Saturday, April 30, 2005

Hierarchy of Crappy Beer

6. PBR
5. Natty
4. High Life
3. Stag
2. Beast Ice

And still the reining champion and my all-time favorite crappy beer:
1. Keystone

Thursday, April 28, 2005

Good Day

Do you ever just have one of those days where everything goes your way? For instance, you wake up with a smile and a kiss, you make it to work on time, you don't have to go to class, you spend time with a pretty girl, and you drink moonshine with your friends while playing video games. That, my friends, is the definition of a 'good day.'

Wednesday, April 27, 2005


He stood up from the couch. He had been sitting too comfortably, too near her. "I don't want to do this anymore," he said, and reached for his ball cap on the coffee table.

"We can watch a different movie, dude," she said, surprised at his sudden outburst. "Where are you going?"

"No, not the movie. This," he said pointing at where he had been sitting on the couch.

She was confused. "The couch?"

"No. Nevermind. I gotta go."

She stood up and followed him as he left the living room. "What are you talking about?"

He stopped and turned suddenly. She was following so close behind that she almost bumped into him. "I'm talking about us."

"What about us?"

"Whenever I'm around you, all I want is to kiss you."

She took a step back. "I thought we agreed to just be friends."

"No, you wanted to 'just be friends' and I went along with it because I wanted to be near you. But now I see that it wasn't a good idea, because I don't want to be 'just friends,' and it's killing me every time sit next to you and smell your perfume, or give you a hug, or look into your eyes, or accidentally touch your hand. I just don't want to do it any more. I can't pretend that I'm not attracted to you." He was done with his speech. It hadn't gone exactly like he'd planned in his head. In his head he hadn't been as upset. And, of course, in his head, she had thrown herself at him half-way through. He sighed and turned towards the door.

"So, you're just leaving?" she asked.

"Unless you've got a better idea."

"I'm sorry," she said, genuinely empathetic.

He opened the door and stepped through. Before he shut it behind himself he said, "That's my line."


[instead of paying attention in class]

The small boy played with his big Tonka dump-truck in the sand box, hauling loads of dirt over dunes and through valleys in the burning desert heat. As he dumped his truck's precious cargo into the impressive and ever-growing pile in the corner of the box, he saw his mother standing a few feet off, watching him play. She stood one arm crossing her chest, hand tucked under her other arm with the other hand covering her mouth. The boy noticed a strange look on his mother's face. Was she scared? Was she angry with him? Was she impressed with the amazing pile of sand he had started? He tested the water.

"Do you see how big a pile I made, Mommy?" She seemed not to hear him. He spoke a little louder, "Mommy, lookie what I did. It's big, huh?"

His mother slowly nodded her head. She removed her hand from her mouth and tried to say something but was choked up. She cleared her throat and nodded.

The small boy stared back at his mother for a moment and stopped playing with his truck. She didn't seem impressed with his achievement. "Mommy, are you made at me?" he looked down, expecting a talking-to.

He heard his mother sob once and then quickly say in a strained voice, "No, honey. No, I'm not mad." She took a few steps toward him and knelt at the edge of the sand box. "I . . . ." she stopped. Tears formed in her eyes. "Come here, Joel, I need to talk to you."

The boy still unsure cautiously crawled through the sand, towing his truck behind him. He was frightened; he'd never seen his mother act so strangely and he didn't know what to expect. When he reached the edge of the box near his mother once again began loading the back of his truck with hot, dry sand. He didn't look his mother in the eye.

"Honey," she started, then paused, "your father . . ." she thought for a moment and brushed Joel's bushy hair out of his eyes. "Daddy won't be coming home tonight."

Not understanding the significance of this, he played along with his mother, "Will he come home tomorrow?"

She started to cry. "No, honey, he won't be coming home tomorrow. He won't ever be coming home. Daddy is lost." Through a lake of tears, she helped her son fill the back of his truck with sand.

"Where did you lose him?" he asked, thinking of all the places he looks when his loses his toys.

"I didn't lose him. Someone took him from me, from us."

"Where did they take him?" The dump trunk was full, but Joel decided not to dump it in the big pile on the other side of the box. He seemed tethered to his mother. He dumped his truck where it sat, wondering where his father could possibly be.

"Sometimes people are take away to a place where they can't come back from." She continued to cry softly. After a few moments she spoke again. "Sometimes people are taken to Heaven . . . when they die."

The young boy looked up at his mother finally. "Did my daddy die?"

[the end of class]

Sunday, April 24, 2005

Surprised I'm Still Alive

Apparently, people really enjoyed Alumni Reunion. I'm just glad it's over.

Friday night was the Bar Crawl. I was stressed out, but everyone else seemed to be having a good time. One of my guys got kicked out of Dukum Inn for having a fake, and one got kicked out of Il Spazio for breaking a glass. I was upset, but no one else seemed to care. The bars were about to close, so I decided to walk back to Kimball's alone, and hoped that everyone made it back alive.

On my way, Maggie and the Pirates saw me and picked me up. We went to the Pirate's house where I kept stealing Maggie's beer. For some reason I decided to fight her. I threw her on a couch, but she jumped back up and jacked me in the face twice. I could have taken an incredibly more punishing beating, considering the state I was in, but I guess she thought that I'd had enough. What a pussy.

Saturday morning the demolition guys came and knocked over the house. It was a most glorious hour. Immediately following that someone gave me a bottle of wine, and I drank deeply of it. From that point until I had to work at 6pm I drank. Work was interesting. After work I was sobering up and had a hang-over. It's interesting already being hung-over at 9:30 at night. I hung out at Kimball's with the younger guys while the alumni were hitting up the bars again. We were all dead. Drinking all day sure is exhausting.

I went to Stellar's. I started drinking some more. Maggie came over for a bit which was nice. I lose track of time at this point. I left to go back to Kimball's, and I couldn't drive, so I just walked. It was cold. On my way over, Erica from work picked me up and gave me a ride. I think she was concerned for me because she called me later to make sure that I was alright.

So, some time after that (again, I'm not sure on the time at this point), when people were starting to leave, I walked over to Maggie's to see if she was home. There is a blank spot in my memory right there. Fast forward to 5am: I wake up in the stairwell of her apartment building. My head hurts and I'm cold, but at least I don't feel sick. You have to look for the silver lining. I try Maggie's door, but it's locked, so I walk back to Kimball's where I can at least sleep on a couch, but it is also locked up. So, I decide to trek all the way back across town to Mel's to get my car. It's still cold.

I finally get back to my apartment at 5:45am, only to find Ronnie in my bed. I guess he thought that I wasn't coming back (and my bed is decidedly more comfy than the couch). I decided to let him sleep there and I just hit the couch myself.

Surprisingly, after all of this, I still managed to wake up this morning and make it to work on time.

Friday, April 22, 2005


This weekend is Delta Chi Alumni Reunion, and guess who is in charge. That's right, me. So, basically, I have to baby-sit 20 drunken twenty-five to thirty-year-olds and make sure they don't embarass us or themselves. This should be interesting.

Wednesday, April 20, 2005

Birthday Keg

Oh, how I have missed you, Keg Night Stand! I'm sorry that I left you behind. You were always a constant reminder of that incredible 21st birthday over a year ago. I'm glad we're back together.

The Shit that Matters

Justin: here comes another sappy moment, but I've got to say, I've really glad we both ended up up here
Justin: for all the people I've met in college, I still end up talking to you about the shit that matters
CynicalMcBastard: awww
Justin: yup

Tuesday, April 19, 2005

The Intersection of Hwy 6 and Junior Year

Party because I didn't want to write a paper and partly because I've been kinda emo lately, I did something I haven't done in a long time. I drove. I just drove.

I ended up on Highway 6, the road I used to take home . . . when I still went home. I became really homesick all of the sudden. I wanted to go to sleep in my old bed.

And wake up the next morning to the sound of my mom's knees cracking as she walked down the hall to the kitchen to get her coffee. I would get up, take a shower, then plop back down on my bed and pass out. I would wake up 20 minutes before school started, scramble to get my books, and jump in my car. I'd speed down Highway B at 80mph so I wouldn't be late. I'd get to school just as the bell rang and run to Pre-Calculus. I wouldn't sweat that I probably didn't have that day's homework done; I'd just do it in class. The same would be true for my next two classes. Junior year was a breeze.

Fourth hour was my time. I would go to 'help' Mrs. Breeden with her speech class as her assistant. Mrs. Breeden was in Kazahkstan for a large portion of that year adopting Mia, so I got to do whatever I wanted. Most likely I would just go to lunch for both shifts. I might stay in the Green Room with the Freaks: Adam, Luke, Brian, and Brandon. I'd listen to their tales of publishing thier own 'zine, making movies, and planning parties. They would be gone after that year, and I, thier apprentice, would be left without any mentors.

Or I might go to my mom's office and hang out with the drama nerds: Mark and Marlena (and their creepy relationship), Stephen, Ryan, and Joe. That was back when my mom thought the world of me, and loved my friends.

Or I might go the Commons and hang out with my popular friends: Clair, the future Homecoming Queen who hated the title. I would take her to Prom that next year. Lauren, the stuck-up prude / track star. She was so haughty and boring, and only I laughed at her lame jokes, mostly because they were so bad. Bart, who would move away half-way through the next year, leaving me depressed. He was more than a friend, he was a role-model. Jerry, the bumbling, lovable lug. He was always so "melonlochy." Zack, who could somehow pull off being a prick and a nice guy at the same time. And, of course, Kim. I had had a crush on her for two years and would for two more. After finally gathering up the courage, I would eventually ask her out twice (once to Prom) only to be rejected twice.

After lunch I would get on the bus with Kim to go meet Justin at the Vo-Tech, where Mr. Marley taught Physics. While Marley tried to teach us, Squeak, Justin, and I would teach Kim how to do the homework. Somehow she got a better grade than all of us. Only feeling slightly guilty for taking advantage of Marley's too-niceness, we would skip out of class early and buy snacks in the breakroom.

After we were shuttled back to the High School, Kim and I would go to Journalism, where we would quickly scribble out an article for that weeks newspaper, so we could go down to Mrs. Meneely's class and bug Justin and Kyle in the back room. Watch them play putty-ball or play with the extruder. Sometimes we might take outings, walking out of the building as the principal Mr. May watched us leave. Kim was supposed to go to Prom with Kyle that year, and that was why she couldn't go with me when I asked, but he changed his mind, so they didn't end up gonig together; however, I didn't know this at the time and so I asked Claire.

After school, I'd stick around for Academic Team practice. I was on Varsity that year. Or I might go to a play rehearsal. We put on A Midsummer Night's Dream (I was Puck) and The Boy's Next Door (I was co-stage manager and Clarence).

Then I would hang out at Marlena and Brandon's house for an hour or so before going off to work at Wal-Mart.

After I got done at Wal-Mart I would wearily drive back home and slide into my bed.

I woke up half-way home. I pulled into the first driveway I came to and turned around. Lighting a cigarette, I started back to Kirksville. The headlights did a poor job of lighting the way home on the dark highway in the moonless night.

Sunday, April 17, 2005


I got some stuff published in Windfall, Truman's literary journal. It's not what I would have picked as the best of what I submitted, but I guess I should feel proud that someone thought it worth publishing.

Saturday, April 16, 2005

Beautiful Cacophony

Me: this shell of flesh, pock-marked and scarred, the surprisingly resilient inner workings of which are slowly being poisoned by voluntarily absorbed toxins and the ever-present workings of time. This "person," this "being" who exists physically in every (as far as is known) dimension of the universe and whose coordinates are conveniently labeled "Cynical McBastard" is "me."

But beyond the physical, inside the skull of this creature, it is much harder to define what is "me." Inside there is an inharmonious chorus of voices.

Am I the voice who whispers that this shell is worthless, that its life is insignificant in a supposed "grand scheme"? Am I the quiet voice who loves and wants nothing more than to be loved back? Am I the voice who hangs itself everyday? Am I the voice who incomprehensibly shouts for reason and logic? Am I the convincing voice who is disappointed with this shell and demands change? Am I the voice who sleeps? Am I the laughing voice who finds humor in everything, especially the other voices? Am I the voice who sobs softly so that the other voices don't notice? Am I the voice who claims to remember a time before all the voices started speaking? Am I the voice that doesn't care?

Or am I the monotone voice that has somehow gained control of the mouth of this creature; the voice who, when asked what the other voices are saying, can't comprehend a single message in the beautiful cacophony, and so it lies and says that there are no other voices?

Thursday, April 14, 2005

Good Vs. Evil

CynicalMcbastard: sometimes looking at voodoo, he's so cute and it's hard to believe that he is satan's personal lap-cat
Stellar: LOL
Stellar: I would say he just needs more socialization, but I think he'd just start eating people
CynicalMcbastard: haha
Stellar: My cat, on the other hand, is the most angelic, sweet boy that ever walked the earth
CynicalMcbastard: but remember when HE was a holy terror?
Stellar: It's weird that there's no thunder when the cats are together. You'd think the cosmos would have more of a reaction when good and evil collide
Stellar: Yeah, but that was when he still had balls
Stellar: Voodoo's are gone and he's still evil
CynicalMcbastard: hahahhahahahaha!

Tuesday, April 12, 2005


I remember crying once with my biological father. I must have been about ten years old or so. We were watching a sad movie about a guy who was dying of cancer, I think. He saw me straining to hold back tears. He told me that it was alright to cry, that it was good to cry and hug someone and just let it out. I hugged him and cried forever.

Even though I was crying, that is one of my fondest memories of my father, and I think that was the only bit of advice he ever gave me worth remembering.

When I remember things like that, I sometimes feel guilty for resenting him so much. But when I think about forgiving him (for what, I'm not even sure anymore) it makes me want to cry.

Sunday, April 10, 2005


This has been one of the best weekends in recent McBastard history. It was party due to parties, partly due to alcohol, partly due to friends, but mostly due to a young lady who made me smile so much my cheeks hurt.

Friday, April 08, 2005

Hoo - fucking - ray!

I just went into work, and someone was already working my shift. I wish they would have called me, but I'm glad that I don't have to work tonight all the same.

"Well, did he come or what?"

"Jesus Christ! There's just some things you don't talk about in public!"

In the shower today I realized that I handn't masturbated in almost two weeks. It's not that I didn't want to or was too busy to; I just never felt like it. Am I slipping in my old age?

But don't worry folks. I took care of it.

Thursday, April 07, 2005

The Best

Stellar makes me crunk cups and blankets. She gives me cheese and popsicles. She calls me out on my bullshit, and she puts up with every other kind of shit I give her. She doesn't wreck my cars or forget to pay back money she owes. She knows how to make me mad, and she knows how to make me happy. She loves me for reasons I can't comprehend.

As far as friends go, Stellar is my best.

Tuesday, April 05, 2005


I just realized that almost every shirt I own is black.

I think my new favorite color is brown.

Sunday, April 03, 2005

Waking Up

His lids slid open revealing tired, bloodshot eyes. They scanned his surroundings. Where the hell am I? He looked to his left. Who is she? His hands slid under the covers. At least I'm still wearing pants.

His memory began to catch up with him in snippets. He remembered showing up at her apartment sometime last night, sans left shoe, struggling to put his soaked shirt back on.

He had demanded her roommate give him some icecream. He couldn't recall exactly, but he was pretty sure he handn't been nice to her. I might have to apologize for that.

He and his new friend in the white hat had walked to his car to get his cigarettes. I think his name was Derek. On their way out they encountered a girl exiting her apartment. They tried to strike up a conversation, but she seemed annoyed. He had been so impressed with how cool Derek was that he gave him a whole pack of cigarettes.

He had tried to play on the roommate's keyboard, but he didn't know how to play the piano. It looked expensive, so he figured that he probably shouldn't mess around with it too much. He tried to get the kid with blonde highlights to play something.

He layed on her bedroom floor, not wanting to move. Everyone was sitting on the floor with him. He felt uncomfortable, as if he could hear everyone thinking how much of a drunken idiot he was. He smelled marijuana. It was passed to him, and he showed a self-restraint that he could have used earlier that night, knowing that any more intoxicants would make him sick.

He heard voices in another room. He was alone.

Now it was morning, and someone (she?) had put him in his wet shirt and muddy sock into her bed. I guess I shouldn't complain. He threw his arm over her and went back to sleep.

Saturday, April 02, 2005

In the Trunk . . . Again

(from a conversation with Stellar last night while I was intoxicated)
CynicalMcBastard: and gthn they went to tom thubm but i went beack to d'chi and then to ph9 lambs, and then i rode in a trunk and wore a tiara

* * *

Unfortunately, this wasn't the first time I've been carted about town in the trunk of a car. This was, however, the first time I did it while wearing a tiara and smoking a cigarette.

Friday, April 01, 2005


He woke up and slowly lifted his head, a thread of drool strung from his lip to a puddle on his pillow. While his red and squinting eyes scanned the room he pulled his hand out of his underwear where it had apparently been spooning with his genitals. His gaze landed on his feet, one of which was still encased in his shoe, tagged with a piece of toilet paper. His other foot was bare and, for an unknown reason, bloody.

He wiggled his toes, felt no pain, and shrugged. He rolled his body over the edge of his bed, landing in a pile of dirty clothes and vomit. He sighed and lifted himself from the cold, sticky mess. He wiped his hand on his once-white tee shirt, adding to the stains from the previous night.

He shuffled, still half-drunk, out of his room and down the hall, stopping in the doorway of the bathroom. A pale, shaven leg hung out into the hallway, its toes pointed upward showing off the pretty green painted nails. He nudged the appendage with his shoed foot. It rocked limply and became still. His hand quickly fumbled for the light switch.

The fluorescent light flickered, revealing a corpse, as if reality had suddenly turned into a horror movie. Finally, the light won out over dark, and he was left staring at her resting in a pool of blood. It surrounded her head like black halo.

He knelt down next to her and put his head to her chest. He couldn't hear over his own heartbeat. He put his hand under her neck and tried to lift her into a sitting position, but her hair was encrusted in blood and glued to the tile floor. He screamed something and fell over her body, sobbing.

After a few minutes, he lifted himself up and looked into her pale face. He kissed her and then whispered, "Please, get up." She just stared past him with half-open eyes. His tears fell from his face to hers.

Circa Now