Seriously Murderous

Bad broadcasters may want you to chuckle when I refer to their crimes as murderous. Let me share a few of the close calls I have had since they decided to make my detractors into stars with my own work and let you know why I call their fraud murderous. The most glaring example of the murderous nature of their crime is in how my workplace safety was compromised when I went to work as a stagehand, blind to the wholesale theft of my music and comedy that was taking place around me at the time. My employer, Nasco Staffing, was in on the crime. One day, as I labored to stack sheets of stadium glass vertically onto a gurney rack, the inexperienced forklift operator, who I now understand was put in the forklift to humiliate me, made an error in judgement that sent the thousand pound stack tilting outward. It was too late for me to move out of its way, so I put my arms up to brace the load. I only needed one more arm to steady it and push it back into position and I screamed for help, but when I looked behind me, the other workers just stood there with arms folded, watching me struggle and waiting for the glass to fall on me and kill me. A passer-by ended up offering a hand at the last possible moment or I would not have survived. Now that I know what was going on at the time, I can picture CBC's George Strombopoulos practically pushing the stack against me and waving off anyone who would have come to my assistance. And if that was a Crystalids concert, everyone would have celebrated my death at the hands of lying, cheating broadcasters that night with some of my finest rock compositions. Murderous. I could have been crushed by silly shenanigans at the Madonna production in 2008, as well, just as I have already stated. I wonder how much you'd admire her if she tried to kill you. Did I ever tell you how I almost cut my thumb off in one of these day labor jobs they left for me after they cashed in my heart for millions of dollars and the love of millions of fans? I slipped with my box cutter and cut the tip of my thumb off. I showed up in the emergency room with my thumb in two pieces and the doctor told me that I had got lucky and that the tip of my thumb would eventually grow back. An inch lower and I might never have played the guitar again. And that would have pleased the murderous fuckers who stole all my music and comedy because they wanted to take all the good stuff for it and leave me with a world of misery in its place. Such an injury would have made the recovery of hours of my music over the last five years impossible. I imagine that a lot of my more popular songs would still be playing on the radio to give jobs to people who hate artists and want to kill them with their own music. Is capitalism only amoral or is it murderous? Then there was that harrowing experience at the Hotel Europe in 2011 and 2012. Remember when I posted that blog about how all my suicide attempts ended in failure? I was telling the truth about one of them, the one in which I almost hung myself. You see, when a solitary man who has suffered assaults from thousands of vicious strangers for decades has to sit alone, night after night, and find out all the details of the hate parties and sex parties that were thrown against him over the years, it can greatly erode his will to live. I didn't really want to commit suicide, but I set up a noose that I could use to 'go through the motions' of suicide whenever I found myself overcome with despair, in order to gain some partial satisfaction from the constant urge. On one such occasion, I rose from my bed too fast, and as soon as I got the noose around my neck, I feinted. I awoke on the floor in a daze and saw that the rope around my neck had snapped. Otherwise, I would have accidentally died in a way that looked deliberate. The way I see it is that if I made people happy with my music and humor, I should have a more positive pastime than putting a rope around my neck and staring death in the face. The way I see it, people like Dateline's crooked host and CBC's David Frum practically put that rope around my neck with all their fucking hateful, destructive lies and support for fraud with my work. They are evil, murderous pricks, and as long as I languish in obscurity, I would be highly suspicious of any performer they want to hold up as a star. [4:57pm:] Since I went home and ate, I thought of a few more examples of murder attempts. In early 2010, I must have been the most hated man on Earth. Why was I so hated, CBC? Why did I need to call you so much when I was in tears, Suicide Prevention Line? Oh, right, because the Crystalids were big rock stars with my hit songs and they told everyone I was a child rapist. Can I ask you police a question? How long is an innocent man expected to live with the wrongful accusation of a sex offense against a child? What would kill him first: an irate stranger's ax in the middle of the night or his own hand from all the inexplicable hate and stress? If trusted public figures falsely accusing me of raping a child isn't attempted murder, I don't know what is. Did I tell you about how they sabotaged my car? Good thing it conked out on me in the driveway or I would have died on the road. That's attempted murder. Did I tell you about how the Crystalids wanted to put an end to my inadvertent rewriting of old songs in early 2010? They wanted to bust through my front door and push me off the balcony. They had a great location to stalk me through the upstairs neighbor, a dedicated fan of my music. My music fans have helped bands like the Crystalids and the Shards to inflict a great deal of pain on me over the years. I don't hold it against them but against the irresponsible broadcasters who lie about me. As far as I'm concerned, it was FM 102.7 The Crystalids who wanted to push me off of my balcony so that their heroes, the Crystalids, could keep all the songs they stole from me. Imagine how hard it is for me to cope with their giant billboard outside this library, flaunting its name as though it had something more to offer than a bad memory. What a fucking insult. We call ourselves democratic but it seems like rich people get to trample all over me and my rights. Who the fuck sold my original posts to Dateline so they could use them in a sensational star busting series that ended up inflicting prison tortures on me in November 2012? Wasn't it the wealthy president of Google? Yeah, he's rich so let him fucking wreck my life. Let him give away my future to the same pricks who already stole my past. Yeah, they're rich so let them take my work and give me nothing so they can be richer and I can suffer some more. That's piss poor democracy and that's probably why they don't want to talk about it on TV. The TV wants us to believe in the system that lets them have the power to destroy our lives like they destroy mine every day. Just in case some half wit tried to make a joke about auto-erotic asphyxiation, I should remind you that George Carlin stole every word of that from my erased posts, along with everything else he said in front of cameras in the last few years of his life. He snorted too much coke, burnt himself out, and then turned to one of those rich people who get to trample all over ordinary citizens for the right to be the star of my erased posts, which the rich person clearly granted him. I'm glad I don't have children because I'm not rich and so I would not be able to offer them any kind of hope in this capitalist Hell. But I don't have to worry about having children because all my girl fans are usually preoccupied with the bizarre sexual needs of little boys who steal my music and writing, thanks to the rich people who like to make a mockery of property rights whenever such rights protect someone else's property from their disgusting greed. Great fucking life they've prepared for me here. I'm sure all the worst scum in the world who steal music and poetry and laughter are very happy with it. But there's no place in this capitalist Hell for an honest person except a hole in the ground, unless he wants to live like I do.
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