Because I don't want to open too many windows.

I already have Fireworks, multiple Dreamweaver windows, and Firefox open. Can you blame me for not wanting to open Word for proofreading?

I can't say it has been a crazy couple of weeks, and that could be my problem. Okay, that's definitely my problem. I'm broke. I don't have anyone I can relate to in the Peoria area (not to say anyone can), and no way to meet new people. I can affirm that after my accidental credit slip up on Zoosk.

It feels like I'm on a countdown to extinction. If I can't make something work by the end of the year, it'll be two years of worthlessness, and even with all the drama I've experienced, I've never had two consecutive years of being fucked. I'd say the dead-pun-line is 12/31 because I don't want to be one of those assholes who do the died at age 30, 1980-2011.

If anything that is reason enough to jail Michael Jackson's doctor. I'd show leniency if he would have postponed the OD a couple of months, so that MJ would have been 51 (1948-2009). Maybe that's why the obsessive compulsive shouldn't pass judgment.

Then again, that would make this website the ultimate hypocrisy. Suppose I better get to the blog then, and skip discussing the kitty suicide notes and the depressed chick hair cut I nearly gave myself. Do pawn shops take beard trimmers?

Check out the rest of the blog at MainEventOfTheDead.com and envision how my movie reviews and satire could develop a zombie pro-wrestling B-Movie comedy.

No one has the nerve to care

I own a cynical T-shirt (imagine that) that mocks Twitter with the blue birt spouting out, "Nobody Cares." It's ironic in a sense because I love to tweet, and for the most part believed to to be a true statement based on the lack of constructive feedback from my 300 friends on the Internet.


My seemingly pessimistic (I'll still stand by realistic) outlook may not be unjust, but it leaves me pondering when my cat will let an A&E camera crew into the apartment while I'm at work for a surprise intervention. The little furball is sneaky like that.

Check out the blog at HARSHSIDE.COM

Do you think the Nazis want to claim a tattooed turd?

I will like to take this as a chance to promote my new website MainEventoftheDead.com, otherwise this is my way of typing up homework without at Affina blocking my communications with my home computer.

“The Soup” is the ultimate source of covering the irreverent. I’d like to say it is the “Onion,” but I want a formal apology for any part of their film that did not feature Steven Segal.

Perhaps I don’t watch enough real news, but it has been fairly free about stuff that pisses me off. It isn’t 2012 yet, so I’m not going to take Sarah Palin seriously for a while. My optimistic view of world affairs may actually come from moving out of a house where my mom watched nothing but Fox News.

Maybe I just have a lot of deep issues with anger, so I need to find stuff to get angry about when I write, and thankfully my DVR allows me to keep track of the decadence of this consumption-based society. Something that may need to be explained after my experience with the limp-wrested strip club assholes I met weeks back, but that is another story (last weeks to be precise).

Since the stuff I’m watching is irreverent, one can argue that there is no need to be pissed about it. I guess I’m angry at the fact we cover ridiculous, water skiing squirrel free stories. People watch this coverage and want to get involved with it, and that’s wrong.

No one wanted to water ski after the squirrel, so why do they want to prove that Jesse James is a Nazi makes no sense. Thus, we got to get angry, and slap some sense into those who are satisfied despite not owning a digital cable box.

Pedophiles vs. War Criminals

So...the editors at the Harbinger, Illinois Central College's newspaper, expects their contributing clolumnist to walk by their office that is two stories above the only class he's attending this semester. It's funny because he's only had to enter the office once in his three semesters of contributing.

Enough of this 3rd Person bullocks, makes me feel like those right wing twats who were offended at my "Destroy Popular Culture, Rebuild, Repeat" shirt...at a strip club. Did one of the girls pay them off just, so I'd plead for one of them to take me back for a dance?

The editor had told me, if they could pay me for my reviews and my opinion pieces, they would. Personally, I like not having the hastles of showing up to meetings, and if that cost me a few bucks, that no big deal. All I expect is an e-mail telling me when I have to get my shit finished.

Maybe it just slipped their mind, maybe the A&E editor saw a flick and wants my space, or the editor-in-chief didn't like Ghosting my last opinion piece. Whatever the reason, I feel a little put out by a newspaper that hardly updates its website.

Yes, I guess I maybe taking the inevitable "sorry, we were so busy e-mail" to hard, but I have an ego, and when I don't do too many things well, failing to get published hurts.

After receiving the e-mail, it was a reality check. The staff simply had college things to do, the stuff that will further careers. Writing for a college newspaper is kind of a secondary thing in comparison. Like it or not, that is pretty accurate.

C'est la vie, I guess. With a Polanski movie review, that seems appropriate. As long as my works weren't published for making an observation about pedophilia in this critique, everything will work out fine. I bought a domain for a reason right?

Check out the review at my new website MainEventoftheDead.com - Satire, Movies, and Anarchy

Please offer a fucking clue.

Where/how am I suppose to develop a relationship with a girl? I offer nothing that is appreciated, and fuckin douches seem to get rewarded for being what they are.

Can't stand bars. Online is shit, and college...fuck the only interesting chick from class is helping out the MassCom Reverend with his Christian online radio.

I am not trying to take a shot at you, but Stef, you were trying to set me up with Sam. Not exactly and ego boost. Am I really that hopeless? honestly?

And please be solution oriented with your response.

I guess I've just become the ultimate douche. But fuck, at least I'm honest.

I got a person for each finger on one hand who really truly give a shit if I'm gone. Look where I'm at. Right now, my only hope is to get famous with my writing. Fuck. You didn't believe in the wrestling, this isn't any better.

I had my window to get my shit straight, and no one has said anything otherwise. They just hope it will change for me.

Fuck, Hope is for the terminal. I'm inevitably going to off myself. Sorry to drop this e-mail on you. I don't know when, "the GREEN scissors" aren't sharp enough, so I have no clue. I don't see any reason why shit will end well for me.

I am through with hoping.

What needs to be changed?

Obviously my environment? I can't justify developing my next website idea while I only have a week left before moving out.

Attitude towards my job? Only in the idea that I should just say, "If you don't think I'm working out, fire me now, and I'll respect you for it sense." With ideas that are coming to mind for my extreme leftist blog, it would be best to handle me this way instead of waiting till I'm stuck with a fucking lease.

My abrasive nature...really? People still have a sense of humor right, or is everything taken personally? Am I just a shitty guy to introduce to people?

Or am I just shitty looking? With the baby-face there are times when I think I look too much like Private Pile from "Full Metal Jacket." I'm to the point where I'd appreciate an Am-16 for my birthday.

Read the rest of the blog at MainEventoftheDead.com and let me know if my humor, satire and movie knowledge can translate into a B-Movie comedy about zombies and pro-wrestling.

Hope = Death, a bleak observation

The problem with last night's blog was that it was too repetitive. A struggle to figure out what more can be said about how shitty my existence is. After plenty of calling God a sadistic bastard and thoughts to Frank Miller's "Sin City," I think I may have received a divine answer.

It doesn't get that douche bag Iehova off the shit list, but it is a lesson that I think all should learn and the sooner the better.

Nothing good can come from hope. There has got to be a fucking game plan and the knowledge that the game will end.

This is probably why the Cubs never amount to champions. Cubs "fans" are too busy hoping that this will be the year they will end a century (it's still early in this one, so I'm rounding down) without a championship instead of figuring out how the Cubs can win it.

I think I went over this in my Harbinger article "Why are Chicago Sports Fans Restricted to Hoping." Of course, they have a shitty web adviser, so finding it on their website isn't going to happen. No worries, I'll post it tomorrow on http://harshside309.blogspot.com

Back to the bitching about God failing to give us a reach around. If you are restricted to hoping something good will happen in a situation, it won't. Name one person you've hoped from their death bed?

Look at Baby Dax. We were hoping he wasn't going to cash it in. We hoped a miracle would save his butt.

We hope when something is impossible. We got to stop doing that.

Look at "Sin City". Bruce Willis's character says it best after telling Jessica Alba justice will prevail and tells her to run off:

And after I pull off that miracle, maybe I'll go punch out God.

Our hero then promptly blows his brains out because the game is over.

It can even be traced back to "Fight Club".

First you have to give up, first you have to *know*... not fear... *know*... that someday you're gonna die.

Characters occassionally get lucky like Clive Owen in "Sin City," but in the end, "City of Men" found a way to make a downer flick even more depressing.

Perhaps this is why writing has been difficult for me right now. What I write is creationism. If you don't love god, how can you play one. This is killing my fiction, my screenplay, and my return to the wrestling scene.

God is a dick, but I'll give him credit to his wisdom. He gave his detractor some of it to try to get me over him.

But I'm a fucking Cubs fan, and like the trade of Lou Brock, I don't get over shit.

Let it be 2010 because 2012 is too far away.

No, it's not a resolution. With my depressed mood, I'd like it to be a documentation till extinction. Saves on writing a suicide not.

So I've been assigned my work station which is pretty much out on it's own. Yes, this should be a good thing when you dislike most people, but when you don't have any friends and positive social interaction is a necessity I'm plenty fucked.

A lot of you may interpret this as a fuck you, but it's more of a compliment. Why would anyone want to hang out with this downer? This isn't a blame either. I put myself in a position where I have no real connections. Still, there is kind of a feeling that I've been given up on by those who can actually hang out with, but that ain't right since all of you have moved on to better things.

Read the rest of the blog at MainEventoftheDead.com and let me know if my humor, satire and movie knowledge can translate into a B-Movie comedy about zombies and pro-wrestling.