Thu, 27 Dec 2007
05:07
Legally known as "Cece".
Remember four years ago -- just like now, right around Christmas -- when you assaulted my wife from behind, as she was walking away? Then whined and lied through your teeth about how you felt "threatened" and you were "defending yourself"? And she lost her job, while you got to keep yours?
Yeah. I remember, too.
Unlike my wife, I'm not a nice person. She'll smile and swallow your shit until the end of time, just to avoid rocking the boat. But when someone pisses on me, I don't call it rain.
And I heard all about your latest trick. How Kim -- out of the goodness of her heart, and despite the fact that she was sick -- volunteered to help her mother organize and set up the post office Christmas dinner. How everyone was so glad to see her, most of them having known her since she was a kid. But you -- who don't even bother to attend these social events in the workplace -- the second you found out Kim was there, you went straight to the manager that doesn't like her mom, who told her she had to leave. In the middle of a snowstorm. And find her own ride home.
It must have really chapped your ass when someone gave her a ride, and refused to punch out to do it.
That you have the audacity to proclaim yourself a Christian woman is beyond laughable -- it beggars the imagination that the heavens don't open at such a statement and rain bolts of lightning upon you. You are no Christian. You are a coward, a liar, and a shitheel; a pustulent sore on the anus of the human race.
You are beneath contempt. You have no class, and you have no soul.
I'm sure the moment you read this, you'll go whining to someone about how it makes you feel "threatened". Rest assured -- I wouldn't sully the back of my hand with your ugly face. Hell, I wouldn't piss down your throat if you were dying of thirst. And a restraining order against me would be extremely amusing, considering that I never want to be within a country mile of someone so utterly vile and reprehensible as you.
But you've fucked with the woman I love for the last time, and I put you on notice: You will reap the consequences of your actions. That's not a threat -- it's a promise. Because it doesn't take a Nostradamus to see that someday, you'll fuck with someone who doesn't have my sense of self-restraint. Someone who doesn't consider you beneath their contempt, who will give you precisely what you deserve.
You want to try me? Bring it on. I'm not afraid of you, or your lies.
Because they're all you've got.
Rot in hell, fuck off, and die.
Hey, cunt
Sat, 16 Dec 2006
18:56
Mortgage is paid off. No more dealing with those lying, thieving scumbags at Chase, ever again.
Unrelated; seen on Slashdot in the 'dangerous toys' thread:
Ding dong, the witch is dead
"You want to know how the terrorists are going to win? No dirty nukes, no poisoning
the water supply. They're just going to sneak into all of our homes and place a
pea under each mattress, after which we will simply whine ourselves to fucking
death."
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Sat, 25 Nov 2006
19:59
See previous commentary for
why Chase do, in fact, suck balls.
More People Who Think Chase Sucks Balls
Tue, 26 Sep 2006
23:39
The comparatively minor rant, is that when someone says they're going to do
something for me, and that they're almost done, it drives me batshit to then
hear nothing from them. Until I stumble across them ranting about unrelated
topics and think, ah, so THAT explains the delay...
Fucker. At least he's learned not to get me involved.
No, today's rant centers around these malicious, incompetent shitstains.
Incompetent = stupid. Malicious = evil.
These braindead fucks have been
trying to cause us misery for six-odd years, ever since the beginning when we
first moved in. Dutifully we would send in the payment; regular as clockwork,
they would claim it was late.
Not having just fallen off the turnip truck, it didn't take many repetitions for
us to start sending the payments by certified mail, which is useful
Lo and behold, as if by magic, they were suddenly receiving the payments on time.
What an astounding coincidence. Truly, it beggars the imagination.
To detail every other problem between then and now, or even to paint them in broad
strokes, would require more strength of will than I currently possess without also
feeling the need to firebomb the nearest office of the pestilent, syphilitic cuntrags styling themselves 'Chase Home Finance'.
Having managed to avoid murdering the lazy, lying cunt who cost my wife her job, neither am I about to make the mistake of succumbing to this desire, however justified. Much as it should be otherwise,
This post courtesy of the usual gang of idiots, who it seems as of last week are up to their same old tricks. I told Kim she should start sending it certified again and bill these fucknuts for the cost of sending it certified. Regardless of whether someone else's mistake is intentional, by what moral standard should we be forced to suffer the consequences? And why on God's green earth is it easier to get blood from a stone, than to get someone to admit they made a mistake?
It can't just be the increasing concerns about liability (fuck you very much lawyers, thanks for your contribution to the destruction of Western civilization with the now near-universal Cover Your Ass Above All Else attitude). It borders on a fucking pathology, this uniquely corporate mindset, that would rather quietly pay huge settlements than ever speak a single word that smacks of admission or apology. And it is the single greatest frustration in dealing with these people on a day-to-day basis.
I don't want a bajillion dollars from them. Nor a mountain of gold, or any kind of
"compensation".
I just want someone to admit they fucked up.
And for them to stop trying to hold us accountable for it.
ADD: These fucknuts should thank the Talking Heads they're alive. Stop Making Sense is not only the greatest concert film ever, it can make me forget about nearly any amount of negativity. Make a joyful fuckin' noise.
Indeed.
Rant in E Minor
when the addressee is such a
scoundrel that he might deny ever receiving it or when I might need to prove
to some third person not only that I mailed the envelope but that the addressee
actually received it.
...you can't cut the throat of every cocksucker whose character it would improve.
Sun, 06 Aug 2006
13:11
Deleted for legal reasons. Will host offshore and link soon.
Justice delayed is justice denied
Fri, 04 Aug 2006
13:19
Today, I told him, "Get the fuck out right now and never come back, or I'll break your face, throw all your shit in the street and set it on fire."
Then I went and threw up. And no, I hadn't been drinking.
He tried to say something else. I said, "One more word to me and I'll kill you."
Now he's gone.
Of course, all the OTHER problems are still unsolved. Including the lazy, lying cunt whose lies cost my wife her job and have destroyed her reputation.
ALL YOU DO IS TALK ABOUT YOU
I DON'T WANNA HEAR IT
'CAUSE I KNOW NONE OF IT'S TRUE
FIRST YOU'RE TELLING STORIES
THEN YOU'RE TELLING LIES
WHEN THE FUCK ARE YOU GONNA REALIZE
I DON'T WANNA HEAR IT
YOU KNOW YOU'RE FULL OF SHIT
I DON'T WANNA HEAR IT
YOU KNOW YOU'RE FULL OF SHIT
I DON'T WANNA HEAR IT
YOU KNOW YOU'RE FULL OF SHIT
I DON'T WANNA HEAR IT
OH, SHUT THE FUCK UP
- Minor Threat
Ding, Dong
I DON'T WANNA HEAR IT
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Thu, 04 Aug 2005
18:42
at the Department of Energy,
though what they're doing at the
McCain-Feingold Insurrection
is beyond me. Unless they're implementing the longstanding plan to supply the world's
power needs via the rotating corpses of statesmen past.
And hello to all our English-speaking fans
Wed, 13 Jul 2005
19:27
At least I only react this way to the "PC platitudes", and not to every little frustration.
Spot. Fucking. On.
Tue, 12 Jul 2005
18:19
I'm useless, you're useless, the world's useless. End of story.
I quit
Sat, 02 Jul 2005
20:39
You'd think most people would learn basic common sense before or by the time they leave the nest and strike out on their own. If a person isn't capable of absorbing at least a few facts of life, they end up being a threat to themselves and others.
Case in point: A man over fifty years old, who still doesn't understand that if you don't have the money, you can't buy something. You may TRY to buy it, but you're deluding yourself if you think you're buying it. The only reason he was able to keep fooling himself was the help he got from me and the woman I love in shoring up his delusions. When I determined that he was never going to change, I pulled the plug.
Now the whole house of cards is crashing down, and he has noone to blame but himself. If he'd been a man and paid his debts, if he'd acted like a grown-up and had his priorities straight, no matter how much bad luck he had, it never would have come to this point. Now he's not only financially screwed, but he's lost me as a friend, forever.
When someone fucks me over this bad, they don't get a second chance. When they fuck over the woman I love? They're lucky I don't rip off their nutsack and cram it down their throat with a stick.
You'd think? Most people don't.
Thu, 30 Jun 2005
18:00
The status quo ends today.
UPDATE: And it has. Proof positive that sitting around bitching never accomplished anything. Get off your ass and do something about it. It's the only way to address problems.
One way or another
Tue, 10 May 2005
14:25
i spread disease like a dog
discharge my payload
a mile high, rotten egg air of death
wrestles your nostrils
To all the world
14:19
My hands and wrists are starting to act up, precursors to carpal tunnel.
Re everything else, if I really didn't care I'd be dead. Since I'm not,
why not bother?
"People who don't care about anything will never understand the people who do." "Yeah, but we won't care."
Thanks to a friend who's far more a programmer than I (tho I did figure out
myself how to compile the program on NetBSD), my
spiffy new Thinkpad does 800 by 600. Here is
our modified tp800x600 for NetBSD; compile
(instructions provided in comments), then run in text mode before starting X.
You can also download
Kevin
Buettner's original Linux version. Thanks to Kevin for getting back with me,
even if only to say that at this point I probably knew more about the app than
he did himself.
Parroting received wisdom
Fri, 25 Mar 2005
13:34
So last night, I'm heating up some vindaloo and dal to help clear out my clogged sinuses, and sit down to listen to the Megadeth DVD "Rude Awakening", since a high school headbanger acquaintance had recommended it. (I say "listen" rather than "watch" because the video quality is pretty crap; you'd swear you were watching a VCD.)
But to do this, I have to turn on the TV.
I hit POWER on the TV remote, and start messing with the roommate's Playstation.
As I sit there switching discs, I hear something along the lines of: "Terry's parents petitioned Michael --"
OH GOD NO MAKE IT STOP WHERE TV REMOTE WRONG DAMN ONE USE CABLE REMOTE PRESS PRESS AHH CHANGE CHANGE IT *WHEW* --
Before I hear anything on the channel I've just switched to, or see any action on the screen, I see the cable guide telling me which program I've selected. JACKASS --
FUCK YOU NO NO GO GO GO DOWN DOWN DOWN --
I see "Joseph: Saint" on the cable guide, and an innocuous basketball commercial in the background.
My breathing slows; my fingers tremble a little less.
The disc is in, but I still need to switch the TV's source input (obviously something I should have done in the first place). I find the TV remote again. As I do so, I hear typing, as on a keyboard.
I look up to a featureless white screen. To the sound of the typing, one by one a list of net acronyms appears ("LOL") with accompanying definitions. They become gradually more suggestive, leading to "Love you like a sister", and as my brain throbs in my ears, culminating with "Let's meet in real life."
The screen fades from this to, "One in five children is sexually assaulted online."
Fuck you, with all my heart, from the bottom of my soul.
I am never making that mistake again. The only time a TV will be on in my presence is if it is not receiving any signals from outside this house. Call me insular, say I don't want to hear anything that contradicts my worldview, I don't care. The world can die screaming.
This message brought to you by the evil pornographic internet.
Even in escapism, you will submit to the vidscreen
Wed, 23 Mar 2005
14:15
A few years ago, I stopped reading newspapers and watching television to
get "news". Since then, the number of magazines I read has decreased.
For some time I have been getting news only from the net.
Yesterday I decided I would no longer read news on the net, either.
Today was the first day of the rest of my news-free life. Already I am
far happier and less stressed.
I'm no longer interested in anything that happens outside my house. I don't
care if North Korea is about to invade Michigan, if Bush has magically
transformed into Hitler and is marching down my street, if God Himself comes
down from the heavens and eradicates half the planet while calling the rest
home. Hell, someone mailed me crowing that
Darl McBride
had opened his
stupid yap again, yet I have no interest in updating the site, and will most
likely end up just giving that domain to a good home.
My new motto is, "I don't care, so please don't share."
For the three of you that read this, obviously this means far fewer updates.
However, I feel this is balanced by my happiness and sanity, as well as
the fact that less crap about stupid people means more room for interesting
Todd stories.
Shrugging
Wed, 16 Mar 2005
21:24
At his worst, Todd was loud and obnoxious, wholly self-centered to the point of pathology, frightfully vain, with some of the
highest
time preferences
I have ever witnessed in a person. He could reduce grown heterosexual men to tears and cause entire dioceses to cower before his (not always justified) tirades. He left a trail of broken and cynically hardened hearts in his numerous affairs. As with other deceased friends, his death was likely directly related to his promiscuity.
At his best, he was unspeakably generous, unconditionally supportive, and one of the kindest, most Christian gentlemen I have ever known. He knew when you needed a hug and when you needed a slap of cold water reality, and was equally capable of offering either or both at once. He made things clear and simple that were once thought mysterious and beyond our reach, causing all who knew him to raise their standards and their goals. He was not merely a cautionary tale, but a valuable mentor.
Todd was one of my few real friends in this world, and one of the few men I can say I loved. I'm sorry he's gone, but I'm glad we did in fact see each other after our last argument, before he died. I wasn't surprised when I heard the news, but the shock was probably lessened by the fact that I hadn't seen him in over a year.
I will think of him every time I work on learning something new, expanding my horizons, or bettering myself in any way. I'll hear him screaming alternately contradicting orders ("THESE ARE INCREDIBLY DELICATE AND UNGODLY EXPENSIVE", then "HURRY IT UP, THEY'RE NOT HOLY RELICS!"). I'll hear him bitching about tools not being put away, work not getting done right, and church liasons being idiots, until deciding it's time to start the liquid lunch at ten in the morning. I'll hear him cackle while holding court on the couch, insisting more Irish cream be added to the coffee.
And I'll think of him helping me rewrite my crappy resume, padding it into something that approached respectability. I'll think of him and his boyfriend offering to let Kim and I spend the night after a long series of unfortunate decisions on my part led to our being kicked out of our home at the time. I'll think of his clumsy attempts at nepotism that actually became real, honest work which pushed my body and mind to new limits. I'll never forget the first time he let me handle an organ pipe, or the first time he asked me to help him tune, or the concert we went to at the Kellogg Auditorium where the free tickets were offset by the stress of being there "just in case something goes wrong with the organ" and poor Todd had to be up inside the chamber during the entire concert, to save time if something DID go wrong. No wonder he was going deaf.
More stories, more detail, and some pictures forthcoming.
What a piece of work is Man
Tue, 15 Mar 2005
17:47
To the sub-human who just attempted to communicate, via email, how pleased they
were about the death of my friend:
Your email address is now blocked. Words cannot express how slowly and painfully
you must die. If I ever meet you in person, I will be torn between ignoring you,
and giving your punk ass the bitchslapping it so desperately needs.
Think you've caught me at a weak moment? Fuck off, or bring it. Either way, you
don't deserve to lick the mud off Todd's boots.
And I'm quite pleased to make that ASSUMPTION AND MORAL JUDGMENT.
To the subhuman
Wed, 09 Mar 2005
14:32
Tribute the second
13:50
More to follow, both pictures and words.
A more fitting tribute, part 1
Thu, 03 Mar 2005
18:50
The hits just keep coming
Todd Cascarelli, 42, of Southfield for 11 years, died Monday,
Feb. 28, 2005, at home. He was born Sept. 21, 1962, in Battle Creek. Mr.
Cascarelli attended high schools in Marshall, Philadelphia and Milwaukee. While
attending Marshall High School, he was a member of the honors choir and was
awarded several summer vocal music scholarships at Western Michigan University,
Kalamazoo. He also received recognition and awards for his photography. In his
youth, Mr. Cascarelli served as a cantor and acolyte at Trinity Episcopal
Church, Marshall. Upon completion of his education, he pursued his love of
music through the restoration and building of pipe organs. He helped restore
the organs at St. Thomas Church, St. Phillip's Church, and W.K. Kellogg
Auditorium, all in Battle Creek. He demonstrated his generosity of time and
talent through his charitable maintenance of many area church pipe organs,
including the in chapel organ at St. John's Episcopal Church, Royal Oak.
Surviving are his parents, Howard and Wanda Cascarelli; sister, Carole (Jeff)
Zanotti; niece and nephew, Maren and Justin Zanotti; and close family member,
Robin Styberski. Memorial service, 7:30 p.m. Thursday, St. John's Episcopal
Church, 11 Mile at Woodward, Royal Oak; memorials, Hospice of Michigan;
arrangements, William Sullivan & Son Funeral Home, Royal Oak.
