Insanity works just as well as ambition these days.

At the library once again, consumed with whether or not to brood angstily, or complain immaturely.

Decisions, decisions.

Perhaps I'll go another route: an impromptu observation.

They built a new Wal-Mart Supercenter in my town recently. It opened this week. We actually had a regular one before, but the suits up at corporate decided that it wasn't good enough. So we got the biggest one in the state. I went to check it out the other day, and have come to the already-realized conclusion that:

America is one giant herd of pigs.

It is the most sick thing I have ever seen (aside from all of my favorite TV shows getting cancelled, and the introduction of Vanilla and C2 Coke). The most asinine waste of space known to man......or pig. Isles of the most unnecessary use of space. An example?

Nearly ten feet between each related shelf.

An electronics section being a veritable maze of random displays.

Actually, I've a really good reference. There is a Home Depot right next to it that was built first. It is also one of the largest in the state........and this Wal-Mart is almost a third larger.

Heheheh. I might be more approving, perhaps even appreciative if the walls and floor weren't a puke pink color. Way to go, team of overpaid, obviously under qualified interior designers.

I suppose one has to see it, to truly grasp the horror that it is. Either way, I'll just end my little "obersvation" (Read: Wal-Mart rant) with a little observation of my own:

Wal-Mart sucks. Discounted Best Buy stuff rocks.

Fire has the strange ability to make darkness even darker.

I must take a moment to give the She-Beast credit. Oh yes. Cudos and salutations are in order.

Why?

She had a friend from work make the COOLEST portrait of me. Well of me, Darkphoenix (the other name I usually go by.....I'd better have mentioned it by this point...) anyway. It's kind of me if I were a comic book character.

Heheheh. I have blades.

Heheheheh.

I like blades.

It also has a little section in it where I'm ripping something's head off. Can you possibly imagine my sadistic humor?

The only thing that's kind of wierd about it, is that I'm wearing color in it. But as The Brat so accurately put it, it shows that I can be dark without having to wear black. (Heh. Not that I'm apt to put that to the constant test though). And besides.....

I'm ripping something's head off.

Fucking awesome.

Praise be to the guy who spent an entire year working on it.

Beloved Coke and unhealthy eatables all around.

........I like blades........

Wouldn't you know.....the Earth ISN'T flat.....

It seems I have some musical talent after all. I've actually managed to clumsily churn out a few chords on my guitar that actually sounds like an actual song.

There's me for you: defying the impossible. Once or twice anyway.

I have to be somewhat amused by this. I've had that blasted thing for nearly ten years now and I'm just getting around to using it. I mean sure, I've attempted to bring out the inner Hendrix in me before, but to no avail. Mostly, I've just let it sit suavely on it's stand making sure to polish it regularly so that all of the people that will never come near my room don't see it.

Heheh. Such deception.

You know what they say.......it's all a conspiracy.

Speaking of conspiracies....the She-Beast keeps looking at me funny. My instincts tells me she's up to something. Hopefully, if in fact I'm not being completely over paranoid and she actually IS up to something, it'll be something good. Something that will make my black clad self bask in the glory that is the brief fullfillment of my inner greed.

Of course, I'm not holding my breath. Blue really isn't my color. Heheh.

Fangs are a lot harder to have than they seem.

Heheh.

You can all open your eyes now. My obligatory once-in-a-blue-moon, immature teenage bitch and angst post is over. I'm still all peeved and whatnot, but I daresay it's time to move on to other things.

Like money.

As in, I have some.

It's the strangest thing. I've worked for almost two weeks straight, without a dime to my ever elusive name, and without a day off. Now all of the sudden I open up my wallet and there's actually something worthwhile to look at.

Woah...

There's a new experience. Heh.

I don't really have anything good to spend it on. Don't have enough for a trenchcoat, or any clothes for that matter (of the black variety, of course). Mostly, I'm sure I'll waste my labor on a shoddy ass video game that I got from Wal-Mart. I suppose one might wonder why I'm not utilizing my discount yet at my Beloved Best Buy.

I don't get it yet. Damn them and having to be employed for a full month before qualifying for it.

Speaking of Best Buy. Heh. In all my times at shopping there, it took me finally being employed there to realize just how creepy it is to actually be in the building. They watch you....and....they know.....they always...know......I find it rather cynically amusing that I managed to actually get hired with my personality. They want painfully friendly, outgoing, and driven people to be their blue clad minions. I'm pretty much the exact opposite, and yet there I am, ugly blue polo and all.

It's fate. I told you.

I think anyway.

Reality is about as worthwhile as cleaning gum off your shoe

Funny how life has this funny way of creatively kicking me in the ass, whenever it gets the chance. I've come to a conclusion about the Bastardly Parental Units:

They have no brains, are blind, and need to be possesed by Linda Blair.

Unfairness has always been one of those things that has plauged me. My brother, the born a drunk redneck, and The Brat, a lets smoke pot, soon to be alcoholic, running away fuckhead have always gotten away with whatever dubious deed it was they were doing. Example?

Redneck Boy comes home drunk for the umpteeth time at 17 after nearly swerving his truck into a tree. What happens?

"Boy, be up early tomorrow. We have stuff for you to do."

Redneck Boy swears at the Bastardly Parental Units and takes off till the wee hours of the morning. What happens?

An all out pretendfest that nothing ever happened.

The Bastardly Parental Units catch the Brat smoking. What happens?

"Empty the ashtray and don't do it anymore."

They call the cops on her two weeks later for running away with some friends who have been giving her drugs. What happens?

"Be nice to your sister Dark (Me, obviously not my real name.). She feels left out."

I get a detention few years ago for forgetting a homework assignment. What happens?

I nearly get strangled to death by the Beast, and am stuck in a room with no TV, books, radio, or anything else of vague interest for over a month.

I mention that I'm eighteen and shouldn't have to beg for every little thing, or give a detailed description of where I'm going every time I leave my room. What happens?

Serious threats about being banned from using the car, which would, in effect, make me lost both of my jobs, and once again resign me to my lifelong prison sentance at home.

I'm not the kind of person to instinctively get themselves into trouble. I'm a dark, cynical person, yes, but not someone who is particularly inclined to really get into serious trouble. The reason? I don't care. I don't have the ambition to bother with sneaking out, nor the desire to make an ass out of myself while high. It's only when I get positively nailed to the proverbial upside down cross for inching towards the normal things people do, like leaving the house while everyone else commits felonies and practically gets a pat on the goddamned back, that I half debate shooting caution to the wind and seeing where Hell takes me.

Fuck this. I want a baseball bat to smash things with. Who knows...maybe if I ask nicely......heh.

Suicide is for those that don't realize we're all already dead....

I got the job at Best Buy.

McDonalds, goodbye. I am now a minion of my Glorious Best Buy. I believe I mentioned something about a manical laugh once I found out for sure.

Ahem.

MUAHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.....

I'd go on a slew of "fuck you's" and "I knew it all along's" but that would be lame so....moving on.

This week I think I earned "cat owner of the year" award. If I didn't, someone fucked up, because I bloody well should have. The story? Ah, sit tight nonexistent trollish children....it's almost a long one.....

I walked into the kitchen sometime around Monday, and I kept hearing this meowing underneath the floor. I checked the basement, and there was nothing of the feline variety to be found (other animals on the rodent side of the spectrum however, were plentiful). All around the house I searched. Still nothing. I decided that perchance it was just a barn cat outside intent on making my life ever more the living hell that inevitably aspires to be. Days later though, it was still there. Finally, I discovered the source of it all.....

Underneath the crawlspace.

For those of you in those nearly enviable modern homes they have these days, crawlspaces are disgusting, vile areas underneath a house where one can crawl in. For what particular purpose, I'm not exactly sure. But our house is over 160 years old, and we have one. But anyway......

Imagine my horror, for a brief moment, to discover this. To look inside that spider infested, rodent bearing, Lucifer knows what else hole in the ground and realize......

I'm going to have to go in there.

It was one of the few places on this planet where I've vhemently aspired not to go. Alas, the moment had come, and while I knew I was going to have to go in there to see where this bastardly animal was, little did I know the worst was yet to come......

The first "step" (well, crawl really) was okay. Morbid curiosity even managed to kick in for a brief moment. Here I was in the crawlspace of a comparatively ancient house where no one had probably gone in in probably fifty or so years. Another foot or so in, however, and the disgusted horror set it. With the beams to the floor of my house smashing into my back (one of those moments where I can truly appreciate not being claustrophobic), I looked to my left and saw less than three inches from my face.......

A giant thing of spider eggs.

Keep in mind, this wasn't one of those clusters that one finds in there house when one has neglected to clean their room for many a moon. This was straight out of that "Arachnaphobia" movie. And while being highly arachnaphobic, I managed to keep relative apathy (by relative, I mean there was much swearing involved) and press on into the impending darkness. Still I heard the meowing, though couldn't find the source of it until I saw a cluster of rocks where the sound suspiciously resonated. Five more feet in and every "Ring" joke I ever made bit the dust.

Do you know what I found?

In what looks strikingly similar to that well pit in "The Ring" only without water and slightly less deep, I found the cat that had so elusively dodged my radar. There, twelve feet down in this uncovered, unknown, and entirely creepy pit it sat, meowing for dear life. Honestly, I would have been content to let it rot, but my own indoor cat was having a fit, and the Parental Units bid me be the One of Feline Rescue. There was no easy way to save this cat, mind you. I certainly couldn't have, (nor would have. Rotting animal bodies, on the bottom of my boots, no thank you.) crawl into the pit to get it. Floor beams were in the way. The beams also hindered the use of any nets, and the idiocy of the cat left most other means that were thought of useless.

In the end we ended up getting a hole cut through the kitchen floor, and lassoing the damn thing around the neck to get it out. I spent a total of about seven hours in that infested little hell.

All for a goddamned cat.

That's right everyone. That fucking award is MINE.

Oh. And I work at Best Buy. Marvel everyone, I'm better than you. MUA. HA. HA.