Reconciling With Unpleasant People

"Wise Men Say Forgiveness Is Divine, But Never Pay Full Price For Late Pizza"

(If you remember this, your childhood wasn't awesome and you're at least in your 20s)

I'm looking out to a massive crowd of thousands of people. One out of every 3 of them will never be able to forgive some dickhead in their life. Or will they?...this is the internet--the stats I just threw out there are as fake as middle school puppy love (Statistics are silly anyway). Anyway, without throwing some stupid numbers at everyone, from my experience many turds cannot be reconciled with. It isn't just because they are horrible people, but....well reconciliation is difficult for the person stepping forward. Think of it as being the only non-white person stepping into a KKK meeting--it's awkward, you probably hate each other, and finding any reasonable thing to say is damn near impossible.  

With that being said, there are a few questions you need to ask yourself. "Am I the bag of shit? Are they the bag of shit? Are we both piles of shit in the bag together?" Basically, who's the stubborn person in the situation? After one of these glorious questions have been answered it's time to ask yet another question--"Is it forgivable?" How does somebody even receive forgiveness without groveling like an ant begging for its' life as a demented child burns him alive with a magnifying glass? Oh you didn't know that ants grovel? They do.

Short Story Bakery: Dancing With Devils

The Intruder

     "Hey Troy, remember that time you sold that oregano bullshit to those college kids?" I said, picking dirt out of my underdeveloped goatee.

     "Yeah what about it?" Troy asked leaning on his shovel handle, his tall scrawny body held up with ease. 

     "When they called you out on how legit it was, you asked them 'who the fuck do you think I am?' They laughed and actually bought it--you crazy asshole."

     "Fuck em,' I made buku dollars off those college idiots. The stupid pothead is the best customer. Now let's finish digging this fucking trench."

Insecurity--The Silent Killer or Drunken Atom Bomb

Walk Like A Zombie

(Walk on zombie.)

"I'm fat, I'm ugly, I'm incapable of receiving love, and I'm strange!" A human and their insecurities, many of us have them--wait what? "MANY?" Don't we "ALL" have them? Perfect people and nihilistic sociopaths typically don't have any insecurities, nope. What about those of us who do? Feel like a hollow zombie? That smiling laughing facade equivalent to a zombie's grunts and growls? The expression is there, but it's hungry for something. Depending on what the insecurities are, we're looking for something to accommodate it, to fulfill our hunger--we will grunt and growl aimlessly until we are able to sate our insecurities. The human brains and flesh we smell, taking the form of reference points in our lives that will "point us in the right direction." Friends, media, family, and people you've never even met might give you some advice on how to keep the hungry beast of insecurity satisfied, but who wants to live with insecurity? How do we kill it?

Short Story Bakery: Savages

A Curious Dance

Some fucking mall in Southern California, mid-day

     A man holding two shopping bags, wearing a pair of loosely fitted brown khakis, and a black T-shirt stopped near the entrance of a sunglasses store. Lilly, the store associate continuously glanced at this man with curiosity as he stood there for 84 seconds. On the 85th second he began wiggling his hips around, ending this strange dance routine by kicking out his right leg and shaking it. After his display of odd behavior, he exited the small stage he created into the crowds of fashionable shoppers. 

Brian Hates You All

Let The Shit Storm Commence

(Yeah it's kinda like that.)

So here's my new sunny disposition on life. Everyone is an asshole. It's just in our nature to be, we just can't help ourselves. We will eat each other to get ahead of the lunch line, then eat that horrible tasting mac and cheese too--because honestly, who gives a fuck? 

We live in a time where everything we do is quantified and monitored through the scrutiny of our friends and strangers on social media. Our fuck ups last a lifetime boys and girls. Hash tag "fucked." Things typically restricted to a circle of friends in a hangout spot are not restricted anymore at all. Word spreads like a wildfire. With any luck I'll never have a picture posted of of my ass looking like Miley Cyrus--that giraffe tongued pancake assed twerk machine. With that said, I've done a few things I'm not too proud of--and oh yeah it has been spread like peanut butter.

What am I ranting about? I am very flawed, very flawed indeed. There are people that will remind me of this, do they honestly think that I don't know? Idiots. Like many other people, I am definitely my own worst enemy--I destroy most things in my life that have meaning. Things that have no meaning? Oh I can master every meaningless thing you throw at me. Drinking? Oh yes. Video games? I will own dat ass. Calculus? Derivatives solved, bitch. Want an angry post? Here it is because, I, am definitely having a bad day folks. Oh and I do solemnly swear I am up to no good.

Short Story Bakery: A Night To Remember

Wolf In Sheep's Clothing

8:17PM A Cool Huntington Beach California Evening     

     "Leave her the fuck alone Megan!"

     "Priscilla stop fucking defending Quasimodo, she's going to see just what happens when she fucks with other peoples' boyfriends!"

     "She didn't do anything Megan! HE started talking to HER!"

     Megan pushed Veronica down in the middle of the quad, dozens of curious eyes bearing witness to the event. Shouts of "Quasimodo go back to your bell tower!" Could be heard among the trickles of laughter. 

     "Oh look, are those spots of dirt on your face? Oh no? That's natural isn't it Quasimodo?" Megan said as she looked down at Veronica.

     "I...I didn't do anything, I'm sorry Megan," Veronica said mortified with tears in her eyes. 

     "Have some milk, you ugly bitch," Megan grabbed a carton of milk and poured it all over Veronica, "Don't ever fucking talk to MY boyfriend again," Megan said as she walked away triumphantly.

     The school staff intervened, herding the gathered students like cattle to their classes. Priscilla returned after everyone dispersed to see Veronica sitting outside the school office in her change of P.E. clothes with dried milk in parts of her short wavy black hair--the milk remnants giving off a sour pungent scent. Veronica was staring down at the cracks in the concrete floor.

     "Vee...don't worry, you only have two more years at this school," Priscilla said quietly.

     Veronica looked up at Priscilla, speechless, with tears in her dull green eyes.

     "Vee, are you okay honey?"  

With Friends Like These I'd Love Some More Enemies

You're my best friend, but I'd love to see you fail so fucking hard.

(This bitch.)

The "frenemy": people in life who remain close, portray themselves as a "friend" when, in fact, they'd just love to take a shit on your day.

 "OH WOW BRIAN I HAVE SO MANY PEOPLE IN MY LIFE LIKE THIS!" Oh don't we all? At one point or another I've had to cut them out like the intake of rotten foods from my diet, because these people are indeed rotten. I COULD just rant about these shit disturbers, but I have a theory as to why these people love to act like Judas. I mean understanding the "why," that's how we get to the root of any problem right boys and girls?

Social Network Validation and You; "Likes" For All

Braggarts, Villains, Theives, and Stalkers--We Love You Internet

(I'm pretty sure we were supposed to be riding light bikes guys.)

See this picture of Mahi-Mahi I just posted? I'm about to eat that. Mahi-Mahi doesn't even know what's about to go down. Jealous? I know you wanna like this picture, if you don't--I'm going to be upset, but not only am I going to be upset...see this picture of your dog you posted 42 minutes ago? Want another like? NOPE. And that brilliant Mark Twain shit I said earlier? Really? Only TWO LIKES!?

Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls! Is there anything wrong with this picture? Well...I can think of a few things to say. Should I say them? I mean...damn I know I've been guilty of many of the same habits...I think it's time for...DRUM ROLL PLEASE!

-Drum Roll-

Social Networking Etiquette

For now, let's just see why we might want to practice this Social Networking Etiquette.

Short Story Bakery: The Vagabond

A Common Cold

9:06PM on a cool Sunday Southern California Evening.  

     "You really want this?"

     "Yes, I'm certain. I want to work this out, even though I like you a lot--I like my boyfriend more."

     Her beautiful brown eyes were piercing--his voice cracked, he was in complete disbelief. This person, this amazing person whom had been around for so long had finally placed all of the necessary nails in the coffin of this "relationship."

     They resembled a young couple attending the Hard Rock Cafe, but this particular moment in time didn't catch the carefree nature of such a couple.Their attire consisted of the casually informal flavor. His tall average builded stature wore a dull plaid shirt made up of greys, blacks, and blues, skinny black jeans, and a pair of black classic Nikes--all complemented his pale complexion and short choppy dark hair. Her hourglass Victoria's Secret model body rocked a black cardigan, black jeans, and a Led Zeppelin T-shirt--her evenly tanned complexion along with her long dark hair placed a dark alluring aura of mystery. Both rock stars in their own right.

     "Are you kidding me? Look at me. Do you have any idea what you're missing out on?" His light brown eyes gleamed under his bedroom ceiling light as he gazed directly into hers.

     "I need to give him another chance, regardless of what we've been through."

     "Do you love him or something?" His high jawline clinched, not because he wanted to be with her desperately, but because of the guilt he would bring unto himself if he may have interfered with her love for another person.

Here Comes A Regular; Good Times At The Bottom Of Your Glass

DISCLAIMER: I am actually heavily intoxicated while writing this. It's going to likely take a dozen proof reads or so, but I hope it's worth it.

(8:35 PM: Fuck.)

I'll have another--and don't forget my orange, bitch

Another Bottle Down

(10:07 PM:  Well that was abrupt)

"Another bottle down; you should really try it sometime cause' it feels so good."
-Asking Alexandria "Another Bottle Down"

Oh Alcohol you can be so classy, but at the same time you can be a savage caveman. You make us do silly things, regretful things ("Oh shit I slept with THAT!?"), violent things (getting straight gangster on unsuspecting people who looked at your girlfriend or boyfriend), and at times you can depress the shit out of us. Our bodies are destroyed on a daily basis by the warm fuzzy feeling we get as we drink you in excess, but we don't care we love you anyway. We're all masochists here and you are the life (or death) of the party! Prohibition in the United States (1919) was an attempt to stop the consumption and production of you and your brothers and sisters, but was of course turned over in 1933. Why did that even take place? Because you can be a deadly mother fucker that's why.

Short Story Bakery: The Exchange

Give me your tired, give me your sick

7:35PM on a warm partly cloudy Southern California Evening.

     The man pulled up to the curb of her house silently--headlights dimmed by dying sunlight, yet still blinding the rear of a red 2001 Chevrolet Silverado. Immediately after placing the car in park, and pulling the emergency brake he hesitantly picked up his iPhone and began to text. 

     "I'm here"  

     This text lit up her phone with an eerieness--her eyes gazing upon the blue screen with full knowledge of what would soon pass. 

     "k" 

     The only text response she could give, and the most indifferent one she could give. She wouldn't mislead, she would stand her ground as a statue carved upon a foundation of granite.

     He opened his car door, then took a box filled with precious memories in the form of belongings from the back seat. Some gifts from her that he couldn't bear to look at, everything else hers. As he approached the driveway towards the front door, a glass fell out of the box and shattered. The driveway now covered in broken glass, so unwelcoming, so fragile to the touch--much like this moment in time. He had replayed this moment in his head over and over again, but he never imagined it would be quite like this. Stressed, he tried gathering the pieces of glass into the box as fast as possible. Part of him was happy that this happened, a subconscious rage of breaking something in front of this person who had done so much damage already. However, the box of precious memories became tainted by the hidden assortment of sharp glass shards provided by the panicked urgency of the man. Irony. 

Methamphetamine; Take Me For A Ride

This Love is a Drug

(Doctor, I might need another prescription)

When the unattainable becomes available for only a moment, and the sighs, screams, and whispers become ever prevalent would you know what to do? When to stop? Where to hide? Like a meth addiction, you cannot always support the habit, but when it comes to fruition it is pure ecstasy. Bliss. What happens when the person you're giddy about cannot even look at you the same way anymore? The dealer is out of product, you won't get it again for a while--when or if it ever returns how will you buy it? With caution? Or lay all your chips on the table like a gambler without a care in the world?

In the Immortal Words of the Virgin Mary: Come Again?

(I'm on top of this mountain, and you are waaaaay down there, see? Oh wait, no I can't see you I'm too busy devaluing who you are)

What are you even talking about Brian? It's simple my friends, that arduous period of time where you cannot let go of your feelings for another person. You need your fix, you have that itch, you've had a taste and want more. How can you get it again? If they are set in their decision to let you go--a diatribe against this person does not help,  nuclear missles won't help, shaking salt over your shoulder and carving pentagrams into your earlobes in the name of satan won't help either. This is a withdrawal, and just like a withdrawal it's a helpless situation that only time may remedy. Time is an asshole.

Separation Through Devouring Each Other; I Love Home-Cooked Meals

The Mantis and You

(If you know what this comes from, kudos)

Sexual Cannibalism. This phenomena is a common occurance during the period of reproduction for the Mantis. Females will begin eating the heads off their male partners after the mating ritual is complete. Their hunger doesn't stop at reproduction, but the literal consumption of the Mantis who fulfilled their need--a process that we seem to practice a lot these days.

"They just had sex and she...ate him?"

So what I mean by "we seem to practice this," doesn't mean I'm saying we all turn Hannibal Lecter after we sleep with someone--no. This is a look into the failures of relationships because of the unsatiable appetites we seem to have. We want our partner to change minor irrelevant behavior, we want them to be able to afford a house made of marble, we want them to become a different person, we want to snort coke off hookers, and to quote The Doors: "We want the world and we want it NOW."

Romance and Love, Bow-Chicka-Bow-Wow

Roses are red, Roses are flowers

Oh NO! The dreaded "L word." Lesbian? No my friends, LOVE. Why would someone like me write about love? Some gay shit like this? (gay as in happy to all those would-be pointers of fingers.) Well it's a human issue, and as all human issues go I feel the need to find clarity with it through a reasonable interpretation. So I'm going to talk about this "Love."

"Yeah dude, love. I said it and I'm here to represent it."

(The heart sings about a magic man)

So you met some girl, got a bit too excited because you felt it was "love," and you know what's funny? You didn't fall in love. No. Something that beautiful must come later. You fell into something called "Romance." This period of time is very much like the beginnings of 9 circles of hell, but getting through them all won't necessarily transport you to the higher existence you desire as Dante implied in "The Divine Comedy." Sound morbid or demented? Don't like the analogy? Well you might just see how much they actually relate. Still offended? Well I'm writing this anyway because fuck you (Just keedinggg).

You're a Jerk, Yet I Strangely Want to be Like You? (WARNING: Mature Audiences Only)

"Hey Mark! How's it going bro? How is everything?"

"Good man! It's all good! Me and Jess just had our 4 year anniversary last week." 

"That's insane! You might as well marry her already. Little baby Marjess."

"Well we'll talk about that later. Where's the keg at?"

"It should be....over there?...the fuck? Did HE show up???"

"No way...have you seen Jess? It's been a few hours already..."

And just like that you see an old grey Chevy Silverado speeding off with the keg in the bed and Jess all over the guy in the front seat. Oh no that's not even the best part about it. This fucking guy is laughing and smiling the entire time while making fellatio gestures at Mark. He's a nihilistic machine: the inebriated, fighting, fucking, shit-talking sailor that everyone hates. But god damn would you love to be him.

Livin' the Life

So what does it take to be one of these creatures? It's simple: don't care about ANYTHING. Unleash every primal instinct, take zero accountability for any of your actions, and NEVER let another motherfucker tell you what to do. 

("Motherfucker" is shorthand for "person")

Basically unlearn everything you have ever been taught. Urinate in the toilet? Fuck that here's someones' coveted garden gnome. Oh is fire bad? Let's see what these gas tanks and spray paint cans have to say about that! But let's be honest here, this is probably the most extreme version of this type of person. These people may or may not be all that bad, but they will certainly exhibit at least one of these extreme behaviors.

So There's This Thing Called Perception

     All of the shit is hitting all of the fan--it's just not your week, month, year or day. Whatever it is, the present moment isn't a good one so what do you do?

Cry? Feel sorry for yourself? Blame it on past mistakes? Abandon all issues by seclusion?

No.

Develop an Iron Will that marries Feelings and Logic in holy fucking matromony

Logic? Feelings? Oh how these two words contradict each other all the time. The irony is that we fail at most endeavers when we use either one in excess. 

Keyword: Juxtapose

That's right these little assholes that do damage to our well being if we use either one too much must work in Juxtaposition. Sound easy? Sure. But if you fall into the category of a sole thinker or a feeler it has the potential to be be a mind boggling and arduous process. Be ready to take a look at all the things you hate about yourself--this probably won't be pretty.