I can longer handle myself. I’m an abnormality in a society that doesn’t accept me. No one understands me. I won’t be attending school this week. I have given up on this bull crap.

At school I have been banned to speak the local language, in an effort to improve English proficiency amongst the student body. Now how the hell am I suppose to explain to a teacher who can say “Hello, how are you?” the particle and wave properties of light? I feel like a tool.

I have had no real friends, no real girlfriends, and no one who spends the time to get to know me. To them I am just a novelty, an odd occurrence. I’m just a “Hey Mom look what I brought home” type of thing.

I recently got in a situation with the police. They called in a translator because they assumed I was a tourist. I was locked in a room, with a guy drilling me on why I had a “Fake” national ID card, instead of a passport. The fact I wrote the statement all in the local language, was not a clue, he demanded to speak English to me.

I have purchased one-way plane tickets out of here. To a country where there are people similar to me. To a nation that isn’t as corrupt as this one. Sure no one will understand me there, but at least they’ll recognize me as a citizen. My new citizenship – a birth right -contains a name that is foreign to me. Yet I will soon adopt it as my own. I have been accepted to university there. Maybe I will be able to start a career, and will never have to come back.

Letter to a friend


W

hat's up Mike,

I was just writing you this rambling ass letter but I'm adumbass and accidentaly erased it so I'm starting another one and god damn this is a long sentence. Anyways, I was expounding on how fucking profound the struggles of good men seem to be, and that I try to embrace these struggles because they are very human. I was saying how I'm talking to two women, and both have their own fucking issues, and things always get more complicated then I want but I'm a bitch so I keep trying because hard men need soft things to comfort them and here's a long sentence too.

Seems to me that struggling with things like these make us very human, and these are struggles that good men endure because we have the ability to put pride aside and say we fucking need something or someone in our lives. In fact, I believe that's what makes us good men. And if these struggles make us good men, then they bring us closer to our idea of god and that in turn is special because men like us seem to have no god, and all we can hope for is that we follow our hearts and minds and hope for that we make our mark in this small piece of our existence.

I don't know, at times I feel foolish Mike. Why would I do what I do? I've chosen sides, and in doing so and becoming one of the crowd in a sense, even though I strive to stay aloof in a manner of speaking. But it seems that the things we do are so trivial and pointless, and we should just live, and I want to meet women and laugh and swim and go to movies and read books and drive with the top down smoking a joint and wash my car in the driveway on a hot day and call up my friends for a barbeque and go to the gym and run my fingers through a woman's hair and all the other shit we do but take for granted. But then the true injustice of the human heart explodes into our perfect little worlds and smashes our perceptions of humanity and twists it into something evil and worthy of destruction and why must it be like this. Tell me why I would want to kill someone, why I would want a war? And of course I can't answer that question, and all I can do is say that's how it is. The thought of war makes me fucking tremble with anticipation, and then I question whether or not it's something I truly want, and all I can say is GIVE ME A FUCKING WEAPON, and I just want to scream like an animal and see the world burn because it's so damn complicated. But then after this fit of whatever I feel foolish for feeling it, and then feel guilty for not embracing my feelings, then I think I'm thinking to much someone give me a beer damn this sentence is weird. I don't know. After I let that go I feel a strange peace and all I can think of is the need for something soft to fall back on. But see, this is why things get complicated with women, same old story lemme tell you.

I'm talking with this girl. She looks at my eyes. Then she asks me the same old line, "What's going on behind your eyes?" or some variation. I tell her she doesn't want to know, nor do I have the time. Eventually the mother fucker is going to get what she asks for, and she's going to think damn that's complicated I'm scared OMG! So then I tell the bitch, if you don't want to know about my feelings don't ask, because I don't want to tell you. I'm a simple man with complicated feelings, and I prefer to keep things simple, so if you don't want to know don't ask because I will tell you and you won't like it. So then things start getting fucked up like muffler bearings and it's silly and I feel foolish for getting worked up and mad at this bitch because she's so weak minded and get's scared so easily and why can't I meet a strong woman damn I'm bad with english. So then she asks me why I'm mad and we start the cycle over and I'm suddenly tired of talking about it.

I don't know Mike. You've got something good, and there's no need to ever feel silly or foolish because you are without a question doing great things. You're reaching out and manipulating the things around you and that seperates you. I don't know, sometimes I wonder if I'm doing what I'm doing for the right reasons, but I think because I maintain that level of introspection that I can only be doing good things as long as I vow to keep poison and evil and perversion out of my mind and heart. I may kill my enemy, and then I will weep for the dark depths of humanity. I will kill him mercilessly, but I'm not without compassion and mercy. I will put my life on the line, but I fear death and I fear pain. Or perhaps I'm wrong and I won't deliver. Maybe I'm fooling myself and I'll freeze up at go time. No man can say for sure. Or maybe on the other side of the coin, I'll kill well and love it and loose myself in it and never return. Why have we, as people of good conscience with minds like ours, fight and die and not be happy? I'm tired of these women and feeling so confused about god and life but I would never have it any other way.

Fuck it, life is fucked. Think I've rambled enough, this one goes in the books my friend. Talk to you soon.

I thought this should be noded.

 

I am looking at a photocopy of the top of the front cover of the Algerian daily newspaper "El Moudjahid" (The Fighter), which concerns Pope John Paul II. The blurb titled Condoléances (condolence) reads as follows (translated by yours truly):

The authorities, elected officials and populations of the Commune of Oued-Korelch (West of Algiers) are very touched by the death of Pope John Paul II and present their saddened condolences to the wife and children of John Paul II.

 

No comment.

I took the day off work, mostly to go visit two different doctors (minor visits -- nothing serious -- good reports from the docs). The folks are in town today, but it looks like I'll be able to avoid them completely. I love my parents, but too often, they want me to come spend the whole evening visiting them and my grandmother, then we do nothing but watch whatever's on network TV.

Anyway, after getting home from my appointments, my attention was drawn to this article from the World O'Crap weblog. To quickly summarize: a Wells College student named Nicole Krogman isn't being allowed to graduate. She says it's because she's a conservative -- the college says it's because she's a fairly clumsy plagiarist. And one of the sites she stole from was our own beloved E2 -- specifically, SlackinWhileSleepin's densely researched political correctness writeup.

Basically, this pissed me off, so I decided to send Ms. Krogman an e-mail. Here it is:

Listen, I don't know who the hell you are, and I don't particularly care to. But from what I see on the World O'Crap weblog, you stole from Everything2.com, my favorite website in the frickin' universe. I've been writing for E2 for over six years and was an editor for quite a while. While I was an editor, we had a lot of trouble with some of our users who would steal content from other websites and pass it off as their own. We finally got them to either behave and be honest, or get the hell off the site and quit bothering us.

Ms. Krogman, first of all, you owe us an apology. It was not a compliment that you thought we were good enough to steal from -- it's an insult that you made us complicit in your own dishonesty. Second of all, frankly, I doubt any of us at the site ever want to hear your name again. Please don't come back. Don't look at the site. You stole from us, and we don't like thieves hanging around our place.

Sincerely,
Scott Slemmons
And that's it. If you send her an e-mail, please don't copy-and-paste my letter. It might look pretty damn goofy if a plagiarist gets a plagiarized letter taking her to task for plagiarizing, right?

UPDATE: I wonder how common plagiarization from E2 is. Lometa sez: "Some reporter in the Midwest plagiarized my write up for the Great Depression. With some encouragement from bones, I sent them a scathing email telling them to either cite E2 or me as the source or take it down. Sometimes I find the subjects for my write-ups in the paper and they plagiarized something awful. Peanut butter is one from years ago that the AZ Daily Star cut and pasted from some of the sources I used. I recognized it right away. The last one was spring cleaning and do you know the article I used was a cut and paste job from three different web sites! They took one section from the Good Housekeeping web site, another from the Merry Maids and I forget the third. It's cited in my write up instead of the paper. Oddly enough there was no author listed. It was on a flyer for a grocery store ad."
Interesting comments made by customers of a gas station...

About a week ago, I put a box, some pencils, about fifty scraps of paper, and a big sign that said 'Customer comment box' on the counter near the beer cooler at the gas station where I work. Today I checked the box and to my surprise there were tons of comments in it. Here are some of the best ones.

  • You guys need to get more of that chocolate sauce. It was great.
  • Your gas pumps are very old, they should be updated so that I can pay at the pump and not have to come in the store
  • Sexy cashiers would be nice
  • A PUBLIC RESTROOM!!! I gotta take a shit!
  • Why don't you guys sell whiskey, or any other hard booze?
  • More cheap ass cigarettes. I loved it when you would sell the outdated packs for one dollar!
  • Stay open all night long.
  • Willy Wonka candy! Why did you guys take it off the shelf?

Those were the more normal comments. The majority of them were on the same lines as the whiskey question. There were a few very strange comments though.

  • Can't stop the water from coming down the drain
  • Why are you people always angry with me?
  • Fuck!!! My girlfriend just drove off without me!
  • This is God. I am going to send you and the entire staff of this gas station to hell!!!! Ha ha ha ha!!!

Tomorrow I am going to put the box back up and see if we get any more comments or suggestions.

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