The Lowest Common Denominator
You know you want some.
A fair question, I suppose. I am Firebomb, or as the legal system would have you believe, Denny. Or Dennis, whatever. The point is that's me. I'd give you last names but why make it easier for you to kill me? And we both know you will want to kill me; it's only a matter of time, really. If anyone actually pays attention to the words coming out of my mouth, that seems to be the eventual outcome.
Not that you couldn't find it if you really wanted to but meh. Enjoy your challenge. Back to the plot, I am (currently) a mid-thirties train wreck of a human being, working to pull myself out of the horrible state of affairs my life has descended into. Some of it is my fault of course and some of it is not, but that really applies to most folks I imagine. 'The human condition', etc.
I recently lost several jobs simultaneously, if you can imagine that. I mean, usually someone with my sunny dispostion and shimmering demeanor is rather unlikely to part company with their companies, but somehow I've managed to lose both at once. One to a layoff, because ADT couldn't afford to pay us and sponsor fucking golf tournaments, and the other because of the boss' psychotic ex wife.
I am not perfect, nor do I claim to be. Arrogant and perhaps wielding a superiority complex regarding my fellow man? Sure. But a lot of that attitude is earned, mostly from the frighteningly consistent results I have had interacting with my 'fellow' human beings. Anti-social? You bet. A loud-mouthed agitator? Getting there. Mass murdering whack job? Well... all in due time.
But I keep a list. Remember that.
For the record, I used to work for a security company primarily, which was the main source of my hate; not being there now, I tend to not get as angry as much. So I don't tend to ramble on here quite as much as I used to - at least not as angrily - but I do still now and then. If you see huge ass gaps in my posts on the Archive there, that means I'm probably pretty happy. Or nothing's going on?
I also do freelance internet work, another thing I oddly had in common with the folks at ADT; it seems many of them (that aren't in the military or whatever) did online work 'on the side', which makes me fear for my originality; that and they tend to be better at it than I am. Or... scratch that. They make more money than I do. Which means somewhere, I'm doing it wrong.
But other than work (still working on new yobs), I guess i'm a hermity nerd. I enjoy role playing games (mostly in real life, but some online), comics, bad cartoons, and really angry music. Mostly screamy heavy metal stuff but lately a lot of the surlier sounding electronic stuff. You'll see examples of that as I go down the road, which is a good indicator of my mood when ranting about something or other. Yay!
I am in Ohio. Yay! A different part of America - and no longer the hub of retardery that is Nebraska. At least physically, and currently. The plan, of course, is to Not Be Here eventually. Primarily this involves getting a large, isolated tract of land that I can occupy all by myself, with only occasional air drops of frozen foods and that pesky post man interrupting my sexy solitude.
Get off my lawn! Ideally, this would involve the purchase of an island. Not necessarily a huge one, for they are expensive, but I have located many islands that you can buy on the cheap that aren't too horribly small. They are mainly off the coast of Belize and they are awesome for a) they speak english in Belize, and b) they are surrounded by ocean. There are no people on the ocean!
This is the ideal, but of course, buying an island is a tricksy proposition. So plan b involves buying a large, cheap plot of land somewhere isolated, like in Montana or Missouri, and simply setting up shop in naught but overalls in the center of that, say, eighty acre plot. The prices on that kind of isolation are much better and thus, probably more practical.
Until that time, I'm living on my virtual island. This island is in my head, you see, and a nice, happy place for me to go when I'm resisting the urge to throttle some inbred turd over the phone, or through the keyboard, or whatever. So when I say I'm on my Island, this is what I'm talking about. It means I'm Not Here, at least in the cerebral sense. At least until I have it for reals.
Then to hell with you all, I'm unplugged for good.
Chronologically speaking, I just hit 36, though I feel more like 901. The body, it fails me, the mind is going slowly, and sure enough the world is Passing Me By. I already say things like 'kids these days' and 'your music sucks balls'. As for the absolute when that I occupy, I think it's either thirty years ago or thirty years from now - but getting more specific is hard to do in small words.
I guess the problem is I fall into an 'antiquated' belief system, where I like to think people are responsible for their own fortunes, good or bad, and think the whole American culture of 'help I'm a victim and I sue you' is utter bullshit. At the same time, I try to treat my fellow hoo-mans with respect and dignity, even if they're the total shitbags I have to tolerate for money.
Similarly, I always had this feeling that things just never advanced as fast as they should have. I suppose I'm in the 'where's my fucking jetpack' crowd, since you know, Popular Science was always saying by 1985 I'd have a flying car, we'd be all over space and we'd have crushed communism under the boot heel of enlightened democracy and blah blah. Well, they got one bit right. Sorta.
So I suppose I'm temporally displaced, at least in spirit. My mind's telling me it's 1979 or, alternately, 2039. And here I sit in a world with no personal flying cars and overflowing with helpless victims. I'll tell you this, though: once I finagle viable time travel I'm going to the future and coming back to victimize your sorry asses. With my long-range digital butt-sex guns.
Well you know how it goes. Two teenagers get all boozed up one night, and the next thing you know...
At least, that's how it goes in the strictly anatomical sense. As for why I am here? That's a longer story. Primarily I'm here, now, 'cause I find bitching at the two or three people I actually have regular contact with isn't really sufficient. Not that they aren't good friends, mind you, so much as I don't like to dump my problems on people I like if I can help it. Call me crazy.
I am here to get things off my chest. This is my Venting Place, a plot of land I pass through en route to my Happy Place. The Boat Ride to my Virtual Island, as it were, where everything smells of roses and there are no people left to fill me with rage. Or to yell at me for not holding their hand through the most simplest of things that they normally do, every day, year in and year out.
So I'm here to rant, rave, fume, and gripe. But that's not all. Every once in a while when I just feel like writing, or posting weird photos, or rambling for no specific reason, I'll post here as well. So it won't be all bile that I have for you. But if you do like bile, I've got plenty to share here and there. Although, from what I hear, bile is quite bitter. Or is that just toxic?
Doing shitty so far, but working on that.
Thanks for asking!
Rejoice, for I give you more efficient COLOR! Black, Red, Orange, Yellow, Green, Cyan, Blue, or Purple!