The NSA Is Too Stupid To Love You, I'm Afraid

      Yesterday, during a depression fueled drinking binge, I was going through my back pages of things left unfinished, as so often is in my life. Tears blurring my vision, while murmuring something about death's sweet release, I came across this; something I should have posted long ago. It's an uproariously stupid rant thing about the NSA eyeing up our phone records. So, for the nation's thirst for all things security. Enjoy.     

      Recently, while driving to work, jamming to the talk radio stylings of NPR, I was apprised of our nation's love of phone record collecting. At first, I was completely terrified, locking the doors on my van in a "they'll never take me alive" motion, as though a car door lock will stop the CIA/NSA/IRS/Senators with microwave brain scanners lurking along the highway.

      I mean, they'd have pistols...or a formidable sling shot...or both, right? If they don't, then, what the fuck are my taxes paying for? The least likely of their imaginary arsenal and my most favorite; a hefty pineapple style grenade emblazoned with painted smiley with words that read, "To be jammed in cock hole!".

It's the details that make it really special.

      Listening to the report, disgusted at the blatant disregard the government had for my rights, I thought about how I had been trampled on, pissed on, diarrhea-ed on, then spit on...I assume. I mean, after that what's left? Cum, I suppose, but, that takes it in a whole other direction.

A perverted direction.

Finally, I realized how incredibly stupid it is to feel any of those ways, rights jizzed on or otherwise...and how stupid it is for ANYONE to flip the fuck out. This is old news, people! Let me explain...

Companies Have Done It For Years...sort of.

May I introduce the soft under belly of paranoia.

      If you've bought anything larger than your forehead and bought that forehead sized object with a credit card, they've got you! Shit, even smaller than your forehead for that matter. Things for your forehead. What the hell am I talking about? 

      Those annoying super cocks, that sell you annoying things, know who you are and where you live. How? Why? You told them, of course, well, your credit card did. Information on what you buy, how much and how often, is shared between companies all the time. It helps corporations determine, not only, when you're in the market for vitamin diet pills (that will increase your long distance sex problem) and make it cheaper, but, how much you're willing to spend on it. 

Having your personal information, makes their job easier and should make you feel not only over joyed with the sweet convenience, but...just a little terrified too. Some guy in the Anbar Province knows what type of condom I like is fine, but, the also knowing the last time I needed one, not so fine. Knowing a profit hungry corporations analyzes what you're doing with your genitals, in order to sell things should make us all terrified.

      If you're panicked about the NSA diddling your precious phone records, know that K Mart is diddling your buying practices. Phone companies sell your information all the time too. It doesn't carry the same sting as your "phone records", but, it's just as freakish. Imagine the weirdos you work with; now, imagine them with your personal data. Yeah, the same guy that doesn't wash his hands after pissing, is the same guy with your home address. The guy who stinks like shit...on purpose, knows which bank you use and last online purchase. 

      Do you think phone company employees are of a higher quality? Think again, junior. The real kicker is, the selling and buying of your personal information happens all the time, without you knowing. Like a huge vat of personal info ass droppings, all of your crap is floating around somewhere...and tons of strange people are fondling it. 

      Yes, I get it, it's not the government and it's not phone tapping, record snooping, per say, but, it's only slightly goddamn mortifying. Stuff you don't want floating around (man, do I love a good turd analogy), is out there, bobbing around, waiting to be squished in a strangers hand. We've become so used to it, it no longer evokes a response. 

The difference between companies using our information and our government, is that the government works for us, because we pay them to work for us. They're paid to supposedly have our best interests in mind. Those companies however...give less of a shit.  

Government, companies; they both invade our privacy to one degree or another, be it for securities sake or sales. At least the government never tries to keep me on the phone to sell a Viagra knock off, two for a dollar. The government barely acknowledges my existence, let alone whether my dick gets hard, I mean past an earned income statement, they hardly give a shit. Speaking of which...

The Double Edged Sword O' Conspiracy!

Ah, making fun of elected officials. 

I don't think it's been done before.

      A few years ago, I called the IRS. Normally, I would make fart sounds, laugh and hang up and wait for the authorities, but, this time, I had a problem. As it happened, I never received a tax return from the previous year, despite being owed one. So, as any responsible money grubbing, citizen, I wanted to know where my mo' fuckin' money was!

      I called the the IRS and talked to one of their guys about it. He typed my information into a computer (I imagined it looked like the super computer from the movie Hackers all glowing and such). Then, he told me something that forever changed how I felt about bureaucracy. 

I didn't exist.

My social security number, name, etc.; had never existed. I was beside my nonexistent self. 

I'd dutifully paid taxes to a government that never recognized me as a citizen, cognizant being ...or entity...or anything of any sort. I was flabbergasted. 

Then, I realized that they were a collective of government fuck ups, like everywhere else and everything was fine. I returned to eating, drinking, drinking more and passing out.

      Everyone seems to forget that one of the longest running jokes in human history is government inefficiency. There are whole shows devoted to it's blundering. It's a train wreck of backward policy, counter intuitive production and guys named Ernie, to some degree or another. 

      Equally contradictory are people that are freaking out about the phone record thing. Usually, they're bitching about the inefficiency of the government, yet freak out when things like NSA sequestration of phone records occurs. It's not like the NSA are any more efficient when sorting a billion phone records! 

      These are government employees we're talking about. Have you ever been to a post office? Then, you've seen the quality of today's government worker, first hand. They fuck up stamp sales, make jokes about sex toys in transit and send the wrong people those toys.

      Still, people are freaking out over phone records, like all of a sudden, THAT'S the program the government is going to get right. I'm sure it's less like a warehouse full super computers (Hackers movie) manned by grimacing super geniuses and more like an elderly, dementia riddled man, poking a keyboard, doing  Google-ish searches through phone records for "terrorist's are sexy" and "I made a bomb in my shoes!". 

The Government 

Doesn't Care Who You Are.

All of these people are black.

      It's a horrible truth that I feel goes unspoken, yet it's still an awful thing for anyone to hear. You're not important. Mind you, you're important to someone or hell, even some people, just not every person and certainly not all people. 

      According to the government, you're even less important than that. You're a law abiding tax payer who may or may not complain, possibly vote them in or out and little else. Actually, and more than likely, you're little more than a number used in various statistics and projection reports. 

      So, when it comes to the millions of phone records they may or may not be perusing, your name is probably not going to make their Billboard 100 anytime soon. Your Facebook posts about being too shit faced to identify your own mother, wouldn't crack into a millisecond of their time. I'm sorry to tell you that, please don't kill yourself...or at the very least, don't mention me in the suicide note.

      It's heart breaking, I know. I'd love to think some over tasked computer jockey was digitally hunting me, via a phone I never use, to find out if I'd prefer to be a Middle Earth elf or dwarf. Alas, we must all come to grips with our anonymity concerning the powers that be. There are too many of us to give a fuck about all of us.

     Though, bucking the trend by bombing innocent people would surely rocket you to the top of their must search for record of the month, most of us just don't have the ambition to become a mass murdering freak. There's too much hate mail in it.

So, What Do We Pay Them For? 

God, this chick is so boring, I'm not even masturbating any more.

      I'd like to clarify that I believe phone tapping and the like to be wrong...for the most part. It's especially wrong when it's on my dime! I can think of an shit load of other things I'd rather get for my money. No. There are six things. Not all of them blow jobs.

      Regardless, phone record collecting data stuff is something the NSA does, because...that's what they're paid to do! It's not like Edna the elderly stripper next door is reading through the last nine times you called Domino's and subsequently judging you based on the information. On the contrary, the NSA collects information to protect the citizens of the U.S. Unfortunately, some of the people it's protecting us from live...in the United States.

      For the more paranoid among you (and not so paranoid), it's well known that stupid terrorists can be found in the countries they hate. It's a given. So, it stands to reason that they live among non-terrorist folk here too. 

      The part that sucks the most dick, besides all the explosions they cause, is the invisibility they seem to have. It's not a magic serum, voodoo or cosmetic cream that allows them to do so, it's the "they look like everyone else" thing. 

     This is when NSA snooping comes into play, weeding through a billion phone records and such to try and find them. You could make the short leap to say that it's only a matter of time before they're mining that information for a myriad of other things, but, that's like saying the postal service could one day take down UPS with it's cheaper pricing and swift delivery.

Denouement

 

The land that birthed reality t.v.

      As much as spying on me bothers me, I try to keep a level head about it. For one, I fully understand that I'm basically invisible to NSA prying, mainly because I'm A: not important enough to care about and B: I'm one of billions of people they don't care about. What really concerns me about the whole thing is the twisted, conflicted message that seems to come from the public itself about the whole thing. 

      People, of late, have gotten the notion that they are basically a mass of nameless, powerless citizenry at the mercy of their own government. This isn't true of course. Gathering enough of those same people to change anything is assuredly faster, more efficient and more powerful than the small number the government has on it's side. Yet, the weak and powerless attitude prevails.

However, when told about the NSA collecting records and such, suddenly, every individual is important and poses a threat, that the government must monitor at all times, via every record. Which the hell is it?

5 Public Bathroom Practices That Make Me Think I'm Not Human

      When I seriously doubt I'm human it usually stems from misunderstanding common phrases like "I have lupus." and "Give me a pearl necklace." Often I move among people with a dazed kind of "What the hell is wrong with all of this?!" look on my face and avoiding skin on skin contact. My relationship with my fellow human beings is an awkward one at best.

      It seems like every day something is added to the long list of possible evidence of my non-humanity I keep in my head. Things like: when not to kill a cat, golf shoes and Oprah are among the more notable contents. Well, now, if it wasn't a cause for concern before, it is now, "bathroom behaviors" can be lumped in there too. The most horrifying conundrum I've had, when confronting my supposed kinship with my human brethren, is when a fucking bathroom comes into play. Who would have thought?

So, in the spirit of piss and shit, I offer you my desperate need to understand the human condition and my place among the humanity in terms of toilet usage. Enjoy.

Pissing On Seats

Pictured: Bastard.

      From time to time, I like to imagine I've lived on the frayed edge of sanity and survived. I've swam naked (accidentally), kicked puppies (accidentally) and told children they were "fugly"..."birth defect fugly", to their faces (on purpose). Before you start uproaring or whatever it is you Internet people do, relax, it was a birthday party and that ugly child got a damned present. Shut up.

Besides, they didn't cry the WHOLE day. Jesus.

      So, evidence infers that I know what it's like to do things against the grain. Especially the grainy surface of sanity, if there were to be such a surface, that is.

When it comes to urinating, however, I'm pretty conservative and anti-crazy. I've always figured, the goal was to make the least mess possible. If it wasn't, we could pee anywhere, which, all in all would be damned convenient. Way more convenient than building bathrooms, but, also, way, way, way more smelly.

Hence, I try to keep it within the confines of the bowl. It's only right and it keeps other people from drinking it (I hope). So, when I see a toilet seat that looks like it's been in a piss fueled down pour, I have to question the reality that allowed that to happen. Well, more over, the freakish fuck head that sprayed it down at all. Yellow washing a toilet seat is a touch of asshole insanity I just can't wrap my head around. 

Despite the obvious disregard for the ass of fellow men, what does leaving a sea of personal gold, say about a person? Are there aiming issues? Can't they handle their own penis/vagina? Is it that unwieldy? Perhaps they're new to penises. This revelation leads me to believe that 90% of the male human population just recently received gender re-assignment surgery. The other 10% have scopes grafted to their John Thomas's...like me.

Let's get with it penis converts! Aiming a dick is like pointing a small hose at a tiny pond. If the stream is straying too far one way, guide it in the other. If you happen to leave your golden shower all over the stall, it's time to A) re-evaluate your urination procedures and B) Wipe some shit down! No one wants to walk into a potential slip hazard because you can't pee straight. Holy shit.

This of course excludes the blind. The blind piss everywhere, they can't help it. I'm not insensitive.

Shit Writing.

That. Pretty much says it all.

      Nothing denotes a person's reaction to adversity quite like needing to take a dump while in public. The harried look of "Oh,...god...no." flashes across the face, a cold sweat breaks out as the brain rallies to the gastrointestinal meltdown.

      "This shit is happening...sooooon" screams the mind. Eyes darting back and forth, searching for the nearest bathroom, the whole time wondering; How much butt clenching can I get away with before it becomes embarrassingly noticeable?" 

      Willing yourself to shit in a public restroom is triumph enough, everywhere you look in a bathroom is a surface ordained by God to breed filthy, filthy diseases. Doubly so in a public bathroom! So, forcing yourself to overcome that amount of gross and take that leap and dump takes a lot out of a person. It's taxing.

Then, to glance at the wall next to you and see the words "Shit happened.", written using actual shit. Something in you dies a little. A screaming vile death.

Those words, scrawled using that substance...it's...it's an incredibly small glimpse, into a far off apocalypse. One filled with fire, people covered in feces and scrap metal shaped into dragons, also on fire. The end of days before mankind is sucked into Hell...forever.

What possesses a person to knowingly write with their own shit? You have to willingly finger your own shit, KNOWING it's shit and then, decide the best thing to do is "tag" a fucking wall with it? What must have happened to a person like that to such depths of turmoil, as to think that's okay? Other than being a hostage situation or the age of 3, shit writing isn't acceptable. It's ghastly.

Unless you're retarded, then, it's okay. Hostage, aged 3 or retarded, then it's acceptable to write with your own shit. I'm not insensitive.

Shitty Trash

 
Note: Never shit with your pants pulled up...it doesn't work. 
It never makes it into the toilet. I promise.

      It seems to be, that every wonderful beach front bliss of a land is not only a third world country, but, incompetent when it comes to plumbing that country. Which, is a total mystery to me, being as they're usually tourist attractions and most often located or surrounded by extremely large bodies of water.

Bodies of water which can easily be shat into.

Troublesome plumbing seems to have a spill over effect into more well constructed, well plumbed areas, however. The biggest being waste paper baskets filled with toilet paper coated in someone's fresh ass leavings. 

Why would anyone do this? There's a perfectly functioning toilet with which to dispose of your pasty remnants. Toss it in and flush! It's understandable that if the country you're used to defecating in, is wholly behind in the ways of modern water works, toilet wise, than the better flushing one you're in now. There's confusion? What if I clog the toilet?! AmIright?

      I advise taking a risk and tossing it down the potty. If the country you're in can devote a large portion of it's television scheduling to reality t.v., it's usually a good indicator of whether it's safe to flush (if they can afford to devote that much time to watching stupid people, chances are they've licked the toilet clogging problem). You needn't worry about contributing to the fouling of the local drinking supply. 

      So, upon landing in a new country, turn on the "tele", "t.v." or magic light box of choice and if reality freaks are whoring themselves for the approval of the unwashed masses, feel free to give your log some flush justice, with a side of paperwork. 

Though, if you're in a country whose favorite delicacies range from dog to fetus, you might want to rethink your flushing options. 

Do some research before you shit in a different country is all I'm saying.

Eating And Dumping

 

 Never mind the piss...the food is delish!

      I'm a reasonable man, prone to tiny, infinitesimal epiphanies leading to more eloquent, efficient solutions to life's little dilemmas. I know what it is to shave in the shower, as well as brush my teeth. Not at the same time, for I am not an octopus, nor a hygienic multi-armed beast, bred to steal children's thoughts as they sleep.

      Regardless, I never thought it suitable to eat, whilst dropping a deuce. Never, ever, ever...okay, wait, once, but, I was heavily intoxicated and the food tasted like shit anyway and I still didn't eat while crapping. I can appreciate the inventive convenience of the scenario, but, what the hell are people thinking?

      I, myself, have never found an aroma wafting through the hallowed stalls of dumpdom that stirred me to eat. It's always been close to the opposite. Everything from the ammonia (both store bought and domestically made) to the power shit fumes that would make a hobo gag, scream do not eat here...ever. 

      Yet, on occasion, I've found various food stuffs sprinkled about bathrooms. I've seen everything from bags of chips and sodas to full on plates, fucking PLATES of food! Who in the fuck does this and why haven't we all agreed to neuter them, for fear of passing this trait onto future generations? The world may never know.

The only people that get a pass on eating in the bathroom is the blind. They don't know any better and eat willy nilly anywhere they please. Especially in restaurants. The blind have no idea where they are, at any given time. 

Conversing And Shit.

 

"So...(uhhhgh) he broke up with you...(guuhhh *plop*) because of that? 

He's fucked up, girl.

 

      The bathroom experience is as old as time itself. Be it, dropping your used food lumps or spraying down a forest environ, relieving yourself is a time honored, physical need that must be done always. 

To facilitate this, God, evolution or Smokey Robinson and The Miracles have made waste ejection a solo effort. I see it as a streamlining effort, but, I've never designed a species, what do I know.

      Alas, even if you don't partake in going old school; shitting in the forest like a rabbit and prefer a more regal facilities that limit squatting, it's not a group effort. It never has been. It, like death, is a solitary endeavor and like dying, can involve pain, embarrassing noises and shitting of one's self...all over the place. Is this to be shared with others, either with phone conversations, general banter with another porcelain patron or loud unadulterated proclamations like "Holy shit I think I just ripped a foot long hole in my ass!"? No.

No. No. No. Dammit, no.

      A human voice, other than singing in a shower (which is bizarre enough) should never enter those elaborately tiled walls. Doubly so, in public, as the embarrassment of doing, what is normally a private concern, among strangers is almost beyond measure for the lot of us.  

      Despite normalcy saying otherwise, individuals hold conversations, often with strangers, while "dropping the Browns off at the pool". What manner of madness is this? Leave decent people to make dump and wee to their own devices! Keep the interruption of "golden showers" and shit to yourself! Stop talking to me while you're pants free and manipulating your junk, dammit! Your vocal noises are un-needed.

      I know, women do this all the time, traveling in packs to do their lavatory deeds, like gossiping wolves or...I don't know, geese? Something that groups and probably bathroom's together...one of those. Still, that's a whole other story and one of the leading examples of why women don't and will never make any sense to anyone. Ever.

      Personally, I believe that people who must speak while in the motions of bathroom business have no friends and view bathrooms as having a captive friend finding audience. Catching victims like a cornered puppy in a pre-school, petting people with conversations that interest no one. To anyone that ends up in a situation like this, a solution: fight crazy with crazy. Pee on them while screaming incoherently. Done.

I have a feeling that this would only exacerbate the issue and they'll answer with a "I know, right!".

Of course this excludes deaf people. They don't understand when and where silence is required as they don't understand sound. They're deaf. I'm not insensitive.

Denoument

 

 Because shitting on gold is well...shitting on gold! 

      I know I'll never change the world. In fact, I'm fairly sure I've made it worse on numerous occasions. Despite that, I believe in ability to change is within every human being, especially when it comes to dropping a Cleveland Browns touchdown at the Water Bowl. 

If we can all get together and hammer out a few simple rules, I fully believe that it will go a long way to cementing my oneness with my species and not make me believe I'm from an alternate reality. Hell, it might even domino into other, previously inconceivable things we never thought we could fix. Things like: blindness, , deafness, retardation, more blindness and blind monkeys without A.I.D.S.

{It is at this point where the song "We Are The World" should be playing in your head}

Let's make this happen, mother fuckers!