Mental constipation.
Post-ictal brain plaque.
The sad fate of knowing that your IQ will slip another half-point the next time your brain delivers a self-administered dose of electroshock therapy.
And the retarded way you look afterwards...drooling on yourself...grunting...trusting everyone like a helpless, itty-bitty baby with a shitty diaper.
Disgusting. I don't know why anybody puts up with you. I mean, come on!
You forget things. You sit down on the shitter at work and zone out for half-hour stretches. Your boss must think you're jerking-off in there. Well...sometimes he's right.... but that's beside the point.
Eight hours a day, you patrol that casino floor, watching the cleaning crew sweep up cigarette butts, mop away the crusted-over residue of spilled coffee, and polish huge, variegated tortoise-shell chandeliers. Movement is constant, except for YOU and your defective peabrain: a wadded, clumpy mass of glistening pink chicle.
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This might seem frivolous, like a Repo Man Miller-esque *lattice of coincidence* moment, but not 10 minutes ago, before heading over here, I was watching this:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QVc29bYIvCM&feature=related
Anyways. . .
Never got the chance to see Repo Man. Checked out the plot synopsis just now. Seems like something I'd like to rent - but, as always, my girlfriend would harp "Why do you always want to see those weird movies? What about that one where Brad Pitt ages backwards?" Or maybe it's Mat Damon who does the age-regression flick...I don't remember. She usually goes to sleep ten-minutes into any film that I deem to be even remotely watchable.
Oh, you got to see Repo Man. . .it's a classic.
You ever see that movie about Ian Curtis called *Control?* That was a good one.
Hah, most chicks have bad taste in movies. . .when I first met the old lady, she thought *Beetlejuice* was the greatest movie of all time. . .things have gotten a little better. . .but not much.
Ha ha ha! My woman dislikes most everything I like. There are even films I must avoid with her around. Videodrome? No way, pal. She didn't even like The Wrestler.
Then again, she thinks X-Men and Harry Potter and that JUNK is fun. . . . she stopped calling it intelligent a long time ago after I nearly had a seizure explaining how that JUNK is unintelligent.
Women generally have poor taste in film, television, music, etc. And the ones that have the same tastes in that stuff as me are kinda rough in that Road Bitch way.
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