Couch Potato Salad

Running late to a party where I don’t belong
What’s the fucking point in staying so strong?
What’s the point in coming out of the shadows?
Small talk never got past the point of shallow

Laying on the couch and staring at the ceiling
Forgetting about my brokenhearted feelings
Forgetting that there are strangers all around me
I’d enter their social circles if they allowed me

Couch potato salad is what I’ve become
Lazy, dead inside, and comfortably numb
I didn’t have to suck down a single beer
To feel like sleeping forever in here

There’s a Denny’s only a few blocks away
Hopefully they’re open twenty-four hours a day
Pancakes and syrup to kill the loneliness
My body’s a temple and I’m his holiness

Nobody noticed that I got off the couch
Not a “goodbye” or “wait up” out of their mouths
That’s okay, they’re invisible to me as well
What about the waitress? Can she even tell?

Walking down the street with my head hung low
Keeping my pace so agonizingly slow
I don’t notice when someone tells me to move
To impatient strangers, I’ve nothing to prove

Another night of waffles and emptiness
Another night of squandered friendliness
Another night of being socially envious
Another night of depressive endlessness

When will I learn to stay home for the night?
When will I admit that I could never be right?
No more philosophy, just syrup and batter
It’s not like any of this even fucking matters

A happy Buddha belly and a frozen heart
This is how the next morning will start
Another day of wishing for bravery
And chowing down on steaks so savory

Twitter Tough Guy

VERSE 1

Seven feet tall, built like a brick wall

Tougher opponents can’t be found at all

A black belt or higher in every martial art

Military training so you can do your part

But your greatest weapon isn’t a pistol

Or a flamethrower to make me sizzle

You pack a punch with a Twitter account

Talk in all caps just to make shit loud

CHORUS

Twitter tough guy! Make the world cry!

Twitter badass! Take us all to class!

Ballsy statements in so few sentences

Too bad there’s nothing to your sentiments

VERSE 2

Lift five hundred pounds at the gym

Flirt with a chick in shorts named Kim

Eat protein bars, drive gas-guzzling cars

Take your selfies like a Twitter rock star

Send your dick pics to random women

Show them the erection you’ve been given

You talk so much, yet have nothing to say

The schedule of your meaningless days

CHORUS

Twitter tough guy! Make the world cry!

Twitter badass! Take us all to class!

Ballsy statements in so few sentences

Too bad there’s nothing to your sentiments

VERSE 3

Shoot your favorite gun just for fucking fun

Mounted on a jeep that weighs a hundred tons

Take a picture that will last until forever

Dare the Twitterverse to find something better

How about buckwheat pancakes with agave nectar?

Especially when they shoot right out of my rectum?

Rebecca Black songs are more exciting than you

You face your victims and don’t know what to do

EXTENDED CHORUS

Twitter tough guy! Make the world cry!

Twitter badass! Take us all to class!

Ballsy statements in so few sentences

Too bad there’s nothing to your sentiments

Twitter boy toy! Who shall you annoy?!

Twitter Romeo! Why don’t you blow me-o!

Twitter Casanova! This is your magnum opus!

Twitter tough guy! Your whole life is a lie!

Mickey Mouse Is My Step-Father

The stability in my family hasn’t always been…well…stable. Like any other family, we’ve had ups and downs and all arounds. One night in 2010 when I fell asleep in my cozy beddy-bye, my family life had changed drastically.

In this dream, I woke up on a Hawaiian beach with gorgeous sunlight, fluffy sand, and cool blue water. What better way is there to start a dream? I smell something cooking in the kitchen and drag my heavy ass out bed to follow the scent like a bloodhound. Yes, there is indeed something cooking on the stove, but the person who normally does the cooking, my step-father Dale, is no longer there.

In a happy and bubbly voice, my mom turns to me and says, “Garrison, meet your new step-father Mickey!” Mickey? Who’s Mickey? Mickey Rooney? Mickey Rourke? Mickey Keegan? No, my friends. The Mickey in question was none other than…Mickey Mouse.

That’s right, ladies and gentleman. My loving and supportive mother divorced Dale without telling me and married a fucking cartoon character. This same cartoon character looked at me with his happy facial expression and said, “Good morning, bucko! Would you like some Mickey Mouse pancakes? You can’t start the morning without a hearty breakfast.”

At this point, I didn’t know whether to face-palm or cry. Maybe I could have done both. Mickey Mouse was going to be my step-father for all eternity (or at least until the dream was over). That meant he was in charge of driving me when I needed transportation (probably in a wind-up car), giving me girl advice (which would probably be “Cheer up, bucko, and smile!”), and just being there for me when I’m sad (which means putting mouse ears on me when I’m not looking).

Mickey Mouse is an adorable character, but he’s not my father, blood or otherwise. He can’t do all the things that Dale does. He can’t even do the things that my blood father can do and my blood father lives out in the middle of nowhere. But wait a minute, why am I complaining about my parents when I’m a full grown adult? Oh yeah, that’s right, because I’m a Generation Y member and being one requires unemployment in a ravaged economy.

Perhaps this is my subconscious telling me that it’s time to put myself out to the world and make my own destiny. I very well could live with a Mickey Mouse-like figure as an authoritative voice in my life. I’m always living by the mantra of “raging against the machine”, so maybe this is my subconscious telling me to put my money where my mouth is.

I would, but money isn’t the taste I need right now. I have all the money I’ll ever need. It’s life in general that I need a savory taste of. I have friends and family that I can go to, but I need more interaction with them than I already have.

If I stay lonely for too long, Mickey Mouse is always there to comfort me with his gloved mousy hand. I’m being forced to choose between the taste of Mickey Mouse pancakes with syrup and the taste of fresh air that being enclosed in my prison cell, I mean, room can’t provide.

　

***LYRICS OF THE DAY***

“Is all the world jails and churches?”

-Rage Against the Machine rapping “Vietnow”-