So a few things to get through today; number one, today is the second Rapture. Yes, way back in May, preacher and all round 90 year old crackpot, Mr. Harold Camping predicted the Rapture would be on May 21st. It of course, didn’t happen. He said he would have to adjust his biblical math and get back to us. Well, his calculations were re-checked and wouldn’t you know it. He had the darn date wrong. So today, October 21st is the real rapture. So get ready folks, heaven’s a-waiting’. Personally I can’t wait to see your naked body rising toward heaven. In fact, I think I’ll just run around the city, naked screaming, “Uppy! Uppy!”, like a three year old.
Secondly, stop spitting on my city sidewalks. Really, what the hell are you chewing on that requires you to spit every fifth step? It’s absolutely disgusting and you should be ashamed of yourself. I don’t want to step in your nasty mouth juices as I head into work. What the hell is wrong with you? Spitting is only acceptable if you’re playing baseball while simultaneously scratching your crotch.
Thirdly, I love this trend for women wearing tight black stretch pants and boots. It’d be a little creepy of me to describe why I think it’s awesome but I’m sure you can use your imaginations. As I do.
Don’t show me your damn “Rah-Rah, we’re an awesome company”, videos while I’m at work. I hate them. Yesterday we were treated to a crappy, mostly stolen content from Saturday Night Live Rah-Rah video featuring all the highest paid CEO’s and CFO’s for the company I work for. I don’t care that how much money the company made. I don’t see squat from it. Sure, I’m happy to have a job, but for me it’s still just a job, not a successful career where I’m excited and proud to be there. I do what I do because I have to. I have no other choice. Well, I do have a choice but unemployment and poverty don’t appeal to me all that much. My mother was in the video and she was great, but other than that it made me want to jump out the window.
And finally a thought on depression, I am completely depressed and I think I should probably seek some sort of mental health care. However, I’m also Robert Mitchum and talking to someone about how depressed I am makes me feel sick. It’s a spiral of hell of which I don’t feel good about. This, writing, is the only thing that makes me feel good and I need to do it professionally. Otherwise, I’ll keep this constant complaining going until I am formally committed to an institution.