Dying in a McDonald's Parking Lot

The sunlight is fading sooner and the nights are getting longer. The nights have been particularly long as of late, because I picked up a stomach virus, and my battles with it have been brutal. I now know what it feels like to have my peaceful village burned to cinders by a swarm of berserkers. Actually, it’s not as bad as the stomach flu I got last winter, but it’s shitty city nonetheless. So that’s my current burden, which will give way to some other burden next week. Right now, I’m not eating anything, and I have all the time I need to feed my irrational fears, and think about stupid things.




One of my biggest fears is dying in a parking lot. Stroking off or otherwise suddenly dying in the parking lot of a grocery store would be awful. And yes, I know that if I’m dead, it couldn’t possibly embarrass me, but I don’t care. I can’t let it happen.

My Hebrew school principal died in a McDonald’s parking lot. They found him slumped over the steering wheel. He had terminal cancer and was fading fast, so it wasn’t surprising that he passed. And even though I didn’t particularly like him (he kicked me out of Hebrew school), I remember hearing about it and thinking it was the saddest goddamned thing in the world. What an undignified way to die. And I thought about who might have found him - A customer? A McDonald’s employee? – And I thought about his family. How could they ever think about McDonald’s the same way again? I know I couldn't. There are McDonald’s everywhere, so the memory would be inescapable. Hell, every time I pass a Brown’s Chicken, and there aren’t that many, I shudder because I’m reminded of the Brown’s Chicken massacre back in ’93. (FYI: The murder site is becoming a Chase bank, which is a fantastic idea because ghosts love money.)




Maybe it’s the thought of dying alone in a flat concrete wasteland that makes me anxious. Maybe it's the soullessness of modern commercial landscapes and the horror of being defeated there. I don’t know why the prospect makes me so sad, but here I am, thinking about it. And it doesn’t make me feel any better.

Eating Sad Cookies

Another dispatch from the front lines of the NEST OF GRUMP...




Ah, nothing like some depression to kick start the fall. Nothing like waking up to screaming shitheaded children, playing in the streets like dogs. Nothing like the hatred for my neighbors, even though they’re just living their lives, albeit in the most annoying way possible. And the dumpster on the street for construction junk, the one that’s right outside my front door, yeah, having the whole neighborhood heap old furniture and hamburger wrappers upon it to the point of overflowing is fantastic. Smells nice. God, I hate everyone and everything. And I hate that I hate.





Waking up guilty is an awesome feeling, too. Not being able to fall asleep until 7am and waking up at 3pm with most of the day gone makes my heart swell. Not that I had anything important to do anyway. Maybe I’m pissed because all these people are running around like they’re happy and I don’t feel like that at all. Yes, I know that a lot of the people I see are far from happy, but I just can't help projecting my uneasiness around like birdshot.

And yuppies with no visible flaws anger the shit out of my ass. I know they’re just as insecure as I am, but it would be nice if they could at least show some outward manifestations of it. Gimme some sad eyes, slight limps, dry hair, stained shirts, and scars. It makes me feel better.





There are only a few times a month when I feel like everything is alright. When my body, mind, and surroundings are aligned and in order. But it’s short-lived, maybe a couple hours long. These moments include meeting someone new that isn’t full of shit, reading or watching something that causes genuine laughter, hanging out with a few friends outdoors, and taking a refreshing dump on a lazy afternoon. These are my only joys.





It’s amazing that I’m friends with anyone, actually. I’m a privileged moody prick filled with potential that I never act upon. Oh look, over there, it’s a glimpse of the person I could be if I tried harder. He looks happy! That was a fun little exercise! Oh dear, look at the time… I’m due back at the gloomy van of hogshit at 8. You see, I’m taking a three month roadtrip of indecision and guilt-induced diarrhea. It's gonna be more fun than watching a tampon commercial!

Ahh shit. I’m just depressed and bored and don’t know what to do with myself anymore. I don’t want to drink or take drugs. I don’t want to watch a movie or TV. I don’t want to take a walk and get more pissed at the people I see. I’d like to move away deep in the woods, but I’d get sick of that, too. Sometimes being alone is nice, and other times it gets to me and I pace around my apartment like a caged animal.





Depression. It’s a vague term, but it applies to whatever I’m feeling right now. I’ll lay it out in simple terms. I harbor deep hatred for my fellow man. I can’t stop thinking negatively. I don’t want to do anything. All choices are rigged. All paths lead to nothing. Where the fuck do I release this darkness? Inside a cop’s mouth? Honestly, I don’t know what I need or what I want. And it frustrates the hell out of me.

5 Not So Hilarious One Liners

1. Well excuse me, Condoleezza Rice!





2. I love you more than God loves earthquakes.





3. Here's a photo of me and Oprah in the dark...





4. Opposites attract ants.





5. Reggie White Power!

You Were Like Crack, Randy

Psst... You need some Randy Rock, yo? Easy, buddy. I'm completely human. Check my throat. No cyborg parts there, right? It's cool, man. But not really. You didn't check my chest, did you? It's all machines, man. I'M A FUCKING CYBORG!!! RANDY ROCK!!!