Rat-ional

Every once in a while we all get off handed suggestions from random places that we need to check something out. Listen to this band, watch this movie, see this comedian, try three fingers, and so on and so forth. Most of the time I brush that shit off with a quick “don’t fucking tell me what to do”. Now and then something actually sounds like I won’t immediately fucking regret the decision and I follow through on it. Recently such a suggestion popped up on a rather odd subject. A documentary about rats that was randomly on Netflix. Cleverly titled…….Rats. I wasn’t fucking prepared.

 

They went with a horror movie flavor. Not too shocking given the reputation of these disgusting little bastards. It was a real horror show. Didn’t have a fucking thing to do with the rats. It had everything to do with the humans, but more importantly, it was confirmation of a theory I’ve been yammering about on this very blog for fucking ever. The differences in our cultures around the world have been purposely created divisively. You may ask yourself how in the blue fuck do rats confirm such a thing?

 

A rat is a pest. One that is not only a disease carrying shitbag, but just the sight of one makes us devalue the entire area in which it is seen. When you see a rat you immediately act like your racist neighbors when a black family moves on your block. That’s a universal knee jerk reaction, right? Fucking. Wrong. We have vastly different reactions depending on where we were born. My jaw dropped as they made their way around the world displaying those different reactions.

 

To be fair, most cultures react the same way we do here in the states. With violence and contempt. Enter Vietnam. I had this sick feeling in my stomach when they shifted gears there and I said out loud ” oh no, these dirty motherfuckers are going to eat them……” and I sometimes hate being right all the fucking time. Especially when I’m wrong. The second they showed the lady preparing the meal I was ready to support our troops going back over there and finishing the job. Fuck getting them to adopt democracy. We have to go over there and stop them from eating fucking rats. Before I could write BORN TO KILL on imaginary military garb to prepare myself for the invasion they shifted gears and blew my fucking mind again.

 

These other goofy motherfuckers thought that rats were their relatives reincarnated and so they built them a temple and fed them like they were family. They eat and drink out of the same bowls as the rats. I turned my imaginary military force around and now we were heading there to stop this first. It’s one thing to eat something gross, it’s another to think Auntie Edna is trapped in a rat and therefore we must treat it as we’d treat her. Sounds crazy, right? Crazy like a man being resurrected and honoring him with chocolate bunnies? In reality, it has absolutely nothing to do with sanity. It’s what you are taught.

Seems legit……..

 

A rat will eat anything. Even other rats. Mentally, humans will eat anything. Our brains will accept any idea, no matter how fucking absurd, as long as enough of our peers have accepted this same truth. We will pass those same toxic lies on to our children. The reason each region has different lies to tell is to make sure that we never feel a sense of common ground. If I snag three humans from different parts of the globe and show them a rat the reaction should be universal. Instead one thinks it’s the symbol of death, one thinks it’s a god, and another thinks it’s Vietnamese cheetos. It’s upon this realization that even the most hopeful of hippies would throw down their world peace signs and realize we’re fucked in that regard. It’s more absurd of a notion than your dead mom getting killed again in a rat trap.

 

We can’t agree on if abortion is killing a baby even though the reason you get an abortion is because you don’t want to have a baby. We can’t decide if gays should be able to get married or should be strung up or locked in mental institutions. We can’t agree on God’s name, gender, race, sexual orientation, lefty or righty, if his dad is a dick, or even if he fucking exists to begin with. Depending on where on Earth you are standing you might even have to deal with crazy shit like women actually being allowed to drive, vote, and expose skin that isn’t required for them to see. Sometimes it takes something that should be supremely fucking easy to grasp getting majorly fucked up to open your eyes about how dangerous believing everything you are told without question truly is.

 

A lot of people are upset right now with the way that our society is trending in the direction of the end times. We seemingly can’t agree on anything. You will agree the moment that they change the narrative and you are meant to agree. All of your information, food, and safety is provided for you. All you had to do was let them systematically destroy every instinct you were born with in return. It’s a pretty fair trade as far as evil overlords go. So long as you are born in one of the non eating or non family rat areas. Now if you will excuse me I have to go write my congressman about getting Vietnam War part II funding started.

Mission Statement Update 485.006

There isn’t a number high enough or a word yet uttered mean enough to describe the way I feel about my home town. They’ve yet to make a shit emoji shitty enough. No clever abbreviations. It’s a little corner of nowhere that houses mostly end users of all those drugs that are being illegally smuggled in to the country in the assholes of drug mules who are…….well, assholes I guess. Everything is falling apart. You can’t walk five paces near any business without being asked for a dollar. I have a long and storied history with verbally abusing it any chance that I get. The core of everything that I’ve ever participated in with SSM was to mock this town in one way or the other.

 

I was in a fake band that played a poor rendition of a satanic song in a local pizza parlor despite the fact that I’d picked up playing guitar about a month and a half prior. That church group picked a bad night to grab a pizza. I made a movie that I spent thirty two dollars on that was supposed to be in the horror genre despite every scene being shot during the day. No real actors, no script, and it was the first thing that I ever did video editing wise basically by myself. It was an abortion. Which was exactly the point. We took similar shits on a web series, on documentaries, there was sports show at one point, we did a news show that only pertained to this town because we could accurately call ourselves it’s number one news team. Podcasts, more horrible music, and then we landed on our death nail. More on that in a second.

 

We made it all shitty on purpose for two major reasons. One. Anything that is a product of this town I felt needed to be a reflection of this town. Meaning it should be the worst representation of whatever genre we happened to be trolling. It had to be just good enough to be considered that form of entertainment. The second reason was because most of the people that are doing legit versions of those forms of  entertainment are pompous dickheads, and we thought it was funny to expose that it’s actually pretty easy to make those types of things. We honestly had to take extra steps and put forth more effort to make them look as shitty as possible. We like displaying our shitty work next to their slightly less shitty work. We spent twenty bucks on beer to make ours. They spent millions on theirs. My blog was the only place that we broke character because it was the one thing that I did completely solo. One individual always hated that I did that.

 

Odder aka ICONO aka Eddie Allen was one of the heads on a three headed snake. His ambition was ten times the size of mine, and a million times the size of Chris Moon’s. His singing voice has all the beauty of a Clarksville subdivision, and so we put it on display as often as possible. He was the completely unlikable character playing the cliche likable guy on our web series. He was our news anchor on In Other News. He was the co-host who was constantly fired and rehired on The Dan Reavitt sports show that targeted all you Kentucky Wildcat fans. He was key to the moot points podcast. Then he put on a leotard and started wrestling.

 

It was funny at first. Getting Chris Moon in front of a giant crowd in nothing but his undies to a loud chant of “put some clothes on” will always be a highlight of my life. Problem is that once the joke was over, we realized only two heads of the three headed snake were trolling. One of us had actually become what we despised. Serious. He went on to produce a really shitty version of a wrestling show on actual television. It was a trolling masterstroke. Complete with fake commercials. We tried everything from shaming to outright asking him to stop doing that shit.

 

We tried doing some of our other projects and none of them worked anymore. I have hours of unused footage for projects that we got either a little too drunk making or just had zero direction because he was distracted with who he was going to fake fight next. Eventually I put him in a position where he had to make a choice by intentionally framing him to look like he just fucked over his wrestling buddies. He was either going to have to sell me out, or take the bullet. I’ll give you three guesses which path he chose. Here is the most important take away from that. It was all my fault.

 

There is a scene in one of my favorite movies (Casino) where two mobsters are having a conversation but they are speaking entirely in code. Declaring a ton of threats of life in a casual and friendly conversation. They have a tendency to repeat themselves to drive home how serious they are about the threat, and to make sure the other one gets exactly what he is saying. If I ever ask you if you consider someone to be your girlfriend more than once, I’m threatening you. About a week before I put him on the spot I asked him that exact question several times over a private lunch meeting. He might not  have picked up on it until after the hit was carried out. I’m a man of my word.

 

So the final run of SSM won’t have the person who was the most important cog in the machine on the first five year run. That’s on me. The point of the last run is to fix and then completely tarnish our reputation as trolls and not indie wrestling hacks. To right the one wrong out of all of our wrongs that was never meant to be quite that wrong. I’ve already had several people ask me if Eddie Allen was back on board. He isn’t. It’s not his fault. It’s mine. I destroyed that friendship beyond all repair by betraying him in the most absolute way that I knew how without getting him incarcerated. You’ll have to dig out your old ICONO cds (yes cds) if you want to cheer yourself up upon hearing that.

 

So the new mission statement is just taking us back to our old one. My mother always told me that she didn’t care what I did as long as I was the best at it. I think that was shitty low expectations on her part and my life’s work has been punishing that remark. I have zero ill will as it pertains to Eddie Allen. I’m not going to pull a METOO and act as though he never existed. If some of our old stuff gets reposted he’ll be plastered throughout it. I’m positive I’ll have more people come up and ask me where the fuck he is. Lucky for me, Chris Moon already put me through this similar situation a million times before. I’m prepared. There might not be a lot of Chris Moon fans out there, but holy mother of fuck are they rabid. Two heads are better than one, I suppose.

The bald one is Chris Moon.

 

 

Living in Stereo

(moved over from jimmyknives.com)

My father has spent way too many hours a week in his car driving from customer to customer over the course of his lifetime. I was always kind of thrown off by the fact that he’d have it on some bullshit AM station. Just a couple of jaggovs yapping about whatever that hour’s show demanded. Ten seconds of that shit and I’d either boldly turn it off myself, or ask him to kill me. One or the other. Not that our FM stations were any better. I’d rather take a bullet than an hour of 100.5 fox rock too, mind you. I guess I’m not the only one since that shit isn’t around anymore.

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The reason I bring this up is that I might have stumbled upon a way for me to explain exactly what it’s like for me every day. I’ve been accused of speaking in analogies for a few decades now, and so I’m still in my wheelhouse. The AM stations are your day to day life. The really real world. Where you go to work, pay your taxes, take out your garbage, and actually suffer through meetings. Your waking life. Once you go to sleep you flip it over to the FM dial. This is where shit gets interesting. You could fuck so so and from work that you’ve never actually even talked to, murder a few people, get murdered by a few people, and ride a pink unicorn over the skittles fucking rainbow and impale your boss on the other side. You’ll just wake up and blame it on the spicy food you ate before you went to sleep. My situation is little bit different. It doesn’t stop when I wake up.

The shit that you see and feel when you are sleeping, your dreams, will tap out the moment you regain consciousness. You’ll be back to the monotone bullshit of the AM dial until you either go back to sleep or pay someone for drugs, ingest them, and wait for them to kick in. My dial is stuck somewhere between the two. The insanity of dreams is not confined to my sleep. There is a good chance that some of the crazier things you’ve dreamed about I’ve seen while I was awake. There is a perfect chance I’ve seen some shit that you’ve never even imagined thanks to what my doctor referred to as a “healthy imagination”. She actually giggled when she said it. Fuck, I hate doctors.

There are times that I’m stuck all the way in the AM dial with you guys. Nothing out of the ordinary happens. If I’m lucky it can last for a few days like that. Most of the time I’m not that lucky. It seems to be directly affected by how much sleep I get. The more I sleep, the less FM I’m likely to have to deal with. The longer I go without it, the further we are turning that dial. I tend to try to keep to myself when it gets like that. I can still completely hide the fact that it’s going on from everyone except those who have been around me the longest. I can be hallucinating my balls off and you’d never know it talking to me unless I let you get a good look at my eyes. It’s why I very rarely make eye contact with anyone. A few weeks back it took yet another turn.

It’s still so new that I haven’t really found a good way to describe it. It used to be when I first met someone that I would get vibes off of them and have a very strong opinion on if I liked them or not completely based off of those first few moments. Call it a gut feeling, snap judgement, or whatever term fits you. Lots of people do it even if they won’t admit it out loud because they don’t want to look like an asshole. I’m an asshole. I’m getting far more information off of people than that now. It can be blinding, and deafening. It’s made it really hard to be around people that I don’t know, and damn near impossible to be around a few that I do know. I am very used to the constant absurdity of my daylight hallucinations at this point. This new thing is a curve ball I wasn’t expecting and it hit me right in the face. I’m in uncharted territory for the first time in a long time.

Crazy people seem to have gone out of their way to seem dangerous over the past two years or so. Not everyone who has a mental illness has the ambition for world domination or even revenge on those that we think make light of our conditions. It’s impossible to tackle a problem that you don’t understand, and you can’t understand something if everyone who is afflicted with it remains completely silent. We all have our problems. You might be living with addiction. Can’t figure out what gender to be today. Maybe you just can’t figure out which God hates the same people you do. Me? I’m just living in stereo, and I can’t figure out how to turn that shit off. Well, maybe not off. Just down a little bit.

Last Things First

(moved over from jimmyknives.com)

To the people who have been visiting this blog during it’s strange business hours over the many years it’s existed and the couple of months that it’s actually been active it’s had to seem like one extremely long confession/suicide note/horror story/lesbian propaganda/tit reference/rage vent/hit piece/run on sentence in the history of god damn time. I think I just broke my own personal record for that last one. In reality it started and ended as my place to let my mind wander and occasionally entertain people who clearly have too much fucking time on their hands too.

I keep my manic depression status completely intact with my constant running in and out. I kind of have a fuck this place I’ll never talk to you again and I’ll see you tomorrow attitude when it comes to blogging. I like to write. I don’t always bother sharing it. My last run was going to be my very last for a couple of reasons. The first reason was because my “jimmy vs the internet” run of blog entries were the most fun I’d ever had writing, and there was literally zero drama involved for the first time ever. The second reason was because I had abandoned the reason I started writing in the first place.

I was trying to maintain what little sanity I had left by writing, which was suggested to me by a shrink back when I still had this thing called hope which is the only reason any idiot would listen to a shrink to begin with. When I got to that last run that I wrote for this site I had all but abandoned the topic I spent most of my time on previously. My mental illness, how I dealt with them, and the gory details of a man who hallucinates daily. Some people thought that I had gotten over it, like it was a fucking cold or something. Funny as that is, it couldn’t be further from the truth. These last few months have been the worst of my life as it pertains to my daylight hallucinations and my mental health in general.

jimmyknives is being pulled out of retirement. I clearly lost to the internet as predicted, I’m not dying in obscurity anymore. I’m going back to where I started. I’m also not doing it here. My old pen name is not the only thing I’m knocking the dust off of thanks to a few old friends, and the really bad idea of reclaiming our name after a certain someone took it’s really horrible reputation and made it just lame and kinda bad by using it in a different medium than outright internet trolling as it was intended.

Chris Moon is once again the president of Super Sad Media. I’m coming back to write for him on what will be my last run. A year. Tops. This October will mark the ten year anniversary of the wreck that brought me my amazing little gift of crazy and I can’t think of a better way to celebrate the worst thing that’s ever happened to me than by sharing it with you fine strangers. After today it will be over at SSM instead of here.

SSM was originally supposed to be for anyone locally that wanted to put themselves out there creatively. Once I got in to it with almost every single person who wanted to put themselves out there creatively (CREATIVE DIFFERENCES!) it became about pleasing ourselves. For just this one time I’m not making a masturbation reference. We did elaborate projects that only person would understand. We’d put hours and hours in to make less than five people laugh. We didn’t give a fuck who liked it, who saw it, who understood it, and certainly not who it offended. That’s the main reason I wanted to go back to SSM versus writing here.

I’m fucking sick to death of hearing about LIKE, SUBSCRIBE, SHARE, SUPPORT ME ON PATRE……go fuck yourselves. I don’t care if you like it, subscribe, share it, and you can keep your money for therapy. I don’t want it. Liking something is the digital equivalent of fucking nodding in agreement. I don’t mind if you do, I don’t care if you don’t. You could dump a truckload of money right in front of me and it wouldn’t fix a single fucking problem of mine. I’m not motivated by that. I’m just trying to keep myself occupied until death’s sweet fucking release. Welcome to the internet’s version of the sit and spin. It’s about to start spinning again.