I am told that the new These Green Eyes album Relapse to Recovery is now for sale at places where things get sold not necessarily in Connecticut. Remember: I’m not shamelessly, flagrantly betraying what I pass off as integrity to deliver a blatantly commercial message: I’m just related to somebody in the band.

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I used to love the 1980s. Now all I think of are awful songs, the same death-dealing fast food as now but with trans-fat and styrofoam, omegadouches on Vh1 channel plus Ads who think they’re better than the 80s (but are worse!), and bad intentionally plotless cartoons that have been referenced to death beyond death by onlinedom’s least adventurous jokesters.

Works whose sole redeeming quality is that they have better concept art than more recent referenceable reprehensibanality. A few months back, before my 2:am Thundarr the Barbarian (essentially, non-retarded He Man) rerun came on I accidentally saw an advertisement for a new cartoon about a kid with one tooth whose mouth was always open and somehow at the internet the next day I was less than one degree removed from a gang of like-minded enthusiasts who could do nothing but draw pictures of the thing and its putrid single strand of hair and unwashed feetsy pajamas and giant bacterious mouth breathing all over my gag reflex for no reason other than that it was new and on tv. It had “misadventures” in its title (and I shan’t type the rest). At least when the fan art cabal was ordered to draw “Chowder” a week or two prior it was safe for me to eat food half an hour before my daily mistakes (even if under no circumstances can I eat actual chowder). And thankfully, recently there was a curious jump in the amount of people I am immediately aware of and so it is harder to find a dominating theme among the unpleasant things their own awareness recipients have to like. I used to take issue with people who thoughtlessly aped what they regarded as “anime” style, but at least, when done properly, there were solid design concepts necessary to incorporate into that.

I am beyond the point where I hate South Park because of teen-smoker beer pong afficionados that occasionally got arrested who happened to swap meaningless character impressions in between filling me in on just how gay I was and [different] lousy radio stations [than I mentioned last time] playing brief, scratchy voiced dramas from it out of context. Somehow the musical maestrosity that earned Kyle’s Mom’s a Big Fat Bitch in D Minor spot #1 in the nightly top arbitrarily-determined quantity countdown for a solid week was lost on me. I did not understand at the time that merely by being less than two minutes long it was surely preferable to whatever the other candidates were. That was over ten years ago, before I knew this thing was a tv show that would have looked better on radio, and that I hated radio.

Now, I don’t need to resent unfortunate behavior it inspired in others. I can merely hate it because every audiovisual aspect of it is repugnant. It is a disgrace to two of my primary senses and reminds me of disgraces to the others. I can’t get close enough to it to be concerned with how funny or clever it is or was. I’m just tired of it. I want it to go away. It will not. Maybe once it does I’ll look up some transcripts –it seems inconceivable that there aren’t people who make it their personal business to type out every single syllable ever spoken on that program– but as long as those awful sights are fresh in my memory I daren’t try. I remember once I was at Tommy K’s Video and South Park was being shown on the monitor despite south park content on rentable media not yet existing, and a bunch of bobbly south park people tried to stop an erupting volcano by forming a human chain around it and then the bright red lava poured over them and then all these freakish bright white skeletons could immediately be seen floating around in it and it made me sad even though it was supposed to be funny. I remember that.

I hate those round characters with their flibbity mouths. They’re too gross and they do too many gross things to be cute, and the only things grosser than gross things are “cute” gross things. The South Parxists are not as ugly and their mouths are not as flibbity as those of the Family Guys, but I don’t watch anything on FOX* channel so I don’t see nearly as many ads for that, and when I do they tend to be partitioned to include various ugly fat man wearing white t-shirt fox cartoons so there’s less time to focus on one specific unpleasantry.

Somehow I only realized this year how bad the southern park’s theme song is. There’s an interesting spasm of banjo noise at the start to trick you into thinking, “oh, what’s that?” and then awful voices saying stuff attack. I could tolerate the Simpsons music if I didn’t mentally associate it with Simpsons, but Suppark’s would be irredeemable in any situation.

I remember for a while it was totally gnarlburger for people to create “south park version”s of themselves, and I hated it. First, it’s ugly. Second, it’s obviously so easy that nobody could possibly be impressed who was worth impressing. And third, do you really want to go to the south park? Every person or sentient object there is horrible and they die all the time.

And you might say to me “hey mildred, all your characters look and act the same, too.” Right. And nobody gives a steaming rolodex about my characters! It’s really easy to not ever see junk that I made. It’s even easier to not ever see non-junk that I made. I wish people would stop looking at my junk.
Eh I think I’m done for now.

This goes on, unfortunately. I realized I hated “rock” music over time but didn’t pay attention to how many unrelated paragraphs I had accumulated saying this in different ways, and that somehow this was inseparably mingled with my hatings of the last two decades. It’s really not fair that there’s never been a month of my life during which I didn’t hear any Errorsmith songs or just something about Aerosmith in general. Is it any surprise I’m a failure? How can I succeed in a world where that is how success is defined?