Last night it happened, again. I willingly sat through a film that evoked such animosity, such blinding and violent hatred in myself, I couldn’t sleep afterward. I lay awake, practically steaming, trying to work out how I could find and slaughter every member of the cast and crew.
The gist of my sentiments here today is this: on the 27th of this month, I will be fifty years old. I don’t understand it any better than you do. I feel no older than 38. I don’t look at my face, hands, or body and see those of a fifty-year-old man. I can walk a mile in ninety-degree weather without issues. I don’t talk about it much because my age is a recurring reminder that my ability to empathize with other humans will only continue to dissipate.
I have now passed the half-way mark on my least productive year in a decade. Even when I was practically homeless and actually starving a ways back, I was producing more work than I have this year. I know what the problem is.
Mark my words. As soon as it becomes feasible, the father will be erased from the family unit forever. The word and the concept will be abolished and nullified. You can bet your life savings on it happening in the next five years.
These are strange, uncertain times in which we find ourselves. I imagine you must be worried sick by now; about getting the virus, about whether there really is a virus, and about whether you’ll ever be permitted to leave your house again without dressing like part of a hazmat crew. Well buddy, I don’t mean to trivialize anyone’s neuroses, but let me tell ya, I need to fuck.
Something you probably don’t know about me, being that we are conversing in the odorless digital realm; I have olfactory senses on par with or equal to a woman’s. I can smell everything. All the time.
This is one of the earliest strips and frankly I was too hard on ol’ Cannibal Corpse. I wrote the first strips while living in rural South Carolina. I’m still friends with the dude in the first panel but at the time I didn’t know where any of the old gang were. I was crabby and malnourished in general because I didn’t figure out a proper diet until around four years ago.
There’s no “politically correct” way to say it; I’ve had so many lesbians as friends over the course of my life that I’m probably too comfortable around them. I kid around with them in a manner that can appear “offensive” to outsiders. Folks, maybe the Sapphists are different where you come from, but in my personal experience, real lesbians are borderline impossible to offend.
I tell you this as a friend. It won’t be easy for you, but worthwhile things in life seldom are.
Your feelings deserve to be hurt.
No guarantee exists in life that your feelings will be unhurt. No more so than your bones or flesh. In fact; let’s start off with your bones. Remember when you were a little kid, and your bones throbbed in pain all the time? What did thegrownups call that?
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