At GNC the store, you need to specially ask for a health supplement that is not candy. Everything in here is kool aid/nesquik drink mix, undersized baby ruth bars or magically nastier jolly-ranchers. If you are legitimately concerned about your nutrition you should eat actual food. You would feel better and still have money left over to spend on real candy. Even if you paid somebody to make it for you it would probably cost less. GNC means “General Nutrition Center” but the sort of nutrition offered is rather bizarre.

I realize these are called “supplements,” which means they are meant to be used in addition to a normal diet, but captain crunch claims it is part of a complete breakfast. I am inclined to believe most people do not use these in that way because they get drawn in by mentions in this sort of publication, and also it is easier to laugh at the idea of people being reasonable if they are not.

Dr. Dan CNN BVD is way too enthusiastic about red yeast rice

If you knew me in middle school, you know I will put anything in my body if a bunch of guys with big shoulders and a token little guy who has rich parents tell me to do it while they laugh at me. Now things are different; I require them to have white jackets on.


Or blue ones, sir, please, whatever you want.

Hey did you know that GNC delivers for FREE? no probably not because if you were paying attention to financial matters you would notice that you just paid $25 for a little bottle of rice. You can buy a 60 pound barrel of rice for that money. It would not be RED, of course, but if you starve yourself effectively enough you may be able to cough up some blood on to it.

Somebody at some point in the management chain is certain I will magically steal their recipe for yeast rice with my camera, so the employee on the job had to task of suggesting that I not take pictures of the product, even though I think it would have done a better service to their business if they had stopped me from taking the first picture. In any event this was probably the least de-humanizing “do not take pictures of our property” demand I had experienced.

I am sure you are curious: the most de-humanizing “do not take pictures of our property” demand was when I was friendless, drenched in some rather unreasonable rain, cold, lost and hopelessly behind on school assignments that I could not tend to for another whole day of wasteful anxiety, in an apparently affluent and therefore more entitled to make visitors hate themselves section of London, amidst my ill-ehhhed Paris visit of July 2013. Scorned by the rich, dry, well-fed scumbags with no regard for

no please I have had enough red yeast rice I am feeling better now please!

Anyway I started to type that story for here and it was surprisingly depressing!
In fact most things related to my French experiments were depressing. Sometimes I worked harder than was required or likely to be appreciated to make them so.

1 I dwell in an apartment with my two brothers whom I rarely see. I am sad and ridiculous.

2 My friends and I, together we never talk on the telephone. They think I am boring.

3 The American men watch the French films, but they do not understand. They eat always.

4 The American women prepare dinner for the men. They (females) are unhappy.

The firefox spellchecker, unaware that I had switched from English, insisting that every word was wrong, may have had a subconscious inferiority effect on me. If forced to talk about myself I was unwilling to present a false impression of my existence. And it got sadder than that since one of the brothers left right away, to be replaced by slightly less trustworthy sorts and the other was barely around to sort out the replacement, whom I imagined it was not my position to criticize since I had not invited him in there, and if I had he would have been my GUEST and yet less deserving! So when actual depressing things happened to me in France or as a direct result of me going there I ought to have been prepared to explain, but the more depressing fact was that I failed to pick up any of the language in two years beyond the ability to read a few words that pertained directly to depressing aspects of my then home life and they had little resemblance to the circumstances of my later depressing outside of home life.

I wonder if I wrote things like that because I wanted to make people concerned so they would ask how I was doing.

It was always upsetting to find out they just dropped in to see what condition my toilet was in.
A series of more overt outbursts recently on the internet, the sort I avoided at people for on Livejournal 10 years ago made me realize no, I do not want most people to ask how I am doing. It will be unpleasant unless I am doing better, and when I am doing better I will feel less bad about not being asked. The problem solves itself!


I have an idea. I will change the subject.

Here is a depressing fountain.

I will have to try again later!

Fortunately I at least have mildly consistent internet access.