well, it's a fat guy with a weird goatee talking... so take it with a grain of salt

... everybody loves a winner. i don't know why.

when you win, everybody clings on to you like flies on, well, fly paper, i guess. and they make associations too. like, hey this lead singer from this band? yeah, we were schoolmates. or this actress? yeah my uncle's cousin's friend's roommate knows her sister's sorority sister's dentist's cousin. that kind of association. and they use this to the fullest, too. to alleviate their own loser status, i guess.

there's something about being a winner that makes your voice a bit more bold and imposing. your sweat smells a bit more pleasant. your comebacks a bit more witty. you stand a little taller. you stride more confidently. hey, even your fart becomes rainbows and chocolates and unicorns and fairies and cute cuddly care bares.

when you lose? well, you're essentially the same person. except you didn't win on a certain something or you got beat by another. the kicker: the world hates losers. they're not as forgiving. people detach themselves from you. you're a leper. but not exactly because i've seen lepers get more care and attention and random acts of kindness than losers get.

suddenly, people don't want to have anything to do with you. you start to lose your "friends" and all those associations they made of you. your wisecracks are no longer funny. and your fart suddenly smells what fart should really smell like... shit. the net effect - you become a bigger loser. which brings me to my next point...

... i don't believe in kicking people when they're down. i've been through a number of scuffles and fist fights in my life, but unless the other guy stole my girl, or raped my mother or sister, i don't kick him when he's down. that's just who i am. sure, i've kicked people's nuts before. but that's different. balls are fair game when you're in a fight. kicking someone when he's down and his mouth is full of blood and dirt and he's struggling to get up with his whole upper body braced with one arm... now that's just cruel. kind of like what we do with "losers."

... maybe i'm stuck. maybe i shouldn't be here. maybe. i don't know. all i know is... especially for the past four years, a lot of people have grown tired of me. well, with some of those people, i've grown tired of them, too. i don't know what kind of extended funk i'm in right now. but it's not good.

... right now, it's a bit weird listening to ely buendia.

... i'm reading something right now from mark haddon. the curious incident of the dog in the night-time. kind of brings back memories of the little prince. only written by an autistic math savant. cool book, really. with prime numbers standing in as chapters of the book. only thing is, it's a bit contagious. read three to five chapters in a row. then try talking to someone. you'd be surpised why the hell suddenly you're talking like:

"the carrot in the yard is orange but i wonder why didn't they call carrots orange vegetables and call orange the fruit as orange fruits. and i like orange. both the fruit and the color. and i like gray, too. of course the color because i have yet seen a fruit named gray. and when i see eight oranges and eight strands of gray hair in the morning i know it's going to be a good day!"

or some shit like that.

ciao people!