I cannot tell you the saddest story I know, because it was passed along to me by someone who is under the obligation of professional ethics to not share it for publication. But, in a larger sense, I can of course tell you the saddest story I know: It is yours. Oh, sure, you can pretend that I don't know you that well, but, really, you're not that special. You're just like the rest of us. Your life is wracked with recrimination and regret, and even in those rare moments when you can somehow convince yourself that you are mostly a good person, you know that you are only a careless remembrance away from recalling just how terribly you've treated someone whose only wish in this life was to love you and be loved by you. You're a monster. We all are. There are nights when we wake with a start and recollect just how terrible we were, wishing only that we could undo the past and set things right. Unfortunately, we are not given that power. We are here to suffer, to constantly confront our capacity for cruelty, and we do not receive respite until the day we finally do the decent thing and die. But this weekend, at least, we get to turn time back an hour. I guess that will have to be enough.
Photo by javarman, via Shutterstock
God, Balk, this is worse than when you talk about the weather.
Oh lord, just shut up about death for five seconds and have a damn cookie already.
@City_Dater I think you mean, "Oh Balk, just shut up...." He declined the role of God, remember?
@jolie Can you make him brownies?
@Astigmatism I can, but then he'll probably just start crying about how he's fat.
@jolie
"Lord" is used as an interjection in this case, not a form of address. And I think you should make the brownies anyway.
@jolie Can there be pot in the brownies?
Some do not.
@dntsqzthchrmn: Whoa. You just played the Double Ford. I give that a score of four queens (out of five possible, obvioulsy).
Phew, I'm just relieved that this one didn't touch upon my crippling loneliness. When being of the Balkgeist, one must take these small victories.
@armagnacforbreakfast Yes, but parades end.
@dntsqzthchrmn And when they do, there's always bourbon.
@armagnacforbreakfast: well, there you go. 5/5
You spend all day wanting to die, then stay up all night fearing death.
The alt-text just reinforces my desire to kick pigeons when they won't get out of my way.
"Turning back time" is just a cruel illusion. What we actually get is another hour to lie awake in bed thinking about our inadequacies.
@jfruh And the notion has given us a crappy Cher single, too.
"Lie Bot what is the saddest thing?"
"The saddest thing is a little girl who is told by her own mother and father that she will never be pretty. And then they open the front door, and on the porch is a little white suitcase, with all of her things in it."
http://m.assetbar.com/achewood/uuab1bC4p
@Tim Murtaugh@twitter - for Balk it's waking up and realizing the only clean pants you have are shorts.
@Tim Murtaugh@twitter I'm sure he doesn't own shorts.
@Tim Murtaugh@twitter No it is when a father outlives his son. Liebot was just sticking to the script.
Collect these little depressives in one those Hallmark desk calendars that go on sale at Borders in mid-January but are ignored until they are blown out at Odd Job in April.
I believe an instance like this calls for a rousing collective rendition of "Gypsies, Tramps and Thieves." All together now ...
@RonMwangaguhung I think you mean this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mEszTzdUMcY
@Rod T thank you
I can travel time, so things are pretty swell for me!
I would gladly return that extra hour in exchange for a later sunset. Brace for the season of relentlessly dark.
Dying isn't the decent thing to do if you do it on an airplane.
And after I'm done feeling shitty (about being a bad person) and good (about recognizing this and trying to be a better person), why does that mix of emotions always turn the color of horny?
Oh Balk, just think of life as one bourbon soaked adventure!
This meditation was extensively researched. In my head.
Ticking clocks, ominous birds, the onset of darkness, lost loves, nocturnal wakefulness, guilt, regretful memories. Please don't drink yourself to death. Or move to Baltimore.
You are a dick, Balk.
Balk I taped a copy of this post behind my refrigerator, so I can read it whenever I want.
I've seen sadder.
This is not The Saddest Song in the World, no.
Couldn't remember The Saddest Song in the World, no, no.
This is a tribute, oh, to The Saddest Song in the World,
All right! It was The Saddest Song in the World,
All right! It was the best muthafuckin' song the saddest song in the world.
it is sad. =(