Tag: personal observations

We Don’t NEED a Sign.

Yesterday I along with My Mother drove My Brother and His Wife into the nearest City so They could utilize The Airport there to fly home. We went into the City early so We could have Lunch at some little Bistro that My Brother’s Wife had heard of (I forget if She had or hadn’t been there before or if She is just a real fucking Fan of Vietnamese Food), and wanted to eat at.

My Brother’s Wife is a bit more out on the Trendy curve of things, and NO She is NOT a Hipster thank fuck for that. She is in actuality quite awesome so just wanted to clarify that. So I was curious as a cracked out cat, BUT at the same time wary as shit that this was virtually uncharted waters for Me. I have had Vietnamese food only once or twice in My life and sadly with My aging memory can’t remember much about the food.

Anyways We drove into the working class neighborhood where the Place was located and found a place to park. We then walked about 4-5 blocks to the Bistro or whatever the fuck trendy title They identify Themselves as/with.

What is quite cool is that the Place (I hate trendy shit so I refuse to say Bistro, Gastropub, or Fusion as they are pretentious and inane) is housed in a some what renovated Corner Gas Station.  I say some what because while the Owners had full gutted the shit out of the inside and transformed it into a Hipster Clubhouse with a professional kitchen, the outside remained untouched.

The exterior while being rather plain and completely ordinary it was in need of some attention. The paint was severely cracked and chipping badly, the wore out sun bleached Logos and Advertising for the former Gas Station/ Garage were barely visible.

Another reason to mention the condition and aesthetic is due to the fact the Place is one of those Hipster “We’re so fucking cool We don’t need a Sign or any sort of exterior recognition whatsoever, and don’t Advertise because We’re old school word of mouth trendy Hot Spots so Fuck You.”

Thus if You didn’t know it was a place to eat You’d drive right the fuck past it as You would just immediately dismissed it (if You acknowledged it at all) as just another Abandoned Gas Station/Garage so in fact fuck Them.

We decided to sit outside under the awning that used to protect the Pumps and customer’s from Rain, but now Tables. Inside not only was unpleasing They were also fucking blaring some shitty Folk EMD Hybrid shit at Night Club Level for some ungodly reason.

The menu was small with only 6 items on it which I liked as I’m not too familiar with Vietnamese food, and thus wouldn’t be overwhelmed by a larger menu. In the end I tapped out and let My Brother pick for Me. I didn’t want to waste time lingering and loitering staring blankly at the menu as if all of a sudden it would be come clearer to me.

On the reverse side of the menu were the beverages. The first thing I noticed was the entire drink menu were Alcoholic. I have NO problem with Alcohol and am a fan of Beer, but not at 12:30 pm on a fucking Tuesday for fuck’s sake. What I found funny as fuck was at the very fucking bottom of the drink menu it said in tiny lettering “If You Would Like A NON-Alcholic Beverage Please Ask Your Waiter/Waitress”

I thought this was funny because People in general would expect it to be the other way around where one would have to ask for alcohol as the alternative. I also found it wildly fucking entertaining that at the bottom of the Food side of the menu it read again in tiny lettering:

Buy Kitchen a Beer- If you enjoyed your food & want a chance to do something nice for the kitchen staff.

I found myself wondering after reading the above “So what they whole staff splits a singular beer? That doesn’t seem very nice. And why only Kitchen Staff what about the fucking servers? What They don’t deserve a fucking free beer?! Bullshit.

I decided to play it say and stick with fucking water. I didn’t wan to waste ( fucking dollars on some crazy Asian soda/juice only to take a sip to find out I hated it. Fucking Hipster Prices.

The Food was really good and very fucking spicy which again I really thought was cool. The only thing I didn’t dig about are Server was One when You read of what you wanted He had to be a pretentious twat and repeated with its proper pronunciation in a condescending manner.

Two was when He asked “Would You like more water Bro?” I take issue with this because come on Guy “Bro “talk about un-fucking-professional. Also I HATE BEING CALLED BRO. I’m not Your Bro in any way shape or fucking form. I don’t want to be refereed to a Bro as I think Bros are complete pieces of human shit. Fuck You Bro, Fuck Bro, Fuck You.

In the end it was a good meal at a odd Hipster hangout with an excellent outside eating/seating area. The staff weren’t overtly dicks keeping the Douchebaggery to a minimum. They didn’t pipe the shitty Folk EMD music outside through speakers or what have You. The only down side was the aforementioned Hipster Prices which resulted in a fucking $92.49 bill for a basic Lunch deal.

Thanks for Reading,

 By Les Sober

First Loves

I have not been writing in a while. I realized some of the things I say I am going to write about and don’t write about, well basically the reason I do not write about them is because well they are not really all that important. I say I’m going to blog about the status of my weight loss and this bullshit and that bullshit but I don’t really care. If I really gave two shits about that I’d be looking like Arnold Schwarzenegger back in the day.

Wow I can’t believe his name is in my spell check. I highly doubt my last name will ever make it into the spellchecks of the universe one day. I really hope not actually I’d rather change my name to muffinsnatch. That would be kinda neat to have pop up as a possible spelling in spellcheck.

It’s funny though how in life we get so caught up with the stupid shit and lose sight of the big picture. I really hate when people use the phrase “The Big Picture” because truthfully the big picture for them is nowhere even close to what it is for you. It is so profoundly different for everyone involved. A lot of people don’t have the depth to see this. It is rather unfortunate.

Thankfully I do. Thankfully I see that while my dreams may meet up with the dreams of others at a crossroads or two, my dreams are not theirs, they are not mine.

I have been blessed with the ability to succeed in many different undertakings. Unfortunately many of the different things I have undertaken do not have a glass ceiling. Even if they did have a glass ceiling, I have long since shattered it. It is time to move on.

That being said. While I love writing and love the blogging and such, it is not my first love. No person is my first love. That distinction goes to music.

No matter how many times I may be disappointed or alarmed or happy or jubilant or whatever, I will always come back. I will always be on the search for more. Unfortunately I do not see a concussion at any point in my future so my talent will be none or hope to god everyone is in a blackout and doesn’t remember anything i attempted.

To me it is just better then a first kiss, better then the first shot of liquor, the first spike in my arm, the feeling of love I get when I’m talking to that special someone. There is nothing that can replace the excitement, the pure glee in all my veins on the night of a show. Heck even when someone local has a gig I still get the same kind of rush and excitement and bliss.

I may write more in the future, god knows I have so so much I have not written about. But for now I am embracing my first love and making as many Tracks as humanly possible or until I run out of money to buy blank CD’s and the cases to put them in.

Maybe along the way I’ll mix some sounds together but regarding that one I have one thing to say. Don’t hold your breath.

 By SpaceDog

Don’t Tell Me My Dick is Crooked When It’s Perfectly Straight

I did my least favorite thing in the world yesterday. I went to a new doctor. In the past when I have gone to new doctors, I have always looked at them as these great big ancient buildings like the Colisseum or the Great Sphinx, marvelous and magnificent but crumbling and old.

Well getting older sucks because all my youthful indiscretions about doctors being these relics of the past are becoming fantasy. I had a doctor who actually listened to me and asked questions. One that actually typed fast and knew how to work a computer. She even used a smartphone. I know I should expect this out of people in the world we are in today especially from someone younger than me but I sort of live in my own universe.

I never see anyone out in public paying with their phone. When I use my phone to pay with pretty much anything people look at me in awe or say they do not accept that as payment. Honey, the cash register don’t lie. Look I payed with my phone. I am some kind of Houdini. Not really. I just have loved tech from the day I first even knew such a thing existed.

 

Anyway back to this doctor. The reason I do not see a whole hell of a lot of doctors is because for every one doctor I see am always told to go see about 10 other specialists. Well it is more like about 4 I mean it is only about that many body parts or areas of mine that do not work and mainly that is because I am a fat lazy fuck.

It was just highly amusing being told all this, because being told all this was basically the reason I stopped seeing my last set of doctors. You seemingly have no idea what is wrong with me and then tell me to see about 5 other doctors. Listen… I know I am fucked in the head, have no semblance of time, space and reality… or sentence structures…

or paragraphs.

I know my teeth suck, my eye twitches somewhat, I walk like a Hunchback, I say inappropriate things, have a slightly abnormal heart, and smoke like the Marlboro man. I came for you about my stomach. I mean if you wanted to destroy my prostate I would understand but don’t tell me to stop pissing in the sink when I came to you about the leak in my roof…

Anyway people in general need to stop pretending they can offer you the world or give two shits about every aspect of your being when all they care about is a diagnostic code, a pharmacy refill, and their direct deposit.

Who knows if I go back….the anxiety kills. The pain is still real. I thought about getting high on god knows what for the first time in about 10 years because well you know doctors want to know every drug you ever tried as a teenager. Well goddamn it how about all of them. I was a curious little fucker.

The only reason I am not curious about random drugs now is they haven’t made any good new ones in the past 20 years. Maybe longer. That’s for another hour. Another post. Also well they do have these things called teenagers now too. They are good for new music, friending on social media and looking at the 18/19 famous pretty ones. Never make contact with one in person however as they may and will ask for cigarettes, alcohol purchases, or if they are trying to fuck one of your friends they tend to come down with a massive case of can’t shut the fuckupitis.

Done. For now. No idea…. brain malfunction….

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“I’m Missing Two Legs.”

The other night on the way home from the grocery store (where My Wife and I had gone specifically to get shit for dinner) got lazy and went the Fast Food Route. We opted for Fried Chicken.

We pulled up to the Drive Thru Menu, and the Drive Thru Girl did the whole whole Hey how the hell are you, How’s the kids, Welcome to this Fast Food joint, and What do you want today bullshit.

We told her that we would like an 8 piece Dinner. The Girl mumbled something I really have no fucking clue what the hell she actually said. Now We could hear all the back round noise of the kitchen and shit so we couldn’t figure out who exactly the Girl was talking to us or a fellow employee. It was quite unclear.

We waited a minute or two and then repeated the original order. The reply we got from the Drive Thru Girl was this one statement:

“I’m missing two legs.”

My Wife and I had no idea what to make of this so my wife asked her to repeat what she had said and again it was “I’m missing two legs.”

 

This miscommunication goes on for just shy of 5 minutes where My Wife keeps attempting to clarify what the fuck this statement turned mantra was all about. The Entire time all the Girl said was I’m missing two legs.”

I was sitting there just as puzzled as my Wife and I started to wonder myself what the whole two legs statement means since the problem was we were missing any and all context.

I began thinking is this Girl handicapped and really wants me to know it for some bizarre reason? Did she just kill her Manager, dismember the Corpse, and now realized as she is bagging up the body that the legs are missing? Did she just suddenly look down and her fucking legs were missing? Was she an Amputee who had misplaced her prosthetic legs at work while sitting and working the Drive Thu?

In the end the explanation is more than anti-climactic.

What the Girl was trying in her own absurd way was this:

By “I” was We as in The Restaurant itself.

By “Missing” She meant Out Of

And By Legs she meant Drumsticks.

so “I’m missing two legs.” translated into “We (the Restaurant) are Out of Drumsticks, Can We make a substitution for you?”

She was also referencing that an 8 piece bucket of said Fried Chicken contains 2 Breasts, 2 Thighs, 2 Wings, and 2 Legs. Which when I thought about it made perfect sense.

What? Oh I know what your thinking and Your thinking well Duh no shit Sherlock.

Well as basic the answer is I had never spent any time (not a single second of my many, many years on this planet) contemplating the exact contents of a 8 piece bucket of Fried fucking Chicken, and the ratio of the various  Chicken’s Parts.

Thanks for Reading,

Les Sober

Dreams Reunited?

I actually wrote the blog I’m about to type below offline. I had a very traumatic event (that I caused in full) which led to my banishment from a certain place. I will keep this matter private. The lesson here is do not brag about your lack of misfortune. It may and will come back to bite you in the ass.

DREAMS REUNITED?

Life is very strange on occassion. Well most of the time. People rise that were long thought to be dead. Misfortune brings some of us together; while

on other occassions good omens actually can tear people apart.

And in between all the quicksand, betwixt the most recent firestorm I created something strange occured. I began to become aware of my dreams.

Not the things I want to do in my life, not the things like that. But the dreams we all have occuring somewhere deep in our unconsciousness, deep in our sleep.

The dreams at first became apparent to me at a time I would least expect them to do so. I am under firm belief that these dreams came to me because of my recent alcohol blackout. While I know it is highly unlikely that this triggered some mechanism in my head, it makes more sense then not.

You see, I had not remembered a dream or having a dream in a very long time. Six months to be exact. Six months since the time my doctor thought that a good experiment on my brain would be to give it Ritalin. They have not occured since that moment.

Yet I would trade back all the dreams I have had the past three days if I could do so. These dreams have been nothing special, nothing I could turn into great (or even mediocre) stories, movies, cures for cancer, you name it. But this price I paid for the recent dreaming is never worth the dream I suffocated.

I’m not really sure what this dream was. I’m not even sure if it was ever mine or ever tangible existed. It did on some level but I do not choose to analyze which at this moment. Yet I kept myself so incredibly dilluted with seriousness and plans of grandeur, which would take months or years to acheive not the days or hours which I so desired, that left me unable to sleep on this dream.

I will never know for sure. Yet apparently now I have an eternity to sleep on this dream. I’m not even sure that I can really do anything about it. I know I cannot, not directly. It may have never even been my dream. I may never know.

It is now simply one of the dreams I wish upon everyone.Peace, love, and happiness. I cannot or should not expect to be able to deliver this gift to another, not at this given moment. Not when they do not exist within. I am an expert at moments of all of these attributes, yet a master at none.

Do any of us ever truly master these things? I always feel there is more work to do. No matter how good, no matter how bad things might be. People have repeatedly used me for all of these attributes. I need to learn to keep more of these to myself.

I am 31 years old right now. It is my turn to try a lot harder and not just grace the masquerade ball wearing the mask of trying hard.

There is a point of hope that began in my life on May 22nd. Perhaps I am speaking too soon. I don’t really care. I need to have this hope. I can whine and complain all I want but I would rather be an inspiration. I do not know how to be this or much of anything but I NEED to try. I cannot afford to put that torch down ever again.

I want to carry the world on my back, but I must carry my own reignited dreams, first and foremost.

By SpaceDog 

Fake Doctors: Blah, Blah, Bullshit

Ever since I was a young child, I have been affected by other people’s emotions and thoughts. No I cannot read the minds of people that I do not know and most of the time cannot read the minds of people that I do know. Sometimes I wish I could; most of the time I’m glad I cannot do this the majority of the time.

Yet when I have felt the feelings of others, the majority of the time this has frightened me. This has caused me to turn to alcohol (mostly) and turn to drugs the remander of the times. Usually there is so much negativity when I enter a room or false hope or fake smiles, that I have a proclivity towards not really associating with the general public all that often. 

I have taken recent steps to try and change this. I cannot and will not shut these feelings off anymore with psychotropic drugs, legal or street, ever again. It is rather hard for me to accept these kind of things as being real or being a blessing instead of a curse but I know they do exist. People have tried to label me in the past as having depression or bipolar disorder or (name a disorder ) they’ve probably said, “Yes! You do have THIS!”.

 

Newsflash to all those wonderful people that wear the biggest masquerade ball mask of all! This would be psychatrists to those of who may be wearing a mask of your own.

First of all, I do not accept your practice as a genuine medical science. It is a cash cow. Simply put: We are all human. We all get depressed and anxious and have mood swings and get too happy for things that we shouldn’t be getting so happy about. 

Another reason I do not accept your practice as legitimate is due to the fact that while, yes, I have in fact met the definition of clinical depression in the past but all that antidepressants have done is either make me more depressed or caused side effects so great that the idea of facing the world in any way, shape or form was most undesired.

What you may ask are these side effects? Everything from numbing of the face to sharp pains in my side (presumably my kidney) to having auditory hallucinations (which included by were not limited to hearing all music and sound a semitone lower then what actually was occuring) to homicidal nightmares to headaches that lasted for weeks on end to not having the full functionality of my brain available to me. 

Of course, all doctors and professionals in their field will tell you to bear through the side effects and they will go away. However I have to much of my brain to go without my brain. I’m quick with my mouth and well when it takes 30 seconds to coming up with something clever or meaningful to say versus 2.3 seconds (or less), I am completely dull and worthless to myself and others. 

How then did this depression go away? I made a choice to at least try and be happy. Do things that make me happy. See people that make me happy. Listen to music that makes me happy. It’s pretty amazing how a bunch of little things add up sometimes to complete the puzzle. 

No, I’m not perfect. I still make tons of really stupid decisions but the level of stupidity is going downward. I am the most relaxed I have been in my entire life. 

I am not really afraid of anything except writing. I love to write and since my life is relatively simple now, there is no excuse for me to not drop everything when I get a thought or idea. I guess fear stops me. I’m scarred right now. lol. well not that much more tired. 🙂

I just wish more people could see things the way I do. I don’t want to get into all kinds of specifics right now though, I’m too tired to think much more and too private to reveal all my intracacies in a public blog. Or most people wouldn’t believe what I am saying, at least the ones that think they know me. 

And with that I say naught more. 

By SpaceDog 

I Will Never Forget How To Stand On My Head By Spacedog

I tenderly caressed the back of his head. My arm was still bleeding though so I had to stop.

Another vein gone.

Another dream lost.

I told him I loved him and he replied with the same in turn. It was cold and vacant, a blizzard of deceipt, a blizzard of discontent. We were chained together by our frivolity, linked together but nothing else.

He was the prize I had won at the carnival of malaise, a trinket I picked up at a child’s lemonade stand. Oh but how the lemonade grew bitter in taste and pungent in stench. Still I showed off my trinket like rappers show off their bling and socialites show off their fine china. I knew I was buying damaged goods from the beginning yet this did not matter. This trinket, he was a challenge
and I for one have great difficulty in backing down from those, no matter the price my soul might pay.

After time though, my senses slowly returned to me. The darkness seeped out of my pores and I had no more need for my fallen angel. The ideals of brute intimidation, frigid love, and penetrating midgets no longer matched that of my own. So the tie was severed. The bond was broken. I moved on.

I had lost my way but I still knew how to stand on my head and flip my life around and be done.

I will never forget how to stand on my head. I have countless times.

Why?

Sometimes there is never an answer for why we do what we do. People ask us and we try to discern what is best in our heads at the time. I was asked by many a friend, why him, why that man. It fulfulled the need of accomplishment in me at the time.

Instant gratification. I wanted it to be the deepest depths of the ocean, when in my head I knew it was the kiddie pool.

These are all just guesses to me now. I do not know the person I was back then. He is different then the one I am today. I am just speculating. The aspects of my persona change daily. I am still the same deep at my core. But the person who wakes up out of bed with me each and every morning, he is different. The surface does not always match the depths.

So why do we swim in the kiddie pool when we all want the ocean? Why?

Less Sober Begrudgingly On Less Sober

Ask and You shall receive they say well I hold more with the saying be careful for what you wish for because you might just get it. In this case in particular Your Gonna Get It Ladies and Gentlemen. I fully understand especially in the age of social media dominated by millennials that someone attracts the exact attention I don’t want. See the less you say about yourself now a days the more ravenous the curiosity of others grows and abounds. So for those who wanted to know so goddamn bad that they annoyed me to the edge of sanity this ones for you so with that said I don’t want to hear anymore personal questions about me from here out.

Here some facts in Bullet Note form:

Age: Old enough to be considered Ancient.

Looks: Like a Basic Human with 10 and 2 of everything required.

Right or Left Handed: Ambidextrous

Education: Street Smarts with a Collage Education.

Occupation/Vocation: Writer/Expert Cryptozoologist on Chupacabras.

Salary: I’m chronically broke, but I can pay my bills.

Social Status: Social Deviant

Marital Status: Married to my Wife

Ethnicity: Unknown due to the fact that if I were a dog breed I’d be a Ethnic Mutt.

Accent: Slight Southern Accent that slips in occasionally.

Tricks: Getting people to buy any absurdity based on Reasonable Doubt

Polotics: I agree with George Washington when he said “A Two Party System will DESTROY AMERICA.

Hobbies: Sharpening my knife collection or cleaning my guns while thinking about people I hate.

Addictions: Ex Junkie, Heavy Drinker, Fast Food, Death, Doom and Destruction, People Watching.

Pot Smoker: Yes daily

Social Media Used: Twitter and FaceBook only for Blog Promotion nothing else.

Obsessions: Sociology, Death Metal, Horror Movies, My Dogs & Snakes, Revenge, Under Dogs, Anything Anti Authority, The Occult, and more.

Beliefs: I do not believe in organized religion of any kind, I prefer Spirituality. I also fully endorse Karma.

Superstitions: Murphy’s Law, It’ll Get You Ever Time Without Fail.

Attitude (General): Stubborn, Aggressive, Impulsive, Opinionated, Demanding, High expectations of others and most of all self, Vengeful at times, Anger bordering Rage (Terrible Temper), Sceptic, Natural Born Pessimist, little to no Patience, open minded, Sarcastic, Trust Worthy, Loyal to a Fault, Witty, Entertaining, and Extreme Story Teller to name just a few.

Prejudices: I hate the Rich, The Police, The Government and any Institution of Authority such as the FCC. I hate millennials with a undying passion. I hate technology but use it as it becomes a necessity because the public integrates it into social life. I hate big pharmaceutical companies, Lobbyists, Politicians, The Legal System, Taxes, The Health Care System, Large Corporations, Bullies of any kind,  SUVs, Rules and most Laws. Think thats enough to list for now.

Ambitions: To make a comfortable living as a writer and to get this Weblog financially self sustaining. Becoming a Marijuana Millionaire in the Medical/Recreational Marijuana industry. (It be nice to get paid for what I know as opposed to be sent to prison for it.)

Medical History: I had Hep-C and was treated making a 100% recovery. I have never broken a bone, BUT I’ve had more stitches then I can count, and I had my Appendix removed TWICE (but thats another story all together)

Sex: I was born with a penis so obviously Male.

Fears: There will never be justice.

Pets: English Bulldog, French Bulldog, Miniature Dachshund (who is completely deaf and only has 1/2 her vision in her left eye) Ball Python, and a Colombian Rainbow Boa Constrictor. Also 3 evil ass cats.

Tattoos/Piercings: No Piercings, 6 Tattoos with plans for many more

Handwriting: Shitty, my handwriting makes Doctor’s handwriting look legible.

Friends: Small Handful of people I have met throughout my life. I generally dislike people and avoid them a great deal.

Personality Type: EXTREMELY Introverted

Favorite Movie: The Toxic Avenger

Favorite Singer: Chris Barns (formally of Cannibal Corpse now with 6 Feet Under)

Favorite Band: Currently for the last 3 years or so Ghost (also known as Ghost BC in America due to copyright laws)

Hometown: Cliche USA

Currently Living: In Parts Unknown to Man and Beast

Country of Origin: Antartica

Astrological Sign: Maximus

Personal Heros: Nicola Machiavelli, Nicola Tesla, Vlad the Impaler, Genghis Khan, Hunter S. Thompson, Lloyd Kaufman, George Remero, Les Claypool, Tobe Hooper, Eli Roth, Doug Benson, Sam Kinison, Samuel Jackson, G.G. Allin, Kevin Smith, Kevin Spacey, Ron Jeremy, Popcorn Sutton, Johny Cash, Tommy Chong, Scortese, Dr. Ray, Jerry Springer, Doyle, Merle Allin, Dave Brockie (aka Oderus Urungus), Mr. Lordi, Werner Herzog, Micheal Jordan, Cliff Burton, Clive Barker, Wes Craven, and thats plenty for this piece.

Favorite Color: Black (the absence of color)

Favorite Song: Bite It You Scum by G.G. Allin & The Murder Junkies

Siblings: Yes 1 younger brother Moore Sober

Instruments: Used to play Bass guitar, but gave it up along with my teenage dreams of being a rock star.

Height: The National Average for my demographic

Weight: Could stand to lose 3-5 pounds.

Sports: I do not play any sports and am anything but a sports fan.

High School: Ignorant High

Favorite book: Tie between “1984” and “Animal Farm”

Favorite Place: Inside my own head