I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU!!!

I don’t usually like to blog to rant and rave. I leave that to the people who need to be angry at strangers who read their shit. You know the type of uptight assholes I am referring to…the people who sigh loudly and tap their feet when you have 11 items in the 10 items or less lane at the W. Dixie at 3 a.m. (You know who you are, over-bleached, blonde-haired bitch! I’ll fucking kill you the next time you tell me that my 2-for-1 bagels count as two items. I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU! lol)

I am not that kind of blogger.

I like to talk to my readers.

I like to fucking relate.

Hi. How you doin’? I’m goobs. Let’s chat.

But tonight, after I posted something to our main steez page, I felt kind of…deflated by angst.

Not because it wasn’t an okay piece of writing. (I mean, I am not Hemingway, but at least I have my minor, brilliant Dr. Seuss moments here and there. I swear. My mom reads my writings and she is fairly cool. She even reads our hip-hop posts. lol)

But because we (meaning us antisteezers) put our fucking blood, sweat (except for Carolina…she doesn’t perspire at all. lol) and tears into this blog. We dream about it. We talk about it. Sometimes we threaten physical violence to one another about it. I’m fairly serious when I say we are committed. Passionately. Often, offensively. (I’ll fucking kill one of our writers if they flake. I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU!)

We are antisteez. We rock.

So, tonight after posting, I felt really sad to think that a lot of our friends (Who are apparently assholes.) don’t and won’t come here to our site and give us love and support. Here is our little, completely awesome corner of the universe and here we are shouting for people to come in and see what we got going on and they are fucking giving us earmuffs. Seriously. SERIOUSLY!?!??

Fuck you, earmuffers who don’t hear our message.

FUCK YOU, TWICE.

We bribe them with the awesomemest of awesome free podcasts. We interview people they might want to know about. We post the most-fucking-obscure things about hip-hop known to mankind. (Thanks Lou!) And yet, sometimes I feel like we are begging and strong-arming them to come here. It makes me mad at them. It makes me want to shake them.

I’ll fucking kill you, shitty friends who don’t support our awesome blog. I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU!

lol

But then again, maybe we just blog for ourselves.

……

Fuck THAT twice. lol

We blog for them. For you. We blog because we hope that someone, somewhere out there is taking a dump in a bathroom stall in an office building somewhere and scrolling our site on their phone with their soon-to-be-bacteria-coated hands. Yup. And you shitters who are not reading us are making us feel like we just threw a pool party in fifth grade and no one came.

Thanks for ruining our Internets childhood, you too cool for school, assholes.

I’ll fucking kill you, negligent assholes. I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU!

And then I’ll blog about it here, and apparently no one will ever discover the whereabouts of your corpse…yeah, cause no one reads our shit.

lol

Sigh.

Or maybe they do. If that’s the case, then no…I am not really threatening to kill anyone. I’m just blogging. Droppin’ Bullshit logs on the fire, man. Mmmm….toasty. lol

Well, I think this was pretty good for my first ranting and raving blog, don’t you?

Don’t you?!?!

I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU!

lol

xoxo

goobs

]]> http://antisteez.com/goobs/goobs-mind-stuff/ill-fucking-kill-you/feed/ 3 http://antisteez.com/goobs/weirdness/drugs-good-lord-terrible-but-hysterical/ http://antisteez.com/goobs/weirdness/drugs-good-lord-terrible-but-hysterical/#comments Tue, 01 Dec 2009 06:58:44 +0000 goobs http://antisteez.com/goobs/?p=112

www.youtube.com/watch?v=2JPfnJVEr8E

There comes a time when you look back at the life you’ve lived so far and you take stock. You think about what you’ve done, what you want to do and how you’re going to get these things done. You start to think about the bad things you’ve done and about the good you’ve spread around. And ultimately, you think about the things you are thankful for. You think about all these things that have graced your existence and have made your life better.

And when you start to think about said things, you start to make a mental list…so you can keep it all in order and look back on all the wonderful things that have played a role in your life.

Being only human, I found myself amidst such a list recently. I found that I was grateful for many things in my life: My family and friends, laughter, good memories, knowledge, love, hugs, kisses…

But mostly, I looked back and I said with great conviction:

I AM GRATEFUL FOR ZIPLOC BAGS.

Seal in the freshness.

Ziplocs have been good to me.

As a child, I looked to the power of the Ziploc to hold many a tuna- or egg-salad-sandwich-goodness for lunch. My mother was not a fan of bologna. But that is a story for another time. Ziplocs held my crayons when they became refugees from boxes demolished by frequent use. Ziplocs held my many Barbie outfits and small and strange Barbie shoes that never managed to stay on Barbie’s odd-shaped feet. Yes, Ziplocs were good to me in my youth.

As a teenager, Ziplocs became the safe haven for my drugs. Many a fluffy blossom of Marijuana and many sedative-like pills stayed firmly ensconced in the plastic shelter of Ziploc bags. Many a handful of mighty tabs of E lay quietly inside a Ziploc sandwich bag stuffed ever so graciously in my bosoms during my “VERY HIGH” school years. And, if it were not for the power of the mighty Ziploc, I would never have gotten 25 hits of acid onto my Grad Night bus during my senior year, and never would I have proceeded to make the “Good Girl” population of my AP classes HALLUCINATE with fervor at the sight of a spinning floor at Pleasure Island. Yes, Ziploc bags were good to me in my teenage years.

When I was 19, I was handed a Ziploc bag that held the only remnants of my father’s tragic life inside. A set of keys, an ID card, an ATM card, a battered AA 12-steps leaflet, and one un-mailed letter to me pressed between the sheath of two plastic sheets held in place by a white zipper-like clasp that perfectly married one yellow strip to a blue one and made a beautiful shade of green in their union. A man’s whole life put in a bag that promised to lock in the flavor and seal in the freshness. That same bag lays in a box in my closet now. I assume that the freshness is still sealed in as I haven’t opened it in 11 years. That Ziploc was indeed good to me. It is keeping the memory of my father safe for the future. Yes, Ziploc bags are good even during bad times.

Now, as an adult, Ziplocs have done even more for me. They have held my toothbrush and Colgate separate from other toiletries on transatlantic flights. They have imprisoned my lotions from spurting out gooey creaminess all over my clothing when crammed into luggage haphazardly in an attempt to get to airports on time. They hold about 30 mini-dv tapes apiece, about 400 in total, in my desk at my job…each Ziploc full of tapes holding hours of XXX material that makes sure I bring home a paycheck every two weeks. Ziplocs have even kept a set of clothing dry when everything else is wet and soggy after a day out on the high seas on a boat with the wind in my hair and the salt spray on my face. Yes, Ziplocs are good to me on a daily basis even now.

So looking back, I can say that the role of the Ziploc has been mighty. ZIPLOCS have seen me through the joys of my youth, the madness of my teens, the despair of the worst of my losses and the adventures of my adult life. Not many things will ever have such an active role, or such an enduring impact. At least not the way I see it.

I can only ask that one day, someone out there fills a Ziploc with memories of me and keeps it ensconced somewhere special. That I make such an impact that someone wants to keep a part of me sheltered and safe from moisture.

I hope to live a life so full that it prompts someone out there to want to SEAL IN THE FRESHNESS.

Hopefully it will take two bags.

-lol,

goobs