated with little regard to their feelings or wants? The fact that this girl is either taken and not telling me, allowing herself to hang around such a cyclical DNA strand, or a bitch who lives for the thrill of infidelity? No, none of that really bothers me. It's depressing. Not in the sort of way Nine Inch Nail's EP depressed me, or even watching how a worthless book void of any real content like Blue Like Jazz can become so insanely popular. No, it depresses me more along the lines of walking into a nursing home and seeing a varicose, genitalia-less, Alzheimer-y geriatric hum a Scott Joplin tune in the wrong key.
God, I fucking hate Corey Feldman*
*Face it man, you would rather think about that than think about them porking. Sociology books be damned, old people do not have sex.
*This isn't it. Stop being so impatient. You've waited this long for California Democracy**, you can wait for my God-given insight.
**Multiple entendre!
*Fuck you, Joshua Aaron Kennedy. Fuck. You.
*Halo 17. Yes, I Wiki'd it.
*That's my point.
Basically, this place sucks. In terms of the general theory of relativity, where the idea of "suck" can be measured via gravity's impact on the fabric of space-time, I could stand on the fucking surface of Jupiter and scoff as your spine was fused into a single, inch-high vertebrae. Except for people from Jasper, Texas. Those people, as unfortunate as they are to be from that infinitesimal pinprick of suck in an infinitely deep well in space-time, have the insanely awesome ability to go clubbing in black holes with Elvis, Meatloaf, Corey Feldman and all the other celebrities that are dead, whether they realize it or not. Regardless, this place sucks and I will trump any and all of you whom deem it necessary to engage in the timeless game of "My Town Sucks More Than Yours," you pathetic hipster freak.
El Dorado, in particular, is an angry geriatric who's children have left it (gender is indeterminate due to sags, wrinkles, and the distinct probability their genitalia just falling off on the ground with plopping sound that is not entirely unlike an over-ripened exotic fruit being dropped in Kroger's).* It realizes that not only has its glory days of easy ass and high tolerance to alcohol passed, but it also realizes that no matter many Nazis ('cause its a faux pas to acknowledge the Italians actually played a meaningful role in WWII) it killed in the war, it will soon be just as dead as Tampa Bay's hopes for a MLB dynasty in the 21st century or Corey Feldman's acting career.
I've talked this over with some of my friends, my little term for people who will sit down long enough to talk to my bloodshot, fuzzy-faced, mumbling ass to actually listen to me. It's a term that's all the rage right now, you can thank me later after it enters the lexicon. I hear it's que-ed up right after "que-ed up" and "LOLocaust."
Some of them agree. Others look at me, spit out their t'baccy, "say" something in decibels that we call "yelling" that is entirely unintelligible due to a terminal infection of Twang, and promptly fail out of my college. They then gravitate back towards the seductive appeal of El Dorado's suck, where their kind are welcome to interbreed regardless of relation or any other social taboo. These people then enroll in a community college that, bless its non-existent heart, really honestly tries. They then get an Associates degree in incest, drive their well-intentioned professors to alcohol and pills and the high bridge over the Ouachita, and go on to further drain tax dollars from more deserving people by merit of simply leaving footsteps upon our Earth.
The ones that agree with me never cease to amaze me. The main reason is because I take an incredibly long time to get to my point, as you've figured out so far. Trust me, it's at the very end.* The other reason is because I really am an insufferable asshole, but not so much as Corey Feldman.
The fact of the matter is that I can't call a single girl in this town in a platonic manner without being hounded, harassed, and just generally annoyed by some redneck. To be honest, I think it's the same one. I swear I hear the same drawl, the same scratching sound of his drunken soul trying to escape the miserable life it has found itself in and go join Plato as he swoops around the sun, the same disgusting smacking sound that I can only hope is not the result of his ingestion of the nearest stranded driver on a county road. I call him Cletus Bocephus McMomfuck (How in the hell redneck culture came to co-opt the Latin -us suffix so efficiently as they did and with such little protest from Italy is beyond my comprehension).
I would like to take this time to clarify something I said earlier. Simply put, I said that Arkansas south of the Ouachita River was an abysmal hell-hole, devoid of any redeeming human qualities (it's quite beautiful otherwise), a bit of nature that proves that either God is retarded or hates us, and the thing that would make Dante realize his version of hell was as inconvenient as getting floor-level tickets to a Rolling Stones concert for free.* I will not, out of principle, mock other towns the way I have here. Dissatisfied youth always mock their own town, and look to any other town with bright eyes. It's been that way since Goethe (nerds off the starboard bow). I spared you Camden, Hope, Magnolia, Lewisville, Stamps, Buckner, Texarkana (AR), Strong, Huttig, and De Queen. You remember that. YOU REMEMBER THAT!
So, continuing. What bothers me more? The fact that Cletus Bocephus McMomfuck treats his "woah-mayn" like a commodity, a good that can be controlled and regulated with little regard to their feelings or wants? The fact that this girl is either taken and not telling me, allowing herself to hang around such a cyclical DNA strand, or a bitch who lives for the thrill of infidelity? No, none of that really bothers me. It's depressing. Not in the sort of way Nine Inch Nail's EP depressed me, or even watching how a worthless book void of any real content like Blue Like Jazz can become so insanely popular. No, it depresses me more along the lines of walking into a nursing home and seeing a varicose, genitalia-less, Alzheimer-y geriatric hum a Scott Joplin tune in the wrong key.
God, I fucking hate Corey Feldman*
*Face it man, you would rather think about that than think about them porking. Sociology books be damned, old people do not have sex.
*This isn't it. Stop being so impatient. You've waited this long for California Democracy**, you can wait for my God-given insight.
**Multiple entendre!
*Fuck you, Joshua Aaron Kennedy. Fuck. You.
*Halo 17. Yes, I Wiki'd it.
*That's my point.
posted by .venganza. at
8:15 PM
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