Thoughts On The Dead

Musings on the Most Ridiculous Band I Can't Stop Listening To

A Thought On Disappointment

Opportunity knocks once, and the postman rings twice, but disappointment keeps to its own schedule, which is unpublished (and written in pencil, anyway): the picky hand on the clock tocks–you were expecting a tick–and then SHAZAM! your asshole is full all the way up to your throat and if you open your mouth nothing but shit comes out. Disappointment makes pussy taste like toothpaste, and toothpaste seem beside the point; it’ll slouchify the proud, give the pill bottles and knives songs to sing, bump five o’clock up a few hours.

You never thought about the word. Disappointment. You were to be of a new status. A title had been promised. Disappointment. You had somewhere to go. You were gonna buy shoes, flashy ones. Locks untumbled themselves in your ears. I am on the list. Well, check again, because I have been assured that I was on the list.

Let me speak to your manager.

The Catholics say it’s your fault. If you didn’t want bad things to happen to you, then why did your parents have to fuck? The Jews say that God works in mysterious ways; the subject will be changed if you press any further. The Mormons say that we learn from disappointment, and the Russian Orthodox Church is confused as to why you expected not to suffer. Hindus blame the guy you used to be, and Buddhists blame the guy you wanna be.

A Missionary was dispatched to the Arctic, where he met an Eskimo.

“Have you heard of the Christ?” the Missionary asked.

“I haven’t,” answered the Eskimo.

And so the Missionary did teach the Eskimo how to read the Bible, and how to pray, and what was forbidden and what was mandatory.

“But if you do not worship the Christ,” the Missionary said, “then surely will you go to Hell.”

The Eskimo weighed what he had been taught, and had a question.

“What of those who have not learned of the Christ? Will they go to Hell?”

“Of course not,” the Missionary said. “That would be cruel.”

“Then why,” the Eskimo asked, “did you tell me about Him?”

We wake up, we fuck up, we do it again, we sit at our desks and work until our eyes and backs can no longer think, and the sun goes down and the sun comes back, and we wake up, we fuck up, we do it again. We do it again, and fuck ’em if they can’t take a joke.


  1. Toothpaste often tasted better than pussy.

    • Luther Von Baconson

      January 24, 2018 at 10:49 am

      i like to crank a negative into a positive, and vice versa. Pussy-Flavoured toothpaste is a seller. we can extend the product line to include Ass-Flavoured toothpaste. find a manufacturer and have a stocked warehouse in Tacoma within a week. put up a banner in the FOTOTD aisle.

      other possible items:
      Dog Mouth-Flavoured (why not Dog Ass?)
      Screen Door-Flavoured
      Pond Water-Flavoured
      possibly Chocolate

  2. Yep, faith in faith is a direct line to disappointment.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.