Chapter 5

Oh fuck, another night out. Shit, I'm going to have myself too far in debt if I keep this shit up, but it's so fun, having a good time with friends and loved ones, is it such a crime? Must we pay these outlandish fees for memorable nights!? Fuck no!

I'm seeing fucking pandas in my head, why the hell are they there!? They aren't even doing anything, there just...there. Get out, damn you! It's no use, they'll haunt me till I find sleep...perhaps even after...

Glenfiddich beside me, along with some peach juice...wonder what that would taste like together? I don't believe I will test it tonight, not in the mindset for a liquid avalanche of nastiness to enter my throat. We went to a new place tonight, wonderful music, irish jigs and Great Big Sea pounding in my head.

The booze is starting to wear off. Need more liquid energy. Looks like I'll need that nastiness after all...oh shit...that's not nasty at all...I need to do this more often.

Stupid fights. We all seem to have them, like a rash with no permanent cure. You irritate it, it goes away for awhile, but sooner or later, it flares again. such is the terrible case with stupid, damned fights. You have one, and, of course, at the time, it makes perfect sense. Why wouldn't I be angry with her right now? Damnit, she pissed me off, why shouldn't I be angry!? Then the cooldown hits, like an icecube that's divebombed down your pants, resting near your crotch, hits you cold as hell at first, but then as realization kicks in, it's simply uncomfortable, something you don't want to deal with. So to solve the problem, you do what you must to extricate the problem: You remove the cold. You pick up the ice cold telephone and you call in your explanation and apology. The icecube's numbing your head now, thoughts of what you've done, how fucking dumb you've just made yourself look, it all seeps into your mind, until you put it all down on the table. By the time you're done, there's no cold, no pain, just a puddle of liquid to remind you of what's just happened. Afterwards, it's something merely laughable. What a dumbass I was to let that icecube go down my shorts! All gone now, though, just a funny memory in a much warmer future.

Headache setting in, and I'm being phoned in a little more than four hours. Time for what sleep I can manage before a shitload of work hits me. Interesting thing, it'll be, to see which end up hurting more, the hangover or the stress from work I've left till later for far too long. Good times.

Chapter 4, way late, holy fuck...

March 23-24, 2006

Can't sleep, way too much fucked up shit in my head. What a night. Rehearsals today were great, everything ran pretty damn smooth, almost well enough to make you wonder when the fuck you didn't know this stuff. After all that, though, a bunch of us went out to the Gate, our spot, our place of sanctuary in a hostile world of freaks and bedazzled shitheads. We had our fill of drinks, mine were less costly than others', but that was simply due to the fact that I'm driving myself miles deep into debt by going out on these fucking things that I have so much fun at. Why the hell must fun cost so damned much? Fuck these bastards, give me my fun for free, I've never charged you at my expense!

Holy shit...that movie is fucking up pretty badly, lagging out bad on my roomate's screen...that's a kickass little shotgun. My eyes are starting to hurt already from the glare of my own laptop screen. I'm quickly getting tired, as well, like the alchohol is passing far too quickly, leaving my system before it's ready for it to go...my eyes drip energy everytime I rub them...shit, I won't make it very long at this rate.

I should talk about some of the deep shit we mentioned at the Gate tonight before I'm gone. Hell, we covered a lot of diffeent topics...I think we even covered Hell, in a sense of speaking, just more of a hell on Earth rather than a Lake of Fire Hell. Come on you shits, just try and mess with Canada, you want an apocalypse, that's your best shot at it. The power-hungry USA, long live freedom! Like hell, jackass, what does America know about freedom? Only that which they teach themselves in their subjective classrooms with their subjective textbooks, creating subjective individuals. All they know is what they're taught, and they simply refuse to believe all else. This is not to say, though, that all Americans are like this, I actually know a few that are great people. Too damned bad the majority ruin it for the minority. There's also another race of beings, granted from the realm of fantasy, that are drilled with subjective history and values, they're known as the Drow, or Dark Elves. These are the most feared and distrusted of any race in any fantasy realm settings...strange that the Drow and the Americans use the same methods of teaching their young about the world, yet the fantasy world spurns the Drow, while the real world admonishes the Americans...

Shit. Falling asleep. I have work to do tomorrow, I should pass out now...

Just before I go, I apologize for no freaky metaphors or straight up weird shit. I'm tired, deal it with, don't patronize me, you swine! Take what you are given, and make with it your paradise!

Chapter 03

Fuck. It seems I am cursed, living as I am, to be compelled to stay up for unnatural hours, playing the lab rat in my 'basic routine', only to be woken up at ungodly hours in the morning directly after. It's not right. I should rise up and curse the fuckers down. No good, though. Such tactics never get one far when they are staying in their own home for the weekend, as is my chosen fate this particular weekend. Groggy-eyed, still reeling from the few hours of sleep that I was allowed, I hear something about beers for breakfast. Shit, that sounds good. I taste bitter defeat, though, as I realize it's simply part of some shitty country song. Damn. Oh well. Still a few hours before I need to leave for University again. Get done what we can now, leave the rest for later. Must stop this bullshit procrastination. Messenger windows popping and blinking like Halloween lights. Fuck people, get in line, before my head finally caves and implodes on itself from the strain! Too many pokes at once, need to sort things through.

Yesterday, at least, was spent in relative normalcy. A sigh of relief in my life. If normalcy allows my life a sigh of relief, though, it seems my life barely breathes most of the time, it simply holds its breath and dives under, into the deep, murky waters of insanity and hopes to find an airpocket before the crazy fills the lungs.

Some weird fucker just sent me a message...Get cru pca...what the hell? I'm not even tired or hyped on caffeine, and I still cannot comprehend this garbled bullshit. So many strangers on my list. People I barely know, or can't even remember how they got my address, or got on my list. We live in world of strangers, though, so I guess it's fine. There can be no strangers if we know everyone. Best to keep one's self in the dark about some folks. The weird fucker calls himself whitedevil, or at least that's what his email address says. How the fuck do I meet some of these people, and what compels either them or me to add the other?

Watching the news today made me ill in the stomach. Bullshit american news, nothing but doom stories. Thompson had it right when he said there were two types of people in the world: the Screwheads, and the Doomed, though I believe his perception of who is who might still now be relevent. The Screwheads, those God-forsaken government fucks who take the country by the balls, use the mass media to instill fear, distrust, undertones of racism, and all other sorts of weird shit into the minds of television zombies, contentedly rotting away in their comfy Laz-E-Boy chairs or their Ikea sofas. We are the voice of the nation! Too bad the Nation's tongue and teeth have rotted away from watching Survivor, Big Brother (ironically enough, as the poor bastards don't even realize they're watching a controlled mini-version of the world today), and other such ass-fodder, leaving the Nation to shrug its shoulders and just go with what they're fed. It's not like it can chew anything for itself, anyway. This is my fear for Canada, that the same, slow proccess of rot and decay is silently creeping its way into the heart of -our- nation. Save Canada, listen to Hunter, don't take any guff from these fucking swine! We are better than that, we cannot simply sit back as the warchief-controlled zombie nation of America slowly and stiffly straddles us from behind and ruins our lives forever. If that happens, though, I only wonder which sorry bastard province will end up being the point of penetration...

Chapter 02

Shit. I'd completely forgotten in my haze this morning that I'd meant to start this thing due to the fact that I'd had what I can only call a more than slightly fucked up dream about British bulldogs hanging in two columns from meat hooks down an impossibly long corridor, and some 20-odd year black man who was viciously sexually molested by a bunch of other 20-odd year old black men. This was all extremely hard for my still stabilizing brain to wrap itself around, considering a number of things, two of which I have to say are the most important: I am not racist either toward the black man, or the British Bulldog. At this point in time, I don't remember much more than that, but I'm wondering if that's so much of a bad thing.

Anyway, on to something possibly a little more sane, though I'm not overly sure. Rehearsals went down a few hours ago. I'm pleased to say it went down very well. Nice and smooth, much like Smirnoff Twisted green apple. Strangely, it felt like many of my fellow actors had consumed a number of those, as craziness ensued quickly and increased at an alarming rate. The show must go on, though, back to business, we were, always willing to suck it up and get what needs done...done. Everything's coming together nicely, scenes are getting blocked, lines are being locked inside weary brains. Nothing like the shitstorm of last year, that near-fatal disaster we lovingly termed, "The Rivals". Dear Lord, how we almost buggered that poor piece of literature, like a neglected koala bear who's had its ass skinned down almost to the bone and left to suffer until finally, reason kicks in. Skinning the poor bastard down to the bone is just too much, the thing could never take that sort of depravity, and the slow healing process begins. What's left will never be as much, or as good, as it once was, and just like a koala bear with its ass half-skinned, the play walked with slight signs of a limp.

Glancing up and seeing the shaking, crazy image of a friend on Winter Avenue not far from my girlfriend in my roommate's webcam window, I remember some of the happenings of last night again. They were good times. Times like those don't come around often, and under normal circumstances, you don't have a hope in hell of those times being accompanied by free food, which made me feel as though the events of last night were fated, in some sense, to happen. A comforting thought, good times being destined for us. Makes up for all the shitty times that you never want to face, but you know they're coming, like a bloody bitch who always touches your hair. You hate it, you don't want it to happen, but you know that it -will- happen, and all of your attempts to prevent it will be to no avail.

Shit, I'd hoped to write more on this, but at least I've gotten this much so far. We'll see what happens in the next few hours...more crazy shit to come, of that...I'm positive.

Chapter 01

It is a sad, strange time we live in. I awake on this cruel morning after being out the night before, partying it up with friends and colleagues to celebrate my roommate's 23rd birthday. The pool hall is a dim corridor in which my memory is having slight difficulties traversing down. I do remember the free food, though, which is another story completely all on it's own. I shall have to get to that later, but for now, I must journey forth on this particular road.

Where was I? Oh yeah. Dooly's on a Thursday night is shockingly empty, but for our party, it was perfectly fine that way. We simply found a small, dimly lit corner in which to challenge each other to friendly games of billiards and consume massive, or as massive as our bank accounts would allow before slapping us silly, amounts of alchohol. Curse Dooly's, however, for not having any Rickarts's Honey Brown, though. I had asked, on my first two visits to the bar, specifically for the stuff, and was rewarded for my efforts with Rickart's Red. It is not to say that I don't like Rickart's Red. Quite the contrary, I enjoy the stuff, it sits well, has a nice taste.

I'm rambling. shit. I also seem to have problems when correcting I's that need to be capitalized, but anyway, this is simply another thing to veer me off-track. The third time, I figured, would be the charm in asking for my desired drink. I was disheartened to find out, however, that the bar was currently out of Rickart's Honey Brown. I had to wonder to myself, "Why the fuck would they put me on this emotional rollercoaster of hope and despair if there wasn't any fucking beer in the first place?" It made no sense to me.

Had the waitress, who, despite the beer hassle, was nice, told me at the beginning that there was no Honey Brown, this whole thing could have been avoided. Oh well. Simple miscommunication, perhaps. Such things are prone to happening, I suppose, or is that true? Can we so easily pass off the complete lack of interest one being, whether intentional or not, shows to another? Are we not entitled to be both heard -and- understood when we express ourselves? do we not live in a democratic society, where each person's voice and opinion matters? One wonders, sometimes, how far the Freudian Slip known as Democray has allowed us to tumble.

I've lost my track of thought. Repetitive bass is drumming in my head from my roommate's side of the room. Cinnamon toast crunch and Neji? Hmm...interesting. I need to regain my composure. Right, the partying. After numerous games of pool, many beers and cocktails later (and on that note I will sadly mention that my attempt to honor the late Hunter S. Thompson by ordering a Singapore Sling with Mescal on the side failed) we departed.

The bass is thundering now. My roommate is giving his speakers another one of his acid tests. My microwave is shaking in fear, literally vibrating in sheer terror. My head feels something like the microwave sounds, and I wonder if one can be forced into a trance from such powerful, rhythmic vibrations.

After leaving the pool hall, our party walked for at least 20-30 minutes, until we reached one of our destinations and rested. We then began to wind down our night between playing Dance Dance Revolution and watching really shitty looking Japanese games shows on the internet. If any nation knows how to perfect perversion, it seems that the Japanese take the prize. Never before had I imagined a game show where 3 female volunteers each straddle a seat, where one holds a secret compartment containing some sort of strange device that repeatedly...fuck...I'm not sure how to describe exactly what it is that it did, but it involved stiff bristled brushes making contact with the woman's crotch. Needless to say, the one straddling -that- seat was enjoying herself, but it seemed the object of the game was for men to place bets to see which of the 3 women got the good seat. The other 2 simply faked pleasure, which made me worry about my own relationship, as I noticed that they were very, very good at faking. I was soon reassured, however, that I had nothing to fear. My male pride was saved.

I should probably mention that I don't mind my roommate's music. I'm very open and broad when it comes to enjoyable genres for myself. So long as it causes no collateral damage, I am very accepting of his musical tastes.

Watching the gameshow reminded me of a commercial we had also seen on the internet. It was a spoof, and a good one, too, of a product aptly named the 'Nut-Bra'. As you may assume, the product was a bra for old, saggy testicles. Not a bad thought. The bra, not the old, saggy testicles. It reminded me of our country, Canada, actually. Once very proud and firm, the foundation for something wonderful, something with great significance, and now nothing more than a saggy reminder of how the wife, which, in the country's case, is the goverment, took it by balls and dragged it where she would, until those balls simply swung in any direction, unable to return to its once glorious image and make a stand for itself.

Shit, I should keep going, I have other work to do after this. This isn't a job or anything. I don't actually get paid. I may put adsense on this, though. It would be interesting to see how much I make from the ads. It could possibly reflect how many people actually read this, though numbers are not something I worry about much. This would explain the booze I bought last night, considering money is not something I particularly have at the moment.

After the dancing and gameshows, we departed once more. My girlfriend and I went back to her apartment and finally found some rest. I guess this brings us back to the start of all of this, the cruel morning. Strangely, even though we had been kept up until about 3 o'clock, we awoke at around 8:30AM this morning. I was unfortunately not able to stay the whole day, as I have rehearsals to go to tonight...actually, in 2 and a half hours. It is 2 o'clock right now. I managed to save paying for a taxi when one of my friends at my university offered to come over and pick me up, much to my relief. Now I have the pleasure of learning around 7 scenes in that amount of time that I have left.

Shit. I should probably go do that, or my director will slice my ears off. Well...maybe not slice off my ears, but she will definitely feel that urge, I think.