My life is turning into pure garbage. I’ve cashed in my freedom for a stake in society and just like a spiteful cunt society will never forget and is making me pay for all my years of wandering. I bought a house, got a straight job, cut my hair, and started taking an active role in making a positive change beyond the scope of my own life. It was a tragic mistake that I may never recover from because the motherfuckers have their hooks in me now. Got their claws and teeth sunk in deep, they taste blood, and now just like every other poor sap out there I am being slowly sucked dry. I wonder what the hunter-gatherers were thinking when they saw the emergent cities. I wonder if all the wonders of ‘civilization’ were as seductive as they are today. My anscestors had to sell out or I would never be here – so I know that at some point there are such sickening ideals as compromise and acceptance staining my genetics. Everybody’s family has to have been a whore at some point, everyone’s mere existence at this period in history expresses the human legacy of pussification.

The evidence is clear. I haven’t shot a gun in months, let alone at other people (or hajis). I spend more time on hold than I do having sex. I wait in traffic for endless expanses of time with nothing to show for it except frequent brake jobs and a hundred horrible radio pop songs being hopelessly stuck in my head. Its like a bad fucking dream, like a goddamn hangover. I was drunk on the ecstasy of modern life that promised everything. and I eagerly offered my drunken complicity. Every sexy promise that a grounded life flashed before my eyes, like a flirting dirty-mouthed whore at the bar, and I jumped on it only to wake up, roll over, and find that it has turned to a foul and revolting shit-beast. So here I am with my despotic job, tyrannical mortgage, dictatorial hair cut, and my autocratic frustration with endless visions of an empire in decline trying to chew my arm of and get out the door before the shit-beast wakes up and tells me she’s in love.

I’m so fucked.

You know, I think my whole filthy life has been put on hold. I mean it is the modern confessional, an emotional rollercoaster, and in the end completely futile. I mean what’s the fucking deal!? I know this only because HP has raped me over and over and over again with their ‘customer service’. Everyone knows they don’t give a shit about you. They construct as complicated and frustrating a labyrinth of menus and ‘unusually high volume of calls’ so that you will inevitably fuck off long before you ever reach an actual human fucking being.

I try and console myself, take fleeting comfort in my bullshit self-imposed justifications like a penitent man too smart for christianity. “The longer you wait, the more your call is valued.” Type horse-shit. Sometimes god’s voice even tells me how long I have to keep praying before he himself will actually answer, but he’s never right, not even close. The fucked up thing is that a minute of hold time is worth like ten minutes of actual time because you can’t do anything, not even move for fear that already tenuous cell reception will shift, and your prayer will be dropped and you will be forced to start praying all over again from scratch.

Sometimes god’s voice tells me that he is going to record my prayers. He does this for my own protection of course, as well as to learn better how to answer my prayers in the future. Sometimes he’s a man, sometimes a woman, but god’s voice is always the same. Cool, irritatingly calm, totally detached, and generally boring. He talks like this so that I will not become further enraged by the act of praying, and in this way allow me to really focus on the real reason I started praying in the first place. Most of the time the only answers to my prayers are the sound of shallow breathing interrupted by god’s voice regularly telling me how valued my prayer is. Sometimes, to handle my prayer more efficiently, god gave his only living options to all of mankind. God’s voice then takes the next fifteen anytime minutes to explain, as excruciatingly slowly as possible, all the different types of reasons that people pray (with the fifth option being a prayer to ask god to repeat the first four types of prayers). Sometimes god’s voice tells me to use his website to answer my prayers, even though with his infinite wisdom he knows that the reason I’m praying is because my computer blew up. He does this to test me.

The funny thing about praying is that the longer you are on hold, the less likely your prayers are going to be answered. During marathon prayer sessions, you develop a deep loathing for god and you contemplate blaspheming him by holding at his expense for the rest of your life. You also develop a deep loathing for the person who is currently boring god to tears with a load of completely unnecessary problems while you sit there in abject misery.

The moment when you’re finally connected to god is one of the most awkward in modern life. It’s like the moment your roommate finally comes home after you’ve locked yourself out of the house all day. It’s not their fault that you had to wait around like an idiot, but it’s almost impossible to be nice to them, especially if they attempt to show you how much you’re valued. The strangest thing is that god has an Indian accent a lot of the time. I know that his product and organization are all based in America, but for some reason god himself has this strange foreign accent. I can only attribute this to the fact that god is mysterious.

Recently god told me that the reason for my prayers was out of warranty and there was nothing He could do without charging me a modest fee. God informed me that even though he did answer my prayers just five months ago for this same problem, that he would only support the answering of that last prayer for three months. Without my previous purchase of the extended warranty there was nothing he could do at this time. I told god that his creation was flawed and that its downfall was not in the expected performance of such a creation. God simply told me that even though he was vast and all powerful, essentially able to fix my computer with just a simple wave of his hand, he would not.

I wept.

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