If I were to judge myself harshly, I would have to say that my greatest fault is this strict moral code I seemed to have developed—others would likely say otherwise, but they lack either the capacity or perspective to properly judge me. I’ve always believed that it’s completely unnecessary to stab a person in the femoral artery with a salad fork for no reason whatsoever. I assume most people would agree, otherwise restaurants would require patrons to sign an insurance waiver. My moral code is much more strict and I can’t find a reason why. I haven’t always been like this. Some of the greatest adventures in life involved acts no moral person would ever conceive. Come to think of it, I don’t think it’s possible to have serious fun without committing or being party to a felony or taboo act. Sodomy laws are a perfect example.
It was somewhere around 2003 that I began my slip towards this awful code. That timing makes no sense. Fear of repercussions is the typical motivator for moral behavior. While I was on active duty in the Marine Corps I had much to fear from getting caught, but that is when I really let loose. Of course living equidistant between the abhorrent decay commonly known as Los Angles and the excess and splendor of Las Vegas may have contributed. On its worst day, Vegas is a more honest and respectable city than LA has ever been. Sin City exists to take your money. They’re quite direct about that fact. The City of Angels is no such thing. It’s a queer experiment of hate, brutality, fraud and a testing ground for all the worst traffic engineering ideas ever imagined. I’m honestly shocked that The Big Dig wasn’t first attempted between LAX and Century City. I obviously prefer Vegas, but if you want to test yourself and get stupid, visit LA. I came home from California and brought back some deviant conduct, but that sadly faded within a couple years. I went from hell bent and all out to quiet and reserved, most of the time.
There was one notable exception to my new found moral behavior. That was a period not so long ago. My mind was shredded from insomnia and anxiety. Most days I didn’t sleep. When I did it was for a few deficient hours. When I was awake there were moments I was certain I was dreaming. During dreams I believed I was awake. The inability to separate reality and the wild wanderings of the subconscious is a terrible fate. My senses were so twisted and judgment so taxed that I wasn’t so much hallucinating, but simply unable to properly perceive even the simple surroundings of my apartment. Once you start factoring in unpredictable variables, like people, things quickly descend towards insanity. I came out of that, but not easily. One doctor had me convinced that I was terribly afflicted, but the reality is the human mind is incredibly fragile when sleep deprived. During the grips of that episode I considered several intense actions, none of which would lead to serious fun, long life or freedom. On one occasion I went beyond the planning stage and was preparing to stab a Kabar knife through my left wrist. Not exactly a proud moment.
That wasn’t the last time I dealt with insomnia. Right now for instance I’ve been unable to sleep well for a few days. Desert Madness may finally be catching up to me. It happens to the best and worst of us. I haven’t decided which camp to raise my flag over. I believe it’s possible to be a bad person by the standards of society, but still be virtuous and true. Regardless, I’ll never slip back into that destructive cycle again. I’ve learned to manage the symptoms and use them to an extent. It’s actually amazing what you can discover when parts of your brain misfire every now and then. It’s like seeing the familiar for the first time and having the gift of hindsight. That’s the best, albeit clumsy, description I can put into words.
I’ve decided this moral code must be modified or possibly scrapped entirely. I’m more interested in serious fun than being moral. Can you imagine that I rejected the advances of a fiery redhead that was literally throwing herself at me? I worked with her, and her boyfriend. She would spend a lot of time at my house. She’d often come over late and let herself into my bedroom by the back porch which entered directly into my room. There I was, with her laying on top of me, pressing her breasts against my chest and my erection against her groin. What more does a girl have to do? I took some liberty, but I stopped short. If that occurred a couple years earlier or now my bedroom would be a display of torn clothing, bodily fluids and a pair of freckled legs high in the air. That’s not the only time I dropped the ball in the women department. Despite my awkwardness and often poor choice of words, several women have made advances that I either failed to recognize or failed to act upon for moral reasons. That is nothing short of stupidity.
When I get home I plan on creating a series spectacles. On the basis of avoiding annoying legal fees, I will impose some rules. I’ve had plenty of fun enjoying a drink while driving, but that should be avoid when possible. If there’s a cab, I’ll use that option. If you killed someone, I might help dispose of the body. If you’re planning on killing someone, I won’t help create the body. If you want to start a fight, point out your target and I’ll apply some softening techniques. I’ve found the best softening techniques involve the application of hard objects, like chairs, billiard balls or a Miller Lite thrown from a 1999 Chevy S-10 driving 60 mph. Every effort must be made to not commit any felony in the presence of the police or a recording device. I can’t think of any other restrictions to put upon my behavior. I’ve tried moral. It’s boring. I’d prefer living a life drastically different than a Utarded Mormon or hypocritical Southern Baptist. In that spirit I intend to make things much more interesting when I return. Consider yourself warned.
I’m gonna take a trip around the world
I’m gonna kiss all the pretty girls
I’ll do everything silver and gold
And I got to hurry up before I grow too old
-Joe Stummer, “Silver and Gold”