A Bit of Complaining

This is my site. It's got my ideas on it, so if you don't like it you can go jam it, buddy. All I'm doing is saying what I think. It's part of my basic human rights. I can express my ideas. The Internet is the perfect medium for me, because I can freely distribute my works at the expense of massive companies who earn astronomical amounts of money by monopolising their industries. I'm rather proud of that. But what I really want is for someone to recognise that I have any talent at anything.

I've been told that I can sing, I've been told that I can write, I've been told I could become a world champion slack-arse bastard if I really wanted, but I don't. I've only been told I can do these things, but never received any real encouragement to actually DO anything.

I don't enjoy life, because it is devoid of enjoyment. My step-dad, the technophobic prick that He is, won't let us connect to the Internet. He seems to think that everyone on the Internet is a hacker, waiting for Him to log on so they can attack "His" computer. I can say all of this on the web, 'cause the stupid old f*cker wouldn't know a CPU from a Pop-Tart.

If you're wondering how I got this on the 'net, just remember that there's more than one way to access the world-wide-web than from at home.

OK, so this is how it goes. He buys a computer "for the business", when in actual fact all He uses it for is to play solitaire. Meanwhile, I'm failing miserably in a few subjects where ownership of a computer would be an advantage. He says "The kids (me & my sister, who for animosity's sake I'll call Lotti) can use it after-hours", unfortunately for us the office is locked after hours, so we can't use it anyway, and if by some freak chance we do, our mum has to be present to watch our every move just in case we break His new toy. I mean, really. Here's me, who's been using computers before He knew what the power button did, trying to get some work done by myself and getting in the shit for it. After a couple of months my mum manages to convince Him that me & Lotti could use a computer to our advantage, and we get a really shitty one. I mean, all He needs up in the office for spreadsheets/etc. is a goddamn 486, and He gets a Pentium II with a 5.9-gigabyte hard drive. What the f*ck is going on? Meanwhile I put one game on this computer and use up almost the entire hard drive (leaving no room for any work), while the other one is turned on once per day so the f*cked up mother f*cker can play cards, which He could do just as easily by getting out a deck of cards (what? Cards? OH MY GOD!!!!!!)

The stupid c*nt won't stop drinking either. He claims He needs "…a drink or 2 to calm down at the end of the day.", which is the biggest load of shit I've ever heard. He starts drinking at 4:00pm and doesn't stop until He's downed 6-8 beers, by which time He become a whingeing sack of shit (well, more than usual). He won't admit to His drinking problem, and He smokes like a friggin' chimney. Oh well, the more He f*cks with His health the quicker He dies. I'll just treat Him like anyone else; if they want to kill themselves, they can go for it. Just as long as they don't try to force me to ingest the same mind-numbing shit they do. Now there's a point. I'm constantly told to "grow up". When someone can show me one non-drug or non-sex related way that "Grown-Ups" have fun, I might consider it.

He also has no sense of humour. He drops a piece of meat, so, what with my obsession with Escape from New York and Escape from L.A., I use The pun "That meat is trying to escape. It must be Steak Plissken." Yeah, I know, it wasn't THAT funny, but everyone cracks up laughing anyway because it was unexpected.

I've found myself wishing I had of actually taken His drunken challenge on the night He called my real dad an arsehole. I was instantly jumping to Lotti's defence as He picked on Her. He then turns slightly on me and then proclaims that if we didn't like His rules (which weren't being disputed) we could "…go live with that arsehole who isn't contributing to your (mine and Lotti's) upbringing." I warned Him that if He said anything like that again I'd kick His arse. He then challenged me to step outside, but as I began stepping forward my mum blocked the door, stopping either of us getting out.

I find myself regretting that I didn't get to punch Him into unconsciousness, as I had just recently taken a self-defence course where I had learned the best way of snapping an opponent's arm in two. I 'm disgusted to find that even now, I find pleasure to think of the crunch of his bones along with his strangled scream as I break His random appendages at the major joints. In my mind's eye He tumbles to the ground as His kneecaps are transformed into 2 ragged-edged pieces of cartilage. He's on the ground now…I kick Him…in the head...the full force of my boot on His skull. After several tries I manage to get a flow of liquid which shines black in the moonlight. Turning away from His still form I find a metal pipe…

Many people don't understand the nature of my dark side. I don't like getting into fights because a primal, destructive side of me reveals itself. I can't control it, so I avoid conflict. As soon as I begin arguing, it's like some ancient desire to destroy rears its ugly head and begins stretching, preparing for battle…

Lotti was trying to get mum's attention, and happened to mention my name. He instantly says "We don't care about [SDP]". I exited before I lost control and decided to smash His stupid face in, and He took it as an attack on Himself. He said that He didn't care about me, and He was insulted. Oh well, I dunno.

So I go out and announce some sports result, knowing that everyone would be interested. All I got was "how many rissoles do you want?

Well, that wasn't too bad, until they heard it on the news about 2 minutes later, when all of a sudden it's "Hooray, (whoever) has won the (whatever)!!!"

Being ignored when I'm trying to tell people something I know they want to know really pisses me off. I mean being able to fade into the background, so not even close friends notice me, is a handy skill, but when people ignore me I normally take it personally. I feel like they're doing it on purpose, just to get me angry.

I ran into a wall. Yeah, it sounds stupid, but I was releasing my anger. It was either the wall or someone's head. I went into the emergency room at the hospital after I found that I couldn't walk, and luckily after 2 hours they found out that nothing was broken, I'd just sprained my ankle or something. So when I got home, I went into my room and tried to think of anything but the pain. When it was dinner time, I limped and dragged myself out to the table, when from the corner of my eye I see Him mocking my agony in the manner of a particularly obnoxious 5 year-old. It was all I could do not to turn around and punch him in his ugly face.

Then, when I sat down at the table, he said, "Oh, you're being waited upon, are you?" . WE WERE HAVING FAJITAS! You've got to put everything in yourself, and everything sits on the table!

He just started talking about everyone having to use their alarm clock. No big deal. Then while he was directing all of his comments to Mum, Lotti decided to put her dinner plate on the sink, as she had finished her meal. As she stood up, He just started yelling at her for leaving the table while He was talking to her. Then he began his usual accusations of trying to take over the house, all while I got ready for what I thought was an inevitable fight. I also contemplated killing him again. I just sat there holding my steakknife...but He eventually just walked out of the house, swearing like he usually does. 8 Beers, apparently. God, I hate him sooooooooooo much.

Last night there was an argument about a goddamn piece of bread. He was drunk (as usual) and he got all offended when I asked Lotti if she was going to have hers, and if she wasn't could I. He wanted me to ask Him first. Then we were apperantly doing the dishes too loud, so he went off to bed in a huff.

Well, it's been a while since I've been able to update this, but it's all over. After he threatened me with violence, I put my fist through a wall instead of his face (now there was a mistake!). So now I'm moved out for good. There's no way in hell I'm going back there.

Here I am, in my own home. I've moved out and left my real dad, and starting the whole freedom thing. It seriously sucks, but maybe things will get better when I can get more money to improve my quality of life. I got a car, a warm house in a cold city, and family nearby. Huzzah!