Ever notice how it's the little things in life that amuse us so much? More to the point, ever notice how it's the silly little idiocies in life that amuse us more than anything else? Well, this is not as much ''the little blog that could'' as it is ''the blog that enjoys going up the down escalator in your local mall.'' Will it have anything of real importance? No, probably not. But enjoy the ride never the less!

 

To start off, I'd like to apologize to the nice neighbours around the local playground who, around 9:30ish, discovered that it is quite possible to take a number of crude English vulgarities and splice them together to create new hybrid vulgarities. I know you're trying to raise your kids well, and as a result I'm sure the last thing you wanted them to hear through the open balcony window was my voice screaming, "Bloody fucktwat!"

Ideally they have no idea what those two words mean apart from each other, let alone together. Upon reflection, I'm not entirely sure I have have any idea what that word means.

Ultimately, tonight has proven a first for me: I snapped. Wholly, completely snapped. Those of you suddenly panicking upon reading this, fear not: I did not snap at Mel, nor was any of this due to her. No, the due honour for actually locating that precision point belongs to someone else.

Tonight I found myself virtually enraged beyond words, my entire body shaking with a near unbridled fury. Rare is the moment where I physically lash out (the previous and only other occasion saw the unfortunate brutality against Jerry the piece of drywall), and even rarer is when I voice anything out in the open beyond cold, seething mutters. Tonight there was both. Grass was pounded, which happily no one can really object to, since I probably treated the ground more humanely than the kids running around during recess. And the aforementioned hybrid vulgarities were uttered with impressive sound.

The situation with my parents separating, while ugly to begin with, just enterred a new form of grotesquerie. It leaves me with nothing but respect for my father, and nothing but contempt for my mother. I don't care how pious you act. I don't care how holy you want to be. I don't give a right bloody damn about how perfect you want others to see you as. When you're a sanctimonious asshole, you're a sanctimonius asshole. There are no two ways about it. When you're a hypocticial Janus-bitch who preaches prayer with one hand, and delivers a vile form of personal betrayal with the other, expect me to harbour an extreme loathing of everything that comes from your mouth. You have burned almost all your bridges, reduced your family into strangers and expendible assets, and it will come as a great and terrible shock to you when the beast you are creating will one day devour you down and then spit you out.

It's easy to use religion to justify anything you want. Some of the greatest atrocities commited by humanity have been done by those claiming to be in "God's service". She's going to make religious zealots look like choirboys at this rate.

It's all coming to a head. My Dad, despite everything he's had to endure for the last 3 years, despite everything he's put up with and all the times he's sought out a resolution even when it meant taking personal hits to prove his sincerity and committment to their marriage, still dares to ask me to try not to rail against my mother. To not verbally attack her without mercy. To not choose sides. For that alone he's earned my eternal respect in this situation.

"There are no sides. There will be no winners when this ends. We're all going to lose."

Tonight he asked me once again not to choose sides. And I saw it in his eyes: he realized I'd already chosen where I would stand, and would not remain neutral. The events of tonight have pushed me to a point where I'm no longer willing to stand aside and say nothing. It's an end to politeness. It's an end to civility. In the coldest of terms, it's the beginning of wrath. My wrath.

A war is coming. It's not going to be pretty. I almost look forward to it. It's about time I let my voice be heard; about time I stood against all that my mother's doing wrong regardless of what she thinks otherwise; about time I let her hear me bloody roar.

I just wish it didn't have to be for reasons like this.

Customer Insult of the Day: "wanker."


posted by Phillip at 9:21 PM

 

To start off, I'd like to apologize to the nice neighbours around the local playground who, around 9:30ish, discovered that it is quite possible to take a number of crude English vulgarities and splice them together to create new hybrid vulgarities. I know you're trying to raise your kids well, and as a result I'm sure the last thing you wanted them to hear through the open balcony window was my voice screaming, "Bloody fucktwat!"

Ideally they have no idea what those two words mean apart from each other, let alone together. Upon reflection, I'm not entirely sure I have have any idea what that word means.

Ultimately, tonight has proven a first for me: I snapped. Wholly, completely snapped. Those of you suddenly panicking upon reading this, fear not: I did not snap at Mel, nor was any of this due to her. No, the due honour for actually locating that precision point belongs to someone else.

Tonight I found myself virtually enraged beyond words, my entire body shaking with a near unbridled fury. Rare is the moment where I physically lash out (the previous and only other occasion saw the unfortunate brutality against Jerry the piece of drywall), and even rarer is when I voice anything out in the open beyond cold, seething mutters. Tonight there was both. Grass was pounded, which happily no one can really object to, since I probably treated the ground more humanely than the kids running around during recess. And the aforementioned hybrid vulgarities were uttered with impressive sound.

The situation with my parents separating, while ugly to begin with, just enterred a new form of grotesquerie. It leaves me with nothing but respect for my father, and nothing but contempt for my mother. I don't care how pious you act. I don't care how holy you want to be. I don't give a right bloody damn about how perfect you want others to see you as. When you're a sanctimonious asshole, you're a sanctimonius asshole. There are no two ways about it. When you're a hypocticial Janus-bitch who preaches prayer with one hand, and delivers a vile form of personal betrayal with the other, expect me to harbour an extreme loathing of everything that comes from your mouth. You have burned almost all your bridges, reduced your family into strangers and expendible assets, and it will come as a great and terrible shock to you when the beast you are creating will one day devour you down and then spit you out.

It's easy to use religion to justify anything you want. Some of the greatest atrocities commited by humanity have been done by those claiming to be in "God's service". She's going to make religious zealots look like choirboys at this rate.

It's all coming to a head. My Dad, despite everything he's had to endure for the last 3 years, despite everything he's put up with and all the times he's sought out a resolution even when it meant taking personal hits to prove his sincerity and committment to their marriage, still dares to ask me to try not to rail against my mother. To not verbally attack her without mercy. To not choose sides. For that alone he's earned my eternal respect in this situation.

"There are no sides. There will be no winners when this ends. We're all going to lose."

Tonight he asked me once again not to choose sides. And I saw it in his eyes: he realized I'd already chosen where I would stand, and would not remain neutral. The events of tonight have pushed me to a point where I'm no longer willing to stand aside and say nothing. It's an end to politeness. It's an end to civility. In the coldest of terms, it's the beginning of wrath. My wrath.

A war is coming. It's not going to be pretty. I almost look forward to it. It's about time I let my voice be heard; about time I stood against all that my mother's doing wrong regardless of what she thinks otherwise; about time I let her hear me bloody roar.

I just wish it didn't have to be for reasons like this.

Customer Insult of the Day: "wanker."


posted by Phillip at 9:21 PM

 

posted by Phillip at 10:23 PM