Pepperidge Farm remembers!

As you may tell from some of my other blogs, I have the ability to rant. And rant. And rant. I consider it something of a superpower, a gift, and a curse all rolled into one. I try to use it wisely, but I have moments….okay, days….okay, weeks…where it’s used for anything and everything that irritates me.

Enter my exposure to the “Pepperidge Farm Remembers” meme. It cracked me up. And since I’m in a foul mood, it’s time for a rant, Oppa Pepperidge Style.

Do you remember:
When people used to be polite to each other?
When people didn’t have their head rammed so far up their phone’s ass they avoided getting run over by cars?
When we held politicians to a higher moral standard than celebrities?
When politicians actually did their fucking job and represented the interests of the people?
When the MTA actually ran a fucking train on time?
When the MTA did actual repair work on time and under budget?
When your job paid you what you’re REALLY worth?
When people used phones to……GASP…make actual phone calls?
When AOL was all the rage?
When ISPs didn’t throttle your service to get more money out of you?
When Nazis were people you stomped out on sight?
When charter schools were seen as the utter shit they are?
When we had a president that wasn’t a complete fucking retard that needs to be thrown out of office now?
When Congress didn’t spend millions on a bullshit investigation into embassy attacks to cover up the fact they voted to cut the embassy budget 2 years in a row, hence being directly responsible for the entire mess?
When Cabinet appointees were actually…shudder…qualified for the positions they were nominated for?
When it dawned on people that saving the environment was important?
When people didn’t take opioids like they’re going out of style?
When owning a gun meant you were a responsible gun owner and not some random asshole who got it at a gun show because he or she could?
When “No” actually meant “No” and not some imaginary bullshit that meant the opposite?
When a high school diploma got you a job that could support a family and buy a house?
When people realized the danger of credit cards and didn’t use them as much?
When singers actually wrote their own songs with real, understandable lyrics?
When music wasn’t all just pop garbage spewed out to make money?
When being part of a family owned company meant you felt like a part of their family, and vice versa?
When the government at least made the fa├žade of an attempt to respect the rights of Native Americans and the land they were forced onto?
When banks helped you save money for the future and not hit you with fees for every fucking thing?

Pepperidge Farm remembers.

I can keep going, but I think you get the picture.

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A tired soul in a tired world.

I’m tired. Tired of a lot of the noise, garbage, and bullshit in this world. I need a change. I need new friends, a new job, and a much higher alcohol tolerance. Owning a bar would be nice as well.

I just don’t have it in the gas tank anymore. I exist and continue existing out of sheer inertia. I think I need a fresh start and perspective, but that’s not forthcoming.

Think I’ll hit the Burger King by my house later, grab a cup of coffee, and do some writing.

On Chester Bennington, music, and why this hurts so much.

I tried to make a YouTube video about this yesterday, but the volume on my cellphone (yes, that’s what I use) was giving me fits. Plus, as it turned out, I nearly went nuclear on this one colossal deformed orangutan of a “person” for popping off at the mouth, so I decided to wait until today to post this. Besides, my blog gets more views than my YouTube channel, so this will (hopefully) get to a wider audience.

The suicide of Chester Bennington has rocked the music world, this coming 2 months after, and on the birthday of, the death of Soundgarden frontman Chris Cornell. Bennington and Cornell were close friends, and Cornell’s death hit Bennington hard. For whatever his reason was (I’m not going to speculate), Bennington took his own life.

It’s a loss that further shows how very real, and tragic, depression and other mental illnesses are. Bennington was a gifted singer, with a range I can’t ever hope to come close to in all my karaoke attempts, and he had a lot of people who cared and loved him.

But more than that, the songs created by Linkin Park touched many people, especially those with pasts rooted in sadness. Bennington himself was sexually abused when he was younger, and the pain from that time reflects in a lot of their songs. That pain, genuine, pure, connected with many listeners (myself included) and led them to success in the music industry.

I’m not going to speculate why he did this. That’s pointless. What we need to do is recognize that mental illness is real, and that it KILLS. Part of that is people being afraid to reach out and get the help they need. That’s not acceptable in our society. No one should be afraid or embarrassed to get the help they need. It’s an indictment on our society, on us as humans, that we allow this to be the case. It has to end.

If you’re not well, if you need help, reach out to those closest to you. Talk to them. Tell them you need help. And for the rest of us, reach out to those you think are going through something. Sometimes, you have to extend your hand to get the ball rolling.

For those of you who need some further resources, here’s a partial list:

Suicide Prevention 800-273-8255
National Hopeline 800-784-2433
LGBT Hotline 800-843-4565
Runaway Safeline 800-786-2929

I’ve talked people down from the edge. I’ve pulled knives away from the arms of my friends. I’ve been half awake and talking to my friends to help them. You can help, and get those you care about the help they need. Don’t hesitate.