Schindler's List 2: Schindler's PISSED

Having conquered my longtime nemesis, the inability to ride a bicycle, I feel assertive and energetic.

I feel like making a list, but not just a list a motherfuckin list. A list of things I goddamned love. The thought that I never seem to have a favorite anything has come to me and I want to slay it with certainty.

Hail to the king baby.

My favorite book is The Brothers Karamazov by F.M. Dostoevsky. All the things that make being a human being grand are in that book. I want to be buried with this book.

My favorite piece of music is the first movement of Moonlight Sonata by Beethoven.

My favorite food is Speghetti. Fuck you, but not speghetti.

My favorite drink is whiskey, more specifically Johnnie Walker Black Label (scotch yes) for socializing and Fighting Cock for hooning the shit out of an evening.

My favorite academic subject is astronomy. Motherfucking galaxies.

My favorite sport is American (gridiron) Football and my favorite team is the Pittsburgh Steelers even though I genuinely wish the Cleveland Browns would go back to the Super Bowl for immature reasons.

My favorite athlete is the boxer Jack Johnson, not because he fucked Mata Hari, not because he was also a bullfighter, not because he had a drinking contest with fucking Rasputin, not because he openly dated white women during a time where that would get a black man lynched, not because he was the best fucking boxer of his time, and not even because he was probably the first superstar athlete and fist fucked the hell out of the racial barrier, but for all those reasons combined as well as this anecdote:

"Once, when he was pulled over for a $50 speeding ticket (a large sum at the time), he gave the officer a $100 bill; when the officer protested that he couldn't make change for that much, Johnson told him to keep the change, as he was going to make his return trip at the same speed."

My favorite president is Teddy Goddamned Roosevelt.

Another one of my favorite things is to leave this list short with the intention of updating it later:

He Lives... In A Truck

Suicide 2: Electric Boogaloo was a failure at the box-office and in a literal sense. But of course you already knew that. Who else would be writing in journal?


Chet?

OF FUCKING COURSE NOT CHET I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHERE FUCKING CHET IS ANYMORE!

Sometimes you people make me sick with how stupid you are regarding my life. That's alright though because there are so few of you out there right now reading this... no... actually it's just Ham right now. Ham, I must ask your forgiveness for many things, not the least of which is what I did your sheets, counter, rectum and pillow case. I have a feeling though that as time goes on I will be able to rectify what I have damaged. (Especially that rectum... damn near killed em.)

Well, Malin may still read this. Malin warms my heart and does not lie about me being ugly. Who else... Korrin? Korrin if you are reading this then I must apologize for rectal wreckage as well. I should just fill a fucking pillow case (one of the clean ones I stole from Ham) with apologies and go around every fucking town I come across just tossing them at people because at this point I have wronged so many that I would be hard pressed to find someone who has not felt the sting of my recklessness.

It could be a holiday for the new religion I am inventing for the sole purpose of altering the way people see the world. You see, in this current horrible world people do not give me money for no reason. I seek to change this. I am still in the middle of deciding on a name and a prophet and a story but it probably won't take long because it does not take shakespearean caliber words to get people to believe stupid shit. All it takes is a handsome man (Muhammad despite not being pictured ever, Black Jesus, and Mel Brooks King Of the Jews) and a few silly words. It's full proof, and might I add that it helps me feel a kinship with whoever it was that created and propagated the other religions for I too am filled with divine inspiration and also never want to work again.

I'm worried about my sweet tooth though, I think it may be developing diabetes.

There, right fucking there in one sentence I have evoked painful moaning in SOMEONE who read that. God damn the power of carefully chosen and organized words. Makes me feel all good and stuff.

I wonder though if I will be able to actually convert my speech patterns to E-prime and if I can adjust to using lower case 'i' instead of upper case when talking about myself because honestly I don't think I've earned the upper case just yet and I am not so arrogant to think that I could just pretend that I have. I'm not a fucker like the rest of you English speaking bastards. You all make me sick. Anyhoo, give me money once I get the Church of the Grand Bastard off the ground and into a giant lake of money and concubines.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X8Nc8RCLy1s&feature=autoplay&list=PL65A3B93B84A50BE2&index=176&playnext=2