If I do have any regular readers remains to be seen, not that I really give a shit, as my terse diatribes about the folly of stupid, apelike humanity are my own; each one a seeming catharsis, posted for my own dark reasons. If any reader is amused or dismayed by what I have written, what the fuck, at least it has shocked you from your ennui and gotten you to think. If you enjoy what you read, that’s good; if you didn’t like it, I don’t really motherfucking care what you may think, and that’s the way it is.
That said, I intend to present on this, and perhaps other posts, a few of Conway’s tried and true methods for surviving (perhaps even living longer, and living better) in an insane world filled with hairless, mumbling, self-centered, superstitious, lying chimpanzees who collectively have no more intelligence than god gave a fucking goose, that is if something like god even exists, which it probably doesn’t, judging from the available evidence.
For example, tonight I decided to drive my beat-up old clunker into town to pick up some sludge for myself, along with a tank of gas for the thirsty clunker. As I was fueling my faded, dented, rusted out wreck, I was accosted by a wrinkled old honky bag who had a bizarre yarn to tell me. Detached and aloof when about town, I usually deliberately ignore most any bipedal shit factory who even tries to speak to me, but she was a persistent old bitch, her squeaky voice becoming louder. Finally getting my attention, this dumb, bothersome battleaxe stated that she had no funds available for gasoline and that her son was languishing in the hospital, adding that she needed to get there to visit him. I was told this obtuse fairy tale at 10:45 PM local time, long after visiting hours are over at any normal hospital in this fucking universe. Momentarily glancing at my timepiece, I surmised that her story was a bald-faced lie and she was simply trying to shake me down for some dough, probably so she could buy herself a pint of cheap booze at the liquor store just down the street. I stood there, eyes glazed, half-listening to her inane bullshit, and afterward responded that I carry no cash; whether true or not, that was enough to get rid of her annoying presence. Honestly people, what sort of dim-witted idiot that requires fuel for their vehicle drives to a fucking gas station with no money or credit cards on their person?
A cunning, lying panhandler too goddamn lazy to work for a living, that’s who. Hell, I’ve seen tons of ’em – red-eyed crackheads, strung-out whores needing a fix, drunken niggers loitering at a local 7-11 looking for another 40oz, all of them with hands out, asking for money – ostensibly for gasoline. I once asked a falling down, drunken jig with liquor on his breath where his vehicle was – he, barely able to keep his balance, replied it was at home!
This concludes lesson number one – on how to keep YOUR money for YOURSELF, and yourself only.
More friendly advice will be posted later, that is if I get around to actually bothering.