Sorry for Gratuitous Swearing

I wrote a few blog entries and then I thought, “Oh shit! My mum would not approve of me swearing. Oh, damn, I just thought a swear. They’re nonstop. Fuck!” Anyway, sorry, swearing is just going to be a part of this blog, if you can handle it, welcome and go ahead and follow if you want, I may follow back. If you can’t handle it, well, mum would say, “thank you for stopping by.”

It’s just going to happen. Some days you just need a good swear. When he was on late at night I used to watch Craig Ferguson, and he liked a good swearing in. He swore in a chummy funny kind of way. I would love to swear all chummy and funny, but I haven’t mastered that.

All I do is swear when I get upset. I get angry, I get stressed out, I get frustrated, I feel unable to cope. Swearing is a coping mechanism. It’s a stress reliever. Sometimes it just makes me laugh when I realize I’m doing it, because it’s automatic. I can tell you there are two basic reasons why I’ll swear: Mostly it’s internal, anger directed at myself, but sometimes it’s external, anger directed at people who do irritating stupid things that piss me off. I’m sorry, mum. But it’s just going to happen.

Life is full of little irritants, like the sand at the beach when you are caught in a big wave, and it gets all in your shorts, especially when you’re at the ocean and the rug-burn is accentuated by the cold salt water.. And bigger irritants like when the boss keeps piling on the work and you already feel maxed out. I need a fucking vacation. Just me, by myself. Sorry ladies, that is if you were even remotely interested, just back the fuck off. You probably weren’t, considering how beautiful you are, but surprisingly, I just want to be left alone. But you can buy me a drink at the bar, whenever, or if ever, I go on that vacation.

Catch me when I’m not bitching about everything. Life is shitty right now. It’ll take a few days off to just start to recover. Or a few drinks. Or both. Is it the opposite of swearing to say “Thank God it’s fucking FRIDAY?”

Notes to the E-universe

I understand electronics are an important business and personal tool.  However, as my job depends on electronics, and as I use electronics at home, I have a few notes to the E-universe “gods” at large (and one for the demons) :

1) Just understand that I am not going to worship you.  I’m probably going to hate you.  I’ve heard a person say, out loud, that computers are from the devil.  That statement was made more than 20 years ago, and that person hasn’t changed their opinion of electronics and computerized devices, including computers and video games.  Technology is an inanimate tool, not a living god.  Your program is only as perfect as your programmer, and your programmer is not perfect.  I won’t worship the doctor or his medicine, so in a similar way I’m not going to worship a program or its’ programmer, a technology or its’ technician.  I might switch to someone else, so if you please, be nice to me.  The old movie, “Tron,” had it right, and I’m the USER.  Think on this.  Selah.
2) Please cease and desist in requesting or insisting that I change my passwords every other week.  Or twice in one day.
3) Please cease and desist in automatically logging me off and insisting that I log back in.  Let ME let you know when I’m done working here.  Trust me, I’ll let you know.  If I’m at work, I should be able to do my work, without logging back in every 10 minutes.  Logging in is time consuming if repeated again, and again, and again.
4) Please let me pick my own password.  I’ll choose something complicated enough for me to remember  it and try to avoid the hackers.  I’ll take my chances.  If I’m at work, those firewalls should suffice, and if they don’t maybe you need a new team for your IT Techies.    It won’t be 1-7-3-4-6-7-3-2-1-4-7-6-Charlie-3-2-7-8-9-7-7-7-6-4-3-Tango-7-3-2-Victor-7-3-1-1-7-8-8-8-7-3-2-4-7-6-7-8-9-7-6-4-3-7-6, (thank you Star Trek’s “Data”), but it will be complicated enough.
5) Keep it simple.  If there’s a process flow I need to follow, please have that in detail in writing so I don’t have to guess or call someone who has to call someone to figure it out.  I like to read manuals if they’re written simple enough.  Make the processes as simple as possible.  Don’t treat me like an idiot, but don’t just presume I know.  And make it easy to find, or expect I’ll like you less.
6) Please refrain from implanting cookies or other unnecessary files designed to track my activity, it’s none of your business.  If I want you to know I’m interested in you and your website, I’ll let you know by filling out a survey, or by buying something.  I do those surveys frequently, whether I’m happy or sad about the service.  I’ll let you know.  Don’t be a creepy stalker.
7) Please refrain from invading my privacy by sending me emails I didn’t request.  If I’m interested in your products or services which require payment, I will find them, and I will order them.
8) Don’t design shitty systems that are going to be obsolete, or that you decide to stop supporting, while I’m still using them.  I’m not made of money, you fucking pirates.  If the system still functions with existing computer technology it should be against the law to require additional purchases, or switch entire operating systems, to continue using the system or the device I already paid for once.  You fucking pirates.
9) DO design good systems that you improve and upgrade over time and as computer processors improve.  I’ll appreciate it.  And please go faster, I don’t have all day to sit and wait while hourglasses and rings spin on my screens.  Note: cookies and other files slow me down and piss me off.  Don’t.  Just don’t.
10) And to all you hackers out there, may the real God, or the real devil, or both, infest your computers with your own virus in a format that cannot be removed, and your genitals with nerve-searing spider toxins, flesh eating viruses, worms, and lest I forget, Dermestes maculatus. (Those are flesh-eating beetles, but if you’re a truly geeky hacker, you already should know that.)  You’re a fucking ass hole loose on the world, and inasmuch as you’re a pox on the e-community, I hope you fall ungracefully, but with beautiful poetic justice, into your own bear trap.  If you’ve spent enough time to learn to be a hacker, you’re likely a virgin anyway, and I think it best if you stay that way and remove yourself from the gene pool.

Crocodile Daydreams

I’m a crocodile.  That’s a hell of a spirit animal to represent, but there it is.  If you’re nice to me I’m gentle enough a bird could clean my teeth and gums.  I care about family, watching the clutch of eggs until they hatch, and then carrying them around in my mouth until they are old enough to fend for themselves.  And don’t think about stealing or hurting one or you’ll find out what a normally gentle, but angry, parent is capable of.

I like the sun, and relaxation.  I’m equally fine on land or water.  I’ve got a thick skin, but I’d prefer to keep wearing it for myself, as I am not fond of boots or shoes.  I only like cobblers if they have fruit on the bottom.  I wonder why a shoemaker specializing in repair is called cobbler, and there, now you know even my daydreams are full of random interruptions.  I wonder what the attention span of a real crocodile is.

I like meat.  I prefer it cooked since I don’t have a crocodile’s immune system in real life.  However, if you’re a fried chicken or a steak, or …some other form of delicacy, if you know what I mean, don’t tease me; don’t get too close to my teeth, or leave me hungry too long.  It’ll make me angry, and I’m up for a death roll any time.  Or a dinner roll.  But I’ll take the steak first, thanks.

You won’t see me until it’s too late.  I’m already there.  When I was younger all I wanted to do was help people, but I’m older and I saw all of the lies and the selfishness and I reached the point where I don’t give a shit any more.  Now, I just want to take what I want.  After all, it’s how everyone else treated me when I was younger.  It’s only gotten worse as I have gotten a little older.  Nobody cares, except Boy Scouts, and people who are pretending while hoping not to get caught.

If I didn’t have a conscience, if you had it and I wanted it, and if I were strong enough to take it, then I’d just say, “Fuck you.  It’s mine now.”  It would be so easy.  It’s a pity, this conscience.  I watched an old crocodile who took apples and grapes and stuff from the grocery store.  I watched a young little shit who stole candy and grew up to burglarize houses and jack cars to support their drug habits.  I watch the news and see the idiots in the trench coats stealing food.  And I watch the people who know how to work the system, scoring steak and crab legs and alcohol and other luxuries on their food stamp budget.  And cigarettes, too- those are very expensive.  I never got into the habit.

If I didn’t have a conscience, I don’t think I’d get caught doing what I want.  Plenty of people get away with this taking-game every day, and their hearts don’t trouble them in any way.  I exercise plenty of restraint, because if you do that kind of crap and get caught, there are consequences.  That’s why I pay for my groceries.  I don’t want to end up on America’s Most Wanted, or America’s Dumbest Criminals, or some other idiotic reality show like that.  But there I am, lurking under the surface of the water with just my eyes showing, watching all the bullshit people hand each other, and tried to hand me, and I’m ready to strike.  I’ll smile at you.  And then you’ve had it.

I’ve learned that a person’s word is not his bond any more.  Spoken promises aren’t worth spit.  Go ahead and lie to me though, so I can wish you were dead.  If you’ve already lied to me, maybe there’s an angel somewhere who can poison your crab legs, you crooks.  I can hope.  Wonder if I’d see that item in the evening news.  If I didn’t have a conscience, and figured out how to get away with it, I’d be first in line to get my revenge.  I’m too old to do it, but I work my ass off to earn my keep.  I buy lottery tickets for two reasons.  One, the fantasy.  Two, I have just as much chance of winning as the next sucker.

I watched the last jerk who won the big prize.  He was already a millionaire, and obviously didn’t need the money.  He bragged about how he’d do good for this and that church, and then complained a briefcase of his money was stolen out of his truck.  Outside the strip club.  Who’s a liar?

I daydream about the big win.  I have a plan.  But it’s becoming more selfish the older I get and the less I see people helping each other.  People all have the same hearts: they’re all corrupt and evil and selfish.  Except Boy Scouts.  I wanted to help.  I wanted to give.  If  I won the lottery, all my old “friends” would come out of the woodwork or from under their rocks and claim to have cared about me my whole life.  And my family would have a plan for how to spend that.  And a few hopeless beggars would come out wanting to help, too.  The current jackpot is $450M.  Well, once I stock the liquor cabinet and the freezer and refrigerator in my new house and get my new car, and take a vacation, we’ll see.  But until I’m settled in, fuck you.  And if I remember you, unless you were nice, fuck you too.  And if you want to steal from me, I may just poison you myself.  And hire someone to get rid of the bodies.  Now there’s a pleasant crocodile daydream.

But if I win the lottery, if you’re a boy scout, don’t get greedy but I’ll buy a lot of your popcorn.  A year’s supply.  And popcorn to give to friends and family.  You need the money for your camping trips and adventures and your service projects.  Because boy scouts, by and large, are good kids. Girl scouts and their cookies too, those thin mints are just plain good.  And there’s another pleasant crocodile daydream.  I’m smiling just thinking about it.  With all those cookies and that popcorn, not to mention rib eye and porterhouse steaks, I’m going to need a good dentist for my new, gold, crocodile teeth.

Nombre De La Pluma, because Nom De Plume was taken

Hi, everyone.  I’m Deon, and this is my blog.

I’ve heard that a good writer has the strength of character to write what he writes and not worry about the audience’s reception.  That was one teacher.  The idea was, the name of the game there is anonymity.  To write it like no one cares what you say.  If you’re a “success,” maybe they care.  If you’re not, well, fuck ’em and write it anyway.

Another teacher said that to write successfully required a knowledge of one’s audience and the talent to write something that appealed to them.  That seems like a great idea if you want to win friends, influence people and most importantly, make money.  But when you write to become a commercial success, you are swayed by the audience.  You lose the element of spontaneity, freedom, and I think, a little of your honesty.

Journalists who write for popularity might puff themselves or their pieces to become more popular.  First I read about the Washington Post writer who just made it up.  Then I read about a respected news anchor who wasn’t making it up, but whose personal-life details didn’t add up.  Do they think no one is fact checking and comparing?  I had a novelist friend who did some similar things in his bio.  Every so often we hear about someone who got a job claiming a certain reference or educational credential, who got fired when they found out it was a fabrication.  I don’t want you checking my references so I’m not offering any here.  But if I link to it, someone else wrote it, so check them out, instead of me.

If only I could write whatever I wanted, be insanely popular and rich, and still find a way to make it profitable without lying or otherwise becoming a sell-out.  I don’t want to brag about my letters or puff myself unnecessarily.  If you like me that’s awesome.  You can post a comment and tell 100 friends about this blog.  If you hate me, don’t follow me and just play like a sport fisherman:  Catch, weigh, and release.  No scaling or filleting required.

Well, here it is:  I’m not a journalist, but I might write about the news.  I’m not a novelist, but the idea sounds like it could be profitable depending on the audience.  I’m some kind of writer, trying to figure out what kind.  I write whatever I want, mostly fiction, some non-fiction, some opinion, some nonsense, and good luck looking me up.  I’ll hide behind the nombre de la pluma, because nom de plume was already taken, and write whatever I want.  Like it or not, I guess I care, but I’m still going to write it like I don’t.  I think I’ll write fantasy, too.  Why not?  I can fluff and puff and brag and say whatever I want, and like a magical dragon, what I write will be insanely successful and profitable, and I’ll be an overnight millionaire philanthropist.  Except they’ll have to invent a new word for it:  Deonthropist, because my name’s not Phil and he never gave me anything.

What kind of writer do you want to be?

~Deon Mumple