SSDY.

Fuck you, 2014. Fuck you very, very, very, a mol(6,02 x 10^23) of very much.

And you know what? Fuck you too, 2015.

It's all the same, in the end. At the end of each year, it has been the same or worse than the year before.

So why would the fucking universe break this continuum of shitness?

It won't.

SSDY.

Same Shit, Different Year.

Fuck you, 2014. And you too, fucking 2015. Fuck all the years since September 17th, 1977.

Same. Shit. Different. Year.

or

SSDN.  -  Same Shit, Different Number.

Fuck it all to hell, this piece of shit life.

G.R.R.

Good riddance, Requiem.
Good riddance, shit of a year.
Good riddance, shit ex-friend

Requiem, for cheese.
Requiem, for my only friend at work.
Requiem, pizza.
Requiem, requiem.
For all I'll really miss.

Good riddance, crushing depression
Good riddance, shit of a year.
Good riddance, Dr Evil
Burn in hell, motherfucker.

Requiem for all my dreams.
Requiem for finding a partner.
Requiem for broken hopes
And all I've tried to be.

Good riddance, Requiem.

Say goodbye to your dreams.
Requiem.
Say goodnight to your future,
there isn't one.
Requiem.


Good riddance, shit of a year.
Good riddance, hell inside my head
Instead now I got on
this dark road, no idea
what to do
what to say
What...to be.

Requiem for barbecues,
turkeys, ham, anything
older than two weeks' time.
Requiem for macaroni with cheese,
"But I've put gorgonzola on it!"
Thanks, man, but that will
only kill me, and I don't
want to spoil your party.
I'll have the salad and water, thanks.

Good riddance, self-beatings,
say hello to cigarrettes,
say hello to the dumbest shit of all.
Smoke, inhale, puff, I'm gone.
Hopefully I'll be gone.

Good riddance, Requiem.

No more snacks, Requiem.
No more bacon, Requiem.
No more pepperoni, Requiem.

Requiem.

Have a good life, bye-bye.
Last line on a communication error.
Last line I'll ever write you,
ex friend of mine.

Good riddance.

Say hello to debt,
shitty credit cards,
of a shitty bank.
Say hello to useless purchases,
try to fill the void inside
with all this stuff,
I bought and didn't
even needed them.

Over 2K on debt, hell of a year,
overboard, overheard.
Say hello to the skinhead look
And handlebars, once again
Why?

Because I'm a clown,
a piece on the chessboard,
a peon. Trapped between
the bishop and queen.

Have a laugh, have a laugh,
type L-O-L on you twitter,
facebook, instagram,
whatever floats your internet boat.

Blogs? They don' matter no more.
No one reads more than five sentences
in a row. No one reads. Everyone
Assumes.

Good riddance, Requiem.

Requiem for me,
for I'm alive
but dying inside
withering, day by day.

Requiem, for the crazy old loon,
shouting and cursing,
ripping off the medicine cabinet
and tossing it away.

As if I could be tossed that way.
As if I could toss away all my errors,
my life.

This void. Requiem.

Good riddance, fairy doctor,
who kept me numb enough
for almost four years.

Say hello to Parnate,
say goodbye to cheese.
say hello to erectile disfunctions
and weight gain.

Say goodbye to you,
all of you, that never
reads anything I'd write here.

"A blog?" What's this, 1996?
No facebook no more,
no twitter, no whatsapp
nothing at all.

I'm off the grid
because I ain't got
internet on my cell phone.

Phone? No one calls.
Say hello to this pocket
watch and alarm.
Overpriced, overhyped.

Say hello to this crescendo,
of misantropy and misantrophobia.
Misantrophobia, yes.
Ain't foun on dictionaries,
doesn't exist.

Ah, but it does. It does.
It lives. Inside of me.

But today's supposed to be great,
many parties to attend, right?
Fireworks, fake hugs,
"Happy new year."

Happy?

Say a Requiem for happiness
recite it out loud, as the casket
descends, into the void
The void of existance.

Requiem for weed,
for it depresses them addicts,
like me, just like me.
Requiem, my only true
female lover, Maria Joana.

Requiem.

Everyone's thrilled and excited,
so many parties tonight!
Fireworks! Drugs!
Legalized shit, like beer
and cancer sticks,
like the one I've got
right now, another punch
to the lung.

So I still beat myself, who cares?
So I won't go to anyone's party,
who cares? And there was never
any invitation at all.
Requiem.

No more friends,
no more true friends,
just like Nymeria
And the sex addict,
whose mom won't let us
even meet no more.

Good riddance, snow white,
you've failed miserably.
no euphoria, no sense of
overall good feeling,
just the feeling of being
pushed out of a building.

Requiem, my love,
I know you are dead and gone,
I just know it.

"Plenty of fish in the sea,"
not for me. Freaks don't
get dates, don't get kisses,
don't got nothing but a sandwich
in my pocket.

No money, no future, and it's
getting worse and worse,
year by year.

An internal scream
everytime I see people,
that bunch of bastards.
Irrational fear, fear.

Requiem, to all you
were supposed to do,
but didn't - because
you weren't here at all,
off to la-la-la land,
stoned as shit,
shit as shit.

Requiem.

December 31st.
I don't care.
I'll wear my earplugs,
and go off to my
only refuge left,
sleep.

I'd sleep all my life away,
If I just could. Requiem.

All my friends, they'll
be partying all night,
"Welcome 2015! May it
be as good as last year's
advance in my career"


I'll be asleep. Turned off.

Switched off by Clonazepan
And Pamelor. And lithium.

Switched off.

Requiem.

Ah, For Fuck's Sake!

Here I was, mocking all this people I work with, and suddenly they hand me a candy bar attached to this thing, "Metas 2015"  -  Goals. Fuck goals. We never achieve goals. But let's all have a laugh, shall we?

First item in the list is...Spiritual Goals, which make me laugh out loud. Sorry, dudes, duddettes, ain't gonna lie to you. If there is a god, he's a mean old motherfucker son of a bitch. So, I'd put here, "Fuck you, leave me alone!"

Then come financial goals, short, medium and long time. Well, I just hope I have enough dough to make it thru another year. No savings, because I can't fucking save a penny. Yeah, how ironic is that? The bus fares goes up, but your salary stays the same shit. So, more discount on my shitty paycheck. And you expect me to have any goals? Fuck you, fuck you and fuck you.

Love Goals. I have no time for this bullshit. Ain't no fucking love, sweetheart, is just lust for sex, and lust for money to the richest part of the equation. So, fuck you.

Physical Goals - well, that I can relate to, but really, I don't need to plan them on a short, medium and long time. I'll just keep my routine, trying to leve up my strength, that's it.

Well, thanks for the candy, and fuck you for the goals.

Last Day in the Office...this year.

I just like to say one thing to all my colleagues in this piece of shit workplace we have toshare, in the eve of a new year, as if years meant anything other than counting how many you got before you die. I just gotta say this, my folks, my fellas....

Fuck you all very much. See y'all on monday.

X-mas 2014.

Another year, another family gathering, it's kinda strange observing family members awkwardly interacting...by force of the tradition. No one actually wants to be there. No one. I don't mean to bitch, but this year's fest was the almest of all my christmas experiences. And I know it's something that I'll just need to get used to - because of dietary restrictions on someone using a drug like Parnate to control their depression. Turkey? Nope, can't eat that no more. Chicken salad? Unless the chicken was slaughtered that very day and then processed and all that shit and then shredded, I could have eaten that, but no, there's mayo in that dish, a big no-no. 

Ah, whatever, I just ate the raw materials of a spectaular dish, you know? Like eating a cake, but this way - first you'll eat 500 grams of flour. Just flour. Then, you'll scramble some raw eggs and drink them, and then you'd add milk, and if you're not vomiting at this stage, you, sir, are a freak. Or a winner. I can't decide.

But that was the deal- I ate all vegetables that would make a kickass chicken salad, but that was it. No meat, no mayo. At least I could have them fries along. But seeing people go at that turkey, that was painful to watch. I felt like the fucking vegan at the aprty, you know, and the worst thing, a forced vegan. 

"- Would you like some beer?"

"- No thanks, I can't drink. In fact, if I had a glass of that dark, seemingly delicious beer, I'd die."

Forced vegan. And me, a hater of those people. Yeah, I hate 'em. We are fucking predators. We need meat. We need protein! Fuck the process, chicken going crazy on a confined space, or cage, whatever. I don't care. They're my prey. I didn't have to hunt for them, no, because a lot has changed since the fucking stone age. We don't have to hunt for them, we pick them up at supermarkets and pay for men to do the dirty work for us. Yeah, it's true. No one slaughters a live chicken no more, nor yank its feathers out, or whatever. We just pay by the weight. 

And thank whatever deity you'd care to worship, for that. Can you imagine life 40 years ago? People stored meat in pig's lard. In a can. People have no refrigerators, not on my country, no. 

And you look upon that and call us savages for eating a fucking burguer? Go fuck yourselves. I am, like I said before, an almost full-time forced vegan. Can't eat cheese, or milk that beyond two weeks old, can't eat a fucking pizza. On the bright side, though, There was a party I was invited, y'know, the traditional "End of the Year" party at the office. For the first time, I could say, "No, I can't go." - "Why?" - everyone knows me, the true answer is, "I don't give a fuck about you people and I want to stay away from you as far as possible." But this year! This year I go, "No, I won't be attending, I'm sorry, but I just can't eat anything you'll be serving." and to that I added mentally, "and I don't give a fuck about you people and I want to stay away from you as far as possible." 

Anyhow, I wouldn't submit myself to this kinda torture. There was a barbecue. I fucking love barbecue. Can I eat it? No, unless the cow jas just been shot and we're making a roast, like savages, while chanting some "bring on the rain" dance. 

This is fucking bullshit. No barbecues, never again! Fuck! 

Well, to be honest, I wouldn't give two shits about it if the medication was truly working....but I know it is, I just know it. But sometimes I lose my grip yet. It was a bad christmas. Not bad as in, "Oh I wanna die" bad. But I was fucking bored. And when I'm bored, I do stupid stuff, specially if you're high as fuck on the ol' Maria Joana. I managed to destroy the SIM card reader on my used, yet brand new phone, voiding the 90-day warranty and making a fool outta myself. Luckily, those readers are cheap and easy to replace, so I ordered a new SIM/SD block and I will fix it.

But I felt like such a fool. And I know now,it's because I smoke these doobies like there's no tomorrow. And I know I shouldn't be mixing Parnate and marijuana for such long periods of time. It fucks it all up.

Well, 2014 was one fucking shitty year, probably number one or two on my top five all-shitty years. But one thing I can say, my resolution for 2014, as simple and mundane as it seems - to get back on shape - was accomplished, even though it took me nearly seven to eight months to really start working out again. I did it. I achieved my goal, however futile it seems. 

For 2015, I'm thinking on quitting smoking, legal or non-legal stuff, all of it. No more smoke on these already damaged lungs of mine. And no weed "gaaaaaaahhhhhh...." effect also. When you melt down and fuse your chair, sofa, whatever, and you just sit there, eating shit and watching shit. Shit that you won't even remember correctly. Not if you're a fucking stoner like I am. 

Well, that's my goal for 2015, if I can think of one. And fuck me, believe I tried, but once again, I have to cite my favourite film quote about smokers, off from Sin City(the first one) - "Nobody really quits...a smoker's a smoker whenever the chips are down...."

Yeah, well, I know my chips haven't been up. At least not up to no good. I still have a lot of problems to deal with, and antidepressant or not, they're out there, like fucking monsters, awaiting for me to slay, conquer them somehow. 

Or just fail, like I got used to. Then you light up a doobie, make some coffee and smoke a fag. 

Until the day you die.

Good Morning Vietnam!

Well, there goes yet  another uneventful christmas. It's kinda strange, when you are a kid, when december arrives, all we could think of would be these couple of days. Why? Because we were so eager to particiapte in the christmas mass, or have christian songs sang all along, all that shit? No, becausae we were getting presents.

When you're an adult, we don't get any of that. We get to participate in horrid family reunions and shit, don't receive none to close to none presents, and so on. To me, it was just boring and awful. Because my mom's know how to do a dish, namely "salpicão" in portuguese - it's just the fucking best. I jst love it. 

But alas, Parnate and mayonnaise don't mix. Neither will it mis with the shredded chicken on it. So, what I had for a dinner on the 24th was...well, it was just like eating the raw materials that makes up the dish, without said possible harmful ingredients on it. So I ate a fucking salad for christmas, while I watched everyone had turkey - banned from my list - and this wonderful "salpicão", while I ate a fucking awful salad(this isn't nothing like it! I demand my money back!), rice and fries. And then later, my mum brings on dessert - "pudim", which I also got to stare drooling while the others ate such a delicious yet capably fatal for a guy who takes MAOis. 

So, gastronomically speaking, it was fucking awful. Thank goodness nothing else happened, no family quarrels and such. That is indeed rare around here on christmas time, specially these days that my dad, the madman, the "look what you'll become one day" is around. So far it's been tolerable. At least that.

Anbd yesterday, I saw one disadvantage on working out aloe. You got no spotter. Yeah, you know what happened, right? Or at least you get the idea already. I was doing bench presses, at the end of one set, my muscles failed to hyave enopugh strength to put the bar back on its place. I mean, I was able to put on the right side of it, and  struggled to do the same thing with the other side, but my muscles were, "fuck you, we've had enough." 

So it slipped and fell, dragging along 37 kg of barbells to the ground. Now, a normal person would have removed both hads of the bar at this state, but I was still trying to win, and failing. And I've failed so bad, the left side dragged along the right side, crushing my left had on the process. 

Yeah, that hurt like hell.

Yeah, have a spotter if you are doing bench presses. 

Now, on the bright side, I dont think I actually broke any bones, but my left hand "ring finger" is fucking awful to look at. 60% of the nail has turned to black, and it's swollen and it fucking hurts, even to type.

What really gets me it's that it's the same hand that I so much need to play the guitar. So, no guitar for me for...I don't know, some time. Untill this fingernail drops off, or something equally terrible happens. I could have broken that bone, I just don't know. And if I did, what would they say to me? "Don't use it, and wait until the fingernail falls off or something like that. Next!"

Well, fuck it. Nothing can be done now. I'll just have to painfully wait. At least, today we don't have to work, but I'll need to go to my workplace in the afternoon notheless. That's another thing you learn, as an adult, or at least when you are an "adult" like me - have your own christmas presents, delivered by the postman, not some fat fuck coming down a chimney. I've got a lot of presents, "to me from myself" waiting for me there, and I don't want to wait until monday to get 'em. So I'll go there, pick them up and ride a cab back home.

Merry christmas to me...and my sister too, there are two presents for her. The rest of the family can fuck off. I got you nothing, sorry. And I got nothing from them, so in my book we're all even. I got a somewhat "magic lotion" for people who's got tattoos, supposedly it "enhances the colors" and shit like that. Got it from my sister. I mean, I'm grateful and all, but I've used such lotion yesterday, and saw no fucking magic in it. To me, it's yet another of those rip-off beauty creams women use, that supposedly, magically will return their 60-year old skin into a 30 year-old type of skin, where the collagen and "biological support beams" are in perfect state.

Ladies, sorry, but that shit does not work. What they're selling you is an overpriced micro jar of some salve that might do as good as if you've rubbed vaseline all over your body. You'll be glistening, but other than that, your sking is still 60 years old. Sorry, modern comsetics had not invented the "time machine cream" yet. 

Nonethelss, I appreciate the effort, and she'll get two presents from me, if the mailman doesn't find an empty building today. That's another reason for me to go to that shithole. To ensure the motherfuckers aren't sleeping or something, because two of my deliveries, that were supposed to arrive by the 24th, the traching just indicates that there was nobody there to receive them. I know, it was christmas eve and all, but...leave an entire building empty? Without even ONE security guy or doorman? 

People. What a bunch of bastards, indeed.

So that's it, here concludes our bullettin telling the tale of this magical christmas, where I ate crappy food, and got my hand squished by 37 kg of barbells. 

Let's see how today goes. 

Sing along!

Single bells

Single bells

Single all the fucking way...

Ho, ho, ho, Feliz porra de Natal.

É. dia 24, eu aqui nesta bosta de escrotorio. Decidiram fazer isso com a gente "pra podermos vos liberar a sexta." - Vai tomar no raio que o parta dacasa do caraio da puta que o pariu. Acha mesmo que vou ficar "grato" por tamanha "caridade"??? Pra puta que o pariu! Lógico que poderiam MUITO BEM liberar este porra de meio expediente.  Que ninguém vai fazer PORRA NENHUMA.

Desculpem, estou um tanto irritado essa manha, culpa desse maldito Banco da Puta que o Pariu Brasil, que ATÉ HOJE ainda não consertaram a porra do site. E voce liga pra um, empurram pra outro, e pra outro e pra outro...cansa qualquer um. E sei que voces sabem do que estou falando. Falar com teleatendimento é feito ficar perdido numa selva, rodando em círculos, até voce perder a paciencia e bater o telofone na cara do imbecil do outro lado da linha, como fiz na minha última e frustrada tentativa de atendimento. 

Bom, pelo menos de uma coisa eu sei. Cancelaram dois pedidos que eu fiz com o cartão. Um, por realmente nao ter mais credito no cartão, mas levaram 2 dias pra verificar. No Extra, claro. Bosta de lugar. E o outro pedido que fiz, a primeira compra virtual que fiz com o cartao nem consta na base de dados deles, pelo que me falaram, pois agora é assim, você quer saber alguma coisa de seu cartão, tem que cair na selva do teleatendimento, pois o site tá com pau. Dêem uma olhada no twitter do BB. Todo mundo que tem situação semelhante à minha- nao correntista, simplesmente NÃO consegue acessar o site. ATÉ HOJE!!! Fidaputa do carai da putaquipariu de rodinha, viu.

E ontem, de novo vi o quão misantropo eu de fato sou. Na semana passada, comentei com minha irmã que me disseram que o filme "Interstellar" era muito doido. Aí um dia, ela me liga toda animada, vamos lá, eu até pago pra você. E eu, no auge de um dia do cão, não queria saber de xópis center nenhum, e disse do meu jeito Buriol mau-humorado de ser, "Não, neeeemmmm, não tô a fim de ir em xopis." E ela ficou toda ofendida. 

Tem horas que eu esqueço - falar com mulheres, ainda que não sejam namoradas, é complicado. Sempre, é tipo desarmar uma bomba. Mas reconheci que agi mal tambem, pois afinal fui eu que pus pilha nela, dizendo que era doido e tal. Reconheci que agi feito um "dickhead" e faicamos de boa. Aí na segunda, ela viu o filme e foi lá me contar o quão do caralho que é, e eu nem sabia que era obra deste gênio da cinematografia que é Cristopher Nolan. Aí eu decidi fazer minha "vingança" e vagar minha tarde na empresa pra ir ver o filme, na companhia dela e de uma amiga dela.

E sim, puta merda, que filmaço viu. O melhor que tenho visto nestes últimos anos. O melhor desde "Inception", que, obviamente, tinha que ser do mesmo gênio, esse Nolan fedaputa. Mas, quando saí do cinema, eu olhei pro xopis, apinhado de gente, ainda mais nessa época do ano e no horário que havíamos saído do cinema, umas seis da tarde, e me dei conta que tudo que eu queria era sair dali, e rápido. Mas, novamente houve o momento "não é minha namorada, mas age como tal" de minha irmã. Eu não aguentei esperar, e ainda mais que as duas ficavam naquela"coisa" clássica das mulheres - "Vamos comer?" - "Vamos!" - "O quê?" - "Ah, num sei...." e ficaram rodando a praça de alimentação, enquanto o ódio crescia dentro de mim. 

Eu juro. Tudo que eu queria era uma minigun, estilo Arnold Xuazenega mesmo, metralhar todo aquele povo. Aí eu não aguentei. Disse à minha irmã, e eu JURO, que não foi de maneira raivosa nem brusca, "Marcela, eu acho que vou embora." e ela - "Me espera um minuto!" E eu, com aquela cara, de "Não, não, não." Aí ela apelou, "Então tá! Pode ir!" Apelou mesmo, ficou putaça. Em meu livro-código, existe a premissa "Apelou, perdeu." Eu saí fora no mesmo instante. Peguei o primeio ônibus que vi, que nem era o meu, mas sabia que teria que espera 2 horas por um 4103, então, foda-se, pego a porra do 4108 e ando o resto a pé. Dá pra se ter uma noção de como eu PRECISAVA fugir. PRECISAVA estar na minha Fortaleza de Solidão, que é meu sótão.

E Marcela, bem, ficou lá até nem sei que horas, pois não a vi chegar quando fui dormir, e isso eram dez da noite. Tá bom que eu iria ficar naquela PORRA de lugar, com toda aquela horda de bastardos, gente, gente, gente, por todos os lados, gente. "Fuck this, I'm out!"

Tá...ninguém entende,eu já perceebi isso. Mas eu tenho disso sim, meu prazo de validade com relação aos bastardos vence mais ou menos 5 da tarde, hora que sempre saio daqui dessa porra de escrotório. Não entendem. Eu sei que é díficil prum não-Buriol entender, mas eu sou assim. Eu me sentia mesmo sufocado por aquela gente. Precisava sair dali. Só isso. Voltar pra cas. O filme é do caralho, ótimo, pronto, vamos embora. Pra que comer rango trash e caro num xópis? Porque não ir pra casa e comer "de graça"?

Enfim, ninguém vai entender isso...e me faz até feliz por não ter um outro "ser especial" em minha companhia, pois....só iria dar merda. Eu não quero ir a lugar nenhum. Não quero. Quero ficar em casa, pronto. Merda. Nessas horas que eu vejo como eu tenho que realmente ser o eterno solteiro. Eu não aguento um treco desses sem brigar não. No mínimo, vou ficar lá de cara fechada, achando tudo ruim. Agradáaaaaaavellll né. 

Enfim foda-se. Pelo menos o lance com o cartão, embora ainda não entenda o que de fato tenha acontecido com um dos pedidos, os outros, do Mercado Livre em sua maioria, correram tudo certo. Tava com medo de dar merda e ter que sei lá, devolver as coisas, e ter que pagar no cash, que eu não tenho. 

Dane-se tudo. Feliz Natal? Vá pro caralho. Eu não celebro datas idiotas , ainda mais regidas por este câncer na terra, os religiosos. Vão todos pro inferno. Diaa de nascimento de Djesus??? Porra nenhum, é o Dia de Mitra. Os católicos que roubaram a data.

Mas enfim, tenham todos uns bons feriados. É o maximo que posso desejar com sinceridade, "feliz natal" você não vai ouvir eu dizer. Nah.

Momento "What?"

Sim, existem momentos em sua vida que você para e tem que se perguntar.

What?

Mas hein?

Como assim?

Eu, adquiro o tal cartão. Gerenciado pelo Banco do Brasil. Desbloqueio o dito num terminal físico, ou seja, um caixa eletrônico de uma agência, que fica no caminho de volta pra funchato depois de minha ida diário ao Verdemar. Vou pra funchato. Tento entrar, eles me dizem que tenho que criar minha senha de 8 dígitos. Tó, ok, por que não? Me perguntam vários dados cadastrais, tipo nome do meio do pai, primeiro nome de sua mae, blahblahblah, eu faço a tal senha. 

Vou usar. Não correntista. CPF: blah, aí cai na tela de login. Perguntam o CPF e a senha. DADOS NÃO CONFEREM. Aí você já fica assim, meio pelo menos semi "What?" Tenta de novo, tenta mil vezes, cada vez mais devagar na digitação, concentrando-se em cada número, fixo na mente antes de ser pressionado no teclado...DADOS NÃO CONFEREM.

Ligo pruma porra de SAC deles, falo o que está acontecendo, ela me pergunta umas coisas, nao sei pra que, pois logo em seguida me diz que não é com ela é no número 0 800 VAI SE FUDER. Aí você liga, a mulehr me diz que eu tenho que validar a senha da internet num terminal físico. Caixa eletrônico. O que me mata é você ainda ter que desejar bom dia presses caras. Dá mesmo é vontade de mandar se fuder, porque não me avisaram isso na página do banco ou coisa parecida, tipo no cartão mesmo? Fedaputas.

Vou ao banco naquele meu passo de raiva, que cada passada tem 20 metros, e chego lá bufando e todo suado. Aí eu cadastro a tal da senha. Volto pra funchato. DADOS NÃO CONFEREM. Vai Tomar. No. CU. Aí eu volto na agência, checo tudo sobre o cartão, os limites de crédito e débito, etc etc. Tá tudo lá. Porque não funciona na merda do site???

Aí hoje eu falei, "Vamos fazer um teste então." Tentei comprar algo, usando o cartão, 3 vezes sem juros. Horas mais tarde, recebo o email: seu pedido foi cancelado. Aí eu ligo pra ouvidoria do banco, me comportando bem, apesar de estar puto e querer de verdade é estar mandando o fedaputa pro raio que o parta, eu narro o caso, pele enésima vez. Aí o cara olha no computador dele, que deve ser um PC XP de 1987, pela velocidade com que se acessa um simples conjunto de dados. Aí ele diz que os dados cadastrais estão todos corretos, pois me pergunta um por um. Aí fala que eu tenho que ligar PRA PUTA QUE PARIU CARTÕES, e ver com eles. "ehehehehe, boa tarde, eheheheheh, obrigado."

Eu ligo. Narro a porra do caso de novo. Nada funciona e o cartão ainda é recusado na loja. Aí ela vai no MSX dela, com 64 Kb de memória, olha e demora, demora, demora, aí volta e me diz:

- Não, não existe nada errado com o seu cartão. 

- Como não? Nada nele funciona, ele é recusado na loja, como está "normal"???

- Senhor, o que houve foi o seguinte: O sistema acusou compra. Aprovou a compra. Depois, cancelou. Por erro do sistema.

-....................(é aqui que você fica, "What?")

- Ele está normal.

- Mas eu não consigo acessar o site.

- Não é só o senhor. Ninguém consegue. Está dando erro de inconsistência de dados para todo mundo. Faz DOIS DIAS que está assim, você digita seu CPF certinho e ele dá o erro.

- Ah.........(Você dá a quele urro de ódio interno)

- Mais alguma dúvida?

- Não, obrigado, boa tarde, ciao!

O que fazer? Eu vou tentar comprar de novo, como ela mesmo sugeriu. Como eles mesmos dizem, tá tudo gravado. Se der pau de novo, espero que eles não mandem a polícia atrás de mim por estar usando cartão forjado, algo assim.

Putaquipariu viu. Escolhi bem. Um banco cujo site foi hackeado - tem que ter sidou, ou então eles têm o chefe de TI mais incompetente do universo. Ou ambos - que aprova a venda, depois cancela, "por erro do sistema" ????? Puta merda. Bem, vamos ver, vou tentar assim que terminar de baixar o Internet Security 2105 hackeado. Quero saber de comprar esse ano nao.

What?

Qué?

Acuma?

Pois é. Vamo ver se vou ver essa história repetindo. Espero que não....

Ufa.

Bem, depois do meu erro "rookie em TI" de ontem, ou má nota, como dizem meus pais, eu consegui recuperar tudo que eu precisava. A ferramenta é fantástica, de fato. Ainda bem que tem "os pirata" por aí pra ajudar, pois antes disso eu tentei baixar uma porção de programas que fazem a mesma coisa, porém são todos pagos....mas deixam você usar...pra recuperar UM giga ou pior ainda, 100 MEGAS. Páporra com vocês!

Hoje, só to esperando dar meio dia, pois tem a famosa "festa de fim de ano" da empresa, eu eu não vou, nem fudendo. Primeiro, não gosto nem fudendo desse tipo de festa. Depois, não posso comer NADA que vão servir. Churrasco, que eu tanto gostava, pra mim é morte. Ah, fodas também, uma das coisas que aprendi naquela porra de biologia é que quanto mais queimada a carne, mais cancerígena também - aquele tipo de informação que não gostamos de ficar sabendo.

Então, vai dar meio dia, eu volto pra casa e fico de boa com Gideon e meus brinquedos, minhas damas de seis cordas, etc. 

Agora, eu ainda tô puto com essa MERDA que é esse Banco do Brasil. Não entra na página de informações do cartão nem fudendo, mas funciona normalmente nos terminais físicos. Liguei o foda-se e fiz uma compra com ele, pra testar. Se der errado, aí eu vou lá na porra do banco e esculacho esses imbecis pessoalmente. Porque não tô num um pouco a fim de falar com teleatendimento, que fica aquele empurra-empurra. Pra merda com vocês.

Ai ai...meia hora ainda...que saco viu. E eu tô aqui desde as seis, pois precisava resolver esse lance da transferência dos arquivos....

Bem. Senão vejamos como vai correr o dia.

Momento "Oh Shit".

Tem horas, que você só pode dizer isso. 

"Oh shit."

Bem, pra começar, que bela merda é esse tal de Banco do Brasil, viu. Recebi ontem, conforme disse, meu cartão de crédito. Tentei acessar de casa ontem à noite as informações dele, mas sempre dava tudo errado na hora de logar nessa porra de banco. Aí eu pensei, "Bem, o certão está bloqueado ainda, deve ser por isso."

Vim pra cá, como de costume, mas um tanto mais cedo que o usual, uma vez que hoje acordei uns 25 minutos antes do despertador e não voltei a dormir. Levantei-me, fiz uns exercícios pra acordar, tomei meu café com nicotina, e fui à famigerada praça. Chego lá e há um bando de bastardos. Gente. Gente doidaraça, cheirada, fumada, fazendo zona, etc. Então nem tentei achar nada, fiquei no ponto de ônibus mesmo.

Aí veio um dos grupos de imbecis que ficam lá a noite inteira, imaginando que vai fazer calor, morrendo de frio, e entre eles, o famoso malaco que eu ajudei a financiar seu roubo. De nove, a pergunta pega-idiota, "Que horas são, véi?" Achando que eu iria mesmo tirar meu celular pra ele roubar, "Tenho nem idéia, vei." Aí tive que ficar lá, mofando e esperando o ônibus e guentando o papo dos caras ultra-cheirados e fumados, "Porra vei aquele marroquino foi doido demais" - "eu já fui e voltei ao Marrocos umas sete vezes já, ahahahahah!" Blah blah blah. Pessoas. Que bando de bastardos!

Prossegui, para o silviço, fui no Verdemar como de costume, e depois fui numa agência do Banco do Brasil, que fica perto de lá, para desbloquear o tal cartão de crédito. É, infelizmente, este meu cartão é gerenciado por esta merda de banco. Desbloqueei-o e achava que tudo estava resolvido. Pois, na noite anterior eu tentara acessar o site infame deles para verificar os dados, limites e etc, mas simplesmente não funcionava. Tinha que criar uma senha de 8 dígitos para acessar. Eu criei, dava "DADOS NÃO CONFEREM" - e imaginei ser por causa do cartão estar ainda bloqueado. 

Aí, como cheguei ultra-cedo no prédio, às 6:20 da manhã, tentei novamente. Me falaram para instalar uma ferramenta de segurança do banco, para o Firefox e aquela coisa que se atreve a chamar de browser, o famoso Internet Exploder. Nada para o Chrome. Aí, tentei entrar de novo - "DADOS NÃO CONFEREM" - putaquipariu. Liguei pro banco, blahblahblah, "normalmente ou é erro de digitação ou algum dao incorreto em seu cadastro. Ligue pra..." Aí lá vou eu ligar de novo, ouvir as mesmas ladainhas, tente em OUTRO número. Aí uma mulé me diz que a senha tem que ser validada em um terminal de auto-atendimento. AAAAARRRGHHHHH.  Fui de novo no banco, cadastrei a porra da senha e voltei....e deu na mesma. 

Só que o antívirus da funchato, que é da Symantec, começou a popar umas mensagens de erro em firewall, e outras coisas. Apertei em "Corrigir tudo" e corrigiu. Rodei o antívirus, pois meu chefe mesmo falou, "Cuidado, pois o Banco do Brasil é dos sites de banco mais atacados que existem" - o dito, depois de rodar, achou uns trojan e um tracking cookie, que exterminou, aparentemente. Mas continuava a dar a mesma porra de mensagem quando eu tentava acessar o banco. E começou a popar umas mensagens de "inserir disco em H:\" que é o leitor de cartões de máquinas fotográficas e afins. E cada hora era um arquivo executável diferente que pedia. Coisa de vírus, aparentemente. 

Aí eu apelei. "Chega dessa merda. Vou formatar essa porra e voltar pro Windows 7, que esse 8 é um verdadeiro CU." Só que como a má quina é das mais novas da Funchal, ela tem um esquema que não deixa instalar o 7, a não ser que você modifique uma configuração na BIOS. Mudei, começou a rodar a instalação. Deletei as partições desnecessárias, mantendo a de dados, mas não instalava, "pois o HD é GPT." Grande Puta Merda, isso sim. Aí meu chefe viu um tutorial de como tirar essa merda de GPT e voltar pro modo "normal" do HD. Você tem que entrar num prompt durante a instalação e dar uns comandos. Não rolou, "pois o disco é inconversível" - aí o tutorial falava, se falhar dê um "clean".

Aí foi o desastre. Eu tava tão puto que nem pensei. Meu chefe tava do meu lado, e disse, "Mas se você der clean vai perder..." e eu já tinha dado enter. "...todos seus dados." E foi o que aconteceu, pois o HD foi zerado, de fato. Perdeu todas as partições. 

Oh, shit.

Oh, FUCK!

Foi tudo pro espaço. Mas o Ramaldes(chefe do TI e meu chefe), falou, "peraí que eu acho que existe uma ferramenta pra recuperar isso." e baixou-a de um site piratão que ele é membro. Aí eu rodei o treco. Demorou umas 3 horas, mas conseguiu vislumbrar pelo menos 90% da partição que eu precisava recuperar. Tinha muita coisa importante ali, não só pra mim, mas pra própria funchato. Rolou de recuperar, mas não tudo, pois o programa faz o seguinte: ele copia o que conseguir recuperar pra outro lugar. E eu tava rodando o programa num notebook, enquanto o meu HD - que é de 1 TB - era bem maior que o HD do notebook. Tive que sacrificar as músicas e outras coisas, mas acho que rolou de recuperar o que precisava. ACHO, pois ele ficou lá rodando quando fui embora, não rolava de esperar nem fudendo. Meu chefe só falou, "Ah, deixa ele rodando aí, amanha a gente mexe nisso." 

Mas que porra viu. Por causa desses imbecis que fazem esses sites de banco, parecem que são fábricas de vírus e keyloggers. Baixei uma versão crackeada do Kaspersky pra depois tentar de novo...mas tô com medo dessa merda, viu. Que banco fudido. Nos terminais de auto-atendimento, o cartão funciona normalzinho, mas no browser, só fica dando essa porra de mensagem, "DADOS NÃO CONFEREM". Saco.

Bem, vamos ver o que vai acontecer com esse antívirus e internet security instalados....ai ai...

A By-product Of Sheer Boredom.

Yesterday, I was angry, very angry, and did not know the reason. Today, I'm just bored. So fucking bored, I'll once again do the whole "questions" thingie. These ones I found in a site that claims they're great "to break the ice" and "get to know someone better". Well, let's see.

   1. Who is your hero?

Vincent Van Gogh. Not only because of his work, which I find fantastic, but because of his personal history - I can relate to him on several levels.

   2. If you could live anywhere, where would it be?

   3. What is your biggest fear?

Ironically, it is to die alone and in poverty, living in a shithole after my parents die and my own brother gets all the money. Want to add some misery? Maybe it's gonna happen in front of computer porn.

   4. What is your favorite family vacation?

They go on a trip somewhere far, far away, and I'll have the house for myself.

   5. What would you change about yourself if you could?

Be less of a coward. 

   6. What really makes you angry?

Man, do you got a pen? There's a whole list of things that pisses me off. Mostly because of people, that bunch of bastards.

   7. What motivates you to work hard?

Honestly? Money. The more money involved, the more energy I'll spend. Guess why I'm answering question on this time(2:53 PM, fuck, the time freezes over here) of a working day? Don't pay me enough...I won't do anything enough. And I don't give a shit about it.

   8. What is your favorite thing about your career?

That I haven't got one, nor ever will have, from the onset of things going on in my life.

   9. What is your biggest complaint about your job?

Bitch, I got a lot of complaints: I don't get paid enough, there is NO way of progressing in this shitjob, and even trained monkeys could do what I do.

   10. What is your proudest accomplishment?

Er...none?

   11. What is your child's proudest accomplishment?

Wait, are you asking me if I have kids, is that it? HAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAH

   12. What is your favorite book to read?

"Lullaby", by Chuck Palahniuk.

   13. What makes you laugh the most?

British humour, mostly. I think they are way more funny than those idiotic north american jokes, or films.

   14. What was the last movie you went to? What did you think?

Man, haven't been to a cinema in ages...let me think...yeah, it was "The Hobbit - The Desolatio of Smaug" - I liked it, but I'm annoyed too. They're just padding up a story that could have been told in two films, tops, and adding all those weird elements, like fucking Legolas in "The Hobbit"? WTF? 

   15. What did you want to be when you were small?

Someone that eearned money through art. Well, that's a fucking shattered dream now, to be sure.

   16. What does your child want to be when he/she grows up?

Man, I got no kids. Thankfully, I dodged that bullet. Anyone who wants kids, to me, is a bit of a whacko. Do you really want to look over such a pathetic thing, that can do ABSOLUTELY NOTHING without adult help? Do you want to sleep at night? Then don't have kids! Do you want to get laid? Don't have motherfucking kids! And furthermore, inserting another person on this fucking already overpopulated world should be considered a crime. I'm telling oyu, 85% percent or more of the Earth's population gotta DIE on a plague or something, to keep this thing rolling smoothly.

   17. If you could choose to do anything for a day, what would it be?

I'm a simple man. Just let me be home, preferrably without my family around. Just that.

   18. What is your favorite game or sport to watch and play?

My favourite sport used to be surf...but nowadays, I got nothing on sports. To be honest, I find all of them extremely boring and stupid. 

   19. Would you rather ride a bike, ride a horse, or drive a car?

A car, obviously. It's the most comfortable of these choices. You can say "fuck off" to the radio and listen to your MP3 player...bikes, to be honest, I don't even know how to switch gears on them. Horses? Fuck those animals to HELL. I fucking hate riding horses. 

   20. What would you sing at Karaoke night?

I doubt they'd have it on their playlist, but "Mercado Central" by PexbaA would be my choice.

   21. What two radio stations do you listen to in the car the most?

I'd rather listen to fucking nothing than to turn on the radio, if that was my only choice of music available.

   22. Which would you rather do: wash dishes, mow the lawn, clean the bathroom, or vacuum the house?

I'd do the dishes, obviously. 

   23. If you could hire someone to help you, would it be with cleaning, cooking, or yard work?

Well, my mum keep pestering me to be a fucking gardener, whereas I fucking hate gardens. I'd rather have a nice concrete patio that a garden. So, I'd hire a gardener so she'd just shut up.

   24. If you could only eat one meal for the rest of your life, what would it be?

Believe me, I am close to doing that already. Everyday, a shitload of salad, integral rice with beans, and a grilled chicken breast. That's all I am allowed to eat at that restaurant, anyway.

   25. Who is your favorite author?

Chuck Palahniuk. 

   26. Have you ever had a nickname? What is it?

Buriol, CosMar....everytime they ask this same lame question....

   27. Do you like or dislike surprises? Why or why not?

Well, now it all depends if it is a nice surprise or a horrible one, isn't it? I love nice surprises and hate the horrible ones.

   28. In the evening, would you rather play a game, visit a relative, watch a movie, or read?

Drink a cup of joe, smoking a fag, while stuffing myself with bread and cream cheese, then I'd hit them irons, then I'd maybe watch part of a movie or something, until I can't get no more, and go to sleep. And sometimes, I play guitar while digesting. 

   29. Would you rather vacation in Hawaii or Alaska, and why?

No man, no. On vacations I don't want to travel. I just want to stay home. That's all.

   30. Would you rather win the lottery or work at the perfect job? And why?

Of course, winning the lottery. Because the odds of that happening and working on my dream job are basically the same: ZERO.

   31. Who would you want to be stranded with on a deserted island?

Now that's tricky. If you are referring to "the special someone" that everybody is supposed to happen, sorr, but I haven't found this person(and I think I never will) yet. So, just leave me alone there. It's enough.

   32. If money was no object, what would you do all day?

After I sorted out the mess my house is, all leakages and worn out stuff, I'd have the perfect attic for myself, then I'd stay home purchasing vintage guitars online. Or anything that I wanted to buy. 

   33. If you could go back in time, what year would you travel to?

1996. Then I'd find myself, slap me on the face, and say to me: "You fuck, DON'T PICK BIOLOGY OVER MEDICINE, you stupid motherfucker."

   34. How would your friends describe you?

How the fuck should I know? I'm not in their heads, and it's never been a topic on conversations.

   35. What are your hobbies?

Nowadays? The fucking gym, I suppose. 

   36. What is the best gift you have been given?

Everybody know it's my Gideon. My pet dragon.

   37. What is the worst gift you have received?

My oldest sister, gaveme once a shirt that was the most horrible thing I'd ever seen. It's like an ordinary t-shirt, but with that fucking collar of a buttoned shirt. I never even took it out of the box, ever. I threw it away some time ago, box and everything. Not that I don't appreciate her effort; but it was simply hideous, and had to be destroyed. 

   38. Aside from food, water, and shelter, what one thing could you not go a day without?

That's fucking easy, my chap. Tobbacco.

   39. List two pet peeves.

People, and too many people.

   40. Where do you see yourself in five years?

If I don't die till then, I'll be on this same fucking chair, doing the exact same shitjob with no career perspective, just killing off these awful nine hours I spend on this shithole. And probably, with the same fucking low payment.

   41. How many pairs of shoes do you own?

About 6 well-worn boots, and one pair of snickers.

   42. If you were a super-hero, what powers would you have?

Either flight or teleportation would be enough.

   43. What would you do if you won the lottery?

See answer to question 32.

   44. What form of public transportation do you prefer? (air, boat, train, bus, car, etc.)

Well, we only got the fucking bloody buses, so that's it. Not that I prefer it, but I'm fucking forced to use them.

   45. What's your favorite zoo animal?

An animal that's not on a fucking zoo. Zoos are quite imbecilic. Who the fuck thought of those things? "Let's trap wild animals, remove them from their natural environments and show them to people." - what a fucking asshole.

   46. If you could go back in time to change one thing, what would it be?

I told you already. Iwouldn't pick fucking biology as my major, but medicine. Maybe I'd be someone, a normal person then.

   47. If you could share a meal with any 4 individuals, living or dead, who would they be?

That's easy. Richard Ayoade, Chris O'Dowd, Katherine Parkinson and Grahan Lineham. The three main characters of "The IT Crowd" and its creator. I'd love to discuss my favourite brtish comedy since Monty Python with them.

   48. How many pillows do you sleep with?

Three.

   49. What's the longest you've gone without sleep (and why)?

Three weeks. I don't know why. I just couldn't sleep. I guess it was all effects of my mind degrading over the wrong meds I was taking back then.

   50. What's the tallest building you've been to the top in?

Pffff. In this shit town? No taller than 30 stories. And I've never been there, because it's also know as a "verticla slum" - The JK Building.

   51. Would you rather trade intelligence for looks or looks for intelligence?

This question is fucked. I'm not answering this shit.

   52. How often do you buy clothes?

Not often, but I broke the general rule this december....but I think that, after that shopping spree, I'm not getting  anything in the next few months.

   53. Have you ever had a secret admirer?

If I did, he/she didn't let me know. 

   54. What's your favorite holiday?

Carnaval. It's long enough, even though this FUCK of a company insists on making us work on the wednesday of said week, from 12 PM till 5. Assholes.

   55. What's the most daring thing you've ever done?

Me? Daring? Nothing, I suppose.

   56. What was the last thing you recorded on TV?

Don't watch TV. I've got the internet for that. Netflix, imbecile! Ever heard of it??

   57. What was the last book you read?

"The Silence of the Lambs"

   58. What's your favorite type of foreign food?

I'm pretty restricted, now that I take these meds that might kill me if I eat the wrong thing. I'd say something involving chicken and curry.

   59. Are you a clean or messy person?

Definitely messy.

   60. Who would you want to play you in a movie of your life?

This shit life I got? Wouldn't turn into a movie, never. So, nobody.

   61. How long does it take you to get ready in the morning?

Around 45 minutes, I'm very slow in the morning.

   62. What kitchen appliance do you use every day?

Er...knives and forks? You know, when I eat? What a stupid question. 

   63. What's your favorite fast food chain?

Subway.

   64. What's your favorite family recipe?

My mum makes a pretty kickass Czech goulash, but I don't even know if I can eat that anymore. Y'know, Parnate and tyramine, they don't mix well.

   65. Do you love or hate rollercoasters?

Never been to one, and never will. I hate that feeling of sheer terror and panic.

   66. What's your favorite family tradition?

Keeping me living with them yet.

   67. What is your favorite childhood memory?

The day I got a monster of a truck from my father. That truck was awesome.

   68. What's your favorite movie?

"Fight Club", hands down.

   69. How old were you when you learned Santa wasn't real? How did you find out?

I honestly don't remember. Someday I just got asked what I wanted for xmas. I answered, and got it. So, I guess I just connected the dots, I dunno.

   70. Is your glass half full or half empty?

Half empty, and it's piss inside.

   71. What's the craziest thing you’ve done in the name of love?

What is this "love" you are talking about?

   72. What three items would you take with you on a deserted island?

Three items?  Well, the largest Swiss Army Knife in existence, with 13334564 functions, a very, very, large suitcase full of sunblock, and another one for...(censored) material.

   73. What was your favorite subject in school?

That fucking, good-for-nothing, biology.

   74. What's the most unusual thing you've ever eaten?

I'm not well-travelled...so I guess it would be Capivara's meat. Feels like you're eating a giant rat.

   75. Do you collect anything?

Yeah, dragons. But I'm not obsessed with them though. I already have the most precious of them all, Gideon.

   76. Is there anything you wished would come back into fashion?

Fedoras. Hats. Specially now that I'm this skinhead walrus.

   77. Are you an introvert or an extrovert?

I'm way beyond introvert. They should name "Buriovert" after me.

   78. Which of the five senses would you say is your strongest?

I guess it's taste.

   79. Have you ever had a surprise party? (that was an actual surprise)

Nope.

   80. Are you related or distantly related to anyone famous?

Not that I know of. My great-grandfather was somewhat of a "legend"  on World War I, but I don't know his name nor if that information's actually accurate, you know, moms telling tales...they might not be true. But I do know that his journal is in a museum in Prague.

   81. What do you do to keep fit?

Don't eat too much fat, nor sugar. And keeping on exercising helps too.

   82. Does your family have a “motto” – spoken or unspoken?

Nah, they're not that important or creative.

   83. If you were ruler of your own country what would be the first law you would introduce?

"I will state that 85% of you needs to go - so underneath your seats, you'll find a questionnaire. And if you didn't bring a pencil, then you're OUT!"

    84. Who was your favorite teacher in school and why?

Betão, the biology teacher, that somewhat got me this crazy idea that if I studied biology, I'd might be just like him, and get a good pay in the side. How could I be so fucking naive, it baffles me to this day.

   85. What three things do you think of the most each day?

"People! What a bunch of bastards!" - "How the fuck have my life derailed so much?" - "Man, I'm fucking bored."

   86. If you had a warning label, what would yours say?

"Keep Away - for your own safety."

   87. What song would you say best sums you up?

"Duress", by the glorious Swervedriver.

   88. What celebrity would you like to meet at Starbucks for a cup of coffee?

Does it have to be on a fucking Starbucks? Can't it be on somewhere like, a Paris Café? So, no fucking Starbucks. I'd like to meet up with Sir Ian Gallagher on a french Café. He must have a lot of stories to tell.

   89. Who was your first crush?

Nobody. I don't believe in that crap, you see someone and then, "click" - Magic!

   90. What's the most interesting thing you can see out of your office or kitchen window?

None of them has any interesting features to look at...a bunch of fancy buildings on my office window, and a bunch of leaves from the tree that covers our yard, from the kitchen window. So, nothing special.

   91. On a scale of 1-10 how funny would you say you are?

I'm not funny. I might look funny, specially now that I'm this mix of a nerd with a skinhead. To answer your question, I'd say 3 or 4.

   92. Where do you see yourself in 10 years?

Please, let me be dead. I'm sick of this godawful life and my unstable head. Can't take 10 more years of this shit.

   93. What was your first job?

I was nothing in this very company, then I turned to be office boy, which is pretty much the same, and then I turned into nothing again, on accounts. Then I quit, had my ass handed to me by my crushed dreams, got back into being nothing in this company yet again.

   94. If you could join any past or current music group which would you want to join?

Swervedriver, hands down.

   95. How many languages do you speak?

Two. English and portuguese.

   96. What is your favorite family holiday tradition?

Yeah, we don't have those.

   97. Who is the most intelligent person you know?

Again? I've told you, It's Rafael. Giannetti. Viotti.

   98. If you had to describe yourself as an animal, which one would it be?

A fucking platypus. An aberration of nature.

   99. What is one thing you will never do again?

I hope I never get to see the Ogre again, and have all those fucked up, stupid arguments with him.

 100. Who knows you the best?

Gideon. Because he is me, and I am him.

Well, that helped at least, because I've wrote the 15 last answers here from my Tower. And had two nice surprises, one, that Centauro has finally delivered all my shit, and that my credit card arrived. I'm staring at the envelope, a bit afraid of it. My previous experiences with credit cards turned out sour.

Thus we endeth this very essay on boredom.

Maratona da Madrugada.

Eu tenho esta coisa, programada em meu corpo, que geralmente me faz acordar antes do despertador, às vezes faltando muitas horas, que geralmente se transformam em insônia, mas hoje eu tinha que estar no Hermes Pardini às seis, para realizar um exame sobre meus niveis de lítio no sangue. Faz sentido, pois como eu disse, eu fiquei muito tempo usando O lítio que recebia de amostra grátis da médica das fadas. Estão todos vencidos, e somente ontem eu consegui ter a grana para comprar os remédios do mês - incluindo uma caixa nova de lítio. Tomei-os e deveria fazer o tal exame.

Acontece que o imbecil aqui, foi ajustar o alarme para um pouquinho mais tarde que costumo acordar, para as 4:45...e nem vi que na verdade ajustei par 5:45.

Acordei antes dele tocar, já sabendo que havia algo errado. Dava pra ver pois o dia estava raiando, e isto só costuma acontecer lá pelas 5:30 na região onde moro. Olhei a hora: 5:35. 

Well, fuck.

Me vesti apressadamente, catei o que precisava, não tomei café nem comi nada e fui correndo pra lá. Felizmente, no meio das roupas novas eu acidentalmente comprei uma calça que tem que ser pra uso em corridas, pois não dei nenhum "overheat" enquanto ia pra lá. Cortei caminho pela ridícula Praça da Bandeira e cheguei...antes que qualquer pessoa. Fui o primeiro e único a estar lá, fui atendido na hora. 

Não tenho nem idéia de como consegui realizar tal feito, pois aconteceu aquela cena clássica, eu estava saindo de casa, andei uns 300 metros e..."Porra! Meu celular!" tinha ficado lá em casa; voltei, esbaforido e cheguei ainda pra ver o imbecil despertando, ou seja, eram 5:45 e eu ainda estava em casa. 

Bem, tudo está bem quando termina bem. Hoje também entendi a "lógica" estranha do PayPal, e me aventurei no eBay, pra comprar a tal cera para minhas taturanas louras que tenho por cima dos lábios. Comprei, menos de 30 dólares, com o frete, ou seja, não haverá problemas com o fisco, creio eu, pois eles retêm encomendas acima de 50 dólares, pelo que li. Aí decidi arriscar e procurar por uma coisa que, se eu achasse e tivesse preço razoável, eu compraria na hora - um potenciômetro Dunlop original para meu pedal Wah Wah Crybaby, que é dos melhores que existem no mercado, e um novo custa em torno de 600-700 reais. O meu, eu já comprei usado, que foi um erro, pois ele não durou muito e estragou esta parte - o potenciômetro em si. Mas é dos melhores Wahs que existem mesmo. Abri-o para checar como é o esquema do potenciômetro...me pareceu ser algo bem simples de se consertar. 

Achei o tal potenciômetro, original da Dunlop, por...32 dólares, com o frete. Comprei na hora. O mesmo potenciômetro, no Mercado Livre, não fica a menos de 200 reais. Depois, olhei cordas pra guitarra. 10 sets de encordoamento Fender, por 20 dólares. E depois, olhei palhetas. 100 palhetas(!) por....8 dólares, frete grátis. Uahahahahhahahah. I am the guitar pick King!

Aí eu parei, pois só sobraram 11 dólares no meu PayPal. Mas com certeza, essas coisas, pequenezas, eu vou comprar ali de novo. Sim, eu sei, tem o porém do tempo de entrega, que costuma ser demoraaaaadoooo....Mas acho que compensa. UMA palheta, você acha aqui por uns 2-3 reais. Por 8 dólares eu vou pegar 100. O que compensa mais? Esperar um tanto, ou ser roubado por esses fedaputas donos de loja? UM conjunto de cordas de guitarra, não sai por menos de 20 reais. Eu levei 10 por 20 dólares. Valeu pelo toque, Cassis, meses, anos atrás. Cassis é o cara que me falou esse segredinho. Nunca mais compro encordoamento na mão desses assaltantes. 

E mais, descobri que minha dívida com a tal "caixinha" da funchato nem vai me dar tanto prejuízo assim. Tipo, se eu não tivesse pegado nada emprestado, receberia 2200 reais mais 5% de juros. Agora, pagando o que devo, receberei algo em torno de 1600 mais os juros. Ou seja, posso pagar metade da dívida com minha mãe e ainda sobra. 

Bem, bem. Tudo está bem agora, ou pelo menos mais encaminhado. Vai ser foda esperar pela chegada da cera...até lá, acho que vou parecer um Gengis Khan careca e louro. Hahahahahaha.

Bem, espero que aquela onda ruim de ontem não se repita tão cedo. Hoje tô de boassa, pois deu tudo certo, mesmo podendo dar tudo errado. Se eu conseguir, de fato consertar o Crybaby wah wah, já vai ser um lucro da porra. Pois ele é OS BICHO, como se diz, infinitamente melhor que aquele wah patetico da pedaleira Boss que possuo.

Senão vejamos o que vem em seguida...

The Bitchin' Emperor's New Clothes.

Yeah, I know. I've been a-bitching too much today. But it was a rather miserable day indeed, specially with all these dark predictions of my future. Questions, like "What the fuck am I supposed to do with this shitty life of mine," and the whole ordeal with the psychologist and her insistence about those awful tests, it wore me out.

Later on, I went to pick up some computer parts on a store not that far away from my work, but the damned place was fucking crowded, I keep on forgetting, next week we have that date, y'know, the date of Mittra's day, the date the fucking catholics stole and claimed as the date of birth of Jesus. 

Yeah, right. Bullshitters, all of you that reside in that fucking "country" called Vatican. Where the sexual age of consent is 12. Yes! Twelve. Years. Old. No wonder they defend all pedophiles they put on churches and pulpits worldwide. A whole network of pedophilia. 

Then I ran to catch my bus on time, but missed it. Fuckety fuck. 

But then I got home, and...presto! All these packages were waiting for me. Finally, that darned store - Centauro - has decided to deliver them to me. I've placed four orders in the same day, I even got a call from them, I think they thought I might've stolen my mum's credit card. Bollocks! But that was around December 1st, the weekend they made that "black friday" bullshit. Nonetheless, I've bought a whole lotta lot of clothes, pants and sleeveless shirts and all. Most pants I bought I thought I could use while working, but...two of them are just overpriced "moletons". Yeah. I own a fucking Nike moleton pants. What the fuck?? That's what you get from not actually going to the store and select your clothes of choice, try them out, think about it, and then take them home. 

Ah, fuck it. At least I was able to secure two decent, work-suitable pants off another store. 

And I also received an email about my PayPal charge. Okay, but I still have no idea on how to use the damned thing. Because as of right now, the balance on that PayPal acconut is...zero. What the fuck am I supposed to do? Is it like a fucking bank, where I need to wait for two days before I get my hands on the money?

Like I said, I'm feeling old. I bet there would be a lot of kids laughing at the decrepit old man who doesn't even know how to use PayPal properly.

Well, I'll figure it out somehow. Meanwhile, I gotta clean the attic from all these empty plastic packages. Oh, by the way, don't buy on Centauro. Not only their delivery is the WORST I've seen, almost 20 days to deliver my shit, but they absolutely ignore all your emails. 

Well, at least the day ended on this positive note. New stuff is always good. Specially when you've been waiting for them for almost 20 days. And notice this too- they haven't delivered it all yet. There are some barbells missing, that did not get here yet.

I say fuck it. Maybe tomorrow, who knows?

The suckage continued.

Yeah, I was right. Bull's eye. This day, sucks. And it will continue to suck.

My psychologist came up again with all that bullshit, "You are so intelligent, you should try some of these "concursos públicos" and--"

I interrupted her there. Intelligence has GODDAMNED NOTHING to do with those awful tests. NOTHING AT ALL. I've seen it, Rafael's seen it, and won't let me lie - it proves FUCKING NOTHING. Just sort out those full-on retarded cassette recorders people, who memorized all those fucking laws and bullshit, and know it from heart, because he's been doing nothing but this - memorizing bullshit, to the letter. 

Do you see intelligent people at the town hall? Or anywhere there's a "repartição pública"? No, you don't. You see the scum of the universe. Those people who leave the phone off the hook because they don't want to work. They do that! Imagine an employee, an ACTUAL employee of some private enterprise doing the same. He'd be fired on the spot, no questions asked, get the fuck outta here!

So, here I am. Between carrying on the torch of being an even less worthy employee than those public bastards, or...joining them. Have classes overnight. Tape 'em, listen to 'em a thousand times, and it won't be enough for me to pass on such a thing. 

I'd rather keep on being the deadweight around here, thanks. No fucking way I'll do that shit, ever again. I repeat - it was just a waste of fucking 3000 bucks, for absolutely NOTHING. No refunds, not even ANY useful knowledgecould be scooped from that dreaded process. Night after night, and saturdays too. Even some sundays. NO. FUCK OFF.

Am I angry? Yeah, that's fucking right, I am. Pissed off, very much, thank you for noticing, and keep your distance, for your own safety, because I feel an almost uncontrollable urge to punch someone.

Man, fuck this shit. Fuck it all to fucking hell. I can almost feel the conversation between the makers, or maker, or God, whoever the FUCK you worship. Could be a fucking kettle, the results woud be the same:

"- What about this one? What will we do to him?

- Oh, he'll have some useless talents like being able to scrawl and call it "art" and make noises on a guitar and call it "music". 

- That's it? We won't provide him with any SUSTAINABLE skills? 

- No...imagine all the laughs we won't share seeing this imbecile struggling through life. Oh, and make him gay too -- that will be even funnier."

I ate cheese today. I did. In hopes of a fucking stroke that never came. Maybe I ate too little, and now the rest of the ants here have already devoured it so I'll have to wait until I try another death by cheese.

Imagine the headlines: Fucking faggot dies of eating a wheel of mozzarela.

That would be a laugh to them, I can guarantee it. Whoever's watching this fucking videogame that is our lives. We're "The Sims" to them. "Burn him! Ahaahhahahaha!"

And what's worst - these sadists, or sadist in charge, gave me these fucking pills, pink gay fucking pills, that made me feel fucking good for two weeks, and then I'm back to being this shitty asshole. I deserve to die. I want to die. That's why I won't quit smoking cancer sticks - maybe I'll at least accelerate the whole thing. 

In fact, I'm off to poison myself some more. 

Man, fuck this day. 

"It's gonna suck."

Yeah, it will. Today, I mean. 

It's gonna suck.

How do I know? I just know, I just feel it. Call it a sixth sense. I woke up and know right away - "Today is gonna fucking suck."

Mind you, it ain't "suck" as in "blowjob", rather more like, "Hi. I'm Life. I'm going to rape you, bareback, without lube and with a sprinkle of glass dust to make it hurt all the way through."

So, don't bother. Either way, you'll get raped. I guess it's true, no one is a virgin, life fucks us all.

Just the fact that I got at work by 6:20 AM is a good reference on how it's going to suck. 

"Another day, another dollar," some might say. I say, "Another day, another rape. Fuck it."

Shitty fucking day, and it's not even really started out yet. I still gotta go to the psychologist, and I now I'll leave there planning my own demise. Or at least hoping for an accident to happen. I keep on walking down the street, almost praying, "Please, let me get hit by a bus.",  "Please, amke this tree fall upon me." - "JUST FUCKING GO AHEAD AND END ME, YOU MOTHERFUCKER!!!"

That's some sort of example of what my clueless, yet a fucking awful person nonetheless, might have heard last night, when I was going crazy. 

I've argued with a fucking brown sugar bag today. "How come this shit cost us MORE than the processed sugar? It's fucking raw sugar, no additives, notreatment. They just grind it to a powder, and that's it, no more chemical processing or anything else. 

And they have the nerve to sell us this shit at twice the price ofwhat's essentially the same thing - white sugar - but provcessed by a billion chemicals to become white and so on, it's kinda the Michael Jackson of sugars. Pure chemicals and treatment, to make it look white. 

Brown sugar, they jst do nothing with it, other than to grind the raw block of "rapadura"(whatever the hell this thing is called in english), and pour it in a bag. And they charge us twice for the fucking thing. Why? Because it's trendy to be healthier, I guess. So they charge us more.

Fuck this shit. Today's gonna suck, there you go. My divination of the day. Four hundred dollars, please. 

What? I just told you the future! Oh, I see. You already knew it is a sucky day. Because you fucked a woman, and got diagnosed with a baby, one of the worst diseases one might contract, a fucking baby.

That's the worst diagnosis possible: "You are pregnant."

If someone told me that, I'd jump out of the window instantly. 

Well, at least, this disease I'm not going to get, thankfully.

Fuck all this shit. It's gonna suck, believe me. It will.

Holy Bollocks.

I guess it's true what they say. You are not crazy until you've had a fight with yourself, twice a year, IN THE SAME YEAR,  and then go all catatonic for 45 days.

That's when I thought I'd do myself in, you know, the whole empty faggotty threat of killing myself. 

But that's not crazy, no. 

My neighbours must have an inkling of what crazy really means. It means that you're home, and all of a sudden your blonde walrus nut loser neighbour starts screaming at the skies, going nuts about creation and all that shit.

Yeah, that's what I just did. Had a fight with an imaginary being. Some call it a deity named GOD ALMIGHTY, others call him Allah. 

But in the end, it's all the same fucking thing, the same fucking guy, who somehow created earth out of a pig's asshole, like I care about all that fucking bullshit catholics pry inside their poor kids' minds. Oh, and he hates gays. And lesbians. And transgenders, and alcoholics, transvestites, cokeheads and dopeheads, junkies and so on and on and on, you have to be a GOD to hate so many people. 

And worse yet - they're all supposed to be his offspring. His children.

If he hates all these, let me take the liberty of arranging us deranged, y'know, gays and lesbians, black people, and even a nine year-old boy who just had his first erection, and runs screaming naked by the house, losing his shit over his first boner, "Mom! My wee-wee is hard, and keeps coming up, and I try to put it down and it hurt, wahhhhhhhhhh"

Even this kid is a target for this deranged shooter. The ultimate killer. Never misses, when he wishes to - boom, you're dead! 

You know, I tried to be an atheist. I tried. But as the years passed, I kept on developing this crazy theory, that we are, in fact, somewhat related to some form of creation force, at least. I have not gave up on evolution or anything. 

I don't know ehere I heard it first - but someone came up with the most accurate definition of what we are to this so-called deity. We're all trapped in this antfarm, and he's a wicked kid with this ant farm. Sometimes he shakes it, y'know, for a little entertainment. Sometimes hew pours gasoline on some and light them on fire. Or hold them while he fries our heads with a magnifying glass. 

Point is - he don't love us, we're his entertainment. "Oh, things are boring on this land. Suppose I'll create this austrian guy named Adolf, and he'll have his long-life dream of being an artist robbed from him, so he'll go nuts and try to take over half of the world, killing a lot of people in the process."

Then someone with some sense would say to him, "b-b-but these are Jews you're letting him kill! Jews! Your"chosen people", remember that?" - "Nah, I must've said it when I was drunk."

Thing is, I do believe there is a superior power. But I don't believe in the whole dicotomy, you know, good an bad, God and the Devil.

It's all one and the same. And he's deranged, psychotic. I swear, some deaths he must have laughed out so loud, it's still thundering at some point of the universe. 

And I do not - DO NOT - think he's benevolent at all. He's just fucking crazy, you know. A kid and his experiment. "Let's see what happens if I freezes this whole antfarm of mine for a few millennia." and he stucks us into a fucking freezer for two kazillion years. "Oh, they're all dead. Again. Now I'll have to begin from scratch."

I know, it's fucking crazy. But it gets to me sometimes, you know, when I think about this shit of a world we live in. And what's worse, just like Bill Burr said, I don't like the idea of being judged for my fucking life. Am I not his creation? Why the fuck he made me suck at math and be better with fucking biology? Why the fuck would he create a plant, that when smoked, seems to calm you down, seems to be good for you but it's not, because all you want, everytime you let it blaze...is the kick of your first ever "being high" in your life. And it never, ever, ever, comes back. But you keep on doing. I keep on doing. Becuse that's me. And it's my fault? That this thing exists and I like it too much, just to escape from the clutches of this hell-world we live in? Am I not "your" creation, motherfucker? Don't try to turn the tables on me - you made me this way, asshat!

"Oh, but he gave us free will---" FUCK YOU. Free will is every religion's favourite bullshit, state-of-the-art scapegoat. An omnipotent power wouldn't give you free will. Why would he? To see us blowing to bits over who's got the best Imaginary Friend in the Sky??

Yeah. I must really be going crazy. And worse, I'm as sober as a fucking post. 

God, how I hate God. To me, it's just like this: