So it wasn’t until just recently (this year in fact) that I finally jumped on the cellular telephone bandwagon. I had been reticent for a long time to join the cellular fold for a multitude of reasons. I have always felt that if I need to make or receive a phone call I will make sure I am by a phone. I value my time alone highly and I don’t need any of my douche bag friends interrupting a nice relaxing drive on the freeway. No offense to my douche bag friends of course. Above all I absolutely hate being “that guy”. You know the one I’m talking about. The guy in the gas station, super market, dildo supply warehouse, liquor store, et all who is SO damn important, whose time is SO valuable that he cant hang up the phone for two minutes so he can pay for his fourteen inch black rubber phallus. However the one piece of cell phone related culture that drives me up a wall faster than any other is the dreaded fucking headset. It makes me want to knock out every one of your blue teeth with a fucking hammer. It takes a very special kind of self absorbed vapid asshole to walk around with one of those things strapped to your head. If you hold your finger up to me one more time with the intent to inform me that I must wait a moment so that I may blessed with your attention I will break the fucker off and choke you with it. As truly horrifying and nauseating as it can be I choose to walk the earth fully immersed in the world around me. I suggest you try doing the same.

I have come to realize that a precious few things actually inspire and spur me to write. Rain, rage and women. I had two out of three today so I sat down at the ole typin’ machine to do some damage. You see the problem is I can’t just sit down and think, “What really pisses me off?” and let it flow. The blind and burning rage needs to be fresh and organic. It just so happens I was served some free range, cage free, farm fresh rage today while I was at work.

            She came in first. One of the few things that actually makes me like my job… No not a woman. I work at a comic book store. women don’t go to comic book stores, unless they are there because of a guy. Kids are one of the few things that actually make this job enjoyable and I’m not talking about teenagers. Teenagers are horrible loud and mindless automatons who bug the shit out of me. And I’m not talking about babies either. Babies are disgusting, parasitic, eating, shitting, screaming machines. However when it comes down to it I don’t like all kids either. I like the shy ones, the quiet ones who are glad to be there and want to see something different, something that might change their lives, even if they don’t know it. Kids that remind me of a young Jaz Brown make me want to stop and share everything cool that I know and tell them it’s not going to suck forever… Just most of the time. This girl fit the bill. Her father however was blind heartless cock who had know idea that he was raising a little girl who would do anything to get the attention of the opposite sex just because he couldn’t be bothered to get off the fucking phone and act like she was worth it. He was a loud talking dick with a headset jammed in his ear.

            “Yeah well if they don’t get it together down there in administration some heads are going to roll… yeah well, that’s what I told her… Well I cant wait to lay off that little Russian fuck in the mail room.”

            They were in the store for about a half and hour and he was on the phone the whole time. Something would strike the young girl, excite her, light the flame under her heart and he just couldn’t be bothered. It made me want to tell her that it was going to be ok, that she could come live at the store. I did not do that however. What I did do was walk over and talk to her because her father was obviously talking to someone FAR more important about things that just absolutely COULD NOT WAIT. It took her a few moments but soon enough we were talking about what kind of art she liked, what sort of covers looked interesting and what a horrible douche her father was… Well maybe not that last part.

            I suppose the moral here is: HANG UP THE FUCKING PHONE and show some interest in your daughters life otherwise Ill be seeing her in “Tight Young Virgins 12” in ten years.