Human Automaton

About an hour before the faculty computer room at the Diploma Mill closed last night, Professor Franklin dropped by. I had a nice chat with him. I learned that his wife is living in Cali. He lives in his parents' house in Pearl City. He's been there ever since his parents passed on. He's retired, but he has been working quite a bit at The Seminary. I understand why, since he is probably lonesome. His kids are grown up and live on the mainland. We also discussed the internment of Japanese Americans during WWII and how the latter event pertained to Hawai'i. I also chatted with Pseudo-professor Francis. We usually chat and drink hot chocolate every night. We discussed finances and investing.

After my minor bit of socializing, I felt human for once. Perhaps I was just reacting to Ol' Lavahead Day. I haven't felt human in a long time. I was simply an automaton going through the motions of a sentient being. Learning about the lives of others increases our compassion. Of course, we have to be selective about our choice of companionship. Too many people have become satanic gargoyles, and any association with the latter is only detrimental to our character. I was at least comforted in knowing that there are a few humans left on the planet and in my proximity.

I really wish that the satanic gargoyles would seek to exorcise the demons from within them and become human again. I am sick of their wickedness and devilish conniving. They are carriers of the "seven sins" pathogen. I know that I am asking too much. Who is to say that El Diablo will offer refunds to the satanic gargoyles who sold their souls anyway?

The chill of the night air precluded any prospect of attending the evening performance at Lou's Kabuki Theater at Pavilion One. I sat on the floor in my dark prison cell (read: little shoebox) and watched the moronic mainstream news on CNN®. The civil war in Iraq has been the focus for days. The big news is that the phrase, "civil war," is being used to describe the situation. It's been a civil war for over a year. What made me ill is the insinuation that the Iraqis are the cause of the chaos because they are too incompetent to govern themselves. The whole recent history of Iraq is sickening from the time that Saddam was installed as a puppet of the West. Iraq was then used as a tool during the Iran-Iraq War. Then, Saddam discovered that Kuwait was slant drilling into the Iraq oil fields. Saddam invaded Kuwait, which prompted the so-called "first Gulf war." Saddam lost favor with the West, which resulted in the UN embargo. A sick joke at best. The embargo devastated the Iraqis. Then, Saddam decided to trade oil in Euros. That's when the Shrub administration decided to proceed with the invasion that was planned at least a year in advance. The real plan was even more grandiose: open the conduit straight from Iraq through Afghanistan (including Iran). The goal was to control or seize the oil and natural gas resources of the entire region and establish a permanent US presence (read: hegemony). There is no way to turn back now. It's all or nothing. The whole exercise now gives greater credibility to the urgency of the Peak Oil crisis and the fragile nature of the petro-dollar reserve currency.

The endless chatter about "terrorism" and the fictitious Al Qaeda group is simply there to distract the satanic gargoyles and force them to shop more at the nearest "big box" retailers. Shopping, just like psychotropic medication, sedates unfettered fear and quells the inner demons. Something big is going down real soon. "Terrorism" is a general purpose fear that can be pulled out of a hat whenever necessary. And, seemingly, it still remains quite effective with the "attention deficit" crowd. For the few of us left who have not conformed to the "system," there is only one way to keep sane. That is, continue to chronicle our insignificant battle with the "system," even amidst the ridicule and admonishment by the "ditto heads."

I relocated to the prison compound (read: hotel lobby) at 10pm with my Palm® TX. What a way to spend the last few minutes of Ol' Lavahead Day, eh? It really doesn't matter to me. I'm a nobody. A loser. I'm not the star of my own reality show. I'm not "special." That's what separates me from the satanic gargoyles. And, I'm happy for that.

I left for town at 8am this morning on the prison transport (read: bus). The trip was not enjoyable because of the crowd. I ended up at the faculty computer room at the Diploma Mill. I had a number of errands to run. I also sent a letter to my homey Rod in LA. Later, I purchased three energy bars for lunch from Safeway®.

At 2pm, I walked to the gym. The hottie gym trainer was there. At one point, baby was working with a gym member directly in front of me. Baby is such a hottie! On the way back to the Diploma Mill after the gym, I ran into Mark on Fort Street Mall. We chatted briefly. He is now working for the State library. Apparently, his old position at the Torkildson, Katz, Fonseca, Jaffe, Moore & Hetherington law firm was "phased out" in June. He received three months severance pay and health plan coverage. What kind of gratitude is that? Mark was a devoted wage slave to the firm for over 16 years. Yet, another example of how everything is changing so rapidly.

I spent part of the afternoon divesting a lot of wage slave crap, just as I am doing in my personal life with my useless possessions. I was famished, so I took a break and walked to Longs®. I purchased a couple of Granny's Gourmet Muffins, one of which I ate for a snack. Get this. I ate three energy bars and one muffin today, which cost me a total of $3.47 including tax. The energy bars are puny, by the way. Can you believe that I spent that much dough for so little food? I could have spent $6 and got a huge plate lunch of lard-based food instead. Would I have been better off?

As always, I'll hang around town until 7pm. After returning to Quagmire Prison (read: hotel) in Waikiki tonight on the prison transport, I will engage in the usual benign activities. So far, I have not suffered any aftershocks from Ol' Lavahead Day. Perhaps I am completely numb after discovering that I am a fossil. I am slightly agitated about my situation. I have had to live on borrowed time (and money) before, and it was not a good experience. The major caveat is that I was near bankruptcy back then. Still, it's hard to not feel the same way about my impending doom at the end of the Countdown to the Meltdown.

Ol' Lavahead Day 2006

I sat on the floor in the dark in my prison cell (read: little shoebox) after I returned last night. The moron in the next cell had the tube up full blast. I am amazed that the moron has spent the last two nights in front of the tube. Why even visit Hawai'i? He could have watched the tube all night back in Fudgepacker City where he's from. Nah, I'm wrong. My bad. Damnit, I hate that phrase. Every time I hear a satanic gargoyle say that shit, I want to "put a sock in it," if you know what I mean. Everyone is "gangsta" these days.

Anyway, Mr. Moron is in the right place. The satanic gargoyles on the tourist board were savvy enough to determine the visitor demographics. Domestic tourists essentially want the equivalent of a "motorized chair" vacation. With 60 percent of the nation overweight and 30 percent obese, there's no other option. Shopping is about as strenuous as it gets. The rest of time, the fat asses get to ride around in air-conditioned comfort. Every tourist attraction has been modified for comfort. However, there's still room for improvement.

An astute entrepreneur should recognize this as an opportunity of a lifetime. Purchase 5,000 motorized chairs initially. Redevelop all of Waikiki and every major tourist attraction to accommodate fleets of motorized chairs. Tour buses should be modified to only accept motorized chairs. Thus, once the fat slob tourist gets off the plane from Fudgepacker City, he will sit in the motorized chair for the remainder of his stay in Hawai'i with the exception of when he's sleeping, showering, or taking a dump. I guarantee that this niche market will grow by leaps and bounds. It is the future of tourism.

The real secret for success will hinge upon my concept of the air-conditioned motorized chair. Think about it. A clear plastic canopy enveloping the whole frame of the motorized chair with an air conditioning unit affixed. Oh man, I could become rich with this idea. I could become one of the elite. Sure beats stamping out license plates. Pink rubber piggy bank replica, don't fail me now!

After completing my cleaning ritual, I relocated to the prison compound (read: hotel lobby) at 10:10pm with my beloved Palm® TX to record my "get rich quick" idea in the "blog." Then, I started thinking. I could use the same amount of seed capital and found my own hurdy-gurdy production company. It would be a one-man operation to save costs. I'd have to record all the action in POV (read: point of view) format. I would hire all the hotties from LA Direct Models. I will do da wild thing every which way with all the hotties ... well, I would only be acting, of course. Strictly business. The Vienna Sausage would be happy. I'd be happy because I would be laughing all the way to the bank. It sure would be a lot better than going blind perusing the blurry low resolution hurdy-gurdy video clips (read: mpeg files) on the Net. When I returned to my prison cell, I was happy as a clam. Soon I'll be rollin' in dough. Baha! Ha! Ha! Haaaa! I'm already laughing. Where's the bank? Baha! Ha! Ha! Haaaa!

Today is Ol' Lavahead Day. That's right, the ol' lavahead has aged up another year. That's one more year closer to when the oversized cranium will implode. My foot is in motion, and its moving rapidly to kick the bucket out from under me. Sadly, this is also the first milestone in the dreaded Countdown to the Meltdown. Woe is me. What am I gonna do?

I arrived in town at 8:30am, where I began my day in the faculty computer room at the Diploma Mill. My homey Rod in LA called and left a message. Today is his B-day as well. During my wage slave break, I met up with Lori for lunch. We ate at the fabulous Mandalay Chinese Restaurant. The food was delicious. We were able to sit and chat for a while, too. Lori wants us to go surfing sometime. Going surfing is probably what I need to do, although I seem to have no inclination to do so.

Gym time was at 2:30pm. I was still full from lunch, but I forced myself through the workout. The hottie gym trainer was there. Baby was looking hot as usual. My mind was elsewhere, though. I spent the rest of the afternoon in the faculty computer room. My mood and temperament were close to comatose all day. However, after the gym, I began feeling trapped.

In the past few days, I have been contemplating fleeing again, even if it just means becoming homeless. I expected as much since today is the first milestone in the Countdown to the Meltdown. In one month, I will be full-tilt unemployed. I will have no earned income. Therefore, I will have to rely entirely on my meager investments to carry me through. The real issue is that I no longer want to pay through the nose to live as marginally as I do. It costs me damned near $2,000 per month in living expenses alone, and my standard of living is just one notch above the homeless. Actually, the homeless eat better than I do. They also have healthcare options. I may be one notch below them.

I have also learned something about myself. I cannot reside in any of the mausoleums that impersonate as "homes." I feel the life force draining from me while I sit in any of those tombs. Yet, what other choice aside from homelessness do I have? I am enslaved to the "system," and I have no choice but to conform to it. Every part of the "system" ensures enslavement. Even the laws of the land are designed to keep us shackled in slavery. Without extreme wealth, emancipation can only be effected through dereliction. Why, you may ask, do I desperately want out of the "system"? I am not sure if you see what I am seeing. There is no stasis in the "system." Each day, the stakes are increasing, which requires more time in slavery just to stay afloat. After one grows tired of the myriad toys, what is left to combat l' ennui? What's to keep the mind sedated from seeing the truth?

Currently, my own strategic plan is snagged. I am unable to make any long-term decisions, which is fine as long as I can maintain funding during my procrastination. Frankly, I am just buying time that I don't really have much of. Thus, the "incongruence" is increasing and causing higher levels of duress. Well, I did not mean to rain on my own parade. After all, this is Ol' Lavahead Day.

The sky looked ominous by late this afternoon. No doubt, the rain will be coming down hard tonight in Waikiki. I will spend the evening in my prison cell. If I become ambitious, I may relocate to the prison compound with my Palm® TX. I may check out a few free hurdy-gurdy sites on the Net. I've made it through another year relatively unscathed. That alone is something to be thankful for. Psychologically, I thought that I would be in a bad way because I am at the Big Five-O Plus Two. The voyage is certainly not over, but it is not going to be smooth sailing. Onward we go!

Brzezinski's Ladder

I have had a strange feeling for a long time. At first, I believed that I was apprehensive about some kind of impending doom. My compulsion to divest all of my worldly possessions seemed to verify my hunch. However, as I have attested, there appears to be massive confusion on my part. I thought that the pyramidal power structure of the New World Order was very close to maturity. Instead, there still appears to be some major reshuffling going on. I will visit a few areas of confusion. My objective is to make sense of the nonsense by keeping it simple. In most cases, the old adage, "Follow the money," seems to apply.

The Iraq incursion has escalated completely out of control. Previously, I thought that anarchy was part of the plan. Spreading anarchy across the Middle East would prevent the mostly Arabic people from unifying. Of course, that was never possible anyway given the various sects that exist in perpetual contention. The fact that the US invaded that country under false pretenses was a red flag, as was the same case for the invasion of Afghanistan. Even from my own feeble research back in the days of the journal, I discovered that there was no reason for US government intervention in the region in the first place. As you may recall, I argued the point with many armchair generals. However, if we follow the money, then we can see the powerplay for geographical and resource (read: oil) hegemony, preservation of the petro-dollar reserve currency, and political sphere of influence. Although the "good cops" have been brought in after the election, there will be no change in the status of Iraq. The Shrub administration is intent on remaining in Iraq to "win the war." Indeed, after devastating the whole region and inciting rampant genocide, it would be irresponsible to leave before restoring order. Yet, neither the "good cops" or the "bad cops" have an ounce of conscience. The insane pursuit of imperial interests, like a rabid feral animal, in a losing scenario suggests that there's much more at stake.

The possible incursion into Iran makes more sense after perusing a map of the Middle East. Iran is right in the middle of Iraq and Afghanistan. The Northern border of Iran is the Caspian Sea. The Southern border is the Persian Gulf. If Iran was "secured," along with Iraq and Afghanistan, there would be a clear corridor all the way across the Middle East and Central Asia from Saudi Arabia to Pakistan. Iran is literally central to the strategy of the "Grand Chessboard" à la Zbigniew Brzezinski. And, the map has "oil" and "natural gas" written all over it.

China has amassed over a trillion dollars in reserve currency while concurrently valuing its own currency extremely low. The most conspicuous result is the exorbitant trade deficit. The Chinese are incredibly tenacious in the new economic war that was initially launched by the US government. The plan seemed to have worked with the USSR. The former Soviet Union did not crumble under the weight of socialism. Rather, the machinations and manipulations of the US government is what caused the fall. Under Putin, though, the "leaner and meaner" Russia is making a comeback in the same economic arena that was once the backdrop for its demise.

Why would China finance so much of the US debt? Both the US government and the multinational corporations had schemed to break into China, the largest untapped market in the world, protected by the thick veil of communism. China also had a huge pool of cheap labor. China gradually opened its door to portion of capitalism. The Chinese strategists were clever enough to turn the tables. In order to exploit the cheap labor, technology had to be exported to China. Obviously, other mature industrialized nations like Japan followed suit. In time, the inertia increased and soon China had taken over almost all light to medium industry including manufacturing. It also established a base for a lot of heavy industry. By keeping its own currency value low, it essentially ensured that its labor force was very close to slavery. In addition, the artificially low yuan increased foreign investment and capital inflow. Thus, the ultimate goal of the Chinese government and its central bank is to increase its self-sufficiency by building up its infrastructure and manufacturing capabilities. In time, the people of China will be the major market for its own goods and services. The Chinese may be holding a lot of our debt, but it is literally capitalizing on it. Could we not just wage war on China? Hardly. China has a formidable military and nuclear power base. The US military is also exhibiting several chinks in its armor, so to speak, with its resources now being stretched thin in the Middle Eastern and Central Asian theaters.

Could China bring the US down by divesting its huge dollar-based holdings? Most likely. Will it do so? Apparently, China has already begun doing so but at a slow "controlled" rate that is not supposed to shock the "system." Could that be what is now causing the current fall of the dollar? The implication is that China has already won the economic wars. Now come the resource wars. Here again, China will be a formidable adversary as it competes for precious resources, primarily oil, in order to reach it final objective of total modernization.

So, that strange feeling of mine ... I'm still not sure. We have a precarious economic situation confronting us. At the same time, we must deal with dwindling resources while we observe increased pollution and soon-to-be irreversible global destruction. All the while, the population is increasing.

If the pyramidal control structure has not matured, then the secular Apocalypse cannot be invoked on a grand scale, if at all. The chronology may be such that the moneychangers and the powers-that-be are still jockeying into position. That may be so since the central banks in all nations are seemingly not in cahoots with each other. Certainly, all world governments are not in union, even with the façade of the UN. If the world situation is truly chaotic, then can we predict anything? Or will the moneychangers and powers-that-be of the US and its puppet regimes be able to pull off the secular Apocalypse alone? Incidentally, AIDS is set to become the third major cause of fatalities worldwide. I am becoming even more convinced that AIDS is a program of the secular Apocalypse.

I spent the evening in my little prison cell (read: little shoebox). Prison meal? Hormel® Chili with Orowheat® bread. Did I clean my prison cell with my humble dustpan and brush? Did I peruse the pink rubber piggy bank replica? Well, is the hottie gym trainer hot?

I must confess that I wasted a little bit of time in front of the tube. I watched the movie, "Monster's Ball," on A&E. Wow. That was a mystifying movie. And, Halle Berry was looking really hot, even though she was not dolled up for the part. Actually, she looks even better when she's not dolled up. The movie would have been more enjoyable were it not for the idiotic satanic gargoyle in the next cell who had the tube up full blast. I really want someone, anyone, to "cleanse" the planet of this scum, even if it means that I must be "cleansed" along with them. The planet and its innocent lifeforms are not going to survive otherwise.

At 10:15pm, I relocated to the prison compound (read: hotel lobby) to compose the "blog." Did I use my Palm® TX? Did I connect to the wireless network? Did I peruse a few free hurdy-gurdy sites? Of course! At 11:15pm, I called it night because the battery in my Palm® TX needed recharging. I prayed that the babbling dickhead would not wake me at 4am again. If only I could have "tuned his ass." Someone, please "cleanse" this scum from the earth! Please? Baha! Ha! Ha! Haaaa!

I woke up at 8am this morning. I gathered my things and turned off the puny hotel-issue fridge to defrost it. I rode the prison transport (read: bus) to the Waikiki Banyan Hotel. I paid the $100 monthly parking fee. After retrieving my Nissan® truck, I drove to Kahala Mall. I arrived a little after 9am. I spent about an hour in Barnes & Noble®. I bought a large cup of coffee in the café and perused the store.

At 10am, I waited for moms at the entrance to the mall. Moms met me at 10:30am after she finished shopping at Longs® and at Star Market. I drove moms back to Hawai'i Kai. I washed my truck while moms prepared lunch. We ate leftover turkey for lunch. I chatted with moms until 12:45pm. Moms gave me a couple of plates of leftover turkey and other food. Moms also gave me a package of canned goods. The drive back to Waikiki was uneventful.

I dropped off the food in my prison cell. I turned the fridge back on as well. Then, I grabbed my gym bag and left for town on the prison transport. I went straight to the gym once I was in town. I did my usual workout. Then, I ended up in the faculty computer room at the Diploma Mill. I piddled around on the computer until 7pm. Oh, do I have to return to Waikiki? Must I ride the prison transport? Will I be confined to my little prison cell? All rhetorical questions, my friends.

E Wawa

I was back in my prison cell (read: little shoebox) at 5:30pm yesterday. I had devoured a Granny's Gourmet Muffin while I waited for the prison transport (read: bus), but the muffin would barely provide any nutrition. My prison meal consisted of Van Camp's® Pork & Beans with Orowheat® bread.

The rain came pouring down at 7pm, which immediately determined the fate of the evening performance at Lou's Kabuki Theater at Pavilion One. I was beside myself to find something to do. So, I ended up watching the "Monk" marathon on the hotel-issue LCD tube. The babe who plays the assistant to "Adrian Monk" is a hottie, especially after she grew her hair out. "Natalie" is El Diablo hot. Whew!

The rain stopped before 10pm. I was too involved with the "Monk" marathon to care. At one point, I walked into the tiny prison cell bathroom. All of the lights were off as they should be in a prison cell. Well, I sat in the filthy bowl because the seat was up, to make a long story short. The bowl was filthy because I normally don't flush the commode all day to conserve water. What a maroon!

In the last episode of the "Monk" marathon, "Adrian Monk" receives a dustpan and brush for a gift. It looked exactly like my humble dustpan and brush. Right after the marathon was over, I did my cleaning ritual. At 11pm, I relocated to the prison compound (read: hotel lobby) with my Palm® TX to connect to the preferred Wi-Fi® access point. The chair that I usually sit on was taken, so I was forced to sit elsewhere. I discovered that nowhere else in the prison compound afforded me even a marginal wireless connection. I returned to my prison cell with a heavy heart.

At 4am this morning, I was awakened by loud conversation. At first, I thought that it was some dimwit who had the tube up full blast. I ascertained that at least two satanic gargoyles possibly two floors above were talking out loud in the small lanai. What astounded me was that one of the clowns literally babbled non-stop. I was able to sleep marginally. I don't take any sleeping medication like the myriad satanic gargoyles with numerous "medical" disorders. I woke up at intermittent intervals and heard the same clown droning on and on. Finally, at 7am, the gasbag ran out of hot air.

The prison transport dropped me off in town at 8:40am. I stationed myself at the usual workstation in the faculty computer room at the Diploma Mill. During my wage slave break, I walked to Safeway® to purchase a couple of energy bars and a loaf of Orowheat® bread. I took another break at 2:15pm to go the gym. I spent the rest of the afternoon in the faculty computer room. Then, I will ride the prison transport back to Waikiki at 7pm. Back to my prison cell for more prison fun. Stay tuned as I get ready to choke down my prison dinner and clean my little prison cell with my humble dustpan and brush. Later, peruse the pink rubber piggy bank replica with me, if you will.

Two more days before the first milestone in the Countdown to the Meltdown. I'll be perfectly honest. I am being driven insane by this benign life-style. Worst yet, little money flows in, lots of money flows out. And, what do I have to show for it? Nada. There is no doubt that I live a life only incrementally better than the homeless. I really don't have any idea of what "better" means.

Quagmire Prison

I sat in my little prison cell (read: little shoebox) after I returned on the prison transport (read: bus) yesterday afternoon. I sat on the floor with my head propped up against the hotel-issue bed. I sat there and watched the darkness set in. The prison cuisine for the evening? Safeway® pork and beans. Orowheat® bread. I was going stir crazy, so I rode the prison transport to Waikiki Beach.

My prison furlough? Lou's Kabuki Theater at Pavilion One, of course! There was a lot of activity. The semi-regular group of locals were there, the blahlah chicks from the West O'ahu projects. The amputee with the wheelchair, the local homeless babe (term used loosely), the new homeless guy, and the semi-lucid homeless guy were also present. The new homeless guy was beside himself because he could not spread his crap everywhere.

I sat on the usual bench facing Fudgepacker Park (formerly Kapi'olani park). The smell of piss (read: urine) was so pungent that I almost gagged several times. The number of homeless keep increasing, so the problem will only get worse. At 9:30pm, the alleged pastor arrived with his cart of food. By that time, about seven more unidentified homeless came out of the woodwork. Pavilion One was packed. I overheard someone call the alleged pastor, "Pastor Bob." So, he is indeed a pastor. The crowd became raucous, so I rode the the prison transport back into Waikiki at 10pm.

I sat in the prison compound (read: hotel lobby) and composed the "blog" on my beloved Palm® TX. As to be expected, something would have to ruin my fun. Mosquitos. And, lots of them. I received multiple mosquito bites. Naturally, there was some swelling. At least I managed to peruse a few free hurdy-gurdy sites once I was able to connect to the preferred Wi-Fi® access point. By the way, I had carried both my Palm® TX and my Nova® Spirit with me on the prison furlough.

I ruminated about my situation for most of the evening. One morbid thought was how I would approach my exodus from society given the fact that moms may very well go beyond 95 years of age. That's a real possibility since moms is fully ambulatory and takes absolutely no medication. Even though I made a vow to remain in Hawai'i while moms is around, I cannot be certain if my sanity could hold out for ten more years. I will also be at retirement age by then. I wonder if I need to establish a capstone time frame, a no-contingency exodus at a set time.

If I am planning to expatriate myself out of the country, I will have to determine my destination. In other words, I will need to visit the selected locations first. To make matters more difficult, I have also made a tentative decision to avoid airline travel. I would like to travel by ship, a freighter, if possible. Sounds foolish, I know. However, I have had my fill of air travel. What worries me even more is the fact that the planes are now dangerously overloaded because of the sheer number of obese passengers. The whole issue became unpalatable to me within a few minutes. I dismissed the morbidity of the subject matter and deferred the final decision for at least a year or two. Booyah!

I woke up later than usual this morning. Prison breakfast consisted of Coral® tuna and Orowheat® bread. I packed my gym bag and departed for town on the prison transport at 10am. I was able to procure the Sunday paper from the prison compound before I left. When I arrived in town, I walked straight to the Beretania Street Apartments. I sat out in the lanai area and perused the newspaper. At 11:50am, I walked to the Diploma Mill and waited for the student computer lab to open.

Incidentally, I read an interesting article in the Advertiser about the birth actuarial data in Hawai'i. About 36 percent of the total births in 2005 were to unwed mothers. The highest birth rates were for the Hawai'ian and Filipino ethnic groups. The article suggest that high family values in those particular groups is why the birth rates were high. Hogwash! The birth rates are highest in the most impoverished groups, a trend that is seen across the nation.

I've had many discussions with students at the Asylum who were "welfare" moms. They described to me the "game" to obtain more welfare money. Just have more kids! These kids are growing up in multigenerational homes with possibly 10 to 20 individuals concurrently in residence. The financial burden usually falls upon the homeowner, typically the grandparents. To make matter worse, these kids, like their parents, will end up either marginally employed or unemployed. They will continue to have more kids, just like a baby factory. Add in the immigrant Pacific Islanders, and we have a powderkeg ready to explode.

I took a break at 2pm to go to the gym. I did my usual cardio workout. Just as I was leaving the gym, I saw the hottie gym trainer working with a gym member. Baby was looking hot. Baby is very "dangerous." I stopped in Longs® to see if I could purchase a few items that were on sale. Everything was cleaned out. I ended up with two Granny's Gourmet Muffins. I spent the rest of the afternoon in the student computer lab. At 5pm, I rode the prison transport back to Waikiki.

I am not certain what I will do tonight, although I can safely say that I am very fatigued by my feeble attempts to stave off the "existential vacuum." The is absolutely nothing to do unless I want to go shopping, eat at a restaurant, hang out at a bar, go clubbing, or go to a theater, all of which costs a lot of dough with very little satisfaction at the end. I could watch the hotel-issue LCD tube, but the mindless crap just drives me insane. What I can't figure out is how people sold their souls just to become entrenched in such a shallow existence (i.e., satanic gargoyles). The only passion that drives these empty souls is greed. They believe in the power of money and nothing else. They believe that must own anything and everything because that's how we measure accomplishment. Phil Rockstroh summed it all up well in the article titled, "America has left the building: An open missive of anger and hope," on the Online Journal site. He opined, "Man, have we let ourselves go: and its not only the sprawl around our middle; it’s the phony way we comport ourselves in manner and deed. Our shallowness – our hollowness – our lack of conscience, self-awareness and conviction ... all of which, the architecture and accoutrement of our commodified nowhereland merely reflects." So true.

I also read an interesting article by Jason Miller titled, "Blind Obedience to the Canons of Capitalism: Of Sick Societies, American Dalits, and a Nation of Lady Macbeths," on the Smirking Chimp site. An excerpt:

As I ate my belated dinner, the turkey and pumpkin pie that typically delight my palate might as well have been sand. Contradicting years of conditioning, I felt my excitement over the Chiefs evaporate as quickly as dry ice on a scorching summer afternoon. I watched the game with a dearth of enthusiasm. As the television blitzkrieged my psyche with visual and auditory paeans to riches and consumption, my indifference toward acquiring unnecessary material possessions metamorphosed into repulsion. My passion and commitment to social justice and human rights redoubled.

Might I suggest perusing Miller's "ways of being which are antithetical to maintaining the malignant status quo" at the end of the article.

Of course, no amount of diatribe will help any of us out of our dilemma. I am only comforted in knowing that there are sparsely distributed souls who feel the same way. No consolation, though. I'm still in prison. Quagmire Prison. Freedom is still the issue. How to attain it is the problem.

Pride & Prejudice

Let's face it. I really don't care about the secular Apocalypse, just as I have little interest in the benign topics that capture the attention of the satanic gargoyles. While I am convinced that the secular Apocalypse is inevitable, I am more concerned about Divine intervention. Specifically, I mean Armageddon.

I am now a loner because I cannot tolerate most social contexts. I have nothing in common with the satanic gargoyles. The issue is not that I do not care to socialize. On the contrary. While I was sitting on the bench at the beach last night, I watched all of the satanic gargoyles out having a good time. I remember when I was in a similar situation about three years ago. I was spending money like there was no tomorrow. That's what it takes to have fun, to have a good time. It's all about the money. As you well know, most of the grief that I have experienced is rooted in my desire to maintain a mendicant life. Unfortunately, a mendicant life-style is synonymous with dereliction. Unless I spend exorbitant amounts of dough, I will be forced to subsist with the scum of the earth.

I once believed that humans could take pride in themselves no matter what economic strata they happen to fall in. I'm not talking about haughty pride. What I mean is that they would strive to be good people even in the face of adversity. Well, I was clearly wrong. Dereliction has proliferated. However, unlike the rest of the scum, I am not going full-on derelict (e.g., "Burger King® Kamehameha") just because I'm short on dough.

I am becoming more convinced that a higher source will be required to clean this mess created by humans. I am certain that we were destined for a better life than what we currently experience. And, I am not talking about the superficial material crap that the satanic gargoyles value. I am alluding to a real society in which people genuinely care for each other. A community which is self-sustaining and engages in moderation out of respect for the planet and all of its lifeforms. Obviously, none of that exists today. Even more obvious is the fact that we are not on a path that will produce such a society. We are on the path to destruction. Yet, I don't want to discuss the path to destruction anymore. I want to discuss the path to salvation. There has to be one. You know it, and I know it.

I slept in until 8:30am this morning. I took my time in preparing for my departure for town. Even with my slow pace, I was on my way at 9am. I carried my Nova® Spirit electronic restraining device just in case I had a fateful reunion with "Burger King® Kamehameha." The thought of seeing the toothless old fool lying on the floor of the bus, fibrillating and drooling uncontrollably through his missing teeth just made me giggle my ass off. Alas, the "King" was not sitting on his throne. I suspect that he may be homeless. The bus that we were riding yesterday originates near Fudgepacker Park (formerly Kapi'olani Park). In fact, that is the only stop for the City Express Route B before the bus stop that I wait at. If "Burger King® Kamehameha" is truly homeless, then he was probably making the trek to A'ala Park Homeless Central to congregate with the drunken derelicts who usually populate the park during the day. Oddly, most of the drunken derelicts at A'ala Park are not homeless. They are privileged to reside in the IHS shelter.

Of course, "Burger King® Kamehameha" himself is a pitiful excuse for the once proud people who were known as the Hawai'ians. As with all oppressed indigenous people, they became "victims" and continued to feed upon their "victimization." The "King" was taking out his hostility toward foreigners on the ol' lavahead. The fire water gave him the courage to stand up like one of the Ali'i, but he is simply a toothless old fool. He is the "King" of the back seat of the bus. Dumb-ass mofo. He has no pride in himself or his heritage. Therefore, he has reduced himself to a derelict, sitting in the back of the bus in his urine-soaked shorts.

I wonder what "Burger King® Kamehameha" thinks about the influx of immigrants from Samoa, the Marshall Islands, Micronesia, Guam, Fiji, Tonga, and so forth. These people are moving to Hawai'i in droves. Perhaps the "King" can relate to them. Or, maybe not. How can they afford to move here to Hawai'i? How can they afford to live here? Government subsidies, of course! Most of the Pacific Islander immigrants have a free ride here in Hawai'i. They have saturated the rental housing market, which is why there is a shortage of affordable rentals. I assume that they qualify for "Section 8" housing as well. The crime rate in the areas in which they reside is extremely high. Coincidence? Say it ain't so! They do not need to work, and they don't work. Remember, they have a free ride for life. They are apparently eating far more food than I am because most of them are obese. They have extremely large families. The guys all wear expensive NBA®-sanctioned clothing (read: "gangsta"-wear). And, they all own expensive cell phones as well. The third-party explanations that I often hear seem to originate with apologists who believe that the Pacific Islanders in question were wronged by the "government." Hence, the extreme financial compensation and lax immigration enforcement are "reparations."

While the concept of "reparations" seem honorable, I do not see any consistency across the board insofar as other indigenous ethnic groups are concerned. Why, even the Hawai'ians do not have it as good. No free ride for them, as "Burger King® Kamehameha" will attest to, as he sits in his urine-soaked shorts. The "King" is partially toothless, while the immigrant Pacific islanders have a fortune in gold in their toothy smiles. My guess about the real reason for the "reparations" is that the latter program takes government funds and puts it directly in the hands of unquestioning consumers. In their quest to fulfill the "Western way of life," the immigrant Pacific Islanders will spend all of their subsidized income indiscriminately while doing little to raise their standard of living. In other words, they are the perfect consumers. They also pose no threat to the "system." They could care less about the "system" as long as the free money keeps rolling in. In case they get any funny ideas, they could be instantly deported back to their impoverished homelands.

The immigrant Pacific Islanders also serve to break up the ethnic "rank-and-file" collective. Infusing the "alien" groups into various communities (usually the lower end of the rental market) will keep the impoverished "rank-and-file" from organizing any kind of collective activity. Breaking up the formerly large ethnic-segregated neighborhoods will decrease what little power base those groups had to begin with. In addition, social services and healthcare services will be taxed beyond capacity.

When I arrived in town, I stopped at the nearest Starbucks® to purchase an overpriced cup of coffee. I walked to the Diploma Mill and sat on one of the benches nearby. The experience would have been enjoyable were not for the infestation of flies. The planters in the area are used as trash receptacles and urinals. Rotting food and piss (read: urine) are what attracts the flies. I couldn't take it anymore, so I gulped down the remaining coffee.

I spent most of the day in the student computer lab. I took a gym break at 1pm. I went to the gym earlier because I had to shift my assigned workouts by one day. After I took a shower, I noted a younger guy who had spread out a lot of stuff all over the counter in the sink area. He was repacking a large backpack. There was also a large bath towel draped over the counter. He had a bicycle helmet as well. As I was dressing in the locker room, I saw that the large locker next to mine was open. There were a lot of clothes hanging inside. The same guy came by and closed the locker door. My guess is that he was homeless.

As I left the gym, I felt famished. I did not want to spend any more dough, but I thought it was wiser to do so than to hear my stomach growling in the student computer lab. I purchased a couple of Cheesy Bean & Rice Burritos at Taco Bell®. I savored every bite. I then returned to the student computer lab and remained there until 5pm. No telling what the evening has in store for us.

Burger King® Kamehameha

Last night, I had a splitting headache by midnight. I should not have drank the two St. Pauli Girl® brewskis. In addition, I may have pickled my liver even more. What was I thinking?

I chatted with moms briefly on the hotel-issue phone this morning. I had planned to visit moms out in Hawai'i Kai, but I changed my mind after learning that my bro's family were home. Thus, I departed for town on the bus at 9am. A drunken old fart local was sitting in the back of the bus. He deliberately moved over to put his feet on the seat that I was sitting on. When I moved to the other seat, he moved and did the same thing. I moved again. So did the loser. The clown was probably in his seventies. I called him a "stupid mofo." He persisted with his attitude, calling me a "punk." He wanted to settle the matter off the bus. I would have stuffed "King Kamehameha" in the trash can. The drunken fool could barely stand up. He was partially toothless, so he could barely enunciate the word "punk." I really should have put him out of his misery. In retrospect, the encounter with "King Kamehameha" was prophetic. If I don't chill out, I will end up just like him. I will become a drunken, toothless, old fool sitting in the back of the bus with an attitude problem. I came face-to-face with myself in a strange aberration in the space-time continuum. Next time, I'm gonna clean his clock and remove a few more of his teeth for him.

I sat on one of the benches near the Diploma Mill and composed the "blog." At 10am, I walked to the Diploma Mill shuttle stop. With a few minutes, Pseudo-professor Mike drove up. I caught a ride with him to Sandra's place. Sandra, as you know, works for the office that oversees the faculty computer room. Several other people showed up, including Mike, who is the director of the office that oversees the faculty computer room. Mike's partner, Jerry, was also there. And, another of Mike's friends, Danny, was there. Mind you, they are gay. However, I am not fazed by anyone's "orientation" unless I am somehow affected (i.e., physically accosted). There was a lot of food. We all stuffed our faces. A good time was had by all.

Pseudo-professor Mike and I left at 1:15pm. He had to go to the hospital to visit Bea. So far, sounds as though Bea is doing fine. We were all happy to hear the good news. Back in town, I sat in the lanai area of the Beretania Street Apartments. I spent a little more time composing the "blog."

At 2pm, I meandered over to the gym. I was still brooding over "King Kamehameha," and about how I should have hurt him real bad. I was able to pump out an unbelievable number of repetitions near my maximum weight for each set. I knew right then and there that I was capable of terminating the command of "King Kamehameha." If I was pushed to the "point of no return," I would be capable of carrying out my mission without flinching.

After the gym, I sat on one of the benches near the Diploma Mill and composed the "blog." My life is about as fulfilling as that of "King Kamehameha." I departed for Waikiki at 4pm on the bus. I managed to observe the increased shopping frenzy in town. The satanic gargoyles were all toting large shopping bags. Where are they getting the money? Oh, I forgot. They sold their souls to El Diablo. Are any of them using those sham payday loan outfits? Are they taking out more equity line loans are they red-lining their credit cards. Mendicant minds want to know. When I arrived at the hotel, the lobby was full of satanic gargoyles. I scurried back to my prison cell. I sat on the floor and did nothing. Gradually the remaining sunlight diminished into darkness.

Prison food tonight consisted of Coral® tuna and Orowheat® bread. My nightly ritual was performed. You know the drill. Later, I perused the pink rubber piggy bank replica. I am certain that "King Kamehameha" does not have one. Perhaps that is why he has a "death wish." The stupid part is that "King Kamehameha" is about as much of a king as the king of Burger King®.

I rode the bus to the Waikiki Banyan parking structure to drop off the lone chawan and chopsticks in my truck. I also put some other stuff together to give to moms. I attempted to ride the bus from there to Waikiki Beach. The moronic bus driver went the wrong way. I don't know if the bitch was tweaking on "ice" or not. I ended up way at the end of Fudgepacker Park (formerly Kapi'olani Park). I had to walk all the way back to Waikiki Beach. I finally arrived at Lou's Kabuki Theater at Pavilion One sometime around 9pm. Shit was laying everywhere, no doubt belonging to the new homeless guy. He was gone, possibly foraging for more food. The semi-lucid homeless guy was there. He left in the direction of Fudgepacker Park at 9:15pm. Needless to say, there was no evening performance. I departed at 10pm. On the way back to the hotel, I stopped in the ABC Store to purchase a big-ass can of Tecate® cerveza. Well, you can probably guess what I will do for the rest of the evening. The sinister kahuna is working overtime to bring me to my knees. Why? The first milestone in the Countdown to the Meltdown occurs in five days. That's why!

I have made the preliminary decision to redeploy the Nova® Spirit electronic restraining device. I don't exactly know how many "take downs" are possible with the existing battery. A new lithium battery is imperative. The Nova® Spirit is a real police-issue device, unlike the cheap imitations made in China. It does not have the CO₂-propelled probes of the popular Taser®. However, the electronic stun circuitry is the same (see KnowledgeBase). I predict that my encounters with derelicts like "King Kamehameha" will increase. I have already painted the bleak scenario for Hawai'i as it paves the way for the rest of the nation insofar as the general breakdown of society is concerned. Sadly, the class of stun devices is illegal to possess in Hawai'i, the result of a moronic rapist who had used one on his victims several years ago.

Legality aside, the breakdown of society as a precursor to the secular Apocalypse is a given. Those of us who wish to survive the ordeal will need to make preparations, the first being suitably armed for defense against predators as the police state itself crumbles. The forced order of society will degenerate to a state of general anarchy.

Incidentally, have you ever wondered why so many celebrities and other allegedly rich asswipes find themselves at odds with the law? That's an interesting phenomenon. They are rich and famous. So, why would they do something stupid and end up incarcerated? The usual prognosis offered by the "armchair" psychologists is that those former nobodies were not able to properly adjust to the affluent life-style. I beg to differ. The rich celebrity class, albeit affluent, are not part of the elite class of moneychangers and powers-that-be. They are not pedigreed. Being affluent opens many doors unavailable to the rank-and-file (read: proletariat class). However, unless one is part of the elite class, real power is not an option. A rich celebrity can be arrested and incarcerated by any clown making $30,000 per year with a badge and a gun. The rich celebrity will be cuffed and mistreated like any other common criminal.

Herein lies the quandary which affects the quasi-rich class. Money with no power. The quandary causes extreme psychopathology in the form of "incongruence," which then spirals out of control through highly visible "reaction formation" behavior. Exclusion from power is a rude awakening, even amidst the false sense of power derived from idiotic screaming fans. The lowest strata of society comprise the idiotic screaming fans. It is the collective buying power of those fans which padded the bank accounts of the rich celebrities. The fans themselves are simply powerless "tools" who can offer nothing more. The elite class allow the celebrity class to function and thrive in the "money but no power" zone. Hey, even the elite need to be entertained, right? Understanding the power structure of society is part of the truth, the latter being quite difficult to ascertain.

There is some degree of truth in the old axiom, "Knowledge is power," even for the "rank-and-file" peons. No amount of knowledge will yield us the power of the elite class, consisting of the pedigreed moneychangers and powers-that-be. By the way, that bit of knowledge should empower us (read: the peons) to stop striving for the unattainable by leveraging all we've got in the vain attempt of the latter. Exorcising the demons and becoming human again is possible with knowledge. Learning about the epidemic of the "seven sins" and inoculating ourselves will prevent us from transforming into satanic gargoyles. Learning to be human again will strip away the hideous kabuki masks from our real faces. Knowing that the moneychangers and the powers-that-be are actively planning our demise in order to save the planet in their warped way will prepare us for salvation.

Turkey Day 2006

I had a fun time transporting a large pumpkin pie back to Waikiki on the bus last night. The pie was remnant of the Thanksgiving Pie Party in the faculty computer room at the Diploma Mill. What made matters worse was that the bus was packed with satanic gargoyles. Fortunately, Pseudo-professor Francis rode part of the way with. We had a nice chat. He gave me the history of how he ended up working at the Diploma Mill. In fact, he was once a graduate student there.

The pumpkin pie and I made it back unscathed to my little prison cell (read: little shoebox). The next challenge was fitting the pie in the tiny hotel-issue fridge. I had to "engineer" a solution. I laid the pie at a steep angle, which then allowed me to close the door of the fridge. I ate the same prison food for dinner as to be expected. Then, I made the impulsive decision to ride the bus to Waikiki Beach to attend the evening performance of Lou's Kabuki Theater at Pavilion One.

I arrived at 8:50pm and sat on the usual bench. The semi-lucid homeless guy was there. He was sitting at one of the tables. He no longer owns the baby stroller. Instead, he now uses a large backpack to haul his stuff. He actually could pass for a regular guy. I'm not sure whether the baby stroller was stolen, impounded, or discarded. Stuff was strewn all over the other tables. One of the tables was set up like that in a restaurant. There were little folders on the table that resembled menus. A crude place setting for one was evident. I knew immediately that the new homeless guy was the genius behind it all. He was nowhere in sight.

At 9:30pm, the semi-lucid homeless guy got up and left. He took a circuitous route which eventually led him back toward Waikiki. Earlier, he had asked if I smoked cigarettes, no doubt wanting to bum off one. The new homeless guy returned a few minutes later. He had several Styrofoam containers of prepared meals, which he devoured. I assumed that he foraged the meals from various trash receptacles. I left at 10pm, disappointed again at the marginal thespian abilities of the cast.

I stopped in the ABC Store to purchase three bananas and a Granny's Gourmet Muffin. I had carried my Palm® TX with me, so I sat in the hotel lobby until midnight. I was able to connect to the preferred Wi-Fi® access point. I perused a few free hurdy-gurdy sites before returning to my prison cell. I performed the pathetic cleaning ritual with my humble dustpan and brush. Then, I called it a night.

This is Thanksgiving Day! Time for the "blog" holiday special. So, what's in store for us ? Nada. Same ol' shit. I left for town at 10:15am. Waikiki looked the same. Most of the stores were open. Anything to squeeze the last dime out of the tourists.

I sat in lanai area of the Beretania Street Apartments. The benches in the park were occupied by the homeless. I witnessed some drama across Smith Street. There are many small buildings in the area, with shops downstairs and cheap (read: sleazy) apartments above. I had once considered living in such conditions. Apparently, those types of apartments attract the seediest low-life characters, most of whom are obese. I was privy to a loud domestic dispute. If I decided to seek out budget housing, then I would be forced to live amongst the vermin. What I don't understand is the relationship between poverty and total sleaziness. Why do they go hand-in-hand?

I carried my Palm® TX with me. I spent a little time composing the "blog." Then, I walked to the Diploma Mill. I stood outside one of the building to connect to the Wi-Fi® access point. Can anyone claim to have more holiday fun than the ol' lavahead?

Incidentally, I heard from Sandra (who works for the office that oversees the faculty computer room) that Pseudo-professor Mike's squeeze, Bea, was hospitalized yesterday because of a possible stroke. I had not heard anything else since. I also chatted briefly with Ralph, a Dean at HCC. He filled me in about a possible employment opportunity, although I can't say that I want to further increase my time in wage slavery.

I walked to Kamamala Park across Vineyard Boulevard at 13:30pm. It was the closest place with a restroom. There were at least ten stolen shopping carts parked next to the stonewall surrounding the park. Each shopping cart was filled with crap. Two carts had bicycles leaning against them. There was one makeshift campsite. None of the homeless "owners" were around. I gathered that they would return later in the evening. The restroom itself was filthy, with little of the plumbing operational. I was better off taking a whiz in the bushes. Sheesh!

I ended up back at the lanai of the Beretania Street Apartments. I continued to compose the "blog" for lack of other options. I decided to return to Waikiki at 2pm. While I stood at the bus stop, I could see quite a few homeless congregating in Chinatown Gateway Park. Although the stores were all closed, there still was still a large crowd meandering all around downtown. The dereliction ratio was extremely high.

The bus to Waikiki was crowded. I could see the myriad satanic gargoyles scurrying around to the various stores as the bus cruised down Kuhio Avenue. Even construction crews were at work. Was this really a holiday? Not when money is to be made! Rather than vegetate in my little prison cell, I sat in the hotel lobby. Once again, I composed the "blog." I could feel a moderate headache, most likely because I was going through caffeine withdrawal.

The warm afternoon sun and the cool breeze actually made me feel as though I lived in a paradise. I closed my eyes for a while, which further increased the illusion. Unfortunately, the illusion was just an illusion. By the way, I have not seen anyone pay the ridiculous $2 for the small cup of the "freeze-dried" concoction.

The gym was not open. In the past, the Waikiki branch of the gym was open year-round. In fact, most of the branches are now only open 24 hours on a limited basis. The reason? Cost-cutting. So, I had to take a shower in the minuscule prison cell showering facility.

I forced myself to attend the Thanksgiving Dinner hosted by Debbie, my realtor. I don't mean anything offensive to Debbie. The issue is my own aversion to social contexts. I retrieved my truck from the Waikiki Banyan parking structure at 5pm after I rode the bus there. I had to drive back to the hotel so that I could collect a couple of things, the pumpkin pie and the strip of carpet. I drove to Debbie's place in Aina Haina. Very few guests were there when I arrived. I donated the pumpkin pie to the cause. Lori and Kirk were there early because Kirk was doing the cooking. All in all, it was a nice time. This year, only a small handful of people showed up. I ate a healthy portion of food along with two St. Pauli Girl® brewskis. Yes, I realized that I broke my own rules.

I left at 9:45pm. The truck was parked, and I was back in my prison cell by 10:05pm. A few minutes later, I relocated to the lobby to compose the "blog" on my Palm® TX. Sadly, I also had to do my laundry. I collected my prison uniforms, started the laundry, perused the pink rubber piggy bank replica, and cleaned my little prison cell with my humble dustpan and brush. I am sure that you can imagine how the rest of the evening transpired.

Today, of course, is the traditional day of giving thanks. And, that's exactly what we do. Once per year. To me, that is yet another sorry statement about our paltry existence. The rest of the year, we take everything for granted. We become ungrateful and haughty. I offer my gratitude every single day in prayer to the Almighty. I am thankful to be alive. And, right now, I am thankful that I am able to spend time with moms, as part of honoring my parents. I am also thankful that I am not caught up in the epidemic of the "seven sins," although my existence has become quite desolate. That's really all I can say. Aside from that, I have no mea culpas to offer either.

21st Parallel

Prison food just seems shitty after a meal at Pearl's Korean Barbeque or Panda Express®. At Pearls, I usually order the barbequed chicken with Kim Chee, moyashi (read: bean sprouts), corn, and macaroni salad. At Panda Express®, I usually partake of Chow Fun, Kung Pao Chicken, and Mongolian Beef. However, prison food is what I choked down for dinner last night. Canned Safeway® pork and beans with Orowheat® bread slices. Then, I cleaned my little prison cell with my humble dustpan and brush. I packed up the lone chawan and wooden chopsticks. I also wrapped in a trash bag the long strip of carpet scrap that I used with my Nalu Board. Divestiture is the next step.

I have told moms about the divestiture of most of belongings. Moms is quite astute for being 84 years of age. Moms asked me if I was planning to move somewhere else. I deflected the question. Rest assured, I will be here as long as moms is around. However, I must prepare for the unpleasant eventuality. I cannot be bogged down with useless shit. Heck, what if the secular Apocalypse were to occur? I can't be hauling useless junk around.

After perusing the pink rubber piggy bank replica, I relocated to the prison compund (read: hotel lobby) with my beloved Palm® TX. I composed the "blog." I perused a few free hurdy-gurdy sites on the Net via a marginal Wi-Fi® connection. I sent the "blog" by e-mail. I was done before "lockdown."

After a less than restful night's sleep, I exited my prison cell and boarded the prison transport (read: bus). I ended up at the work furlough point (read: faculty computer room at the Diploma Mill) to commence my day of breaking up rocks with a sledgehammer. A Thanksgiving Pie Party was on the agenda for the day at the faculty computer room. I ate two large pieces of apple pie, which sufficed as my lunch. I was feeling a little ill afterward. During my wage slave break, I walked to Safeway® to purchase a loaf of Orowheat® bread to last me through the weekend. The place was packed with fat slobs and satanic gargoyles. Everyone was purchasing two or three boxes of pies (apple, pumpkin, custard, pecan, etc.). There were pies everywhere. A good portion of the Safeway® crew were stocking boxes upon boxes of pies along the endcaps of the aisles. I felt even more ill.

By 2pm, I was illin' even more. I'll be honest. I succumbed to gluttony and consumed three large pieces of pie. What a slob! That's all I ate today, if you can believe it. No wonder I was ready to collapse from a glucose overload. Nonetheless, I did my workout at the gym. The hottie gym trainer was taking a gym member through the circuit. I discovered that the session charge is $50 for personal training. Each session is about an hour. I assumed that the trainers make a percentage of that amount. Baby must earn a lot of dough. After the gym, I returned for more fun in the faculty computer room. I will leave for Waikiki on the bus at 7pm. No telling what I will do tonight aside my usual ritual.

I had ruminated about money last night. No, not the usual petite (read: petty) bourgeoisie bullshit. I am talking about money as the vehicle for class stratification, indentured slavery, and extermination of "useless eaters." The idea that useless fiat  (read: paper) currency can accomplish all three objectives is mind-boggling. More mind-boggling is the fact that the Fed and Treasury can simply print more money anytime the economy needs tweaking. It is simply worthless. However, we, the sheep, have placed blind faith in money and believe that it has intrinsic value. This "faith" is what gives the currency any value. Thus, we have given money the power to segregate us, enslave us, and heap piles of misery upon us.

Of course, it can be argued that money provides order in society. And, it provides a method for the distribution of resources. Yet, money is simply a voucher. The moneychangers appear to have the ultimate power, even more power than the powers-that-be. The moneychangers control the supply of money. They sell money, which only they are allowed to provide. Here is where the powers-that-be come in. The latter provide police or military backing to insure that the power of money is recognized by a subordinated population.

The moneychangers could easily have helped the victims of tragedies such as Hurricane Katrina. More money could have been printed and distributed. Think about it. The money supply is controlled by the moneychangers, who are actually churning quite a few more "Benjamins" to keep the domestic economy afloat. That money is essentially worthless. Its value is derived from foreign moneychangers who purchase it and store it as "reserve" current. Hence, the money is used to trade for goods and services abroad, an essential component of "globalization." It still is worth nothing. The value is in the trade. What I am getting at is quite simple. The moneychangers and the powers-that-be could have easily ended poverty and homelessness. Instead, there's a lot of handwaving and spewing of Friedman-like bullshit to discredit the notion. Even the satanic gargoyles have bought into the bullshit. This is what we have come to know and love as the "system."

The moneychangers and the powers-that-be have used money to segregate us and turn us against each other. It is the source of the arbitrary class stratification. The money system was designed by the elite who already controlled most of the wealth, acquired mostly by nefarious and devious methods. In the old feudal system, slavery required too much management and disciplining through a rigorous punishment (read: torture) system. The introduction of vouchers provided order because the new slaves believed that they were empowered to control their destinies. All they had to do was collect more and more vouchers. Then, they could trade the vouchers for something valuable. Why, the vouchers could theoretically allow for the accumulation of wealth. Well, that's where the definition of money became foggy, but the new slaves were blinded by their own greed to see the truth. To this day, the slaves defend the "system." They put their lives on the line for it. Money has become a deity to them. Yet, it is useless and worthless. The moneychangers long ago printed out more than enough for themselves, far more than the slaves could ever accumulate in several lifetimes. And, the moneychangers continue to print more money for themselves.

As for the new slaves, they must "earn" their vouchers. It is quite a different story for the new slaves. You may want to sit down and think this out. Forget all the economic mumbo-jumbo and all the other window dressing. It's all bullshit to keep the doorknobs (read: us) in their place. Remember when the church translated the Scriptures into Latin exclusively, just to keep the commoners in ignorance? Think about this: the moneychangers and the powers-that-be could have ended poverty, homelessness, and countless needless suffering easily. However, the money system was never designed with the fair distribution of wealth in mind. As the population spirals out of control and resources diminish, the voucher form of money will become obsolete. The moneychangers and powers-that-be will be forced to resurrect the old system of slavery where discipline, torture, and punishment will served up generously.

When we finally come to understand what is happening in its most simplified form, then we can recognize that something evil is lurking right around the corner. All of the associated complexity about finance and economics is "smoke and mirrors" to obfuscate the truth. There is and always has been an evil machination, whether we call it the "invisible hand," El Diablo, the "free market," and so forth. Seek and you shall find the truth. Either that, or appropriate a pink rubber piggy bank replica for yourself.

Paradise Lost. An article in the Advertiser described how three thugs assaulted and robbed a White House aide in Waikiki early this morning. Shrub and his entourage made a brief stopover in Hawai'i after the Vietnam tour. Of course, the article goes on and on about how safe Hawai'i really is, or that is the viewpoint of the Visitor Aloha Society. Apparently, you can only get the truth from the ol' lavahead. Tourism is the "cash cow" for Hawai'i, and everyone affiliated with the industry will say anything to protect it. The Aloha Spirit disappeared a long time ago. Hawai'i is now the reference standard for the "Have, Have Not" model. Crime, primarily theft, is on the rise because the locals don't have any dough. No one can keep up with the cost of living anymore. We have the extremely rich crowd, and the poor. That's it.

Hawai'i Five-O

I sat on the floor in the dark in my prison cell (read: my little shoebox) with my beloved Palm® TX and composed the "blog." The prison food (read: beans and bread) that I consumed for dinner was not enjoyable or fulfilling. Food is only purposed to keep me minimally nourished without introducing toxins, pathogens, or carcinogens.

Afterward, I attempted to sedate myself with the tube. However, I quickly observed that multiple episodes of the nauseous series, "Law & Order," were playing back-to-back on several channels. I became infuriated, almost pulverizing the hotel-issue LCD tube. It dawned upon me that there is a reason why the mainstream media contain a proliferation of police and crime dramas, along with hospital and survival dramas. Then, add in the so-called "reality" shows of this genre. The message is clear that we are are being prepared for the eventuality of a police state operating under the jurisdiction of martial law. The cop shows are hammering the point home. There is no other reasonable explanation. As far as I'm concerned, there haven't been any good cop flicks since the old "Dirty Harry" flicks and the "Hawai'i Five-O" series. Everything else is second rate. Even I cannot believe that the myriad satanic gargoyles are clamoring for more cop shows. We truly live in an Orwellian society.

Debbie, my realtor, has invited me over for a Thanksgiving Day dinner party. Lori had already invited me when I last saw her. I attended the dinner last year. Sandra, who works for the office that oversees the faculty computer room at the Diploma Mill, has invited me to an Post-Thanksgiving Day breakfast along with Pseudo-professor Mike and a few other guests. I am not certain if I will take a furlough from my prison sentence to attend either function. I have the freedom to do whatever I want, but prudence restricts me. Even now, I am a wage slave only three days each week. I could have easily gone to Ala Moana Center to hang out at Barnes & Noble®. Instead, I remained in my prison cell. All I could think about is how much I missed my old Pier 1® papasan chair. It sure was a lot more comfortable than the floor of my prison cell.

At 10pm, I checked to see what was on the tube. Nada. I noted that the contrast and the color tint was screwed up. At first, I thought that the hotel-issue LCD tube has given out. Then, I realized that the shitty cable service was at fault. My Palm® TX and I relocated to the lobby at 10:30pm for lack of anything else better to do. I was able to connect to one of the marginal Wi-Fi® access points. I spent about 30 minutes perusing the free hurdy-gurdy sites on the Net after I sent the "blog" off by e-mail. Incidentally, I finally set up the "blog" to be updated automatically by e-mail. I may use this option during the upcoming holiday weekend. I will not have access to a computer until next Monday. Sheesh!

I departed for town on the bus at 8am. I piddled around in the faculty computer room at the Diploma Mill until 10:15am, when I left for Kahala Mall on the bus. I first had to drop some stuff off at the Goodwill drop box. Moms and I ate lunch at Pearl's Korean Barbeque. Moms has a friend who loves Asian collectibles. So, I will be passing the lone chawan and the wooden chopsticks to moms. Moms and I were able to chat for a few minutes before the bus arrived. I waved good-bye as the bus drove off to Hawai'i Kai.

Once I arrived in town, I collected my gym bag and walked to the gym. The hottie gym trainer was once again taking a gym member through the circuit. Baby was looking hot. Can I say that enough? After the gym, I ended up back in the faculty computer room. I will stay there until 7pm. Sadly, I will be trying to catch up with my wage slave work since the Diploma Mill will be closed for four days.

Well, let's see now. I live in Paradise, right? Right? An article in the Advertiser stated, "Overall, O'ahu residents and visitors lost $76 million in property last year compared with $45 million in 2004 and $39 million in 2003. Motor vehicles, jewels, precious metals and cash accounted for more than $50 million of the 2005 total." Those are the official numbers for thefts, by the way. Do you see a trend? Do you think that the homeless trend is very similar? And, it's going to get worse. Oh, domestic violence amongst the locals is up, too. Fortunately, there are hella cop shows on the tube. Book 'em, Danno!

Tout le Monde

The "freeze-dried" concoction substituting for coffee in the hotel lobby is no longer free. As of this morning, the machine was set to charge $2 for what appears to an 8-ounce cup of colored water. Yet another example of how life is changing so rapidly. I departed immediately for town on the bus. Upon my arrival at 9am, I made a mad dash for the faculty computer room at the Diploma Mill.

Each and every day, I am privy to observe the increasing stupidity of modern life and puzzle over the fact that the satanic gargoyles accept and defend all of it. My e-mail inbox would be filled with hundreds of solicitations for money if I did not implement the filters. The filters only use 12 keywords, and yet these filters manage to screen 95 percent of the junk e-mail into the virtual trash. We are inundated with this crap every day. Prices continue to go up, while the quality and quantity of goods and services shrink. Con artists and thieves are now coming out of the woodwork to separate us from our money. Overpopulation has resulted in overcrowding. Almost every aspect of our lives is overtaxed because there are just too many satanic gargoyles who want more than their fair share. The cattle-like behavior that we witness daily is the direct result of overcrowding. Everyone fears being left behind in one way or another. The warnings about global warming are finally becoming frantic, yet no one is fazed. The real possibility of an economic meltdown is drawing closer as we speak. As I had predicted, the possibility of the reinstatement of a military draft is now a talking point with the gasbag politicians. On and on it goes. The point of all of this crap being the constant state of insanity. Our lives are insane and out of control, and only because we forfeited that control. We need to take a serious look at the world around us. I have set up RSS feeds from all my favorite alternative and mainstream sites. I spend a few hours each day reading the various articles of interest (i.e., politics, finance, economics, health, religion, current events, etc.). There is a lot going on and, frankly, not much is good news.

By ignoring the bad news, we become ignorant. Those of us who do see reality as a downward spiral are labeled "pessimists." Along with that label are the various suggestions to seek therapy. This coming from the satanic gargoyles, all of whom are deeply entrenched in the "system," with their fat gargoyle heads saturated with anti-depressants. They are afraid of the truth, so they don their most hideous kabuki masks, the ones with a stupid smirk plastered upon itself. Then, they parade around, spewing idiotic "self-esteem" mantras. Do these fools honestly believe that, by shirking their own responsibility and relinquishing power to the moneychangers and the powers-that-be, they will be in "good hands"? Give me a break. That's about as dumb as handing over a large sum of money to a complete stranger and asking, "Can you please hold on to this for me?" Instead, we hand over our lives.

During my wage slave break, I walked to Safeway®. Food shopping, as with all shopping, is a means to distract oneself from the "existential vacuum." I purchased a couple of can of Safeway® pork and beans, two overpriced energy bars, and only one Tina's® burrito. I must cut down on the lard in my diet. I took my usual gym break at 2:30pm. Then, I was back in the faculty computer room. I will piddle around on the computer until 7pm, when I must reluctantly return to Waikiki. I will not be attending the evening performance at Lou's Kabuki Theater. I will spend the evening in my little prison, my little shoebox. I'll perform the cleaning ritual with my humble dustpan and brush. Then, I'll sit in the dark with my beloved Palm® TX.

The other day, Pseudo-professor Francis and I were chatting. As always, I brought up the subject of retirement, what with the Countdown to the Meltdown and all. I jokingly brought up my idea about moving to Costa Rica. He suggested that I look into Malaysia as an alternative. Frankly, the picture that he painted of the place made me begin a real introspection. My time is coming, and I really do need a way out. The exodus. I no longer want to spend every dime just to survive in the marginal fashion that I've grown accustomed to. I am eating the same prison food (read: beans) every day. I live in a tiny hotel room, of which the mortgage and maintenance fee are $1,200 total per month. No one in his right mind would settle for this bullshit in the long run.

Boardwalk

I sat in my little shoebox until 10:30am, foregoing my usual Sunday ritual consisting of the consumption of several cups of the free "freeze-dried" concoction substituting for coffee for the guests and the reading of the Sunday newspaper in the hotel lobby. Lunch was served at 10am. Canned Coral® tuna and a few slices of Orowheat® bread. On the way out, I managed to procure the Sunday edition of the paper and a cup of the "free-dried" concoction. I sipped the fake coffee as I walked to the bus stop. The bus arrived almost immediately, so I was forced to throw the "freeze-dried" concoction in the trash can. Upon arriving in town, I could feel a minor headache coming on, most likely due to caffeine withdrawal.

After I got off the bus, I walked to the Beretania Street Apartments and sat on a bench in the covered lanai overlooking the small park that is seemingly becoming the home to more and more homeless. I read the Sunday paper, which really doesn't contain much in the way of information. The bulk of the material is advertising crap, which is what I spend the most time perusing. Ironic, no? At noon, I walked to the student computer lab at the Diploma Mill, where I spent most of the afternoon. Mind you, I was very sleepy because I did not have my usual caffeine fix.

Last night, I attended the evening performance of Lou's Kabuki Theater at Pavilion One (formerly the pavilion structure). The presence of cigarette smoke was overbearing. With the new smoking ordinance in effect, the satanic gargoyles are forced to seek out new locations to smoke. Even though Pavilion One is technically under the auspices of the ordinance, no one comes by to enforce the law. The smoking situation has gotten worse because smokers have been forced out into any available open space (e.g., sidewalks, alleys, etc.). Smoking is not allowed within a certain distance from buildings and public areas, but smoking is allowed if the smoker is in motion. Technically, a smoker could pace back and forth and not be in violation of the law.

A new homeless guy has taken over Pavilion One from what I can tell. He appears to be in his late sixties. He first staked his claim sometime last week. His visible mode of transportation was a Foodland shopping cart. Within a week, he has strategically distributed his large amount of crap amongst three of the tables. All of the items are loose, so there is no way to move them. His laundry was strewn across a significant length of the stonewall facing the beach. In addition, I discovered that he has several large trash bags full of stuff which he hides in the bushes next to Pavilion One. Last night, he had a buddy with him. I'm not sure if they were fudgepackers, but I would not be surprised. At one point, they smoked the "chronic" (read: pakalolo) together. Obviously, since the the new homeless guy has taken over Pavilion One, there was no performance of Lou's Kabuki Theater. I am quite frankly concerned that the days of Lou's Kabuki Theater are numbered. Here again, another example of the rapid degenerative changes taking place.

I was only able to marginally connect to a variety of Wi-Fi® access points last night. Thus, I was not able to peruse any of the free hurdy-gurdy sites. Fortunately, I was able to connect to one of the wireless access points while in my little shoebox this morning. Wi-Fi®, especially the free access points, is not all that it is made out to be. For the most part, "bandwidth" is always limited sometimes to the point of being almost useless.

At 2:15pm, I walked to the gym to do my usual cardio workout. When I entered the lobby of the gym, I saw the hottie gym trainer standing next to the training office. Baby was getting ready to take a gym member through the circuit. Baby was looking hot. El Diablo hot. My mind started playing tricks on me. After my workout, I took a nice warm shower. No dickheads were around to give me grief. On the way out, I once again saw the hottie gym trainer, this time in the training office.

I stopped off at Longs® for no particular reason. I was probably succumbing to shopping as a means to curb the "existential vacuum." I purchased three Nestle® Crunch® candy bars and a can of Hormel® chili. That done, I returned to the student computer lab. I discovered that Blogger® was down yet again. Some kind of server error. Not being able to even compose the "blog" on-line, I wrote it up in e-mail and sent it to myself. Blogger® has been riddled with problems from whence I first set up my account. There's a new version of Blogger® that is being pushed really hard. It's all part of the Google® acquisition. The new Blogger® requires a Google® account. That's not going to happen. I don't even use Google®.

I piddled around on the computer in the student computer lab until it closed at 5pm. There wasn't much that I could do since posting the "blog" was out of the question. I do not plan to attend the evening performance at Lou's Kabuki Theater at Pavilion One tonight. I am running out of options unless, of course, I change my mind about hanging out at shopping malls.

If I stay in for the evenings (as I will do tonight), there is not much for me to do once I consume my prison food for dinner and clean my little shoebox with my humble dustpan and brush. I will be forced to sit in the dark, watch the tube, or sit in the hotel lobby with my Palm® TX and hope that I can connect to a Wi-Fi® access point.

The major consumerist holidays are coming up, all coincident with the Countdown to the Meltdown. Could I have planned it any better? Not really. I am relieved that I have purged the desire to acquire more useless possessions. The Palm® TX is my last "tech toy" expenditure. I am not sure if I will ever replace it, even though it suffices as my computer. The holidays will be maddening as the satanic gargoyles go out shopping in full force. It will be similar to the jellyfish infestation during Red Tide.

I am completely confused about my own situation, although I have some idea of how I will exit society and finally attain my freedom. I am one of the first casualties of the new war. That is, the economic war to enslave the masses and prepare them for extermination. I am moving from the wage slave class to the impoverished fool class, which essentially is described as "the destruction of the middle class." I am going through what many of the satanic gargoyles will eventually experience themselves. Hence, the countdown. I've lost my health benefits. I will soon be involuntarily emancipated from wage slavery. The cost of living is spiraling upward at an increasing rate. It's just a matter of time before I become one of the homeless. And, that's where survival comes in. When we are faced with this dilemma, we must keep our wits about ourselves. Any foolish move will result in the default scenario. My goal is to circumvent the default and go straight for the Boardwalk, if you know what I mean.

Torrid Zone

Prison food! Lou's Kabuki Theater! What a Friday night! The local homeless babe (term used loosely) and a few unidentifiable derelicts were whooping it up in the pavilion structure. The semi-lucid homeless guy was there, too. He was laying down on one of the benches and illegally smoking a cigarette. I stayed until 10pm, although I was not part of the festivities. I brought my Palm® TX with me, although I could only marginally connect to the Shaka-Free wireless access point.

On the way back to the hotel, I stopped off at the ABC Store to purchase a half-gallon carton of milk and a rip-off $2.79 green salad. Sorry, no cheap booze. Sadly, I may not be partaking of any alcoholic beverages ever again, even on the dreaded laundry nights. I am still experiencing tightness and some pain in the vicinity of my liver.

Yes, I cleaned my little shoebox with my humble dustpan and brush. I also perused the pink rubber piggy bank replica. At 11:15pm, I relocated to the hotel lobby to connect my Palm® TX to the preferred Wi-Fi® access point. Naturally, I had to check out a few free hurdy-gurdy sites before calling it a night.

The lobby of the Aloha Surf Hotel has been a madhouse ever since the new implementation of service for the so-called "Continental breakfast." The lobby now resembles a corral with a bunch of cattle milling about. I observed that the breakfast has been downsized. In place of the canned fruit juice, some kind of cheap lard-filled pastry, and a packaged yogurt, the new breakfast consists of a cup of reconstituted orange juice and the cheap lard-filled pastry. What a joke! Obviously, the new "Continental breakfast" ruse is an attempt to cut costs. In essence, all of us are inundated by cost-cutting measures every single day. That's right. Not a day goes by such that we are not impacted in one way or another by corporate cost-cutting measures. The end result is always the same. We resemble herded cattle more and more with each successive step.

Matson® announced that shipping rates will be going up again by 3.3 percent in January, which will increase prices for all goods coming to Hawai'i. Couple that with the 0.5 percent increase in the GET (overall cascading effect will be more like 1.5 percent) and we should realize a five percent price increase overall for goods. You may have noted that I observed a six percent increase in prices just about a month ago. I expect a new wave of homeless people within six months.

Did you say, "Faculty computer room at the Diploma Mill"? Yes, that's where I ended at 9am this morning. I spent most of the day there. At 11 o' clock, I walked to Safeway® to purchase another loaf of Orowheat® bread, more cans of prison food (read: Safeway® pork and beans), and two lard-filled Tina's® burritos. Aside from that, did I get anything important done? No.

At 12:30pm, I walked to the T-Mobile® store on Alakea Street. I stood in line for 15 minutes and observed how the store reminded me of a car dealership. Satanic gargoyles were meandering around. Most of them were spending hundreds of dollars for cell phones and accessories, not to mention the exorbitant monthly subscription fee. I was merely there to divest my old cell phone for recycling. I had removed the SIM card a few days ago. I still have my prepaid plan, but I will only use it for voicemail. I can no longer make or receive phone calls. Another small step toward ultimate freedom.

At 2:15pm, I made the trek to the gym. I did my usual cardio workout and took a nice shower. My pleasant gym experience was ruined while I was drying off. An old fat slob (read: satanic gargoyle) wanted me to move my stuff to another bench so he could use the one that I was using. There were several other benches available. I moved my stuff over to another bench, even though I was only half-dressed. I called him a "dumb-ass fuck" during the process. I dropped my gym bag off at the faculty computer room and walked to Longs®. I purchased a Granny's Gourmet Muffin, two cans of Hormel® chili beans, a Nestle® Crunch® candy bar. At 5pm, I will leave for Waikiki on the bus. Tonight, I will eat prison food for dinner. I will clean my little shoebox with my humble dustpan and brush. I will peruse the pink rubber piggy bank replica. I will also ready a few more useless possessions for divestiture. As for the rest of the night, who knows?

Priorities

Out with the lone chawan. In with the pink rubber piggy bank replica. The Countdown to the Meltdown will reach its first milestone in 12 days. Time is running out for the ol' lavahead. There will be much to do before then. I have been making preparations for a future time, of which I know not when. I envision myself to be homeless when that time comes, and not because of fiscal irresponsibility. My guess is that I will "throw in the towel," and leave the conventional (read: material) life behind. A likely case, if I cannot exit society gracefully. A day does not pass such that I do not run through multiple scenarios of the homeless life as it pertains to me.

I did not join Pseudo-professor Glenn and Nancy for Happy Hour at the Indigo yesterday afternoon, even though they invited me. I also postponed meeting with Rob, the former IT guy at the Asylum, there as well. I have become adamant about avoiding any social context. I have an even better reason. I have been feeling tightness and some pain in the location of my liver for several weeks now. I fear that I may have done myself in this time. Could this be why I have been compelled to put my life in order?

Prison food was the fare for dinner. Same as the night before. I prefer to eat the contents straight out of the can. Cold. Forget the hotel-issue microwave oven. That's only for panzies. After dinner, I cleaned my little shoebox with my humble dustpan and brush. Then, I sat on the floor in the dark and composed the "blog" on my beloved Palm® TX. I am beginning to wonder whether Lou's Kabuki Theater will fade into obscurity just as the lone chawan did.

I often wonder how I became who I am. Did I inherit these values from my parents? Or, did I somehow develop them as a result of the culmination of my own experiences? I find it curious that I finally settled upon a mendicant life-style. I find it equally curious that I am adamant about remaining single and celibate, even though I am constantly at odds with my own biology. What is even more interesting is that all aspects of my life fit into an intricately calculated equation. I am following some kind of plan. However, many of the processes are there to undo the haphazard planning and mistakes from my earlier years. Will any of those experiences serve to forearm me in the tough times ahead?

At least one homeless "blog" had its author rationalizing that his "social anxiety disorder" is the reason why he's homeless. Alas, "pop psychology" has even festered into the ranks of the homeless. The blame can't be "me." It's my "blah, blah" disorder, which is a "medical" problem. I exhibit the same symptoms as the aforementioned disorder, but I have a good idea of how the symptoms developed. I don't blame my social phobia and my need for social isolation on a chemical disorder in my brain. I have, through my life experiences and my temperament, decided that I can no longer tolerate trivial social contexts. The bottom line? We must accept the responsibility and ramifications of our actions.

I relocated to the hotel lobby at 10:30pm in order to connect to the preferred Wi-Fi® access point. I first took the trash out to the dumpster and noted that it was raining. I was glad that I did not go anywhere after all. My Palm® TX ran out of battery power within 30 minutes, so I called it a night.

Another day in the faculty computer room at the Diploma Mill. Another day of wage slavery. I walked to Safeway® during my morning wage slave break to purchase bananas, two more cans of Safeway® pork and beans, and two lard-filled Tina's® burritos. Later, I took a break to go to the gym. My gym clothes were smelling more like that of a true homeless guy. I spent the rest of the afternoon in the faculty computer room. No telling what I will do once I return to Waikiki.

I have been devoid of deep thought lately. Perhaps I have already discussed everything that needs to be discussed. I don't want to go back to detailing my incredibly mundane routine again. I have noticed that I am starting to go in that direction. For the most part, I maintain an endless internal debate about my inability to divest more useless possession, close useless accounts, anything to sever my ties with the world. The same old questions cycle through my mind. About my cell phone: What if I need to make calls or receive calls? About my American Express® credit card: What if my other credit card is terminated for some reason? About my Nissan® truck: What if I suddenly become homeless and need the truck to live in? And, on and on it goes. I have all kinds of on-line accounts as well, some of which have no apparent option for termination. I need to get my priorities straight before the secular Apocalypse.

Pink Rubber Piggy Bank Replica

The clock on the hotel-issue microwave oven read, "9:10," when I was finally done eating the same ol' prison food for dinner and had cleaned my little shoebox with my humble dustpan and brush. There was no way that I would have made the evening performance at Lou's Kabuki Theater, even if I wanted to. Instead, I perused the lone chawan for one last time before I wrapped it up and put it away. The same went for the wooden chopsticks. The decision was hasty, but it reflected the transient nature of my existence. In place of the lone chawan, I put the pink rubber piggy bank replica that Sandra (who works for the office that oversees the faculty computer room at the Diploma Mill) had given me. The pink rubber piggy bank replica is much more symbolic of my current situation. This is what I meant when I stated that everything is changing too rapidly.

I spent the evening with my beloved Palm® TX. I have noticed that PDAs are moving quickly into obscurity. I don't even see them advertised much. From what I am to understand, PDAs are on the way out. If anything, the satanic gargoyles are buying "smartphones." I am always moving opposite of the trends. For me, the PDA makes the most sense. I do not want to pay the subscription costs for cell phone service, especially to connect to the Net. And, I never want to own another notebook computer because it is not as portable as commonly believed. Notebook computers are just too big and cumbersome to transport. Of course, hardly anyone shares my minimalist philosophy. There are some annoyances with PDAs, but I found that they are easy to overcome. Keyboards are available for PDAs, but I am doing fine without one. The small screen is ... well, small. I have gotten used to scrolling. The one real benefit is its simplicity. With my new SD® memory card, I now have over a gigabyte of memory. The built-in Wi-Fi® is superb.

I had several intrusive thoughts about the hottie gym trainer and the hottie pseudo-professor all throughout the evening. I imagined myself doin' da wild thing with either of them. Lord, have mercy! I almost lost my mind. The Vienna Sausage is alive and well, eh? I composed the "blog" to distract myself, although there was little to write about.

At 10pm, I relocated to the hotel lobby with my Palm® TX. Upon connecting to the preferred Wi-Fi® access point, I perused a few free hurdy-gurdy sites. Naturally, that did nothing to abate the intrusive thoughts about the hottie gym trainer and the hottie pseudo-professor. Fortunately, the connection was marginal. I surmised that everyone in Waikiki was attempting to exploit the myriad free Wi-Fi® access points, thereby decreasing the available "bandwidth."

In all honesty, the babe situation keeps popping up, not because I am a weak-willed fool, but because I am surrounded by hotties. The Diploma Mill is teeming with scantily-clad young hotties as is the gym. Then, I have to see older hotties like the hottie gym trainer and the hottie pseudo-professor. What is the Vienna Sausage to do?

I returned to my little shoebox at 11:15pm. For a snack, I ate a couple of slices of Orowheat® bread smothered with Safeway® organic peanut butter. Prison food. Alas, there's no need to think about babes. I've got my pink rubber piggy bank replica. I'm good to go!

I left for town before 8am on the bus. The hotel lobby is now a madhouse because the so-called "Continental breakfast" is no longer delivered to the rooms. Everyone must retrieve the tiny meal from the little room next to the chairs that I normally sit upon. There are no empty chairs anymore. The whole lobby will be packed with satanic gargoyles in the morning from now on. The hotel management seems to be going through several cost-cutting measures. I am wondering what is going on.

By the way, there apparently was a tsunami warning for Waikiki Beach yesterday after a large earthquake centered in Japan. There were no large waves pounding the shores here, thank goodness.

The faculty computer room at the Diploma Mill was overcrowded by 11am. When the shower-challenged Pseudo-professor Ken arrived, I decided that I would walk to the Hawai'i Institute of Hair Design to restore my monk haircut. A young Asian hottie cut my hair. Several of the other HIHD students were up in arms over the new smoking ordinance which took effect today. Apparently, someone had called the security guards because they were smoking in the newly designated non-smoking areas.

Later, I walked to Safeway® because I was hungry and I had nothing else better to do. As I meandered along, I realized the insanity of my situation. I have absolutely nothing to do. I purchased a loaf of Orowheat® bread and a focaccia bread snack for lunch. I was experiencing the "existential vacuum" at its best. I determined that my sole purpose in wage slavery is to make enough dough to pay the mortgage. As the Countdown to the Meltdown ticks down to nothing, I need to re-evaluate my situation. What I have going on now is unworkable in the long run.

While I was at the gym, I pondered my foray into the "existential vacuum." Even if I were independently wealthy (read: emancipated wage slave), I would not have anything to do. I spend 1.5 hours at the gym. If I went surfing, that may take up two hours. What would I do for the rest of the day? Perhaps that is why most satanic gargoyles remain in wage slavery. It gives them something to do. It also provides an income, so they can spend money on diversions. The income and diversion cycle becomes endless. Fortunately, the hottie gym trainer made an appearance. I was then able to exit that most depressing train of thought.

The more I think about it, even this crazy "blog" needs to move in a different direction. It has been stagnating. I have replaced the old with the new. The lone chawan has been displaced by the pink rubber piggy bank replica. I have divested most of my archaic possessions and, if necessary, replaced them with cost-effective and space-saving alternatives. The "blog" must reflect these changes as well.

After the gym, I was back in the faculty computer room for the rest of the day. I was famished, but I did not want to spend more money on food. I ate three slices of the Orowheat® Healthy Multi-Grain bread that I had purchased this morning. I could not believe how delicious the bread was by itself. I have been eating the bread with other food, so I was never really able to savor the taste of bread itself. And, bread usually is very bland. Heck, I could buy a whole loaf of that bread for the same amount that I would spend for fast food. Sheesh!

I will waste more time until 7pm, when I will have no choice but to depart for Waikiki on the bus. Then, I will waste even more time. Although, let's face it. All of us use the phrase, "wasting time." However, what would we be doing anyway? Is watching the tube a good use of time? Is chokin' da chicken to an Amy Reid hurdy-gurdy DVD any better? How about shopping for useless shit? Or, stuffing our faces with lard-based food? It all boils down to that old Clint Black song, "Killing Time is Killing Me." Baha! Ha! Ha! Haaaa!