Not sure where to start.
A lot has happened recently, and I've been pretty busy with all this blacking out every night that I've been doing, so I don't remember most of that lot.
I gotta at least try, though,
so here we go.
Nuts up:
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After Walmart terminated me without notice on May 1st, I found a new job in about three days' time by way of a former Walmart coworker who had the wits about her to quit without notice before Walmart got around to terminating her without notice.
That's at-will employment for you, man. Bollocks.
I was one of the best in OPD. Self-trained in two other departments on my downtime, while others stood around staring at their phones and searching for excuses to do as little work as they possibly could. Commended for exceptional performance and an outstanding work ethic. Fast-tracked for a position in management. And, I helped lead OPD to an overall first-place finish in market for the year.
I worked my ass off that year. The only time I didn't show up on time was when my car broke down.
What're you supposed to do, really, when a deer decides to commit suicide?
I gave Walmart my best effort, which was above and beyond almost everyone else's—not including the deer, unless you count intent to suicide and completion thereof as worthy of mention. I even worked through panic attacks without clocking out on multiple occasions. Right up till the end, when I was forced to flush all my PPTO due to how much the job had mentally drained me.
And then—
Fired.
And not even given the decency of being told that I was fired. I only found out because I couldn't log in to check my schedule online, and had to text my cunt of a former manager to figure out what was up.
Fired, for the crime of not keeping my mouth shut about how much my coworkers sucked balls.
Fired, ironically enough, for the crime of swimming upstream.
Huh. I wonder why OPD's churn rate is the highest % of any department at 921?
Oh well, back to being a line cook, I guess. Walmart can burn, and my cunt of a former manager can get syphilis from her cheating boyfriend and then slowly die of sexually transmitted disease and heartbreak.
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Jesus Christ.
What a fucking disaster.
I live in two places now.
My main apartment in Salida, and my subsidized employee housing trailer in Sargents.
By now this should be enough information for you to track me down if you really wanted to. Just be aware that I sleep with a loaded Mossberg 590 Shockwave under my pillow in Sargents, and a loaded CZ P-09 and a loaded CA Bulldog under my pillow in Salida, and I'm traumatized and jaded enough to kill enthusiastically with very little provocation and absolutely no regard at all for the law or those who enforce it.
Now I spend my mornings cooking breakfast burritos and huevos rancheros and ovos a la carte for hungry dirt bikers and through hikers, my afternoons wandering the woods and hills filling tree stumps with 9mm projectiles and climbing mountains, and my evenings drinking beer and listening to NOFX and Propagandhi and Anti-Flag on repeat and playing those goddamn addicting tap-to-earn Telegram games.
I will be a millionaire by year's end from all these airdrops. Hell yeah.
Fuck!—I keep forgetting to pick up all those spent shells. I'm going to hell for that.
I built a firepit next to the trailer that reduces every paycheck by $100. One night back in June sometime after Fibark but before the John Cappis 50k I used the stars and stripes for my tinder. Something mostly broken inside me woke up and became whole again when I saw that symbol of racism and oppression and authoritarianism burn so brightly. The screams of the tortured, the silent suffering of the incarcerated, the stifled sobs of the enslaved, the stench of the murdered and executed innocents worldwide in an unjustified war that never ends—fuck the flag.
FUCK THAT FUCKING FLAG.
Fuck the police, too, and fuck the government as well. No one with half a functioning brain could honestly say otherwise. If I can see it so clearly even after 15 years of marinating my gray matter in manmade poison, how much more obvious could it possibly be to everyone else?
I was young and dumb and brainwashed once, though. I suppose age can open the eyes wide and provide excellent visibility despite the fog of substance use disorder.
There are enough clues here now for you to discern not only my location but my identity also if you really felt like wasting your time. I look forward to blowing your brains out when you arrive—or perhaps your half brains? It's the 12 gauge model with 8-round capacity, in case you were wondering.
I went on three Hinge dates with a chick in Leadville this summer, then she ghosted me. Or did I black out and delete all my matches who hadn't responded to my messages in the past two weeks? I'll probably never find out. Or maybe I will—it's a big valley but a small world after all.
What else happened?
I read Richard Brautigan's Trout Fishing in America. His is a very unique voice, or should I say was, as he put a .44 round through his head a couple months before I'd made it a full revolution around the sun. There you go. Yet another hint.
Why do so many writers suicide?
That's a stupid question. I already know the answer. Don't even get me started on that one night I spent in the Leadville ER, that night when that fucking bitch pig of a nurse made me feel even worse than I already felt for the crime of trying to not kill myself.
Look at this fucking cheese:
Why would you leave it unwrapped overnight? It'll just dry out and then whatever poor shmuck has to open the next morning (me) will have to throw half of it away because it's all crumbly and gross. Fucking idiots.
Hot springs. Cottonwood.
The Lariat.
Pacing a stranger for 25 miles at the High Lonesome 100-mile run.
Suck my balls, Walmart.
I should probably stop writing sooner than later, otherwise I'll run out of things that happened recently that I don't remember to write about.
Shitfire!
Where should I start?
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Free binoculars:
