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Episode 60.



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Tuesday 15th May, 6pm - BibloCafe 262 Woodlands Road. Glasgow, Scotland - Must buy a drink.

Wednesday 16th May, 5pm - Starbucks 142- 144 Grainger St. Newcastle, England - Free

Thursday 17th May, 6pm - Manchester Friends Meeting House Room 1, 6 Mount Street. Manchester - Free

Friday 18th May, 6pm - Lee Rosy’s Tea 17 Broad Street. Nottingham - Free

Saturday 19th May, 3:30pm - London Poetry Cafe 22 Betterton Street. London - Free

So many artists are concerned with being remembered. So concerned with not being forgotten that they never truly understand their worth. But the truth is, we will all be forgotten. Some of the most powerful people who have ever walked this planet are simply footnotes in stories and dates in books. George Bradley was once considered one the most powerful and influential men in America and most people now couldn’t even tell you who he was let alone recall the powerful speeches he gave or lives he saved.

Point is, I will be forgotten. This is a simple fact.

So why does anything we do matter? In the end, good or bad, no one will remember us. Initially a depressing thought, sure, but as I was running today I thought about how liberating it truly is. What does it matter that I play air drums and sing Marvin Gaye songs at the top of my lungs while running down one of the busiest streets in my city? What does it matter if I irresponsibly use my rent money to fly to the UK to do a tour that people may or may not show up for? Or if I end my sentences with a preposition? Or if someone’s parents approve of my lifestyle? Or if my hatred for leather interior offends someone? It doesn’t… or more accurately, it shouldn’t.

See, so many of us take the reactions of others into account before making simple daily decisions. Sure, we should always be conscious of the feelings of those we love but we should also respect ourselves enough to know that those that love us should love us despite what school we choose to attend, what we put on our skin, who we sleep with, where we live, whether we smoke weed, or how we choose to spend our money. I love my mom more than anything or anyone on this planet, but if I have an overwhelming desire to move to London you’re damn right I would.

I guess what I’m getting at is that fuck it, who gives a fuck? There will always be haters telling you how you can’t do this or that but fuck it and fuck them. Whether they’re jealous or insecure isn’t for us to figure out. We’ve got too much shit to do than to play sidewalk psychologist to a bunch of people we don’t know and whose opinions we don’t even respect. What the fuck do I care if the person walking down the street can see the outline of my dong in my running shorts? Or that I am wearing mismatched socks? Or that I’m “too old” to be living the life I live? I don’t… or rather, I shouldn’t.

And neither should you.

So if we’re not going to be remembered why not do, try, taste, see, and fuck whatever we want? And let’s do everything we can to stay here for as long as we can to see if we can outlast this stupid fucking depression that keeps us cooped up in the stupid house obsessing over even stupider distractions. There should be nothing too ridiculous. There should be nothing too creepy. And there should be nothing too scary.

And while we will definitely be forgotten - our ideas, compassion, and respect will not.

Unless you’re too scared to try.

1. Eating in direct sunlight.

You have created this romantic scenario in your head. There’s the new guy you’re in love with and all you want to do is have a picnic like in the movies, so you pack a lunch and a blanket and you set out for the park. It’s nice outside and the sun is shining bright in the afternoon sky. You lay down a blanket and get out the cheese and crackers and sandwiches like they do in the movies. You take your sunglasses off because you want to look into their eyes. But then you watch his discolored teeth bite down savagely on the sandwich and you see every single drop of spit in his mouth mashing the flesh and bread over and over again. It’s like a violent washing machine of baby puke and cat diarrhea and the bits and spit and crumbs and grease are magnified to vomit-inducing levels. Ew. Gross. Close your mouth, go home and eat in the fucking dark.

2. People who brag about their gauge size.

“Dude, I’m a double zero now!” Oh, no way, bro. No one is impressed with this past the age of 14. Grow up.

3. Fashionable rainboots.

You know, I’ve been on this planet three and a half decades and up until a few years ago the only people who wore rainboots were children under 5 and electricians. Oh, you’re neither? Exactly, you fucking trend-hopping poseur. “Uh, oh. It’s cloudy. Better put on my Burberry rubber boots that could feed that homeless guy on the corner suffering from some mental illness for weeks but FUCK HIM, right?!? Let him starve while I buy things I don’t need. Do you live in a bog? Maybe in a flood plain? No. You look stupid. You don’t look cute and I know your feet smell like black basement mildew when you take them off.

4. People who eat in line.

If I was given the ability to force choke anyone, you would be right up there with friends who guilt-trip you into moving their 4th story apartment in the middle of the summer and girlfriends who ask about your feelings at three in the morning. You can’t postpone eating until you sit down at a fucking table you goddamn savage? If you don’t see the arrogance and entitlement of this gesture then you should probably just drop to your knees and choke yourself with my hand like in Full Metal Jacket. We are a very loosely civilized society and this is the litmus test to determine what side of the fence you’re on.

5. Hardwood floors/leather seats.

You and I, we were all fooled. Somewhere along the line someone told us that these things were “fancy” and a justification to bilk more money out of you for things like cars and houses. It’s all bullshit. Leather seats? Oh, please let me stick to the seats in the summer and freeze against them in the winter. Fuck you car companies for making everyone with common old cloth seats feel like we somehow are inferior. Hardwood floors? Oh, yes please. I would like every tiny little rock, grain, and long hair tracked in from god knows where to stick to my feet. Oh, and don’t even think about bringing fucking legos into my apartment. It’s cold and slippery and I can see every goddamn spider that chooses to arrogantly stroll through my living room like it’s no big whoop. Carpet? Pssh, hey man. What I don’t see isn’t there, right? All those crazy centipedes with so many legs they look hairy - can’t see you in my rug, bro. Keep on with your business, I got no beef. And what kind of asshole wouldn’t want to walk around on soft luxury of carpet at all times anyway?

Guitar player of Arma found a small box of 20 shirts, mostly smalls.
Will have for the UK.

Nostalgia forever.

Episode 59.



Subscribe on iTunes for free.

My podcasts sponsored by adamandeve.com. If you click this link or enter 'DEEPEND' when checking out you get 50% off most items, 3 free dvd porns AND free shipping. It comes in plan white wrapping so your mom wont know you spent your lunch money on a new vibrator.

Episode 58.



Subscribe on iTunes for free.

My podcasts sponsored by adamandeve.com. If you click this link or enter 'DEEPEND' when checking out you get 50% off most items, 3 free dvd porns AND free shipping. It comes in plan white wrapping so your mom wont know you spent your lunch money on a new vibrator.

An excerpt from my book Maybe He’ll Grow Out Of It still available at Deadxstop.com