Clearly Malfunctioning in Many Important Regards

Hipster Inadequacy Complexes are Ugly
        and Stupid But Have Great Hair
Sometimes I'm struck by how dialectically opposed we are, Jammy B. I mean, blogwise, I'm a poster child for public moping, debilitating depression, sui-antipathy, and for usually avoiding tacky terms like "poster child" like a rabid, eye-bleeding cat. You, sur le main autre, seem to have no problem whatsogodamnever strolling around all cocksure (I was never sure whether that meant "proud as a rooster" or "replete with the joyous knowledge that a dick is attached to you") like God's gift to the disaffected. But it struck me the other day that, while I sure as hell do hate myself, I (increasingly non-secretly) also think that I am totally awesome, like when we met it was probably all you could do not to start weeping at my magnitude. I put the rad in radiant, shitkicker. But so anyway, this led me further down the path of Things Stoners Usually Think About That I Also Think About Even Though I Do Not Really Smoke The Weed So Much, and I was all Bill S. Prestoning like Whoa, maybe Jer feigns the sloosberry cool, but inside he is totally secretly sucky and hateful, maaaan, bro dude.
     You know what? No, fuck this. Why do I have to make everything all meaningful and shit? When is my Dr. Phil circle-jerk going to end? I just listened to Livin' On a Prayer twice trying to cheer myself up, and it failed utterly. Last night I quit smoking and then started again because I was slightly drunk and totally suicidal. Duration of nonsmoking phase: Six hours.
[12:03pm pst]
Yeah, we are different, boo, but that's why we get along so good, maybe? Like we're each watching the other to see how the other half lives; to marvel at a machine that, while clearly malfunctioning in many important regards, still performs well in ways that our own personal machine hasn't for years. For example, you are super good at channeling your creativity into creative endeavors that are fun, inventive, and most importantly, finish-able. (Complete-able?) Using the old semen metaphor, I start projects as easily as I start masturbating, but I complete projects about as often as I have a meaningful long-term relationship. Whereas you seem to approach a creative project like smoking a cigarette: you start one, you finish it. You start one, you finish it. I flush with envy. But but but if you're asking me do I hate myself? The answer is no. I gave up on that around the time I stopped ordering Lamb Vindaloo by specifying "I want it hot, and I mean really hot, dude, not white person hot."
[4:48pm est]
Can we make "Clearly malfunctioning in many important regards" be our new tagline?
      I don't think I hate myself, per se, as much as I feel vaguely suspicious that I'm shitty. Kind of like my car. I don't hate the Taurus, but I'm exquisitely aware that it's hardly the highest available calibre of awesome. I think it's about acceptability. For some reason, it's more publicly acceptable to say that you suck than to proclaim your awesomeness, which is a shitridden idea. I mean, the analogues to that are terrifying. Why would it ever be better to succumb to a zombie bite and become one than to be the torch-waving harbinger of doom? Do they have a Suck Olympics where I might show off my Long Jump skills--skills that handily insert "terrified pause on edge of sand bed and then jump" into the equation? No, I say! No more, I say! Like my namesake, General Sherman (to whom I bear a striking resemblance) said, "It's a disagreeable thing to be whipped." And like him, I must trundle boldly forth, leaving only destruction in the wake of my splendour! I'M COMIN FOR YUH GEORGIA!
[12:20 pst]
trouble started by claude le monde
September 16, 2004 • 9:04 AM est • #

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