Bear 21- Section 5

BEAR 21... The Story of a Man and Her Umbrella

Section 1: The First 6 Days of Terror
Section 2: In One Day Your Whole Life Can Change
Section 3: Dangerous Love
Section 4: The Tragic Demise of Some Loser
Section 5: This Life Already Happened*
Section 6: Prophecy 14
Section 7: The Present That Already Happened Holds Enormous Implications for a Future That Might Not Exist
Section 8: The Yellow Pearl is Upon Us Now, We Must Fight Back

SECTION V: This Life Already Happened*

(6/21 2013) Day 14: The Model for Success

I woke up in the morning and was deathly frightened. It was by far the most horrific thing I had ever witnessed in my entire life and I immediately went into a state of severe panic. No, I was not visited by the cadaver of the man in the stolen wheelchair, nor was I grieving the deaths of Batman and the others. One might make the assumption that I was in state of depression because I had once again woke up all alone on an empty floor and faced with the realization that I would never be with a woman ever again.

Instead, the fear came after I looked in the mirror and discovered that I was a man. Jessica, my newly acquired female voice of reason, screamed in the exact same manner as any given female victim from the Friday the 13th movies the moment she saw me. My God, look at my hair! Just look at it! And this God awful face. Where the fuck are my titties!?!?!? I actually took a few moments to ponder where they fuck they might have run off to before my true identity realized that I never had any titties in the first place—that’s why I was in this mess and that’s why we created her.

"Bitch! I ain’t got no titties! That’s what you’re here for."

Jessica critiqued everything about me. The hair on my chest disturbed her so profoundly that she cried real tears. The only aspect of my appearance that satisfied her was the overall shape of my physique from the torso down—particularly the fact that my legs were so skinny. I had been suffering a severe complex because I recently noticed that no portion of my legs touch together and there is a massive gap in-between my thighs. 

We both agreed that my feet were extremely ugly. She suggested suicide over this matter; I informed her that was potentially how I developed such an extreme foot fetish and how I was certain that I wasn't gay. Unfortunately, she was not satisfied with that either because she insinuated that we were never going to score with any hot guys with our feet in this condition. I told her that shit wasn't happening anyway. Her sole purpose was for me to obtain a better job… and once that happened, she was more than likely being deleted.

She determined that our ass was perky enough to wear pants with phrases such as “hot pink” displayed across the rear. Unfortunately, the only men’s garment that featured anything displayed across the butt area was a pair of shorts from Bowls Department Store that featured a dead fish embroidered over the seat of the shorts. Jessica insisted that we had to go shopping right now and purchase some yoga pants with the words “VIRGIN TIGHT” written across the rear—claimed it was definitely sexier than dead fish. But my other voice decided it would not be too ingenious of an idea to ever wear that logo out in public; I was left utterly confused.

The recipe for success is to dress for the position in which you wish to obtain. That was why I was not hired on the spot at The Grove Park Inn. If I were smart, I would have worn the exact same outfit as the woman who interviewed me. Had I arrived also wearing that skimpy skirt with my blouse most of the way unbuttoned, I would not be serving a death sentence at a forced labor camp dealing with obese customers who wear Chaps shorts with dead fish embroidered in the ass. Those who appear seductively sexy are the people with the congenial bartender jobs; people who wear shorts proudly depicting dead fish are the ones who are ultimately eaten by capricious bears walking home from incompatible positions.

This whole dilemma served as obvious confirmation that society's conditioning process is severely flawed. In fact, there is more than sufficient evidence to incite a full scale revolution. There is no logical reason whatsoever why men are conditioned to be fat ugly miserable bastards who will ultimately pay their hard earned money for dress attire featuring the dead fish design. Even though women had been conditioned to appear beautiful at all times, too many of them were incredibly stupid, obnoxious, and had the ultimate bimbo white girl voice. Furthermore, women had been conditioned to accept male douchiness. Many women actually believe that their fat, pathetic, domineering boyfriends with dead fish decorated asses are actually sexy, even after they dedicate an extreme portion of their time perfecting their luscious appearance.

Ideally, a person would strive to be that perfect combination of attractive appearance coupled with gifted intellect. There is no room in society for anybody who is excessively stupid—no matter how beautiful the appearance; nor is there any place in this world for people who are fat grotesque unpleasant eye sores—no matter how intelligent that person might be.

There was a group of people standing in front of UNCA near the bus stop. This group consisted of two men and two women. One of the members of the group had removed its shoes and sat on the ground, gradually leaning backwards into an offering position. Before long, this person had lain all the way back on the ground, fully sprawled out on the concrete, legs spread, and then lifted up the shirt to expose the belly. While lying on the back exposing its body, the human species claimed to not understand anything pertaining to the assignment, laughed loudly about nothing, and answered "I don't know" when asked about any of the concepts.

Try and guess if the person who behaved in this manner was one of the men or one of the women?

The answer is obvious and a bit disturbing. If women do not wish to be viewed as objects, perhaps they should cease acting like objects. This girl had only one positive attribute and that was her sexuality. In fact, it was the only thing that she had to offer. She could not comprehend anything remotely intelligent and assumed that if she looked sexy enough, she would not be required to think or resolve any major issues.

Children’s clothes at Bowls Department Store proudly embody the conditioning process. Girl’s clothes are, by all means, girl’s clothes and ditto for the boy’s attire. Clothes for infant girls display pink and glittery images of cupcakes, hearts, animals with pretty hair, and worded logos that proclaim physical attractiveness, such as “mommy’s little princess,” “pretty just like mommy,” and “adorable little slut” to coincide with skinny low rise jeans and skimpy booty shorts for toddler girls. An infant girl has not yet developed any ability to consider these aspects for herself, and all of these implications are being instilled upon her by the seriously flawed conditioning process.

On the other hand, boy’s clothes, also designed for little brats who have not yet decided their own interests in life, feature shirts with trucks, bears, surfer dudes, and machine guns. The worded logos for boys suggest that “on dad’s team” (with a baseball mitt), “super tough and mighty,” and “future douche” to coincide with the poorly fitted shorts with dead fish embroidered in them for toddler boys.

One day, when nobody was looking, I swapped one stack of girl’s shirts and put it in with the boy’s clothes; and placed a stack of boy’s shirt in the girl’s section. Next to the shirt with some bullshit about baseball, I placed a stack of pink shirts with a sparkling cupcake at the end of an embroidered rainbow… and a monster truck right next to mommy’s little princess. I dared somebody to imply this was inappropriate and was prepared to present a multitude of questions as to why, exactly, these designs had to be gender specific for infants.

"You don't want to see a little girl wanting to drive monster trucks do you?"

People can be anything they want. This is when I decided that I should resort to prostitution. It would be better for me to sell my body for $8/hour as opposed to selling my soul for a mere $7.55/hour. Not only would I be earning significantly more income, but what I would be selling to greasy degenerate bastards would be less meaningful.

Unfortunately prostitution is another occupation in which I could not obtain because of my gender. Women can get laid whenever they want and never have to pay for it. In fact, I have been a prostitute for most of my life, but have not yet had one single customer.

My gender was working against me at my current job as well. Viewing the pyramid of the chain of command at Bowls Department Store made me wonder how many other companies followed this model. There was the head store manager (the 01), two department heads (the 02 & 03), and four area supervisors. The diagram for the chain of command displays:

The chain of command at Bowls Department Store

Men are gradually being phased out of most facets of this part of the world. However, I do not feel that this is my fault though. In my opinion, I am not the typical man. Most people will agree with this, but this characteristic is faced with mixed reviews. Furthermore, I seek the companionship of a woman who does not fit the description of "typical girls" and that too has been met with mixed reviews. It's surprising just how many people feel that I need to adopt certain characteristics in order to find a soul mate, and just what features I should be seeking in my own personal soul mate.

My greatest attribute as a human being is that I never conformed to the conditioning process that had been created by an unknown entity pushing some sort of an agenda. According to numerous other people though, this is also my worst personality trait. These people claim that I am too extreme of a non-conformist and anti-everything. Many of these people assume that I am a homosexual because I am not fat and do not wear size XXL stained T-shirts that do not match my khaki shorts with dead fish on them. The fact that I am considering having yoga pants specially made to read the words “VIRGIN TIGHT” across the ass rubs people the wrong way.

Ordinary people have been conditioned to be attracted to a specific type… others who have also been thoroughly conditioned. Typically beautiful women have been taught to be attracted to douchy men; men love stupid complacent white girls. I attract more straight men than I do women. Also, I am not attracted to the typical image that too many people seem enamored with—most of the women I am attracted to are unfortunately lesbians.

This might be a direct result of my very first memory in life which I can vividly recall occurred at age 2... in the bathroom eating my mom’s entire prescription of birth control pills. I am uncertain what effect this ultimately had, for I am not even certain those damn things even worked… I represent that 1% in which birth control was ineffective. It is possible that the ingestion of all those pills might have caused a born heterosexual to develop some feminine attributes. Somewhere along the lines, I had a woman trapped in a man’s body, and that woman was a lesbian; it beats having a woman trapped in a dungeon, although the dungeon scenario is more widely accepted in society.

Asheville is supposedly different and I had moved to Asheville so that my allegedly odd characteristics would not be considered bothersome. While I am downtown congregating with friends, this is never an issue. In fact, there is a possibility that I am not weird enough to be considered that extremely cool in downtown Asheville… except to random white girls who notice my boots.

Bowls Department Store, unfortunately, was not Asheville. The customers are not Asheville and reside in the 287. The overall model of the store in no way shape or form represents Asheville, and most people who reside near downtown refuse to shop at a corporate establishment. Unfortunately, this has been the only place that I had been able to land a job so far—what does this say about me? In fact, what does all of this say about me? Especially the notion that I attract more straight men than women? This could mean that all along I have held a false perception of myself and commonly regarded as a brainless complacent white girl, albeit an extremely ugly one.

That still contradicts all notions as to why I am not hired at certain places based on my gender.

Some of these fucking 287 customers had filed complaints that they are not (as the note stated) "being acknowledged in the store." What the fuck sort of asshole wants to be acknowledged in a store? Whenever I go into a store, I wish to be in and out of there without anybody even noticing that I was ever in there. Complaining about not being acknowledged is a confession to being ugly, stupid, and starved for attention; any person who filed this sort of complaint should be dismissed as an unreliable witness and all other concerns should be completely disregarded. Somebody should have written her a response letter informing her that she has zero credibility whatsoever and encouraged her to carefully view the enclosed weight loss video. You never hear about sexy brainless women never being acknowledged in a store; nor do you hear these complaints from highly intelligent women because they are smart enough to figure out how to shop for their own products without assistance. 

Jessica had an immense amount of work to do and drastic changes needed to be implemented immediately. However, due to the inconsistencies of how we were actually being perceived by society, it was difficult to determine where to even begin. Just as an experiment, I purchased a pair of skimpy booty shorts and I purchased those shorts with the dead fish on them. I had no intentions on keeping either of them, they were going to be taken back the following day.

As I was walking home deciding which ones would be more appropriate, I once again had an encounter with the bear. Something that was not meant to be had occurred yet again.

He stalked across Swannanoa River road on all fours—a huge massive creature this bear was. I dropped my bags to the ground, and drew my $5 stick umbrella prepared for combat. We circled around each other, developing a strategy… I watched the bear’s every move… keeping my distance to avoid being slain. The bear, on the other hand, did not require much strategy and did whatever the fuck he wanted. He walked straight up to my bags and sniffed around in them. The bear found the bag with the shorts with the dead fish embroidery, and darted into the woods carrying that bag out of its’ mouth. This was going to require some major explaining to see if Bowls Department Store really did have a no hassle return policy.

This has happened before. All of this. It had all happened before.

It did not happen this time though. All of the bags had disappeared; I never bought them, nor had I ever bought anything. The bear was gone; it did not arrive today. There are no shorts in any bags because I never made the purchase—I left work empty handed. As for the bear, I had no clue where it was on this night.

The date was 1 Day B.C. An extravaganza had been scheduled to bring in the New Year, the date in which all calendars would ultimately start all over again. A ball would be dropped in Time's Square as we rolled in the New Year 0, the only moment in the history that is not annotated with either a B.C. or an AD.

Somewhere in the future, a time machine was constructed. Just like with the cell phone, the time machine fell into the wrong hands and became an item of excruciating annoyance. It served as evidence that television was ultimately the demise of intelligence in the world, and a means to generate large profits for greedy corporations. A television network invented the time machine with sole intentions to generate ratings by creating reality TV shows corresponding with actual events that played a significant role in history.

The birth of Jesus was a televised broadcast. An announcer narrated the entire charade while Joseph and Mary were mobbed by cameras. It was a most horrendous show as well, for it frequently showed repeated images of intrusion of privacy and scenes in which only a select few conformists would ever be enamored.

“And we see here that Jesus is sleeping.”
“Yes, that’s it folks, live on television. Jesus has been born.”

They interviewed the wise men and all of those present for the birth. However, none of them could speak the language and the residents of Nazareth were ultimately confused as to what in the hell was happening.

Numerous commentaries were made that day as they reported live to the network administrators on hand in the news booth 2300+ years into the future. People watched in their homes, and several others refused to watch for they did not care about this television program. The companies that chose to advertise during this event carefully selected what they considered their most relevant commercial to date.

The birth of Jesus was brought to you by Chick-Fil-A, home of the waffle fries.

Once the final conclusion was made, they loaded the equipment back into the time machine and returned to the future. Those who were present for the spectacle spent the rest of their lives wondering what exactly happened and just who on Earth these people were with all of those bizarre devices. It affected their entire lives and that baby whose birth was televised was ultimately crucified because he was uncertain as to what his birth was supposed to mean.

It had all happened before, all of it. The lifetime that we are in has already happened. From the origination of life up to the date the time machine was created is a repeat of a past existence. None of us exist in real time because all of this has already happened. It is all but a repeat of a period of time that happened a long long time ago.


It is all Déjà vu. We are aware of occurrences that might happen in the future because it already did happen. There are premonitions of the future because everything in our immediate future had already happened before, with a beginning and an end—the cycle had been complete. Sometimes we are warned about foreboding disasters; disasters that took place over 200 years ago, right now, right as we speak this very instant in the present as it was 200 years ago.

Because it already happened, there is but a slim chance that anything will be grotesquely altered; at least not as altered as the life of one man named Jesus Christ. He was chosen by the TV executives to be the savior. After the perceived miracle in which a group of Jews were visited by a time machine from the future, a king was born.

Several more events in our troubled history are the direct result of a visit from the future. But, it already happened. The spectrum of existence in accordance with the past cannot be changed as we know it. Should a change occur, we will simply be living in a different present that had already happened. None of us will ever know the difference.

Unfortunately, or most fortunately, however you wish to formulate any opinion, people are stupid. In the future, they will continue to become even more stupid… it is the result of being controlled by television and conditioned by a flawed system. The time machine was never perfect—what the fuck would anybody expect from anything constructed by a television network. It was their own existence that was at most risk, because it had never happened. This, this has already happened.

Two people were standing in line at the store, these people had meant something to those residing 200+ years in the future. Whether or not they meant anything to us will never be known. In the middle of filming the broadcast for the day that might have meant something, there was a glitch in the equipment and the world was unsure of the cause or how to repair it.

The two people simply froze, completely motionless, while the puzzled world looked on trying to figure out what had happened. This woman from the future who was announcing the scene of reality TV faded in and out as she attempted to resuscitate the famous future celebrities frozen in line. All of those surrounding the erratic scene oscillated into a state of disarray... none of this had ever happened.

And just like that, the time machine malfunctioned. It was damaged beyond repair and the satellites lost communication with the future. The future was obliterated. All moments that had previously happened from now until the day in which the time machine was invented was completely obliterated. Everything that previously happened in the spectrum was erased, destroyed, completely wiped off… as if it never happened before.

It had happened before. But, the future was destroyed... as if it never happened before. 

That one fatal error demolished the time machine and all things that existed during this present time period up to the moment of the corporate sponsored televised event in which the disaster had struck. Those years leading up to the time machine were all vacated as if it never happened. Tomorrow was destroyed. The spectrum of history in the future is gone. And all things that happened after this moment is gone. It completely obliterated the present, up until this very moment, right now…


(6/22 2013) Day 15: Incompetent Writers

Ever since I returned to Asheville, I have been living like a 2nd rate lower class American peasant. It had grown to the extreme that I had contemplated moving back to Milwaukee—at least there I had my old bed and my clothes were hung up neatly. Another voice had told me that maybe I never should have left Milwaukee in the first place, or at least stuck with the original plan to move to Portland, Oregon. But then the other voice once again responded with “you can’t be afraid to die.”

My clothes had been an ongoing drama ever since I first arrived in February. Back then, I was couch surfing in the Land of Prostitutes and had no place to even hang my clothes. Then, I didn't have any hangers; then I didn't have any money for hangers. Finally, I secured a deal that landed an appropriate amount of hangers. Once the $3.86 transaction was completed, I felt that I could accomplish anything. It reminded me of when I first scored those microwaveable bowls and that opened up departments in the grocery store that I had never dreamed that someday I would be buying products.

It occurred to me that the Laundromat had a deluxe Kuerig coffee maker (which, by the way, I need one of these and has climbed the priority list and fully entrenched in my 150 day plan) and free Internet. Doing a load of laundry at Fiesta cost the same amount as purchasing a cup of coffee from Atlanta Bread Company. That’s when I decided that the Laundromat was going to be my new hangout spot. I would be spending the same amount of money, but also accomplishing the amazing feat of completing my laundry.

I entered Fiesta overjoyed—
Fuck yea! Mother fuckers! Fiesta mother fucking Laundromat! WHOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!! 
The woman working inside contemplated calling the police on me and therefore I had to restrain my enthusiasm. In order to conceal my excitement, I decided to take my computer into the bathroom and enjoy the celebration in privacy behind locked doors. Rather than behave like an uncivilized wretch and rudely stink up the entire place like everybody else does, I opted to record an instructional video called “The Proper South Carolina Hand Washing Technique”

(Pay close attention to the time spent at the sink)

Happiness soon subverted to dismay as I was hanging up my clothes. All of my clothes had grown old and lost their appeal. I desperately needed a new wardrobe and figuring out a way to purchase new clothes became priority #6. People with good jobs wear decent looking clothes/people with old shitty clothes work at old shitty places such as Bowls Department Store.

Even though I entered work wearing clean clothes for the first time during this age of Generizoic Petastascolis, walking into Bowls Department Store is reminiscent to the classic movie starring Bill Murray, Groundhog Day. All any employee has to do in order to know exactly what is happening at Bowls Department Store right this very instant is think back on any given moment in which they had been in the store, and this moment is exactly like that.

There has been one slight difference as of lately, and how I am 100% convinced that my world is similar to that of the Jim Carrey movie The Truman Show; and further evidence that life periodically shifts writers and most of these writers suck. Whoever created this world is a fucking imbecile and never should have been awarded any sort of writing contract to create anything useful with any value. This stupid shithead is not entertaining at all, and I have no business being on this show.

I recently attempted to sack these terrible writers by conducting a ritual while listening to Swans* in the pouring rain. The music consumed me as I visualized the cast of banal rogues laughing at their own stupidity; bungling non-sense that no other intellectual being residing in the entire Universe found enlightening.  My mind generated a defense mechanism that invoked a surprise counter attack, knocking them off the Grand Steel Pole in which the horrendous writers call their personal pedestal, and sent them into an eternal free-fall where they would never be appointed to set the tones for anything ever again. The Universe joyfully laughed at their harrowing death.

(* If I had it my way, the music for the soundtrack would coincide perfectly with the text at the exact appropriate speed in which all people read. However, that is not yet possible. In order to somewhat have the official soundtrack somewhat in time with the text, and because the Swans song in reference is 23 minutes long, that song does NOT play in the proper order and is at the very end of the playlist. Sorry for any inconvenience.)

Never, (and I emphasize NEVER!!!!!!!) NEVER in my entire life had I heard, live and in person, another person call their mother, “momma.” Mysteriously, an epidemic recently began plaguing Bowls Department Store with 77% of the customers calling their mothers “momma.” And, these mother fuckers have some absolutely obnoxious accents with the ridiculously stupid ass shit they say.

“Hey Momma, look here at this shirt momma.”

The shirt was fucking ugly.

Every time I turned around, some other asshole was calling their mom “momma.” “Hey momma, you got that coupon?”
Momma. Momma. Little Joey’s head got stuck in the buggy momma.” 
I looked over and there was a little infant toddler dangling upside down in the shopping cart. When they finally pulled him out, blood splattered all over the display of empty Chick-Fil-A cups.

That’s another southern word… “buggy.” They do not say shopping cart, they call it a buggy. I had never heard that shit either until I came to North Carolina.

I was tempted to announce over the store’s intercom: “Attention Bowls Department Store shoppers, if you mother fuckers don’t stop calling your God damn parents “momma,” then I am going to change the name of the hand washing video to the NORTH Carolina proper guidelines."

Where the fuck did all these mother fuckers come from anyway? Most of these people live an hour away from Asheville. Bowls Department Store is like the huge major city store for them. 
I’m the coolest mother fucker on Earth—momma took me to Bowls Department Store.
The Truman Show theory was the only way I could explain all of the bizarre coincidences that had been happening. There had been too many circumstances where I felt I was being surrounded by people with no other purpose than to institute a deplorable back drop for a particular scene in the show. Not only were people constantly approaching me to conduct some desultory attempt to gain my attention (such as stupid comments, random acts of sheer stupidity, and pointless diatribes about nothing) but there were an increasing amount of instances when people stood in my presence with no other function other than to annoy the shit out of me.

A family was shopping in the store while I was working in the Boy's Department. The definition of "Boy's" is clothing designed for the human species characterized by being a male and conditioned to be exactly like what society assumes this means. This family consisted of a father (grown, too big for anything in the "boy's" department) a mother and four daughters. Not only did they reproduce twice the amount of what society would have preferred, they also had no business whatsoever being in the Boy's Department. For reasons I will never fully comprehend, this family stood in the aisle next to me, not even shopping for anything, and all four of the kids mysteriously began screaming and crying about nothing... it was total chaos. This happens all the time and why I considered walking off the set.

Again, this agony was further heightened with the store's horrendous music selection and I wondered who in the fuck actually decided this to be an appropriate soundtrack for anything. Shitty ass “Stuck like Glue” by Sugarland played yet again, and I was prepared to officially declare that the worst song ever recorded. Had it not been for the rest of Bowls Department Store's limited playlist, it would have easily secured its place in history. This stupid ass song was causing severe neurological disorders and I abruptly took my break so that I could go outside and smoke an entire pack of cigarettes. Supposedly each cigarette takes 7 minutes off your life... I was counting the days in which I would be relieved from ever hearing Sugarland again.

What a stupid fucking song that is! Simply hearing it puts me in a bitter mood and I angrily hate everything about this despicable planet and the filthy species called the human race because of hearing that lame ass mother fucking BULLSHIT. FUCK YOU SUGARLAND!!! The only purpose Sugarland has on this planet is to trigger the negative aspects of human behavior. Upon hearing an extreme lack of talent blaring in a store, children will cry, emit the loudest most obnoxious scream possible, and the elders will suffer temporary brain malfunctions and simply stand pointlessly in locations in which they had no business entering.

When I went outside to smoke, I was suffering from severe anxiety and my hands were shaking immensely. I was desperately fumbling for my mp3 player and finally put on the headphones for immediate relief. Prior to putting on the headphones, I was plagued with nightmarish images of a masked gunman entering the store and firing rounds into anybody who crossed his path. Once all of the people inside the store were lying dead in deep puddles of the blood, the assassin placed the gun in his mouth and took his own life. This represents the actual effects of music corporate society deemed harmless. This is why I am having difficulties quitting smoking and why music remains essential to my well being.

There are moments when a person needs abrasive noise to sooth the soul. “The Human Factor” by Oneida is the ultimate anti-Bowls Department Store song. It is also a far more advanced composition than Stuck Like Glue because it features styles that Sugarland could not even conceive. Sugarland does not have the ability to conceive any sort of concept that requires any sort of creativity, imagination, or the ability to generate something outside of the normal spectrum of life.

The incompetent writers of the Sugarland songs do not have the mentality to comprehend original innovations unless it had already been taught to them by means of a detailed explanation provided by an unreliable narrator; or presented to them on TV in a manner that pushes the corporate agenda that supports the flawed conditioning of society; or something they witnessed firsthand in the limited commoner places they can fraternize with various other mindless simpletons. Sugarland will never be considered visionaries. Their thought processes are vastly limited to 2nd rate reflections of the only portion of the population in which they can understand.

Another major difference is the lyrics. Artistic writers create poetic words in which the average person does not hear every day. Unlike shitty mother fucking Sugarland, who features lyrics such as:

You give me that look
"I'm sorry baby let's make up"
You do that thing that makes me laugh
And just like that...

There you go making my heart beat again,
Heart beat again,
Heart beat again

Not only are these lyrics utter nonsense, the band struggled to even conjure enough words to complete a full song. After all of this routine diatribe for barely a minute or two, the singer engages in a series of inaudible grunts and tones that is reminiscent of a bad Bill Cosby comedy performance. Perhaps they thought they were being artistic, or perhaps they are trying be just like everybody else played at Bowls Department Store where the singer feels he/she has to display an act of "showmanship" by vocalizing an array of annoying vocal tones. 

Another fine example of horrific singing in which the singer forgets the words and simply imitates a garbage disposal is Taylor Swift's "Keep Your Eyes Open."

Taylor's poetry consists of: 
"eweweuhihih ewewuhuhuh Open huhuhuhuhuhuh"
Geoffrey Woolf, one of the nation’s leading experts on human behavioral traits, claimed that people listen to these songs in order “to validate their trivial meaningless lives.”

Another friend of mine, the aforementioned legendary Adam Pitts, requested that I play my least favorite song from the store at a party for 30 seconds before switching to something good. While I was playing “You Make Me Happy” by Lindsey Ray, a different friend approached me from behind with some choice words elaborating her opinion on the lovely Lindsey Ray song.
Dude, turn this fucking shit off! Seriously man! This is fucking garbage. If you don’t turn this fucking shit off right now I will fucking strangle you!
After I told her that it was merely a joke, she was still severely irate. I told her that I hear to that song every day at work and asked if she would enjoy hearing it every single day at her work.

“No!” She was still blistering furious from the mere 30 seconds of exposure. “Fuck no! I would fucking kill myself!”

I have questioned whether or not Bowls Department Store is funded by Planned Parenthood and/or the International Government. The entire purpose of Bowls Department Store is to make people wish to never have kids and make those who have already violated this infraction of over populating the world suffer. And, it has been a major success. Everything within Bowls Department Store is strategically designed to make children scream, cry, suffer, and ultimately contract a terminal illness. Furthermore, it makes the parents of these degenerate little cock suckers complete imbeciles who lose all disrespect for community values. Ultimately, the music within the store is an integral part of this brainwashing process.

Playing stupid ass amateurs such as Sugarland is equivalent to replacing the World Series with a lame 4 year old T-Ball tournament in which none of the participants can hit, throw, run, catch, or do anything other than replicate the exact same T-Ball tournament as last year… and those children who cannot even hit the ball off the tee are significantly more talented baseball players than Sugarland is musicians. In fact, 4 year old T-Ball players have more business playing for the New York Yankees than Sugarland does even being in a karaoke bar—let alone offered a recording contract. Those 4 year old T-Ball players are also significantly better musicians than Sugarland even though they have never even touched an instrument, and they are far more intelligent and write more creative lyrics.

Some stupid asshole was paid a lucrative salary to make the decision to play Stuck like Glue at every single Bowls Department Store location, several times daily, every single day. You would have to be an extremely dumb mother fucker to create a playlist for a mass audience and include Sugarland’s Stuck like Glue. Chances are, that if you like Stuck like Glue by Sugarland, then you are more than likely leading a meaningless existence. That’s when I questioned the objectionable ethics of Bowls Department Store corporate office. 

Bowls Department Store music selection is absolutely horrible and completely unacceptable. Not only are the songs genuinely terrible, they have a minimal selection and the same shitty songs are played over and over again every single day… every day, it’s the same songs. I found it completely deplorable that the soundtrack for my personal Christmas memoir alone featured over 600 songs and a multi-billion dollar corporation struggled to make it through a 5 hour shift without constant repeats… the same repeats as yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that, and the day before that, and every fucking day since they opted to play "music" in the store.

As a result of this shameless display of sheer stupidity, I am boycotting Bowls Department Store yet again, and this time I really mean it. I've decided that I am taking matters into my own hands, and shall write a letter to Corporate every single day expressing how I feel about the store’s music. Rather than complain, I am going to offer insincere compliments.

Dear Bowls Department Store Corporate Office, 
Thank you so much for changing up the playlist today. It is refreshing to hear a selection of songs that strays from the same old tired set of music heard everywhere else. Having to hear the same old songs every single day would grow tiresome to the extreme that it might cause mental insanity. As we all know, nobody with even moderate human being characteristics enjoys being subjected to the same boring routine day in and day out. 

Past experiments have revealed that constant repetition of the same songs causes sudden disturbances in human behavior. Some subjects participating in the experiment actually became violent when being exposed to annoying songs on a repeated basis. In many of these cases, the subject had been an otherwise peaceful and intelligent person. Even Sonny & Cher’s classic hit “I Got You Babe” has been depicted as a cause for mental insanity in certain movies, and we definitely do not want working at Bowls Department Store to ever be compared to Groundhog Day. 

You have done a wonderful job ensuring that this will not happen today. This playlist featured a wonderful selection of good quality songs, such as Sugarland’s “Stuck like Glue.” It was such a surprise hearing that in the store day, as I never would have guessed for that to ever come on in a million years… I had never heard it before today and this was my 100th day working at Bowls Department Store. 

Furthermore, I am certain that the customers are equally impressed with music played in the store. Past experiments have revealed that listening to music in which a panel of music experts from across the world labeled “moronic” on a constant basis caused disturbing traits in their mental cognizance. Many of the subjects, some of which had tested as “genius” in a various intelligence tests, were reported as behaving as “illiterate imbeciles” from exposure to such trite known to reduce brain activity. 

It is a good thing that you have restrained from playing music deemed “moronic” by the music experts because that might cause our customers to do extraordinarily stupid things in the store, such as leaving Chick-Fil-A cups lying on a clothing shelf where the beverage could spill and damage the product, costing Bowls Department Store thousands of dollars—possibly billions. Being as you are only paying employees $7.55 an hour anyway, it would obviously be a tremendous blow to lose even more money. Heck, just one person behaving stupidly from suffering the effects of exposure to moronic material may be enough to cause Bowls Department Store to go out of business. 

The corporate office at Bowls Department Store has done an excellent job deterring from all of these common errors that have driven previous powerhouses of the Bourgeois into a state of deteriorating revenues; businesses such as K-Mart, JC Penney, and Sears. Studies have revealed that businesses who ultimately become overly conventional and conservative tend to vanish before too long; like the equation goes, CV + CS = G10 (which means Conventional + Conservative = Gone in 10 Years.)  

We all wish Bowls Department Store the utmost of wonderful success, the ability to stay innovative, and nobody could ever imagine that the success of Bowls Department Store has plateau-ed. Symptoms of this would be if the majority of the customers were elderly senior citizens, screaming kids, and if employees were forced to beg elderly customers to sign up for a credit card. 

Thank you so much, and please, create yet another wonderful playlist tomorrow. I am certainly looking forward to it! 


The World

Soon, I could not even enlighten myself from thinking of letters to write to the company. Nor could I even think of absurd situations in order to play this music. I grew increasingly irate and bitter as this was growing increasingly impossible to endure this tragic playlist.

To compensate, I came up with my best idea for an epic film yet… a 2 hour and 41 minute film about one of these pop stars. However, it would unleash a massive assault against the genre itself; everything from the synthetic singer to the means in which he was signed to the audience who listens to it. I had thought of everything, and if there was a device that simply created what I thought, the entire movie would have been released this weekend… instead, it is going to take weeks to write and then… 

I had generated numerous excellent scenes in my mind, and even predicted the potential outcome—those who would hate the movie, those who would love it, the positive reviews, the Academy Award, and finally the impact that it would have on society on whole. This one film could change the world, and I am the one who conceived it.

It was all I could think about during the walk home home. I purposely kept Lenka's horrendous song "My Heart Skips a Beat" playing in my head... even without reacting to line "don't listen to me I'm being paranoid" with:
"Bitch! I don't want to listen to you! I am only listening to you because I am being forced to by the lowly executives of Bowls Department Store. If you don't want anybody to listen to you, then why the fuck are you still talking? Maybe if you would shut the fuck up periodically you might not suffer from an irregular heart beat."
~ Me, accidentally blurting out loud during operational business hours at Bowls Department Store
Viewing this video, one might declare Lenka to be the biggest douche in history:

However, imagine the douchy record executive dancing at his desk because he seriously thinks he discovered some major talent. Imagine how douchy the producer must be to listen to this recording, adjust all of the levels, and come up with this garbage as result. Imagine some stupid asshole listening to this on his/her own terms blaring it on a car stereo—with the car stopped at a busy intersection stoplight with the windows down. Imagine everything that could have happened in order for this to be recorded, produced, played at Bowls Department Store, and receive the amount of views for the video. All those aspects combined—that would lead to a severely fucked up society!

There was a new meaning of life, and this meant that I had to avoid being devoured by a bear for at least a year… that would require some skill, skills not possessed by Sugarland, skills possibly out of reach because the script for the film in which I was currently misplaced was not written for me.

While thinking of this brilliant concept for an epic film, I encountered zero disturbances. There was no bear, nobody bothered me, and nobody approached me with ridiculous comments. That said, this is the film that I was meant to write, this was my destination, my fate, my purpose, and where I officially belonged. All of the negative encounters were omens that I was in a potentially disastrous situation in which I had no business being there. Or, it was meant to be in order for me to articulately analyze the problem plaguing the world.

It was just a matter of courage; or whether or not I had the courage to walk away from this set and pursue what was meant to be. Unfortunately, the capitalists and the rent collector worked for the Obstacle Committee, and employing this risk could be detrimental to life with consequences being homeless, faced with starvation, and imprisonment.

Section: 1  2  3  4  5  6  7  8

Section V Soundtrack Listing:

1. Badly Drawn Boy
"Silent Sigh" 4:45

About a Boy

2. Helvetia
"Old, New Bycicle" 4:20

The Acrobats

3. U2
"The Unforgettable Fire" 4:56

The Unforgettable Fire

4. The Sea and Cake
"Leeora" 4:25

The Biz

5. The Walkmen
"We've Been Had" 3:29

Everyone Who Pretended to Like Me Is Gone

6. The Smiths
"Death Of A Disco Dancer" 5:26

Strangeways, Here We Come

7. The History of Apple Pie
"See You" 4:38

Out of View

8. The Multiple Cat
"My Planet" 3:13

"Territory" Shall Mean the Universe

9. Sleep Station
"Fallen" 2:39

Hang In There Charlie

10. Broken Social Scene
"KC Accidental" 3:51

You Forgot It in People

11. Papercuts
"The World I Love" 3:10

Can't Go Back

12. Dream Academy
"Life in a Northern Town" 4:19

The Dream Academy

13. The Exploders
"Cowboy Jim" 2:18

The Exploders

14. Van Morrison
"Cyprus Avenue" 7:00

Astral Weeks

15. The Elected
"Not Going Home" 4:45

Sun, Sun, Sun

16. Split Enz
"Charlie" 5:31


17. Bruce Springsteen
"New York City Serenade" 9:55

The Wild, The Innocent & The E Street Shuffle

18. Clann Zu
"Lights Below" 6:12


19. The Comas
"The Last Transmission" 4:08


20. Belle and Sebastian
"The Boy With The Arab Strap" 5:14

The Boy With The Arab Strap

21. Violent Femmes
"Jesus of Rio" 3:33

New Times

22. The Knack
"Africa" 4:30

Round Trip

23. Burt Bacharach
"Walk on By" 3:02

Hit Maker (Plays His Hits)

24. Quickspace
"7. Like That" 5:20

Precious Falling

25. Flotation Toy Warning
"Even Fantastica" 7:29

Bluffer's Guide to the Flight Deck

26. Miles Davis
"Flamenco Sketches" 9:26

Kind of Blue

27. T. Rex
"Spaceball Ricochet" 3:37

The Slider

28. Young Dreams
"Footprints" 5:24

Between Places

29. Akvarium
"Небо становится ближе" 6:38

День Серебра (Day of the Silver)

30. Dennis Wilson
"Farewell My Friend" 2:28

Pacific Ocean Blue

31. Oneida
"The Human Factor" 10:29

Rated O

32. Swans
"The Apostate" 23:00

The Seer

All Sections Written, Designed, and Music Compiled by Tony J. Neal


No comments:

Post a Comment

Popular Posts