Thursday, December 06, 2018

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.

Wednesday, October 10, 2018

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.

Tuesday, July 17, 2018

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.

Sunday, December 17, 2017

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.

Sunday, July 30, 2017

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.

Friday, April 21, 2017

The Captain of Köpenick

I don't feel like the person that people tell me I am. Praise is hard for me to accept. It's not that I want people to stop telling me the good about me and when I do good work. I'm sure it sticks somewhere in the dark recesses of my mind. When I'm told something bad or negative about myself or my performance, I tend to give it undue credence or am already expecting to hear such things. Why? Probably because I had already thought those bad things about myself first. I suffer from a form of perfectionism that rarely lends to productivity. 

I spent my college years believing that I was only lucky and not as good as my grades and professors told me I was. I had a good chunk of time serving my LDS mission where I felt good about myself, because everything I was doing had a purpose in bringing truth and the goodness of the Lord to people in need.It was such a beautiful time in my life. Once cracks were made in that, I became worse and have lamented over it ever since. It is a terrible feeling to believe that you are not worthy of success, love, and the "you" that others see. I have survived by hardening my heart and succumbing to cynicism. That isn't good. Also, it's probably not totally true; it's something that I tell myself to avoid letting it out that I am a blubbering feely deep down inside. 

After coming home from my mission in England, I had gone through a string of jobs only to end up working at my old high school job at McDonald's. I was a lowly grill worker trying to figure out how my life had hit the shitter so hard after all the promises I believed in from my service to the Lord. I thought my co-worker was on break and that my exclamation would just evaporate into the grill vents. "Fuck me, I feel sooo jaded!" Sunny, my co-worker, was right behind me and she started laughing like crazy. She kept doing impersonations of me saying this throughout the day. In a weird way it helped. It helped me to know how silly I was in that moment. It helped me to know how serious I was taking it all and that I needed to chill the fuck out and laugh it off. I like laughing things off now....It is the best therapy by far. 

I only share all of this, not to punish or shame myself, but to help others, because I know there are others that experience this. I am growing from grace to grace with regards to this feeling of being an imposter. I have been posing as "me" and that is a fallacy, because I am that man and I must embrace the good in me.

Tuesday, February 07, 2017

Fartistic

You know, if it weren't for the smell, I believe that farts would be a socially acceptable form of self expression. Heck, farts might have also become incorporated in language, punctuating sentences for dramatic effect or acting as commas in speech.  Farts could even be used in symphonies and the like. Think of Tchaikovsky's 1812 Overture (cannons anyone?) or an all fart rendition of Beethoven's 5th. Magnificent!  Wet farts could be used in painting. I'm pretty sure that Jackson Pollock just shoved random colors of paint up his ass and shat them out in random order: ta-da! (F)art.

Farting could be a way of expressing your moods. I've had many sad sounding farts in my days, as well as excited sounding farts. More often than not, my farts sound out my displeasure, relief, and satisfaction. But less often, my farts have expressed awe, wonderment, and confusion. I have had my farts ask "why" on occasion. I didn't always have the answers to my farts, but I really did appreciate their inquisitiveness.

As I mentioned in the beginning, the smell that most farts produce may be what is giving them a bad rap. But what is a fart without the smell?  I do believe that one without the other is robs the fart of it's true purpose: to amuse and offend at the same time.  The fart is probably the first comedian, in this case.  To quote some random hobo that I once met, "If yer a feller that don't think farts is funny, well mister, I don' wanna share my beans witchu."  I couldn't have said it better, Skippy.

In conclusion, farts may not be socially acceptable now, but I do hope in time that they will be embraced by all.  We all pass gas from our ass, some with more sass than grass, but alas, I've run out of things that rhyme with ass. Bass. Anyway, try using farts as way to express yourself, become a fartist. Be the vanguard in this movement, but keep the movement from turning into a full on shit. Thank you.