Heavy-Lidded

A phone call can do wonders to one's perspective on the world. Today I found that in addition to the very obvious and blatant fact that irritants often clump together like some sticky fungus, life takes a particularly cruel pleasure in taking apart the best laid plans.

To put it simply, the game of life is rigged.

To break down.

On you.

Everyday.

It's like playing blackjack with Superman. Like playing tag with Spiderman. You can't win. Not now, not ever. You'd have better luck nailing jelly to the ceiling. With a plastic fork.

Murphy's Law hit pretty close to home, I'd gather. Murphy was probably a genious centuries ahead of his time. Eons in the future, when the world is but a burnt and crispy husk, devoid of all life, higher beings, maybe crystal intelligences or Spartans, will come across the planet formerly known as Earth and say "Hrm."

"Hrm, this Murhpy was brilliant" or maybe "This... is... BRILLIANT!!!"

Forget Einstein, Newton, Mozart, Ford, Chaplin, Hitchcock, Tolkkein, Gates, Washington, Bell or any other would-be pretender to the throne of He-Who-Got-It-Right.

Murphy was right.

Life sucks.

Still, we deal with it. Life is what we do. It's the longest thing we do. It's the only thing we do, to the jackassed morons who preach that "Life is short". As much as anyone hates life, there is nothing we can do to change this fundamental sucktitude of what we call an existence, except for ending it.

No, I'm not advocating suicide or mass homocidal genocide. I am merely stating the obvious, something I have been told I do eloquently, fluently and frequently. I hate sushi, Harry Potter, nuts and crowds. I abhore durians, Justin Timberlake, shoes with too many holes in them and the absence of any semblance of common sense. I cannot stand Macy Gray, whiners, carrots and Fox News. Bill O' Reilly should be up there with Saddam Hussein and Hitler. Miso soup needs to be banned by the UN. Aged aunties who act like queens of the world need to be put down.

Put down a flight of stairs.

Alas, my audience is probably wondering to themselves why this writer has joined the emo bandwagon. I hate emo kids. I have also found that I have developed a particular distaste for those who impose their bigoted, narrow-minded opinions on those of broader perspectives.

Add to the list those who speak for the sake of speaking, argue for the sake of arguing. Those sad spastic retards who can just shiver in ejaculatory glee from the sound of their voice, with comments like "I used to be an actress" or "Coaxial cables are actually..." and those who believe, with a passion that is almost holy, that "I don't believe you" is a valid counter-argument in a scientific debate.

The list is long, and by writing thise I've discovered a strangely cathartic effect of putting your hates in writing, immortalising them in blog-form. Of course, I expect this effect to be as short-lived as the time it takes me to click "Publish" and re-read it for typos. Which I also hate.

Life is a bitch, so we bitch about life.