I'm a Kucking Flutz!

 I spilt Dr. Pepper on the bed tonight. I was trying to help by taking it and some food to the fridge for my wife. As usual, I fucked everything up. Something is wrong with me. I can feel it. I drop things more and more. I seem to forget things more. I'm experiencing brain fog. I don't know what is happening. I just feel like I'm letting people down all the time. I feel like my body and brain are starting to decline. This can't be happening. I feel uneasy and unsure about myself. I don't know what to do. 

The World Is Fucked, By Bartholomew T. Gruntington

News Flash: The world is fucked! What's that, you say, fucked? Yes, fucked!  Oh no! What shall we do?  Go out to the streets and yell? Sure, why not. Wear masks so we don't die? Absolutely! Above all, vote Orange Man out of office.

I'm not as clever or funny as I used to be, sorry.  Just don't screw shit up this November, okay?  Hey, I don't like Biden as a presidential candidate either, but sometimes you just have to take that damn bitter pill in order to get better. Hillary wasn't a great choice either, but I still voted for her. Why? Because Trump is a fucking dumpster fire of a human being and a black hole of humanity to boot. Didn't everybody get that memo back in 2015? I sure as hell did. I don't know what gave anybody north of a 70 I.Q. the impression that Trump was anything other than a neon conman with a T.V. show and a trail of destruction that spanned the globe. Oh, I forgot. He owned the libtards. Well, fuck you! If we don't get Trump out of office this election, then we are truly and most certainly fucked in the literal sense.

Grunt mad!

Blog Is Dead. Long Live Blog!

I will never quit this blog. Never! I may not come on here very often anymore, but with the other things that people have fled to (Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, Fartfinder), I still feel the need to keep myself rooted in this thing called blog.  I think it is where all the cool kids are right now, anyway.

About Fartfinder.com, well, that was more of an idea for a website that I had. It's more of a service than a social media platform. It can be used to find farts or to place blame--find out who dealt it. Why would you want to find a fart? Well, I'm thinking that it's more of a fetish thing, but those loud farts that don't end up smelling bad, the smell found its way into another dimension, by way of our Lord's eternal grace.  If you wanted to find out how bad it really smelled, then this service can find out and recreate it for you and your friends. Judging by how strong the fart smelled, you can determine God's love towards you, that God spared you from such stench in the first place.

My work here today is done.

Old Timey and a Little Bit Stinky

My beloved laptop has been pushed into a corner by all the major browsers.  So, I run Vista. What's the big deal? I still remember how to fuckin' DOS man. So, I have been all a-scared to go online  and do stuff because my operating system is no longer supported by Firefox and Chrome, the two browsers that have made my life so fabulous and complete, until now.  I feel so old and obsolete.

I'm writing this post at the risk of sounding old timey.  I'm crossing into dangerous "Hey kids, get off my lawn" territory.  Fortunately, I found that I didn't have to get all pissed off.  I haven't descended into the fear of being left behind in a strange new world (like a Trump supporter's persecution fantasy). No, I found out that there are other browsers that accept me and my Windows Vista.  Hooray!

I have found myself on my phone too much, anyway. I need to get back to the tactile "typey-typey" thing. I need to get on here more and let loose the little Grunt man again. Strange things happen when you become an even more grown-ass adult and I shouldn't let the opportunity slip away from me to blog about it. Yeah!

That's the other thing bugging me. It's "yeah" not "yea". Unless you're reading Shakespeare or the Bible, you really shouldn't be coming across yea too much.  OH, YEAH! Yea, verily.

Okay, I need to get going.  I have decided to just wash my hair and trust that the rest of me is not stinky.  The things that happen when you are running your own little rest home, well, let's just say, drain you of life and the motivation to stay on top of every routine that used to come so easy. That may sound like I'm depressed. I'm not depressed; tired, yes. But, my life is actually pretty good, when I think about it. I've just channeled my energies into areas that are much more rewarding.  So, while there is the mire, I also have developed a great life outside of that hard slog.  It doesn't come easy, but it's damn sure worth the effort.

Holding fast to slow people (An old post that didn't get published but should have)

(Grunty's notes: I've been looking back at my posts and noticed that I didn't publish this post. I'm not sure why. It does seem to be a bit negative and self defecating--I literally shit myself. Anyhoo, whether or not it makes me look pathetic, it represents me at that time. My inner person is doing pretty good right now and I've grown up a lot since. That's probably why I'm not funny anymore. Tee-hee!)

I often feel like the Shepard of a special flock. I don't know how this has happened. It probably has something to do with insecurity, my need to feel depended on and superior. All of my smart friends are out being smart, with good jobs and beautiful families. I don't get to see much of them anymore. Somehow, the gaping hole that is my life needs to be filled. Stupid people usually fall into holes. Therefore, my life is full of "special" people.

I am going to start paying homage to those special people in my life. They may not be the brightest bulbs, but they are always happy to see me and to put up with my paranoid rants. They don't judge me or point out my failings to reach my potential. I was and am too weird for most to want me to work with them, if they actually are with it enough to realize what effect that would have on them professionally. This is why most of my networking contacts have usually only given me leads on jobs like auto detailing and door to door salesman. What the fuck is so wrong with me? I think this all stems from an incident at scout camp where I built a bomb out of human feces. Don't ask. It didn't work. Well, it worked in that the whole surrounding camp ground stunk like shit for the rest of the evening. I have long accepted that I suffer from an unmarketable personality and mind.

Stupid, Dumb-Ass, Well-Meaning, Nice People Sharing "Quotes"

Okay. I have had people share a quote from Gandhi, that goes something like, "Be the change you want to see in the world." First off, Gandhi never said this, just like Jesus never said, "I never said it would be easy. I only said it would be worth it." I actually looked for that shit in the bible when I was younger, "Wow, they really broke away from the King James's English there for a sec."  Gandhi did say this, however, "We but mirror the world. All the tendencies present in the outer world are to be found in the world of our body. If we could change ourselves, the tendencies in the world would also change. As a man changes his own nature, so does the attitude of the world change towards him. This is the divine mystery supreme. A wonderful thing it is and the source of our happiness. We need not wait to see what others do." It's a bit more soul stirring, wouldn't you say? It is a bit harder to plaster that on a t-shirt and sell the shit out of it, though.

"Get your facts first, and then you can distort them as much as you please." ~Mark "Choo-Choo"Twain

Gah! I feel that is what people do with our great philosophers, prophets, and leaders: make the marketable for mass consumption and for profit.  Everything's got to be a damned bullet point or tweetable. It also annoys me to no end that people have no desire to do any due diligence with regards to verifying the credibility or source of these things.  Now when I see this fake quote pinned to a bulletin board at work I just want to rip it to shreds or burn it in front of the stupid smiley person who goes around without a fucking care in the world, perpetuating feel-good falsehoods, thinking that they're making the world a better place.  The thing is, as long as no one points this shit out, they are making the world a better place...for other stupid smiley people.  So, I go on with my inner screamy "I really know what the hell is going on here" voice and say, "Meh, fuck it anyway" and let the babies have their bottle.

Mountain Clowns

I have stated in the past that I like the idea of Bigfoot.  What I mean by that is that I feel that the possibility of Bigfoot keeps me feeling hopeful, kind of like believing in God.  Thinking about Bigfoot, I recently asked myself, "Can the same be said about clowns?" Why compare the two? I mean, clowns do exist and they do not give me hope...except Ronald McDonald. He's a pretty good clown in my book, so not all clowns must be bad, right? I feel I could get behind the idea of a new type of clown, or yet to be discovered clown.

I went about thinking of different types of clowns: party, circus, sad ones, killer, alien, and the ones that hang out at 7-Elevens. I'm sure I left some out. However, the clown must've had its origins along side primitive man somewhere along the way.  If so, then there was a wild clown who roamed the earth at some point in time.  I have wondered occasionally that some of those wild clowns might exist still to this day, much in the same way Neanderthal DNA found it's way into modern humans via interbreeding, or perhaps, a clown version of Bigfoot.

Rendering of a possible clown/Bigfoot hybrid.

Is there a lost tribe of Mountain Clown, perhaps?  There's been several situations where I believed that I was indeed confronted with evidence of mountain clowns: graffiti on rocks and trees, trash, used "balloons", and torn up hillsides. Those turned out to just be idiots who treat the outdoors as their personal trashcan. Moving on, the real mountain clown would most likely be timid and hole up in caves, with the occasional pine cone juggling or prat fall into bear shit being captured in an out of focus photo.

The odds are that mountain clowns do not exist, but if they did, I would imagine that they would be covered in technicolor fur, with huge floppy feet, red noses, and a comical way of moving through the forest. They would originate from the Clown Mountains, where flowers squirt the purest spring water, and all the animals are made from balloons. I can just hear their mating call of "honk-honk" filling the air among the cottoncandywood trees and seeing tourists feed them jelly beans, despite the park's strict "do not feed the clowns" policy.

P.S. No, I haven't been micro dosing LSD.