The Outsider

Another night of the foolish ol' ritual. I found myself back in Barnes & Noble®, my place of refuge, my escape from insanity. No hottie "bookseller." Boohoo. I wandered around, perusing books here and there. At 11pm, I returned to the misery of Waikiki, the sadly trashed tourist mecca of overconsumption. The prison transport (read: bus) was full of idiots who had three or four shopping bags of crap from Wal-Mart®. No one really cares what Wal-mart® represents and how it has blatantly oppressed and abused their fellow wage slaves. There is just no end to the selfishness and hypocrisy. Upon going into lockdown in my prison cell (read: little shoebox), I continued to read Kevin Phillips' book, "American Theocracy."

There is no mystery to my nightly trek to Ala Moana Center. What else do I have to do at night? My prison cell (read: little shoebox) only triggers claustrophobic symptoms. I have no one but myself to keep myself company. I could wander around Waikiki, but the myriad fat slob satanic gargoyles would make the experience less worthy than the effort. Not much is different at Ala Moana Center, I suppose. However, there's always Barnes & Noble®, the ephemeral storehouse of knowledge past and present, of dreams fulfilled and unfulfilled, and the queendom of the hottie "bookseller." And I, yes, I am the Pawn of Dimness, the in-between slave of the "system" and defiant warrior against the Prince of Darkness, the sinister kahuna itself. Baha! Ha! Ha! Haaaa!

In the near future, I may instead make the nightly trek to Lou's Kabuki Theater at Pavilion One in Waikiki Beach. I am sure that we all miss the theater cast including the elusive semi-lucid homeless guy. Alas, those were the days, my friends. I sat outside in silent camaraderie with the homeless, the shadow people of the night. We watched the evening performance together and rose to a standing ovation at the finale of the encore. I can still see them all taking a bow. And, dare I venture deep into Fudgepacker Park (formerly Kapi'olani Park)? Waikiki is surely a sick cauldron of depravity and filth. Yet, the satanic gargoyles believe it is Paradise. In terms of overindulging in the epidemic of the "seven sins," they are probably correct. Money will buy anything here. Mullah. Dinero. Cabbage. That's the language of "Aloha."

I completed the section titled, "Radicalized Religion," in Phillips' book, "American Theocracy." Phillips' analysis is sound. In reviewing the data presented, I was shocked to realize that the majority of "Americans" are ignorant sycophants who are blindly following the false religious shepherds of Christendom¹. The most scary fact is that the latter firmly believe in false assumptions (e.g., the US is "God's chosen nation"). We oftentimes label idiosyncratic groups (e.g., the Heaven's Gate cult) as being on the lunatic fringe. However, upon closer scrutiny, it becomes apparent that the so-called "mainstream" religious groups are not far from the lunatic fringe either. In effect, what the fools believe is that the US is acting as the "hand" of the Almighty, and will enable the fulfillment of the prophesies which will lead to Armageddon. When Armageddon does occur, the satanic gargoyles will instantly be "saved," or so they believe. Sad to say, few of the fools have actually read the Good Book. If they did, the fat slobs would have immediately identified the false shepherds who are leading them astray. Yes, the prophesy will be fulfilled, but the satanic gargoyles are the ones who will be destroyed.

In the meantime, the rest of us will have to suffer the consequences of the false religious movement. As opposed to Biblical doctrine, the false shepherds and their herd of sheep have mixed politics and religion, a dangerously volatile combination. Their clout, by sheer numbers, is now directing the US empire in the direction of self-destruction simply with the belief that the Almighty is backing the empire (much like the nation of Israel in Moses' day). I am afraid that, if we do continue the current global reign of terror, then we will bring about the real Armageddon very soon. These are scary times indeed.

I also commenced reading the section titled, "Borrowed Prosperity," in Phillips' book. In fact, I was originally most interested in this section as opposed to the other two. It turns out, in retrospect, the whole book has exceeded my expectations. The last section of the book deals with the current debt crisis.

I rode the prison transport to town at 8:30am this morning. After I alighted the prison transport, I walked to Safeway® to purchase four energy bars, a banana, and a large cup of Colombian coffee. I sat in the empty corridor of one of the Diploma Mill buildings. I sipped my coffee and ate the energy bars, all the while enjoying the peace and quiet. I reflected upon one seemingly insignificant aspect of my life-style, that is, my apparent need to be in a hurry. Even though I made a vow to basically slow down my pace, I found that I am still moving about in a hurried fashion. I am barely employed now and soon to be unemployed. Why am I in such a rush? The answer lies in the fact that everyone else in my proximity is in a hurry to get nowhere. The collective momentum sucks us into the vortex of stupidity just as a turd swirls down the water funnel in a toilet bowl. It's the herd mentality at play.

I slowed down my pace of coffee consumption. I essentially took my time doing nothing until 10am. Then, I ended up in the student computer lab. I spent most of the day piddling on the computer. This crap has got to end, I thought to myself. Yet, for the time being, I am still trapped by wage slavery for six more weeks, a 15-year mortgage, and a perpetual island ghetto. Gym time was at 1:30pm. No hottie gym trainer again. I spent the rest of the afternoon in the student computer lab. At 5pm, I will return to Waikiki for more fun.

Here is what I live for, and who I am. The exodus cometh. And, I am a step closer in six weeks. I feel much more alienated. The rift between the satanic gargoyles and myself continues to increase. The separation has precipitated an incongruence. There has been a transformation. I am now "The Outsider²." I am at the fringe of society, not so much unlike the homeless. I have ceased to exist materially, having become naked in a quasi-spiritual sense. I am dematerializing because I will no longer be a wage slave. I will not have any income to paint opaque my outer shell. Slowly, I am becoming transparent. Invisible to all except the Creator.

¹Christendom, the grouping of apostate religious organizations that profess to be Christian.
²The Outsider, a concept from the book of the same title by Colin Wilson.

Big Lie

Last night, after consuming my prison dinner (read: beans and bread), I suffered from massive indigestion. I spent some time in the "throne room" (read: bathroom). I suspected that the barbeque steak plate lunch was just a little too rich for my palate. As you know, I eat the same bland prison meal every damned day. Day in and day out. Beans and bread. Beans and bread. And, more beans and bread. My diet is almost completely devoid of beef, pork, or chicken. My diet regimen is still essentially the same as outlined in the last chapter of the journal. It's easy to see why I have not become a fat slob. Discipline is an important aspect of the monk life-style. A monk must command the flesh, not vice versa.

I ended up at Barnes & Noble® as prescribed by the nightly ritual even though I still felt traces of indigestion. Prior to entering the bookstore, I composed the "blog" for a few minutes and sent the raw text by e-mail courtesy the Apple® Store wireless network. The hottie "bookseller" was on duty. Baby was looking mighty fine. I ran into Professors Brian and Cathrine in one of the aisles. I chatted with them for a few minutes. Professor Cathrine mentioned that she is considering the bold idea of purchasing a marina complex in Norway as a change of venue from the teaching profession. I thought it was a great idea. She also mentioned that she plans to hire friends to work during the busy Summer months. I asked her to keep me in mind for future employment. I departed for Waikiki at 10:10pm. Once in lockdown, I remained in my prison cell.

This morning, I was back in the faculty computer room at the Diploma Mill by 8:45am. After a few cups of free coffee, I was ready to commence my benign daily routine. As always, I scanned the alternative news sites on the Net. Incidentally, I should make reference to the Rude Pundit's "blog" entry titled, "Pictures That Make the Rude Pundit Want To Down Three Klonopin With a Bottle of Tequila." The Rude Pundit summed up the idiotic spectacle of "MC Rove" at the Radio and Television Correspondents' Dinner. If you are having a bad day, it's worthy of a read for a good laugh.

I walked to Safeway® to purchase four energy bars, a loaf of bread, and a banana. I encountered a number of rude satanic gargoyles along the way. In fact, the past two days has witnessed a proliferation of rude satanic gargoyles. Hardly anyone notices the social decline that I have observed. How could they? They are entrenched in the "system." I have also been solicited by numerous panhandlers on a daily basis.

Gym time was at 2pm. No hottie gym trainer. Boohoo. After my workout and shower, I reluctantly walked back to the faculty computer room. I am not looking forward to returning to wage slavery for the next six weeks. I composed the "blog" and piddled around on the computer. At 5pm, I will make my way back to Waikiki. You can bet that I will be performing the same nightly ritual again tonight. Sheesh!

I enjoyed visiting with moms yesterday. That's pretty much all that I live for. While I waited for moms to return, I had sat in the chair that I used to sit in and frequently lapse in and out of a coma. I noticed how quiet the 'hood was. It was so peaceful. I like to imagine that it is still moms' house, but it's not. The house is owned by my bro. Well, he owns the mortgage. I vowed never to visit when my bro and his family are around. Thus, while only moms is there, I can pretend that it is still moms' place. And, moms can receive me like a guest. It's too bad that my family situation turned out the way it did. I am complicit as well. Moms wishes that we could be a functional family, but that will never happen in her lifetime or mine. I can only salvage what can be salvaged. And, I can only continue to make good on my promise to honor my parents in their last days.

So far, a whole week of unpaid vacation has given me a laborious sample of what emancipation from wage slavery will be like. However, I've been extremely busy, mostly with personal affairs. What will happen when I have nothing but time on my hands? I am sure that I can find ways to keep busy. For one thing, there is much more that needs to be done before my exodus from society.

As I stated before, I am not upset about my removal from service at the Diploma Mill. Frankly, I could no longer perpetuate the "Big Lie" that higher education will lead to a better future. Nothing can be further from the truth. Right now, institutions of higher education only serve to house and employ the most radical of Femi-Nazis. Who else would hire a bunch of homely, useless male-bashers? Sadly, the bitches are left unchecked to spew their evil feminist venom to an unsuspecting and unwitting group of youngsters. I would urge that you peruse the data available on the Bureau of Labor Statistics site.

Take a good look at the chart. Do you see many jobs that require a college or university degree? Most of the projected increases in the labor force will be "service-oriented" (read: minimum wage peon) positions. A high school diploma will do just fine. A trade school diploma will be a better option. Being able to kiss the fat ass of an arrogant satanic gargoyle customer will be the most important skill set required. None of that is taught in any college or university. A four-year degree in one big, expensive joke.

Higher education is a sham. The cost of such an education is extremely exorbitant with absolutely no guarantee that a diploma will bring about a high-paying job. Instead, the college graduate will be saddled with ten years of student loan repayment. So, what is higher education all about? It is currently another means to impoverish the remnants of the so-called "middle class." Only the elite pedigreed class will be able to afford a "prestigious" education at one of the Ivy League institution. Even then, the education part is secondary. The close-knit network of the elite class, the basis of any pedigree, is what will insure that the progeny of the latter will succeed socially and financially.

So, have I heard anything from Kathy, the Femi-Nazi chairbitch, at the Diploma Mill? No, I have not received one word about my alleged "termination." I was simply "disappeared" (a CIA term). My name was completely erased from the roster. The Asylum did the same thing. In fact, the weasels at the Asylum terminated my health plan without notifying me. Don't get me wrong. I'm not bitter. My time in the "system" is coming to an end because I refused to play by its corrupt rules. I am simply adding testimony to the official record. Will I break down like a faggot and beg for my job? No. Well, at least I am finally living up the the subtitle of the "blog." These are "The Exodus Files."

Desengaño

My afternoon adventure yesterday took me back to New City Nissan®. The total cost for the oil change, farcical safety check, and recall repair was $47 and some change. I whimsically parked my truck in the dealership lot. I thought that I would look around to pass some time because the 5pm traffic was terrible. I was dressed in my usual outfit. Tank top, board shorts, out-of-date shades, and slippers (read: slippahs). A couple of the sales people saw me wandering about and cornered me in separate incidents. Both of them coldly asked, "May I help you?" They glared at me as one would do to a homeless derelict. Never mind that I had plunked down $25,400 in cash when I purchased my 2005 Nissan® Frontier Nismo truck from that very same dealership. I was perturbed, yet amused. I am totally incognito. No one will ever even recognize me as anything than subhuman, a derelict. When I am finally emancipated from wage slavery, I will be able to tell everyone that I have no income. I would not be lying. I could start panhandling for money.

I realized that, when I became perturbed by the sales staff's prejudgment of my economic status, I was really succumbing to foolish pride. I am no one important. I have no dough. I am simply an impoverished former wage slave. I really had no interest in any of the new 4000 to 6000-pound motorized chairs (read: automobiles). I already have one. It's still like new except for the slight damage caused by my increasing senility. The truck only has 7,200 miles on it.

I decided to drive back to Waikiki. I had to take a round-about route, which took me over 20 minutes before I found myself pulling into the Waikiki Banyan parking structure. The two-mile trip probably consumed over two gallons of petrol. I cannot understand why the myriad satanic gargoyles want to perform such a ritual every day. And, I have no idea where they get the money to literally burn.

When I finally returned to my pathetic prison cell (read: little shoebox), I was both famished and fatigued. I ate my prison dinner and cleaned my prison cell with my humble dustpan and brush. Then, I sat on the floor and leaned against the bed to rest. What a loser I am, I thought to myself. However, I caught myself perpetrating immense foolery. I could be a lot worse off than I am now.

After debating with myself, I finally decided to complete the nightly ritual. What could be more pathetic than sitting all night on the floor of my prison cell and watching the tainted news on CNN? The "pundits" (i.e., "war pimps") are twisting the truth about the so-called "Iran hostage crisis," knowing full well that it will incite the masses of brain donors to cry for war. The day of infamy is coming.

I spent the evening at Barnes & Noble®. The hottie "bookseller" was working. Baby was looking hot. I wandered around until 10:05pm. Then, I returned to Waikiki. I sat in the prison compound (read: hotel lobby) so I could read Kevin Phillips' book, "American Theocracy." About five minutes later, the prison guard (read: security guard) sat down on one of the chairs adjacent to where I was sitting. We chatted for about 20 minutes. I came to discover that he is from the Marshall Islands. He told me of the debased conditions there. His parents and siblings are still living there. He currently lives in the Makiki area with his wife and two kids. I was quite moved by his story of survival here for the last 13 years. Like most immigrants, he sends money back to his family. He told me that the family has a pig farm back in the Marshall Islands. They also have a fishing boat. Thus, they are almost self-sufficient when it comes to food. Apparently, the economy of the Marshall Islands is very depressed. Hence, most of the islanders are very poor. That's why quite a few of them move to Hawai'i to see if they can attain a better life. I enjoyed our little chat.

This morning, I awoke fairly early. I packed my gym bag and rode the prison transport to the Waikiki Banyan parking structure. I decided to break the house rules and wax my truck there in the shade. I finished the task in about an hour. I left for Hawai'i Kai at 10am. On the way, I purchased $10 of petrol to make up for yesterday's loss. Moms left the back door unlocked. Moms also left an apple, coffee, and some hard-boiled eggs for me. I partook of the treats. Then, I cleaned the windows of my truck. Moms returned at 11:38am. We drove down to Koko Marina. Moms purchased a few greeting cards at Price Busters. We also stopped by Foodland. Moms bought a few groceries and barbeque steak plate lunches. After lunch, moms served ice cream. By one o' clock, moms was ready for a nap. So, I drove back to Waikiki. After dropping off my truck in the parking structure, I rode the prison transport to town. I arrived at 2:30pm, just in time for the gym. No hottie gym trainer. Where is baby? After my workout, I ended up in the faculty computer room at the Diploma Mill. I had an hour of time before the dump closed. At 5pm, I will return to Waikiki to begin the nightly ritual.

Aztec Two-Step

Yesterday, the ride back to Waikiki on the prison transport (read: bus) at 5pm was an unnerving experience. Nothing but rude satanic gargoyles. My exodus from society can't come quick enough. I cannot tolerate the city life-style much longer. As disgusted as I was with the satanic gargoyles, I still ended up at Barnes & Noble® for the evening. No hottie "bookseller." Boohoo. Well, my primary purpose was to transmit the "blog" by e-mail using the Apple® Store wireless network. The Diploma Mill wireless network has apparently "firewalled" all SMTP¹ services.

I returned to my prison cell (read: little shoebox) at 10:40pm sans cheap brewki. However, I was significantly unnerved, so I walked to the ABC Store to purchase a big-ass can of Coors® Light brewski. I sat in the prison compound (read: hotel lobby) with Kevin Phillips' book, "American Theocracy," and the big-ass can of cheap brewski.

Reading the section in Phillips' book titled, "Radicalized Religion," has given me a better understanding concerning the reasons why the Shrub administration is moving in a seemingly destructive course. Phillips' asserted that clearly one-third of the US population has strong beliefs in some form of dispensationalism, due in part to the recent religious resurgence. I would advise everyone to find any means possible to read that particular section of the book. I firmly believe that an Aztec Two-Step² conflagration with Iran is unavoidable.

This morning, I woke up at 7:40am. I was really groggy. Incidentally, the Brookstone® Tranquil Moments® "sound therapy placebo" suffered from intermittent operation again. I really should put it out of its misery, but I cannot afford to replace the $100 piece of crap. Moms had called and left a message that I could stop by early tomorrow morning. I packed my gym bag and departed for the Waikiki Banyan parking structure. After retrieving my truck, I drove to New City Nissan®. I had scheduled an oil change, the farcical safety check, and the fulfillment of the last factory recall notice. I was able to ride downtown in the dealership's shuttle. Unbelievable as it may seem, I spent most of the day in the faculty computer room at the Diploma Mill. I updated the "blog" and cleaned out one of my faculty lockers.

Gym time was at 2pm. No hottie gym trainer. Boohoo. I returned to the faculty computer room at 3:30pm.As I was walking along Fort Street Mall, I became even more cognizant of how disconnected I already am from society. All of the satanic gargoyles (except for the homeless and the halfway house derelicts) were wearing their pristine wage slave uniforms. All I could see were Reyn Spooner® clones marching about stiffly in lockstep. And, don't get me started on those detestable Dockers® slacks. The white-collar brigade. I have never fit in. I am not sad to leave the world of endless ass-kissing and backstabbing. The wage slave world is worse than prostitution. The hapless wage slave is forced to perform debaucherous acts, mostly mental sodomy, just to survive. No amount of material possessions or hot showers will cleanse the scum.

I called the New City Nissan® service department to request shuttle service back to the dealership. I will probably depart around 4:30pm. I will retrieve my truck and park it back in the Waikiki Banyan parking structure. I will then return to my prison cell in anticipation of the nightly ritual.

The deconstruction of the wage slave component of my life will serve to sequentially deconstruct the remaining components that tie me to the material world. Maintaining "gainful employment" meant that I also had to maintain a stable place of residence (read: tomb). Both go hand-in-hand, which leads to further enslavement. To compound the problem, human nature, by means of the epidemic of the "seven sins," seldom allows us to live within our means. Therefore, we never establish any kind of financial parity. Nor do we achieve peace of mind. It becomes almost impossible to stop the upward spiral without fatal crash. I can only wish that a buyer would miraculously appear within the next six weeks and take the "condotel" unit off my hands. I would like to see the $51,000 of equity returned to my investment accounts. Come back to poppa! Then, I would essentially be poised for my exodus. I'll be ready for the Aztec Two-Step² out the door of society.

¹SMTP, or Send Mail Transfer Protocol for e-mail.
²Aztec Two-Step, the dreaded traveler's diarrhea as experienced by some visitors to Mexico.

Chump Change Chimp (Reprise)

This is my second day of ex communicado status, that is, no access to a real computer. I have yet to utilize the e-mail update feature of the "blog," possibly because I have been too lazy to send to myself the span-font HTML tag necessary to format the "blog." I am a stickler for perfection. Yeah, I know. That sounds ludicrous coming from a low achiever, a "bottom feeder," like the ol' lavahead. Had I been more conscientious, then I would have been able to update the "blog" instantly with my beloved Palm® TX.

I have been out of touch with the news as well, although I could have accessed most of my favorite alternative sites on my Palm® TX, amazing device that it is. Just imagine that the device stores an abridged version of the now-defunct vast hurdy-gurdy DVD library. Amazing! I will need to divest that crap, but that's another story.

So, I tuned in to CNN on the hotel-issue tube. And, my feeble senses were inundated with non-stop Anna Nicole Smith bullshit. First, there was a non-stop week of coverage about her passing. Then, another non-stop week of the funeral coverage. Then, a non-stop week of the quandary of who was the father of Anna Nicole Smith's child. Now, there's non-stop coverage of the autopsy. What next? I'm not sure why anyone except her family should care. Did Anna Nicole Smith care about us? Did she even once call? Sheesh!

Last night, I made the trek to Barnes & Noble®. The hottie "bookseller" was on duty. I spent most of the time standing in one of the aisles and composing the "blog" on my Palm® TX. I attempted to depart for Waikiki at 10pm, but I was thwarted by the sheer number of satanic gargoyle Wal-Mart® shoppers who were also heading back to Waikiki on the prison transport (read: bus). What a fiasco! I was finally in lockdown in my prison cell at 11:30pm.

This morning, I walked to the prison transport stop (read: bus stop) with gym bag in hand at 9:30am. Pseudo-professor Glenn was there. We chatted briefly. He asked about my employment situation. I replied that I was still adamant about retiring. There was an uncomfortable silence. I waited 30 minutes before the Route B City Express arrived. The ride to town took less than 20 minutes. Alas, that's the daily frustration of prison transport commuting.

I walked to Safeway®, still toting my gym bag. I then realized my enslavement to the gym. Because I must go to the gym daily, I must limit my the radius of my excursions. Toting my heavy gym bag around is cumbersome. That's another reason why I seldom go anywhere during the daytime. When the Diploma Mill is open or business, I can store my stuff in the faculty computer room. Still, I am limited by the ineffectiveness of the prison transport system. I purchased three energy bars, a banana, and a cup of Colombian coffee.

Fortunately, the same Diploma Mill building was open. So, I was able to sit down in the empty lobby and enjoy my breakfast. I read a few religious publications that moms had given me. I also composed the "blog" on my beloved Palm® TX. For the most part, I simply enjoyed the solitude and peace.

I took a break and stood outside along Fort Street Mall with my gym bag. I watched the endless traffic on Beretania Street, which was further exacerbated by road construction. I observed that there was only one satanic gargoyle occupant in each of the 4,000 to 6,000-pound motorized chairs (read: automobiles) gridlocked in traffic. I counted about one out of fifteen vehicles with passengers, excluding buses. Tempers were flaring. Horns were honking. Obviously, none of the satanic gargoyles could see the foolishness of it all. Gym time was at 2:15pm. No hottie gym trainer. Boohoo. After an uneventful workout, I stopped by Longs® to purchase more sale items. Later, I sat in the same empty lobby of the Diploma Mill building until 5pm. The nightly ritual awaits.

In retrospect, I can see the folly of my ways. My strategic plan is flawed. I had based the decision to reside in Waikiki primarily on my tenure in wage slavery. I am now stuck in Waikiki, even though I will soon be an emancipated wage slave. The bottom line? Never base any decision on uncertain factors. Always assume that nothing is certain, nothing is permanent, and that most assumptions will be entirely wrong. Never make a long-term commitment based upon an assumed given situation.

A number of well-meaning individuals have said to me, "You're too young to retire." No one ever listens to my response. I am well into my fifties. I'm already an old fossil. I also have no doubt in my mind that I will be a victim of age discrimination if I attempt to indenture myself to wage slavery again. Soon, I will be shunned by them. Behold that I have made a "quality of life" decision based upon what I believe to be more important than maintaining the malignant status quo. I am certain that I will be ravaged by poverty at the most inappropriate time when I am a decrepit senior citizen. Nothing can prevent that outcome. Continued wage slavery will only buy me a little more time but no security. In the end, I will suffer when I am most vulnerable (i.e., decrepit senior citizen). In other words, I will now be cutting my losses as part of my exit strategy. I can only wish for the best. Incidentally, the fortune in my Panda Express® fortune cookie read, "Enjoy the lighter things in life, deeper joys will follow."

Prince Kuhio Day 2007

I broke from the nightly ritual and remained in lockdown in my prison cell (read: little shoebox). Dinner consisted of the usual prison fare, beans and bread. I then cleaned my prison cell with my humble dustpan and brush. I watched the six-hour "House MD" marathon all evening. Mindless, yes, I know. I don't mind mindless. In fact, if I return to wage slavery, I will seek out a mindless, minimum wage slave job.

A few of my concerned colleagues have urged me to find something relevant for work. They provided me with the usual platitudes. You can't let your talents go to waste. You'd be bored silly. You're too young to retire. Blah, blah. Are they kidding me? I have ten years before I can officially retire. I am already a classified senior citizen, at least according to the AARP®. I'm on the downhill slide. I can't be wasting my precious time in post-adolescent denial like the rest of the "infantilized" populace. Decisions have to be made. And, there is no time to go back to Square Zero.

I ate anything that I could find all evening, probably to compensate for the missing calories from the cheap brewskis. Going stir crazy in a small, shitty prison cell is another possibility. How can anyone not go berserk while confined to a tiny shoebox?

Today is Prince Kuhio Day, a State holiday. The Diploma Mill will be closed for two days, so I won't have to make any obtuse references to its similarity to a urinal. I rode the prison transport (read: bus) to the Waikiki Banyan parking structure at 8:15am. Upon retrieving my truck, I drove to Hawai'i Kai. Moms was still busy with chores when I arrived, so I washed my truck to pass the time. Moms made a pot of coffee. Thus, I was not caffeine deprived. We drove to Kahala Mall, detouring briefly to drop off some recyclables. Moms and I ate lunch at the Panda Express®. Lunch was delicious. Then, we shopped at Longs®. We drove back to Hawai'i Kai. Moms and I ate ice cream for dessert. I also did a few chores to help out. Moms showed me the pineapple that she's been growing. It looks really good. I also told moms that Lori had dropped off a few heads of homegrown lettuce anonymously. Lori had mentioned that in passing in e-mail a few days ago. Moms was wondering who had left the lettuce. Moms and I were able to chat for a while, which was nice for a change. One of my uncles (on pops' side of the family) had recently passed on. The funeral was only for immediate family members. That's why I did not hear about it until now.

Moms was ready for a nap at 1:30pm, so I departed for Waikiki. After parking my truck, I rode the prison transport to town. Gym time was at 2:20pm. No hottie gym trainer. Boohoo. After a nice workout and shower, I ended up in one of the buildings that houses some of the offices and classrooms of the Diploma Mill. I was able to briefly connect to the wireless network with my beloved Palm® TX. I spent a little more time in the desolate lobby composing the "blog." Then, I departed for Waikiki at 5pm. The nightly ritual commenced as soon as I entered my prison cell. You know the drill.

Well, I felt as though I had some kind of purpose today. As I look ahead toward the future, I do not anticipate any regrets in hindsight of my emancipation from wage slavery. I did not provide moms with any of the boring details because I do not want her to worry needlessly. I believe that I will survive the upcoming ordeal.

Emancipation Proclamation

I wandered about aimlessly in Barnes & Noble® again last night. I merely stare at different portions of various bookshelves. I may pull a book off of the shelf to rapidly peruse it. I simply do not want to be sitting in my pathetic prison cell (read: little shoebox) all night. The hottie "bookseller" was on duty. Baby was looking hot. I departed at 11pm, when the store closed. I went into lockdown in my prison cell sans cheap brewski. I decided not to do any reading, opting to watch the tube for an hour.

The crappy Brookstone® Tranquil Moments® "sound therapy placebo" shut down again early this morning. All of the indicator lights were still on, which was odd. I pulled the power cord and plugged it back in. Then, the piece of shit would not power up again. I left it alone for ten minutes, and it powered up just fine. I seriously doubt that I could obtain a replacement unit while the unit still powers up, albeit intermittently. It will probably stop operating for good shortly after the warranty period is over.

After eating my prison brunch consisting of Coral® tuna and bread, I left for town on the prison transport (read: bus). I was able to first procure the Sunday paper in the prison compound (read: hotel lobby). As usual, I read the paper in the lanai area of the Beretania Street Apartments. At 11am, I purchased a cup of coffee at Mickey Dee's®. While I was walking toward the Diploma Mill, I felt raindrops. Within a few seconds, the rain started coming down. So, I walked across the street. I sat in Kukui Plaza and sipped my coffee. Smooth Jazz was playing on the background music system. I was quite relaxed and enjoyed myself for once, even though I could have been easily mistaken for a homeless derelict.

At noon, I stationed myself in the student computer lab to begin yet another benign afternoon in front of the computer. Gym time was at 1:30pm. I only caught a short glimpse of the hottie gym trainer. Baby is so hot! After my workout, I stopped off at Longs® to purchase a loaf of bread and two cans of Van Camp's® pork and beans, all of which were on sale. Then, I feasted on two Cheesy Bean and Rice Burritos at Taco Bell®. After my extravagant dining out experience, I found myself back in the student computer lab. At 5pm, thank goodness, the nightly ritual will begin.

Since learning of my demise as a wage slave, I have noticed that my level of stress has been lowered. I have been much more tolerant of the myriad rude satanic gargoyles around me. Their actions do not bother me as much as before. Other irritations which used to cause an instant flare-up of anger now barely incite me. I have learned after-the-fact that wage slavery causes a lot of stress. Aside from being consumed by wage slave duties, there is always the apprehension of being terminated. The fear of termination is worse than the termination itself. The fear conjures up a lot of bad projected scenarios which, int turn, has an adverse affect on the wage slave's health. I have gone through a lot of stress as a wage slave because I had to deal with megalomaniacs like Roach and the masses of "Generation Me^1"-types in the classroom. I was being systematically marginalized and victimized. I was promoted, demoted, stripped of my health plan, and "phased out" by the Asylum. In the past year, as the Diploma Mill began devolving into its namesake, I was subjected to the same kind of marginalization until I was recently "phased out." The best part about being "phased out" is that there is absolutely no contact with anyone when it happens. That's right, no one has formerly told me anything. Here today, gone tomorrow. For the indentured wage slave, being "phased out" would most likely cause a violent outcome. For me, I felt a sense of freedom. I felt unchained.

I have been trying to analyze how pathetic my own financial situation really is, given that I will be unemployed in about six weeks. I happened to see an interesting tidbit in the book titled, "The Working Poor: Invisible in America," by David Shipler. He cited median net worth data for different strata of the US population. The figures come from the "Survey of Consumer Finance" report issued by the Fed. The median net worth, for families in the lowest quintile² by income (the 20 percent of US families with the lowest income), was $7,500 in 2004. For families in the second quintile, median net worth was $34,300. On the other hand, median family net worth for the top 10 percent was $924,100 in 2004. Net worth, by definition, excludes all debt. The median will skew to the bulk of the sample. Obviously, the disparity between the rich and the poor has been steadily increasing. I can hardly wait to see the 2007 report. As for myself, I am falling within either the third or fourth quintile, although the definition for me is loose since I have only a marginal income.

I have also discovered an interesting site, The Hermitary. The site also maintains a message board forum. Obviously, the demographic that is served by The Hermitary includes monks, hermits, loners, and reclusive types, all of whom are on a spiritual quest. In perusing The hermitary, I felt comforted. For once, I didn't feel so alone and alienated.

¹Generation Me, from the book by Jean Twenge.
²Quintile, five divisions of 20 percent each.

Lost (Yet Again)

Another exciting evening at Ala Moana Center. I looked around in a few stores, although I have no idea why. I'm not going to purchase anything. Naturally, I ended up at Barnes & Noble® for the rest of the evening. The hottie "bookseller" was on duty. I went through the motions of perusing a few books, but my mind wasn't really on the task. Instead, I was simply escaping into a non-thinking limbo.

I ran into Airi, one of my former students at the Diploma Mill, at the prison transport stop (read: bus stop). She had just gotten off of work. I chatted with her while we waited for the prison transport (read: bus) back to Waikiki. I acquired another big-ass can of cheap brewski on the way back to Quagmire Prison (read: hotel). I spent an hour in the prison compound (read: hotel lobby) reading Kevin Phillips' book, "American Theocracy," and droppin' back the big-ass can of brewski. The section titled, "Radicalized Religion," is becoming quite interesting. The historical information, as it turns out, was relevant. Phillips' thesis is that a small handful of organized religious denominations are controlling the mindset and voting practices of the general populace. At first, there was great difficulty in accepting the premise that the myriad satanic gargoyles are even dumber than a knob. Why else would they essentially support the war in Iraq and Afghanistan? Why would they support policies that effectively plunges them into poverty? The answer lies in the beliefs of those religious organizations and the platforms of various politicized religious conferences. Phillips asserted that the US is primarily a "Christian" nation and, of all the Western countries, it has seen the largest resurgence of religiosity in recent times. The book is definitely worthy of a read. Mind you, the book could cause excessive consumption of cheap booze.

I departed for town at 8:15am this morning. I was back in the faculty computer room at the urinal ... errr, Diploma Mill ... and brewing a pot of coffee before 9am. I had a brief chat with Pseudo-professor Francis over coffee about the idiotic circumstances of my termination. I have yet to hear anything from Kathy, the fat Femi-Nazi department chairbitch. I have got to mummify these discussions because I only get worked up for nothing. I am trying to prepare for my exodus from society, not a return to the cruel and debased life of wage slavery. I walked to Safeway®, my usual morning ritual. I purchased two energy bars, two cans of Safeway® pork and beans, and two lard-filled Tina's® burritos. Officially, I am on unpaid vacation (i.e., Spring break) as of yesterday. Soon, I will be on permanent unpaid vacation. Wheeee!

I kept busy with a number of little projects. For one thing, I worked on my tax returns. I also gave away a few more wage slave paraphernalia. I also composed a brief letter to send to Caroll since it is impossible for me to return her calls without a cell phone. Gym time was at 1:30pm. No hottie gym trainer. Boohoo. I completed my cardio workout, took a shower, and returned to the faculty computer room. I will depart for Waikiki at 5pm. Then, the nightly ritual will commence.

I have about six weeks before I will be emancipated from wage slavery. During the countdown, the content of the "blog" will remain intact. Once my termination date arrives, I will no longer need to mention the Diploma Mill. I am not even sure if regular "blog" entries will be necessary. After all, what will I be doing with my time? What Will I write about?

I read an interesting article in the Advertiser about the ridiculous rental housing market here. "About 40 percent of Hawai'i's population are renters who face some of the steepest rental rates in the country. Last year, it topped the list of most expensive states for renters, according to a report issued by the National Low Income Housing Coalition," the article stated along with a few sorrowful anecdotal tales. Obviously, if the ol' lavahead enters the rental market, he will be faced with the same challenges. the article is a must read to understand the plight of renters (read: future homeless) in Hawai'i.

Lately, I have been experiencing intermittent bursts of "disconnection." At times, I feel relieved that I will soon be emancipated, albeit nefariously, from wage slavery. At other times, I am overcome by the dread that I will be totally subject to forces beyond my control. I could easily be wiped out financially, which would put me on the streets. In the meantime, I have not truly been emancipated because I am still tethered to the mortgage payments for the "condotel" unit and to my Nissan® Frontier truck. I want to be completely unchained from the sickness of the material world.

Deconstruction

Another evening at Barnes & Noble®. The hottie "bookseller" was on duty. I wandered around as usual, perusing books, but really only pondering my next move in life. I procured a big-ass can of cheap brewski on the way back to Quagmire Prison (read: hotel). I read Kevin Phillips' book, "American Theocracy," in the prison compound (read: hotel lobby) and dropped back the big-ass can of cheap brewski. Phillips has definitely included too much historical filler to pad the thickness of the book. When he finally gets around to returning to the topic, he drives home the point that the US is a real mess.

I accidentally knocked the Brookstone® Tranquil Moments® "sound therapy placebo" onto the floor at 6:30am, much to my chagrin. I then spent 20 minutes trying to power it up again. I feared that I had inadvertently trashed the "Made in China" unit. Finally, it powered up. By that time, I was wide awake. So, I packed up my gym bag and departed for town on the prison transport (read: bus). I was very groggy because of my early morning fun with the Brookstone® "sound therapy placebo."

I was back in the faculty computer room at the Diploma Mill (read: urinal) at 8:35am. After a few cups of free coffee, I was fully awake. Incidentally, I have no hard feelings toward the Diploma Mill as a whole. I have served as faculty for almost nine years. In fact, as you may recall in the journal, the Diploma Mill was my salvation from unemployment. I had already predicted problems as a result of the "changing of the guard" in the academic coordinator's office. Kathy, the new department chairbitch is a fat slob satanic gargoyle. As I have stated prior, higher education is the last bastion of feminism, usually the Femi-Nazi variety. They have taken over. The faculty guys have all been emasculated. They are now simply wimps and faggots who must serve as consorts, or dare I say, handmaidens. Little surprise that the multitude of petty complaints and whining are coming from the new breed of post-adolescent "Ice Princesses." Look at who they have as role models. Sheesh!

I performed my morning Safeway® ritual. I did my one-hour of wage slavery. Gym time was at 2:15pm. No hottie gym trainer. Baby has not been working too many hours. I spent the rest of the afternoon in the faculty computer room. The nightly ritual begins at 6:25pm.

Next on the exodus checklist is deconstruction. I must deconstruct my life because it will no longer revolve around wage slavery. Thus, I am back to the task of divesting my useless possessions. I will be left with two "big ticket" items, the "condotel" unit and my Nissan® Frontier truck. The "condotel" unit is currently listed for sale, so I have no choice but to wait until a buyer appears. The truck is another story. I have no idea why I continue to keep it. I intend to drive it a little more. Since I will be in no real hurry to do anything (i.e., renewed wage slavery), then I can drive moms home when we meet for lunch or give her a ride anywhere, if necessary. Eventually, the truck will have to be divested. I will attempt to keep it until the end of the year.

I have already begun to deconstruct my wage slave existence. I am working diligently to make the transition to the world of unemployment as quickly as possible. As I mentioned prior, I have cleaned out my faculty lockers. I have also cleared out my e-mail and other accounts, which I will abandon entirely on May 10th. My wage slave clothes will be washed and donated immediately afterward to Goodwill along with any other useless wage slave crap. Deconstruction will also involve deprogramming myself from the wage slave mindset. Identification with the urinal ... errr, Diploma Mill ... will have to be mummified. I will become a non-entity. Officially, I will be retired. Unless I am able to establish a proper mindset, I risk psychological trauma. I must determine my own identity devoid of an external façade. Boredom will be another issue, but I am sure that I can remedy that problem.

Deconstruction of the soul has been a work in progress. I am essentially a loner, a hermit. A monk. I have disassociated from friends, relatives (except moms), acquaintances, and so-called "colleagues." Yes, there are a few people whom I still maintain closer ties with, but they are the exception. I have noted that my personality has gone through a radical change, which is perhaps why I am constantly at odds with everyone. I suspect that even the satanic gargoyles are able to detect that I am an automaton. I have nothing in common with them. Perhaps they can also sense my disdain towards them.

My sense of humanity has not been lost to bitterness. I have directed it inward. My compassion is now reserved for those of whom suffer injustice at the whim of the oppressors. I have no worthy inclination of empathy toward the affluent pedigreed class and their ilk. I hope to see the day that the suffer at the great hand of righteousness.

My goal is to fade into obscurity. I do not want to be recognized or acknowledged by any the myriad fools whom I've had to tolerate for the sake of a mere pittance. I have had to hold my tongue out of fear of losing this or that. Did my caution protect me? Obviously not. There is no protection for the "bottom feeders." I will soon become obscure, invisible, just like the homeless. It is the one blessing that the homeless possess. No one will associate with a non-achiever or a social reject. I will be shunned because I have no occupation, no title, and no social status. I am mendicant, so I will be easily mistaken for a derelict. Perhaps I should work hard to live the part, eh?

When all of the superficiality of the materialistic life-style is cast aside, only the soul of a human being remains. The naked soul is vulnerable when it cannot hide behind any emblems of power. True spirituality and meaning is possible absent the pretentiousness of pop culture and material icons. The deconstruction will then be complete.

A Little Bit of Freedom

After my prison dinner consisting of beans and bread, I cleaned my prison cell (read: little shoebox) with my humble dustpan and brush. Then, I was off to Barnes & Noble® to enjoy my evening prison furlough. I perused a few new books, but I mainly spent my time in deep contemplation about the road that lies ahead of me. The hottie "bookseller" was not working, so I was not easily distracted. I was able to compose a few thoughts for the "blog" on my beloved Palm® TX and send it off by e-mail, courtesy the Apple® Store wireless network. Upon my return to Quagmire Prison (read: hotel), I decided to sit in the prison compound (read: hotel lobby) and continue to read Kevin Phillip's Book, "American Theocracy," sans cheap brewski.

Today? Same ol' shit. Faculty computer room at the urinal ... errr, Diploma Mill. Drink several cups of free coffee. Walk to Safeway®. Two lard-filled Tina's® burritos for lunch. The grease was just oozing out of the tiny burritos after heating them up. One-hour of wage slavery. Professor Lisa stopped by the faculty computer room. I was able to chat with her for a few minutes. I briefed her about my upcoming unemployment. She mentioned that she had heard something to that effect. She urged me to meet with the department chairperson to resolve the issue. Why should I? I have already been "punished" before my side of the story was heard. She asked if she could do anything for me. "If it ever comes up in discussion, just change the subject," I said. Professor Lisa knows full well that the Diploma Mill is plagued with problems of student retention. So, the covert policy is to pass students with high grades as long as they don't blatantly screw up. The problem will never be solved as long as the students are the "customers," and the customer is King. Why else would it be called the "Diploma Mill"? My fellow wage slaves keep trying to pull me back into the vortex of the urinal. I appreciate their concern, but I cannot go back.

Gym time was at 2:30pm. No hottie gym trainer. Boohoo. I was back in the faculty computer room by 4pm. My only concern was the "blog." Nothing else matters anymore. Frankly, I like it that way. And, my name is Lester Burnham¹. I will be leaving for Waikiki at 6:25pm. The nightly ritual beckons me.

This is a time of transition, of great uncertainty. All of the doubts that I have ever had about myself are now threefold. With little less than two months before I am terminally unemployed, I am anxious but apprehensive. Oh yes, I've been unemployed before. And, I suffered from despair and feelings of uselessness because of it. Those same feelings have come back to haunt me, a lot of which is directly a result of peer pressure and the nefarious expectations of the "system." Wage slavery is a powerful force. Even as abusive as it is, the force is not one the pathetic wage slave should reckon with.

I have never flourished in the wage slave environment. Frankly, I do not understand how anyone could. Dealing with myriad mental midgets and engaging in "office politics" is now a priority for job security. Failure to properly engage in such malignant activities will lead to a short tenure of employment. Add liberal amounts of backstabbing and espionage to complete the world of wage slavery. Little wonder why more and more employees are losin' it and using semi-automatic weapons to settle old scores with co-workers and management. I want no part of that sick environment.

Everything happens for a reason. At least, that's been the case in my life over and over again. In fact, I have lived through this scenario several times since the beginning of the journal and on through the "blog." I do not know why circumstances dictated the abrupt segue into the next "phase of life." I fear that the Higher Source knows that moms' time is limited and, thus, I am being given the opportunity to use my precious time wisely. Time is something that can never be repurchased.

Conditions at the Diploma Mill were degenerating anyway. The "noise" rising above the faculty indicate that real problems are on the horizon, the kind that cause undue stress and psychosomatic illness. The root cause, of course, is that society is disintegrating at a rapid pace. Once revered institutions are now crumbling from obsolescence and moral turpitude. I may have saved again. I could not see myself still at the Diploma Mill two years from now. I would be fifty-five years old. In my mind, I had already envisioned that I would never be standing at any podium with a shiny silver mane. I could not see myself, as an old fossil, "pontifying" before an unruly crowd of post-adolescent punks. So, my time was already self-limited.

I am being stripped of my status, my occupation, my title, as it were, which is what causes an uneasiness. After all, I have been entrenched in the "system" for a long time. Its values have been inculcated in me. In time, these feelings shall pass. As I listened to my so-called "colleagues" yesterday bemoan the same ludicrous issues about the joke that is higher education, I felt a sense of relief when I said, "I don't have to worry about that crap anymore. I've been terminated." Yes, I felt free for once, which isn't a bad feeling at all.

¹Lester Burnham, the main character in the film, "American Beauty."

Urinal of Dreams

When I returned to Quagmire Prison (read: prison) last night, I immediately tasked myself to do the dreaded laundry. I was able to complete the chore by 8:30pm. Thus, my nightly ritual at Barnes & Noble® was preserved. The hottie "bookseller" was on duty. Lately, I have not been perusing any specific books. I am simply there to get away. Get away from what? I don't know. I walked about the bookstore randomly. For some reason, that mundane activity allows me to think clearly. I have recently glanced through the "History" section. I was surprised to see the sheer number of books devoted to the myriad wars and conflicts since the beginning of time.

I reflected on the sad state of humanity. We, as a collective, are not progressing. We are degenerating further into barbarianism. I am almost ready to start believing in evolution, what with all of the ape-like troglodytes running amuck all over the Creation. And, it's not just fellow troglodytes that we are decimating. We are also forcing thousands upon thousands of species of lifeforms into extinction. None of those species will ever return again. Destruction of life seems to be all we are capable of accomplishing.

I departed for Waikiki at 10pm. I spent an hour in the prison compound (read: hotel lobby) with Kevin Phillips' book, "American Theocracy" and a big-ass can of cheap brewski. I continued to read chapters in the section titled, "Radicalized Religion." Phillips' provided a detailed history of religion and religiosity in "America." I was dumbfounded by his assertion of the heavy influence of religion in politics and everyday life. In fact, I became very disillusioned. Organized religion is at the heart of the problems of society, especially the hundreds of apostate sects of Christendom. Little wonder why the whole nation is a mess.

This morning, I ran into Pseudo-professor Glenn while I was walking to the prison transport stop (read: bus stop). "I had a dream about you and your situation," he said, referring to my upcoming unemployment. I laughed. "No, I'm serious," he continued. "I don't normally have dreams, especially like this. In my dream, everything works out fine." We chatted for a bit and parted company. I continued to chuckle to myself about what he told me. Incidentally, I mentioned my upcoming unemployment to Professor Darwin yesterday afternoon. He urged me to seek out the department chairperson to find out what happened. "I'm not going in to beg for my job," I said.

After a few cups of free coffee in the faculty computer room at the Diploma Mill, I was invigorated. I had an interesting discussion with Pseudo-professors Lee and Jeff about the apparent problems that plague higher education as a whole and currently impacts the Diploma Mill, of which I am a casualty. Higher education has gone "down the tubes," so to speak. I sense that the situation is going to reach critical mass within a four years. The type of students that we are seeing these days are unmotivated, cynical, narcissistic, arrogant, and just plain stupid. It's going to get worse. I cannot see myself in the classroom even two years from now. From observing the trends, I predict that future students will be totally out of control. Their sense of entitlement will be further empowered by capitulating "lame duck" administrators who are only concerned about the financial bottom line, an obvious ramification of converting education to a business model. If I had to determine a suitable metaphor for higher education, I would be inclined to suggest a urinal. In addition, as the nation's occupational outlook dwindles down to service industry (read: peon) jobs, there will be no need for university graduates. Well, I could be wrong. An engineering degree may be required to secure a Hamburger Engineer position at a fast food joint. Sheesh!

Pseudo-professor Lee and I also discussed his plans to move to Hong Kong after sending his son off to college in Cali. He and his wife have seen the general state of decline in the quality of life in Hawai'i and they want out. I asked him about his finances. He said that he has no savings except some money slated for retirement which he won't touch. He and his wife own a home in Mililani, which may be worth some money. However, I doubt that his mortgage is paid off. Ultimately, the plan is for him and his wife to secure work in Hong Kong prior to relocating there. Pseudo-professor Lee knows that I am also disillusioned with the state of affairs in Hawai'i, and that I am possibly seeking to expatriate myself in the future.

I walked to Safeway® to purchase three energy bars a couple of cans of Safeway® pork and beans. I have also started cleaning out my lockers at the Diploma Mill. I am returning supplies to the faculty support center. I am clearing out my Diploma Mill on-line account and e-mail because both will disappear shortly after my termination date. I will also divest the few wage slave clothes (i.e., jeans and Aloha shirts) as well. Mind you, I long ago rid myself of the true wage slave uniform, the dreaded Dockers® slacks.

I completed my one-hour of wage slavery. Gym time was at 2:15pm. No hottie gym trainer. Boohoo. I spent the rest of the afternoon in the faculty computer room. I will most likely engage in the nightly ritual later.

The Fed held the line on short-term interests rate, but it is now hinting that it may reduce interest rates soon. If the Fed does reduce interest rates, then my prediction will come true. The asswipes at the Fed will attempt an "equity extraction" reprise in order to bolster consumer spending (now 75 percent of GDP) and prevent the collapse of the real estate market. What I mean by "preventing" the collapse of the real estate market is simply the continuation of the so-called "housing bubble." What else could be expected once greed sets in again? Is the Fed aware of that? Of course! That's the plan. Just the fact the Fed will even consider such a move indicates that it has no fear that China or Japan will dump dollar-based reserves or securities. And, what of the the poor ol' lavahead? He will be up shit creek without a paddle because his dividend income will drop significantly.

Cesspool of Turds

Another evening at Barnes & Noble®. The hottie "bookseller" was there. Baby was looking hot. I spent my time wandering about the store. I felt quite lost. Then, I became disgusted because I knew that I still had one foot in the door of the "system." Yes, as cruel as the "system" is, it provides a nervous level of security to its prisoners (read: wage slaves). The "system" routinely abuses and punishes its prisoners as well. However, the same kind of sickness that pervades any abusive relationship is what keeps the prisoner tethered to the "system." Oppression is rewarded with the "freedom" to consume useless crap. Overconsumption is the overcompensation used by the prisoner to survive the ordeal. The prisoner, in turn, must extend the incarceration period to pay the price.

I departed at 10pm. Upon my return to Waikiki, I procured a big-ass can of cheap cerveza. I sat in the prison compound (read: hotel lobby) with Kevin Phillips' book, "American Theocracy" and the big-ass can of cerveza. I read the book until midnight while I dropped back the big-ass can of cerveza. I then returned to my prison cell (read: little shoebox) for lockdown.

I neglected to mention that Pseudo-professor Bette brought a whole bag full of sales receipts to the faculty computer room at the Diploma Mill just prior to my departure for the gym. Baby spent the afternoon counting the sales tax to deduct on her taxes. Baby was still there when I returned. So was Pseudo-professor Bill. The three of us somehow got into a discussion about all kinds of stuff. However, I did learn that Pseudo-professor Bette owns a condo in Kane'ohe, actually a block away from the old Chez Loser complex. She has two dogs. She also has been renting out her spare room, the most recent tenant being an international student. So, she is apparently single with no kids. She worked as a newscaster in Hawai'i about 12 years ago. Since then, she's been in Arizona and Cali. She claims to currently have four jobs including piecemeal work for ESPN Radio. Pseudo-professor Bette is a real hottie, by the way. I'm surprised that Pseudo-professor Bill didn't mack on baby.

I departed for town at 7:50am this morning. During the annoying ride on the prison transport (read: bus), I continued to ponder my forced retirement from wage slavery and the subsequent ramifications. Why do I bother? I have been living in fear of losing my various jobs for the entire nine years that I have been in Hawai'i. And, my fears eventually came true. I have successively lost all of my jobs and not because of incompetence. My failed employment record is entirely due to my refusal to play the game. I will not worship my so-called "superiors" as if they were deities. Why should I? Those "superiors" are insecure mental midgets. It is the game-playing that results in the all-pervasive office politics. Frankly, I am sick of that shit.

I have never fit in the pseudo-professor circles. My roots are "blue collar." My upbringing has no ties with pseudo-intellectualism. My so-called "colleagues" are wrapped up in their self-importance. They live to be looked upon as intellectuals and be called, "Professor," even if they are still merely pseudo-professors, the low end of the academic food chain. Their pride and self-importance are what blinds them to the reality of the peonage to which they are enslaved. In exchange, they can live out the fantasy of a small-time pundit proselytizing to a captive audience.

What will I do when I am unemployed? Well, I will have to take a more active role in my financial strategy. Divesting the "condotel" unit and the truck may become critical success factors for my survival. My ultimate inclination is to become a hermit. I want to find a place to reside that will allow me to survive alone as a hermit. I would also like to spend my time pursuing my own interests, be it expanding my personal knowledge, possibly surfing, walking about in any desolate areas to discover the real beauty of life. I would like to experience freedom, whatever that means. And, I want to be able to visit with moms twice per week, without severe time constraints.

The absolute worst part about wage slavery is the skewed sense of time. Although I recognized the existence of the 24-hour day, my concept of time was measured in two time frames, the bi-monthly pay period and the length of the Diploma Mill term. That, in essence, is how time flies by with not much to say for oneself. I have heard many wage slaves lament about being bored during their furloughs from wage slavery. I am not so sure that boredom is that bad, especially in comparison to the demeaning life of a wage slave.

I have mentioned my upcoming unemployment to a select few. Not a single colleague, acquaintance, or student was concerned or sympathetic. Most of them changed the subject abruptly. Mind you, I am not looking for sympathy. Nor am I close to anyone to be considered a friend by any means. Nor am I likable as a person. However, I believe that we live in very uncompassionate society.

Sometimes I simply forget how old I am. In ten years, I will be eligible to receive Social Security benefits, that is, if I have any to claim. Although I definitely do not look my age, there is no doubt that I am a senior citizen. Yes, I am that old. I have very little time left on the planet, and even less time being fully ambulatory. I still remember when I had a conversation with a former student, Dustin, who happened to graduate in the same high school class as I had. "How many good years do we have left?" he asked. "Ten, fifteen maybe." Why would I want to spend that time in the misery of wage slavery in a most degrading environment?

Humanity has become a cesspool overflowing with raw sewage. The sludge that is packed tightly with individual turds is symbolic of a society that is infested with satanic gargoyles. The sickening cesspool chemical agents symbolize the epidemic of the "seven sins." The stench of the decaying substance parallels the decline of society. Humanity has passed the point of redemption, probably the only point that I find agreement with the Christian "dispensationists." Sooner or later, the disgusting fecal sludge in the cesspool has to be pumped out and dispersed into nothingness.

I walked to Safeway®, my usual morning ritual, to purchase the same ol' shit. I did my one-hour of wage slavery. Gym time was at 2:15pm. I was able to do a complete workout. Then, I spent the rest of the afternoon in the faculty computer room. The nightly ritual awaits.

Exodus on the Horizon

I deviated from my nightly ritual last night by spending all evening vegetating in my prison cell (read: little shoebox). I did not hear any noise from the prison cell next door, so I assumed that the clowns in the next prison cell moved out. I read Kevin Phillips' book, "American Theocracy." At about 11pm, a new set of satanic gargoyle tourists moved into the next prison cell.

Incidentally, I'm beginning to enjoy reading Phillips' book, "American Theocracy," although it is a bit thin on new information. What is surprising is that Phillips explicitly states that the purpose for the invasion of Iraq was primarily to secure access to oil reserves, protecting the dollar as the global reserve currency, and to appease the Christian "dispensationalists." Yes, nothing in his book is "news." Most of what he presents as facts have been know to many of us for over five years. Even I wrote about the latter in the journal. The "tin foil hat" stuff turned out to be true. So, why am I surprised about Phillips' late revelations? He's a Republican Party strategist, and still one of the few in that political party to speak the truth. I am just starting to read the section about radicalized religion. Phillips' is referring to the so-called "Religious Right" and the various fundamentalist Christian organizations.

I woke up at 8:05am this morning. Within ten minutes, I was out the door. I consumed a few cups of free coffee in the faculty computer room at the Diploma Mill before departing on the prison transport to Kahala Mall. I met moms at 10:30 at the entrance. We ate lunch at Pearl's Korean Barbeque. I was able to chat with moms for a bit. I only made a vague reference to the fact that I would be unemployed in the middle of May. I did not want to worry moms any more than necessary.

I returned to town in time to complete my one-hour of wage slavery. Gym time was at 2:15pm. Most of the cardio machines were being used, so I skipped my cardio workout. Given my fragile mental state, that may not have been a good idea. I spent the rest of the afternoon in the faculty computer room. I briefly walked to Longs® to purchase a loaf of bread and a couple of cans of Libby's® Vienna Sausage (not to be confused with the other Vienna Sausage).

It's hard to believe that my exodus from society is coming up in two months. At first, I was in shock as any good wage slave of the "system" is supposed to react. I felt betrayed and humiliated. Yet, in reviewing my history of wage slavery, I had to wonder what the "system" has done for me. I have been continuously harassed and humiliated by its agents. I've been ostracized and punished for not goosestepping with along with the myriad wage slave Nazis and fudgepackers. I've had my health benefits stripped from me. What exactly is left that begs any loyalty to the "system"? My $900 per month pittance? Give me a break.

My choice to remain unemployed given the situation may not be a wise move, I know. I have already mentioned that I will lose my pathetic income as well as lower my Social Security benefits. Of least importance, I will have zero credibility with my current associates. I have made some preparation for the upcoming transition. I have minimized my worldly possessions, and I will now state that the latter policy must become permanent. Thus, I will:

• mummify new material acquisitions from this point forward
• only purchase necessities or replacement necessities on a just-in-time (JIT) basis)
• make no effort to add to expenditures (e.g., health insurance) until other overhead is mummified
• maintain the current low standard of living until downward adjustment is necessary.

The "condotel" unit will remain a priority divestiture. I will continue to occupy the unit until it is sold or if doing so becomes moderately less cost effective. I will retain my Nissan® Frontier truck until I deem it too costly to maintain.

Therefore, I must define the fundamental purpose of money. For the majority of satanic gargoyles, money is for spending. And, when there isn't enough laying around, then it must be borrowed. Spending is spread across necessities and luxuries, with the latter overtaking the former in priority. The credo of the wage slave is, "Spend, spend, spend." Hence, we have wage slavery. I don't find such a credo to be workable. Thus, we must look at money in a different light. Money must be used as a tool to obtain some semblance of freedom from wage slavery. The wage slave is essentially enslaved to wages by his or her own actions, that is, the need for endless consumption. A higher standard of living with more and more "creature comforts" is not going to make wage slavery any easier to tolerate. Eventually, the walls start closing in again. Money is the tool, not us.

As I have stated previously, I do not have enough to retire by any standard. I will retire impoverished. I won't be alone. Even if I were to spend half of my net worth, I will have a savings balance higher than a good portion of the satanic gargoyles. I will subsist in mendicant conditions, but I won't be living as a filthy derelict. I will, however, be free of the abuses that must be endured as a wage slave. The psychological torture that is inflicted upon each and every wage slave takes a toll in the form of health problems. Each day, we are reminded that we are expendable. We can be replaced, if we don't toe the company line or we don't kiss someone's ass. That's the "Lester Burnham moment," the realization that we are just ordinary, and we've got nothing to lose.

Rentier's Sluice

Another evening at Barnes & Noble®. The place was crowded which made for an unenjoyable evening. I departed at 10pm. As usual, I made a horrendous decision to ride the prison transport (read: bus) to town in order to avoid the fat slob satanic gargoyles who would be stuffed aboard the prison transport destined for Waikiki. Once in town, I had to stand under a tiny prison transport stop (read: bus stop) shelter while the rain came pouring down. The prison transport heading to Waikiki finally arrived 20 minutes later. Because of the idiotic St. Patrick's Day block party in town, the prison transport was filled with drunk satanic gargoyle tourists. They were yelling and carrying on, which was really quite annoying. It's easy to see why "Americans" are so despised abroad.

I had to purchase a big-ass can of cerveza again to calm my nerves. I dropped back the whole big-ass can of cerveza in no time. The movie, "American Beauty," was playing on the tube, an odd coincidence since everything that has transpired in the last day or so qualifies as nothing other than a "Lester Burnham moment." Later, I continued to read Kevin Phillip's book, "American Theocracy." I am a little disappointed with the book. The bulk of its content appears to be a historical review, another problem that I have identified with books of this genre. To add more pages to the text, historical fodder is often added liberally. I am more concerned about comprehensive analyses of the immediate problems. So far, nothing comes close to Mike Ruppert's book, "Crossing the Rubicon." I most likely could have gleaned all of the pertinent information by simply perusing "American Theocracy" in the bookstore. That brings me to another rule. Be wary of any book that has "New York Times Bestseller" (or equivalent) emblazoned across the cover, which simply means that the book has broad appeal amongst brain donors.

I woke up at 8:30am this morning. After a prison brunch consisting of Coral® tuna and bread, I managed to procure the Sunday paper in the prison compound (read: hotel lobby) before riding to town on the prison transport. I read the paper in the lanai area of the Beretania Street Apartments. I observed a number derelicts, possibly homeless, who were occupying all of the benches in the adjacent park. An African-American derelict was yelling at the top of his lungs to no one in particular. At 11am, I purchased a large cup of coffee at Mickey Dee's®. There were two Caucasian derelicts panhandling outside the fast food joint.

As I sat and waited for the student computer lab at the Diploma Mill to open at noon, I observed an increase in the number of derelicts and homeless loitering around Fort Street Mall. Of course, I may be joining their ranks within two months when I am unemployed. Unlike the unemployment crisis that I faced back in December, the current one is more tenuous and nefarious. I had actually negotiated to facilitate a number of classes up until the end of the year. I had already been given my assignments. However, the latter has been "unassigned" (i.e., taken away from the ol' lavahead).

Once I am out of the higher education field, I do not plan to return. I am fed up with the "Generation: Me¹" students with all of their narcissistic whining. I am sick of the arrogant, albeit aging, group of New Age faculty, most of whom are sociopaths or borderline schizophrenics. I will make no effort to remedy my situation at the Diploma Mill. I will let unemployment run its course. Then, for the time being, I will assume the rentier² life-style, although I will be living at the edge of poverty.

I am not sure why I fear unemployment, even though I have both anticipated the eventuality and welcomed it. The power of the "system" lies in its ability to invoke guilt through the association of wage slavery with a person's worth. An unemployed wage slave is worthless. An unemployed wage slave will suffer from reduced Social Security benefits. An unemployed wage slave cannot make an IRA contribution. An unemployed wage slave will pay a high premium for health insurance. On and on it goes. Yet, the meaningless of rote wage slavery is only offset by rampant consumerism. The pittance of compensation derived from wage slavery is worth so little that the indentured wage slave can only find solace by increasing "creature comforts" through the acquisition of useless crap. The purchase of useless crap provides an endorphin-like response in the brain, a sense of pleasure similar to that experienced by cheap booze and drugs. And, the only way to continue the pleasurable sensation is to continue to purchase useless crap.

Gym time was at 1:30pm. As I walked in, I saw the hottie gym trainer. Baby was looking hot. I noted a testosterone surge, which made me realize that the weak mind was at play. Have I not said that the babe situation is over? The mind needs to control such a cheap display of unbridled lust. The weak mind only wastes its time on desires that will never be fulfilled. I found a reasonable substitute for babes in the form of two Cheesy Bean and Rice Burritos purchased at Taco Bell®. When all else fails, satisfy only the desires that can be fulfilled within reason and avoid falling victim to the epidemic of the "seven sins."

I spent the rest of the afternoon in the student computer lab. I received e-mail from Professor Lisa. Caroll has called three times so far and left messages. I was unable to call her back because I do not have a cell phone. Incidentally, I doubt that I will ever own a cell phone again. I will depart for Waikiki at 5pm. The evening ritual awaits.

¹From the book, "Generation Me, " by Jean Twenge.
²A person who lives on income from property or investments.

Apocalypse Watch

Another evening at Barnes & Noble® has come and gone. Another big-ass can of cheap cerveza has come and gone. And, another late night of reading Kevin Phillip's book, American Theocracy," has come and gone. These are the days of our lives. Sheesh! by the way, the hottie "bookseller" was on duty. Baby was looking fine.

I was on the prison transport (read: bus) heading to town by 9 o' clock this morning. I made a pot of coffee once I was in the faculty computer room at the Diploma Mill. Then, I walked to Safeway® as per my morning ritual. Pseudo-professor Francis and I had a nice chat over coffee. During the course of the conversation, I discovered that I have no classes for the rest of the year. Classes that were assigned to me have been mysteriously unassigned. Pseudo-professor Francis urged me to contact the department chairperson to inquire about the discrepancy. However, I noted that all of the other classes were assigned. Thus, my long-awaited removal from service is coming about in a nefarious way. The cowards could not even confront me. Remember when I had gone through the same shit at the Asylum? What a laugh! Pseudo-professors Dorothy, Emmett, and Glenn were also victims of the same crap. This is an example of how the clowns in the "system" attempt to "punish" those who do not fit in (read: conform). I am not a Nazi. I am not going to goosestep along with the myriad asswipes who prostitute themselves to the "system" just to keep the paychecks flowing. To celebrate, I deactivated my Facebook account. Baha! Ha! Ha! Haaaa! Oddly, while cleaning out my faculty locker, I discovered a fortune from a Panda Express® fortune cookie that I had inadvertently saved. It read, "Next Summer, you will dance to a different tune."

Unless something changes, my last paycheck will be issued at the end of May. I will then be fully unemployed. Preparation for that day of reckoning has been long in the making. I have developed various contingency plans with no idea if any of them are viable. Will I become a homeless "camper"? Will I sell the truck to raise some cash? Will I put the "condotel" unit back into the hotel rental pool? Will I be able to part with my gym membership? I cannot commit to any plan until the time comes.

The bottom line is that shit always happens faster than expected. I should have learned that lesson from my recent past. Almost every anticipated outcome occurred about one year ahead of time. Thus, I was always one year behind schedule in implementing any contingency plans. Fortunately, I have already divested most of my useless possessions. I am mobile as I can get.

I finally received the Dodge® Sprinter brochure that I had requested. So, I spent a few minutes perusing the documents. In all likelihood, I would seriously consider the Sprinter to be a viable motorhome. I am looking at a time in the future when I will be forced by economics to move away from Hawai'i. I will, however, maintain my vow to remain in Hawai'i while moms is around.

Gym time was at 1:30pm. No hottie gym trainer. Does it matter? I will have to refrain from any future references to babes. The babe situation has been over for a long time. With unemployment looming on the horizon, I will have other issues to worry about. I spent the rest of the afternoon in the faculty computer room. At 5pm, I will commence the "same ol' shit" nightly routine.

In continuing the discussion about the fall of the empire, I must add that the reason we do not see any kind of mass protests and minor league revolution is because there currently is no military conscription (read: the draft) in place as there was during the Vietnam War. The new "peacetime" military is a regular occupation. A job. That is, of course, the reason why the draft will be a last resort option for the Shrub administration. Who actually enlists in the military? We most likely would find a large cross-section from geographic areas which suffered immensely from "globalization" and from chronically impoverished areas, the "cannon fodder" 'hoods. Only when the nation's aggregate economy heads South will we see a shift in public discourse and participation. When the only job opportunities available are in the military as the "war on terror" wages on, there will be civil unrest for certain. Until then, the satanic gargoyles will indulge in the "seven sins" with not a care in the world.

The "invisible hand" that is pulling the strings from above is not happy. "If we can't have it, then no one else can." The "invisible hand" has spoken. The "invisible hand" wants the secular Apocalypse invoked now. The "bottom feeders" and "useless eaters" must be pruned from the world population in order to save the planet. The "invisible hand" wants to see the remaining population conscripted as slaves to serve as manual labor when Peak Oil takes effect. Do not toy with the "invisible hand." I, like the "invisible hand," have grown impatient. When will it happen?

In Darkness Waiting

I could hardly wait to get to Barnes & Noble® last night. Anything to flee the dissonance of the whole Quagmire Prison (read: hotel) experience. The hottie "bookseller" was working, so that was an added plus. After meandering around, I decided to purchase "American Theocracy: The Peril and Politics of Radical Religion, Oil, and Borrowed Money in the 21st Century," by Kevin Phillips, a $17 expenditure. I departed for Waikiki at 10pm. I purchased yet another big-ass can of cerveza. Then, I sat in the prison compound (read: hotel lobby) with my new book and the big-ass can of cerveza. I dropped back the whole big-ass can of cerveza while I read "American Theocracy."

I had reservation about purchasing a self-proclaimed partisan commentary. However, I am finding that the partisan nature of author Phillips' treatise is unobtrusive. The more important message about the upcoming crises transcends party politics. It is my goal to identify the key aspects of the upcoming "fall of the empire," so to speak. I also previewed the section about US debt woes. I was floored by the consumer borrowing figures. From what I read, I should be able to just look around. Every satanic gargoyle in my periphery is way over-leveraged. They are in hock. They spend more than they earn. They would rather have a huge plasma tube than money in the bank. Oddly, I notice no symptoms of financial distress. The satanic gargoyles are happier than a clam. How is that? Did you say, "Prozac®"?

In continuing my discussion about the demise of the empire, I have concluded that there are only three possible scenarios to bring about the fall:

• Long-term oil supply disruption or Peak Oil
• General strike waged by proletariat wage slaves
• All-out revolution or protests staged by masses

Don't count on the last two options. They will never happen. The satanic gargoyles are too busy incurring as much debt as possible to purchase all the "must have" crap to impress other satanic gargoyles. Why bother? Who wants to impress a bunch of fat slobs anyway? We will simply have to wait for the first option to wield its ugly head. There is, of course, the slim chance that the money "system" will collapse under the weight of tremendous debt.

I left for town at 8 o' clock this morning. The ride on the prison transport (read: bus) was actually relaxing. After consuming a few cups of free coffee in the faculty computer room at the Diploma Mill, I sashayed over to Safeway® to purchase a loaf of bread and three energy bars. At 11am, I walked to the Institute of Hair Design to restore my monk haircut. I did my one-hour of wage slavery. Gym time was at 2:15pm. No hottie gym trainer. Boohoo. I spent the rest of the afternoon in the faculty computer lab. Same ol' shit ... Booyah! Right at this very moment, Blogger® caused me to lose the rest of "blog" entry, something that happens often when its servers frequently go off-line for no reason. I am not going to replicate the shit. Frankly, the writing is on the wall. The days of the "blog" are limited.

Earlier, I lapsed into melancholia. All I am doing is sitting around waiting for something - Peak Oil, economic collapse, secular Apocalypse, martial law, Armageddon - anything that will finally bring pain and suffering to the masses of ungrateful idiots in the "land of plenty." The rest of the world is suffering at our expense. Should we not share in the privilege as well? So, there I am waiting, and nothing is happening. Nada. Can someone please tell me when the "shit is going to hit the fan"? The thought of seeing the myriad satanic gargoyles on their knees begging for mercy makes me want to laugh my ass off. Baha! Ha! Ha! Haaaa! Seriously, the "land of plenty" is an alien place to me. I feel very disconnected. I do not belong here. The stress is building up. And, I have nowhere to go.

Ides of March (Yet Again)

Another evening at Barnes & Noble®. No hottie "bookseller." Boohoo. I have been trying to ascertain what my next book purchase will be. Mike Ruppert's book, "Crossing the Rubicon," will be a hard act to follow. I perused Kevin Phillips' book, "American Theocracy," again. The book is aimed at disgruntled Republicans who are distancing themselves from the Shrub administration. Thus, it is written from a partisan perspective. The book is still quite absorbing. I was intrigued by his coverage of the debt and trade deficit crisis.

Phillips and other such as Chalmers Johnson have been sounding the klaxons about the impending fall of the empire. There are three conditions that have historically befallen other empires:

• Global (i.e., military) over-reach and imperialism
• Radicalized religion
• Soaring debt and deficits

Their warnings are falling upon deaf ears because absolutely nothing is happening. The Shrub administration is requesting even more funding for the Iraq and Afghanistan wars. Obviously, the funding doesn't exist. Money will have to be created out of thin air, which will certainly increase the already soaring debt by billions of dollars. Yet, there is no indication that an economic upheaval is on the horizon. Are Philips, Johnson, and their ilk simply crying, "Wolf"?

It is my guess that the bursting of the so-called "housing bubble" may cascade upward from the subprime market to the portions of the prime market. Clearly, there will be a huge transfer of wealth to the moneychangers and the powers-that-be. Then, the newly impoverished will become invisible. How do we know? Well, have we heard anything from the thousands of people who were displaced by Hurricane Katrina? How about the millions who became unemployed when domestic jobs were either exported or outsourced? How about the victims of the recent round of tornadoes? Nada. As I mentioned before, if something does not seem right, then it isn't. Common sense. Will the empire fall as a result? I seriously doubt it.

The much awaited fall of the empire will most likely not come about because the government goes bankrupt. In further analysis, I am not even sure if the latter is even a possibility. The "system" is essentially money. The moneychangers and powers-that-be were clever enough to rig the "system" in favor of the dollar. The value of the dollar is based its value as a trading currency for oil, which guarantees that all central banks will maintain large dollar currency reserves. That alone give the dollar "weight." The World Bank and the IMF are essentially tools of the "system." Both organizations loan money to other countries with stiff stipulations for trade exclusivity with the US, establishing and maintaining dollar currency reserves, and floating the native currency with respect to the dollar. Large trading partners incur huge trade surpluses in the form of excess dollars, which are then "loaned" back to the US by purchasing US-backed securities. Because the economies of the trading partners are intimately tied to the prosperity of the US, there will be no attempt to "upset the apple cart." Essentially, the US makes the rules, even though the other nations have the dough. If all else fails, the dollar will be backed up by the military. In a nutshell, we call that the "globalization of money."

Large sums of money are moving in and out of the "system." The Fed is almost assuredly injecting large sums of money into the "system" using a dual-book accounting method. In other words, the books are "cooked," just as we witnessed in the Enron® scandal. The "cooked" books are used to keep inflation figures in check and to give the appearance of a strong economy. Money is also rapidly flowing out of the "system" through corruption and theft. And, if Mike Ruppert is correct, money is flowing back through the "system" by means of government-sponsored illegal drug trafficking. When the Inspector General for several governmental agencies cannot explain where or why large amounts of funds disappeared, then something is clearly wrong. The former USSR was in a similar bind before it fell apart. However, the ruble did not have the "mass" or "inertia" of the dollar and, hence, the Soviet economy simply collapsed from soaring debt. Because of the tightly knit Ponzi scheme that the dollar enjoys, its enormous weight as the world reserve currency, its implicit backing by the military, and its virtually unchecked inflow and outflow, there is very little chance the US empire will follow in the footsteps of the former Soviet Union.

I have been using the "Thunder Storm" setting on my Brookstone® Tranquil Moments® "sound therapy placebo" for the past two days. Seems to be working very well. I slept as soundly as possible given the pathetic circumstances. I was amused that, in waking up a couple of times during the course of the night, I had actually thought that a storm was in progress.

I departed for town at 8 o' clock this morning. After a few cups of free coffee in the faculty computer room, I was sufficiently cognizant to make the trek to Safeway® to purchase the exact same items that I did yesterday. I completed my one-hour of indentured wage slavery. Gym time was at 2:15pm. No hottie gym trainer. Boohoo. I spent the rest of the afternoon in the faculty computer room. Essentially, I'm just sitting around and waiting for the empire to fall. Beware the Ides of March¹. Sheesh!

¹ Because of William Shakespeare's play "Julius Caesar" and its line "Beware the Ides of March," the term "Ides of March" has come to mean a foreboding of doom.

Glock® Vanity

My nightly ritual found me seeking refuge at Barnes & Noble®. I had to escape from the continuous slammin' soirée from yet another new batch of satanic gargoyle tourists. I am constantly befuddled by the fact that many of them just love to sit in the tiny dump, chain smoke cigarettes, watch the tube, and slam all the drawers for hours on end. Barnes & Noble® is my only retreat from the madness, sad to say. The hottie "bookseller" was on duty. Baby was looking fine, by the way. I perused a couple of new books:

• "American Theocracy: The Peril and Politics of Radical Religion, Oil, and Borrowed Money in the 21st Century" - Kevin Phillips
• "Licensed to Kill: Hired Guns in the War on Terror" - Robert Pelton

I was also perusing a few books in the finance section when a local guy named Harry initiated a conversation with me. He mentioned a few business strategy books that he has read. He currently works as an engineer for the State. Prior to that, he was a project engineer for a construction firm. Harry loves to talk. He gave me a rundown on his life. He is planning to retire within two years, although he is still in his twenties and a newlywed. He claimed to be involved in a huge business venture, which he kept referring to as the "business." The conversation went on for a while. He kept talking about the "business." He's tired of working for the "man," so he had actually considered quitting his engineering job and becoming a security guard. Fortunately, the "business" came along and he was able to partner into it. As you can guess, the "business" turned out to be Quixtar®, the Net-based arm of Amway®. He told me all about his affiliate-based eCommerce site, Alohashop. Harry expects to become a millionaire within a few years. He made some attempt to "close the sale," which is to bring me in to the "business." I remained aloof. As we parted company, I wished him well.

Once again, I purchased a big-ass can of cheap brewski before I went into lockdown in my prison cell (read: little shoebox). The slammin' soirée continued unabated until 12:45am. I finally completed Mike Ruppert's book, "Crossing the Rubicon." I will say that I haven't been the same since reading it. I continued to reflect upon "Rubicon" while I waited for the noise to subside. I believe that Ruppert is at least 90 percent correct in his analysis, which makes "Rubicon" one of the most factual books available.

I have become significantly disillusioned. I know, I keep saying that all the time. I wonder how the myriad satanic gargoyles can actually live with themselves. I can conceptualize the psychological damage incurred by the epidemic of the "seven sins." I can grasp that greed can supplant any virtue. Yet, I do not understand how the human conscience can be silenced and subverted to nefarious ends. Even in its most benign state, the human conscience should be able to determine basic morality. Yet, we are all running amuck and seeking only to gratify our hedonistic tendencies and our narcissistic needs. Even the most benign of materialistic behavior has an adverse impact on the planet as a whole. What I am trying to say is that we need to understand the ramifications of our life-style. We only live well because, by chance, we were born into the "privileged¹" society. Other not-so-privileged societies are paying the price, usually with their lives, so we can enjoy and indulge in our self-importance.

I hear not one satanic gargoyle express any kind of gratitude for such a comfortable life-style. No one expresses remorse over the fact that a significant portion of the world population must live in abject poverty or must be the "collateral damage" of war so that a few can extract more than their fair share. No one even attempts to recognize some kind of complicity in this abomination. And, no one even feels compelled to curtail life-style excesses as a means to reduce complicity. There is absolutely no guilt whatsoever. These things, I see every day. I have grown weary. The injustice breaks my heart. If I bring up such issues in conversation, I am privy to hear stupid statements as, "Well, why don't you give away all your money?" or "Why don't you move to such-and-such and live there?" What is in the hearts and minds of these evil satanic gargoyles? Can they no longer feel compassion? Can they not see the error of their ways? Are they that conceited? That, my friends, is a sure sign that our own so-called "society" is rotten to the core.

Is the end of our so-called "society" and the US empire near? That's hard to say. The "system" has so much "mass" that its "inertia" is hard to break. Even with its rotted-out core, the sheer mass of the hollow shell is enough to keep it going for a while. Look at how the stock market made another "miraculous" recovery after a second "correction," this one related to the impending collapse of the subprime mortgage market. What is this "inertia" that I refer to? The epidemic of the "seven sins," of course, specifically greed and gluttony. Evil is a very powerful and synergistic force when it is called upon. And, evil begets more evil.

In my revised analysis, I am now convinced that the secular Apocalypse has already commenced. I had expected the "end" to be more polished, but evildoers are often rushed because they know that their time is limited. I can sense that something is drastically wrong. I must confess that I am oftentimes confronted with denial as well. However, that's when common sense must prevail. If something does not add up or present a clear picture, then that something must be wrong. We have seen this theme repeat itself and increase in frequency over the years. The discrepancies can no longer be ignored. Something is terribly wrong, and that something is now totally out of control.

Well, I had to apply the "Brookstone® treatment²" in an attempt to mask out the noise from the next prison cell. Needless to say, I did not sleep well. I woke up fairly early. I was on the prison transport (read: bus) to town at 8:05am. After a few cups of free coffee in the faculty computer room at the Diploma Mill, I walked to Safeway® to purchase four energy bars and two lard-filled Tina's® burritos. I did my one-hour of wage slavery. Gym time was at 2:15pm. No hottie gym trainer. Boohoo. Later, I spent more time in the faculty computer room. The evening? Same ol' shit.

My guess is that I will have to procure a Glock® 9mm (read: the "nine") or equivalent sometime in the near future. In the initial stages of the breakdown of society, there will be chaos. Aside from the police and the military, there will large bands of private security forces (e.g., Blackwater®, etc.), militias, armed marauders, and criminal elements running loose. I suspect that law and order will cease to exist within five days. That's when the command structure of law enforcement and military agencies will breakdown.

The Glock 9mm is probably the only other costly material acquisition that I need to make. Yes, sometimes I wonder why I have made the sacrifice to limit my useless possessions. However, it has taken me many years to realize that all the crap that I have purchased in my lifetime was just a waste of time and money. I did not need any of it. I just had to keep up with everyone else, I suppose. My identity was determined by my possessions as was my social status. Oh, the vanity!

¹As Shrub stated, "The American life is not negotiable."
²Treatment using the Brookstone® "sound therapy placebo."