Is Anyone Hiring Destructive Testers?

For better or worse, it seems that one of my core talents is finding the place where things break, or break down, or fall apart. Laptops, ipods, furniture, and other, more precious things all break down when their time is up.

This destructive testing of the fabric of the world, this using up of the elasticity of things is not so much an act of volition but seems instead to be a direct result of how I abraid against the universe as I make my path through it. I walk until the shoes fall apart around my feet, I push until the flex is gone, never realizing that the thing will at some point cease to function, to be itself.

In hindsight, you can always see where things could have been protected or conserved, where the scratches and dents could have been avoided. But that is the aftermath, and things are never so clear without the mirror of hindsight in which to look at them.

So if anyone has use for a destructive tester, I'm looking to play to my core competencies.

That's Politics, Bitch.

Is Killface the most promising, charming, eloquent and, let's face it folks, cause we all know in our hearts of hearts B and H are hopeless (middle America anyone? Remember, those people who gave us the Bush smackdown twice in a row despite all costal logic) electable Democratic presidential candidate we have seen in at least two election cycles?

Yes, he is. So do something about it. Visit Draftgore.com. Now, bitches. It is going 65 degrees out in NYC the day before All Hallows Eve. There just might be something to all this global warming junk science. A force field of god's love will protect you from neither flood nor zombies.

Irrational Fear No. 3, or, I TOLD You They Are Out To Get Us.

I once saw a cat try its damnednest to murder a nun. True story, H-Bone will verify it, she was there. The cat, with whom I eventually formed a synergistic, if not loving, relationship, was an asshole, but he was an entertaining asshole, and never did learn that if he concentrated on chasing the laser pointer, he would not notice that he was gaiting full tilt towards the wall.

I once spent a good deal of time with another cat who was determined to save his mommy by killing me. Only his lethargy and dim wits saved me, as the best plan he seemed able to muster was settling his considerable girth, belly down, across my nose and mouth as I slept. Sadly for him, he always managed to wake me when his forty pounds bounded onto the bed from the windowsill.

The point being, my relationship with all things feline is, at best, complex. I've only actually ever liked one cat, a Mr. Pussums of Park Slope, but that is largely because he is the first cat I have ever had the pleasure of meeting who does not seem to think that he is better than I am.

Perhaps part of the reason I've always tried to steer clear of the kitties is that I have an irrational, unfounded, unexamined yet deep seated fear of contracting toxoplasmosis. This is not something I admit lightly as it is clearly something that one must be batshit nuts to invest mental energy in being afraid of. Without delving too deeply into the abnormal psychology this indicates, lets just table that part of the discussion by taking for given the fact that it is at least in part rooted in a mentally altered teenage viewing of Trainspotting gone horribly wrong. So cat piss has the potential to give me, beyond the obvious aversion to things excreted, the serious skeevs.

And of course if I ever attempt to describe this or either of my two other seriously irrational fears to friends, loved ones or strangers, I get responses that vary, without ever crossing over to the positive side of the spectrum, between displaying complete indifference and backing away from me slowly and dialing a mental health professional.

But get this: I was fucking right. Chalk it up to inductive intuition or the sheer dumb luck of the drunk and the foolish, but toxoplasmosis is serious shit, infects half the human population, and, get this, has the potential to turn us all into FUCKING ZOMBIES.*

Laugh all you want at Irrational Fear No. 3, but all this time I have been at the vanguard, trying to save you naysaying automatons from the coming zombie apocalypse. Shows you to doubt me.

BOOSH!

*Granted the article referenced cites no references and is not terribly well written, but if I can fear cat piss and escalators, I can certainly ignore my own confirmation bias and take this knowledge bomb as gospel.

Reboot: An open letter to you know who...

Not going to excuse the absence, priorities are. But I made a promise to revisit this space, and have a good incentive to do so from here on in. Often all it takes is the proper audience. So here we go you-know-who. Be careful what you ask for...