Licensed to Steal

Yesterday evening, as I attempted to drink myself to unconsciousness with my broken fridge roaring like a Maserati, I heard a woman's voice say that I was in prison. Later, in the wee hours of the morning, when I went to use the toilet with the window left wide open by another tenant, I heard the same voice falsely accuse me of being a hack. Did we get that all straightened out for another day? Whoopee. These constant false accusations of crimes committed with my own work are all I get for giving others pleasure. It's made me discover a level of bitterness so deep that I no longer recognize myself in the mirror; I feel like a loser for not killing myself. These zany imitators want me to write funny blogs for them out of this increased bitterness so everyone can keep thanking them for my suffering, but now I rephrase my words to keep the humor out of them. Were my index links blocked again? What good is that blocking program doing? It could only serve crime. When someone is caught committing fraud on the web, as NBC was caught with their YouTube videos of my comedy sketches, they are forced to erase their offending posts. That's how we deal with web fraud. Offenders, on the other hand, are always looking for some way to pin their fraud on their victim, so I think this 'K-9' site blocking program should be kicked the hell off the internet. I've suffered more than enough harm to my image for an innocent man. The broadcasters seem to have every creep in the world trying to build a career in show business out of stealing my posts. People see me receiving no support and get the message from all the glory handed to my assailants that the path to success is to steal my things and lie about me. Why are broadcasters allowed to bring so much harm to an innocent man like myself? Why aren't their broadcasting licenses revoked to discourage any further crimes? They must be licensed to steal. What would Dick Cheney or George W. Bush do to someone who falsely accused them of assaulting a child? I bet they'd only have to suffer such a false accusation once. They'd use their money to silence that lying prick and no one would dare take his place. But look what happens when it's you or me who gets falsely accused: it just goes on and on and on, with a new liar stepping up to replace the last one, for ten miserable years, branding us with the face of a pervert, regardless of our innocence. That's because we don't have the money to have any real justice in our capitalist's paradise. Do you think these horrible things couldn't happen to you? How precisely would you avoid your songs getting turned into fraud if the big broadcasters wanted it to happen? Do you think your friends would stick up for you? Ha, that's a good one. They'd sell you out in a second. Do you think your family would defend you? That's even more of a laugh. And judging by how broadcasters stay in business to add to my miseries now after already causing me so much harm, I'd have to guess that they aren't just licensed to steal, but to strip us of hope. I wonder if they're allowed to do anything good. 1:23pm: All these shaved heads I see around me make me think of my Austin Powers cartoon. Are they expressing support for my hero or trying to emulate Mike Myers' villain? You know that I also invented the characters of Me and Mini-Me, right? I invented them in a James Bond parody that I shared on Blogger entitled Goldmember. Myers seems to need someone else to dream up his characters before he can be funny with them. But I'm not a comedian, really; I'm a musician. So the fact that my comedy has brought me nothing but sheer misery, right up to the present, on the way to delivering lying comedians their greatest pleasures doesn't trouble me as much as the question of who received all the pleasure for my music. Let me now ask the radio stations who made all that money from broadcasting my music about who got to feel good with my music. We'll start with my most current posts and list them in reverse chronology back to 2013. Who got to feel good for Mischief? Who got to feel good for Nonchalant? Who got to feel good for Bad News? Who got to feel good for Therapy? Who got to feel good for Beguiled? Who got to feel good for Fool's Paradise? Who got to feel good for Virtue? Who got to feel good for Nothing but Ashes? The answer to all of the above is not me! On the contrary, I spend my days and nights howling in pain from the misery of my condition. Broadcasters are licensed to take away my pleasures, which are meant to reward my hard work, and hand them over to their friends and favourites as a reward for committing fraud. Who was it that told me I'd be happy later to endure the agonizing conditions of the moment? When was that? Two years ago? So how much later is later? Do you know how fucking horrible I feel? Do you think it's worth it for me to live through this for what feels like eternity and let it turn me into Jack the Fucking Ripper so I can be happy later? I think you care less about my feelings than my late friend who advised me to kill myself. 5:03pm: I'd rather be dead than have to contemplate the hate that motivated so many crimes against my music and poetry and comedy, a hate which may be born of self-love's sense of being diminished by another person's beauty. If you don't write elegant rhymes, for instance, you may need to break up my most impressive rhyming verses, as was done to my Octiverse. If you don't write appealing music, you may feel more comfortable with my best songs in the hands of twenty-five different bands than with them all together in my name. If you are intimidated by cleverness, you'd possibly get more fulfillment from a stand-up comedian's thefts of my posts than you would by rewarding me with your laughs of support. I'm telling you, I'd rather be dead from suicide right now than contemplating how this crowd around me may have cheered more out of hate for talent than out of appreciation for beauty when they packed stadiums to support crimes with my work. I'd rather be dead from hanging myself than wondering if our broadcasters nurture this incredibly destructive mass psychosis. Seeing how some people make themselves laugh for the most kindergarten level insults now tells me that they may never have appreciated my wit or my imagination but just their own vile hate. If so, wouldn't stardom only demean me? (The next morning:) I had a rough night after I went home from typing this. My life has been made unlivable here and I invited the Lord to sense it for Himself. I think He agreed that my suicide death from this pressure would be judged as a murder at the hands of an evil business. I woke up strengthened this morning. I'm not sure I want to blame the whole crowd here for the behaviour of their broadcasters, production scabs, and a few stupid cashiers. As long as I don't die of disrespect over the next year, I hope I can follow through on my plan to play my music outside this Telus owned region, where I might receive fairer treatment from the crowd. Now that I'm back to normal, I think my words on Adam and Eve are rewritten from the past. Don't let the person who plagiarized me get away with calling me a hack. What's everyone suddenly laughing about at 9:35 am this morning? I'm glad I don't know.
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