Hell awaits the boring
I was watching the space channel, also known as the virgin insomniac network, and there was a show about how Stan Lee was the show biz comic guy who was famous and totally screwed Jack Kirby. Comic book wierdo's know who Jack Kirby is, everyone else when they met him would think he's an old, flamingly gay, comic book artist (which he was).
Stan Lee is the clever guy who came up with a lot of ideas mysteriously by stealing them from poor old Kirby. And the fact that Stan Lee had an imagination and could draw really propelled him into the limelight of the comic world. Charismatic Stan Lee, a shimmering star in ephemeral constellations of comicbookdom, was comicbookdom's golden boy. Every body loved him because he was a rennaisance man, a guy who could do it all. Stan Lee could draw, color, you name it.
Meanwhile Kirby just sat at his easel making boring badly drawn adventures, and let me tell you, I think if you gave a girl a pen she could draw better comics. I felt like making an anti-girl joke since girls don't give a shit about comics anyway. Can't say as I blame em. I admit that liking comics is pretty retarded, but so what.
Well crazy old kirby was the founder of a lot of the fantastic-y comics. The Kirby favorite comic character dynamic was mainly teams of 3 guys and 1 chick, which is not so good odds for her. Having an elastic man trying to fondle her from across a room or fighting off the drunken come ons of an orange rock-man dressed in underpants must be uncomfortable.
This kirby guy slaved his whole life drawing 3 comics a day, and died in relative obscurity. No one knows who the hell he is, except for me thanks to the "miracle no-life scared of girls tv channel", and a handful of other losers. And the truly weird part is, comparitively to most people, kirby is famous! Most people's lives don't even warrant a biography on the space channel, or any other channel. Usually what you get is a few lines in the obituaries who no one reads except other people waiting to die and seeing who they outlived by at least one day. What a funny thing obituaries are, really. To have your life encapsulated in 30 words, and they probably run about 25 words too long anyway.
Par exemple:
Joe Schmo Rigaboodo
A man beloved by clerks at porno stores and handgun ranges, this father of five screaming brats died. Due to bad eyesight he often "accidentally" mistook a 19 year old prostitute for his wife and repeatedly found himself broke after she borrowed 150 dollars an hour for groceries(heroin).
born: sometime
died: yesterday
And after the walking dead(us) are planted in the dirt, this world somehow continues as if we were just fingernail trimmings brushed under the sofa cushions of time. But is that depressing, No! Because who says you have to be just a boring obituary, make it count, do something with this wacky carcass you haul from place to place. Live dammit! LIVE!
Go outside, pee on a tree, push over a useless sandwich sign and yell to the world, "I am (whoever you are), and I can exchange oxygen for carbon dioxide! And moreso, I will do it with vigor until every last tree and sandwich sign have felt the power of (whoever you are)!"
Don't just shuffle around as a nobody, go out there and kick that metaphorical Stan Lee in his goodies. Maybe you'll be loved, or famous, or infamous, and maybe even missed. That's what I'm pitching for kiddies, be a funny, psychotic, swarthy, ball of life.
And when I'm gone I just hope I log one millsecond more conversation time than Little Kim.
LIVE YOU MAGNIFICENT BASTARDS! LIVE!