Schrodinger's Cat or Lil Bub: Who Should be in the Box?

August 2, 2014

lilbub.com

If a shuttle passenger says, "you drive like you are from Chicago". Is that an insult or a compliment? Immediately I think that I really need to pursue a hospitality career. My driving is at major metro mastery.

As I drop the seven guests (the vehicle was designed for six passengers) off at their destination, the one holding a bottle of Fireball criticizes my driving:

You need to be more professional when you have that many people in the car. And know where you are going before you say go.

There is a difference between hopping on the wrong way on I-74 and being ignorant. I suppose you can say that is the same as the difference between stupidity and ignorance, but I will call it instinctual. What is there in Peoria that's worth hopping on the interstate for? If you're at a hotel in Peoria, Illinois, it ain't for the shopping. You can at least gamble in Tazewell County. Or have the "Best Burger this Side of Paradice." East Peoria is all about the craps.

May be they were from Chicagoland and needed a break from the style of motorist I was presenting. On the flip side, even without my diversion into East Peoria, they should appreciate making it to the church on time. The five minutes spent bullshitting around to get ready for the shuttle was far more detrimental to their punctuality. No reason (since I was shorted $2 gratuity) for getting me into Audrey Hepburn zone. Just you wait Henry Higgins, just you wait.

Rationalization 61: Fund Me; Fight Me; Follow Me; Fuck Me

It is kind of nice to have some work drama to write about because there is nothing new to report about my life otherwise. Yes, I know, this blog has been about the constant desperation (misspelled that word, originally auto corrected it with "desecration"...some may say that is appropriate) of my existence. But being broke from the paycation has left me broke, so there is no way for me to find any new triggers to rehash the same old bullshit.

Maybe that's why I am still single, no one wants to fuel the flames that will consume my life. Or the ladies are trying to kill my blog. If there is nothing for him to write about, "Main Event of the Dead," will disappear. I'd like to put "fuck you" in all caps, but I think this is a request to FUCK ME.

As long as I have not reached my expiration date (determined by whether or not I get Kasabian tickets), I have to keep writing to try and add a few more years of time on top of that. That'll be done by either succeeding with producing "Main Event of the Dead," my pro-wrestling zombie themed horror/comedy, or someone presents a better distraction. Request a script treatment by emailing russthebus07@gmail.com.

So to take the pressure off of the female demographic, any promotions looking for some creative input or another body for the wrestling ring, drop me a line. Or at least point me into the direction of some fellow nihilist who can take a punch.

Maybe my expiration date should be delayed for the "Fight Club 2" comics to be released. Then again, that may primarily be consumed by hipsters and yuppies who do not appreciate the leftist values the project will represent.

I have other methods of relieving my dilemmas, all that would take is some follows of twitter @MainEventZombie.

To sum up this portion of this blog, a friend on Tinder (which is an indication that I am doing that wrong as well as life) complimented me on attempting to live a life based on the philosophies obtained though martial arts and how to deal with those who do not hold the ideals highly. You either make peace with it or turn bitter.

She left out getting drunk.

August 9, 2014

I guess I should better get the Kasabian tickets. The perfect end to an imperfect life would not workout. There is no way I can afford to take a night off at my preferred place of employment to attend the "Internet Cat Video Festival: Hosted by Little Bub," cross the street, and die of alcohol poisoning/choke on vomit in front of the Billy Williams statue at Wrigley Field.

It sort of feels like I'm putting down Williams, but it would be redundant to die at the feet of a man who made his living as a drunk conversationalist, becoming a diabetic means I may have missed Ronnie's message, and it is in poor taste to suggest playing two. This series of acts would pretty much sum up who I am now (cats, Cubs, and cocktails). There would be no need for a funeral, unless those from Morton High School wanted to say a few words about me, but hopefully they would know the pretentiousness of acknowledging my existence now. It's not like they will get a day off from class.

Perhaps someone at the hotel is reading my blog, thus cutting me to Saturdays only come next month. It is not the kind of concern that I feel I need, but I have to appreciate it. At least there is no confusing angles to this kind of appreciation. A building cannot say I love you (but I think the "Friendly Confines" tries...do not fuck with that Ricketts).

I am a natural entertainer. Why does it feel like no one recognizes it? The lack of spectacle seems to be delaying the inevitable. Or it's the inability to physically pet the cutest cat on the Internet ,with a website, before I leave this physical world. As long as I am paying for cable TV (it is for the POINTS!, until the GAME begins), there is no way I can afford to give Evangeline, the cutest cat on the Internet (technically), a proper website.

Lil Bub, Wrigleyville and the anniversary of one of the most meaningful dates of my life seems like it needs a ceremony involving human sacrifice, like in "Conan the Destroyer". Perhaps missing this event will turn me into the monster Andre the Giant portrayed in that film.

To be associated with Andre, how would anybody turn down booking that guy. Unless the association is based on Japanese bathroom habits.

So, you should follow Lil Bub @IAMLILBUB on Twitter (intercourse Facebook) for foiling my plans, and I should thank her for giving me something to write about. With the lack of space for the second portion of my blog, I can never be too sure if I can write a great piece addressing this "Family Guy" line:

"Hey, baby. How would you like to go black, and then make a difficult decision regarding whether or not to go back?"

Without my awkward promotion of this challenged kitty take over of a 31-year old punk venue, this blog could have been nothing but me talking about nothing (at least the lack of audible/written support for my proposed film, "Maine Event of the Dead," suggest that is the value of this creative outlet). This has led me to this rationalization:

Rationalization 62: Jerry Seinfeld Cannot Have a Meaningful Blog.