Like I said in my previous post, I injured my hamstring while playing paintball recently, and now I’m stuck with a bum leg and a wicked limp for the next month and a half. Tonight while sorting my laundry, I pulled my paintball jersey out of the pile of clean clothing, and I put it on just for fun. As you might already know, I’m the kind of guy who wears his heart on his sleeve. I make it known when I feel something deeply enough. Tonight, as I stood there wearing my paintball jersey in the center of my modest living room, I felt something, and I simply had to let it out. Strictly as a matter of unfortunate coincidence, Diana happened to be there, too.

Kevin: Oh, Paintball. I love you so much, even when you hurt me. [grunting and wincing] Ah, it hurts when I try to stretch out my leg. I’d do it for you, though, Paintball. I’d stretch out my leg if you asked me to.

Diana: Shut the hell up. I’m trying to read.

Kevin: I’m not talking to you, Diana. I’m talking to Paintball. Where were we, Paintball? Oh yeah, I love you, Paintball. You would never hurt me as badly as Diana would. I would give you the sun, the moon, the stars, and the muscles and tendons attached to the posterior of my femur.

Diana: [Sprays Kevin with a water bottle, which is primarily used to discipline our cats]

Kevin: Hey, what the hell? What did I do to you?

Diana: I’m trying to read.

Kevin: And I’m trying to love Paintball. We all have problems.

Diana: [Sprays Kevin in the face]

Kevin: You see what I have to put up with, Paintball? At least you fight with honor. You would never shoot an unarmed man in the face — especially an unarmed man who is injured, and who’s not wearing a mask. Some people just don’t understand the “blind man” rule. You understand though, Paintball.

Diana: [Sprays Kevin in the face...repeatedly] I hate you so much sometimes.

Kevin: I can’t even place my faith in the woman I love anymore. You’re all I’ve got, Paintball. Don’t ever change.

Diana: Jesus Christ. You win. I’m going to the other room.

Kevin: Sorry, what was that, Diana? I was talking to Paintball.

Lately, it seems like a lot of my conversations with Diana end with her leaving the room. That’s weird. I wonder what Paintball would have to say about that. Or hell, I don’t know. Maybe I should just ask Helen Hunt instead.

Four to six more weeks to go. That may not seem like a long time to some people, but it’s ages in KZ time. I need you, Paintball. I don’t cope very well when I’m confronted with boredom. I wonder if that comes across at all in my writing.

Here’s how the conversation ended.

Kevin: I’m sorry, Diana. Were you saying something?

Diana: Yeah, I was just bitching about your feminism.

Kevin: So — you’re against the fact that I believe in the empowerment of women, and equality between the sexes?

Diana: Oh whatever, I was talking about your … fem-in-inity or whatever. It sounds like a made up word!

Kevin: No, it sounds like a real word which you happen to not know the definition of.

Diana: [Sprays Kevin with a water bottle, which is primarily used to discipline our cats]

Kevin: Jesus, woman. Use your words.

Diana: [Sprays Kevin again]

Kevin: You see? This is why you’re doomed to an eternity of earning $0.77 to every dollar made by a man in the workplace.

Diana: [Sprays Kevin one final time, and huffs away]

Kevin: Where are you going, Diana? Off to the kitchen to make me a delicious pie?

Diana: Asshole.

Kevin: Cherry, please.

Yes, I know. I’m a bad, bad man.

GOD: In just a few hundred years from now, think of how backwards your civilizations will seem to your descendants.

KEVIN: Maybe you have a point. Even modern day people are still pretty gullible. Look at the second rate garbage that we consider miracles today: peanuts and potato chips shaped like Jesus; people discovering the shahadah written in Arabic on fish scale patterns, and in cracks on rocks; fuzzy rings of light that are supposedly apparitions of the Virgin Mary; fake-ass television evangelists curing afflictions on the air. It would all be laughable if it weren’t so goddamned sad. We’re all so desperate down here to find meaning in the least significant of things. What kind of Divine Plan are you playing at, God?

GOD: First of all, the television evangelists bother me, too. As for the peanuts, potato chips, fish scales, rocks, and rings of light — I guess I was being too subtle.

KEVIN: Oh come on!

GOD: You know, it’s not as if I suddenly stopped caring one day. I’ve been keeping an eye on things the whole time.

KEVIN: I’m sorry to say this, but it seems to me that you either don’t give as much of a shit about humanity as you claim to, or you simply have no more control over the outcome of events than I do. At the very least, can we agree that you simply don’t multitask very well?

GOD: I do a little more than I think you give me credit for.

KEVIN: Right, miracles are happening all the time, aren’t they? Small miracles, they call them. I guess human gullibility wasn’t exclusive to biblical times.

GOD: You honestly think that all of the believers throughout history who bore witness to miracles merely fooled themselves?

KEVIN: What if I said yes?

GOD: Then I’d say you’re full of it.

KEVIN: If you really are God, then you can’t say things like that. It’s beneath you.

GOD: I’m tired of people presuming to know what I can or cannot, would or would not, or should or should not say.

KEVIN: That’s pretty funny.

GOD: Why?

KEVIN: I’ll tell you later.

GOD: It’s hard to keep secrets from me, you know.

KEVIN: So I’ve been told.

GOD: But you don’t believe in everything you’re told, do you?

KEVIN: Sorry God, I don’t believe in blind faith.

GOD: Neither do I.

KEVIN: Then I guess we’ve found some common ground.

GOD: An entire planet’s worth.

Dawn: Can you remind me to take my sewing machine home when we come back to your place tonight?

Kevin: Hey Dawn, don’t forget to take your sewing machine home when we come back here tonight. There, I reminded you. Now I’m off the hook for the rest of the day.

Dawn: No, I need you to remind me when we get back here.

Kevin: Right. When we get back here tonight, don’t forget to take your sewing machine home.

Dawn: When we come back here tonight, please remind me to take my sewing machine home.

Kevin: I can do that. Say Dawn, remember to take your sewing machine home when we get back here tonight.

Dawn: I’m not talking about now. When we come back here tonight, that’s when I need you to remind me.

Kevin: So you’re saying you want to leave your sewing machine here in the apartment, and not take it home?

Dawn: I want to leave it here for a while only until we get back tonight.

Kevin: And you want me to remind you to take the sewing machine home when we come back here to the apartment?

Dawn: Exactly.

Kevin: Dawn, don’t forget to take your sewing machine home when we get back to the apartment tonight.

Dawn: No, I need you to . . .

Diana: Would you two shut the hell up? You’re both annoying as fuck.

Kevin: What I think Diana is trying to say, Dawn, is that you should remember to take your sewing machine home when we come back to the apartment tonight.

One day in October 2009, Diana and I were walking down Paradise Pier in Disney’s California Adventure Park, taking in the sights and the sounds, and looking forward to our first ride on the Toy Story Midway Mania! attraction. As we approached the back of the Toy Story line, there was a group of four overweight, middle aged adults who were heading to the same place, but from a different direction, and from further away. Once this group realized where Diana and I were headed, they sped up their pace to a waddling cock-block jog in an obvious attempt to cut us off. Diana and I maintained our leisurely pace, and we still managed to arrive first. Just moments after we had established our spot in line, those fat fucking assholes awkwardly flopped onto the scene like flipper-finned water mammals on land, unceremoniously wedging their way in front of us to cut in line.

Okay, I realize that it isn’t very nice of me to make fun of these people for being overweight. People are people, no matter what their size. And besides, their physical appearance had nothing to do with the situation. Then again, my common humanity with these inconsiderate pricks doesn’t change the fact that they are nothing but fat fucking douches. I guess it’s easier for me to cope with my frustration and stifled resentment if I dehumanize my objects of scorn by thinking of them as fat pieces of shit. Gentle reader, please don’t judge me too harshly. This is how I stay polite on the surface. That’s just how I roll.

Naturally, I was irritated, but I chose to keep my mouth shut. Disneyland is supposed to be a happy place, after all. I wasn’t about to get all gangsta in front of families and children, and start a shouting match at the Happiest Place on Earth. By nature, I’m a pretty non-confrontational guy. Having few other ways to vent my frustration, I pulled out my iPhone, opened the Notes application, and typed Diana a message. Happily, she obliged me by typing back, and we soon realized that we were onto something good. Over that next hour while we snaked through the line, Diana and I enjoyed a silent, yet deliciously passive aggressive shit-talking fest in the medium of text. I saved this conversation and set it aside for nearly a year before I stumbled across it the other day while I was cleaning up the files on my phone. I decided to reproduce the conversation here on my blog for posterity’s sake.

Kevin: You saw that shit, right? These fat fucks in front of us totally cut us off. I’m hating their bacon asses.

Diana: Agreed and what really ticks me off is that they are pretty old and should know better at that age. Rude people grrrrr. I was going to say something when they did it, but then you shushed me.

Kevin: It’s not worth it.

Diana: Fine. But did you hear that bitch on the left? She let those kids cut ahead of them to go find their parents, and then she has the nerve to start complaining about people cutting in line. WTF?

Kevin: Yeah! What the hell was that about? “I’ll forgive young children for cutting, but I put my foot down for teenagers or adults.” Somebody took a bite out of a hypocrite sandwich.

Diana: Yeah she probably took a bite out of four of them.

Kevin: Haha burn. High five. Seriously.

Kevin: I also smell shit / rotten milk. Probably the baby behind us, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it was the rude fat fucks.

Diana: You sure? I don’t smell anything. Maybe it’s you that smells like rotten milk?

Kevin: Hey, the fat fucks are the enemy, not me. If we turn on each other, then who will unite against these douchebags?

Diana: I don’t know, KFC, Carl’s Jr., and cholesterol?

Kevin: I like that alliteration. That’s a consonance trifecta.

Diana: Yeah you like that? You’re not the only writer around here.

Kevin: Clearly.

Kevin: I’m thinking about what that one bitch said. Do you think these people are actually convinced that they’ve done nothing wrong?

Diana: They know exactly what they’ve done. That tall asshole in blue brushed against me and forced me backwards when they were cutting. There’s no way that wasn’t on purpose.

Kevin: Jesus, I didn’t notice that. I would have let you kick him in the balls if I had known.

Diana: Do you think it’s too late?

Kevin: Yeah, I think the window for justified ball kicking has opened and closed.

Diana: Good job, Gandhi.

Kevin: Right, I’m the jerk for talking you out of getting arrested for assault.

Diana: No, you’re not the jerk. The real jerks are the FFs in front of us. Look at that bitch on the right. Maybe she made them all cut in line because she feels entitled to it. She’s all scarred in the face, so she thinks everyone owes her.

Kevin: I owe her a slap.

Man, it’s awesome when Diana and I unite so strongly over a common purpose. Oddly enough, episodes like this one are the moments when I love Diana the most. But seriously, who goes to Disneyland and cuts queues so brazenly like a refugee in a bread line? Go take that shit to Knott’s Berry Farm where it belongs, you fat classless fucks. Merry Diss-mas, douchebags.

Edric had some choice words to say about my previous blog entry. Little did he know that he was making the wrong choice when he decided to raise up on KZ without provocation.

Edric: that was disappointing. too much hype, not enough substance. i was expecting something funnier.

Kevin: i was expecting you to be funnier!

Edric: nice comeback, writer =)=)

Kevin: YOU are a nice comeback, writer!
…
Kevin: Nothing to say, huh? I’ll take your stunned silence as a concession of defeat.

Edric: oh…i’m sorry, did you say something? i was waiting for something worth responding to.
…
Edric: hah! now i stunned you into silence.

Kevin: oh, you’re still on that? that was so 3 minutes ago. you’re so 2000-and-late.

Edric: hatez

Edric: by the way, what’s up with you Zings and cats? get a real animal, like a dog.

Kevin: Awesome things meow. Cats meow; therefore, cats are awesome. Simple, really.

Edric: I never thought of it that way. You are a wise man, KZ. I especially enjoyed your sarcastic syllogism, which was humorously, intentionally, and satirically unsound. Might you have been teaching me a lesson by “coming down to my level”? Also, might I add that I appreciate the way you faithfully reproduce online conversations for the viewing pleasure of your blog readers? You report the truth with such competence and integrity. In short, you are my idol, KZ.

Kevin: hellz yeah, i don’t make shit up.

Edric: remember the time i dropped my ice cream cone, and i cried for 12 hours?

Kevin: maybe i should take a snippet of this conversation and post it in a blog entry. i’ll make it look like i won, of course, because on the whole, i did.

Edric: such lies. =)=)

Kevin: get your own blog then, and fight back!

Edric: those lies of yours are unbecoming of a wannabe journalist. =)=)

Kevin: i pay no heed to the voiceless

Diana:That’s because all of your references are stupid and obscure.

Kevin: They’re not obscure, they’re subtle. You know, like the “b” in “subtle”? You don’t really notice it in there, and you never, ever see it coming. It’s just a silent letter. It’s kind of funny when you stop to think about the word, actually. The letter “b” subtly epitomizes the very essence of the word, “subtle”. That’s a highly unusual thing, isn’t it? I mean, isn’t it fascinating how the letter “b” in a word like “subtle” can so perfectly illustrate the definition of the word that contains it?

Diana:. . . (sigh)

Kevin: You like that, Diana?

Diana: Nope.

Kevin: That’s always your answer. Do you ever like anything?

Diana: Not anything that ever comes out of your mouth.

Kevin: Well, that’s not very subtle. That’s like the “s” in “subtle”. Or the “t” in “subtle”. Or to a lesser extent, the “l” in “subtle”. Because you see, you hear the “l”, but it’s not as pronounced as . . .

Diana: Kevin, go away.

KEVIN: Of course.

GOD: Just a moment ago, you told me that God should let His children live their own lives.

KEVIN: In an ideal universe, even the most aloof and irresponsible deity would take at least some measures to stop his children from hating and killing each other.

GOD: The funny thing about ideals is that they can differ so greatly depending on the dreamer. Sometimes, not even the dreamer himself can agree with his own ideals.

KEVIN: I see where this is going. You think I’m asking for too much. I shouldn’t gripe about the apathy of God if I truly valued humanity’s free will. You breathed life into our frail little bodies, gave us minds of our own, built us a playground, and then set us free. Well you know what? With all due respect, I’m not impressed. I just don’t understand the point of all of this.

Life on earth, you know? I mean, what the hell?

If what they say is true, then there’s a Heaven somewhere. It’s a place where you supposedly feel no pain. Death is nothing to fear in Heaven because you’ve already suffered enough and died for the final time. But what’s the point of pain, and what’s the point of death if we’re all truly destined for eternal bliss? People like to justify our mortality by claiming that God wants to teach us lessons that we’d never learn without first experiencing pain. Others try to convince you that God expects us to prove our worth before we can claim our right to stop the suffering. Still others conjecture that the physical and metaphysical universe is fragmented, and living a perfectly virtuous life will reconnect you to the greater whole. And the theories continue. To tell you the truth, I’ve never heard an explanation that satisfied me.

The more I think about suffering, the more I wonder why I can’t let go of that vision of the ideal universe in which God is both unconditionally loving, and unconditionally just. Why do we accept these assertions without questioning them? What proof do we really have of God’s infallibility? How in the hell are we supposed to be sure that God is more than just a sadist in the sky? The simple truth is we suffer by design. I wish I could understand the wisdom in this kind of creation.

GOD: I have faith that one day you will.

KEVIN: When do you suppose that will be? And since when did you conduct your affairs on the insistence of faith?

GOD: Oh, kid, you really do have a lot more to learn about me, don’t you?

KEVIN: I guess it was too much to expect a straightforward answer. I should have learned by now to just stop asking.

GOD: But where’s the fun in that?

Casey: http://www.boston.com/bigpicture/2008/12/2008_greek_riots.html
Kevin: damn, that’s nuts
Kevin: compelling pictures
Casey: too bad they didn’t put the phone number for hot protester chick in #7
Kevin: lol dude i was thinking the same thing. is that wrong?
Casey: never
Kevin: she’s fighting for social justice and government reform and shit
Kevin: and we’re just thinking about banging her
Casey: bow chicka bow wow